Jon's Spooky Corpse Conundrum

by A J Sherwood

  “Take a right. We’ll need to go out to the 66 and take a left.”

  Jon started up the engine and followed his directions.

  Singleton turned in his seat so he could address all three of us. “I’ve not worked with psychics much, and certainly not a full agency before, so answer a question for me. Do you just dip in? Come in, find evidence, do interviews, then go home? Or do you take a case on fully until it’s solved?”

  “A little of both,” Sho answered. “Usually the former, although we occasionally have a case we see through. Usually because there’s not enough clues for the police to solve on their own. Sometimes because there’s not enough manpower and they borrow us. Why do you ask, Detective?”

  “Call me Neil, please. We’re a mix of both at the moment,” Neil’s eyes stayed on Jon, and while I had no doubt his words were the truth, an ulterior motive lurked there as well. “Half the station is out with the flu. And the only viable clues we had on this just got burned to a crisp. I’m not sure how much Caleb can pull from the remains that will help us.”

  I didn’t see an issue, except we hadn’t packed for more than an overnight trip. “I certainly don’t mind. But it means some of us will need to pack for a more extended stay, then find a hotel somewhere here. And I’m not sure how long we could stay. We have other cases demanding our attention in Nashville.”

  “But if we formally requested you, could you?”

  “In theory, sure. But you need to run that by Jim. He’s the one in charge of our schedules.”

  My eyes went to Jon, but I couldn’t read him from my angle, so I couldn’t figure out how he felt about this. He didn’t protest it, though.

  “Then I’ll poke the captain, see if he’ll go for the idea.” Neil relaxed back into the chair. “I do admit I’m a bit stymied at this point. There’s no good suspects for this case. I don’t think the daughter did it.”

  “You don’t suspect her at all?”

  “No. She was honestly distraught at his death. Could barely get a full word out of her, she was crying so hard. And she’d need an accomplice to pull it off, but she came down here alone. Or at least, I haven’t found any sign anyone followed her here. Frankly, I don’t see the motive. Maybe his inheritance, but I’m not sure how much Richard Witherspoon was worth. Haven’t had the chance to pull financials yet. Jon, you’ll be able to see if she had a hand in this, right?”

  “Correct,” he confirmed, slowing down to take the turn onto the two-lane highway.

  “How does that work, exactly? What are you seeing when you interview a suspect?”

  “It shows up in their aura, specifically along their lines,” Jon explained. “Everyone has an aura—I’m sure you’re aware of that? Okay, well in my case, I can read the meridian lines that make up the aura. It’s not just a pretty energy that makes up the soul, or whatever psycho-babble you’ve heard before. The meridian lines are tied directly between the body’s living energy and its physical structure. Sort of like chakra points, only with more variety. I can read those lines. Different colors in different areas of the body mean specific things. Most emotions we experience are fleeting, even trivial, but things that impact the psyche linger throughout that person’s life. For instance, I can see that you’re late fifties, you’ve lived in Tennessee your entire life, and you’re bisexual. I can also see you’ve got a strong, romantic relationship with someone, but it’s new, roughly five years or so old.”

  Neil made a sound like he’d swallowed wrong. “Holy shit. That’s….”

  I watched him steadily to make sure he took this okay. Not everyone responded as well as I had. He was shocked, certainly, but also very curious.

  Jon must have felt vaguely apologetic because he shrugged. “Emotionally speaking, it’s hard to keep secrets from me.”

  Neil deflated into a huff of laughter. “It must be fun for your significant other to keep secrets.”

  I leaned forward to speak directly with Neil. “I manage more than I should, but yeah, it takes real effort on my part.”

  Neil turned sharply in his seat, his eyes wide. “Wait, you two are together? Not just psychic and anchor?”

  “Yeah, we are.” Since he was bisexual, I didn’t expect any trouble from him, although the surprise on his face…something was up here. I just couldn’t put a finger on it. “That surprises you?”

  “Uh,” Neil managed intelligently. He swallowed and found his voice. “Yeah, it does. Caleb assumed his whole family homophobic.”

  I snorted in disagreement. “Quite the opposite. I got a lot of encouragement from all three women to chase Jon.”

  “It actually put my back up at first,” Jon mentioned casually, shooting me a pretty smile over his shoulder. “Good thing you’re irresistible, babe.”

  “Oh sure, blame it on me. Anyway, Neil, you should know, not everyone takes what he can do in stride. People go after Jon on a pretty regular basis. Part of the reason why I initially joined Psy was to protect him.”

  Growling, Jon muttered at me, “Don’t tell him that! It makes me sound like some damsel in distress.”

  “I will tell him that when he’s an armed police officer and there’s a murderer on the loose,” I retorted heatedly. “Don’t downplay your safety.”

  In a mild tone, Neil asked, “Donovan? Just how often does he get attacked that he needed a bodyguard?”

  “It averages out to about once a month,” I answered sourly. “And that doesn’t include what happens sometimes in interviews.”

  “Well, hell. I best keep an eye out for trouble, then.”

  Jon let out resigned sigh. It’s not like my fears weren’t valid—he did unfortunately get attacked more than what was reasonable. He probably felt he was safer out here because no one knew him. We were four hours from home and the criminals who knew us. I could admit that Jon was probably safer out here than anywhere else, even with that murderer on the loose. Did that mean I would drop my guard? Hell no.

  We followed the curves of the road and I tried to orient myself. This was the way to the hospital, really? It was just a two-lane road winding through different trailer parks and low-income housing. Nothing out here but trees and rundown buildings.

  Sho’s phone rang and he answered it with a cheery, “What’s up, boss? Oh yeah? We were just talking about that. Sure, we’re game for it. Um…can we have Garrett come join us?” The smile lit up his face. “Yeah, okay. Sure. Monday it is. Bye.”

  “Take a right on Piedmont,” Neil directed to Jon before twisting around again. “What did your boss say? You joining us?”

  “Yeah, your captain requested we stick around. I think he had the same thought as you—you’re shorthanded and need a little help on this one. He’s calling our other co-worker who didn’t come, Garrett, and we’ll be going back to pack for a more extended trip. We’ll be back Sunday night and ready to roll out Monday.”

  Neil looked relieved. “That’s great. This Garrett, is he another psychic?”

  “No, police consultant,” I explained. “He’s like me, more muscle and protection for our psychics.”

  “Just not as big as you,” Jon sassed.

  I snorted. “What that man lacks in height, he makes up for in attitude.”

  No one even tried to deny that. Jon shrugged. “Well. Let’s get that interview done. Hopefully, by the time we’re done, we’ll have a new lead to follow.”

  The interview with Maggie Witherspoon was a complete bust. She didn’t know anything, and even with Jon coaxing her along in the interview, didn’t have anything insightful to add. I could tell Neil was disappointed. He’d hoped for some leads to follow. The one good thing was that she could provide her father’s banking information, who his lawyer was, and a timeline of the day before. At this point, every scrap of information helped.

  After the interview, we packed it all in and left Sevierville, enjoying a lively conversation on the way home. I think Sho was the type to deal better with small crowds of people than larger groups. I’d litera
lly never seen him this chatty before. It made the four-hour ride back to Nashville feel short.

  We dropped Sho off at the office so he could get his car. I discreetly shot Garrett a text; I knew he would rest easier if he knew Sho got home safely.

  We got in rather late that night and didn’t want to do anything more than roll into bed, which we did.

  The next morning I woke up before Jon—as per usual—took a shower, then meandered downstairs to start the coffee maker. As it percolated, I stuck my head in the fridge, wondering what to pre-emptively throw out. We’d be out of town for a good week at the very least, possibly more than that. Some of the fruit in here wouldn’t survive past tomorrow. Maybe after breakfast, I’d clean the fridge out a little.

  I made breakfast, just eggs and toast, and Jon wandered in with damp hair and a yawn on his face. He snuggled up against my back, hugging me from behind with a low purr of pleasure. It was a habit of his, and one I adored.

  “Hi, babe. Breakfast?”

  “Mmm,” he agreed sleepily.

  “How about some strong coffee too? You’ve got some time before we need to pack up and leave.”

  Groaning, he let go and went to fix his coffee. “Don’t remind me. I’m not really looking forward to it.”

  It seemed the right time to ask the obvious question. “You planning to find the right time to talk to him when we get back?”

  Jon shrugged listlessly. “I know I want answers. That Nat needs answers. But I’m honestly not sure how to react anymore. What little I saw from him said he wanted strongly to reconnect with me. And I don’t know what to make of that. Is this regret talking?”

  “Maybe. People make serious mistakes and then really learn the consequences of them years later. I’ve seen that play out a few times.”

  He stuck his fork into the eggs and stirred them in a tight circle around the plate. “You know what really gets me? The hell of the thing is, he’s bright. Not Havili bright—”

  I loved that we now had our own mark on the scale.

  “—but still, pretty damn bright. If this was a person I didn’t know, someone I’d just passed on the street, I’d want to meet him. I’d want to be friends with him.”

  “Ouch. That must be salt on the wound.”

  “Maybe lye.” His shoulders slumped and he stared steadfastly at the cooling eggs. “I don’t know what to do. If he gives me the right answers, do I forgive him?”

  “I don’t know. I do know you miss him.”

  He dropped the fork and any pretense of eating, putting his head into both hands. “Yeah. Which pisses me off.”

  I walked over and slipped an arm around his back, hugging him into me. Times like this, I wished I could take the pain from him, but there wasn’t much you could do about a broken heart. “What do you want to hear from him?”

  “That he regrets it. That he’d do anything to reverse it. That he loves me. What are the odds I’ll hear any of that?”

  “Pretty damn good, I’d say. You’re loveable, after all.”

  That almost got him to laugh—I felt the jerk of it in his shoulders before he turned and burrowed into me. I wrapped both arms around him, giving him silent support. We stayed like that, wrapped around each other, for a timeless moment. Corpses and murderers could wait. The man in my arms was my first and only priority.

  “Still got me?” he asked softly against my shoulder.

  “Always.”

  “Okay.” Straightening, he inhaled deeply and the steel came back into his spine. “Then let’s do this.”

  6

  As the Wheatlands Plantation came into view, I noticed a change come over Donovan’s lines. He was leery of the place. I read the lines, cocking my head to get a more frontal view. “Babe, something you want to tell me?”

  Donovan gave a mournful sigh, as if confessing something that would send him to the gallows. “I don’t trust that house.”

  “Considering a body disappeared in it, I don’t blame you. But you don’t really think murderers are lurking in the walls, ready to pop out and off people, do you?”

  He rolled those big golden-brown eyes at me with a plaintive expression. “I despise fatal funnels. And that house is basically a huge series of fatal funnels.”

  Ah. From his perspective, I could see why the house would be uncomfortable. I patted his shoulder consolingly. “Cheer up. At least Garrett’s with us this time.”

  “Are you kidding? He’s going to do everything in his power to spook me. Garrett will not be helpful.” With another mournful sigh, he pulled into the only open area of the front driveway and parked.

  Sho met us at the door with a sardonic sort of look I could read well. It meant he didn’t entirely agree with what was happening but enjoyed the show regardless. After the very long weekend I’d just had, I didn’t want Monday to start out crazy, but it didn’t look like I’d get my wish. I greeted him with a wave.

  “Now what the hell is going on?”

  “We’re trying to figure out how the culprit got the body out of the house,” Sho explained as he turned, leading us into the dining room. It had undergone an interesting transformation while we’d been gone. It seemed to be more of a conference room now, with a laptop on the far end and a set of builder’s blueprints on the table. The topmost sheet was half-drawn, like a work in progress.

  I did-but-didn’t follow this logic. “Why focus on that? We don’t have any other leads?”

  “Until Dr. Bane’s done with the autopsy, we’re not sure what killed him,” Sho responded, ticking things off on his fingers as he went. “We also don’t have a death certificate to use, so we can’t pull financials on the victim. The daughter’s helping us as much as she can, but without that death certificate, there’s not much she can do either. Motive is a murky question mark. We figured, the least we could do while waiting on things is figure out how the hell they got the body out.”

  “And,” Neil filled in as he entered the dining room from the opposite door, “we’re hoping he left some trace behind while moving the body, some clue on who’s behind this. You won’t believe what people drop while in a rush. I caught someone once because of a hunting license. Jon, Donovan, glad you’re here. How was the drive?”

  “Long,” I answered honestly. “Neil, what’s the status of the burned corpse?”

  “Caleb’s still processing it. We’re also trying to figure out why it was burned.”

  I cocked my head in question. “I assumed it was to cover any trace evidence the murderer left behind.”

  “You’re likely right, but it just seemed a lot of effort to go through. I don’t understand why he moved the body the way he did, either.” Neil ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired, his fatigue a visible mantle around him. Also stressed, although I suppose under the circumstances, it was reasonable for him to feel that way. “I hope the reason he went through all that effort was because he did something stupid and left incriminating evidence on the body.”

  “I second that hope,” Donovan chimed in. “Where is everyone?”

  Neil pointed towards the ceiling. “Your co-workers are combing every inch of the house. We don’t have an actual blueprint of the place, just the renovation plans Witherspoon drew up. Turns out, that was his business before he came down here. Vintage restoration.”

  “Huh.” Donovan looked around us, eyes lingering on the tools still sitting on the floor. “That explains why he bought the place. He had the skills to tackle it.”

  “Yup. It might also give us motive for murder. There were more than a few written protests when our victim announced his intention to renovate the property before re-opening it to the public. They didn’t want him messing with history.”

  Now that was also very interesting. “How far have you gotten into measuring the place? I assume you’re trying to create a blueprint now.”

  “Have to. We’ve got to figure out how they got the body out of here, and that’s the only logical way to do it. Your group started with the right
wing of the house, if you want to join them. Victoria and I are on the main floor at the moment.”

  “Give me a measuring tape and we’ll tackle the second floor,” I volunteered.

  Sho, anticipating this, reached into a bag and grabbed not only a measuring tape but a clipboard with pen and paper to take notes of measurements. “Have at it.”

  I saluted both men before taking the stairs, Donovan right behind me. We’d barely gotten to the second level when I spied Garrett and Carol coming out of one of the rooms further down the hallway. Garrett spied us and lit up with mischief.

  “Don! And here you swore you’d never set foot in a haunted house again. It must be true love.”

  Donovan just groaned next to me, head hanging.

  Um, what? I studied him from the corner of my eye, taking in his lines, several different reactions and comments on his part swirling in my brain. He’d not been at all eager to start this case and wasn’t comfortable in the house. And he was irritated and more than a little spooked, to boot.

  “Donovan? Are you not good with horror?”

  Garrett bounced toward us, mischievous smile still stretched across his face. Because of course he’d take any opportunity to tease. “He hates it. I triple-dog dared him to come with me to a haunted house once. It was really legit, it even got me freaked a few times. He was screaming and ducking behind me the whole time.”

  That must have been beyond comical, too. To see this giant of a man hiding behind his shorter friend for protection. I was quite sorry I’d missed it.

  Donovan snagged Garrett’s head in the crook of his elbow and gave him a hard noogie. Squirming in protest, Garrett tried to wriggle free. Not really tried—I knew he could get out in three seconds if he wanted. This was their way of messing with each other.

  “I thought you’d told him!” Garrett protested, laughing.

  “You know I fucking didn’t,” Donovan snapped back, grinding in his knuckles a little harder. “And you SWORE you’d never tell anyone about that!”