Better Dead

by Pamela Kopfler

  “Blondie, tell me you’re not paying this sideshow to talk to me. You’ve got a direct line. What is she? A psychic marriage counselor?”

  Angel touched Holly’s arm. “Spirit chatter makes it hard to concentrate, doesn’t it?”

  Holly sucked in a sharp breath. “Can you hear him?”

  “No. I sense his frustration, but I’ll soon be able to connect on a higher level.”

  “Yeah. When she gets the money. She’s playing you like a gambler with two deuces. Call her bluff, Blondie.”

  “How soon will you be able to hear him?” Holly asked.

  “At the séance. Did Aunt Claireese explain our fee?”

  Holly scrunched her brows together. “Aunt Claireese?”

  “You spoke to her on the phone,” Angel said as she meandered around the foyer.

  “Oh,” Holly mumbled. “I thought I’d spoken to you.”

  Angel ran a finger down the length of Eudora’s coffin. “I’m Aunt Claireese’s student.”

  Holly caught her lip between her teeth. “Is that like a psychic in training?”

  “More like a con artist in training,” Burl said.

  “You could say that,” Angel said as her gaze trailed up the staircase and lingered at the top.

  “What’s Elvira looking at?” Burl said, following her gaze.

  Angel looked back at Holly. “I’ve had the power all my life, but Aunt Claireese is helping me connect with the spirits in a more controlled way.”

  “Is there an uncontrolled way?” Holly asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes.” A small sigh slipped from Angel’s red lips. “Instead of me seeking out the spirits, they sought me.” She shook her head. “Very troubling. They showed up whenever and wherever they wanted, and always wanted me to do something for them. They were ruining my life.”

  Holly had only one ghost. She couldn’t imagine how wrecked her life would be with several. “So ghosts talk to you?”

  “All the time, if they want something. Well, they did until Aunt Claireese taught me how to control my ability. It’s like the real world. It’s all about boundaries.”

  “So have you ever been able to, uh—”

  “Help a ghost pass to the other side?” Angel finished Holly’s sentence.

  A little chill pricked the hairs on Holly’s neck. Had Angel just read her mind?

  “Yes, but sometimes it takes many contacts with the spirit to help them understand their destiny.”

  “And does each contact cost three hundred dollars?” Holly asked.

  Angel’s red lips smiled. “In advance.”

  “Aha,” Burl blurted.

  Holly’s excitement flattened. “Any money-back guarantees?”

  “Only that if I get your ghost to the other side, he won’t come back.”

  If Angel was just a con artist, Holly wasn’t going to be her unlucky sucker. “I’ll give you your check before the séance. You’ve got one shot at Burl.”

  “Aunt Claireese said the room was complimentary.”

  “Yes,” Holly said.

  Burl shook his head. “Sucker.”

  Holly had no doubt Burl wasn’t a mind reader, and neither was Angel.

  Angel lifted a perfectly shaped dark brow. “And not in the main house.”

  “You’ll be staying in the carriage house.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep with all the spirits in this house.”

  “I have only one ghost.”

  “You only have one ghost who can communicate with you. I sense the presence of others.”

  * * *

  “More than one ghost,” Holly mumbled under her breath as she descended the exterior carriage house stairs. And she’d given the counterfeit psychic a complimentary room on top of three hundred hard-earned bucks. I might as well have LOSER tattooed on my forehead.

  She looked up at the massive canopy of oak trees framed by a brilliant orange sky. Perfect for Halloween. Maybe Angel wasn’t the real deal, but she’d put on a good Halloween show for the guests with Burl’s help. And it was worth three hundred dollars to settle Nelda’s nerves. Too bad it wasn’t going to get her what she needed: Burl gone for good.

  Holly blew out a sigh. She had work to do, if she was going to catch the smugglers. As crisp leaves tumbled with the wind across the side yard, Holly followed the brick path to the main house at Holly Grove.

  Burl was convinced a shipment of drugs would arrive at Holly Grove during the thirty-day window of opportunity St. Peter had given him. And time was running out.

  Heaviness settled in her heart. In only a week, Jake would leave.

  When Holly neared the back of the main house, Nelda stepped onto the porch, with her purse on her shoulder. “What you think ’bout that psychic?”

  “Not much.”

  “My cousin says Claireese cleared out a whole family of ghosts in a house in New Orleans.”

  “Claireese didn’t come. She sent her niece, Angel.”

  “Maybe ’cause we only got one ghost.”

  “Maybe so,” Holly said. She wasn’t about to tell Nelda that Angel believed they had more than one.

  A car door slammed, and Holly and Nelda turned toward the sound.

  Holly’s heart did a little two-step as Jake folded out of his rental car. He had the swagger of quiet confidence and wore jeans, boots, and a well-fitting black T-shirt. Nothing fancy, but he didn’t need fancy.

  “Mmm, mmm, mmm, that’s one fine man,” Nelda said, leaning in to Holly.

  Holly swallowed. She hated to admit it, but she was going to miss way more than Jake’s looks when he left.

  He strode up the back steps and met them on the porch. He slipped his arm around Holly’s waist and planted a quick peck on her cheek as naturally as though he’d been doing it for years.

  Nelda patted her cheek and tilted it up to Jake. “You outta be kissin’ me. I cooked your favorite tonight. Smothered chicken, field peas, corn bread, rice and gravy. Homemade chocolate pie, too.”

  Jake kissed Nelda on the cheek. “You’re a woman after my heart.”

  “You somethin’.” Nelda held a hand to her cheek and grinned. “It’ll be good, if Holly don’t burn it while she’s heatin’ it up.”

  “I’ll supervise,” Jake said, winking a dark eye at Holly.

  “You do that.” Nelda dug her car keys out of her purse. “See y’all tomorrow.” She’d taken two steps before she turned around and looked at Holly. “I almost forgot. They’s a man waitin’ on the front porch for you. Said he called for a room for him and his wife and they was all rented out.”

  “Mr. Fletcher?”

  “That’s him. He brought his own room. Called it a motor coach. Says he wants to pay to plug it in. I think he’s one of them ghost hunters.”

  Or a smuggler who didn’t book before the boom at Holly Grove.

  “You’ve talked to this guy?” Jake eyed Holly as Nelda ambled to her car.

  “Yeah. He wanted a room this weekend. When I told him we were booked, he asked if I could put him on the waiting list.” Holly almost giggled. If business stayed good, she could renovate the other rooms over the carriage house. “Waiting list. Can you believe I have a waiting list?”

  “I can believe it. I told you the YouTube video would bring in the nuts.”

  “I’m not sorry about the video. I’m booked through Christmas because of it.” She fidgeted with her nails to keep from facing Jake. “But I thought it would be much easier to spot the smugglers.” And it would have been if Burl could pick them out. “I don’t need any more guests as suspects, so I guess you were partially right.”

  “It’s not about who’s right.” He stepped closer. “I know how much this place means to you, but it’s only bricks and mortar. This isn’t a game of Clue. I’m going to look out for your safety whether you like it or not.”

  “I can look out for myself. I need help figuring out who the smuggler is. If you want to do that, go for it.” Holly turned and walked across the porch
and entered the house through the kitchen. Jake followed her through the house to the front door.

  He put his hand on the door. “What are you going to say to him?”

  “Mr. Fletcher is mighty determined. What if he didn’t expect all the rooms to be rented and is getting creative to—”

  “Pick up the drop.”

  Holly nodded. “Looks like I have another pair of potential smugglers.”

  “Or paying guests.” Jake opened the front door, and they stepped onto the porch.

  A middle-aged man wearing a polo shirt and khakis stood waiting. He walked with a slight limp as he crossed the porch to Holly. He extended his hand. “Tom Fletcher. We talked on the phone.”

  Holly shook his hand, then turned to Jake. “This is Jake McCann. He’s a guest here.”

  Jake shook Mr. Fletcher’s hand.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Fletcher?” Holly said.

  “Call me Tom, please.” He took his Falcons baseball cap off, revealing a shock of salt-and-pepper hair.

  Everything about the man screamed middle-class suburbs. She shot a look at Jake.

  “Falcons fan, huh?” Jake said.

  Tom turned the cap around to look at the dirty bird on the front. “You bet.”

  “We’ll forgive you since you’re just passing through Saints territory,” Holly said, with a teasing smile.

  “You from Atlanta?” Jake asked.

  “There about.” He pointed to the motor coach. “We’ve been driving across the South for a couple of weeks. The grandma is keeping the boys, so it’s just us for a change.” He slipped his cap on his head. “Anyway, we’ve been cooped up in that motor coach, and we’d hoped to spend the night in a plantation home while we were passing through. Since you’re booked, I thought we’d do the next best thing and stay on the grounds. I’ll be glad to pay a hookup fee.”

  “I don’t have a hookup,” Holly said. “But you can park on the grounds. Do you think sixty dollars is fair?”

  “Is the tour included?” he said, reaching for his wallet.

  “Sure.”

  Tom handed Holly three twenties. “Where do you want us to park?”

  Holly pointed toward the carriage house. “On the other side of that building.” She looked back at the motor coach. “You have a very nice motor coach there, but it doesn’t exactly fit the time period.”

  “No problem.”

  “Just curious,” Holly said. “Why did you want to stay here instead of the other plantations on the Haunted Pilgrimage?”

  “My wife found this place on YouTube. Lately, she’s been interested in the afterlife.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Jake leaned back in the only chair at Holly Grove that he felt confident could hold his weight and assessed the guests around the dining-room table. According to a tip from an undercover agent upriver, 1.2 million dollars’ worth of marijuana would be dropped off a barge after dark somewhere on the Mississippi within the next two days. There were 2,340 miles of Mississippi riverbank. The agent couldn’t be sure where the drop would be, but Jake was betting his reputation on his faulty gut feeling that it would be on the riverbank at Holly Grove.

  He sliced off a bite of his pork chop and put it in his mouth. Chewing slowly, he savored its taste. The mix of crunch and tender meat sent a comfort signal to his mind. Dinner was served from six to seven thirty, and he wanted to linger long enough to meet all the guests. Thanks to Nelda’s good cooking, that wouldn’t be a problem.

  Holly popped in and out of the dining room to check the buffet and make introductions, which distracted the hell out of him. Her sweet Southern voice seeped into his consciousness like a lullaby.

  Since he’d been focusing on the guests, Jake hadn’t said much. He’d caught bits and pieces of conversations. Miss Alice had proved an unlikely ally by asking all the mundane questions as different guests joined them in the dining room.

  He’d learned Mr. Dunbar was originally from New Orleans, but he’d been vague about what he did for a living and equally vague about why he was here. Jake didn’t like the way he’d looked down at his plate every time he answered a question, either.

  Angel was from a small bayou town south of New Orleans and near the coast. She could speak Cajun French and thought she could communicate with the dead better than the living. Though Jake didn’t believe a word of it, Angel seemed to believe herself.

  Tom and his wife, Kate, were from the Atlanta area, and he was a retired factory worker, though he seemed a bit young for retirement. Kate didn’t do much of the talking. Sadness etched her face, until Miss Alice asked if she had children. Kate flashed pictures of boys dressed in Little League uniforms.

  Charlie walked into the dining room like he’d been ridden hard and put up wet, looking the part of a man on his honeymoon.

  “Would it be okay if I got our dinner to go?” Charlie asked Holly as she added another pan of hot corn bread to the buffet.

  “How about room service?” Holly tucked a pot holder under her arm. “Just let me take care of a few things here.”

  Charlie scratched his head. “Nah. Mickey isn’t, um . . . I’ll just take ours on paper plates.”

  Holly’s cheeks paled, as if Charlie had committed blasphemy. “It’s your honeymoon.” She wadded the pot holders up in her hand. “It’s no trouble. I’ll put your dinner on a nice tray, and then I’ll set it at your door, knock, and leave. You won’t see me, and I won’t see you or Mickey.”

  “Okay, okay,” Charlie mumbled.

  “I’ll knock with dinner in about fifteen minutes,” she said, then marched into the kitchen.

  Toni Bolla wiggled into the chair next to Jake and across from Miss Alice. “Are you saving this seat for me?” she asked, not waiting for the answer.

  Jake half stood. He couldn’t be sure, but Toni looked familiar. He’d seen her somewhere, though he couldn’t recall meeting her—and she’d be memorable. She wore a hot pink dress that looked like she’d been melted into it. “Toni, right?”

  “Toni with an i. That’s me.”

  Jake waited for her to sit before he did.

  Toni batted lashes too long to be real. “Aren’t you the gentleman?”

  Duke turned from the buffet. “Are you flirting again?”

  “Who? Me?” Toni patted her chest.

  Duke loaded a second pork chop on his plate. “Are you breathing?” He lumbered to the table with a plateful of food and a briefcase built like a small tank.

  “Yeah. What about it?” Toni said.

  “If you’re breathing, you’re flirting.” Duke slid the briefcase between the chairs, then wedged himself in the seat next to Toni. He tilted his chin up in a macho nod to Jake.

  “Don’t be so jealous.” She picked up her napkin and put it on her lap. “Relax. We’re on vacation.”

  As if on cue, Miss Alice ground out her usual questions.

  “He’s from Jersey,” Toni said, tilting her head toward Duke. “And I’m from Vegas. I’m in show business, and Dukie, he’s—”

  “Sales.” Duke pointed a “shut up” look at Toni. He shoveled peas in his mouth, then sucked down some iced tea.

  Holly hovered over Duke’s shoulder, holding a pitcher of tea. She cast a pointed stare at the briefcase. Duke put the half-empty glass down, then cut into his pork chop. Holly filled Duke’s glass with tea. She moved behind Toni to top off her tea, and Toni placed her hand over her glass.

  “Honey, do you have anything stronger? Champagne maybe?” she said.

  “Sorry,” Holly said. “I don’t have any champagne.”

  Toni circled a fingertip around the rim of her glass. “What about BYOB?”

  “Sure.”

  “We’ll make it a party.” Toni clapped her hands together. “Dukie, baby, would you go get a couple of bottles?”

  “Anything for you, fly baby.”

  That was it. Jake remembered the centerfold he’d seen pinned up in a gas station bathroom. She’d worn a flight captain’s hat and bra
ss wings dangling from a chain around her neck and nothing else. A dead ringer for Toni.

  Duke stood and picked up his briefcase.

  “I can put that in my safe, if you’d like,” Holly said.

  “No offense, but it’s safer with me,” Duke said.

  Toni fluttered her pink nails through the air. “It’s his security blanket.”

  “What do you have in there? Fort Knox?” Miss Alice asked.

  Duke patted his briefcase. “Better.”

  * * *

  Jake had given Holly a sisterly kiss good night and had told her she needed rest. She was exhausted, but that had nothing to do with what she needed.

  Besides, how could she sleep, knowing any one of her guests could be at the river right now, unloading some sort of drugs? And, darn it, she wanted to know what was in Duke’s briefcase.

  Holly looked out over the levee from her second-floor balcony and pulled the patchwork quilt a little higher around her shoulders. She gave the glider swing another push with her bare foot.

  The swing glided back and forth, and she folded her legs on the seat under her. Occasionally, the distant horn from a tugboat downriver punctuated the crickets’ constant chorus.

  Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, allowing her to see the silhouettes of oak trees around Holly Grove and the path that led to the river. She couldn’t stay up all night, but it made her feel she had some sense of control to stand watch as long as she could.

  Jake had said that he was a light sleeper and that Dog would bark if anyone milled about in the yard. Holly rubbed Rhett’s ears. “You do your part in the house, too. Don’t you, boy?”

  Rhett yawned.

  Holly stretched and yawned. She shook her head. Yawns were contagious, even from dogs at midnight.

  Rhett’s ears perked. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he set a bead toward the path to the river.

  Movement at the tree line caught her attention, and she placed her foot on the floor to stop the swing. A thudding in her ears drowned out the crickets. She laid her hand over her heart. Holly squinted. A form came into focus. Her heartbeat slowed. An animal. She leaned forward and blinked a few times for a better look. Dog?

  She gathered Rhett in her arms and stood, then walked to the balcony railing. Why was she running loose? Dog darted back into the woods. Holly held Rhett tightly as he whined and squirmed to get down.