Chapter 37
Dawn broke as Jack and I walked out to the patrol car behind the guard company van, hidden from sight. Vivid orange and dark maroon streaked the sky, scattered cloud underbellies dark gray. A new day; one I wasn’t looking forward to. Jack had already secured the cooler in the trunk and Tildy in the back seat, still trussed, although he’d removed her gag. Twila and Granny stayed behind, although Granny did so under protest, even though she had been so tired she could hardly lift her walking stick. We got in, snapped our seatbelts, and Jack drove off. Tildy kept quiet, although now and then she sniffled.
We drove to the funeral home first, and Jack sat with Tildy while I returned the cooler to Maxine. I’d hoped it was too early for them to be up, but sure enough, my books were spread on the kitchen table. Claude had a grin of anticipation on his face and a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Sure am gonna be pleased to actually have your John Henry on my books,” he said. “Wanna cup of coffee?”
“No, that’s all right." I signed his books, trying not to show my impatience. After all, fans expect a certain sense of appreciation when they ask for an author’s autograph. After the last book, I smiled and stood. “There you go.”
“‘Preciate it." Claude picked up one of the books reverently and opened it to the flyleaf with my signature. The awe on his face made me glad I’d taken time to fulfill his request.
“You come back now any time you need our help,” Maxine said, patting my arm as she walked me to the door. “And tell Granny she best visit before she goes home.”
Finally I escaped. Jack drove on into Jefferson and parked at the jail, squeezing in between two other cars already there.
“Could I see Katy?” I asked.
“Come in and we’ll see what’s up,” he said, the first words he’d spoken since we left the plantation. He helped a defeated Tildy out, and she bowed her head and walked ahead of him, a dejected picture rather than a spitting, snarling woman. Being taken toward a jail cell will do that to most people.
Jack ushered Tildy into the street-side building rather than back to where Katy was housed. Officer Smith sat at one of the desks, but I gave a start of recognition when I saw the other man.
“Why, hello, Alice,” he said with a huge smile of greeting. “This is a nice change in a day that started off like it wasn’t going to be one of the better ones.”
Jack pushed Tildy over to Officer Smith and muttered an order to start the booking procedure. I smiled at Cory, though a picture of how I must look flashed in my mind: covered in grass and dirt stains, my hair straggling, since I hadn’t bothered to brush it before I left the plantation. My makeup case had remained unopened ever since I arrived at the plantation. To top it off, I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t paid any attention to renewing my underarm deodorant in far too many hours and recalled the emu guano on my jeans.
But still, I smiled. If he could smile at me the way I looked, it was the least I could do.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Brought my brother in. He’s a lawyer.”
“He’s with Katy?”
“Yeah. He called me when his car wouldn’t start, and we got here an hour or so ago. How are you holding up?”
“I’ll do,” I said. But even the interest in his eyes couldn’t thaw the ball of dread in my stomach as I thought of where Jack and I would have to go next.
Cory poured two cups of coffee, returning to offer me one and pull out a chair for me. I sat and cupped my hands around the paper container, breathing in the caffeine aroma. “Have you talked to your brother yet?”
“He’s been with Katy ever since we got here. But you can bet he’ll get her out of jail as quick as he can. He’s a pretty good attorney, considering the fact that all he was interested in growing up was coon dogs and fishing.”
“I don’t guess I’ll be able to see her then,” I said, sipping at my coffee.
“Not right now." Jack stuck out his hand to Cory. “Jack Roucheau.”
Cory shook hands. “Ah, Alice’s ex-husband. Cory Stevens. And I think you should know right up front that I intend to get to know your famous former wife a lot better.”
Jack glanced at me and said, “She’s well worth knowing. But you’ll have to wait a while. We’ve got somewhere to go.”
That knot of dread in my stomach tightened like a lump of congealed oatmeal. I set my coffee on the desk and rose. “Jack’s right. But please do call me.”
“Bet on it,” Cory replied.
I walked ahead of Jack, out the door, over to the patrol car. Had I a choice, I would have gone into The General Store and lost myself in the knickknacks and tourist regalia, but it wasn’t open. I stared across the car at Jack. “Where are we going?”
“You know, Chère. Get in the car if you want to ride along.”
I didn’t. I’d rather have stripped my clothes off right then and there and done a book signing naked in the middle of the street. Jack slid in and started the engine. Steeling myself, I joined him and slammed the door.
“You could have brought your coffee,” Jack said as he backed out.
Yeah, but I wouldn’t have been able to drink it. That one sip set like vinegar in my mouth. “What will they charge Tildy with?" I didn’t really care, but it was another focus.
“Not shootin’ at a ghost." He chuckled. “We’ll keep that out of it. I told Smitty to book her on attempted assault and resistin’ arrest. He’ll get a search warrant as soon as the judge is awake. I’ve got a feelin’ we’ll find the rifle that fired that bullet at you stashed in her house.”
“The senator?”
His lips thinned as he turned left at the stoplight. “Heard he’s already on his way back to D.C. Emergency hearing. It’ll be a couple days before we release Bucky’s body.”
I slumped, so tired and sleepy my eyelids kept drifting closed. But not for long. They popped open every time. Jack and I needed to talk, but I couldn’t think how to open the conversation.
Jack finally said, “It was probably an accident.”
“What do you mean?" I sat up, unable to stifle a flicker of hope. “We...Jack, please tell me where we’re going, without my having to tell you where I think.”
The corner of his mouth flickered in a half-smile, overshadowed with regret in his brown eyes. “Your Uncle Clarence’s house.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. But...an accident?”
“I doubt he’ll get off on anything less than manslaughter. After all, he did kill him." Jack turned down the side road leading to my uncle’s house. “The way I see it, he thought he was protectin’ Katy. Probably thought Bucky was Sir Gary, and he was lopping off the ghost’s head. And with his age and health, maybe we can talk the judge into probation or house arrest.”
“He must have worn bedroom slippers. They’re like moccasins, and that’s why he didn’t leave any tracks in the grass. But his cane disturbed the oyster shells around that tire track.”
“Yeah. Had to be someone who knew the manor house. Knew those passageways and how to get in there and hide the head.”
“Katy probably told him about the passageways. But why did he even bother?”
“Strain. Stress." Jack shrugged. “Who knows? People do strange things when their mind’s all screwed up in a situation like that. I’ve seen it time and time again. How’d you feel if you thought you were takin’ a swat at a ghost, but you cut off a real person’s head instead?”
“I’d probably flip out and babble until the men in white coats came,” I admitted.
Jack pulled into Uncle Clarence’s drive. “I’ll go in alone, Chère.”
“No." We got out and I joined him. “Why didn’t he come forward when Katy was arrested?”
“He doesn’t even know she’s in jail. It all happened within the last few hours.”
“Seems like days. My mind’s really fogged time-wise.”
“What I don’t understand is why your grandpere’s sword,” Jack said as
we climbed the veranda steps. “That particular weapon.”
I halted. Uncle Clarence stood in the doorway, back straight, cane propped beside him. He was already dressed for the day, a dapper figure in a neat white suit, black string tie, and a red handkerchief poking out of his breast pocket. His hair was still shower-damp, but combed.
“Ah’ve been expectin’ you,” he said quietly. “Katy’s friend Irene called me an hour ago and said Katy was in jail. She didn’t do it. Ah did. But it sounds as though you’ve already figured that out.”
“You got any coffee on, sir?” Jack asked.
With a regal nod, Uncle Clarence picked up his cane and led us through the house. The kitchen was cluttered, but a fresh pot of coffee set on the warmer. Like a good little Southern woman, I motioned the men to the table and fetched coffee for all of us.
Uncle Clarence waited until we each had coffee before he spoke again, as though he were continuing a nonexistent prior conversation. “As to the sword, it was exactly because it was a ghost I was after that I chose that particular weapon. It was in my possession for years, while Cat and Ah were together. She told me once that the sword had seen history, had magical powers to protect its owner, Jean Leveau. It was the only thing Ah could think of to destroy that ghost and keep him from botherin’ Katy.”
“But Katy wasn’t afraid of Sir Gary,” I said.
“Not at first,” he admitted. “But Ah knew what that spirit was capable of. Ah was afraid he was resortin’ to type when Ah heard Katy was askin’ you to come help. Ah went lookin’ for him that night, not wantin’ Katy to know Ah was around, ‘cause Ah thought she might have some misguided sympathy for that rascal. And when Ah saw him sneakin’ toward the house like he was up to no good, Ah took the opportunity to stop his clock." He sighed and his bushy eyebrows lifted. “Only it wasn’t his clock Ah stopped.”
“Bucky doesn’t look anything like Sir Gary,” I said.
“Ah didn’t realize that ‘til after Ah’d already swung that sword. Done the damage. That there ghost played hide’n seek with me, and Ah never got a good look. Not that Ah wanted to.”
“Bucky was blackmailing Katy again,” I told him.
His eyes darkened. “I know.”
“It was you on the answering machine tape, wasn’t it?” I mused. “That sound...you must have been in a bar. The jukebox started to play. That country song that starts off with a train whistle. Later that night, Katy was discussing what to do about Bucky’s blackmail attempts with you and the fact that someone had killed him. What would happen if anybody found out.”
“That swamp rat was no good. It was bad enough he didn’t take care of his woman and kids. Ah got the right man after all.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, sir,” Jack said, then looked at me. “You never did explain what that blackmail business was all about. Have you got any evidence?”
I thought of the manuscript and videotape in the kitchen cupboard, wishing I’d taken time to hide them better. As soon as I got back to Esprit d’Chene, I planned to destroy both of them.
“Chère?” Jack prodded.
“You said I wasn’t a very good liar, Jack. Let’s just say it’s all water under the bridge. Or a closed door in the light, better left unopened unless it’s needed for something good.”
He nodded reluctantly. Maybe some day I’d tell him; maybe not. These wouldn’t be the only secrets buried in southern soil.
“Best leave,” Uncle Clarence said. “Ah don’t want Katy in that cell one more minute.”
“We’ve got an attorney already waiting there, Uncle Clarence." I hugged the dear old gentleman tightly when he stood, and received a tight, desperate embrace in return.
Epilogue
In the Master Suite, I grabbed the last page from Katy’s printer, shuffled it in with the rest, then stuck all five hundred and twenty-three pages in the padded envelope. I slapped on the Fed Ex label, sealed the tape...and answered my cell phone.
“Alice,” my editor said. “We’re backed up, so I’m letting you know that if you want a while longer to work, feel free not to rush. I won’t be looking at it for a while.”
I pulled the phone away and stared. For three days I’d fought fatigue to finish that damn book while Twila squired Granny and Katy around, “touristing” amid celebrating Katy’s return and that Uncle Clarence would be placed on probation. And truth be known, this book was still my best effort yet. How dare she put off reading this wonderful story?
I glanced at the Fed Ex package, waiting for one of those sexy drivers to pick it up and handle it with their usual negligence, not realizing what a precious cargo it contained. Damned if I’d wait...yet...well, that last chapter could be tightened...
“Alice?” the phone said.
I jammed it against my ear. “I do appreciate not being rushed. I guess I would like to go over it once more.”
“Oh, I’m positive it’s as free from any editing need as always,” she said, mollifying my disgruntlement easily with words of praise. “I’ve also decided to take early maternity leave. I can get caught up on some of my work at home, without the distractions of endless meetings. I wanted to thank you, too, for the beautiful mobile. It’s exactly right for the baby’s room décor. How did you ever think of it?”
I relaxed and smiled. I knew how long she’d wanted a child, putting off the decision until she could juggle her career and still be a good wife and mother.
“Enjoy the rest of your pregnancy. Next time I’m in New York, I’ll want to see the baby.”
“Of course,” she replied. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Take care. Goodbye.”
I laid the cell phone down, popped my disk out, and strolled out of the bedroom to change clothes in the Peach Room. In deference to my deadline hell, Katy deferred the celebration party until this evening. Jack told us that Tildy made a deal after the search warrant turned up the rifle she’d used. In return for a confession, she would serve ten years in the Gatesville, Texas, women’s prison. She admitted planning revenge on Katy after seeing her and Bucky at the Holey Bucket. Knowing what day Sue Ann did the grocery shopping, she injected the poison into a bag of sugar in the housekeeper’s cart — shades of the Tylenol poisonings. She’d been the woman at the convenience store, but the guards foiled her when the poison didn’t work. Hell hath no fury, and Tildy sought revenge on anyone associated with Katy and Esprit d’Chene. Personally, I thought she should have extensive psychological counseling, also.
Senator Wilson-Jones took convincing that it was in his best political interest not to insist on a full-blown trial for Uncle Clarence. Jack informed us what turned the tide. Both Tildy and Uncle Clarence were willing to reveal the involvement of ghosts in Bucky’s murder. Tildy wanted the senator to pay Bucky’s lost child support to her mother. I guess she did have a streak of buried motherhood. Maybe the senator would be a decent grandfather. Age and mistakes can mature a person. Uncle Clarence and his lawyer threatened to use the ghosts as defense tactics. Senator Wilson-Jones shuddered at what that would do to his career and agreed with the DA that probation was the best route for Uncle Clarence, given the little time he had left.
I destroyed the manuscript and videotape, burning them both in Gabe’s trash barrel one night. My friendship with Katy forged even stronger when I realized how she’d tried to protect me at the risk of her own reputation and freedom. Well, of course I scanned the darned manuscript before I destroyed it! My writer’s curiosity wouldn’t be stifled. My name appeared as often as Katy’s in that poorly-written piece of tripe, but the explosive contents mattered more than the grammar mistakes. As the last page curled into ash, burning paper odor mingled with melting plastic, Twila stepped out of the shadows. We fixed icy mint juleps in the dimly-lit kitchen. Several of them, truth be known, but we damned sure deserved every one.
I still didn’t know for sure who that new ghost was at my house, but I suspected it was a spirit instead. I left the Peach Room and headed down t
he hallway. At the bottom of the stairwell, I detoured by the Great Room and winked at Grandmere Alicia’s portrait. I swear, it winked back, but it could have been a trick of the light.
For once I found all three of my friends in the kitchen, but they were preparing to leave again. Snacks and boxes scattered around, and Katy glanced up with a smile.
“Alice! Uncle Clarence found some crawfish for the party. The men are over there getting things ready." She slid me a sly grin and winked. “I invited Cory, too, and he’s bringing soft drinks and beer.”
“We got the rest of the food fixed,” Granny said. “Got you bread puddin’, knowin’ how that there’s your favorite dessert.”
My stomach lurched, but I smiled back at them.
Twila leaned down to stroke Trucker. “You can have the mudbugs. Your uncle promised me fried ‘gator tail.”
Katy carried a box toward the garage door as I picked up Miss Molly. “Hope you’re making mint juleps,” I called after her.
“I am,” she replied as she juggled the box and opened the door. Then, “Alice! What on earth happened to the Mercedes?”
T. M. Simmons Bio
And Contact Info
T. M. Simmons was dragged down the ghost hunting trail many years ago, due to her avid curiosity and an aunt who had been dealing with the paranormal for more years than that. Before, and after, becoming a ghost hunter, Simmons wrote. Therefore, it followed that she would write down her numerous ventures into the other dimensions, recording both the incidents and the ghosts and spirits she met along the way. From the abundant folders now filled with her adventures, she has chosen some of those diaries for publication. Ghost Hunting Diary Volume I has been joined by Volume II through VI thus far, with more to come in e-book and paperback forms.
Ah, yes, her writing. Simmons sold her first book two years from the time she started writing. After a decade and a dozen books in the romance genre writing historical and paranormal, she now writes paranormal mysteries. This first book in her Dead Man Mysteries series, Dead Man Talking, first saw light of day in hardback. Now it is available as an e-book for various different e-reading devices, and soon will be joined by a paperback. Also available are Dead Man Haunt, Dead Man Hand, and Dead Man Ohio, thus far.
Simmons delights in scaring herself silly at times during other-worldly encounters and has been known to visit graveyards in both the dark and full of the moon. She is usually accompanied by her aunt, Belle Brown, who started her on the life path involving the world across The Veil. They talk to ghosts, and every once in a while, ghosts pop into the pictures they snap. Their experiences include: seeing whirlwinds of light; ghosts crawling in bed with them and scaring them silly…well, sillier; ghosts deciding to hitch a ride home with them; ghosts putting on a goodbye show, and many others. They've hunted in New Mexico; the Arlington Hotel in Hot Springs, Arkansas; The Myrtles in St. Francisville, as well as Natchitoches and New Orleans, Louisiana; Jefferson, and other Texas towns;, Ohio; Wisconsin; and numerous graveyards and haunted buildings all over the U.S. Their favorite trip (so far) was to Cimarron, New Mexico, where they spent two days and nights all alone in the historical and haunted St. James Hotel. Dead Man Hand grew out of that adventure.
Sometimes, Simmons takes along her husband of 40+ years, Barney, to protect her from the bumps in the night, although he's been known to spy a ghost or two and retreat rather than confront. She and he live in a haunted house in East Texas, which they also share with a variety of paranormal residents and a menagerie of pets. She believes in disciplining her ghosts, but visitors are forewarned to beware. Some overnight guests have left in the middle of the night; even some relatives refuse to accept her offer of a bed. But her ghosts don't only appear at night. Teddy, especially, loves to make himself known in the guest bathroom at all hours, especially to the male guests, and other paranormal boarders appear at opportune — and inopportune — times.
She is also the lead investigator for her team of paranormal investigators, Supernatural Researchers of Texas (SRT). The motto for her team is: Leave Peace Behind.
Simmons is extremely willing to discuss her experiences with anyone she can corner. Other contact information for her includes:
Web sites at: https://www.iseeghosts.com and
https://www.sroftx.com
A weekly blog at https://
[email protected]/
A Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/tranam.simmons
A Twitter handle: @TMSimmonsauthor
Email:
[email protected] For Romance:
A web site at https://www.tranamaesimmons.com
Email:
[email protected] T. M. Simmons hopes you enjoy her stories! Reviews are so very important to authors. If you enjoyed this Dead Man Mystery, you would have her heartfelt thanks for leaving a review on the site where you purchased the book.
If you would like to be notified of new T. M. Simmons releases, please follow the url below. You will not be spammed. As a thank you, you'll also receive a free ebook novella, Thrall Bound, which is not for sale anywhere, only available for newsletter friends.
https://ghostie3.wixsite.com/index1