Privy to Murder

by Carol Shenold

  Chapter Two

  “Tali Cates, why the hell would you just walk right through blood to go into the privy?”

  JT Bellows scowled down at me, a good trick since, with my boots on, I stood almost as tall as him. He was still cute. His curly dark hair and deep blue eyes made him cute in an aw-shucks-ma’am kind of way. He would have been easier to deal with if the chip on his shoulder hadn’t grown to the size of a ten-gallon hat.

  “Well, Sheriff, I don’t know. I saw something strange and opened the door. If I’d expected a body or realized I’d be stepping into blood, I wouldn’t have done it.”

  If I’d expected an angry ghost I most certainly wouldn’t have done it. I shivered at the thought and hugged my arms close.

  “Do you know any reason why someone might have wanted to kill Mrs. Tannehill?”

  Yeah, JT, half the people working this party hated her. I shook my head.

  “Did you have an argument with her this evening?”

  “She yelled at me about a couple of party-related things but nothing that made me want to kill her.” I looked directly into his eyes and saw nothing, no hint of concern, curiosity—nothing. He was pulling his cop face. With me. “My God, JT, I know we’ve had our bad moments but even you wouldn’t think I’d do that to anyone, not even Mag.”

  “Just covering all the bases. And you sure as hell messed up my crime scene. What’s wrong with you people? How about Reneé? I hear she also argued with the victim.”

  The sheriff flipped his notebook closed without waiting for an answer. He’d always been an angry character, even in high school. I hadn’t been much better back then. For a short time we were an item. Maybe he was still pissed because I’d ditched him after the prom. He’d never been one to take rejection well.

  * * *

  I looked around. The party had transformed into a crime scene complete with yellow tape, clusters of people being interviewed by deputies, and an irate group of the elite who swarmed JT like hornets, demanding to be exempted from questioning so they could leave. I didn’t see Frank or Donna anywhere.

  I joined Reneé after JT said he was “through for the moment but don’t leave town.” He knew I’d moved in with Mumsie, kid-in-tow, tail-between-my-legs. Where would I go?

  “What a mess,” Reneé swept disposable glasses into a bag and put them on top of the overflowing trash can. She had no kids and her husband had died several years ago. We’d walked to grade school together, cried over the same boys. Sometimes we still read each other’s minds. “Who do you suppose would do such a horrendous thing? She was a pain and all that, but being stabbed? That’s a little harsh, even for Mag-the-Terror.”

  I nodded, not trusting myself to answer just yet because I might say something about what I saw besides Mag’s body. We worked and watched, picking up, packing dishes in plastic crates.

  “Take these sandwiches and desserts so I don’t have to throw them out.” Reneé set a large container on the table.”

  “I sure don’t need all the calories.”

  “You know Sean will enjoy them, as will Miss Lucinda, though she won’t admit it. If I have to take all this stuff home, eat it and gain weight, I will run you out of town personally. Take it already.” She thrust the container toward me.

  So I did, knowing I’d be sorry because the cheese cake desserts would go right in my mouth—and the smoked salmon-caviar dip would drive my calico kitten into a frenzy. Once the box was loaded, I looked around to see if there was anything else I needed to do.

  The high school crew I’d hired had taken the tables down and stacked them and the chairs for a morning pickup. Folded tablecloths rested in a box at the back of the truck. Someone had thrown a leftover gift bag on the seat, along with a box of candles. Just what I needed, Mag’s idea of give-aways. Then I felt guilty. She was dead, after all.

  * * *

  On the way home my brain worked on overdrive, trying to sort out the evening. Ghosts, for God’s sake, what’s up with that? My mother talked to spirits. My God, she even argued with them. My Grandmother had claimed she “had the sight” and sometimes intuitively knew what was going to happen. Now here I was seeing spirits. It had to be stress—moving home and worrying that Brian would cause more trouble or try to get custody of Sean. I hadn’t stressed over Cass as much; she’s so prickly on a good day that even our scumbag wouldn’t want to raise her.

  My brain flipped from subject to subject, back to the party. The only thing that could account for Mag’s behavior was alcohol. Even in high school she’d been fond of gin. Maybe it she drank because of jealousy and hurt. What if she’d found out about Betty Ann and Frank? Faithfulness had never been one of Frank Tannehill’s strong suits. Plus, Reneé had looked angry when she’d watched the dancers earlier. What was that about?

  I pulled up to the house on Waterside Road, no water in sight, mind you. The closest moisture was the Red River, about five miles down FM 1180, which was Waterside’s real name except for mailing purposes. Light poured through the bay window and splashed onto the driveway. There goes our electric bill, I thought. The old house had been built on a previous river bed and needed to be leveled. So why was it lit up tonight like a party?

  Jumping out of the truck, I grabbed my purse, leaving the rest of the stuff for later, and ran in, or tried to. The front door was locked. We had a habit, bad one, of leaving the door unlocked and I didn’t always carry the house key. When I pounded on it, I knew no one in the back of the house would hear me if any of the doors were closed. Damn, what was going on? Please, no more drama. I pictured Sean injured, Mumsie having a stroke, Cass on my doorstep.

  The uneven ground around the side of the house always threw me off balance. The whole place backed up to pasture and the high school football field. Light from the full moon lit the backyard, and kitchen lights showed through the patio door. The kitchen and dining room joined into one big room, with a fireplace at the far end and the stove opposite at the kitchen end. I slid open the sliding glass doors leading from the dining room onto the deck and went in.

  Chaos tore across the slick kitchen floor and shimmied up my skirt with sharp kitten claws.

  “Chaos, get off me. You’ll tear my skirt, my hose, my skin, dammit.”

  Before I could disengage the kitten, Sean clattered into the room and grabbed hold of my waist. He was all sharp bones and angles as he clung to me. Normally too old for that at ten, he hung on as if he were still three.

  “Mom. We saw a ghost.” He wheezed between words that flew like spit wads, tumbling out of him as if he couldn’t stop them. “I had an asthma attack and she wouldn’t leave, at least I think she was a she. She kind of looked like that red-haired lady that’s always so loud, the one you were giving a party for. But it couldn’t have been her, could it?” He sucked air after each sentence, wheezing like he was eighty. “I mean, there’s really no such thing, just like Mumsie’s spirits, right?”

  I peeled his arms from around my waist and pushed him down on one of the rickety wooden kitchen chairs. Someday one of them will collapse under us. Unsticking Chaos from my skin and skirt was more difficult. I put water on the gas stove to boil. Tea did wonders for Sean’s asthma. You’d think I wouldn’t still panic every time he had an attack.

  “Where’s your grandmother?”

  “She went to the front room. That’s where the ghost was.”

  “I didn’t see a ghost or your grandmother when I was in front or out back.”

  A ghost in my house. Reality had spun away and we were in a bad movie instead. For the second time that night I noticed a definite chill that I shouldn’t feel in August. In this house, nothing’s cool in the summer except the big back bedroom, a sitting room where we gather this time of the year.

  “I’m going to find your grandmother and your inhaler. Sit tight.”

  He shook his head. “No way. I’m not staying alone. Even if the ghost wasn’t there, it felt real and I don’t want to see it again.”

  “Mumsie, w
here are you?” I shouted. “What’s going on?”

  My mother ambled down the hall into the kitchen. “Why, Tali. There you are.”

  “It’s two o’clock in the morning and you didn’t expect me? I came home and the house was so lit up it looked like we’re advertising something. Sean’s talking about ghosts, having an attack and you’re nowhere to be seen. It’s enough to make a body nervous—wrong choice of words.”

  Mumsie put her hand on my shoulder. “How was the party, besides the murder, I mean?”

  “How did you know? Word can’t get around that fast, even in a town this size.” I looked at Sean to see if he realized what we were talking about. Of course he did.

  “Murder? What murder? When? Who? How?” Sean’s excitement and voice went higher and higher, as if he wasn’t at fever pitch already.

  “I found out from Amen Ka just before you came. I consulted with him after the visitation. I wonder what that will bring into the house if any bad energy is left behind.”

  “Mother, little pitchers, you know. We’ve had enough excitement for one night. Sean, it’s time for bed. Go get ready. Then come back and have some tea for that wheezing. And bring your nebulizer.” He looked like he wanted to protest, but went anyway.

  Mumsie and I stood in the middle of the kitchen, bowed up like two cats poised for a fight.

  “If you weren’t always fooling around with everything spooky, we wouldn’t be dealing with this now. Ghosts of dead women do not belong in this house. Sean shouldn’t have to deal with major asthma attacks because your involvement with spirits makes us easy targets.”

  “Now hold on, Talihina Cates. Back that horse right up. You’ve been blaming a lot on my spirits. Did you ever think there are some energies in this house that weren’t here a few months ago, like Cass and Sean and you?

  “What, you’re blaming them, your own grandchildren? Give me a break. You had your so-called spirits around long before we came back to live here.”

  Mumsie slammed the teapot onto the stove burner. “Spirits, yes. Vengeful ghosts, no. My entities seem to be much more peaceful than yours. I will not take the blame for all the negative energy. I would never blame the kids, but you know as well as I do that adolescent children often act as inadvertent magnets for all kinds of spirits.”

  I watched the pot, waiting for the whistle, and yelled down the hall, “Sean, hurry up in the bathroom. The tea will be ready in a minute.”

  “I will not let you blame me for all your problems. I didn’t call Mag’s ghost. If you remember, she appeared to you first. I wasn’t there.”

  “And this house wouldn’t have ghosts in the first place if it wasn’t for you.”

  I jumped when the kettle shrieked, and poured steaming water into a cup with an orange spice tea bag. The scent alone calmed me. Sean wouldn’t drink it without a lot of sugar but the heat and tannic acid often broke up mucous and made it easier for him to breathe.

  “We’ll finish this later,” I told Mumsie as Sean came in.

  She huffed out, and I settled Sean down the best I could. He took a nebulizer treatment, even though the wheezing had subsided to a manageable level, and agreed to go to bed.

  My hands still shook. Anger rushed through me when I thought about Sean dealing with something so scary. Even worse, why could we both see the spirit? Did we all have to look forward to more of this “Night of the Living Dead” kind of stuff?

  And if we did, whose fault was it but Mumsie’s? My mother was an elegant, well-dressed smart-aleck. If I could look as good at seventy, I’d be eternally grateful. She was also nuts. If being sensitive could be passed on, it came from her. I never wanted the sight. It scared the bejeezus out of me and had destroyed my marriage. It was the sight, the threat of magic that scared Brian so much. Coming back to Love was not the best decision I ever made.

  It might even have been my worst.

  * * *

  I poured a glass of wine and went into the green room. The bay window looked out on the front yard and driveway, shining in the full moonlight. I always loved this view and being able to sit in the window, but hated the green carpet that gave the room its nickname. I sat on the black leather couch. Two matching chairs and a coffee table completed the arrangement. A book-case against one wall groaned with too many books. Turquoise and red pillows brightened up the furniture.

  Mumsie walked in, a gin and tonic in her hand.

  I set down my drink. “I don’t want to fight.”

  “Then don’t.” Mumsie sat down in the chair opposite me.

  “My first party and Mag had the bad taste to be murdered. What did your so called spirits tell you, anyway?”

  “Not much. Amen Ka was in a snit because I talked to Chung Po first, so I don’t really know what’s going on except someone died, and my guess is Mag since her spirit showed up here.”

  I sipped my wine. The champagne buzz had disappeared from my head hours ago. Chaos climbed onto my lap and tried to stick her paws into my drink. When that failed, she moved on to Mumsie. “Anyone at the party could have killed her, so why would she have shown up here?”

  Mumsie pushed Chaos away from her glass. “She must want help. That’s what spirits usually need, especially ones who are murdered.”

  “Who the hell told her I could help? And why am I suddenly seeing ghosts? I never have before and neither has Sean. I don’t want him involved in this mess.”

  Mumsie didn’t have her usual answers, and I suddenly felt too tired to even empty my glass. I shuffled to my bedroom, next to Sean’s, closed the blinds and fell onto the bed. Surprising myself, I snoozed my way to morning without dreaming, until a ringing in my ears woke me up, and I answered the phone.

  JT’s low voice sounded angry. “Come down to the courthouse now. I’m not through with you yet.”

  Chapter Three

  City Hall was on Main Street, across the square from the county courthouse. Oaks shaded the park in the center. Old fashioned street lamps stood on each corner. The cluster of buildings around FanninPark included the Municipal building, the CountyCourthouse, McKinley Playhouse, the Children’s Theatre, and the Jail. All the parking spots were full so I had to park off the square and walk to the courthouse. I felt the heat peeling my makeup in sure-to-be-flattering streaks.

  The back of my white linen blazer was damp before I reached the steps up to the front door, but my yellow tank top showed more skin than I was ready to reveal right then. Wearing my hair up helped some, in spite of an outside temperature that had topped eighty-five degrees at nine in the morning.

  The CountySheriff’s department hid in the CountyCourthouse basement. I wanted to take the stairs until I remembered the smell that clung to the walls, a mixture of sweat, fear and urine. Never certain if this odor was an accumulation of seventy-five years of inmates from the jail being taken up and down the stairs or if our town drunk was making it his home-away-from-home, I’d learned to take the elevator.

  I juggled my latte and a coffee for JT while I pushed the elevator button, praying I could avoid spilling and drenching my jeans. The drink was partly bribe, partly self defense. The department pot could qualify as an experiment in home-grown penicillin.

  As I came out of the elevator, JT exited his office.

  “I’m here, with a gift,” I said, holding out the cup.

  He looked at my offering. “Quit last year, but thanks.” He didn’t take it. “Follow me.”

  I followed him into the break room and sat at a Formica table left over from someone’s seventies kitchen. JT grabbed a diet Dr. Pepper from the rickety refrigerator and joined me. I poured the refused coffee into my latte. Can’t have too much caffeine.

  “Tali, I don’t think you murdered Mag, but I feel like you know more than you’re telling me.”

  JT’s blue eyes still had the same intense Caribbean sea color that made me short of breath in high school. Okay, he’s still hot.

  I looked at him and down at my two cups. “You’re acting like I’m a
criminal, or at least someone you don’t know from a hole-in-the-ground. We grew up together. I haven’t changed, not that much.”

  He shook his head. “I have a job to do and an apparent murder to deal with. I do know you and I’m aware there’s something you don’t want me to know.”

  “I‘ve told you everything about the murder, I promise.” I shivered, my blazer clammy against my back. The sight of the apparition replayed in my head.

  JT leaned forward. “See what I mean? I can see it in your eyes. You never could play poker or keep secrets.”

  I stared into my latte as if I could hide in it. “I have a lot of things bugging me right now, but none of them have anything to do with Mag’s murder except the worry that no one would book any parties and I need the money.” I paused and straightened up in my chair. “Why would you say that I shouldn’t play poker? You’ve never had a clue what I was thinking, JT Bellows.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I read you like a book.”

  “Sure, written in Arabic. You used to think I liked it when you insisted on drag racing after several beers. You thought I agreed that walking the railing on the lake bridge was cool. You couldn’t understand why I left prom when you got drunk as a cat on spiked catnip.”

  “But you left with Frank Tannehill, for God’s sake. Girl-groping-Frank.”

  “Well, he didn’t grope me and he was safe to drive me home.”

  “You could have walked. Your back yard ran into the football field.”

  “Not in the dark with all the other drunken seniors around.”

  “Yeah, but then you never returned my calls and moved off to go to school and never came back. You thought you were too good for Love, Texas. Then I heard you married some high-flying dude from Dallas, and look where that got you.”

  “JT, when you saw me leaving with Frank you called me all kinds of four letter words, said you never wanted to see me again. I took you at your word. Besides, the scholarship I got, was for UT, not our good old LoveJunior College. Once I graduated, I worked in Dallas because jobs here barely paid more than minimum wage.”