by Angie Fox
She’d packed several photos, each in its own wax-paper folder. I pulled out one of a young girl in pigtails, Sir Charles draped over her lap, with a beaming Marjorie looking on. Then there was one of Jeannie and Marjorie and EJ blowing bubbles. Graham, Marjorie, and a smiling Marcus racing go-karts down the long drive. “I’m enjoying your pictures as well. I didn’t realize you were so close to Marjorie and Marcus.” They were in a surprising number of photos. But it made sense. The two of them had grown up as close friends to Graham.
“Ah, yes. Marjorie and Marcus Phillips,” she said, her tone warm, but wary. “Mr. Phillips—Marcus—he didn’t like me much. Or maybe it just seemed that way to a young girl. He ran hot and cold. But Marjorie was like a second mother to me.”
No wonder she’d warmed up to me when she’d learned I was talking with EJ, trying to reconnect her with the house and her heritage.
“What’s the story with Marcus Phillips?” I asked. “I’ve…researched him. He seems like an interesting fellow.” It was a weak story, but more believable than Marcus’s ghost has some serious issues.
“Uncle Graham always said Mr. Phillips should have been a great man. And Uncle Graham was usually right about people.”
“A great man,” I repeated, trying that on for size. “How so?” I asked when she failed to elaborate.
“I’m honestly not sure,” she said. “I was just a child. But he did have a big personality.”
“True,” I said, thinking of the way Marcus had acted when I’d first met him: confident, understandably frustrated at his wife. I tried to reconcile that with the raw anger I’d seen in him when I’d overheard him in the hallway with Marjorie. Marcus could be a charmer if he wanted. But he definitely had a dark side.
“Looking back, I think he was simply unhappy and it showed. My aunt and uncle used to talk about how he’d changed, but they still considered him a very good friend. They still had faith that he’d put himself on the right path.”
“I have a friend like that,” I sympathized. Beau was frustrated, lost, and known for getting drunk and out of hand. But maybe with a little help, he could find a way to move forward and have a happier ending than Marcus did. “His wife, Marjorie, on the other hand—she lights up the room.” I’d seen it in the photos EJ had sent, and in person.
“Auntie Marge was a force of nature,” EJ said. “She taught me so much. And she didn’t judge. I could tell her things I couldn’t tell my own parents, or even my aunt and uncle. We used to write all the time when I was growing up. She helped me through a lot. Young girls can be cruel, and my mom was older. She didn’t always understand.”
I could see Marjorie jumping right in with advice. I’d experienced that firsthand. “It sounds like you were lucky to have Marjorie in your life.”
EJ sighed. “I was, until my mother found letters where I told Marjorie about my first boyfriend and how I was getting close to him. Puppy love, nothing big. Of course, Marjorie wanted to hear all about it. But Mom was mad. She said Marjorie was a bad influence. She overreacted something terrible.”
Perhaps she’d known about Marjorie’s past. The mug shot had been a shock to me, but Graham Adair’s sister might have known all about it.
“I was forbidden to write her again,” EJ said, the pain in her voice clear. “Except one final letter where I had to say that I didn’t think she was the type of person I should have in my life anymore. It hurts to even think about what I said in that letter.”
“Your mother made you do it.” EJ couldn’t blame herself for that. She’d been a young, impressionable kid.
“That doesn’t make it right. Marjorie did nothing but love me and help me.” She cleared her throat and I could hear her on the line, regaining her composure. “My mom stopped sending me to my aunt and uncle’s. They’d visit us in New York sometimes, but it was never the same.”
“How awful. I’m so sorry.” It had to hurt to be torn away from her happy memories and her Sugarland family. She needed closure at the very least. “I don’t mean to pressure you, but I really wish you’d come back and see it now.”
This time, I heard her hesitation. “I might…” she hedged. “I’d like to. But I’m not what you call a spring chicken.”
“You have to do what you feel is right,” I agreed. She must be amazingly spry for her age if she was still working at the gallery, but no doubt she had her health concerns and I had to remember Sugarland wasn’t for everyone. Although, quite frankly, the idea that someone might not want to visit or live here was hard to get my head around sometimes. “In the meantime, I’ll keep sending you pictures.”
“I’m counting on it,” she said before we ended our conversation.
I definitely needed to get a shot of the snake cage for her. It would also give me a chance to compare the ghostly murder scene with EJ’s photos of the same place. Perhaps the killer had left a clue that hadn’t been so obvious to us before.
I’d just placed the photographs back in their wax envelopes and the FedEx package in my bag when my phone rang again. Maybe EJ had reconsidered.
But it was Ellis.
I smiled to myself. Mr. Judson was going to wonder what I was doing for so long in his bathroom.
I clicked to answer. “Hey,” I said, cradling the phone with my shoulder, hiking up my still-unzipped dress. “I left you a—”
“Verity, I need you to come down to the station,” he said over me, which was very unlike Ellis. He sounded serious, almost grave.
“I’m changing into my costume for the ghost masquerade.”
Well, that and turning the gas station bathroom into my private telephone booth.
I checked out my reflection in the cheap, slightly wavy mirror. “I might even look half-dead after doing my makeup in this light.”
“Verity,” he cut in. Again.
“I’ve got to be at the estate when the sun sets,” I continued, balancing my purse on the tiny counter.
“That’s going to have to wait.” He spoke to me more like Frankie than my loving boyfriend. “Cammi is dead.”
“What?” I gripped the edge of the sink. My purse slipped off the counter and spilled.
I stared at the mess on the floor as he explained, “She ate a slice of your pecan pie and keeled over. We got her to the ER as fast as we could, but it was too late.”
“Oh, my God.” I shuddered as my back smacked up against the cold tile wall next to the sink. I fought back a wave of guilt. If it weren’t for me, that pie never would have been at the station in the first place. I should never have left it with her. “I warned her,” I added, feeling a bit light-headed. “That was evidence. Good Lord. How could she eat it?”
“Duranja told me what you said to her.” His voice lost its edge. “You tried. It’s not your fault she didn’t take you seriously.”
I pushed off the wall. “Yes, but I should have kept the pie until I could give it to you directly.” I never should have trusted Cammi to keep her hands off it.
“Ideally, a citizen, any citizen, should be able to make a police report without the police eating the evidence,” Ellis countered. He sighed. “Anyhow, it’s done.” He paused. “Verity, you understand what this means.”
The formal gown slipped off my shoulder. “I’m a terrible person?” I ventured, gripping the fabric, realizing I still hadn’t zipped the back of the dress.
“Someone is trying to kill you,” Ellis finished.
I almost dropped the phone. He was right. It was the only logical conclusion. Yet, I couldn’t imagine who or why.
“I need you to come in so I can get an official statement.”
“Of course,” I answered automatically. This was important, as important as the investigation tonight. “I’ll be right there.” I’d make it work.
With shaking fingers, I zipped my dress and gathered my things. Well, at least my wallet. The lipstick that had landed by the toilet and the blush in the dirty corner could stay.
I couldn’t believe I had been right a
bout the pie. I mean, I could believe it. I wouldn’t have made it a police matter if I thought it had been an innocent gesture, but part of me had still hoped to learn I’d been wrong and the whole thing was a misunderstanding. Instead, I’d been so right that someone had died from eating it.
Poor Cammi. She had a daughter about my age. Mary June had been in Melody’s grade. She’d moved to Atlanta for an accounting job. She’d be devastated.
I hurried out of Judson’s Last Stop with a halfhearted wave to Joe and headed straight for the police station.
Dusk had fallen by the time I arrived. We should have been heading for the mansion.
At least Frankie hadn’t noticed. Yet.
The station was ablaze with lights, which made for a marked contrast with the darkened shops up and down the rest of the street.
I rushed inside and found Ellis waiting for me up front. He wore his official uniform, and rather than opening his arms to me for a hug like I’d expected, he held out a hand instead. “Miss Long, thanks for coming so quickly.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I got it. Ellis needed to be extra official right now. Everybody knew I was his girlfriend, but my kooky suspicions had now morphed into a homicide investigation. If he wanted to stay on the case, he’d have to prove he could be professional. I took a deep breath and shook his hand, conscious of a dozen eyes watching us. “Thank you. I’m so sorry this happened.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said firmly, a tad louder than absolutely necessary. “I do need to question you about the pie and how it came into your possession. Let’s talk in my office.”
“All right.” I followed him down a short hallway to the last door on the right. It opened to a room split into two offices separated by a tall gray partition. Ellis’s was on the right and just big enough for two chairs, a desk, and a filing cabinet.
I’d been here before on much happier visits. Beside his computer, I spotted the familiar picture of me outside Southern Spirits, but apart from that, there were few personal touches.
Typical Ellis.
“We’ll do a verbal statement for now,” he said, pulling out a notepad as I took the seat opposite him. “I’ll type it up later for you to sign.” He wrote my name at the top of the page, jotted down a case number, and began. “Miss Long, where in your home did you find the pie?”
I’d included that in my original note, but I knew he had to be thorough. “On my kitchen counter.”
He looked up from his notebook. “What time did you find this pie?”
“It was late last night.” Gosh, what time had we escaped from the party? “A little after midnight, I believe.”
Ellis nodded. “Were any of your doors unlocked before you arrived home last night?”
I stifled a nervous laugh. “All of them. All of the windows, too, except for the one that’s been painted shut that leads to the storm cellar.”
“Understood,” Ellis said, his tone a bit sharp. Earlier this summer, he’d asked me to start locking my doors, and I had—for about a week. Old habits were hard to break. “We’ll send someone out to fingerprint,” he said, almost to himself.
“I won’t be home tonight,” I told him. “But the doors are unlocked.”
His jaw tightened. “Of course they are,” he said, writing.
He didn’t have to get sarcastic. I leaned back in my chair.
“What did you do with the pie after you found it?” he asked.
“I wrapped it in foil.” I’d thought I was being so clever. I should have sealed it with lead.
Ellis glanced at me over his notebook. “Was the foil tight?”
I shifted in my seat. “Tight enough to stay on. What does that have to do with anything?”
“It could be important, depending on how many prints we find on the pie plate. The tighter you wrapped it, the harder someone would have had to work to get their prints on it after the fact, which helps us narrow the field. Any detail could be useful when it comes to learning the identity of your would-be killer.”
“That sounds so awful when you say it.” I scooted to the edge of my seat. “I mean, think about it. Why would someone want to kill me?”
Ellis looked at me calmly, gently, the way a cop would treat any distressed victim. I hated being a victim. “I don’t know, Verity. Not this time, at least,” he said, slipping into a more familiar mode, a comfortable one. Then he squashed it by asking, “Can you think of any reason someone might want to kill you?”
“Not lately,” I told him.
I wanted to have something to tell him, some insight or some new lead he could follow, but no one had threatened me recently, apart from the ghost at the Adair estate. Even the few spirits who could move objects in the real world wouldn’t be able to bake a poisoned pie. Heck, I wasn’t even working any live-people cases right now. I’d been useless when it came to the girl in the ravine. I hadn’t crossed anyone in Sugarland except for Virginia, and if she were the murdering type, I’d be dead a dozen times over by now.
“Think,” Ellis pressed. “Why would someone want you dead?”
The way his right hand tightened a little around the pen when he said “dead” made me feel like I was under interrogation myself.
“I don’t know. I really don’t.” I needed a hug. “Ellis, I’m scared.”
He reached across the desk and took my hand, letting his professional mask drop for just a moment. “We’re going to get whoever did it,” he promised. “But to figure it out, we need to pay attention to the details.” He squeezed my hand, then let go. “Has anything else unusual or unexpected been left at your property?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, my mind wandering back to who might want to hurt me.
“Anything you can think of,” he pressed. “Don’t worry about how it sounds.”
“Well, there was the other pie,” I said. “You know that.” I’d told him about it and how Lucy had almost gotten it. “It looked exactly the same.”
I wondered if that one had been poisoned too.
Ellis had plenty of questions after that. I answered them as best I could. The trick was, I didn’t know anything. I was about to tell him that for the third time when an annoyed gangster cleared his throat behind me.
“We’re supposed to be at the Adair mansion by sundown, getting my butt out of the eternal slammer, and you’re getting cozy with your boyfriend,” Frankie snipped. I turned to find him in a full tuxedo, arms crossed, glaring at me.
I didn’t need reminding. “A woman died tonight, Frankie.”
He leaned against the door frame. “I’ll be worse than dead if we don’t pull this off.” He rested an elbow on the frame. “We’re late for De Clercq. Again.”
“I realize that.” I didn’t know what to say.
I turned to Ellis. “Tonight is our last night to find the killer at the Adair mansion.” I explained our situation with the investigator, as well as the prison at my house.
It was hard to shock Ellis, but by the time I finished my story, I’d accomplished it. He ran a hand over his face. “That can’t be legal,” he managed after a moment.
I glanced back at Frankie. His tuxedo hung a bit long in the arms, and he wore a boutonniere on his lapel that could have registered for its own zip code. It wasn’t a great look for him, but it sure beat a prison uniform.
“You and I both know the ghosts play by their own rules,” I said to Ellis.
Ellis nodded, thinking. “I can’t go with you tonight. I’m on duty and we have an officer down.”
“I understand.” I didn’t expect him to abandon his post or his obligations. “I just need to leave sooner rather than later.”
“As in an hour ago,” Frankie added.
For once, I was glad Ellis couldn’t hear him.
“Verity,” Ellis began, tossing the notebook on his desk, “I have what I need for now, but as far as this ghost job—” He walked around the desk, clearly battling what he wanted to say. “I’m not going to tell you what to do—” he
leaned against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest “—but I’ll say it plain. I don’t like you going there tonight.”
I stood as well. “I get it.” I truly did.
He took my hands in his. “Someone is trying to kill you. We don’t know who or why. Now you want to head to an abandoned property by yourself, where you’ll be distracted by ghosts that nobody else can see.”
“I’m not thrilled by any of that, but if I don’t go, I’ll lose my home. Forever.”
He nodded grimly.
“I realize it’s a risk,” I added. “But I don’t have a choice.”
“There’s no good answer,” he said, like a man headed to the gallows.
“I’ll be okay,” I assured him. “I’ve done this before.”
“No, you haven’t,” he corrected. His eyes flicked up to mine, then back to where our hands were joined. “Every ghost is different. This never gets any easier.”
He was right but saying it wouldn’t make either of us feel any better.
So I did the only thing I could think to do. I kissed him.
Afterward, I leaned my forehead against his. “I’ll call you as soon as I leave the estate.” He’d still be on duty. He was already working a double today, and he’d be there longer with Cammi’s death.
“Come on,” Frankie groaned. “It’s not like he’s heading off to war.”
If that wasn’t enough to kill the mood, Duranja cursed from the hall. Ellis’s cop buddy stood outside the door, visible through Frankie. As I pulled away from my boyfriend, the other officer glared at me like I was Cleopatra seducing Marc Antony.
“If you’re done in here, we have work to do,” Duranja said, walking straight through my ghost.
“Hey, hey!” Frankie stepped sideways, waving his arms like he’d just walked through a dozen spiderwebs.
At least Duranja wasn’t open to the ghostly plane. That would have been worse. As it was, the officer didn’t even notice.
“I’ll show myself out,” I said.
I’d done my duty. And now, well, I was going to do it again.
The rest of the staff went out of their way to avoid me as I left the station, and that was fine by me. Frankie was right. We were late. And De Clercq wasn’t one to let that sort of thing slide.