by Jan Burke
“Was David killed because of this?” I asked.
He nodded slowly. He placed a hand over his chest, eyes downcast, as if to say, “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” I said, but I was lost for a while. When I had managed to regain my composure, I said, “I’ve got to contact Detective Russo.”
Chance wasn’t happy with this idea, but I ignored his gestures until he got frustrated and vanished. This time, I didn’t mind so much. I needed some time to absorb what he had told me.
I dialed police headquarters and asked for Russo. He wasn’t in, but the man who took my call said he would page him. I was grateful he wasn’t there; it occurred to me that it would be difficult to tell him that I had been talking to Chance Devereaux’s ghost. Only about fifteen minutes had passed when he called me back, but I was better prepared.
“Anything wrong, Dr. Blackburn?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “In fact, I think I may have some more information for you about my husband’s case, and perhaps another case as well. But first I need to ask you a few questions.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Detective Russo?”
“I’m here Dr. Blackburn. Just what is this all about?”
“Maybe this would be easier to explain if we spoke face-to-face.”
“I’ll be right over.”
When he arrived, I could tell he wasn’t exactly pleased with me. I was surprised to see him betraying any emotion, and found it a nice change; somehow it made his face more interesting. He politely declined my offer of coffee and we went into the living room.
“You said you had some questions for me?” he asked when we were seated on the couch, just as Chance and I had been seated earlier.
“Yes. I was wondering if you were familiar with the case of Chance Devereaux?”
He didn’t answer at once, and while I waited for him to reply, Chance reappeared. I tried not to look at him, but Detective Russo caught me glancing away. “What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Just now, something upset you.”
“I’m generally upset right now. You didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with the Devereaux case.”
“Do you believe he killed himself?”
Chance was gesturing to me to follow him. I wondered if he could use telepathy. I kept looking at Detective Russo, trying to tell Chance with my mind that he needed to be patient. It didn’t work. Chance walked over to the bookcase, and began pacing.
“I don’t believe I should discuss that with anyone outside the department,” Detective Russo said curtly.
“All right, if you can’t discuss it, you can’t. I’ll just tell you that I don’t believe he did.”
At that moment a book fell from the case with a thump that made me jump half out of my skin.
“You seem very nervous, Dr. Blackburn. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
I got up and picked up the book. Irving Stone’s Men to Match My Mountains. I looked up at Chance as I replaced it on the shelf. I finally understood what he was trying to say.
“I remembered that David had been very concerned about the allegations that were being made. He told me he had proof that Chance Devereaux had wanted to replace the acid tank, but that Mr. Emery refused.”
He didn’t seem to believe me. “That’s a very serious allegation. Mr. Emery could be subject to criminal prosecution if what your husband told you is true.”
“I’m almost certain of it.”
“And you think your husband was killed to keep him silent?”
“Yes.”
He eyed me skeptically. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”
“As you’ve noticed, Detective Russo, I’ve been very upset. David’s death was a horrible shock.” I didn’t have to fake my response there. Just thinking about it made the color drain from my face.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Blackburn,” he said.
“No, please. And please call me Anna-only my students call me Dr. Blackburn. All I’m asking is that you help me search the place where I believe David hid the papers.”
“And where would that be?”
“Our mountain cabin,” I said, daring to peek over at Chance, who was nodding and urging me to get going.
“Is that why your husband took off work on Wednesday afternoon?”
“What?”
He pulled out a notebook and flipped through it. Finding the page he was looking for, he said, “Your husband left work at about eleven o’clock Wednesday morning. He didn’t return all day. Said he wasn’t feeling well. A woman in the office-an Annette Mayes?-said she thought he left because he was so disturbed by the deaths of the three workers the day before.”
I had nothing to say. Chance distracted me, making motions that seemed to mean, “Stand up, let’s go!”
“Look, Detective Russo, could we talk about this on the way to the cabin?”
“Lady, before we take off on a two-hour drive, why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”
For three or four seconds, I actually considered doing it. But whatever sense I still had allowed me to remain silent. “I thought I could depend on your help. Obviously, I was wrong. I’m leaving for the cabin and I’m leaving now.”
“All right, all right,” Russo said in a peeved tone. “Let me call in.”
He made the call while I got my coat and keys and purse. Chance disappeared for a while. I looked at Detective Russo, and realized he probably didn’t have more than his suitcoat to keep him warm. I hesitated only for a moment before going into David’s closet. “I know you don’t mind, David,” I said as I took a winter coat out, “but it bothers me.” Chance suddenly appeared next to me, motioning me to hurry. “I am hurrying!” I said.
“Anna? Who are you talking to?” Detective Russo asked. He was standing at the bedroom door.
“Oh…just talking to myself. I was getting one of my husband’s coats for you. I thought you might be cold up in the mountains. There’s snow up there now. He’s a little-he was a little taller than you, so it might be too big. But it will be better than nothing.”
“Thank you,” he said, taking it from me. “Are you sure it won’t bother you to see me wear it?”
I looked away from him and shook my head. “Let’s go.”
Chance vanished. I figured he had his own means of transportation.
Detective Russo and I didn’t say anything to each other for about the first twenty minutes of the trip. Chance suddenly appeared as a reflection in the rearview mirror. I jumped a little, but fortunately, Russo didn’t see my reaction; he was looking out the passenger window.
He turned to me. “It was your husband, wasn’t it?”
“What?” I asked, puzzled.
“When I came into the bedroom, you were talking to your husband, asking him if you could loan me the coat.”
I colored, but didn’t answer.
“Don’t be embarrassed. I talked to my wife after she died.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know you had lost your wife.”
“About four years ago now. But at first, I used to talk to her all the time. I learned to be careful-almost got a stress leave imposed on me when my lieutenant overheard me one day.”
“Did your wife ever answer you?”
He looked out the window, and for moment, I didn’t think he was going to reply. When he spoke, his voice was so low I had to strain to hear it. “In her own way, yes, she did,” he said.
He laughed then, suddenly self-conscious. “You probably think the department sent you out with a nutcase.”
“No, not at all. Until recently, if you had told me you talked to the dead, I might have questioned your sanity. But not now, Detective Russo.”
“If you’re generous enough to loan me this coat, I suppose you might be willing to call me John,” he said.
“Okay, John. Anyway, I doubt anything you could t
ell me about conversing with your wife would surprise me. These last few days…” I stopped, needing to steady myself.
“Do you want me to drive?” he asked.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Chance was nodding.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it,” I said, and pulled off the freeway. “I’m a little shaky.”
“I understand,” he said. “You’ve held up really well so far, all things considered.”
I stopped the car and turned to look at him. “No, I haven’t. I just try not to make a public production out of it. It would seem to-I don’t know, cheapen his memory.”
He didn’t say anything, just traded places with me, and we got back on the freeway. I positioned myself on the seat so that I could look at Chance without being too obvious. “Do you know Mrs. Devereaux?” Russo asked.
“I met her for the first time at David’s funeral,” I said, looking back at Chance, who wore an angry expression.
“At least the two of you will both benefit nicely from Emery amp; Walden’s employee life insurance program.”
“We would have, but not now. I haven’t had a chance to get the details, but David told me that Mr. Emery was changing to a less expensive insurance, one that wouldn’t pay as much. But we’ve been in fairly good financial shape anyway, with no children and two incomes.”
“The insurance hasn’t changed yet,” he said.
“What?”
He glanced over at me. “It doesn’t change until the end of the month.”
“I didn’t know.”
“The interesting thing is, the current insurance not only pays higher than the new one, it also covers death for any reason.”
“You mean, including suicide?”
“Including suicide.”
Chance was clenching his fists.
“It wasn’t suicide,” I said, and both Chance and John Russo looked at me at once.
“What’s your interest in Devereaux?”
“I told you. David was concerned about him. He knew Chance Devereaux didn’t ignore the complaints about the tank. Devereaux felt bad about what happened, but he didn’t blame himself. He was a practicing Catholic. He wouldn’t have committed suicide.”
“How do you know about his being Catholic?”
I looked away. “David and I are Catholics. You know that from being at the funeral today if you didn’t know it before. David must have mentioned that Devereaux was Catholic, too.”
He was silent for a while, and I thought he might not believe me. I was right. But I didn’t know how right until he spoke up again.
“I don’t think you’re being honest with me,” he said. “I kept hoping you’d just tell me. I’m a cop, Dr. Blackburn. I’ve seen all kinds of things. It wouldn’t have surprised me.”
I didn’t understand his harsh tone, nor did I believe for a moment that the police were accustomed to having people say they had received information from ghosts. Not sane people. I gave him directions to the turnoff for the cabin, then asked, “Just exactly what did you mean by that last remark?”
He sighed. “I meant that a woman answering your description was seen keeping a regular weekly appointment with Mr. Devereaux. We got a tip from a clerk at the St. George Hotel. Said you registered as Mr. amp; Mrs. Devereaux, but he had been in the business long enough to know hanky-panky when he saw it. You were having an affair with Chance Devereaux, weren’t you?”
I couldn’t help but look back at Chance. He was shaking his head, pointing to his ring finger again, then at me. “Mr. Devereaux and I were each married,” I said.
Chance shook his head while I heard John Russo say, “To other people, yes. But you wouldn’t be the first married people on earth to look for greener pastures. Every Wednesday. What broke it off, Dr. Blackburn?”
His words, combined with Chance’s gestures, brought it home to me. “Oh my God. My husband and your wife.”
“Leave my wife out of this!” John Russo said angrily.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” I said, a numbness coming over me. I gave a questioning look at Chance, who nodded, then pointed at me and made the signs for ‘See no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil’. His flippancy angered me, but I understood what he meant. I had avoided learning the details of David’s infidelity, shut myself off from it. Now both Chance and I might pay for it.
I looked back at Russo. I took a deep breath. “That wasn’t me and it wasn’t Chance Devereaux, either. That was Louise Devereaux and my husband. Six months ago, David told me he was having an affair. He told me he met the woman every Wednesday night at the St. George Hotel. I taught a class that night. You can check that with the college. I never knew who it was. But Chance Devereaux and my husband look something alike, and Louise Devereaux and I both have blond hair and blue eyes. They must have used her name. I imagine if you look a little further, you’ll find that, like me, Chance Devereaux had some standing appointment on Wednesday nights, some business or other engagement that allowed his wife to meet my husband without causing Mr. Devereaux to be suspicious.”
Chance nodded in painful agreement, and made his ‘sorry’ gesture again, as if feeling guilty for his earlier routine. The discovery of the details of the affair was too much for me. It was as if I were back in time, once again experiencing that moment when David admitted to the affair. The hurt and anger and humiliation started all over again, and now the police were privy to the whole awful business. I started crying again, wishing to God I could have kept my composure.
“I’m sorry,” John said.
“That doesn’t help a damn bit,” I answered, and kept crying.
By then we had reached the cabin. Although it hadn’t snowed since Thursday, there was still plenty of it on the ground and the roof of the cabin. The snow was dirty by then. What must have been a pristine blanket two days before was now sullied and rumpled. The snowplows had been by, building up large drifts along the way. We parked on the roadside; the entrance to the drive was blocked by the snowdrift. Any other weekend, David would have cleared the drive while I went to work putting away groceries and building a fire…who’ll clear the driveway, now, David? I guessed it would be me.
Russo held off getting out of the car. He reached over and took my hand. “I truly am sorry, Anna. I feel like an ass. I should have checked it out. I only got the information from the clerk today, and not ten minutes later, you were calling, asking about Devereaux. I jumped to a conclusion, and I had no right to do that. I did a lousy job of asking you about it anyway. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to scratch my eyes out.”
I couldn’t answer.
“Please forgive me.”
“It seems like men have been asking me to do that a lot lately,” I said.
He let go of my hand and waited.
I managed to pull myself together, somehow. “I’m sorry, John. I’m having a perfectly horrible day and I can’t seem to keep my balance. Just when I feel as if I’m steady on my feet, something knocks them out from under me. You’re not to blame for it.”
“I don’t know about that, but like I said, I’m sorry. Feel up to going inside and looking for those documents?”
“Why not? What more could go wrong today?”
We got out of the car and started up the drive. John donned David’s coat, which was only a little too big for him. As we walked, I was fascinated by the fact that Chance, who walked next to me with a comforting arm around my shoulder, left no footprints. I was musing over the fact that his touch was as warm as any living person’s, when suddenly John stopped me from walking any farther. “Hold it. It snowed up here Thursday, right?”
“Right,” I said. “David and I were looking forward to-never mind, that doesn’t do any good.”
Chance gave my shoulder a little squeeze, as if to help me find my courage. Russo watched me for a moment, then asked, “Had you made any arrangements with anyone to come up here? Any other guests or a caretaker?”
“No, no one.”
“Would you mind staying here for a moment?”
I shook my head.
“Why don’t you give me the key to the front door? I’ll just make sure it’s safe.”
He walked to the cabin, careful not to disturb the prints. It gave me an opportunity to talk to Chance.
“You knew someone was here, didn’t you?”
Yes. He made the gesture for his wife.
“Louise and who else?”
He seemed stumped by this question, but then pantomimed filing his nails.
“Emery?”
He actually smiled, the first time I had seen him smile.
“I don’t think Russo believes you killed yourself.”
He patted me on the back.
“No, I think he doubted it before I said anything.”
He patted me again.
“Well, thanks. Did they find what they were looking for when they came here?”
He shook his head, smiling again, then suddenly laid a finger to his lips. I turned to see Russo coming out of the cabin. He was upset.
“Someone has been here and ransacked the place. I called the sheriff; they’ll be out as soon as they can, but it may be a little while. I don’t know if you’ll want to go in there. They did a very thorough job of it, and I doubt they missed anything.”
“I have a feeling they did,” I said. “I’ll be okay. Let’s take a look.”
“Try not to touch anything if you can help it.”
After everything else I had been through that day, seeing the cabin a complete wreck was only mildly unsettling. Russo was right; no piece of furniture was left in place, every drawer had been pulled out and dumped on the floor, pictures had been removed from their frames. I almost reached out and touched one of David and me, but Russo stopped me.
“You’ll be able to fix it after they dust for prints,” he said.
“I know who did this,” I said. “Louise Devereaux and Winslow Emery.”