Giving Up the Ghost

by Marilyn Levinson

  Reese grinned. "You mean, did Darren think one of us got i-rate enough to do him in? Sure, it crossed his mind. Questioned half the town, didn't he?"

  Terry nodded. "The four of us, anyway. He let up when the old doc said there was no sign of a struggle, on the body or the terrain."

  "What was the cause of death?" Gabbie said.

  "Broken neck, I think." Reese chomped down on a bread stick. "Didn't it say so in the newspaper?"

  "And the body had contusions from the fall," Terry added.

  Adele shuddered. "Please! Must we rehash this? Sorry, Gabbie. I suppose you're curious, living in Cam's house and all that, but to us it's old news and not the most appetizing dinner table conversation."

  "Sorry," Gabbie murmured. She was eager to change the subject, too, now that she'd gotten what she'd asked for.

  Jack, Adele, and Terry ordered coffee and dessert, and Reese dug into his meatballs and ziti. They talked about the new development being built with remarkably little rancor.

  "One good thing," Reese said. "Those houses will help lower our taxes, though they put more of a strain on our water supply."

  "But not on the school system," Terry commented. "The school population's gone down in the last few years." He turned to Gabbie. "How's the job working out? Anyone give you any trouble?"

  "Everything's fine," Gabbie answered with a smile.

  She was dying to find out what they might know about Barrett Connelly, but decided it wasn't ethical for a teacher to talk about a student in Logan's. Anything discussed here might as well be aired on the local TV channel. If Barrett found out, he might retaliate by pulling a malicious stunt. At the very least, hearing she'd asked about him was sure to feed his ego and urge him on to more outrageous behavior, something she certainly didn't want to encourage.

  Time to leave, she told herself. She ate the last bite of her Apple Betty and asked for her check. Mike brought it over, along with a broad smile. "Pot roast tomorrow night. It's dynamite."

  "Sounds great. Good-night, guys. Nice to meet you, Adele."

  She bent to pick up her pocketbook. When she straightened, she found herself face to face with Darren Rollins. She drew in breath, taking in the scent of his now familiar aftershave mixed with the leathery smell of his bomber jacket.

  "Hi, everyone," he said. "Gabbie, don't tell me you're leaving."

  She wished she could think up a plausible excuse for staying. No, it was better that she was going. Darren was a distraction she didn't need in her life. Their eyes locked. He winked and she quickly turned away, having the distinct impression he knew exactly what was running through her mind.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Outside it was cold and dark. Gabbie shivered as she got into her car. As she drove slowly back to the cottage, she tried not to think about Darren. She unlocked the front door and, desperate for company, headed straight for the den.

  Cam appeared immediately. He flopped down on the couch and stretched out his long legs to rest on the coffee table. "Hello, Gabbie. Who was at Logan's?"

  "Jack and his wife, Terry, Reese." She felt herself blush. "Darren came in as I was leaving."

  "Ah."

  To change the subject, she told him about the essay Barrett had written for her class.

  "He's a hand grenade, waiting to explode," Cam said.

  She let out a snort of exasperation. "And the school won't do anything to stop him."

  "That's Tim Jordan's fault. He's a wimp from the word go."

  "When I was in the library this afternoon, I looked up the newspapers from last May. Did you know Barrett and Ross found you on the beach?"

  "Nope." He walked to the sliding doors and gazed out at the night.

  "Do you think they did it?"

  He turned and shrugged. "I don't know. They had no reason to kill me. Unless they did it for the money."

  "Yes, but they had no way of knowing you kept such a large sum in the house."

  "True enough. Except some people who should have known better kept up the buzz that I made millions on every deal. And I rarely locked the cottage, so anyone could have come in."

  He shook his head. "It's hopeless, isn't it? There's no way we'll find out who killed me."

  Gabbie had the sudden urge to hug him as she would a child. "I ran into Jill at the library. She invited me to dinner on Friday night."

  "Good. You'll meet Fred."

  "From what you've told me, he doesn't sound like I'm in for a treat. But I can ask him a few questions. Though I tried that tonight at Logan's and came up with zilch. Adele reprimanded me for bringing you into the conversation."

  Cam came to stand before her, looking pensive. "I'm beginning to think I was wrong to ask you to play detective. All your snooping around is leading nowhere. Except it might upset my killer and send him after you."

  Gabbie fought the tremor of fear that spread through her body. "In which case, we'll know soon enough who's the guilty party."

  He reached out both arms as though he meant to shake some sense into her, but let them drop to his side. "Please don't do anything stupid. I couldn't live with myself if he killed you, too."

  Gabbie shuddered at his choice of words. "The person I have to convince is Darren. He's so damn certain you died accidentally because he trusts Doc Bradley."

  "Then talk to Darren if you like, but to no one else."

  "I'll be careful," she said, knowing she wouldn't stop asking questions. So far she'd learned very little, but the residents of Chrissom Harbor loved to gossip. Sooner or later, someone was bound to let drop a vital piece of information that would reveal the identity of Cam's murderer.

  "Well, good-night, then." He faded away.

  Gabbie brewed herself a cup of tea, which she carried into the den along with her school bag. She stretched out on the couch and started reading The Great Gatsby, stopping occasionally to make notes regarding lines she felt warranted class discussion.

  When the phone on the desk rang, she got up to answer it. She heard breathing. "Yes? Is someone there?"

  "Hello, Gabbie. Are you alone?" The voice sounded muffled, as if the speaker was holding a handkerchief over the mouthpiece.

  The question sent her heart thudding against her ribs. "Who is this?"

  "A friend who wants to give you some good advice."

  "What do you mean?" Her words came out weaker than she'd intended.

  "Leeds' death was an accident. Stop asking questions, or you just might fall and break your neck like he did."

  Gabbie heard the click of the disconnection but couldn't unclasp her grip on the phone. Finally, her hand opened and it clattered to the table. She drew in deep breaths to free herself of the paralyzing terror.

  Damn, if only she had Caller ID! She tried *69 and got a busy signal. The creep had thought of everything.

  Who was it? Whose buttons had she pushed? Her heart pounded against her ribs and she had trouble breathing. Yet underneath her nervousness ran a vein of anticipation. The murderer was afraid Gabbie would uncover evidence that he or she had killed Cam.

  Gabbie shivered. What helped keep her fear at bay was knowing she wasn't alone.

  "Cam? Cam, please come! I need to speak to you."

  She shouted his name a few more times, but he didn't appear. After a while, she remembered his telling her about the other place he often inhabited. Clearly, he wasn't always hovering about the den, ready to make an appearance at her beck and call. She was alone in the cottage on this desolate road.

  She checked to make sure the doors and downstairs windows were securely locked, and she turned on every light in the cottage. Once upstairs, she put Darren's card with his phone numbers on her night table. Reassured that she'd done everything she could to make herself safe, she got ready for bed, where, after some tossing and turning, she managed to fall asleep.

  * * * *

  Thursday Gabbie gave her sophomores a quiz and was pleased to see that most of them understood the point Fitzgerald was making. They saw that J
ay Gatsby was a self-created figure, a one-hundred-percent American product, invented and spurred on by his love for Daisy.

  "Does he really love Daisy," one student had the sense to ask, "or is she an illusion created by her class and wealth?"

  "There's that bit about her laugh," another pointed out.

  Careless Daisy, Gabbie thought, zooming ahead to the end of the novel. She's ninety percent responsible for his death.

  Barrett walked in late. He crossed his arms on his desk and pretended to sleep through the period. Gabbie ignored him. Let sleeping dogs lie. She was even happier on Friday when she read his name on the absentee list and he didn't show up. She put him out of her mind as she talked to her seniors about Fitzgerald and Hemingway, and the many famous writers and artists who'd lived in Paris in the nineteen-twenties.

  After her last class, she went into town to buy a bottle of wine to take to the Leverettes'. She decided to do some grocery shopping, have a quick lunch, and be back at school by three-fifteen to meet with the Photography Club. As she wheeled her shopping cart to her car, she heard someone calling her name. She turned and saw Don Terranova, a bag of groceries in each arm.

  "Hey, Gabbie, where were you last night? We were all disappointed you didn't show up at Logan's."

  "Sorry, but I can't afford to eat out every night." She unlocked her trunk, and started stowing the first bag in when he moved in close enough for her to smell his metallic breath.

  "I'll help you with that."

  "No need," she said and set the bag inside. When she stood up her rear bumped into his stomach. "Excuse me." She jabbed back with her elbow.

  "Ouch!" Don hopped out of arm's reach. "You don't have to get physical."

  "Exactly." She glared at him until he looked away.

  She expected him to trot off in a snit, but instead he gave her the wide-eyed smile of an innocent child. "When are you stopping by the shop? Tessa can't wait to meet you."

  Gabbie ran her fingers through her hair. Lover boy was bound to behave around his wife. "I'll call next week and set up an appointment."

  "Tuesdays and Wednesdays are slow."

  "I'll keep that in mind. Good-bye, Don."

  "Nice to have run into you." He made a dash for his car.

  * * * *

  "He's a pig," Cam said when she'd finished telling him about her encounter with Don. "You get full marks for the way you handled him."

  "The weirdest part was he acted like nothing had happened, then told me Tessa wants to meet me."

  "The poor slob expects to be rejected. I think he'd turn tail and run if anyone ever gave him the come on. Even Tessa can't stand him that way, and he knows it."

  "Then why does she stay with him?"

  "She pities the poor guy. She knows he'd fall to pieces if she threw him out. So instead she has affairs."

  "Oh, sure." Gabbie rolled her eyes.

  "You think I was the only one? Tessa and Terry had a thing going for a while. Even Jack was in there for a one-night stand."

  "Well, well," Gabbie said, grinning. "Chrissom Harbor's beginning to sound like Sin City. Now I better grab my camera and get back to school. I'm taking the Photography Club shooting outdoors."

  "And tonight you're having dinner at Jill's." He sounded wistful. "I wish you could give her my love."

  "And I wish I could tell Darren to reopen the case." She looked over at him, stretched out on the couch. "Are you sure he didn't kill you?"

  "As sure as I am of anything. At least tell him about the call you got the other night."

  "Why? What can Darren do about it?"

  "Stop by occasionally. Keep an eye on you."

  It sounded wonderful. Which was precisely why she had to keep her distance. She wanted no romantic entanglements.

  "Bye, Cam. See you tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow? I expect a full report as soon as you get back from dinner."

  "We'll see." Gabbie grinned as she dashed upstairs. At times it was most convenient that he couldn't leave the den.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was snowing lightly when Gabbie drove back to school. Maybe she should reconsider taking the Photography Club outside this afternoon. Maybe, she thought hopefully, no one will show up.

  No such luck. Four students sat waiting for her as she entered her classroom: Theo, Charlie, and two boys, one short and chubby, the other tall and slender with a bad case of acne. The short boy introduced himself as Sean; the taller one was Richard. They all had digital cameras and were raring to go.

  Gabby explained that though she wasn't a photographer, she was eager to help them, and that she'd planned a project for the afternoon.

  Richard gave her a lovely smile. "That's okay, Ms. Meyerson. I know lots about photography. We just need a sponsor so we can get credit."

  "Oh," Gabby said, feeling somewhat deflated. "Well, I thought we might go outside today and take pictures of trees. I was going to talk to you a bit about composition and focus, but if you've other ideas--"

  "That sounds like a great idea." Theo stared at each of the boys as though daring them to contradict her. "And the snow's letting up, see?"

  Sure enough, the sun was brighter than ever as it reflected on the newly fallen snow.

  "Hey, let's get going while there's still snow on the branches," Charlie said. "They sure look pretty like that."

  "I thought you might take photos in the woods behind the playing fields," Gabbie said.

  "Great idea," Sean agreed. "We'll get some dynamite shots there."

  "You can leave your knapsacks in the classroom," Gabbie said. "I'll lock the door behind us."

  Eagerly, they made their way through the empty halls, past the thumping, shouting basketball practice in the gym. They stomped across the playing field.

  Theo lagged behind to walk with Gabbie. "Mom said you're eating dinner at our house."

  "Yes. I'm coming over tonight."

  Theo hesitated, and then said, "You won't tell any of the kids, will you? I mean, not Charlie or anyone."

  Gabbie held back a smile. "Of course I won't. It's nobody's business. Your mother was kind enough to extend a friendly invitation because I'm new in town, and I appreciate it."

  "She's always extending friendly invitations," Theo said sullenly, and then dashed ahead toward the boys before Gabbie could respond.

  Gabbie discovered there was little she could tell her avid little group. They caught onto her proposed project immediately. Soon they were snapping happily at a chosen tree or bush from every conceivable angle. Charlie even climbed a tree to get an overhead shot of his bush.

  "Now let's aim higher," Gabbie suggested. "Why don't you capture interesting patterns of branches against the sky?"

  Again the woods resounded with the clicking of four cameras.

  It was growing dark when they made a mad dash back to the classroom with barely enough time to gather up their things and catch the late bus.

  "We'll meet again in two weeks," Gabbie called after them. "Bring four by sixes of what you shot so we can study and critique them."

  They shouted their thanks over their shoulders as they ran off, leaving her to lock up.

  Gabbie drove home, pleased with the way the afternoon had gone. The kids were enthusiastic, and Richard hadn't been bragging when he said he knew a lot about photography. He had answered the other kids' questions and helped them set up many of their shots.

  Maybe at their next meeting she'd have them take photos of each other. That was a fun project they were bound to enjoy.

  She showered and put on a red silk turtleneck polo, her embroidered vest, and black trousers. After retrieving the wine from the refrigerator, she set out for the Leverettes's house. It was a five minute ride. Nice and close, she couldn't help noticing, for Cam and Jill to enjoy a quickie in the afternoon.

  The Leverettes lived in the middle of a block of ranches and Cape Cods. Their house was painted muddy brown. The front door must have been white a good many years ago, judging from its cracke
d and peeling paint. The few scrawny bushes and one bare tree added to the aura of neglect.

  When Gabbie rang the bell, Jill opened the door immediately and gave her a peck on the cheek. Gabbie handed her the wine.

  "You shouldn't have," Jill said, "though Fred will be pleased. He'll be home in a few minutes."

  "Oh, I parked in the driveway," Gabbie said. "I'll move my car."

  She turned, but Jill reached out to stop her. "Don't bother. Please. He can leave his old heap in the street."

  "I'd feel better if I move it." She returned to her car and parked on the street. As she walked back toward the house, she saw a curtain flick in an upstairs window of the house next door. Was that where Sonia lived? Did she spy on the Leverettes because her own life was empty?

  Gabbie handed Jill her parka to hang in the hall closet, and followed her into the living room. The room was modest in size, as was the adjoining dining room, where the table was set for four. Both rooms were tastefully decorated with contemporary furniture in light blue and beige. Jill gestured to the sofa and the appetizers on the cocktail table.

  "Make yourself at home. Have some crackers and cheese while I open the wine."

  The aroma of meatloaf wafted into the living room, and Gabbie realized she was starving. She topped a cracker with cheese and stuffed her mouth just as Jill appeared, bearing two wine glasses.

  Gabbie chewed and swallowed too quickly, which made her cough. Jill hurried over to pat her on the back. When Gabbie glanced up, Theo was staring at her.

  "Are you okay?" Theo said.

  "Yes, something just went down the wrong way." The particle of cracker was still stuck and she coughed again.

  "Theo, please bring Ms. Meyerson some water."

  Theo reappeared immediately, glass in hand.

  Gabbie drank. "Much better, thank you."

  "Fred's always doing that," Jill said as she perched on a nubby beige chair.

  "No, he's not," Theo contradicted, plopping down in the matching chair. The soda in her glass tipped dangerously close to the rim. "It only happened at Thanksgiving, and you had to carry on and embarrass everyone to death."

  "Theo," Jill said in a warning tone, "please don't act up in front of your teacher."