The House of Memory (Pluto's Snitch Book 2)

by Carolyn Haines

  I wasn’t so sure about that, but the fact Judge Sayre was eyeing the circumstances around Ritter Ames’s disappearance might be the one thing that offered her a bit of safety. Her abductors might be afraid to harm her. Kidnapping was one charge. Kidnapping plus murder was the death penalty. Ritter Ames might survive this, unless she knew too much.

  Zelda, Camilla, and I sat in a back room of the kitchen of the Montgomery golf and country club. The world where the servants worked was far, far away from the starched-white tablecloths, glittering crystal, and airy dining room of the club, where ladies lunched while their husbands golfed. In the small, airless back room of the kitchen, I, at last, felt safe.

  Tallulah had been called to Huntsville for a family emergency. She was still an enigma to me. She’d moved to New York at the age of sixteen, a wild girl who made no secret of her sexual escapades and excessive drinking, but she had strong bonds with her grandparents, who’d raised her following her mother’s death. The red Alabama clay held her feet, despite her success on the London stage. She’d almost refused to go to Huntsville, but Zelda had convinced her that we could handle events in Montgomery.

  “I know you’re worried.” Zelda lit another cigarette. When she was upset, she smoked almost as much as Tallulah.

  “No one has seen Reginald or Kuddle since they were at Buster’s Bar.” My partner had vanished into thin air, along with the private investigator. Kuddle was a man I now viewed as potentially dangerous. A gumshoe who owned a fancy teal car, a color some would describe as green. They’d left for the Ames farm and never arrived, and I’d found no trace of their trip when I’d asked the ferrymen. Either Martha had lied to me—played me like a fine fiddle—or Kuddle had lied to Martha.

  An elderly Negro brought a glass of iced tea and put it down in front of me. “Thank you,” I whispered. Just as Zelda had predicted, the servants at the country club had united to hide Camilla. They adored Zelda and would do anything they could to help her.

  “Law officers in five counties are looking for Kuddle and Reginald. That car is easy to spot. Father also hired a passel of off-duty deputies to search. They were headed back to the Ames farm and to talk with the ferry operators. I hate to say it, but the ferrymen might tell the lawmen things they wouldn’t tell you.”

  She was right. My gender could be a drawback at times, an asset at others. Even if the lawmen found a lead, miles and miles of dirt roads snaked through deep Alabama woods. Plenty of creeks and rivers rushed toward the Alabama River. There were too many places to dump a body. Reginald might very well be dead, and we might never find his remains. I thought of the ghost girl stepping out of the woods on the drive to Bryce. Was her corpse buried somewhere near that spot? Was that what she was trying to tell me?

  I had a sudden, almost overpowering urge to call Uncle Brett. But what could he do from hours away? I would only upset him and leave him helpless to take any action. I had to face this alone.

  “What about tonight?” Zelda asked softly. Camilla was in the kitchen talking with Nan, one of the cooks, and helping her peel shrimp for a dinner, a fact that would have Maude Granger keeling over dead. Looking at Camilla, smiling as she worked, I saw the softness of a child in her features. She’d been through hard things but had managed to retain that innocence. She might be one of the lucky few who could stretch it through her entire life. I wanted that for her.

  “Tonight we go forward.” There was no other choice. We couldn’t continue to hide Camilla, and she refused to marry David until she was free of the evil influence of Roswell House.

  “And Reginald?”

  I swallowed a sob. “He’s smart. He’ll stay alive, and Judge Sayre’s agents will find him.”

  “Will you be able to handle whatever is in the house without him?” Zelda asked.

  “I want you to find a priest. One who will help me if I get in trouble.” I looked at her. “Just in case I need him.” I wasn’t sure that a priest could help, but it would be better to have a man of the cloth available than to need him and not be able to find him.

  “What are we dealing with?” Zelda’s eyes glittered with adrenaline. “You know, don’t you?”

  My last encounter with the entity had been enlightening—and terrifying. I hadn’t had a chance to speak with anyone about what I’d experienced. “Not a ghost, but something from the other side. Something that has a great stake in Roswell House. It doesn’t want to leave, and I think it’s picked Camilla for its . . . host.”

  “Why Camilla?”

  That was the question I hadn’t answered. The most important question. And now time had run out. I either had to begin the séance or concede defeat without even trying. Camilla would be returned to Bryce and the brain surgery. We had to make an attempt, even if it was dangerous. Even if we failed.

  “Camilla has a connection to that house. I don’t know what it is, and we don’t have time to search any longer. This thing, it’s strong. If Reginald doesn’t return . . .”

  “We have David to help us.”

  I tried not to show my concern that Zelda and I couldn’t stop a possessed Camilla from going after her fiancé. “He may be the target of this specter’s anger. If that’s true, he’s in more danger than anyone. He bought Roswell House and is making changes. Maybe the renovations are what stirred this spirit up.”

  “Then I’ll get Dr. Abbott to stand by, too. He’ll help us.”

  I hoped she was right, but I didn’t know if a man of science would willingly participate in a séance. “I’m going to speak with Madam Petalungro. I need her help, and she’ll want to know about Reginald.”

  “You should go home and clean up. Use the phone there; then try to take a little nap.”

  “I need to return David’s car.”

  “You keep it. He isn’t at the bank. I don’t know where he is, but I’ll track him down and pick him up on the way to Roswell House. Do you need anything?”

  “There’s been no word from David either?”

  “Not since this morning. But he couldn’t be far. You have his car. I’m sure he’ll turn up at the bank.”

  “He and Bernard found something, in a safe-deposit box.” I couldn’t help worrying.

  “I’ll find David and get the supplies. You make certain Roswell House is ready.”

  I made a list for her. Candles, holy water, religious texts—I had no idea what I might need. I’d never seen a ritual directed at an entity that might not be a ghost. My only experience came from the land of fiction, the stories of writers such as Doyle and Henry James.

  Zelda took the list and gave me an impulsive hug. “I’ll find David. And I’ll bring a gun this evening. Just in case. Daddy has one in his bedside drawer.”

  “I’ll meet you at Roswell in two hours.” I wanted to argue against the firearm, but I didn’t. The entity was powerful, and if it grabbed hold of any one of us, it might turn us to murder. The truth was I was petrified of what I was about to do. But I was more scared of doing nothing.

  Sleep was out of the question, and though I was tempted to go straight to Minnie’s house and phone Madam, I went to Bernard’s instead. He was sitting on the front porch in the shade, a cup of coffee in his trembling hand. It appeared he was making an honest effort to slack off the hooch.

  “Care for some coffee?” he asked.

  “I’ll get it.” I walked inside and poured a cup without cream or sugar. I needed the jolt of black coffee. I went back outside and sat on the steps, where I could easily see Bernard. “Where’s David?”

  “He hired a car and sent me home. He said he had to find Martha.”

  “Martha the . . . prostitute?” I couldn’t think of a nicer word.

  “Yep. Had to do with the big secret in the safe-deposit box.”

  “What was the secret?” I forced my body not to fidget.

  “Seems like Wick Roswell maybe didn’t murder that homesteader family, after all.”

  His hand started to shake, and I reached for his coffee cup and steadi
ed it. He had my attention. “Then who?”

  “His girlfriend, Nina Campbell. According to the papers in the box, written by Wick himself, Nina hacked up those two girls and left word that the rest of the family would be butchered if the Peebles didn’t leave the area. She said she’d live on the property with Wick, and no homesteaders were going to stop her. She threatened to kill the rest of the children, so the Peebles packed up and moved without leaving a trace of where they went.”

  “But Wick didn’t marry Nina Campbell. He married a Harlow girl. Why would Nina Campbell kill for him if he was going to marry someone else?”

  “Indeed, Wick did marry Priscilla in a huge ceremony in Roswell House. The work on the house had just been completed, and the wedding was the social event of the season.”

  “And what about Nina?”

  “Up until the wedding, it seems Wick led Nina Campbell to believe she would be his wife and the mistress of the house.”

  “If she murdered for him . . .”

  “Yes, well, she couldn’t complain too loudly about being used and dumped, could she? Besides, she was from the wrong side of town. Everyone in Montgomery knew she was a violent whore. Even before Wick she had a reputation for cutting up the other girls . . . and some of their clients. Decent women crossed the street to avoid walking near her.”

  Nina was fine for Wick’s bloody partner in crimes and sex, but when it came to marriage, he selected a fresh flower, a woman of good standing. Someone to bear his children and carry on the Roswell name. Old story. Nina didn’t sound like the kind of woman to take being spurned without a fight. I had to wonder what she’d done to Wick to get even.

  “This helps a lot, Bernard. Thank you. And you said David was seeking Martha, the woman at that bar.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “He didn’t say, but he was troubled about something. He brought me home and took that jug of moonshine with him. I told him to. If it’s here, I’ll drink it.”

  “Is there someone who can sit with you?” I’d heard stories about people coming off booze. A doctor might be required.

  “Lurleen from the bank said she’d stop by after work and bring me a plate of food. Put some meat on my bones.” He sipped the coffee, his hand steadier. “There’s still time for me to have a real life. I can put things back together, maybe practice civil law. David said he could use me at the bank.”

  I wanted that for him. In our brief encounters, Bernard’s good heart had captured my affection. But I had to get moving. My partner was in grave danger, and David would hopefully soon be at Roswell House to help with the evening’s activities. Now I had to speak to Madam Petalungro.

  At the Sayre house, Althea let me in. Minnie was out; she’d gone to a meeting of women determined to expand educational opportunities in the county. Rural children were often left without schooling because the distance to travel to school was too far. I used the telephone in Judge Sayre’s study. I kept the conversation short, and both Madam and I hung up more troubled than when the call began. She was worried about Reginald, and I was terrified that I wouldn’t be able to control the events of the evening. But I had a plan, and it was all in or all out.

  “Miss Raissa, you look like someone whupped you with a worry switch,” Althea said. She set a plate with a chicken salad sandwich and a glass of sweet tea beside me. “I know you’ll say you aren’t hungry, but this will help.”

  I wasn’t hungry. The sandwich I’d eaten for lunch seemed to still sit like a stone in my stomach. I ate anyway, and, remarkably, Althea was correct. I did feel better. The food and sweet, cold tea gave me the boost of energy I needed to force myself out the door and toward an encounter that literally made my lungs contract. And, as for Reginald, I knew I was helpless to find him. Judge Sayre had men, tracking dogs, and even federal officers in the search. There was nothing I could do to find my partner that wasn’t being done by people far more experienced in such searches than I was.

  I took a cool bath, dressed, and left the Sayre house before I had to explain why I looked like Count Dracula had drained the blood from my body. Zelda would have to make her own excuses, but I suspected that Minnie and the judge no longer attempted to keep up with her. She was ready to return to New York, and after tonight, she would be on the road at the first chance.

  The sun was still unbearably hot as I drove to the isolated mansion. Turning down the drive beneath the trees, the air cooled. I wondered if it was the shade or something more sinister. I parked at the very edge of the front lawn, as far from the house as I could get. No one else had arrived, yet the front door stood open. The house taunted me.

  Madam Petalungro had warned me that I was vulnerable to the entity and that it wanted to take possession of me. Camilla was the first choice, but, because of my sensitivity, I could also be manipulated. I could only hope Zelda showed up with a strong priest, Dr. Abbott, and a medical bag full of tranquilizers, should they be necessary. Though the heat and humidity made sweat run down my back, I waited in the car. I couldn’t risk going inside alone. I knew better now.

  I heard the sound of another car approaching, and I got out of the vehicle and stood in the shade of a sycamore tree. The white, barkless skin of the tree, peeling in places, reminded me of the dead skin of the drowned girl. I walked toward the car, which was being driven by Zelda. Camilla was in the passenger seat. I’d hoped some of the men would arrive first, but that hadn’t turned out to be the case. We would wait outside.

  I glanced at the house as I walked to greet the new arrivals, and I stopped. Someone stood at a third-floor window. The ballroom. The woman had an hourglass figure, carved by whalebone, no doubt. Her upswept hair crowned her head. She was tall, and if I was not mistaken, she held a long butcher knife.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Raissa, is something wrong?” Zelda touched my shoulder, snapping me out of my trance. When I looked up again, the window was empty. Camilla had stepped away from us. She knelt at a flower bed, examining an exotic bloom that had been freed of overgrowth by the workmen.

  “Did you find David?” I didn’t want to tell her what I’d seen in the window.

  “He’s on his way with the priest and Dr. Abbott.” She hesitated and got my full attention. “He was arrested and put in jail. That’s where he’s been.”

  I couldn’t believe this. “For what?”

  “Trespassing at the Granger home. After he took Bernard home, he went there to talk to Maude. It got very heated, and Maude actually had him arrested. She said he was threatening her and wouldn’t leave. The world has gone crazy.”

  “Threatening her with what?” Had David found something in the safe-deposit box that might jeopardize Maude in some way?

  “He said he’d tell us when he got here.”

  “Maude must know we took Camilla from Bryce.”

  “She suspects. Strongly. But David gave nothing away.” Zelda’s grin was impish. “Camilla is free of Maude now. She’ll never forgive her mother for having David arrested, and I doubt David will forgive Maude either. Even if Camilla lives in Montgomery, Maude will no longer control her. This is the best thing that could have happened between them.”

  “Let’s just hope that Maude’s revenge isn’t a surgical probe into Camilla’s brain.” I couldn’t be happy the battle between mother and daughter was out in the open. Confrontation left little room for retreat, and the only thing I wanted was a safe and happy life for Camilla. She was not a modern girl like Zelda or Tallulah. I didn’t believe she wanted to be forever estranged from her family.

  “We won’t let that happen. If this doesn’t work, Camilla will leave with me in the morning for New York. We’ve agreed to it. If David loves her as he claims, he will marry her and move away from Alabama. His family owns banks in the city. They never have to come near Roswell House again.”

  That might be for the best. If the young couple packed up and left Roswell House right this minute, David could sell it.
Or burn it. In a few months, Camilla would be eighteen. She would be married, and if she chose to visit family, she could come home on her own terms. The problem, as Camilla herself had pointed out, was that there was no guarantee whatever infected Roswell House would not follow her. That it hadn’t happened yet was no guarantee that it couldn’t. I’d read enough and learned enough from Madam to accept that spirits, entities, demons—call them what you will—were not bound by physical laws. Besides, there were other spirits imprisoned here. I couldn’t abandon the twin girls who lived in terror. The malevolent thing that had attached to Camilla held sway over other spirits.

  Another car pulled into the front yard, and David, a priest, and Dr. Abbott got out. The priest was transfixed by the house, as if he sensed the evil within. David introduced him as Father Gregory Montclair.

  “Excuse me, Father,” David said, motioning us all closer. “The safe-deposit box held the original deeds to Roswell House and a diary written by a Roswell cousin. She detailed some incidents that shocked Bernard as much as they did me. Bernard knew of the death of one of Wick’s daughters in a horse accident, but the other also died in a tragic way. She was leaning out an upstairs window, and the glass shattered. A shard fell and severed an artery. She bled to death before anyone could help her.”

  “Bernard didn’t know this?” I asked.

  “Apparently rumors of the curse were already circulating. The family buried the details of Daisy Roswell’s death to avoid more scandal. The diarist also believed the house was haunted.”

  Dr. Abbott glanced around at all of us, black bag in hand. “I don’t like this.”

  “Neither do I.” I squared my shoulders. “But it’s the decision Camilla made. Not just for herself, but because it’s the right thing to do. Let’s get started.”

  “Raissa, I need to speak with you.” David motioned me away from the group. “Be careful. There’s more to Roswell House than you know.”