The Book of Beloved (Pluto's Snitch 1)

by Carolyn Haines

  “Carlton, is there any word?” She met him and hugged him. “I’m sick with worry. I couldn’t stay home a moment longer.”

  Travis cast a glance in my direction, but he, too, picked up his cue. “Mr. Carlton, is there anywhere I could look?”

  “The searchers are out in force. The best we can do is wait.”

  “Is Reginald awake?” Isabelle tempted fate with her question.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Carlton said. He took her arm, blocking my shot. “Step into the library with me, and we’ll wait together. Travis, do you think you might drive into town? I have a message for the sheriff, and it seems the phone service is out here.”

  I wanted to scream to her to run. To get away. If I could fire a shot and throw everyone into pandemonium, Travis could use his weapon.

  “Of course.” Travis shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  “Come with me to the library,” Carlton said.

  The look of horror that swept over Winona’s face told me that Carlton would soon have Isabelle and Travis as hostages if I didn’t act.

  I edged out of my hiding place, the gun in my hand. I pulled the hammer back. Before I could aim and take a shot, the horrific monkey-head jigger slid across the polished foyer floor and stopped at Carlton’s feet.

  “What the hell?” Carlton glared at the toy, then turned his attention to the empty parlor. “Who’s there?” Carlton drew a revolver from the waistband of his slacks. He pointed it toward the direction the jigger had come from. “Come out now.”

  “Carlton, really?” Isabelle put a hand on his arm that held the gun. “We—”

  He backhanded her. “Shut up.”

  Travis started forward, but Carlton’s gun stopped him. “I don’t need any of you. No one except Brett, who will tell me what I want to know.”

  I was ready to step forward and tell Carlton that only I knew the location of The Book of Beloved. That was the thing he sought. The documentation of his bloodline that he would destroy.

  Before I could move an inch, though, the jigger retreated across the floor. It moved of its own volition. If Horace was at the helm, I couldn’t see him.

  Carlton loosened his hold on Isabelle’s arm and backed away. “That thing is possessed.”

  The moment he was clear of Isabelle, I aimed the gun at his leg and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed in the house, deafening me. Winona and Isabelle ran. Carlton ran after them. I’d missed. After four steps, though, Carlton stumbled, unable to keep his balance. I’d missed his leg, but somehow the bullet had found his foot. He went down in a heap, a furious glare pinning me.

  “Don’t make another move.” Travis pointed his revolver at Carlton. For a moment, Carlton considered his options, and I feared Travis would kill him on the spot. At last he dropped his weapon.

  Uncle Brett, Framon, and Reginald stepped out of the parlor. Reginald reeled the jigger toward him with the fishing line he’d tied to it. His grin said it all. Framon and Uncle Brett were equally jubilant.

  “Travis, I think you should get the sheriff,” Uncle Brett said, taking control. “Perhaps the phone lines are up at the Gunderson house. You can try there so you don’t have to drive all the way to town.”

  “Yes, sir,” Travis said.

  “And call Dr. Martin.” Brett looked down at the lawyer with more pity than anger. “Carlton doesn’t deserve our tender mercies, but I don’t want him to bleed to death on the foyer floor.”

  Uncle Brett hugged Isabelle, then came to me. “An excellent job of saving the day, Raissa.” He took the gun from my shaking hands. “I think Travis will have his hands full with shooting lessons in the future. I believe you have a natural talent, but it needs a bit of honing.”

  Because it was over, at last, I looked at Uncle Brett and burst into tears.

  A week passed before Reginald and I found ourselves in the ballroom gathered around the table. Once again, we were hosting a séance. Uncle Brett and Isabelle sat side by side. The four-carat diamond on her left hand caught and refracted the candlelight. The wedding was set for October, when the crisper air would allow Uncle Brett to plan the party of all parties on the grounds of Caoin House. If tonight went as planned, the unhappy spirits of Caoin House would be set to rest. Mr. and Mrs. Brett Airlie would live in peace at Caoin House.

  Joining us for the séance were Winona, Framon, and Travis. Without their help, Carlton would never have been arrested for his crimes. Uncle Brett had invited the three of them, and to my surprise, all had agreed to participate.

  Reginald signaled that he was ready to start. This time there would be no tricks. None were necessary. At the far corner of the room, Caleb stood with his hand on Horace’s shoulder. Beside him were Elise and Eva. There was no sign of Eli. Whatever the fate of his spirit, he was not at Caoin House. There were others, though—the drowned boy and two others, and a host of less distinct entities—and perhaps some slaves who’d never made their peace. Reginald and I intended to release them all.

  Reginald explained to our ghostly audience that Carlton had been punished, and Eli Whitehead’s sins had been revealed. As Reginald spoke, the darkness that surrounded Eva dissipated. Light seemed to fill her, and she pulled Elise to her side. Horace, too, joined his mother. At last, Caleb joined them. “Thank you,” he whispered, and I knew it would be our last communication.

  “The secrets have been revealed. The truth is known,” Reginald said. “You are free to move on.”

  The ceremony was simple, but it was enough. Even as I watched, they disappeared.

  “Are they gone?” Reginald asked.

  “They are.”

  “Then it’s time for a drink,” Uncle Brett said.

  We left the ballroom, traipsing down to the library, where Winona served canapés and even agreed to sip a glass of crisp white wine. When everyone was engaged, I took a glass of wine and slipped out to the front porch. The sun was setting, the end of another long summer day, and I watched the shadows gather beneath the oaks. Caleb was truly gone. I felt his absence more than I would have imagined.

  Carlton had been revealed as a murderer. He’d confessed to pushing Robert Aultman off the roof to clear the way for his romantic pursuits. He’d lured him there by telling him I’d sprained my ankle and needed help. He’d also convinced Dr. Oyles to falsify the inquest report. Carlton had known me well enough to believe I’d pursue the matter of Robert’s death. And I had. I’d played into his hands, doubting Robert and myself. It had left me vulnerable to his lies and manipulations.

  Behind me the door opened, and Reginald sat down beside me on the steps. He put an arm around my shoulders. “It’s been quite an adventure,” he said.

  “A painful one,” I agreed.

  “Who’s that coming down the drive?” Reginald asked.

  I didn’t recognize the car or the driver. When the young man jumped out, he held an envelope in his hand. “Special delivery for Miss Raissa James.”

  “That’s me.” I took the letter. Reginald tipped the young man, who drove away.

  “There’s no name or postmark.” It had come by special carrier. I ripped open the letter. A single sheet unfolded in my hand.

  Dear Mrs. James,

  Madam Madelyn Petalungro has informed me of your extraordinary work with Mr. Reginald Proctor in the realm of spirits. In fact, I hear you’ve become something of a gumshoe in the realm of the dead. Pluto’s snitches, I would call you. And just in time I have learned of your work in solving the mysteries of the dead.

  I invite you to Montgomery, Alabama, to help me save my friend from a terrible fate. It is a story I believe you’ll find fascinating, especially since I understand you are soon to be a published author, as is my husband. If you and Mr. Proctor consider coming to Montgomery for a visit, I promise you will be well rewarded for your efforts.

  Camilla Granger is—or was—a delightful young woman who is soon to be married to David Simpson. Camilla’s dragon of a mother is pressing for the marriage. Camilla longs for a p
eriod of independence, yet she loves David. And he loves her. So she has consented to the wedding.

  David has renovated a property, Roswell House, for their home. It is a stupendous property, but something is not right there. The first time Camilla visited, our gentle friend became a frenzied assassin and attempted to cut her intended’s throat. She is currently at Bryce Hospital, a mental institution, and her mother is pressing for a lobotomy.

  Camilla is in desperate need of the services Madam Petalungro assures me you and Mr. Proctor can provide. Madam would come herself, but she is unwell and cannot travel. I am begging you to drop all you are engaged in and come to help my friend before it is too late. I believe a dark spirit has taken possession of my friend, and there is no help for her if you don’t come.

  I will provide payment, as well as room and board, while you are in Montgomery. My husband, Scott, has a keen interest in this matter and hopes to use the entire experience as a basis for one of his stories. I believe he would be helpful in your writing career, Mrs. James. Please call Juniper 45640 with your answer. Reverse the charges, please. I await your decision. Please make haste. My friend is on the edge of losing her mind—and very possibly her life.

  The highest regards,

  Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald

  Reginald read the letter with an expanding grin. “She’s quite the flapper,” he said. “And a case of potential possession. Are we going?”

  “How can we not?” I answered. It was the perfect solution, allowing Uncle Brett and Isabelle a chance to enjoy Caoin House alone. Truly alone. And Reginald and I could expand our knowledge of the dead. It was certainly an intriguing case. “Pluto’s Snitch. I like that. How can we say no?”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing is a solitary profession, but within the ranks of writers and readers, I’ve found my family of choice. I want to thank my wonderful friends and readers for giving the manuscript a careful vetting. When I asked for volunteers to see if the book resonated, I was overwhelmed with the generous response of dozens of volunteers who read astutely and gave me valuable input. A special thanks to Claire Matturro, Thomi Sharpe, Mahala Church, Stephanie Marks, and Rebecca Barrett. Between where I started and where I ended up, it was a long and sometimes very dark journey.

  Thanks to my editors, JoVon Sotak, Bryon Quertermous, Sarah Shaw, Robin O’Dell, Jill Kramer, and the entire Amazon team. Always, many thanks to my agent, Marian Young.

  A special thanks to Rick Fortenberry. Writing is a crazy business, but you help me keep it in perspective.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Carolyn Haines is the USA Today bestselling author of more than seventy books, including the popular Sarah Booth Delaney Mississippi Delta mystery series. A native of Mississippi, Haines writes in multiple genres. She’s a recipient of the 2010 Harper Lee Award for Distinguished Writing and the 2009 Richard Wright Award for Literary Excellence. She has also been honored by Suspense Magazine and Romantic Times for best mystery series. The Book of Beloved is the first book in her new series, Pluto’s Snitch. An animal advocate, Haines founded a small 501c3 rescue, Good Fortune Farm Refuge. She cares for nine dogs, nine cats, and six horses.