Haunting Jordan (38 page)

He pushed the door open farther. “Come on in.” She followed him into his living room, a large space filled with comfortable-looking overstuffed furniture. Though the room was obviously well cared for, she liked that it wasn’t perfectly neat—a pile of newspapers lay on the floor, and a couple of abandoned coffee mugs were shoved together by a stack of books on the coffee table. “Nice,” she said.

He perched on the arm of the sofa. “I was coming to find you in a few minutes, anyway. I set up a conference call with JT for nine o’clock at the pub. He’s got something for us—he emailed me last night.”

They had an hour, then. “I need directions to Holt Stilwell’s place.”

“I don’t want you approaching him on your own, and I sure as hell don’t think it’s safe for you to go to his house.”

“I’m missing pages from the papers he gave me that night outside the pub,” she explained. “And I’m so close, I can taste it.”

“So you know who murdered Hattie?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I think Holt’s ancestor knew, and I think he would’ve avenged Hattie’s death. He was in love with her.”

Jase sighed. “Okay, I’ll drive you out there.” He rubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw. “This means I have to wait on a shower, a shave,
and
coffee. You’re going to owe me.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

His eyes crinkled. “I’ll hold you to that. Give me five minutes.”

* * *

T
HE
drive out to Stilwell’s place was shorter than she would’ve expected. The dog stretched out on the king cab seat behind the front seat, doing what he seemed to do best, napping.

“Who’d you go haring off after last night, anyway?” Jase asked, keeping his eyes on the two-lane blacktop road that headed south of town along the bluffs overlooking Discovery Bay.

“Remember the man who didn’t drink the Jack Daniel’s and didn’t pay his tab? He’s the ghost of Frank
Lewis, the guy who hanged for Hattie’s murder. I saw him slipping out the door and followed him to my house.”

Jase merely shot her a curious look. “What does he want?”

“He had the nerve to criticize my lack of progress on solving Hattie’s murder.” When Jase grinned, she narrowed her gaze. “Anyway, I thought maybe Frank was the person who has been following me, but he claims not.”

He glanced at her as he negotiated a curve high on a bluff overlooking the bay. “So you still think you’re being followed?”

“Sometimes.”

“Have you told Darcy?”

“Not since she reported that she’d been through the incident reports and hadn’t found anything suspicious.”

“I don’t like it—let’s mention it to JT and see whether he can send someone up for security detail.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve got at least three ghosts hovering, and Darcy’s already tracking my every move for Drake. And let’s not forget the dog. I think I’m covered.” She reached a hand back to rub his head. “Speaking of whom, how about Malachi?”

The dog barked, then attempted to climb over the seat and lick her face, grinning and showing his huge canines. His tail thumped against the back window.

“That would be a yes vote,” Jase said wryly. He turned into Stilwell’s driveway. “How’d you come up with that name?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

As they drove up and parked, Holt was coming out his
front door. He paused on the front porch of his rundown rambler, looking surprised to see them.

Jordan was out of the truck before Jase had the engine shut off. “I need you to help me search for some missing papers,” she told Stilwell without preamble. “It’s important.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Looks like those favors you’re gonna owe me just keep piling up.”

“Can we cut the crap?” she asked as Jase reached her side. “Your act isn’t all that convincing.”

Holt’s expression turned wary.

“For your information, your ancestor wasn’t nearly the bad guy you and the rest of the town seem to think he was. So you can quit trying to live down to your family’s reputation. You do
not
descend from the long line of thieves and murderers you think you do.”

She felt Jase’s sidelong glance. “If you’d let us search for more family papers,” he said to Holt, “we’d appreciate it.”

Holt shrugged. “Whatever. I gotta get to work, but go for it. The place is unlocked.”

“Of course it is,” Jordan muttered, noting the rotting porch, peeling paint, and moss on the roof. “Anyone knows better than to burglarize it.”

“Hey, if you’re gonna criticize my house—”

She shook her head. “Where would the papers be stored? I don’t have much time.”

“The attic—boxes along the far wall.”

“Thanks.” They left Holt standing in the driveway as they headed into the house.

“Enjoy my housemates,” Holt called after her.

While Jordan checked out filthy rooms on the main floor, Jase located the stairs to the attic, which were in the kitchen next to the back door. She walked past kitchen counters filled with dirty dishes and boxes of half-eaten pizza that had been there awhile, wrinkling her nose. Darcy hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d described the state of the place.

The attic proved to be equally scary. She climbed the sagging stairs with trepidation. Jase shoved aside piles of boxes and other debris scattered on the floor to get to the piece of string that hung down from the single lightbulb at the peak of the ceiling. The bulb put out low wattage, so turning it on didn’t help dispel the gloom.

Jordan stayed where she was, searching along the far wall until she identified several boxes that might be the right ones. She had to climb over broken chairs and piles of old clothes to get to them.

Kneeling, she opened the cardboard flaps of the first box, then fell back with a yelp. A mouse nest made from chewed bits of paper and filled with tiny, squirming babies sat right on top. The answers she needed might have been torn into insulation. She ground her teeth while Jase used an old rag to carefully move the nest aside, trying not to worry about contracting hantavirus.

That box yielded nothing of interest. Halfway down into the second box, however, she found what she was looking for underneath a stack of old photos of stern-looking family members. Tucking those under her arm for future perusal, she lifted out sheets of paper covered
with cursive handwriting that looked like it matched Seavey’s.

She carefully shuffled through them, looking for dates. She found them: June 6, 1890, June and July of the same year, all the way through August 1893.
Bingo
.

She held up the papers. “Let’s go.”

* * *

As they drove back to All That Jazz, Jordan forced herself to set aside Seavey’s papers and focus on the upcoming conference call.

“So JT is a good friend? Tell me about him.”

“Used to have a gold shield with the NYPD.” Jase turned onto the main drag that ran through their neighborhood. “JT left to go into security work about five years ago. My dad’s firm has used him on some large cases. Then last year, he moved to the West Coast to escape the bad weather.”

Jase parked the truck in its designated slot behind the pub and climbed out. “JT and I go way back—we grew up in the same neighborhood. I went to Harvard, and he went into the police academy.”

Jordan whistled at the dog to follow them. “I can trust him?”

“Yeah, and you can assume the information he digs up is solid.”

Jase unlocked the back door and was opening it when Ted drove into the small lot, parking next to Jase’s truck.

“Hey, Jordan,” Ted said, getting out of his car. He
walked over to them, his attire as immaculate as usual. She felt decidedly grungy standing next to him.

“I’m glad I caught you, man,” he said to Jase, perfunctorily patting the dog’s head, which earned him The Look. “I have to supervise the guys while they knock down our equipment. It needs to go back to the sound studio at the house today.”

Jase held the door open wide. “Not a problem. If you need anything, Jordan and I will be in my office on a conference call.”

Jase led the way through the back of the building, past the kitchen where Kathleen was already hard at work chopping vegetables. The smells emanating from the sauté pan on the stove were enough to make Jordan’s mouth water and remind her that she hadn’t eaten since the evening before.

Jordan entered Jase’s office, curious about his work environment. The room was utilitarian, with bare walls and simple fixtures. A small table holding an espresso machine sat in the corner. Natural light came from a bank of windows up high on the wall. The desk was large and modern, and held a state-of-the-art computer, fax machine, and printer. A phone system similar to ones in most small businesses, with a larger base unit and multiple phone lines, sat next to the desk blotter.

Jase logged on to his computer and pulled up JT’s email, then called the number he’d been sent, placing the phone in speaker mode. He leaned back in his chair, propping his running shoes on the desk. Jordan chose a captain’s chair across the desk from him.

“Speak.” The gruff voice came on the line after only two rings.

“JT,” Jase said. “I’ve got Jordan Marsh with me.”

“Hi, JT.”

“Ahh, nice voice. Once this case is closed, you let me give you a call, sweetheart. I’m a lot cuter than that glorified barkeep you’ve hooked up with.”

Jase merely shook his head. “What’ve you got for us?” he asked.

“Right.” JT rustled some papers. “Okay, first off, Jordan’s assumption was correct—her husband was dead broke after the civil suits were adjudicated. Sorry, sweetheart—your granny’s inheritance was the most likely motive for his suggested reconciliation.”

“Didi Wyeth intimated as much,” Jordan replied.

“Yeah? Speaking of her, her alibi doesn’t check out. She told the cops she was at a party at some big-shot producer’s place out in Beverly Hills, but no one remembers seeing her there. Her name also never got checked off the list at the gate.”

Jordan felt the first stirrings of excitement. “Any idea where she really was?”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

She turned to Jase. “You should’ve let me keep pushing her last night—I might’ve gotten the truth out of her.”

“More likely, you would’ve gotten your eyes scratched out,” Jase countered.

“I missed a fight?” JT’s voice approximated a whine. “Buddy, you
gotta
keep me better informed.”

Jase looked amused. “What about the other names we gave you?”

“Let’s see … Marcy Brentworth and Alice Langston check out. I pulled the court records for more names, but all the other plaintiffs who sued the dead hubby have rock-solid alibis—I couldn’t shake them. Drake’s a piece of work, though. Got divorced a couple of years back, and the ex took him to the cleaners.”

“So the case is dredging up some emotional baggage,” Jase concluded.

“Yeah, but that’s not all. I ran across a picture of Drake’s ex and just for kicks put it side by side with a current photo of Jordan from the
L.A. Times
. The resemblance is striking—build, hair, even eye color. And his ex won the settlement against him by claiming he cheated on her. The guy’s doing some major transference onto Jordan right about now.”

Jordan groaned. “So Drake was hoping to find the evidence he needs to believe I offed Ryland, and now someone has obligingly supplied it.”

“Yeah. Or maybe he just needs to get back at a woman for what happened to him and wants to make you miserable, who knows? But I can guarantee he isn’t working from an objective viewpoint.”

“We can use that at trial, if necessary,” Jase said. “Good work.”

“What about the supposed witnesses?” Jordan asked. “Drake claimed he has reliable witnesses to our argument the night of Ryland’s death.”

“Still working on names,” JT replied. “The LAPD is so paranoid about the high-profile nature of this case, they’ve got the documents locked down tight.”

“Can you get to them?” Jase asked.

“Do you even need to ask?” JT replied, his tone smug.

Jase looked amused. “Killing two birds with one stone, are you?”

“Hey, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Give me another hour, and I’ll shoot you an email.”

Jase’s eyebrow went up. “We interrupt something?”

“Please. Do you think I would’ve answered the phone? And I don’t do quickies—I savor.”

“Sure you do.”

“I appreciate the personal sacrifice, JT,” Jordan said, smiling.

They heard papers being shifted again. “The only other issue is your friend Carol. Per Jase’s instructions, I took a quick look at any possible connection she might have with your hubby, and something interesting turned up.”

Jordan glared at Jase. “You had him investigate my
best friend?”

Jase held up a hand. “I was simply covering all bases. Let’s hear what JT has to say.”

JT cleared his throat. “About a year ago, your hubby and your best friend attended the same business conference.”

“I remember it—in San Francisco, right?” Jordan asked. “That’s hardly suspicious. We all run therapy practices, and Carol’s discipline is similar to Ryland’s.”

“I would agree, except for one thing,” JT said. “There was no hotel room registered in your friend’s name. I checked around with a few of her colleagues, and their recollection is that she stayed with a man—your husband, to be precise.”

Jordan felt a chill along her spine. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve got two witnesses who will swear to it.” JT’s voice had turned gentle.

“Then there has to be an innocent explanation. Carol would
never have
had a relationship with Ryland. I know her—she wouldn’t have betrayed me that way.”

“It gives her motive,” Jase said quietly. “And she knew he wanted to reconcile. You told me yourself that you confided in her.”

And Carol had talked to Drake, though she’d sworn she hadn’t told him anything. Jordan swallowed around a huge lump in her throat.

“You don’t know Carol,” she insisted. “She’s even less capable of recognizing brake lines than I am. This is crazy.”

“Think back to that night,” Jase urged. “After you called her, how long did it take her to arrive? Did she show up at the condo more quickly than you expected? Could she have been somewhere in the area?”