And I also intend to poke around a bit in the business of one Tabitha Kingsley. It’s a mighty big coincidence she shows up to speak with the dead when a Long employee has gone missing. Like my father, Familiar, and my hero, Sherlock Holmes, I do not believe in coincidences!
* * *
Tabitha threw her clothes into the two suitcases and then carefully searched the hotel room to be sure nothing was left behind. This had worked out even better than she’d anticipated. Gaining entry to the Long house might have taken a week instead of one day. A week of hotel bills that were draining her meager savings account. So far, very good.
She checked out of the hotel as the afternoon was waning. True spring wasn’t far away, but the days were still short and chilly. It was during the gloaming that she found it most difficult to control her anxiety and worry about her sister. Trudy was headstrong and impractical—and not always truthful. She went off half-cocked on a regular basis, involving herself in madcap plots. Her trip to the Mississippi Delta was one such ill-advised scheme. According to Trudy, she’d gone on some dating website, met a man who claimed to be a gentleman farmer, and he’d invited her to move to Zinnia. But there was more to the story of Trudy’s sudden interest in cotton and Sunflower County—and if Tabitha could figure it out, maybe she could find her sister. Tabitha had found brochures about cotton crops, pesticides, GMO seeds in Trudy’s suitcase. Trudy may have come to the Delta to date a man, but there was a lot more to it, and all roads led to Long Agricultural. But how or why? That’s what she didn’t know.
Things had gone swimmingly when Trudy first arrived in Sunflower County. She’d called regularly, talking about her work at Long Agricultural and the mystery man that she refused to name. But Trudy had been happy. Truly Happy. And then Tabitha had gotten the call. Trudy was scared. Someone had been following her. Tabitha had offered to drive to Zinnia to get her sister, but Trudy had said to wait a few days.
Tabitha had urged Trudy to abandon her wild plans and to move back to New Orleans, but her sister wouldn’t hear of it. She liked the little Delta town. She liked her job and the people. She was staying. She said she was involved in something really important at her work. And that was the last time they’d talked. Now no one answered Trudy’s cell phone.
Tabitha was torn between calling in the local law or hunting herself. She’d taken on the job of finding Trudy because she had no evidence that a lawman would believe. And, in truth, she wasn’t sure what Trudy had gotten herself involved in. There had been a few past incidents where Trudy had fallen in with unsavory people up to no good. Rather than rely on the law, in desperation, Tabitha had developed her own cover story to pry into the family where Trudy had been working.
She couldn’t help but wonder if Roger Long was the man Trudy had fallen for. He was handsome enough, and Trudy did like the bad boys. Domineering, a shade on the side of rude. That would crank Trudy’s motor; she was always up for the challenge to tame a man or bring him to heel. It never worked, but Trudy bit for the lure every single time. Trudy should have learned this lesson from her mother, who’d had a series of bad boy boyfriends after their father had been killed overseas. Larry Kingsley had been a great soldier but a terrible father. Even though he’d forgiven his wife for the affair that resulted in his second daughter, he’d failed to give Trudy his last name. Perhaps he would have come around to adopting Trudy in time, but an IED had taken his life in Kabul, leaving Shelly with two kids and no source of support except the small pittance from the government.
Shelly Kingsley had been a distracted mom. In the end, Tabitha had mothered Trudy. When Shelly died of a bad heart, Tabitha had naturally stepped into the full-time role of mother. She’d done her best with her wayward and headstrong sister, but now she was worried about Trudy.
As she drove through the open brown fields with the first hint of green sprouting up, Tabitha almost turned around to go to the local sheriff and report Trudy missing. Something stopped her. Something in the last phone call she’d had with Trudy. Her sister had made a comment to the effect that everyone in the rural county knew each other and they stuck together no matter what. Trudy was the outsider. A big city girl, Tabitha was wary of small town politics and the desire to close ranks against an outsider. If Trudy was involved with a married man, which wasn’t beyond possibility, she might have gotten herself into real danger from a romantic triangle instead of issues with new agricultural products.
There was also the possibility that Trudy had involved herself in something illegal. It wouldn’t be the first time. She’d always been on the fringes of mad schemes to make quick money. She’d been an unwitting accessory to one plot to bilk insurance companies. Trudy had seen it as a victimless crime. Tabitha had other opinions. Cheating was wrong—no matter what the reasoning behind it. A fact that applied to her subterfuge to get close to Charline Long. Tabitha wasn’t trying to steal from the Longs, but she was being deceptive. And she would continue to be. She couldn’t risk calling in the law until she found out exactly what Trudy was doing.
Tabitha continued to the Long estate, determined to find her sister on her own.
She decided to try her sister’s cell phone one last time just as she turned down the shell drive to Long Hall. On the third ring, someone answered.
“Hello, Trudy?” She was so relieved. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been searching everywhere.”
There was only the sound of breathing on the other end.
“Trudy?” Tabitha couldn’t keep the panic out of her voice. “Say something, dammit.”
The reply was the click of the call ending.
Tabitha stopped the car and fought back tears. She only cried when she was angry or afraid. Now she was very afraid. If that had been Trudy, she would have said something, given some sign that she was safe. The only logical conclusion was that someone else had Trudy’s phone.
She was hyperventilating when a big dually pulled up behind her and hit the high beams. It startled her out of her panic attack, and she eased down on the gas and continued to the house, the truck lumbering behind her. She pulled over, trying to park inconspicuously. The truck drew abreast and the passenger window rolled down.
No surprise, Roger Long stared down at her. “The help parks in the back,” he said.
It took all of her restraint not to lift her middle finger in his face, but she didn’t. She just rolled up her window and killed the engine. If Charline and Samuel wanted her to park in the back, she’d be glad to do so. After the actual property owners told her.
She got out of her vehicle and grabbed her bags, still fuming. Her anger was just a way to avoid the sheer panic that wanted to rise up and suffocate her. Who the hell had Trudy’s phone and why wouldn’t they speak to her?
Charline met her at the door and ushered her inside and upstairs to a lovely suite. Tabitha was glad for the kindness and sense of welcome. Her feelings were raw, and it took all she could do not to confess her scheme to Charline.
“Dinner is at seven,” Charline said. “Samuel is home and happy that you’ll be staying with us. He’s serving cocktails at six in the parlor if you’d like to relax with a drink. If you’re tired, we understand. I know you need time alone to…connect with the spirits.”
“Thank you.” Tabitha was really grateful—and also ashamed of taking advantage of this kind woman. Perhaps Roger Long had good reason to behave so brutishly to her. After all, she was little more than a flimflam man in the Long home under false pretenses. She didn’t see another option. If the facts supported her suppositions, then someone in the Long family could end up in jail for abducting her sister. All she had to do was prove it—and find Trudy.
As much as she wanted to hide out in the lovely suite, Tabitha freshened her makeup and went downstairs for cocktails. Within two minutes of entering the parlor, she had an old-fashioned in her hand and a warm greeting from Samuel Long, who seemed delighted to have a house guest. He was a trim older man, the perfect mate for Charline in temperament and
graciousness.
“I do believe my mother’s spirit is here,” Samuel said. “Little things. Knickknacks that are moved, a recipe that’s fallen out of a book and just happens to be one of my favorites, the clock in the hall chiming the wrong number of hours.”
A little chill rushed up Tabitha’s body at Samuel’s recounting of events. She wasn’t a psychic medium, but she did believe that the ghosts of the past often lingered with their loved ones, sometimes to protect or warn and sometimes to extract revenge. She’d had no sense that Trudy’s ghost was around, which she was taking as an omen that Trudy was alive. She had to cling to that.
“So, Tabitha, tell us how you became interested in the occult,” Samuel asked her.
His question held no censure, only open curiosity. She was about to answer when she sensed a darker presence in the room and turned to find Roger standing behind her, his signature scowl in place.
“Yes, tell us,” he said with a contemptuous smile.
“I grew up in New Orleans and wrote a music column for a local website for several years. I’d make it a point to listen to the new bands or gatherings of musicians, and I met some tarot readers and psychics. They were open and willing to tell me about what they do and why they do it.” So far she was telling the absolute truth. She paused for a few seconds to be sure Roger was listening to her. “Surprisingly, the psychics I know want to help people. Yes, some of them are pretenders, but the truly gifted readers and psychics have a talent. Often they can bring comfort to a grieving child or parents. That’s their gift.”
“Even if it’s a pack of lies?” Roger asked.
Charline walked up to her nephew. “Raj, I love you, but you’re being rude and ugly. Stop it now or leave my house, and it is still my house. Keep that in mind.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Charline.” What looked to be true remorse passed over Roger’s face, until he looked at Tabitha, and then his features hardened.
“Ms. Kingsley is our guest. I invited her because she does bring me comfort. I don’t care if you don’t understand or don’t believe. This is for me and Samuel, and you’ll respect our wishes or leave.”
“Of course. My apologies, Aunt Charline, Uncle Samuel.” He turned to Tabitha. “May I freshen your drink?”
“No, thank you.” She wasn’t big on alcohol and certainly not in a situation fraught with emotion.
“Tell us about your family,” Roger said in the most civilized tone.
“My parents are dead, so there isn’t much family left.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said with what sounded like sincerity.
“Yes,” Charline said. “No wonder you’re so attuned to the other side.”
“My interest in connecting with the departed is partially a result of my losses.” This was also true, and she wanted to stay as close to the truth as possible.
“I’m surprised a woman as lovely as yourself hasn’t married and started a family,” Samuel said.
Tabitha forced a smile. “I haven’t focused on building a new family, I suppose.” No, she’d spent too much time trying to corral her wayward sister and work on her writing career to worry about dating and marrying. In truth, she couldn’t risk caring for another. When a person opened her heart to others, she was asking for pain.
“What have you focused on?” Roger asked.
“Developing my skills.”
“As a psychic?”
“And a writer and musician. I write lyrics for some of the local bands.”
“How interesting.” Charline was genuinely impressed. “I always wanted to paint, but I ended up collecting work by other artists. There are those who do and those who collect, I suppose.”
“And both are necessary,” Samuel said, putting his arm around Charline’s shoulders. “You’ve helped me run a big business and this house. That’s creative aplenty.”
Tabitha jumped at the opening. “How many employees do you have in your agricultural business?”
Roger was quick to respond. “Fifteen in the office, and up to a hundred during harvest, which is almost year-round now because of the crop rotation. Skilled workers. Equipment operators, crop analysts. Farming isn’t hoeing and picking cotton anymore.”
“The vista here is so beautiful. The openness of the fields that stretch forever.” She did her best to build rapport with Roger since he’d given her the tiniest opening.
“So you grew up in New Orleans? I think I’d suffocate in those neighborhoods where the houses are so close together.”
She smiled, ignoring the barb. “When I was a child, I loved it. I had a dozen playmates all within half a mile. We could bike to each other’s house, gather after school for games, and then be home in time for…supper.” She almost said for her to cook supper. “I live in the Quarter now.”
“What an interesting life,” Charline said. “The Quarter is filled with characters.”
“Music, laughter, and a lot of sadness,” she agreed. “But it’s home. I’ll be glad to return there.” She caught herself just in time. “If I don’t find the property here that I’m looking for.”
“Whether you move here or not, you always have a place with us. We do appreciate you staying here until we resolve the visits from Suellen,” Charline said, getting a nod of agreement from Samuel.
“I’m happy to help. Would it be possible for me to see the farm operation? I’ve been working on this song, kind of bluesy, and for some reason, I feel like knowing a little about farming might help me finish it up. After all, this land is the heartbeat of the blues.”
Roger started to object, but Samuel stepped in. “Raj would be happy to show you around, wouldn’t you?”
“Sure, Uncle Sam. I’d be delighted. Meet me in the kitchen at six o’clock in the morning.”
“Great. I’m an early riser.” She matched his challenge.
“I’ll see that Nancy has something warm ready for breakfast,” Charline said, a knowing smile on her face. “Maybe you can picnic along the way.”
Tabitha had to struggle not to laugh out loud. Charline Long had gotten her nephew’s goat in the most effective way. With kindness.
“I believe dinner is served.” Raj dodged the subject of a picnic. “Now let’s enjoy the food that Nancy prepared for us.”
They went to the dining room and Tabitha was impressed with the simple goodness of the food. She hadn’t expected soul food at Long Hall but the peas, cornbread, and pork loin were all delicious. She noticed a pretty yellow cat sitting in the dining room window. “Is that your kitty?”
Roger frowned. “No, it belongs to one of our employees. It would seem she’s abandoned the poor creature.”
“May I take it some food?” Tabitha had plenty of left over pork roast.
“Of course. I suppose I should bring her inside. The nights can be cold.” Charline went to the window and opened it wide for the cat to come inside. The little marmalade didn’t hesitate. She hopped right into the room and went for the dish of food Tabitha put on the floor. “I love cats,” Charline said. She looked at her husband. “It seems she’s chosen us.”
Samuel started to shake his head, but he sighed instead. “If she chooses to stay, keep her. My grandmother loved schnauzers. They’re wonderful dogs but so active. She installed the topiary. Suellen was more of a cat person. Charline loves all animals.”
“We haven’t had a cat since Suellen’s pet passed away several years ago,” Charline said. “She adored that cat, Sheba. We all did.” She walked behind her husband and put her hands on his shoulders, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. I miss not having a pet.”
“What about the black cat that was here when I arrived?” Tabitha asked.
“Black cat?” Everyone but Charline looked blank.
“There’s no black cat living here,” Samuel said. He turned to Charline. “Is there?”
“Maybe,” Charline said with a secret smile.
“He was sitting on the stairs. I saw him clear as day,” Tabitha insi
sted.
“Grandmother’s cat, Sheba, was black.” Roger said, bemused. “Could it be the spirit of Grandmother’s cat?”
Tabitha was caught off guard. She was positive the cat had been flesh and blood, but she couldn’t say so, repudiating her skills as a psychic and medium. “Of course, it could be a spirit cat. Just another sign she’s here and wants you to know it.”
“He’s one spirit cat with a good appetite,” Charline finally said. “I fed him in the kitchen earlier. I do believe he’s flesh and blood.”
“Maybe the cats are an omen,” Samuel said.
Tabitha had other thoughts. Maybe the orange feline was Trudy’s pet cat that she’d adopted. Trudy had sent a photo of the little female she’d found at a dumpster on a back street in Zinnia, and this kitty looked exactly like Trudy’s Vesta. But what was the cat doing at the Long plantation? Logically the cat would be in the rental where Trudy lived. There was no cat there—Tabitha had looked for the animal, knowing it would be confused and scared at Trudy’s absence. But then, two weeks was a long time to be on her own. Maybe she had sought solace and shelter in a place that was familiar.
“Perhaps the cat has a message,” Roger said, barely able to contain his smirk.
“Tomorrow I’ll see if I can summon the spirit of Sheba. I have a very special talent with pets,” Tabitha said, knowing she was digging herself deeper and deeper into a hole. She was pretty good at selling her abilities as a communicator with the dead, but soon she’d have too many balls in the air to keep up.
“Would anyone care for coffee or an after-dinner drink?” Charline asked.
“No, thank you.” Tabitha eased her chair back from the table. “Everything was delicious. I think I’ll take a walk. I need to stretch my legs and let some of that wonderful food settle.” More than anything she wanted a chance to snoop around Long Hall.
Trudy had written eloquently of the lovely estate and the grounds. And she’d been strangely content working in the agricultural business office. Trudy had a talent for numbers and charts, comparing and contrasting, and she’d found a niche. Perhaps she could pick up her sister’s trail. She was still disturbed by the fact someone answered Trudy’s phone, and this was the best place she could think of to start looking for who it might have been.
Bone-a-fied Trouble Page 3