Haunting Jordan (11 page)

Jordan hadn’t really thought about the remodel in those terms, but Felicia was right—the restoration of Longen House would affect the entire neighborhood, as well as enhance the town’s appeal to visitors.
If
she could pull it off, and she was beginning to have doubts on that score.

“But really, Hattie and Charlotte will be far more able to answer your questions,” Felicia continued, not seeming to notice Jordan’s startled reaction. “And we all want you to know we think it’s simply wonderful Hattie and Charlotte will now have someone to stand up for them.”

Jordan slid her eyes toward Jase, who didn’t look as if he thought she’d said anything out of the ordinary.

“Of course, we’ve been aware of how unhappy Hattie and Charlotte have been over the years,” Felicia added. “I mean, we’ve all
sensed
it. But now that you’re here, they’ll be able to tell us what they need.” When Jordan failed to respond, she rushed on a bit more nervously. “This, of course, represents a very unique opportunity. We won’t be solely dependent on surviving documents or construction plans for the restoration.”

Jordan cleared her throat. “Okay, wait a minute—”

“You’ll have to excuse Jordan’s reticence; she’s still getting used to the idea of having Hattie and Charlotte around,” Jase interrupted, ignoring Jordan’s glare.

“Oh.” Felicia looked momentarily confused.
“Ohhh
. You mean you didn’t see ghosts when you lived in L.A.?”

“No. I saw a lot of strange things in L.A., but ghosts were not—”

“Well, that puts a new spin on things.” Felicia frowned. “You must find this all very disconcerting.”

“That would be an understatement,” Jordan muttered. “Look, I’m still not convinced—”

“I’m sure Jordan would be glad to discuss this more with you after she gets unpacked,” Jase said smoothly.

“Oh, of course.” Felicia beamed at him. “Well then, I’ll just be going.” She turned to Jordan. “If there’s
anything
you need, don’t hesitate to trot over and knock on the door.”

“Thanks again for the casserole,” Jordan managed. “I’ll be sure and return the dish.”

Once Felicia was out of earshot, she looked at Jase. “Gee, thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, his expression amused. “Probably not a good idea to start off on the wrong foot with the local preservation group.”

“So who else knows that I supposedly talk to ghosts?” she demanded.

“By now, I’d say most of the town. People have had most of last evening and this morning to get out the word. I’d already received several calls this morning before I dropped by, asking for details.”

Jordan gaped at him. Clearly, living in a small town was going to take some getting used to. Even with the paparazzi tracking her every move in L.A., she’d had more
privacy than this. Apparently, she’d moved from being in a fishbowl to being under a microscope.

“What did you tell the callers?” she asked uneasily.

“That if they wanted to know more, they should talk to you,” he replied. “I don’t gossip.”

“Oh.” She relaxed a bit. “Well. Okay, then.”

“But I’m sure they found someone from the pub last night who would tell all,” Jase added, dashing her hopes.

“So let me get this straight: Roughly half the town thinks I may have killed my husband, but
everyone
thinks I’m crazy and can see and talk to ghosts.”

Jase nodded. “Though I’d phrase it slightly differently … People probably don’t think you’re crazy if you talk to ghosts.”

“Oh, sure—
that
makes sense.”

He eyed her, looking concerned. “You okay?”

“I’ll get back to you on that.” Shaking her head, she carried the casserole into the kitchen, then returned to help him unload the rest of her purchases from the truck.

Hattie and Charlotte watched avidly from the parlor window as she and Jase made trips from the truck to the front hall. He showed no indication that he had seen them, which had Jordan grinding her teeth.

“Are you sure something isn’t wrong?” he asked while ripping open packages of screwdrivers and wrenches and organizing them in the tool chest.

“Not a thing.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push the issue, handing her the shredded packaging. “These are the basic tools
you’ll need available for most small projects. As you prioritize and start the actual work, I can help you put together lists of additional supplies.”

She mustered a smile. “I seem to be thanking you a lot.”

“There’ll be a pop quiz this evening on the first two books, including the one that explains the National Register of Historic Homes.”

“Right.” Her expression was wry as they walked out onto the front porch.

A late-model pale cream Cadillac edged up to the curb behind Jase’s truck. A slender man of average height and carefully styled sandy hair climbed out, and she grinned, recognizing him.

“Jordan!” He loped onto the porch and enveloped her in a bear hug. “I heard you’d hit town.”

When he would have held on a bit too long, Jordan stepped back, turning to include Jase. “I think you already know Ted Rawlins—”

“—of the Ted Rawlins Trio,” Jase finished, introducing himself and shaking Ted’s hand. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Well, this
is
convenient,” Ted said. “I was on the way to your pub when I spied Jordan.”

“I booked the trio for this evening,” Jase told Jordan. His expression was curious. “I didn’t realize you were connected to the L.A. jazz scene.”

“I’m not, but I’ve heard the trio play a time or two.” She quickly explained her acquaintance with Ted, omitting any details. “Ultimately, Ted’s the reason I ended up in Port Chatham.” Jordan turned back to him with a smile.
“But the festival is a month away. What’re you doing in town so early?”

“I told you I bought a summer home up here. The band’s been using it as a sound studio for the last month. And thanks to you, I landed a job teaching the seminars this year.” He was referring to the work she’d done with him to help him iron out personality conflicts he’d had with colleagues in the music business. “Jordan, here, literally saved my life,” he told Jase, who looked surprised.

“That’s an overstatement,” she protested.

“Not from where I sit,” Ted said firmly, then his expression turned sober. “So how are you holding up? Any news on who might’ve killed Ryland?”

She shook her head. “Nothing so far.”

“How about lunch tomorrow? You can bring me up-to-date.”

“Why don’t you drop by and I’ll give you a quick tour instead? The movers will be here and it will be a zoo, but you’ll enjoy seeing the house, I think.”

If he was disappointed, he had the grace not to show it. “It’s a date.”

“And I can’t wait to hear the trio play this evening,” she quickly added, knowing he was still somewhat insecure about his comeback, even though his career showed every sign of a meteoric recovery.

“The pub’s just around the corner,” Jase added. “Give me another minute to wrap up here, and I’ll be right behind you.”

“Sounds good.” Ted’s tone was jovial. “Well. Tomorrow, then.” With a casual wave, he returned to his car.

She could feel Jase’s gaze on her as Ted drove away, but his next question was innocuous enough. “What time do the movers show up?”

“Early, hopefully.” She needed to make a call and nail them down. “I haven’t figured out where they can put everything—most of the rooms need a thorough cleaning, stripping, and painting before I can even put furniture in them.”

“My advice? Pick a room that’s a low priority and have the movers stack most of your belongings in there. That way, you can unpack and arrange as you have time, and as rooms are finished. Tom and I are always available to help you move the furniture later.”

She nodded. “Good idea.”

Jase leaned down to rub the dog’s ears. “Have you picked out a name for him yet?”

“Worthless?” she said, only half joking. “He has a knack for abandoning me at key moments.”

The dog lowered his head and whined, and Jase chuckled. “You’ve hurt his feelings.”

She rolled her eyes and knelt to scratch the dog’s stomach. “I wouldn’t really name you Worthless,” she assured him. “How about Oscar, after Oscar Peterson?”

He gave her The Look, then rolled onto his back.

After properly atoning for her sins, she stood and noted the time. “Can we put off the meeting with Tom until tomorrow? The day is getting away from me.”

Jase nodded. “Why don’t you come by this evening? I’ll ask Tom to bring in his great-grandfather’s diaries, and
I’m sure Darcy will want to hear all about your first day with the ghosts.”

She watched him walk to his truck, oddly reluctant to see him leave.

FPP
.

Shaking her head, she went inside to see whether Hattie and Charlotte had managed to conjure up lunch.

* * *

B
Y
midafternoon, Jordan had gotten hold of the movers—they would arrive first thing the next morning—and had accepted welcoming casseroles and desserts from several more neighbors who seemed definitely more pleased than worried about her arrival in town. Evidently, her ability to see and converse with ghosts rated higher than her homicidal tendencies. And at the rate the food was piling up, she’d have to throw a party just to clean out the pantry, though she was certain the dog was willing to consume more than his fair share.

The sight of that much food waiting to spoil, though, moved a functioning refrigerator to the top of her to-do list, so she scrubbed out the ancient Amana that had come with the house. Miraculously, when she plugged it in, it not only hummed enthusiastically but put out cold air. Though she had grim visions of the electric meter whirring faster than the speed of light, she had cold food storage and a way to make ice, so she wasn’t complaining.

While she arranged the food in the fridge, she mulled over the latest plan that had been formulating in her
mind. After all, she needed to start researching the house renovation, right? So if she just ignored
how
she gained access to the research, she was getting through her day productively and functioning normally. And if she happened to run across some old newspaper articles on the murder while she researched the house, it wouldn’t hurt to read them, just to appease the ghosts. She could be productive
and
accommodating. Even proponents of Rational Therapy would be in awe of her ingenuity.

“Were you serious about getting me inside the Historical Society building?” she asked Hattie, who had been sitting at the kitchen table with Charlotte while Jordan worked on the fridge.

The ghosts glanced at each other.

“We’d have to break in!” Charlotte exclaimed. “It would give us an opportunity to test the strength of our telekinetic powers.”

“Whoa,” Jordan said, alarmed. “I can’t be a party to breaking and entering—I’m already on the cops’ radar.” She received blank looks and tried again. “They’re already paying attention to me because of my husband’s death.”

“Which is absurd,” Hattie said stoutly. “Why, anyone could tell you aren’t a murderess.”

“If they try to arrest you,” Charlotte added, her expression indignant, “we’ll show
them!”

Jordan didn’t want to think about the ramifications of that remark. “But didn’t you bring me papers from the Historical Society archives? How did you get in? Do you have a key?”

“Well, we don’t have any trouble going through walls, though books and papers can’t be transported that way …” Hattie hesitated, looking guilty. “The truth is, the papers were here in the library. Before Charlotte and our housekeeper, Sara, were forced to give up the house, they collected every bit of news they could find about the trial.” At Jordan’s glower, she spread her hands. “We couldn’t count on you finding them on your own, at least not immediately. How long would it have taken you, given the state of disrepair the house is in, to focus on the books and papers in the library?”

Though she had a point, Jordan didn’t feel like conceding it. “So your diaries are still here in the house after all these years?”

“Well, of course.”

“Do you mind getting them for me?” Jordan asked through her teeth.

Hattie disappeared, then reappeared seconds later, just as several volumes landed with a dusty thud on the table.

Jordan picked one up and thumbed through it curiously. She didn’t see any obvious entries about the house. Which, once she thought about it, made sense. Charles Longren had probably built the house in anticipation of traveling back East to find a bride. And that meant Hattie wouldn’t have been in Port Chatham during its construction. Jordan still needed access to the newspaper archives. “So you can’t get me inside the Historical Society without illegally breaking in?”

But she was talking to an empty room—the ghosts had disappeared.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Darcy walked into the kitchen, the dog at her heels. “You wanted me to unlock the Historical Society building for you?”

“How do you
do
that?” Jordan asked, spooked.

“Do what? I stopped by the pub for lunch, and Jase mentioned that you needed access to the archives.”

“Oh. Never mind.”

Darcy leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded over the bulge of her shoulder holster. “You okay about last night? Jase thought you might still be a little shaken.”

“I’m finding that ‘okay’ is a relative term,” Jordan replied, and Darcy grinned. “Can’t you get into trouble for letting me inside the building?”

She shrugged. “We’re pretty loose around here, and the Hapleys would like the fact that I helped you out when they couldn’t be here.” She pushed away from the counter. “When do you want to head out there?”

“How about right now?”

* * *

A
FTER
clearing out the back of the Prius for the dog, Jordan folded down the backseats and made a bed out of a comforter she kept in the car for emergencies. But the dog didn’t fit standing up, and he also couldn’t jump in without banging his head on the ceiling. Since he outweighed her, she lifted his front paws in, then lifted and shoved his rear, then showed him how to scrunch down.