A Dead Pig in the Sunshine

by Penny Burwell Ewing

  “Miz Claiborne?” His mellow baritone, combined with his rock hard body and the even whiteness of his smile, dazzled me. Damn, pick-your-tongue-off-the-floor gorgeous.

  I swallowed hard and took the outstretched hand, gazing up into velvety chocolate eyes that seemed to devour me. “Yes, and hopefully you’re Hattie’s great-nephew, Mack Sanford?”

  He squeezed my hand. “Yes, I’m Mack. Aunt Hattie failed to mention the beauty of my inquisitor.”

  I giggled like a schoolgirl and completely lost my train of thought, my brain zeroing in on one of the high-voltage sex scenes I’d read earlier. Heat crept up my face as I stood frozen in Zombie land. Thankfully, Mack had the good sense to drop my hand and step back.

  “I understand you have some questions regarding a recent fare?”

  “Yes, last Monday.” I answered in a less than steady voice, embarrassed at my attraction to this much younger man. Geez, get a grip old woman.

  “Let’s go into my office.” He pointed to the door from which he’d exited. “It’s private.”

  I followed him into his plush office and sat in the chair opposite his desk. After he’d settled himself, he knit his hands together. “You’re interested in my VIP client, I understand.”

  I relaxed, regaining my composure. “If that VIP is Vanessa van Allen, then yes, I’m interested in her and her male companion.”

  “Care to tell me why you’re interested?”

  “Sufficient to say that it’s a life and death situation.”

  His face grew serious. “Aunt Hattie mentioned she was missing, but I never witnessed any behavior that would indicate a problem. Miss van Allen was pale, and her arm was in a sling, but she and her companion were both fine when I dropped them off at the old Maco mansion. Her gentleman friend tipped me a hundred bucks.”

  Chills skittered up my spine as I remembered the brief flash of light in the back part of the house as we passed by last night. Great balls of fire! Vanessa was right under our thumb. I had to get this information to Bradford ASAP. But first, I had a few questions that needed answering. “Where and when did you pick up Miss van Allen and her companion?”

  “Baconton Writers’ Retreat. Early Monday morning. About five.”

  “Do you have her companion’s name?”

  He shook his head. “No name. Young, brown hair and moustache, slender build, expensive suit.”

  The description fit two men. Michael Halsey and Cash Hitchcock. Since Michael Halsey was the last man I’d seen her with, I’d bet my tip money the mysterious companion was none other than Careen’s brother. What’s the deal? What could he possibly be up to? Did he know about his sister’s death when he took up with Vanessa? Revenge? Lust? Blackmail money? Lots of unanswered questions. “How did they pay?” I asked, hoping for a credit card receipt.

  “Cash.”

  “So you have no record of the fare?”

  Mack cast me a shrewd look. “What fare? My limo never left the parking lot.”

  Hmm. So that’s how it was. Under the table cash transaction. Illegal, just like the cash tips I fail to report to the IRS each year. Standard practice in my line of business. I’m a firm believer in keeping some things to myself. Cash is one of them. Well, no need to ask if Mack would talk to Bradford. In light of the information he’d just given me, that wasn’t happening. I thanked him and made my way back to my car.

  Once I’d cleared the lot and was back on Athens Street, I hit Bradford’s contact button on my cell. It went straight to voicemail. I left a message and started for the salon. As much as I wanted to head straight for the Maco mansion, I had no idea what was transpiring behind the scenes, and The Lone Ranger I ain’t. If Vanessa needed rescuing, she’d have to wait for Bradford, because I had no inclination to place myself in unnecessary danger for her sorry ass.

  ****

  Mama and Billie Jo dropped by around noon. Deena and I were in her office eating pizza from the café next door when the office door opened, and they strolled in armed with shopping bags. Billie Jo dropped her bags on the sofa and headed straight for the pizza.

  “That smells delish,” she gushed, and scooped up a large piece, and stuffed it in her mouth.

  I set my half-eaten piece on a paper plate and wiped my fingers on a napkin before rising. “Would you like something cold to wash it down? Mama?”

  “An iced tea sounds nice for both of us. No sugary soda drinks for the expectant mother.” Mama reached for a paper plate. Billie Jo just nodded, unable to speak with her mouth full.

  I left the office and stopped by the reception area to chat with several acquaintances waiting for their stylists, then over to the desk to speak with Holly about my next appointment. “When Mrs. Benson arrives, please see that she’s shampooed and draped for a chemical service. Also, if you have time, please restock the retail shelves. They’re getting low.”

  Holly gave me the thumbs-up gesture and reached for the ringing phone. With the salon running smoothly, I made my way to the kitchen at the back of the salon. As I drew abreast the locked facial room door, I paused. No sound. Good. Careen hadn’t been happy to be unhinged from my aura this morning, but I’d finally convinced her that I’d pick her up at the end of the day. A lie. Not only a lie, but a whopper. Tomorrow her parole ended with Scarlett’s return, and until she was on her way home, she’d stay put. Bradford and I could handle matters on our own without either one of them. They were free to disappear forever into the sweet-by-and-bye.

  And speaking of Bradford, why hadn’t he returned my call? I’d been sitting on pins and needles all morning itching to share my info with him. I could try again, but my phone was in a drawer at my workstation. To retrieve it meant wading through talkative staff and clients, and I didn’t have the time to spare. I glanced down at my watch. 12:05. No, best to wait on him.

  I fetched two iced teas from the kitchen and returned to the office and a lively conversation on baby names. The predominate choice being male.

  Mama glanced over when I closed the door behind me. “What do you think, Jolene? Graham or Creighton? Which one do you like?”

  “Neither.” I placed the iced teas down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “I’m partial to Raleigh or Tucker.”

  “Raleigh Hazard.” The name rolled off Billie Jo’s tongue. “Tucker Hazard. Hmm. Also not bad. Hey, thanks, sis.”

  Mama gave me a wide smile. “I like Tucker Hazard. It incorporates both family names in one.”

  “So I assume you believe it’s a boy,” I addressed my question to Billie Jo.

  “Roddy insists it doesn’t matter one way or the other, but deep down I know he wants a son. What man doesn’t?” Her eyes clouded with doubt.

  Knowing a sure-fire way of changing the somber mood, I picked up one of the many shopping bags to peer inside. “So, what did you buy for the baby?”

  It worked. Billie Jo took the bag from my outstretched hand and dumped the contents onto Deena’s desk and began chatting happily away as she held up each item for our oohs and aahs. From the items displayed, Billie Jo too, had her heart set on a son. With the mood significantly lighter the next fifteen minutes sped by before the intercom buzzed with Holly alerting me that my next appointment was ready and waiting in my stylist chair.

  I excused myself and left my sisters and mother planning the new nursery, and greeted Mrs. Benson. Once I had her permanent wave finished, I rolled her hair and sat her under the dryer, and grabbed my phone out of the drawer. Making my way to the kitchen, I checked my voice mail to find a message from Bradford saying he wouldn’t be available until this evening around nine and would drop by my house then.

  On my way back to my station I paused by the facial room door to press my ear against the panel. Silence. For a split second, misgivings set in. Had Careen somehow slipped out without my knowledge? But how? Scarlett had set a cosmic barrier to prevent her prisoner from escaping. Hitchhiking in my aura had been the only way she’d escaped before. Had some unsuspecting victim wondered in a
ccidently and unwittingly provided Careen with an out? I doubted it—however, indecision froze me to the spot.

  I rattled the knob. Locked, and I had the only key in my apron pocket. My hand closed around the hard object. Yep, still here in my pocket. I fingered the key, fighting the overwhelming urge to enter. I withdrew it from my pocket and slipped it into the lock.

  “Don’t do it, Jolene,” Deena’s voice whispered in my ear. “Remember your warning?”

  I swung around to peer into my sister’s impish face. “Good timing, sis. I almost visited disaster on my own head. God, I’ll be glad when this is over.”

  “When do you think that will be?”

  I grabbed her by the arm and steered her into the empty kitchen. “You didn’t say anything to Mama or Billie Jo, did you? I mean about me helping Bradford with his investigation?”

  “Absolutely not.” She let out a muffled sound of exasperation. “There’s enough going on without adding another problem. Do you believe we’ll ever be able to use the facial room for something other than a ghost hotel?”

  “I’m thinking of asking the Catholic Church to come in and bless the shop,” I answered honestly. “That is as soon as Careen is on her way home.”

  “Any idea of when that will be?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Today would be better.”

  “Scarlett won’t be back until tomorrow.”

  “What time?”

  “I don’t know, Deena. Scarlett hardly checks with me with her comings and goings. We’re at her mercy.”

  Annoyance crossed her face. “Atlanta looks better and better every day.”

  “You know, dead people live in Atlanta, too,” I reasoned.

  Her expression indicated I’d grown two heads and a tail. “I swear sometimes I believe you need to be institutionalized.”

  “At times, I do too.” I gave her a sisterly hug, turned on my heel and waltzed out the door and back to my station where Mrs. Benson waited for her comb out.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. Every thirty minutes I’d check my phone for any new updates from Bradford, and by closing I craved a ten-gallon bucket of Margaritas to put a lid on my anxiousness. After waiting for the salon to empty out, I once again pressed my ear to the facial room door to hear a faint rustling coming from within. Assured that Careen remained in her pink prison, I locked up the salon and drove home free from any encumbrances.

  Once home, I showered and changed into black jeans and T-shirt, made a light supper and spent some time in my home office paying bills and answering emails from long distance friends and family.

  Finished with obligations, I picked up the phone and punched in Billie Jo’s number. Earlier today, I hadn’t been able to pick her brain about a certain book with Mama’s big ears tuned into every word.

  Billie Jo answered on the first ring. “Hey, I was just gettin’ ready to call you. Something’s up so spill it.”

  I choose my words carefully, not wanting to place any unnecessary strain on her delicate condition. “I finally broke down and read one of Vanessa’s Dark Enchantment books. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

  Her heavy sigh echoed over the line. “You’re lying, but I’ll bite. How can I help you?”

  I dove in. “I’m confused about Queen Lada’s lair.”

  “The House of the Rising Sun?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. What’s so special about an ordinary castle in the hills?”

  “Nothing’s special, Jolene, that’s what makes it extraordinary.”

  “You lost me.”

  Billie Jo heaved another sigh. “The Queen of the Vampires resides in an ordinary dwelling under the noses of the local townspeople. Queen Lada hides in plain sight.”

  “How does the name, House of the Rising Sun, fit in the story?”

  “Damn, Jolene, use the brains God gave you.” Billie Jo huffed. “The morning sun bathes the Queen of Evil’s dwelling in light. Sunlight kills vampires. The subtext suggests she’s looking for her final exit or, and this is where Vanessa’s brilliance shines through, Queen Lada is seeking redemption for the evil she’s perpetuated. Hence, House of Secrets.

  I thought about this for a moment surprised at my sister’s insight into the literature and what this could mean in my search for Vanessa van Allen. And I have to admit, I still couldn’t grasp the concept.

  In my silence, Billie Jo’s aggravation echoed over the line. “All of this is explained in the first book, Jolene.”

  “The first book?”

  “Yeah, the first book, Twisted Kiss.”

  I groaned. “I don’t believe I have the stomach to read another. This stuff makes my insides quake. How do you stand the vulgar sex? Mama would stroke out if she knew you read this garbage.”

  “Seems I’m not the only one, Twisted Sister,” Billie Jo pointed out. “And this baby owes his or her existence to Book Three: The Last Awakening.”

  “Information I don’t need, Billie Jo,” I explained. “Keep it light and simple is my mantra.”

  “So now that we’ve had a book club meeting, how about telling me why all the questions about the Dark Enchantment Vampire Series? And don’t waste my time with anything other than the truth. I’m not an invalid with this pregnancy.”

  I considered her request and decided to share my latest adventure with her. Of course, not until she promised to keep our parents in the dark. With a solemn promise, I spilled my guts, ghosts and all. Billie Jo loved it and complained about being kept out of the loop. Couldn’t be helped I explained. Maybe next time if there was one. That seemed to satisfy her.

  “I’ll skim through the books again for any other clues,” she promised and disconnected the line.

  For the tenth time, I glanced at my watch. Nine o’clock had come and gone and still no word from Bradford. With each passing hour, the clue grew colder. Pacing the den, I reached for my phone on the coffee table and punched in his number. Damn, voicemail. Frustrated with the delay, I tucked the Pink Panther in my back waistline, grabbed my keys, and left the house. Firing up the Mustang, I backed out the drive and took off for the Maco mansion.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Old Maco Mansion

  The ivy-covered two-storied house hunkered back from the street behind a screen of overgrown pine trees and bushes. The once manicured lawn was now strewn with prickly weeds, pinecones, straw, and fallen branches. In the faint light of the moon, behind a rusty gate, I could detect the broken stone steps leading to the front sagging wooden porch and the door beyond. I killed the engine and headlights and peered from the safety of my car at the dark, creepy mansion, once again questioning the wisdom of my decision. Even with the Pink Panther within hands’ reach, I realized I had wasted my time in coming here. No way would I risk my neck in the condemned house. Best to return home and wait for Bradford.

  I reached for the ignition just as my cell phone rang. I fished it from my shoulder bag. Thank God, Bradford.

  “Jolene? Where are you? I’m at your house and you’re not.”

  “I’m at the Maco mansion,” I answered with relief.

  “What are you doing there?”

  I told him, much to his displeasure.

  “Don’t leave the safety of your car, you hear. I’m on my way.”

  The line disconnected, and I rolled up the driver’s window for extra precaution, determined to stay put and out of trouble. The warning was still echoing in my thoughts when a woman’s scream rent the night. Startled by the piercing shriek coming from the deserted house, I automatically swung open the driver’s door and bolted up the stone steps leading to the front door. With the Pink Panther cradled confidently in my outstretched grasp, I eased open the unlocked front door and inched inside the inky darkness, my ears sonically zeroing in on every creek and groan of the old house. With practiced steps, I crept slowly through the foyer and into a large open room, which appeared to be a parlor or living room, I wasn’t sure. Broken and deteriorated furniture dotted the spa
ce. A musty, mildewed odor permeated my nostrils bringing tears to my eyes.

  I froze as whispers of sounds echoed from the back of the house. Unsure how to proceed, I allowed the atmosphere of the house to settle around me. My psychic radar filtered disturbing cosmic vibrations flowing statically from the farthest reaches of the mansion. With my heightening intuitive faculties on high, I swept the house for celestial visitors. None. The house was clean of ghosts.

  A woman’s whimper reached my ears, but I couldn’t distinguish the direction in this cavernous room. I would have to explore the mansion to discover the origin. On silent feet, I moved from room to room in semidarkness, with only the light of a half-moon streaming through dirty, broken, floor-to-ceiling windows covered in filthy drapes.

  Upstairs, I paused on the landing, imagining the slightest footfalls on the dusty hardwood floor. Spooked with the unfamiliar territory, and wishing I’d heeded Bradford’s warning and stayed safe in the car, I took several hesitate steps forward where the inky darkness swallowed me. Relying on my instinct, I inched along the wall, feeling for doorknobs, and then pressing my ear against the panel for any sign of movement or female distress. Even though I despised the vampire goddess, I’d come too far to stop now. Damn, Bradford, what’s keeping you? Carefully, I eased open the last door at the end of the hallway and stepped inside the room.

  A faint rustling from the corner of the room froze me to the floor. My arms ached from gripping my .38, but I dared not lower them. Sweat beaded on my brow and upper lip, and my heartrate quickened as I tried to still my racing mind. What now? Someone or something was in the room with me as I could hear faint gasping breaths.

  With the suddenness of an exploding bomb, a match flared, briefly creating a circle of light, highlighting a feminine hand as it struck the match to a candle. The light expanded, and I froze with horror as the shadowed person brought the candle closer to a figure tied to a wooden chair.

  Great balls of fire—Michael Halsey.