southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet (13 page)

Perhaps I should have wrapped Beau's frame in plain white drawing paper, made it look nice.

Nothing to be done for it now. 

Besides, I refused to feel cheapened just because everything about me didn't gleam like the carved Victorian tea table in front of me. 

 I was here to do a job, plain and simple.

"Frankie?" I murmured, lowering my bag to the floor. His urn clanked against the picture frame.

"What?" His disembodied voice sounded in my ear. I jumped and nearly spilled the whole kit and caboodle.

"Stop it," I whispered. It would not do to have a burial urn topple out of my bag during a social call.

The gangster shimmered into view, standing in the middle of the tea table, his hands on his hips. "Sure. Okay, I'll refuse to answer you from now on."

He knew that wasn't what I'd meant. I glanced around the room, paying particular attention to the arched doorway leading to the stairs. "Go," I whispered, motioning him upstairs. "Look for the secretary." The sooner the better. Every second he spent trying to find that evidence was one I'd eventually have to endure making chitchat with Virginia Wydell. 

Frankie made a face. "She's still in her bedroom."

That didn't matter. "It's not like she can see you."

Frankie recoiled. "I'm not going to be able to concentrate if I'm worried about her running into me."

"Then start in the attic. Work your way down."

The gangster grinned and let out a low chuckle. "You don't know nothing about stealing stuff, do you?" He shook his head and began to explain as if I were a toddler. "Most of the time, people hide the goods in the closet or under the bed."

"Well…" I waved a hand. "Rule out the rest while we wait."

 He shrugged and began floating upward. "How about I slip her a cold draft on the neck? For you." 

Before I could answer, he disappeared through the coffered ceiling.

I arranged the skirt of my dress on the settee, my only company the imposing men in the portraits lining the wall. I couldn't help but notice them as I kept an eye on the stairs. The paintings of the Wydell patriarchs hung in heavy gold frames and went back seven generations. No telling which of the stern faces belonged to dear old Leland I. The entire window-lined room felt like a shrine to the Wydell legacy.

Any time, Virginia would make her grand entrance.

It shouldn't take long, especially if Frankie gave her an icy nudge.

Then, as if on cue, Virginia Wydell began to descend the grand staircase. Her gold bracelets clicked against the banister; her perfectly rounded and polished nails skimmed the wood. She wore immaculately tailored tan trousers, a gold belt, and a tasteful green-and-white polka-dot silk shirt, top collar button undone, so as to make it casual.

She'd slicked her perennially blond hair back into its usual bob and wore the over-large pearl earrings that her great-great-grandmother had famously buried under an apple tree in the yard during the war.

Virginia, like her home, held a timeless, museum-quality perfection that couldn't be matched in the real world, at least not in mine.

Her appraising gaze slicked over me and I knew I was judged unworthy even before she crossed the room and wrapped me in a bony hug that lingered like the scent of her expensive perfume. "Sugar." Her voice was warm, her eyes cold. "How sweet of you to visit." 

We both sat on the grand settee, as far from each other as possible.

"Of course," I said, smoothing my skirt, vowing to get through this without mentioning the house I'd almost had to sell, the failed wedding, or her attempt to destroy me. Virginia liked seeing me out of control. I wouldn't give her that advantage. Never again. "I'm glad you could take time out for me," I said sweetly, "given how busy you must be with the Cannonball in the Wall events."

"Now dear"—she brought a hand to her chest—"you're not trying to sweet-talk me for a part in my movie, are you?" She absently adjusted her earring. "If you were a member of the family that would be one thing, but I'm afraid that ship has sailed."

Frankie needed to hurry up and find that secretary.

"I'm not an actress," I said candidly, wishing I simply had enough talent to appear calm and unaffected. Instead, I'd felt my cheeks flush and my heart speed up the minute she'd walked into the room. "I have to admit, though, this isn't a purely social call. I have something I think you'll want."

She raised a brow, as if she couldn't imagine what that might be.

I pressed on. "Beau contacted me after the reenactment this Saturday." The wrinkles around her thin lips deepened at my revelation. I should let her worry. I should let her rush to the phone and call Beau the minute I left the house. But Ellis didn't deserve that kind of drama. For his sake, I had to make one thing clear. "I did
not
encourage Beau in the slightest. He and I are not seeing each other again."

She clucked, as if I'd said something amusing. "I wouldn't presume he would take you back." She leaned closer, as if we were sharing a secret. "Don't try, dear. It'll just make you look cheap."

With the will of a saint, I kept my posture perfect and my expression neutral. I had my dignity and my pride.

"It isn't me doing the chasing," I corrected. I slipped the picture frame from my simple brown bag. "Beau left this on my doorstep last night," I added, offering it to her.

She took it as if I'd handed her a dirty sock. "Isn't this lovely?" she asked, with about the same enthusiasm. Beau's actions had disturbed her, even if she refused to show it. She turned the gleaming frame over in her hands, as if she didn't even notice the smiling picture of me with her son. "The poor boy must have been rooting through my Goodwill boxes in the garage." She placed it on the edge of the tea table, facedown. "I'll see that this makes it back outside."

Before I could respond, Sissy entered the room, carrying a tray. "Here we are," Virginia said, directing the maid to place it on the table in front of us. "Refreshments. Although I'd understand if you didn't want to partake. The past few months have done quite a number on your figure." She made a point of staring at my hips. "Of course, it could just be that dress."

Frankie had better be finding the secretary, Virginia's signed confession, and the Hope diamond.

I kept my chin high. My dress was lovely, even if it wasn't expensive. "These look quite delicious, thank you," I said, reaching for a pastry and a china plate. I'd never be skinny, but I wasn't fat, either. And I wasn't about to be shamed out of the only good thing I might get during this visit. 

Virginia appeared quite satisfied as she poured us both a cup of tea.

I bit into the pastry and tasted the sharp tang of rhubarb filling. I made a pleasant sound and forced myself to swallow. Rhubarb made me break out in a rash. Virginia knew it quite well. Too bad for her, that little taste should only make me itch a little.

She handed me a cup, truly pleased this time. "I only had two left. I told Sissy we
had
to serve them for your visit."

I tasted the Earl Grey, letting the bite of it take away some of the sting of the rhubarb. "You shouldn't have," I said, meaning it. 

She sipped from her cup. "Well, you are a very special visitor."

At that moment, Frankie's head popped through the floor between the tea table and the settee. His hair was mussed, as if he'd been running his fingers through it. "It's not upstairs, not in the attic or the basement." He made a show of pushing himself up through the floor, as if he couldn't simply float. "Hmm…" He gave the living room a once-over. "There's not too many places to hide it in here."

I narrowed my eyes at him, as if he could read my thoughts. Which he couldn't, thank goodness.
Keep looking. 

Virginia placed a chilly hand on my arm. "Are you all right, dear?" she asked, clearly hoping I was about to have an allergic-to-rhubarb reaction.

"I'm fine," I said, agitated as the ghost floated over to the grand piano and stuck his head inside. As if that's where we'd find the missing document.

Virginia set her untouched pastry plate on the table and took up her tea again. "I did want to ask you about that unpleasantness at the library yesterday evening." She sipped from her china cup. "I hope it wasn't too traumatic when you found that woman dead."

Why? Was she hoping I hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Darla and ask about what she found?

"It was a shock," I told her honestly. And speaking of the case, "I hear Darla Grace called you shortly before."

She clucked if that were the most interesting thing I had to say. "Darla wanted to talk about the luncheon," she said lowering her voice, probably lying through her teeth. "I'm head of the Cannonball in the Wall Committee. It's only appropriate, considering my family's contribution. To think, her last words may have been to praise all the hard work that I do."

"I find it hard to believe she called about a fund-raiser," I stated, inviting no debate. "In my experience if someone calls at three in the morning, it is usually with bad news." Like you're about to lose all of the fortune that has propped up your ego for the last forty years.

Virginia paled slightly. "Oh, it was unfortunate—she discovered a terrible catering error and had to tell me about it right away." She took a long sip of tea and I swore she seemed to be hiding behind her cup. "You knew Darla, the poor woman could never let go of something."

"Like a really good scandal?" I remarked.

She cleared her throat and set her cup down so hastily that it clanked hard on the saucer. "I wouldn't know. I never suffer busybodies, and gossip is so tasteless." She straightened her already rigid shoulders. "Is it true you found her beneath the display tables?"

She couldn't be serious. "I don't think Ellis would want me to say." 

I watched as Frankie flickered out into the yard, probably checking the carriage house. I was glad he had enough range from the house to inspect the property. I focused on that, and not the fact that my arm had begun to itch. It was too soon for a rhubarb reaction. I couldn't let Virginia get to me.

 "Ellis?" She sniffed, drawing back. "I don't see what Ellis has to do with this."

Virginia Wydell never had forgiven her middle son for pursuing a modest career in law enforcement, and it seemed as if she still clung to denial. He was the black sheep for not toeing the family line, for not playing her games. The way I saw it, Ellis was her greatest achievement.

She waited for me to speak, no doubt hoping the silence would prod me.

Now I understood why she'd let me into her house. "I'm sorry," I said, sweet as a rhubarb pastry. "I don't think I can give you any more detail than that without jeopardizing the investigation."

Her features clouded before she chirped out a laugh.  "Look at you, practically a junior detective. Your grandmother would be so proud." She drew the neck of her blouse to the side in a casual gesture and I saw she was wearing my grandmother's cross.

My grandfather had presented the delicate necklace to my grandmother as a wedding gift. I'd always loved it. I'd sit in her lap as a little girl and run my fingers over the gold and silver filigree. She'd gifted it to me on my eighteenth birthday, right before I'd left for college. Said she couldn't think of anyone who would care for it more, treasure it forever. It was my responsibility. My legacy. And I'd sold it to Virginia Wydell as part of my last-ditch effort to avoid losing my family home. 

I fought the urge to rip it off her throat.

She wanted me to lose it, to fly off the handle. Virginia Wydell wanted nothing more than to break me. Too bad for her, I was made of stronger stuff.

No. I'd never resort to violence, but in that moment I vowed to get my cross back. I had absolutely no idea how, but I would. I'd take Virginia Wydell down a peg if it was the last thing I did.

She saw it in my face and I could tell my pain gave her energy. Power. She ran her fingers over the silver chain that my grandmother had lovingly polished every Sunday. "I wore this especially for you." She tucked it back under the collar of her cheerful polka-dot blouse. "All told, it's a bit flimsy for my taste. But I thought you might like to see it again."

"Tell me," I said, taking in the antique phonograph on the antique table, the tea set in front of us, the chandeliers dripping with cut crystal. "How much of this is your family history and how much of it have you…acquired?"

"Don't smirk. It'll give you wrinkles. Besides, it doesn't matter. All of this is mine now."

"For now," I agreed. 

Virginia lost her plastic smile. "Just because you can no longer be a part of this legacy doesn't mean you should mock it."

She was a greedy parasite and positively ruthless. "I'm just wondering how far you'd go to preserve it." Her precious legacy and her fortune.

Her gaze chilled and for a moment, she revealed the true depth of her ambition and her pride. "No one builds a legacy like this…without getting a little blood on their hands." Her lips twitched at my obvious surprise. "That's something you never quite learned," she drawled, punctuating every word. "For love and family—it's always worth it."

I stared at her.
She might as well have admitted it.
 

Unbelievable. Only Virginia would have the gall to tease me with the truth, to play this as if it were a game instead of…murder.

"Are you all right?" she asked, seeming to enjoy my shock. "Could you go for another rhubarb tart?"

"I'm fine," I said, through gritted teeth. I knew who and what I was up against. Now I just had to prove Virginia had stabbed poor Darla Grace in the back. With any luck, Frankie was digging up the evidence right now.

The doorbell rang, and for the first time, I saw a chink in her carefully placed armor. We'd been so busy doing battle, both of us had neglected to notice the documentary crew unpacking a van in the circle drive. 

I took advantage of her distraction to look for Frankie. I didn't see him anywhere.

"I'm afraid I must let you go," Virginia murmured, eyes on the driveway as Sissy answered the door.