Dead Man Talking

by TM Simmons

  Chapter 6

  “We need to search the grounds more thoroughly, Katy,” Jack said sternly, although I caught the touch of compassion in his eyes. “For clues and the victim’s head.”

  Katy wailed and scrambled up. She raced to the counter to furiously knead bread dough.

  “His head!” I gasped. “The murderer cut off his head?”

  “Yeah,” Jack replied. “The head was missin’ when she found the body, though Katy claims she didn’t know that until I told her a while ago.”

  “How...what...." A headless corpse floating in the pool surrounded by the beautiful lagoon area Katy had designed? The scenario sounded like it belonged in one of my books.

  Jack glanced at Katy and kept his voice low. “Your great-granddaddy’s sword.”

  “Ohmigod." I clamped my mouth shut. Maybe the ghost’s interest in Grandpere Jean’s sword last night was connected to the death, but Jack Roucheau would be the last man on earth to believe a ghost was involved in murder.

  “What, Chère?” Jack prodded. “If you know anything, you need to tell me.”

  “I didn’t even know it was murder until you hinted at it on the cell phone,” I reminded Jack, hedging the best way I could, by distracting him from his question. But Jack’s investigative mind didn’t distract easily.

  “You and Katy were always close. Talked all the time." He glanced at Katy as though concentrating elsewhere, but past experience told me that he remained aware of every nuance in a person’s body language. The things a person recalls from living closely with someone, even for a brief period out of the short span of our lives.

  “We still talk frequently,” I admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I know anything about this murder. Or that Katy does. I haven’t had time to visit Esprit d’Chene for months." I continued trying to sidetrack Jack, “Where did you find the sword?”

  “Somewhere not that well hidden." His frown shifted to Katy once more, then back to me. Obviously he wasn’t going to reveal that fact, because the silence lingered.

  “Your crime techs were examining some tire tracks,” I said after a moment. “Katy told me she hasn’t had any visitors for a couple weeks.”

  “That’s what folks around here have been sayin’,” Jack agreed. “That’s not like Katy.”

  You wouldn’t want to broadcast the fact that you’ve got a ghost who embarrasses you in your house, either, I thought. I could just imagine Jack’s face if I voiced that, though. Instead, I said, “Everybody needs a break from the social whirl now and then.”

  “Not Katy,” Jack said. “Not since I’ve known her. And somebody was here last night.”

  Ha! If he only knew. The white magnolia blossoms floating in the crystal bowl on the table suddenly appeared extremely fascinating. “Where’d you get magnolias now, Sugar?” I called across the kitchen.

  Katy shaped a bread loaf and dropped it into a waiting pan beside some others already rising. “A friend in New Orleans. Orchids, too. Did you see them in the foyer?”

  “I was too busy looking for the new kitchen door.”

  Katy tossed me a sad smile, but at least it was a smile. “I told you I was remodeling.”

  “You always are. Did you finish the Men’s and Ladies’ Parlors?”

  Katy popped two bread pans in the oven. “Oh, yes. Would you like to see them?”

  Jack huffed a frustrated breath. “We’ve got a crime investigation here, and you girls want to look at the redecorating?”

  “We women aren’t cops,” I snarled, and continued in a mocking Cajun drawl, “We shouldn’t have to worry our purty l’il heads 'bout no nasty murder. That be a man’s job." With a haughty toss of my head, I swept past him out of the kitchen, Katy following.

  “I need permission to search the grounds beyond the pool,” Jack reminded Katy.

  “Do whatever you need,” she replied with a wave.

  Instead of following me to the twin parlors, Katy halted in the hallway and furtively motioned me into the Great Room. Sure enough, Grandpere Jean’s sword was missing from over the fireplace. Evidently the crime techs had already scoured this room, since fingerprint dust marred the mantle, furniture, and windowsills.

  Katy grimaced at the mess. “Do ghosts leave fingerprints?” she whispered.

  “Ummm...well, yes. There’s that railroad crossing down in San Antonio, where people dust their bumpers and trunks with powder or flour. The kid ghosts push their cars across the track to safety, even with their motors turned off, and leave prints.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “Sugar, I very much doubt Sir Gary’s prints are on file, even if they are in your house. There will probably be a lot of other unidentifiable prints, too, since you have so many visitors. Used to have. You know, I’ve been meaning to get down to San Antone — ”

  “Alice!”

  “Sorry. Somebody must have broken in. I’ve told you to get an alarm system.”

  “I don’t want those nasty stickers and signs all over my windows and yard. Besides, I live out here around people I know and trust.”

  “People like Bucky Wilson-Jones?” I reminded her. “But should we be in this room? The cops might need to gather more evidence.”

  “They didn’t put yellow tape across the door, like they did at the pool house,” Katy said. “Look at this mess. Sue Ann will have to call her daughters-in-law to help clean.”

  I glanced at Grandmere Alicia’s portrait. It hung in place, but Katy had tied the gold cord in an unattractive knot for now.

  “I got out the sewing kit to fix the cord last night,” Katy said when she noticed what I was looking at. “I re-braided it and started to sew it, but I pricked my finger because I was so agitated, and left it for this morning. But...well, things happened.”

  "What makes you think Sir Gary had anything to do with Bucky’s death?”

  “We don’t know it’s Bucky yet,” she insisted.

  “No doubt it is,” a sexy English voice intruded. I whirled to get my first look at Sir Gary Gavin, the resident ghost of Esprit d’Chene.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered. He was everything Katy had said: tall, handsome as all get-out. Masculine from the tip of his head, covered in slightly wavy black hair meant for a woman to run her fingers through, all the way down his form-fitting trousers to the tips of his black leather boots. He stood by the fireplace, as solid as though he could walk across the room and spin one of us into a waltz.

  “I thought you weren’t going to appear with all the cops around,” I said. “And what makes you sure it’s Bucky?”

  “The bloody bastard has met his proper comeuppance." Sir Gary leaned against the fireplace and hooked his thumbs in his belt, long, tapered fingers against a flat stomach.

  “From what I hear, it definitely was bloody,” I replied. And wished my words back immediately when Katy clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle her anguished cry.

  “Sorry, Sugar,” I said. “I’ll try to watch my mouth." I turned back to Sir Gary. “Did you have anything to do with his death?”

  He laughed, a deep, sexy rumble. “No.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed him, despite my own knowledge of ghost lore, but Katy breathed a sigh of relief as he continued, “I probably should have, if he’s the man I saw skulking around here last week. Someone else took care of that chore for me.”

  “I’ve never heard of ghosts actually being able to kill a living person,” I insisted in order to gauge his reaction. “Despite what the movies try to make people believe, ghosts don’t have that sort of physical power.”

  Sir Gary shrugged. “There are ways.”

  “Yeah,” I mused, frowning an evil glare. “I suppose you could have manipulated Grandpere’s sword through the air and sliced off —" Oops. I clamped my mouth shut and whirled to look at Katy, but she was digging in the needlepoint patterned sewing box. Her movements were so jerky, I thought about cautioning her to leave the repair for me so she wouldn’t accidentally re-stab herself. But maybe it would b
e good for her to stay busy.

  Taking advantage of Katy’s distraction, I moved closer to Sir Gary. “I suppose you expect me to take your word that you didn’t have anything to do with the murder?”

  “I did not specifically say that I didn’t have anything to do with it. I merely said that I did not commit the deed.”

  “Don’t nit-pick my words! You sound like Jack!”

  Sir Gary grinned, and I saw what Katy meant about that dimple in his cheek. But I had several more years experience combating masculine charm than Katy. “So who killed him?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest. But whoever it was did a jolly good job. I plan to make it a point to shake his hand if they catch him.”

  Frustrated, I rolled my eyes. “Let’s start over. Did you see who was in the car in the driveway last night?”

  “It didn’t come close enough to get my attention. As I told you on the phone, I was watching television a while, a spooky movie from a book by this Stephen King fellow. You might like him yourself, given the vein of your writing. Or perhaps Koontz.”

  “I’ve read all of King’s work, and Koontz’s, too,” I said inattentively as I thought back to my trip up the driveway and realized he was right. The crime techs had been at work where the driveway curved just before it made the circular loop in front of the manor house. A hundred and fifty years ago, horse-drawn buggies arrived at Esprit d’Chene via the drive, deposited their bejeweled and evening-attired ladies and gentlemen at the door, then circled out of the way to wait to drive the guests home. There was a good bit of driveway not visible from the house.

  “Katy has a King book on her computer, but she won’t let me read it,” Sir Gary grumbled.

  “Smart,” I said. “Ghosts have no business messing with computer equipment. What else do you know about the murder?”

  He heaved an irritated sigh. “Let the bobbies do their job. I asked you here for another purpose.”

  “Asked." I scowled. “You demanded that I come. And I don’t appreciate it. I have a book due, and I don’t have time for your foolishness. There’s no reason you couldn’t have waited another week. You’ve been waiting for centuries!”

  Sir Gary quirked an eyebrow, and I caught his drift. I had to come because of the murder. So, had he been the one messing with my computer? He couldn’t have been, since Howard insisted it was a woman, and I’d never found Howard to be wrong. Maybe some dearly-departed lady friend of Sir Gary’s? Possible.

  Something else niggled, though. The sword had been in the Great Room when Katy called me the first time, then been found somewhere else. How long had it been between Katy’s two phone calls? A half-hour? No, less than that.

  “There,” Katy said over by the portrait. She’d re-braided the cord and sewn it together. Grandmere Alicia’s portrait hung back in its proper place. Drawn by the gaze on Grandmere’s face — a mixture of mischief and command — I slowly walked over.

  Grandmere Alicia was even more petite than Katy; women in her era were smaller than today. Even into the late 1800's, the average height of women was barely over four foot, and their clothing bore that out. Twila and I were both Southern mansion tour addicts. We discovered lots of ghosts in those old houses. But according to family history, despite her small stature Grandmere had ruled Esprit d’Chene with no more effort than voicing her desires or needs.

  “Remember how we found the portrait?” I asked Katy.

  She giggled, and I glanced at Sir Gary to see a tad of interest on his face.

  “The Hollow Room,” Katy recalled. “We found the room in the attic — well, after we got locked in the passageway and couldn’t find our way out.”

  “During the War Between the States,” I explained to Sir Gary, “Southerners built secret rooms and passageways in their homes. They wanted somewhere to hide their treasures from the Damn Yankees. Also, few people realize that a portion of the Underground Railroad ran through Texas. Our Grandpere Jean and Grandmere Alicia were also involved in that.”

  Sir Gary shivered, and Katy whispered, “He’s claustrophobic. It comes from his time in The Tower. He’d never enter the passageways in Esprit d’Chene.”

  I chuckled and studied the fine specimen of masculinity. Claustrophobic? A ghost? But then, their personalities did go with them.

  “Have you seen Uncle Clarence lately?” I asked.

  Sir Gary harrumphed grumpily, and Katy shot him a stern glare. “I need to tell you — ”

  One second Sir Gary was there, the next gone, without even a lingering mist left. Of course, he’d had a couple hundred years to finesse his powers. I hadn’t heard Jack approach, but his smooth, cat-like stride matched his lanky body, and Katy had carpet runners in the hallways.

  “You aren’t supposed to be in here,” Jack said from the doorway.

  “They didn’t put any crime tape across the door,” I parroted Katy.

  “Should have,” he said. “C’mon.”

  When we joined him in the hallway, he said, “I thought you were goin’ to the parlor.”

  “Did you find the...uh...rest of the body?” I asked instead of answering what I took as an investigative question.

  “No." He sidelonged a glance at Katy, his eyes telling me we’d talk about that later. But Katy had heard.

  “When can I have the sword back?” she asked.

  “It might be a while,” Jack replied. “It’s evidence.”

  Katy grimaced in disappointment as Jack ushered us back into the kitchen. She immediately headed to the oven to check her bread.

  “I’ll need to take a statement from you, Alice,” Jack said.

  “Me? Why? And can I be with Katy when you take hers?" I knew about interviewing techniques from my research, although I’d never been on the receiving end of one. I also knew Katy would be on the list of suspects, a fact I hoped my cousin hadn’t perceived yet. But there was no choice, especially if the detectives found out about Katy and Bucky and translated that into a possible motive on Katy’s part. That is, if the body turned out to be Bucky.

  “ — gotta talk to Katy alone,” Jack was saying when I tuned back in. “We took a prelim when we first got here, but we’ll need more.”

  “Why me?”

  “You talked to her last night. We need to know about that — and why you were already plannin’ to come here before the murder was discovered, like Katy told us.”

  Uh oh. Wasn’t that going to be an interesting conversation?

  “I’ll take care of both your statements, Chère,” Jack assured me. “Don’t worry. No dark room with a light bulb blindin’ you. No good cop/bad cop.”

  “Does Katy need a lawyer?” I whispered.

  The timer dinged, and Katy bustled over with hot pads.

  “I’ll let you know,” he said, and my stomach churned.

  “Should you conduct this investigation? You used to be part of this family. And this is Jefferson’s jurisdiction, isn’t it? You’re on the Longview force.”

  “Jefferson doesn’t have a homicide detective. Not enough funds. And nobody else around here has my experience, so the sheriff asked me to help when he found me here." He sighed. “We don’t get many headless corpse problems. Mostly, it’s straightforward. Fais do do on Saturday night, little too much to drink. Some femme dances too close to a man not her own." He shook his head. “Those are the bad ones, because you get to know the people. Be friends with some of them.”

  He surprised me with that. Jack had never talked about his emotions during a case. He’d always said he had to keep his distance — guard himself, to study the clues and suspects with an open mind. But he never had an ex-wife and ex-cousin involved in New Orleans.

  “Jack, I’ll only be here a couple of days. I’m under deadline, and I need to get home. I’ll take Katy with me, so she won’t be here alone.”

  “Not until we’re done,” Jack ordered. “You’re out of our jurisdiction, and — ”

  “Damn it, Jack! We’ll only be two hours away!”

 
; “You have a laptop, don’t you?”

  “How the heck can I concentrate in the middle of a murder investigation?" Jack completely lacked an understanding of my work, another one of our problems. Interrupted and drawn out of that creative sea, it could take me hours to refocus. Sometimes I’d lose a wonderful thread and never find it again. While we were married, I’d shut my door when working, with a caution not to bother me unless the house caught fire — and then, not until he’d at least called the fire department. All I wanted was enough time to get my backup disks out of the house. But on weekends, Jack would have something to talk about that, in his mind, just couldn’t wait, or need something in my study. He’d creep in, but I’d sense his presence. Besides, he kept forgetting to spray WD-40 on the squeaky study door hinges.

  “Call your editor and get an extension,” Jack said, what he considered a reasonable request. “Katy’s gonna need you for a while.”

  There was no sense arguing with him, but I did anyway. “I can’t put my writing life on hold under deadline — not even for a murder investigation. The book’s slotted and the publicity push is ready, with my backlist scheduled for re-release. I’ve accepted speaking engagements, and I’d also planned on taking a vacation before I settled in to start my next book.”

  Jack just gazed at me with that look he always gets when he can’t understand how on earth I set my priorities. “If you didn’t have the time,” he repeated, “what were you doin’ takin’ time off to come visit Katy right now in the first place?”