Death by Haunting (7 page)

“God, I love Kentucky,” chirped June. “Where else do you get an evening’s entertainment like this?”

Franklin gave me a strange look. “I don’t think loss of property and life is entertainment, June,” he admonished.

“It’s the roll of the dice, boy. The roll of the dice,” she replied.

He shrugged and went to check on the cats. Baby followed him. Of course when he opened the door, all of the cats scampered out, much to Baby’s delight.

“Who let those cats loose?” demanded Bess.

Franklin pointed at me.

14

“I
f it’s not one thing, it’s another. Put those cats up, Josiah, and put that dog with them,” ordered Bess.

I gave Franklin a dirty look before scooping up a cat here and there.

I could tell that Bess was frustrated. She had a lot of responsibility on her shoulders and she did not want to let her father, Charles, down. After all, they would inherit the Big House and the farm once June passed away . . . that is, if June died of natural causes. Any hanky-panky with the cause of June’s demise and the entire fortune went to charity.

I had to get my animals under control. It was only good manners on my part. I gave up on Baby having any manners of his own accord. I would have to resort to bribery.

This time Baby happily followed his feline friends into the storage room after I rattled a dish filled with dog food that I had stashed in one of the cat carriers.

Happily, Baby inhaled his food. I knew with a full belly, he would soon settle down. I petted Baby until his eyes drooped with sleep. The cats were already claiming their sleeping spots near or on him.

I quietly left and softly shut the storage room door.

While I had been putting Baby to bed, others had followed suit. People, who were either sleeping from exhaustion or nervously reading or watching the TV for further news, occupied the couches, cots and air mattresses.

I sidled up to Bess who was watching the latest weather report. “What happened to Jean Louis? He’s out like a light,” I said to Bess while studying Jean Louis snoring on one of the couches.

Bess gave me a wily grin. “I put two Benadryls in his coffee. Works every time.”

“At least he’ll wake up rested.”

“And it won’t be for a while.”

Suddenly I got a crazy idea. “Bess, I’m going upstairs to get an aspirin. I’ve got a hell of a headache.”

“Sorry that we don’t have some down here. Take this flashlight just in case the lights go out again. There is a bottle of aspirin in the servants’ bathroom by the kitchen. Now make sure you come right back. I don’t want to be worrying about you.”

“I’ll be fine.” I took the flashlight and headed upstairs. But I had no intention of coming right back.

15

I
t has always been my theory that when opportunity knocks, open the door, which is what I did. I opened the back door and stepped out into the storm.

The rain had stopped but the wind whistled through the trees. All lights were out except for the solar barn lights and those in the Big House.

I knew if I were going to do this, I would have to hurry. Not because Bess might come looking for me but that another tornado might bounce onto the farm any moment.

Stepping up my pace, I skirted the pool near the guest bungalow. The door was locked. Using the flashlight, I broke the glass in the door. No one would be suspicious, as they would think the storm caused the damage.

I unlocked the door and let myself in. Looking at my watch, I was going to give myself ten minutes before I went back.

First thing I did was go through Jean Louis’ closet, searching his luggage and the pockets of his clothes. Nothing. Next, I went through his drawers. Nothing again. Surely there had to be something.

Then I saw it in the corner. His portfolio. Grabbing it, I laid it open on a table and took out all the drawings. I had learned a thing or two from Asa about how to search for contraband. Feeling around the edges of the portfolio I discovered a slight bump in the lining.

Worrying with it, I discovered that part of the lining was affixed to the frame of the portfolio with velcro. I pulled the velcro apart and felt inside. My fingers made contact with slick paper. Gingerly I pulled it through the opening.

It was an old black and white photograph of a bride and her groom standing before an altar. The forties-era bride was beaming at her new husband, who was wearing a German Schutzstaffel uniform.

The dreaded German SS!

So much for Jean Louis’ parents fighting in the French Resistance.

Of course they were his parents. He and the man in the picture shared the same beady eyes.

I flipped the picture over. Scribbled in German on the back was 22. Juni, 1941. (June 22, 1941.) Behind the beaming couple were hundreds of paintings stacked against the walls of the altar.

Carefully I reinserted the photograph and closed the velcro. After placing Jean Louis’ sketches in the order that I had found them, I put the portfolio back.

I realized now that I had a piece of the puzzle. And the photograph had made it possible.

I think the couple was showing off the soldier’s work, which were the stacked paintings. My educated guess was that this SS soldier was a member of the Kunstschutz.

And what is the purpose of the Kunstschutz? It was to confiscate art throughout Europe. In other words . . . steal it by hook or by crook.

How do I know this? I was an art history professor – remember?

16

O
scar Wilde once said, “Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.” Since Oscar Wilde was both a saint and sinner, I guess he should know.

Myself – I am a great believer in sin and redemption. I think it is a Southern thing. I am not above tweaking the rules here and there because I know
though my sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow,
Isaiah 1:18.

Every woman knows that if she played by the rules all the time, she’d never get anywhere, so I was ready to dip into my pocket of tricks to get Goetz to do what I wanted. After all, somewhere down the road, I would be forgiven for being a conniving she-devil . . . if I repented. The hard part for me was being truly sorry for my sins, as I firmly believed I had been sinned against more often than not.

“What do you want?” growled Detective Goetz.

Standing in the doorway of his office, I cooed, “Now, don’t be that way. You know you’re glad to see me. I don’t know why you act like you hate me when we both know you don’t. I wanted to check on you after the tornado.” I strode into the office and plopped down in the chair opposite his desk. “Say you’re sorry for being so rude.”

Goetz rubbed his hound dog face. “You’re right. I was rude.”

I smiled my brightest smile.

“Now, what do you want?”

My smile dimmed. “Do I have to want anything? Can’t I just stop by and see an old friend? A friend whom I have helped solve his cases. Remember how I broke my leg?”

“It was a stress fracture. Not broken at all.”

“And almost got my head caved in with a shovel,” I continued.

“I would like to have a dollar for every time I have gotten your butt out of trouble.”

“I wish I had a dime for every time I got
your
butt out of trouble.”

“Did you bring me something to eat?”

“Is this what the grouchiness is all about? A bribe?”

“You betcha.”

“You know I rarely cook any more.”

“Then I can’t help you. Goodbye, Mrs. Reynolds.”

“I said I rarely cook anymore. But there just happens to be a fresh chess pie in my car.”

Goetz stood, grabbing his coat. “Let’s go. Time’s a-wastin’.”

It was all I could do to keep up with him rushing out of the police building.

17

“W
here’s your hearing aid?” asked Goetz in between bites of the chess pie. It was a good thing I had brought paper plates and forks.

We were sitting in my car parked on a side street.

“I got a new one,” I replied, lifting my hair. “See, you can hardly tell I have one. It’s nude and tiny. Fits right into the ear.”

“No GPS anymore?”

“I know you all thought that was pretty funny keeping tabs on me, but it was a real invasion of privacy.”

“I seem to remember that it saved your life . . . that little GPS device.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, suddenly remembering Jake. I didn’t want to think about him.

“You didn’t make this pie, did you?” accused Goetz, tired of talking about the hearing aid.

Damn! I was caught. “How can you tell?”

“Cooking is just like fingerprints. Everyone has his or her own signature. The crust is different from other pies of yours.”

“I paid Miss Eunice twenty dollars to make it,” I confessed. “I don’t enjoy cooking anymore. Takes too much out of me.”

Goetz put down his fork and scrutinized me. “Are you depressed or something?”

“I don’t know what it is. I’ve just got the blahs. I need to stick my nose into something interesting. Everything has been too calm lately.”

“So you are seeking a solution to a mystery that does not exist.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“There is a name for people like you. Adrenaline junkies. You need a rush of excitement juice.”

“I do my exercises, go to doctor appointments and then the rest of the day is free. Miss Eunice, who is practically perfect in almost every way, oversees the house and the business. I just run errands now and then. Everything on the farm is caught up. Charles handles the employees for me . . . so there is really nothing for me to do but get into other people’s business. I feel . . . useless.” My eyes teared up.

“Is the irrepressible Josiah Reynolds gonna cry?”

I started to bawl my eyes out for real. Goetz could be such a hard-ass when he wanted to be.

“Hey, is this for real? Come on now. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

I sobbed out loud.

“Stop it, Josiah. You don’t know how lucky you are. You should be dead. Falling off a cliff and then having a maniac after you for years. You beat the odds. You should be rejoicing.” He handed me his handkerchief. “Please don’t cry. Your life is good. You’ll find your way. Just stop crying. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you so.”

My face perked up. “What was that?”

“I said I was sorry for being such a jerk. You’re a good woman. That’s why everyone comes to you when they’re in trouble.”

My intro at last. “Speaking of trouble, there is someone I want you to check out,” I confessed while dabbing my eyes.

Goetz leaned back in the car seat. “I should have known the tears were a con.”

“Don’t you want to make it up to me? After all, I did go to the trouble of making a chess pie.”

“Miss Eunice.”

“Go to the trouble of having Miss Eunice make a chess pie for you.”

“Can I keep the rest of the pie?”

“It has your name on it.”

“What do you need?”

I gave Goetz a sincere smile . . . for once.

18

I
stopped by Mavis’ house on the way home.

“Josiah, nice to see you again,” declared Mavis, opening the screen door.

“Hope I’m not bothering you,” I said, noticing that Mavis was still in her morning housecoat. It was the afternoon.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” she confided. “I don’t feel like gussying up lately.”

“I understand.”

“Yes, you would, being a fellow widow and all. Please come in. Come in.” She motioned to a chair, which was not littered with newspapers, baskets of laundry or dirty dishes. Mavis gave a sheepish grin. “No need to keep up with things now. Terry always favored a tidy house . . . but . . .”

I cut in. “I know, Mavis. Death throws you off your game. Give yourself time. You’ll find your groove again.”

“You understand. My daughter doesn’t. She was on me this morning. She wants everything normal, but it’s not, is it, Josiah?” Mavis looked about the room. “You know, I don’t even see colors now. Everything is gray.”

I reached over and patted her hand. There was no need to say anything, but I knew exactly what she meant about the lack of color. We both sat in our own thoughts and memories until I broke the silence. “Mavis, I was wondering how your dog is doing?”

“He’s fine. The vet flushed out his stomach and he’s right as rain.”

“Did he eat something poisonous?”

“The vet thought he might have gotten into some insecticide, although I don’t know how. We didn’t have any in the house and don’t have close neighbors. I’ve been wondering where he could have gotten ahold of that stuff. Why do you ask?”

“You mentioned that his claws were bluish. It just clicked with something I read in an Agatha Christie book once.” I thought for a moment. “Are you sure the vet thought your dog had been poisoned?”

“I wasn’t at the vet. My daughter took him. She said they pumped out his stomach. Why?”

“How is your cat doing? Was he sick at any time?”

“No. He was never ill.”

“Anybody visit before the dog got sick?”

“Well, Jean Louis paid Terry a visit, but that was all.”

“How was Terry after the visit?”

“I don’t understand the question. What are you aiming at?”

“Was he agitated or angry?”

“Not that I noticed, but Terry said he felt tired afterwards and he went to bed earlier than usual. He had his heart attack later that night.”

“I see.”

“What are you trying to say, Josiah?” asked Mavis becoming alarmed.

“Nothing,” I assured. “Just being nosey. You know how I am. I like to know how all the pieces fit into the puzzle.”

Mavis’ face relaxed. “Yes, you have quite a reputation. You like puzzles, don’t you? Speaking of puzzles, did you get a chance to study Terry’s notebook?”

“Yes, I did,” I replied, pulling the notebook from my pocket and handing it to her.

Mavis received it gratefully. “Anything?”

“Terry wrote some of it in code that I couldn’t break, but from what I could detect, he wrote down notations of stolen paintings.”