Better Dead

by Pamela Kopfler

  Holly glanced at Rhett. His puppy eyes had questions, too, but more likely about the bacon. She tossed him a crumb of bacon and looked back at Nelda, who would be harder to please.

  “I’m not trying to score points.” Holly slid a spoonful of muscadine jelly into her biscuit. “Someone needs to look after Mackie, and if Jake won’t, I will.”

  “You could’ve just slipped down to the sheriff’s office and filled out the papers on the sly.” Nelda took a swig of coffee. “Just sayin’.”

  “Like I said, I’m not trying to score points.” Holly nibbled on a piece of crispy bacon and shuffled through the mail. “I’ve got other things to worry about than Jake’s guilty conscience.” She pointed her bacon at Nelda. “That’s what had him ticked, even if he didn’t know it.”

  “Suit yourself, but a good man with a good j-o-b is hard to find.” Nelda polished off her grits.

  “Not interested.” Holly still had a ghost of a man she didn’t want. She lifted an envelope off the stack. The sheriff’s office. She read the fine print on the bottom right of the envelope. Property tax information. “Oh, boy. Tax time already.” She ripped it open and gasped.

  Nelda set her fork down. “How bad?”

  “This can’t be right.” Holly picked up her cell phone and called the assessor’s office. After a few transfers and the necessary niceties, she reached the assessor, who had been her high school math teacher before he retired and went into politics.

  “Mr. Fremeaux, I’m afraid there must be an error in my assessment this year.”

  “Let me pull up your file, dear,” he said. She heard clicking on a keyboard in the background. “I’ve been reading about Holly Grove in the Gazette. You always did have an active imagination. Though I’m not sure a ghost is your best marketing plan, I hope you’ve finally found a business in which you can have success, my dear.”

  He might as well have substituted “Miss Hurricane Holly” for “my dear.”

  “I have, Mr. Fremeaux.” Or Mr. Freako, as he was known by the students. Holly hadn’t forgotten his nickname in high school, either.

  “Everything looks accurate here,” he said.

  “But it can’t be.” She stood and paced across the kitchen with Rhett at her heels, hoping for another crumb.

  “My dear, last year Holly Grove was assessed as a residence. This year it was assessed as a business.”

  “For twice as much?”

  “The value was slightly more, but the assessment rate was significantly more. It’s the rate voted on by the good people of St. Agnes Parish, my dear, and due in full by the end of the calendar year. Will that be a problem?”

  A huge one. “What if I’m a little late?”

  “The rules are clear. Delinquent property taxes are auctioned for tax due within six months of default.”

  “I see.”

  “If you can’t raise the money, you may need to consider a mortgage or a quick sale. Of course, I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I know someone who would be very interested in buying Holly Grove for the right price.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Are you sure, my dear?”

  “Yes, sir.” She ended the call, then plopped down at the planter’s table and stared at the bill. When would she ever get a break? On top of everything else, she had to come up with thousands of dollars more than she’d expected. She looked up at Nelda. “How am I going to pay this?”

  “Like I said before, a good man with a good j-o-b.”

  “Are you seriously telling me to get a man to pay my bills?”

  “Nope. I’m saying get a good man with a j-o-b and paying your bills will be a whole lot easier. You know, a little insurance for your future. Just in case . . .”

  “In case what? I fail again?” She drew quotation marks in the air. “Hurricane Holly strikes.”

  “Now, Holly.” Nelda’s mouth turned down at the corners, and she shook her head. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Why not? The whole town thinks it.” She’d thought she could count on Nelda to believe in her.

  “You know I want you to fly as high as a bird, but it’d be nice to have a net until you get your wings flappin’ just right.”

  “There is no net, Nelda. If I’ve learned anything from my many calamities, I’ve learned to never give up.”

  “You better not sleep, either, girl. I’ll do all I can to help, but you got more than you can do. I’ll be praying for you.”

  “I hope you have a main line and the good Lord is listening.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Burl floated into the foyer like autumn fog as the guests gathered for the ten o’clock morning tour. “Looks like my haunting is bringing in the masses,” he said.

  Unwilling to acknowledge Burl, Holly smiled, greeted the guests, and collected tickets at the door. She kept an eye out for Jake, but he was nowhere to be seen. He’d said he’d take in a tour for research on the articles he was writing about Holly Grove. She hadn’t talked to him since he stormed out of her kitchen earlier this morning. Maybe he was still bent out of shape about her filing the missing person report, but he’d have to get over it. She’d done the right thing.

  She’d collected twenty tickets so far. Hardly a mass, but twenty bucks a head added up to four hundred more dollars than she’d had an hour ago. Every dollar helped, but money couldn’t get Burl out of Holly Grove. She scanned the crowd. Any one of the guests could be the smuggler, and Burl was the only one who could point him out.

  Holly’s petticoats rustled under her black mourning dress as she gathered more tickets from the guests. The period costume always reminded her of the women before her who had walked these grounds and buried loved ones. She pulled her shawl over her shoulders to block the October breeze that whipped in with the guests.

  The tennis shoe–clad feet of tourists shuffled into the foyer and then around the coffin, but no Jake. She told herself he’d probably gotten tied up at the Gazette. But a tightness in her stomach, which had nothing to do with the cinched waist of her costume, grabbed her. The seed of doubt Burl had planted about Jake encroached on her trust like a weed. He had pounds of dope, likely worth more than Holly Grove. What if Burl was right and Jake was long gone with the goods?

  Holly pushed the thought out of her head. She’d meddled in his business by signing a missing person report on Mackie, and he hadn’t hidden how he felt about it. Maybe he was cooling off.

  Forcing a smile, she dipped in a modest curtsy for her guests. “Welcome to Holly Grove.”

  Burl rubbed his hands together. “This is going to be fun.”

  As far as Holly was concerned, he could have all the fun he wanted as long as he picked out the smuggler. Lately, it seemed Burl would rather move on to his favorite new sport, haunting.

  She had to admit most of the guests didn’t look like smugglers to her. But Burl had seen the contacts before and would be able to recognize them if they were among the guests.

  Gray hair dominated the crowd, until a late group squeezed into the room. Pale-faced teenagers dressed in drab colors and sporting nose and brow piercings stood in the back.

  Teenagers? She’d never had teenagers on the tour, unless their parents had forced them to tag along.

  Burl weaved in and out of the guests. “Where do these people come from?” He shook his head. “The only lineup they belong in is a Sunday school line. Nobody in this group could be smuggling.”

  Holly wasn’t surprised. So far, eliminating suspects had been a no-brainer even for her.

  “Is it true you have a ghost?” The teen’s voice cracked from a manly pitch to a hoarse screech. The lanky teen had long, dark hair, a knit cap pulled down low on his head, and leather bands on his wrists.

  She looked him right in the eye and didn’t blink. “Yes.”

  There. She’d said it. The sooner she embraced the idea, the sooner the news would spread. But she had to be careful not to look like a fool again. Burl had to make this work.

&nbs
p; “You’ve seen it?” The teen tossed his hair out of his eyes.

  Holly glanced at Burl. “He’s here right now.”

  Blue-haired old couples, families, and lovebirds exchanged glances.

  “Prove it,” the teen said, then looked to his buddies. Their eyes shone with admiration for their obvious leader.

  Burl sauntered over to the teen. “Ask him his name.”

  “What’s your name?” Holly asked.

  “Matt.” He jutted his chin out. “Why?”

  Holly smiled. “My ghost wants to know.”

  “Yeah, right.” He elbowed the guy next to him, and they snickered.

  Burl’s lips flattened into a line. “I’m going to show that little punk a thing or two.”

  “Be careful. You’re upsetting my ghost,” Holly said as she winked at her guests.

  “Ooh.” Matt shook his hands in the air. “I’m shaking.” He motioned to his pals. “Come on. I told you guys this was bogus.”

  Burl sucked in air like the Big Bad Wolf, then blew. The front door slammed shut just before Matt and his friends reached it. The crowd collectively gasped.

  “Whoa.” Matt spun around to Holly. “How’d you do that?”

  Holly could hardly contain her laugh. She raised her hands in innocence. “I didn’t do a thing.” She smiled at the crowd. “Just the wind.” Holly looked over her shoulder at Matt. “Or maybe the ghost. Now, if you’ll follow me into the parlor.”

  Matt’s thumbs tapped out a text on his cell phone.

  Holly positioned her hoop skirt to avoid bumping the pocket door as she stepped into the parlor. She stood in front of a pier mirror situated between two floor-to-ceiling windows. “Notice the black cloth.” She pulled the fabric aside to reveal a sliver of the mirror behind it. “The superstition of antebellum days was that if you didn’t cover the mirrors, the spirits of the dead would be trapped in the mirrors and would be unable to pass on to the other side.” She let the black drape fall over the mirror.

  “How’d the spiwits get out?” asked a little girl with strawberry-blond hair and trouble pronouncing r’s.

  “They couldn’t.” Holly stole a glance at Burl. “They’d be stuck here forever.”

  Holly led the group through the rest of the tour and back to the entrance hall that ran the depth of Holly Grove. She opened the back door and motioned toward the back balcony. “Please step out on the veranda for a taste of Nelda’s famous gumbo and a sip of iced tea.”

  With a smile that nearly sang, Nelda ladled steaming hot chicken and sausage gumbo over rice in a plastic bowl for the first in line. “Y’all don’t forget to vote for the best gumbo, and the best is Nelda’s.” She stomped and wiggled as she served the next guest. “This is ‘slap yo’ mama’ good.”

  As she checked out the crowd one more time, Holly noticed that the tall teen, Matt, was missing. And so was Burl. Holly walked up to the other teens. “Where’s Matt?”

  A stocky, rosy-cheeked teen scraped the bottom of his gumbo bowl and shrugged. The other two shoveled gumbo into their mouths, probably to avoid answering.

  Holly slipped back into the house to look for Matt. She found him in the parlor, in front of the pier mirror. She looked around for Burl, but he’d obviously gone wherever he went when he wasn’t around.

  Matt flipped the black cloth that covered the mirror over the edge of the frame, and jumped back. Holly folded her arms and watched. Her cheeks tightened around a smile. Burl was missing a golden opportunity. She slipped her shoes off and tiptoed across the room toward Matt, but she was careful not to allow herself to be seen in the mirror.

  Matt dug his cell phone out of his pocket and backed a few more feet away from the mirror. He aimed the cell phone at the mirror, and a little red light glowed on his phone. Was he taking a video of the mirror?

  Holly eased closer and covered her mouth with her hand to suppress a giggle. As soon as she got close enough, she was going to yell boo and watch the little delinquent run. Burl couldn’t have all the fun.

  “Whoa,” Matt whispered.

  A round spot of condensation the size of a dinner plate had formed on the mirror. Matt stepped back a little farther but kept the camera on the mirror. A handprint appeared in the condensation.

  “Whoa. Just freaking whoa,” Matt whispered, still stepping backward, until he bumped into Holly. He screamed in the pitch of a soprano.

  Burl walked right out of the mirror. “Told you I’d get the little punk.”

  Matt fumbled with his cell phone, then pointed it back at the handprint on the mirror. He wheeled the cell phone camera back at Holly. “D-d-did you see that?”

  Holly smiled and folded her arms over her chest. “Told you I had a ghost.”

  “Awesome.” Matt backed out of the room with his cell phone camera rolling. “This place rocks.”

  “Thanks, Matt. Come back anytime,” Holly called to him as he left. Twenty bucks was twenty bucks. “Hey, bring a friend.”

  Burl lifted his hand in a high five. Holly swiped her hand through his, and a chill went through her.

  His brows slumped into commas. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his Armani. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

  “Yeah. Well, as soon as you point out the contact, you’ll be on your way out of here.”

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

  “Did you figure out who he is?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Exactly what, then?”

  “You must have misunderstood me. I never said I could recognize the guy.”

  * * *

  Jake slammed the door to Sam’s office when he walked in.

  Newspapers rattled as Sam startled on the sofa. He pushed the newspapers off his face and stared at Jake with sleepy eyes. “What in tarnation?”

  “Tough job, huh, Sam?”

  “I’m on vacation, remember?” Sam stretched, then eased off the sofa to meet Jake at the door. “I couldn’t sleep a wink last night.”

  “Don’t let me interrupt your beauty rest,” Jake said as he pulled his laptop out of his bag, then put it on Sam’s desk. At least he could finish checking out Holly’s guest list before he went back to Holly Grove. He’d bailed on the 10:00 a.m. tour, so he had plenty of time until the afternoon tour.

  “All right, son. This is serious.”

  Jake looked at Sam. Red lines trailed across his old eyes like a web of misery. “Man. You look rough. What’s up?”

  “I’m going to have to do something a good reporter never does.”

  “You’re the best newspaperman I know.” Jake parked himself on the chair at Sam’s desk. “If you’re doing it, then it’s the right thing to do.”

  “I’m going to have to give up my source, but you’re not going to like it.”

  “Tell me, anyway.”

  Sam cleared his throat. “Remember when I called you up in New York and I said I got a tip about smuggling at Holly Grove?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The guy took me to the river, and I watched Burl off-load something from a barge. Less than a week later, Burl was dead.” Sam looked over his glasses at Jake. “My guy called again a few weeks back. Said he was working on something. He was supposed to call me three days ago.” Sam shook his head. “Nothing. Now I’m worried. That’s why I came back to check on him.”

  “Who’s your guy?”

  “That’s the part you’re not going to like.” Sam pointed an aged stare, but one no less powerful, at Jake. “It’s Mackie, and I think he’s in trouble.”

  “What?” Jake shot from his chair. What had Mackie gotten himself into now, and how was Jake going to get him out of it this time? Fear doused Jake. This wasn’t a bar fight or a DUI. This could be life or death for Mackie.

  Sam shook his head. “It’s not good.”

  “I thought he was on a drunk.”

  “Any other time I’d agree, but here’s the kicker. Mackie was drunk the first time he called me. I blew him off.” Sam rubbed
an age-spotted hand across his forehead. “The next time he called, he was stone-cold sober. Same when I met him at the river and when I talked to him a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Sober?”

  Sam nodded. “And, Jake, he wanted to know if I’d called you.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “The truth.”

  “So Mackie was sober for a couple of phone calls and once when you saw him. That doesn’t make him a credible source.” He must be Holly’s source, too. Why else would she be so determined to find him?

  Sam thumbed his chest. “I’m a credible source, and he put me onto the drop. When he called me the last time, I asked him if he’d given up drinking.”

  “And?”

  “He asked if you’d come.”

  “What the . . . ?”

  Sam lifted a shoulder. “I thought the same. All I know is he’s been right so far and sober. And now he’s missing.”

  * * *

  Two hours of silent treatment later, Burl trailed after Holly like a puppy as she cleaned the Longfellow suite. “Come on, Blondie. Speak to me. You just assumed I could pick out the smuggler. I never said I could.”

  Duh. He’d been in the smuggling ring for months. Sure she thought he’d know the people. How was she supposed to know they sent a new contact every time? Holly stretched the clean white sheet over the four-poster bed. Her anger simmered under her resolve to block Burl from her life. He’d lied. Again.

  “You’re all I’ve got. You can’t do this to me.”

  Watch me. This was what she should have done from the beginning. If she ignored him long enough, maybe he’d shut up. She tossed a pillow on the bed, and it slammed through Burl.

  He grabbed at his stomach where the pillow had passed. A stupid grin inched across his face. “Good! At least you threw something at me. That’s progress.”

  Progress, my foot. Burl couldn’t even guess who the contact was. Jake had offered to help, but where was he now? In fact, she was a little worried. Maybe he’d found his dad, and Mackie was hurt or sick or worse. Or maybe Jake was seriously ticked off that she’d filed that missing person report.

  “Okay. I know you’re mad. You don’t have to talk, but I know you’re listening.”