Death by Haunting

by Abigail Keam

  “It is reasonable, Madame, that you wish to express your anger at the injustice of the situation in which you find yourself. However, maybe Lady Elsmere and I can take your mind off your difficulty at least for a few minutes.”

  June sat beside me and patted my hand. “Jean Louis is right. Let’s talk about something else for awhile.”

  I smiled kindly at June.

  She clapped her wrinkled hands. “Let’s talk about my portrait. What do you think?”

  Wearily I finally focused on the life-sized portrait of June complete with tiara, diamond necklace, bracelet and rings. I had to admit it was stunning and June looked rather . . . majestic.

  The background was very dark, which emphasized the shimmering yellow organza ball gown that June wore, sitting with her hands folded on her lap. While her face portrayed serene countenance, it was her eyes that caught the viewer’s interest. They seemed so animated that one might say a fire was emanating from them.

  “Ummm. You look rather regal.”

  “Really? So you like it?” asked June.

  “Now where is this painting going?”

  “After my death, the University of Kentucky Medical Center will receive a large endowment . . . and this portrait as well.”

  “So it is going to be hung in public then.” I stared at the portrait, not knowing how to say it. Surely she must know.

  “June, I think it’s lovely, but don’t you think it looks quite similar to the 1954 portrait of Queen Elizabeth by Sir William Dargie? You know, the one where she is wearing a yellow gown and now hangs in the Australian Parliament. I mean . . . except for the face, they are almost identical.”

  “Oh, Lizzie won’t mind.”

  “Lizzie. You call the Queen ‘Lizzie’? I didn’t know that was a pet name for Her Majesty.”

  At that moment the door opened and in weaved Liam carrying a tea tray. “Shall I pour, Madam?” asked Liam.

  “No thank you. Josiah can do that.”

  I made a face, as I disliked being conscripted to perform such tasks. The strength in my hands sometimes gave out without notice, causing me to drop things.

  Seeing my discomfort, Jean Louis spoke up. “Put it by me, Liam. I’ll pour for the ladies.”

  “Very good, Sir.” Liam put the tea tray on a small table near us and left quickly, but not before I caught a whiff of whisky on him.

  I stood up. “You must excuse me. It has been a long day and I’m very tired. Shall we do this another time?”

  “Naturellement,” replied Jean Louis, fluttering his pudgy hands.

  “I’ll walk you out,” suggested June, giving me a concerned look. “You do look tired, Josiah.”

  “You stay and enjoy your tea. My car is out back. No need for you to walk all that distance.”

  “All right, but don’t forget that I will pick you up tomorrow morning at ten thirty sharp.”

  I gave a blank look.

  “For Terrence Bailey’s memorial.”

  “Oh dear, I forgot. I promised Eunice that I would help her with the reception.”

  “I’ll send Bess over to help Eunice. You go with me. Mavis would consider it a slight if we didn’t show up, being neighbors and all.”

  “Won’t she consider it a slight if Bess doesn’t come?”

  “Naw, she never liked Bess. Something about an ingredient being left out of a recipe that Bess was supposed to have given her years ago.”

  “Okay, I’ll be ready, but I can’t stay forever. I must be home by one.”

  June looked disappointed. She loved a good funeral and usually was the last to leave the wake. I think it was because she had a fondness for Jell-O desserts. At least one person usually brought Jell-O, especially if that person was over the age of sixty.

  I gave a goodbye nod to Jean Louis and made my way out of the Big House, but not before Bess gave me one of her chocolate pies.

  Gratefully, I accepted it. I was going to use it as a peace offering to Eunice when I told her I was going to a funeral in the morning instead of helping her.

  I just hoped the pie was not going to be thrown back in my face.

  3

  Since I didn’t have the stamina to stand in long lines and June teetered as though she were going to fall over any moment, we both sat until the receiving line had thinned out.

  The memorial had turned out to be a visitation. The funeral was the next day. I felt stupid sitting all dressed up in my widow’s weeds, but June loved the drama of it all.

  Seeing that Mavis was getting tired of standing too, her daughter deposited her next to us. “Josiah, can you keep an eye on Mama for me?” she asked before joining her husband who was having much too good a time seeing old friends.

  “No problem,” I replied.

  The daughter gave a faint smile before returning to her father’s casket.

  “Not like the old days is it, Mavis,” croaked June, “when we used to place our dead in the living room until the funeral?”

  “It got to be too much if they died during the summer,” mused Mavis.

  Both ladies cackled.

  “I remember sitting up all night with my grandmother before they put her in the ground,” recalled June.

  “Why did you do that?” I asked.

  Both old crones looked at me as though I were a rather pretty but stupid pet.

  “Robbers,” said Mavis. “They’d steal in your house and take the jewelry right off the dead.”

  “Sometimes, they’d even take the bodies and sell them to medical facilities,” chimed in June.

  “This sounds very Dickensian to me,” I challenged.

  “Only uptown people could afford to let the funeral home keep the bodies until the burial, and even then, a family member would stay to keep an eye on the funeral home staff.

  “In the deep South, the staff would cut the hair and fingernails off the deceased and sell it to the voodoo priests. Sometimes they even cut off fingers to use in dark magic,” detailed June.

  Mavis nodded in agreement.

  “Whatever,” I murmured.

  June went on, “I hope it’s my first husband who comes for me when my time comes. I miss him so.”

  I countered, “I thought the love of your life was Arthur . . .”

  “Shush,” hissed June. “The dead do come for you.”

  Mavis sniffed. “Oh, I see that Josiah is too educated to believe in the old ways, but I can tell you first hand that Terrence died after Mama came for him.”

  June grabbed Mavis’ gnarled hands. “Really. Your mother came for him?”

  I snorted with derision. I don’t know why. Hadn’t Brannon come for me after I had fallen off the cliff and was near death? Why was I being such a booger? Guess I’m ornery, that’s all.

  Both women looked at me with scorn.

  “Tell me what happened, Mavis. I’ve got to know if there’s an afterlife. I’ll be going soon myself and it would be a comfort to know that a loved one would come for me.”

  “That’s just it, June. Terry hated Mama. She always berated him while living. I think it was just an odd choice to send her.”

  I bit my tongue trying to be diplomatic for once. I wanted to know why Mavis didn’t think her mother had come for her. “Why do you think your mama came for Terry?” I asked.

  Mavis blew her nose in an overused hanky. “Something was bothering him. Something fierce, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. It started after your Valentine party, June. He was happy when we got there and then jumpy afterwards.”

  I suddenly became interested, as the purpose of the Valentine party was to introduce Jean Louis to Bluegrass society.

  I didn’t like Jean Louis. His lips said one thing, but his eyes said something else. Jean Louis was always asking questions, snooping.

  Hey! Wait a minute. That sounds like me!

  I didn’t trust him and had been keeping an eye on him until Matt had been shot, then gave up. I had other priorities.

  “What do you think was bothering
him, Mavis?” asked June, greatly concerned. “Did someone say something to Terry that upset him? Had you been cattin’ around on him?”

  Mavis gave a brief smile at the last suggestion. “What a ridiculous idea at my age!” She shook her head. “Like I said, he wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Can you pinpoint exactly during the party when Terry became upset,” I asked. “It might be important.”

  Mavis put a finger to her lips in thought. “Well, I was talking to Mrs. Dupuy about the robbery last Christmas when Terry interrupted us, saying he wanted to go home. He was very insistent.”

  “What had he been doing?”

  Mavis spoke to June. “You know how he loved art. He was going into each of the rooms that were open for the party and looking at the artwork, saving the library for the last to look at your portrait. Of course, the portrait wasn’t finished, but he wanted to see the sketching on the canvas.”

  “Was he coming from the library?” I inquired.

  “He was coming from the direction of the library, but I first saw him near the staircase,” recounted Mavis, closing her eyes to help her remember the scene. “But I can’t tell you for sure if he had been in the library.”

  “And?” I prompted.

  “It wasn’t too long after that Mother started showing up at night. Oh, it gave us both a terrible fright. We weren’t sure what she wanted. She would never say. Just stood in the corner of the bedroom looking . . . how shall I put it? This is terrible to say about one’s own mother, but she looked creepy.”

  “To say the least,” comforted June.

  “It turned out she wanted Terry. He had a heart attack several weeks after the haunting.” Mavis blew her nose again. “You’d think she’d come for me. I’m her blood.”

  “She might still, Mavis,” I predicted.

  Mavis jerked her head up. “Oh?” She didn’t like that idea at all.

  “What did Terry do between the party and your mother’s appearance?” I asked.

  “He was on the Internet constantly and then going to the library looking up old newspaper stories.” Mavis blew her nose again.

  “Do you know what about?” questioned June, handing Mavis a hanky from her purse.

  Mavis was becoming somewhat untidy with all the nose blowing. She wiped her nose, looking at the both of us with wide, red-rimmed brown eyes that glistened with unspent tears. “Yes. He was investigating art thefts.”

  I started to ask about this when Mavis’ son-in-law came to fetch her.

  It was not the right time to question Mavis. The subject of art theft had certainly gotten my attention. That was a bone this dog would definitely dig up.

  4

  Here it was.

  The conversation I dreaded.

  I knew I was going to face a devil of a time, but it was already taking a nasty turn. There was just no talking sense to Franklin when it concerned Matt.

  Matt was my best friend since my divorce from Brannon. We met at a party where I helped him win a bet about an old movie. Since then we had been as thick as thieves.

  Franklin had been Matt’s partner until Matt decided to marry Meriah Caldwell. You see now this is a complicated matter.

  Matt didn’t marry Meriah because a crazy woman committed a murder/suicide at their nuptials. That would put a pall over any ceremony. In the end, Matt decided not to marry Meriah but there was one small issue.

  Meriah was pregnant.

  I know this sounds like a soap opera, but life is messy like a soap opera.

  Matt stayed. Meriah flew back to Los Angeles.

  Then while helping a friend recover her son’s body, Matt and I were attacked by O’nan, that rogue cop I was telling you about. He shot Matt and then tried to drown me in the Cumberland River, but someone shot him with a sniper’s rifle. His body was recovered at the bottom of Cumberland Falls. He was dead but the damage was done.

  The doctors are not sure that Matt will ever recover. So I had made the decision to send Matt to Meriah because she had the money to take care of him . . . and now I was telling Franklin.

  “And he’s gone. Just like that.”

  I nodded. “He left last night on a chartered plane. I got word this morning that he arrived safely in Los Angeles and is okay. Everything went smoothly.”

  Franklin patted Baby, who had lodged his big head on Franklin’s lap.

  Baby whined and looked at Franklin with his big eyes, only one of which could see, as O’nan had wounded it when he shot the dog as a puppy. It’s one of the many reasons I had hated O’nan.

  When Franklin cast an irritable glance at him, Baby wagged his massive tail, thumping heavily against the couch. Baby knew something was wrong with Franklin and was trying to comfort him the only way he knew.

  “Who gave you the right to make a decision like this?”

  “I told you last week about the possibility that this might have to happen. I called several times but you never returned my calls, so I went ahead.”

  Franklin stared at me with complete disgust. “I mean, who gave you the legal right to make such a decision, to send a gravely ill man clear across the country? He could have died en route.”

  “Matt gave me Power of Attorney. I am his legal guardian if he is incapacitated, as he is mine. You know that, Franklin. When I fell off the cliff, he was making all the difficult decisions until Asa arrived.”

  “You never left us alone,” Franklin accused. “You got Matt to live here. You slept with him. You were constantly interfering in our lives. We could have made a go of it, if you had stayed out of the picture.”

  “Franklin, listen to me. Matt wanted to live here. He didn’t like city living. The truth is that Matt and I were close long before you came into the picture. I could say that you interfered with my relationship with Matt.”

  “You are such a liar. You seduced him.”

  “I feel very guilty that my relationship with Matt stepped over normal boundaries on your watch, but that it happened – no. It was a wonderful experience . . . one that I will cherish for the rest of my life.”

  I grabbed his hands and refused to let go. “Franklin, don’t turn away. He needs constant care if he is going to recover. His insurance will not cover that. The nursing care is only for a few hours a day. Matt was going to be released from the hospital. He didn’t have the medical backup he needed and I’m not strong enough to have cared for him.”

  “I could have helped.”

  “No, Franklin. You have a job. You have a life, friends. Matt would not have let you give up your daily routine to help him recover. He’s too proud.”

  “I love him.”

  “I love him too, but did you ever think that our love is a burden? Did you ever think that Matt wants to be free of us?”

  A tear escaped Franklin’s eye.

  “Meriah has more money than God. She can afford to pick up what the insurance won’t cover. She has placed him in her guesthouse and he has around-the-clock nursing care. Plus he has a reason to be there. She is going to give birth to his baby in a few weeks. Surely that will give Matt a reason to recover, a reason to live. That baby will give Matt strength.”

  “He won’t ever come back. Meriah will get her claws into him.”

  “We’re no good for Matt.”

  Franklin stood up. “You’re no good for Matt. I’ve had nothing but misery since I’ve known you. Shootings and accidents that a normal person should not go through. You’re a jinx, Josiah Reynolds; a bloody noose around our necks. And you’ve destroyed us. Came between me and the only person I will ever love. God, I hate you. I really hate you!” Franklin rushed out of the house, slamming the door.

  Baby looked at me with a confused expression.

  “Let him go, Baby. Let him go,” I murmured. “He’ll be back when he sees that I made the right decision.”

  But what worried me was that Franklin might be right.

  Maybe I was a jinx.

  5

  “I take it that it didn’t go well,”
suggested June when I plumped down on the bed next to her.

  I had a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle, the most expensive bourbon made, which I had swiped out of the downstairs liquor cabinet. I could never afford it and had spent some time drinking it in the den before taking the elevator to her Ladyship’s bedroom where June was currently ensconced.

  I took a swig, shuddering slightly when the golden brown liquid hit my system. “He hates me. And I don’t blame him, June. I would hate me, too.”

  “Franklin will get over it.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. This runs very deep with him. Franklin feels betrayed by both Matt and I. I mean me. No, it is I. Isn’t it? His love for Matt is what Franklin says it is. I think Matt is the only man Franklin will ever love and I just sent his lover boy thousands of miles out of reach.”

  “Grammatically, it’s me. You did what was best for Matt. He must realize that Matt wanted to go. Helped make the decision.”

  “Franklin doesn’t want to see that. It’s all my fault.” I took another swig.

  “Oh, well. ‘Time heals all wounds.’ ”

  “ ‘It is easier to forgive a friend . . .’ ”

  “Ah, here we go,” scoffed June.

  “No, it goes like this . . . ‘it is easier to forgive an enemy than forgive a friend.’ William Blake.”

  “ ‘Et tu, Brute?’ Shakespeare.”

  “ ‘You betray me with a kiss?’ Jesus.”

  June reached for her bottle of bourbon and poured some in her tea. “ ‘We have to distrust each other. It’s our only defense against betrayal.’ Tennessee Williams.”

  “ ‘It is all right to rat . . . you just can’t re-rat.’ Winston Churchill.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think he was referring to switching political parties.”

  “Hardly the type of betrayal we are talking about.”

  “You’re so right,” I chirped, grabbing the bottle back from her Ladyship. “Okay. ‘If I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country.’ Edward M. Forster.”