Tin God; Skeleton's Key; Ashes and Bone

by Stacy Green

  Jaymee flinched before she could stop herself. She hadn’t noticed a car in the drive; Gereau’s must have been parked near the private entrance. Her toes curled in her worn shoes. She longed to shove Fat Jonas aside, rush into Royce’s office, and demand the truth from him and Gereau. She spoke with as much sweetness as she could muster. “Jonas, please. I’m sure you know I found her.”

  “Yes. Why Miss Rebecca was so taken with you, I’ll never understand.”

  Jaymee’s brain managed to squash her pride before it caused her to say anything stupid. She wasn’t going to get anywhere with Jonas by pissing him off. He’d never had the balls to say anything to her when she cleaned because Rebecca was always around to shoo him off.

  She worked to keep her voice modulated and sweet just like a gentle southern girl was supposed to sound. “But I think Mr. Royce would want to see me.” She gestured to Nick standing silently behind her. “And Nick is Lana Foster’s husband. He’d like to pay his respects as well.”

  Jonas ran a stubby hand over his double chins. “What are you doing in Roselea?” He directed his question at Nick.

  “I’m in town visiting Lana’s family,” Nick answered. “I don’t have to tell you I know the pain of losing a spouse. I’d really like to extend Mr. Royce my sympathies. He knew my wife, of course.”

  As Jonas studied Nick, Jaymee had no doubt he was wondering what a gentleman like Nick was doing here with a loser like her. As if Jonas had any room to talk. He grew up outside of town in one of the old plantations still clinging to life and falling down around the family. Rumor was the home hadn’t even had modern plumbing. Yet here he was, acting as though he ruled over Evaline when he was no more than an employee, just like Jaymee. She bit her tongue.

  “This might be in poor taste,” Nick spoke again. He stood close now, close enough for Jaymee to smell his aftershave and feel the heat from his chest against her back. “I’m writing a book on haunted antebellum homes, and I’d intended to interview Miss Rebecca about her experiences here at Evaline. I’m sure Mr. Royce isn’t up to it right now, but if we could set something up, I’d much appreciate it.”

  Unbelievable. Jaymee turned to stare at Nick, her mouth dropping open. Did Nick really think a grieving widower–real or fake–would let him into the house to discuss something so trivial? And for Nick’s own personal gain? Couldn’t he think of a better damned excuse?

  She turned her gaze back to Jonas and was shocked when his ploy appeared to have the desired result. Jonas actually stretched his chubby cheeks into a shit-eating grin.

  “Really? Well, anything that gets Evaline in the public’s eye is good for business. Let me go speak with Mr. Royce.”

  He pointed a stubby finger at Jaymee. She wanted to break it off and shove it down his fat throat.

  “I won’t have you causing no trouble for Mr. Royce like you did your family. Don’t think I don’t remember that day in church.”

  Jaymee fought the urge to kick him in the shins. Stupid small towns. Less than thirty-thousand people meant no shortage of people being happy to remind her they knew her business.

  “Of course not. That was a long time ago, and we’re here for Rebecca. That’s all.”

  “Come inside and wait here.” Jonas permitted them entry into Evaline’s grand foyer and waddled away.

  The quiet house closed in. Light from one of Jaymee’s favorite antiques, the crystal chandelier Henrí Laurent had imported from France, reflected onto the oak floor.

  “Wow,” Nick whispered. “I’ve been in a few of these plantation homes, but this place is incredible.” He stopped short at the sight of Evaline’s crown jewel: a freestanding spiral staircase. “That’s got to be one of kind.”

  “It is,” Jaymee said. “The staircase is what every visitor wants to see, but Rebecca hated it. She said its openness gave her vertigo. That’s why she had the old servants’ staircase restored for private use.”

  The same staircase she’d climbed when she found Rebecca’s body.

  “Remember what we discussed?” Nick asked quietly.

  “Yes. I’m here to pay my respects. You’ll do the heavy questions. Pretend like I’m on Royce’s side.”

  “Right.”

  His mouth was too close to her ear. A current of cold air rushed up her spine, and she hoped he hadn’t noticed the shiver.

  “So Reverend Gereau’s here. That a typical thing?”

  “When someone dies, yes. But who knows what they’re really discussing.”

  “You think Gereau is capable of murder?”

  Hell if she knew. “I’m not the best judge of character, it seems. At this point, I wouldn’t rule out anyone.” Jaymee glanced down the hallway. “A book on haunted antebellums? Jonas may have fallen for it, but Royce isn’t going to give you the time of day.”

  “Sure he will. You heard Jonas. This is great press after the death of his wife. A story for her, written after her tragic murder.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Maybe. But it’s true. Besides, if Jonas tells him I’m Lana’s husband, Royce won’t be able to say no.”

  Jonas returned, slightly out of breath.

  “Mr. Royce will see you.”

  * * *

  Nick followed Jonas through the expansive first floor, and Jaymee walked quietly next to him, taking in the house as though she’d never seen the inside. He knew what she was experiencing: the cloud of death. Everything associated with Rebecca looked tarnished. He’d experienced the same thing after Lana’s murder, sold most of their belongings and moved to a new apartment. He’d only kept Lana’s files, in case the families needed them, and a few of her prized possessions. Those were all locked away.

  “Oh!” Jaymee’s soft alto was husky with emotion. “I remember when Rebecca found this in the attic.”

  She stopped in front of an oil painting displayed above the marble fireplace. A regal woman stared down at them with the unsettling eyes of a still portrait, her brown hair partially swept back in a knot with several pin curls flowing to her shoulders. The canvas was faded and cracked, but the woman’s features–an upturned nose, wide eyes, small chin, ruby lips hinting at a smile–were still discernible.

  “She was so excited.”

  “It’s an original?”

  “Yes,” Jaymee said. “It’s Evaline Laurent herself. Historians told Rebecca it was probably painted around 1815, before the Laurents settled here. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Beautiful might not be the right word, Nick thought. Compelling, maybe. Mrs. Laurent looked too highbrow to be beautiful.

  “Jaymee Ballard,” a deep voice called out.

  Nick turned to see Royce Newton ambling out of a back office. He walked with a heavy step and stooped shoulders, and the forced smile he offered Jaymee made him appear even more miserable. Following him was a man roughly Royce’s age, probably in his mid-fifties. Dark hair, average build, understated clothes. Careworn face, tired smile. Nick turned to Jaymee, assuming this was Reverend Gereau. Her eyes were narrowed in hatred, and he hoped she’d be able to keep her cool.

  She stepped forward, extending her hand and ignoring the reverend. Her hand trembled. “Mr. Royce. Rebecca was a great lady and always good to me. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “I appreciate that. I know she thought a lot of you.”

  “This is a friend of mine.” Jaymee stepped aside deferring to Nick. She looked at him with such warmth and expectation that jitters raced through him, leaving his hands tingling.

  With a strange pang of regret, Nick shifted his attention to Royce. He was a good-looking man. A good six feet tall with broad shoulders and a stern expression–no doubt an imposing presence in the courtroom.

  He extended his hand. “Nick Samuels.”

  Royce blinked once and then returned the handshake. “What a lovely lady Lana was. Did everything in the world for the families she was assigned to.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  The man standing beside Newton steppe
d forward and offered his hand to Nick. “Reverend Penn Gereau, Roselea Baptist. I had the privilege of watching your wife grow up.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Nick had trouble matching the polite, soft-spoken man with the selfish monster Jaymee believed him to be.

  “You as well,” Gereau said. “Lana’s loss is as tragic as Rebecca’s.” He cleared his throat and shook his head but never broke eye contact. “I’ll be praying for both of them.”

  “Nick was in town to visit Lana’s family,” Jaymee said. “When he heard I was coming to see you, he wanted to pay his respects as well.”

  Gereau looked down at Jaymee, reaching out his hand as if to touch her shoulder, and then quickly pulled away. His eyebrows knitted together making the wrinkles on his forehead more pronounced. “Jaymee, I’m praying for you as well.”

  “I don’t need it, Reverend.”

  The hatred in her voice was poorly disguised. Reverend Gereau seemed to shrink on the spot. “Royce, you know how to find me. I’ll see myself out.” He offered Nick a final nod and then turned down an adjacent hall to what Nick assumed was the private entrance.

  Royce gestured for them to follow him. “It’s very kind of you both to come by.” He led them to an office in the back of the first floor. Bigger than Nick’s bedroom back in Jackson, the room boasted several expensive antiques.

  “Thank you.” Jaymee took the seat Royce pulled out for her, and Nick took the seat next to her.

  “You and Rebecca did a wonderful job of restoring Evaline.”

  “It was her pride and joy.” The man looked down at his desk and swallowed. His lips pursed into a tight knot, and his chin trembled. “Now it’s all I have left of her.”

  “She’s at peace now,” Jaymee said. “With God and watching over you, I’m sure.”

  “I can only hope, my dear.” Royce laid a manicured hand on the oak desk. He drew a breath and squared his shoulders switching to what Nick assumed was a courtroom persona. “So, Mr. Samuels. Jonas tells me you’re writing a book?”

  “Nick. And yes, on Mississippi antebellum homes.”

  “Hmm. You’re still with the Clarion-Ledger?”

  “You looked me up.”

  “Of course. Given my current…situation, I have to be careful.” He traced his mouth with his index finger. “Considering your last story was about a murder investigation, I almost turned you out.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’m sure you know I’m currently a suspect in Rebecca’s murder.”

  Jaymee’s hand went to her heart. “You’re kidding. You weren’t even in town.”

  “Yes, but the police seem to think I could have doubled back.” Royce sighed. “Evidently it’s the logical choice.”

  “Husbands are always the first people the cops look at,” Nick said. “And I’m talking from personal experience. Soon as the detective is finished, he can move on to real suspects.”

  “I truly hope so.”

  Jaymee made a clucking sound with her mouth and shook her head, her expression a mask of disdain. Royce nodded in appreciation, displaying his palms in a tired, ‘What are you going to do?’ gesture.

  “Still,” Jaymee said. “That must be difficult.”

  “Yes. Knowing my wife’s killer is walking around out there while the police waste time on me is extremely frustrating.”

  “Not knowing is the worst part,” Nick agreed.

  Royce nodded. He rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his hands. “How long has it been since you lost Lana?”

  “Four years.” Nick wondered if the rawness would ever heal.

  “And police still have no suspects?” Royce’s voice rose in seemingly genuine surprise. “I had no idea.”

  “There are suspects. Just not enough evidence. Yet.”

  “You still hold out hope?”

  “We’re closer than ever to her killer.”

  “Really?” Royce reached for the large, silver-framed wedding photo sitting on his desk and placed it in front of him, scrunching up his face in such a strong grimace it almost looked comical.

  “Yes.” Nick shifted in his seat, cast a quick glance at Jaymee, and then leaned forward. “I confess, I had a double agenda in coming here. I wanted to ask you a few questions about Lana.”

  Royce swiveled in his chair so that his face fell into shadow. “Somehow I’m not surprised.”

  “Nick, I really don’t think this is appropriate.” Jaymee played her role perfectly.

  “I’m sorry. Just a few questions.” Nick didn’t give Royce time to argue. “Did Lana ever talk to you about adoption?”

  Royce’s gaze darted to Nick and then to the large western window. “Not that I recall. Were the two of you considering that option?”

  “No. But I’ve discovered she was looking into illegal adoption shortly before she was killed.”

  Royce’s stare was hard. He rubbed his collarbone. “One of her cases?”

  “Looks like it.” Nick didn’t break eye contact. “I found some notes. She was looking at Hannah’s House–the unwed mother’s home–as possibly being involved. She thought they might be funneling prospective kids.”

  “That’s awful.” Jaymee lowered her head. Her voice trembled with the perfect amount of sorrow. “To have a child stolen from you–how would a parent move forward?”

  “I’m not sure you could.” Royce faced them again. “Lana never mentioned anything to me. Then again, I practiced family law, but I didn’t handle adoptions. My specialty was divorce, paternity testing–things of that nature. I wouldn’t have been much help to her.”

  “You never had any dealings with Hannah’s House?” Nick asked.

  “No,” Royce said. His tone signaled the end of the topic. “Did you have questions regarding your book, or are we finished?”

  “Of course he has questions.” Jaymee sounded contrite, but Nick saw her toes curling in her worn sandals. Her feet had nearly turned white. She’d had enough.

  Thirty minutes later, Nick had plenty of ghost stories about Evaline Hall and very little information about Royce Newton. Every time he tried to pry into the attorney’s personal life at the mansion, Newton deflected. He said nothing more about his wife’s murder, but most of the paranormal experiences centered around Rebecca Newton.

  “She’d hear things at night,” Royce said. “I’d tell her it was the old house settling, but she talked about footsteps and the rocking chair moving. Even set out a digital recorder to capture voices. She claimed she could hear someone saying ‘go away,’ but I couldn’t make it out.”

  “I remember that,” Jaymee said. “That wasn’t too long after you moved in here. Rebecca played the tape for me. Awfully scary.”

  Royce extended his hand to Nick. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can add to your book.” He focused on Jaymee. “Do you mind if we have a private word?”

  Jaymee glanced up at Royce, unable to hide her surprise. She recovered quickly and gave Royce a demure smile. “Of course.”

  What could Royce want with Jaymee? Did he intend to pump her for information or threaten her? He wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack her with Nick in the house, but there were other ways to lash out.

  Jaymee’s hand rested on his arm. Nick’s skin seemed to warm from the inside out. “I’ll be out in a few minutes, all right?”

  He searched her face looking for any sign she wanted an escape clause. “I’ll wait for you in the main entry.”

  11

  Suspicion rooted Jaymee to her seat. She tried to relax, but her body was poised to spring.

  Royce took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He pushed the gold frames onto the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. “So, how are you doing?”

  The conversational tone threw Jaymee off guard. Royce’s voice was too gentle. She didn’t trust it.

  “I’ll manage, thank you.”

  “I know finding her must have been horrific.”

  Mor
e like gut-wrenching hell. “It was. But I’m sure losing your wife is much worse.”

  “Yes. But I’m concerned for you. Is there anyone you can talk to? I know you and Rebecca were close.”

  Sugary sweetness layered his tone and made Jaymee nauseous. At the very least, Royce was an adulterer. Even worse, possibly the man who killed her friends. Tread carefully.

  “She was very good to me.”

  “I know she considered you a friend.”

  Jaymee’s bottom lip stung from the force of her teeth. She licked the sore spot. “Is there anything you need from me, Royce?”

  “I wondered if you could think of anyone who might have hurt my wife. She didn’t have a lot of female friends in town, you know. She probably spoke to you more than anyone. Did she tell you anything the last time you saw her? Anything she’d recently gone through? Anything to make you think she was upset?”

  “Not that I can remember.”

  “Someone had to have hated my wife to do what he did to her. Police are certain it was someone she knew, since there are no signs of a break-in. I can’t believe someone randomly decided to kill her. Something must have happened before to set him off. I thought perhaps Rebecca might have talked to you about it.”

  Did he know about Paul’s threat to Rebecca? Is that what he was trying to get out of her? She struggled for the proper response. Jaymee had no interest in protecting her father, but she wasn’t about to align herself with Royce.

  “Jaymee, think hard. Did Rebecca tell you about anything? Was she upset with someone? Had she gotten any bad news?”

  Her jittering nerves flashed to heated irritation. Sonofabitch was fishing around to see if Rebecca had told Jaymee the dirt she had on Royce. She worked hard to keep her voice even.

  “Not at all. Last time I saw her, everything was normal.” Jaymee stood. If she stayed in this room any longer, she’d start running her mouth and blow everything. “I’d better get back to Nick.”

  His heavy chair scraped against the antique hardwood, and then Royce was at her side, hand on her elbow. Jaymee considered digging it into his ribs. “Of course. Let me walk you out.” His fingers pressed into her skin as he led her through the hall. “Please, if you remember anything, you’ll let me know.”