by Angie Fox
But to enter my house while I was gone, to invade my privacy like that and leave behind a pie, tempting though it might be…no. This was beyond normal decency. Something was wrong here, and there was no way I was eating this thing. I needed to report it.
Lucy wriggled in my arms, her eyes intent on the pie. Oh, heck no. She’d almost gotten the last pie. There was no way I was letting her anywhere near this one.
“We’re going to take care of this,” I told her, putting her on the ground. I rummaged in the drawer by the sink until I found the aluminum foil. I faced the pie, unwilling to let it out of my sight as I pulled off a long sheet of foil and wrapped the pie up, careful not to touch it myself. There might be fingerprints on the pan.
Are you actually going to report a suspicious pie to Ellis? Really?
It sounded kind of crazy when I thought about it like that, but if anyone would understand, it was Ellis. He trusted his gut and so would I. I’d bring the pie to him at the station tomorrow and see what could be done.
Lucy touched a cold snout to my calf and I reached down for her. “You know something’s wrong,” I said, cuddling my skunk, letting the feel of her warm little body and soft, silky hair comfort me.
It was too late to call Ellis. He’d turn around and come right back if I asked him to, without a word of complaint, but he had his own case to tackle. I was fine. Freaked out, but breathing. And skunk cuddling.
While still carrying Lucy, I placed the pie on top of the refrigerator, well out of her reach. “You’d need a fire ladder to get this one, baby,” I murmured against her fur before placing a kiss on her head. Then I methodically locked my back door, front door, and all of the windows. It made the house a bit stifling inside, but I’d take a little extra heat over an uninvited guest any day.
Unless the intruder was still in my home.
I jolted, and Lucy let out a cry of protest.
“I know, you were just getting comfortable,” I murmured, trying to sound natural in case anybody was listening.
I retreated to the counter by the door and lifted my cell phone from my bag. I dialed 9-1-1 but didn’t hit send. I kept my finger on the button.
“Come on, Lucy,” I murmured. We’d check out the house together.
I turned on every light as I explored the parlor, the front room, and then the hallway back to the kitchen. I wished my foyer chandelier wasn’t missing—sold—as I stood at the bottom of the darkened staircase that led to the second floor.
I cradled my skunk close, keeping my finger on the button of the phone as I crept upstairs, the boards creaking under my weight. I stopped at the top, listening.
The floor did creak a lot when you walked on the second floor. It was the one advantage I had. When I didn’t hear a sound, I crept into my old bedroom and turned on the light. The lone wardrobe stood open, empty except for the ungodly ugly Technicolor winter coat I’d bought at the thrift store.
I braced myself for the small upstairs bathroom. It appeared undisturbed, so I locked the stained-glass window over the monstrous claw-foot tub and retreated to the hallway.
Back in the master bedroom, I locked all the windows and kept the lights on as I ventured into the second bedroom that faced the front of the house. I took a deep breath as I flipped on the overhead light, simply a bare bulb in a socket. There, I found an empty room with lovely green vine wallpaper.
“Goodness,” I said, feeling my heart in my chest.
Lucy shifted in my arms.
“One left,” I told her, hoping we were alone.
I was ready to run, all set to hit the button on my phone as I flipped on the lights to the final, small bedroom that faced the front of the house.
It lay empty as well, the brighter spots on the blue-painted wall making it clear where furniture had once stood. Relieved, I flipped off the lights, and what I saw then made my blood run cold.
“Oh, baby.” I kissed Lucy on the head as I crept forward toward the front windows.
Down at the far end of my driveway, close to where our property ended and the 1960s bungalows and tract houses began, I saw a car parked under a large oak tree. From a distance, I could almost make out the shadow of a person inside.
Maybe it was only the front seat.
It could be my imagination.
There was no reason for anyone to be watching me. Nobody alive, anyway.
Lucy’s fur tickled my chin, but I remained still. I needed to watch until I could detect some kind of movement, any sign that there was a person in that car and not a figment of my paranoid mind.
If it was a person, they’d seen me turn on every light in my house. They’d watched me lock the front windows. They knew I was onto them.
One wrong move and I’d press the button and have the police here.
Then again, I had to think that if there were truly a stranger sitting in a car under the big oak, one of the neighbors down the road would have called already. It was the benefit—and the curse—of small-town Southern living: most people were on the lookout for anything unusual.
I stood and watched until my eyes grew tired and my arm went numb under Lucy’s weight. She let out a soft snore. The little skunk had fallen asleep.
At least one of us could relax.
I locked all the windows in the room and kept the lights out. I might need to come back up and observe. But for the time being, I needed to sit down before I fell down. With Lucy snuggled in my arms, I carried her down to our bed in the parlor.
The rest of the lights in the house remained blazing, the doors and windows locked as I moved my phone charger next to the futon. I eased Lucy to sleep next to my pillow and erased the 9-1-1 from my cell phone.
Fifteen new messages. I hadn’t noticed them before, focused as I was on the mystery pie and my sweep of the house.
“Since when have I become so popular?” I asked the sleeping skunk.
Hopefully, one of the messages would be from a friend or a neighbor, someone friendly who’d dropped off the pecan pie.
I sat cross-legged next to her and took a listen.
There was one message from Melody, asking me to call her when I could, because she’d found some old pictures of the Adair estate. I’d go and see her at the library tomorrow. There was a lot more research to be done now, and I’d need her help.
Next up was a thank-you from a nervous-sounding Beau. Odd. I’d be ignoring that one, thank you very much. I saw the next number and felt my back stiffen.
My body still recognized the caller, even if it took my brain a moment to catch up. With shaking hands, I pressed “play” to listen to the voicemail. “Hello, Verity.” It sounded like more of an accusation than a greeting.
Virginia Wydell hadn’t called me on the phone since I broke up with Beau. Before that, we’d talked daily, consumed with the intensity of wedding planning.
I clicked out of my messages. Tonight had been rough enough without listening to whatever Virginia Wydell had to say. I knew all about her problem. I still didn’t know what she expected me to do about it. I sat back and plugged the phone into the charger. For heaven’s sake, the man was in his thirties. He could make his own choices, even if those choices happened to be mistakes.
I recalled his latest “masterpiece,” the three-headed snake thing, and shook my head. Those choices might even be bad mistakes, but again, they were his to make. At least he was reaching, growing. Even if it was like a weed.
I sighed. The air in the house was growing stale with the windows closed, and it would only get worse.
Rather than worry about it, I changed into my summer nightgown, a pretty white eyelet one, and joined Lucy in bed.
I’d be useless tomorrow if I didn’t put down a few of my worries and get some sleep. Yet I didn’t feel quite comfortable enough to turn the lights off.
“I need to be more like you, babe,” I said to the sleeping skunk, who had curled into a comfortable ball next to my pillow.
I lay down next to her and folded my hands unde
r my head.
Let it go.
Don’t think about Virginia or Beau or who might be waiting under the old oak tree outside.
Don’t think about who might have left that pie on the kitchen island.
Don’t think about how much easier it would be if it were only an angry ghost after you.
I rolled over, trying to find a more comfortable position.
My back hurt from bending over that spilled briefcase inside the Adair mansion. My toe throbbed from where that black ooze had drawn too close.
And what was that stuff? It was gross and wrong and oh-my-word the sphinx statue had taken a swipe at me and the dominant ghost had nearly run us down.
I’d never been this unsettled by a ghost before, and I’d had some pretty scary interactions. I’d almost been shot—more than once. I’d been shoved off cliffs and hurtled toward certain death on trains, but this felt different. It felt ferocious and angry and mean.
I had no doubt the dominant spirit at the Adair place would have hurt me, possibly even killed me tonight. Thank goodness for my ability to sprint from danger, and for Ellis and his mad driving skills.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the tangled cords on the ceiling, where my great-great-grandmother’s chandelier had hung for generations. Until the wrath of Virginia.
And now my worries had come full circle. I sat up.
I sighed and grabbed my phone. I might as well see what my almost-mother-in-law had to say. Virginia was intimidating, but she couldn’t be any worse than what I’d survived today already.
Beep. “Verity, this has got to stop.”
“I agree,” I said to the phone.
“You must see that,” the message continued. “I’m sure all it would take from you is a few words and Beau would snap out of this phase he’s going through.”
Hmm… I wasn’t sure what those words would be, since Beau liked to do what he wanted despite anything I said.
Beep. “Are you encouraging Beau? Is this some sort of twisted revenge against me? I assure you, I will not be bullied by the likes of a penniless waif with no good reputation to speak of. You’ll make Beau see reason or you’ll answer to me.”
I lay down flat on my back. These messages were making me tired.
Beep. “Is this all a game to you? Have you even seen the…the eyesores he’s concocting? Does it amuse you to watch my son throw his life away for Southern eclectic garbage collecting?”
I listened to messages four through twelve with a sinking stomach. They were all variations on the same theme, an overestimation of my power—and hers—to change the heart of a man who might have been a mamma’s boy at one point, but who seemed to be coming into his own.
For better or worse.
The messages were blunter than I’d expect from Virginia. Beau’s budding art career must really have her rattled.
Message thirteen made me sit up and take pause.
“Verity, listen to me.” Her voice this time sounded on edge, desperate. “I’ll make you a deal. If you fix this situation—fix Beau, get him back into his law practice where he belongs…” She paused as if she had to force herself to say the rest. “I’ll give your grandmother’s necklace back.” She sniffed. “It’s never suited my taste anyway.”
Click.
I stared at the phone. My grandmother’s necklace—it had been the hardest thing for me to part with when I was trying to save the house. It had been my grandfather’s gift to her on their wedding night. She’d cherished it and had passed it on to me because she knew I loved it as well. But when it came down to the end, I had to give it up or lose the family property. It would be cruel of Virginia to give me hope if she had no intention of ever returning it.
But if she was serious…
I wrapped my arms around my knees and pulled them against my chest. I took in the parlor where I now slept, my memory filling in the blank spaces where familiar, beloved furnishings used to reside. All the pictures, all the keepsakes, even the chandelier that had once filled the gaping hole above me—I missed them all, but none of them carried the same personal importance that the necklace did. Every time I thought of my grandmother, I saw her wearing that cross.
I touched the base of my neck, imagining the feel of the delicate gold and silver filigree beneath my fingertips. This could be the only chance I’d ever have at getting it back. If I failed at this, Virginia would keep it out of spite.
Knowing her taste for revenge, she might even sell it.
I’d call Beau first thing in the morning.
First thing in the morning ended up coming early, just after sunrise. Then again, I hadn’t expected to sleep well after the night I’d had.
Lucy watched me with big black eyes, nudging me and shifting on her paws in the way I knew meant, ‘Move it or I lose it!’
“I hear you, girl.” I scooted out of bed and unlocked the back door for her, half-afraid I’d find another mystery pie on my porch. When I saw nothing but early morning sunshine, I leaned against the door frame, glad to start a new day as Lucy bounded into the bright backyard to do her business.
My spirits lifted with the light of day. Last night had been terrifying, but I couldn’t deny it had also been productive. We’d made real progress in Greasy Larry’s murder case, and with Melody’s help, I hoped to do even more before Frankie and I met with Inspector De Clercq again. I was going to take the pie to Ellis to get some answers, and miracle of miracles, I even had a shot at getting my grandmother’s necklace back.
I set out a bowl of blueberries and Vita-Skunk for Lucy, made myself a blueberry parfait for breakfast, and sat down on the back steps to call Beau. I could have done it inside, but I felt like I needed the touch of sunlight on my skin right now. I closed my eyes and soaked up the rays for a few minutes—I needed all the brightness I could get—then pulled up Beau’s number.
It had been a while since I’d reached out to my ex-fiancé on the phone—even longer than I’d gone without talking to his mother. Hopefully, things wouldn’t get…weird.
Beau answered on the second ring. “Verity?”
“Good morning.” I said it as cheerfully as I could manage, given the situation.
“Hey!” You’d think I’d called to tell him he’d won the lottery. “What a surprise, this is great! You’re—hey, Zoey! It’s Verity on the phone!”
If she replied, I couldn’t hear it. Beau was back on a moment later. “I knew it,” he said smugly. “I knew you were impressed with me now.”
“Now don’t get yourself in a fever.” That wasn’t what this was about. “Your mother left about a dozen messages on my phone last night. She’s worried about you.”
“I can’t help that,” Beau said. “Besides, Mom’s not talking to me now that I’ve officially quit the law firm.”
“Officially?” Virginia hadn’t said a word about that in her messages, and believe me, she’d said plenty. “When did you find time for that?”
“I left my resignation letter on my dad’s desk late last night. I’m going to burn all my suits.” He sounded thrilled by the prospect.
“No.” This was quickly heading the wrong way. “A bunch of burned suits is not art.” I didn’t want to date Beau again—ever—but I had to admit he had some nice suits. He could donate them at the very least, but we weren’t even going there because he needed to rethink this whole decision.
There was a moment’s pause, then a little gasp. “Verity, you’re brilliant.”
“I hardly think—”
“I need to create art with my burned suits! It won’t happen on its own.” He let out a whoop to match my groan. “It will make such a statement about the illusion of wealth’s connection to true joy, help me tap into the millennial zeitgeist.”
“Zeitgeist?” I repeated. I didn’t even know what that was.
He laughed. “See? We’re on the same wavelength. Finally,” he mused. “I think that was our issue all along. I didn’t get it before, but I do now. I truly do.”
“Come out to my studio and see for yourself,” Beau challenged. “Once you’re here, once you get a good look at what I’m doing and absorb the feel of it, you’ll see what I’m after—what you helped me create.”
If there was anything I didn’t want credit for, it was that.
“Beau,” I began. The last thing I wanted to do was to encourage him, or this strange connection that he thought existed between us. On the other hand, if I didn’t try to change his mind, Beau could wreck his career. What if he did some crazy, criminal, public suit-burning that got him disbarred? At the rate he was going, I’d never get my necklace back. My heart throbbed with longing for it.
“I’ll help you,” I said at last. After I handled the ghost case and my pecan-pie stalker. “I’ll stop by sometime this afternoon.”
“Great,” Beau said as if our get-together was a foregone conclusion. “I’ll text you the address.”
I clicked off my phone and tried to focus on happy things—the bees buzzing around the blooming hydrangeas that flanked the bottom of the porch steps, Lucy sniffing a path through the sinfully green grass. The sky was blue. The sun was bright. It was a perfect Southern summer’s day.
It was the perfect day for a Southern girl like me to take charge.
I let Lucy inside, cleaned up, and slipped on my favorite yellow sundress. I eased the pie from the top of the refrigerator and headed out. I’d handled plenty of trouble before, and today would be no different.
I prided myself on my brains and my focus. There would be no more cringing from my own shadow, no more putting up with anonymous pie-bearing stalkers. I’d tackle Beau’s pipe dream and Virginia’s veiled threat. Come hell or high water, today the people of Sugarland were going to start answering to me.
Chapter 16
First, I’d take the creepy pie to Ellis, who would already be at work by now.
The Sugarland Police Department was housed in the same quaint two-story brick building it had occupied for the last fifty years at least. It stood south of Main Street, across from Roan’s Hardware, which had been there about as long. There was plenty of street parking. I found a spot just down from the hardware store, in front of Collin’s, the shoe store my mom used to take me to visit every year before the start of school.