Corpses & Conmen (Rosewood Place Mysteries Book 2) (14 page)

A chorus of cheers went up, and a few sighs of relief, too. Annie didn’t get a chance to ask anyone about the cellar door because her guests were already filing into the house, following Bessie, whose Pied Piper promises of dinner were too good to pass up. Annie and Rory stayed behind on the veranda for a moment.

“You okay?” he asked her. Somehow, despite their having been apart for nearly two decades, Rory always seemed to know when something was bothering her.

Annie shrugged. “Well, I think that somebody dislikes me enough to lock my in my own cellar, but I can’t tell who that is. And someone set fire to my deck, but nobody has a clue who it was. Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that two of my guests were poisoned by who-knows-what while on a fishing trip that I suggested. Maybe Marie’s right. Maybe there’s a vengeful spirit hanging around here, making my life miserable, just for kicks.” She said this last sentence with plenty of sarcasm, just in case Rory thought she was serious about the ghost part.

Rory looked at her for a long moment. “Well, I think you work too hard and you’re worn out from running around here taking care of everybody. Why don’t we go get some supper and eat out on the front porch? I’ll show you my sketches for the Man-cave,” he joked.

“I’m sure your handyman quarters will be the smartest in the state,” she quipped. A tired smile found its way onto her lips. “The front porch sounds like the perfect place for dinner. I’m sure Mama can keep the guests entertained for one evening. After all, it’s not like anything else can go wrong today.”

Annie felt a cool breeze drift in through the screens on the back porch. It sent a slight chill down her spine, and although she didn’t know it at the time, she’d come to regret that last statement sooner than she’d realize.

Dinner was later than Bessie had planned, thanks to the storm and the resulting power outage. By the time she’d sat the piping hot cornbread on the table, everyone was ravenous. Despite the long day, Bessie was in fine form at the dinner table, regaling her guests with stories about her childhood, the town’s history, and even a few local legends, including the story that most believed about Rosewood Place (but that wasn’t really true).

“Oh, people have called this place cursed for years,” she admitted openly, “but that’s mostly because it failed as a plantation. The crops didn’t do so well,” she explained, “and nobody ever seemed to hang around long enough to do anything with the place. Some say that there’s a hidden treasure on this very property that dates back to the pre-civil war era,” she teased.

“Well, is there?” Mr. George had paused mid-bite, his spaghetti hung precariously on his fork as he waited for her reply.

Bessie smiled innocently. “Well, let me just put it this way. I’ve never seen a treasure here, but it’s a lovely thought, just the same.” She took a sip of her tea. She’d put more sugar in it than usual tonight and brewed it just a little stronger than she normally would. It was what her daughter would undoubtedly refer to as ‘rocket fuel’ since the sugary, caffeinated drink would give anyone a boost of energy after drinking it.

Mr. George seemed to ponder this as he chewed. Bessie liked the man, despite his odd personality. She had begun to think of him as some sort of quiet genius after he’d quoted page after page of statistics about old homes. She’d heard him tell Rob that he read a great deal of books about historical homes and other buildings, and he happened to have a near photographic memory. Bessie wished her memory was half as good. At nearly seventy, she was still sharp as a tack, but a photographic memory would be an amazingly useful thing to have, she reckoned.

Kizzy Fitzsimmons and Rob Reynolds seemed awfully cozy, she noted. In Bessie’s mind, it would be a grand thing if the two youngsters fell in love during their stay at Rosewood Place. She allowed herself a few minutes to daydream about renting them the barn for their wedding--once it had been renovated, of course--and she wondered whether she’d be able to find someone to come in and cater such an event.

Frank and Doris had been discussing taking a drive into town the next day. Doris wanted to take a look at a couple of houses that they’d seen advertised online, Frank wanted to investigate the town’s barbecue restaurant. Bessie hoped that the couple would decide to settle in or around Coopersville. They were a terribly nice pair of people, despite Frank’s occasional gruff attitude.

Devon had graced the group with his presence for all of five minutes, long enough to help himself to a second portion of spaghetti. She marveled at the skinny teen’s ability to put away food; he ate like a horse but never seemed to gain a single ounce. If anything, she worried that he might be losing weight. Of course, he’d grown two inches since he’d moved back to South Carolina, proof, in her mind, that sunshine and fresh air could make almost anything thrive.

Bessie wiped the corner of her mouth and let her eyes drift down the table to Marie Robichaud. Marie was the one guest that Bessie hadn’t really spoken to at length. Yes, the woman always seemed to be there, wherever Bessie went, but for all of Marie’s intrusive appearances, the woman said very little to those around her, apart from making the occasional comment about spirits and ghosts and whatnot.

Bessie believed in the supernatural. She believed in ghosts, especially now since she’d moved into Rosewood Place. Of course, she’d never seen a ghost at the old plantation house, but she could imagine the spirits of long dead residents wandering around late at night when it was silent and peaceful. However, Bessie didn’t buy Marie’s story about angry spirits hanging around the place. Despite the fact that there had been three murders right on this very farm, and quite possibly more that had happened in the preceding centuries, Bessie had never once felt afraid of an evil spirit.

Now, evil living people, that was another matter entirely.

Bessie may not have feared evil spirits, but she knew enough to be wary of those living souls who’d just as soon put you in the ground as look at you. Bessie liked to think of herself as a good judge of character, and she’d certainly had it right when she had correctly suspected Suzy Anderson's killer back in the spring. Bessie had learned to trust her instincts when it came to people, and it had never served her wrong so far in life.

Bessie loved a good murder mystery novel as much as the next gal, but she never in a million years envisioned that she’d be caught up in not one, but two murders, all right under her very own roof. Or, in the case of Mr. Lou Ross, in her backyard pond.

“Have you learned anything else about Mr. Ross?” Marie’s question startled Bessie somewhat. Marie seemed to ask about the very thing that Bessie was thinking of, despite the fact that she’d said nothing about the dead man all day.

“Oh, well,” she began, “I probably shouldn’t say, you know, because of the ongoing investigation.”

Marie smiled. “Has Mr. Barnes spoken to any more of the guests?” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Emmett, that’s his name, isn’t it?”

Bessie felt her cheeks flush just the tiniest bit. That always happened when someone asked her about Emmett, even if they were just asking about his name. “Yes, Emmett Barnes. He’s been our Police Chief for years. He’s a good man and an excellent policeman. If anyone can get to the bottom of this sad, sad situation, it’s Emmett and his officers.”

Marie’s smile drifted away. She leaned towards Bessie, which wasn’t easy since she was on the opposite side of the table. “Can I tell you something?” She asked in a way that made Bessie feel only slightly uncomfortable. Bessie got the distinct impression that Marie wanted to tell her something in confidence, but sitting at the busy dining room table, it hardly made sense to tell it here.

Marie didn’t wait for a response. “I get the distinct feeling that Mr. Ross is still with us, spiritually, I mean. I feel as though his spirit can’t leave--as though he has unfinished business in this world.” She put her hand over her eyes. “I don’t normally get such a strong reading,” she confessed, “but here, in this lovely old house, the spirits are very loud.”

Bessie didn’t dismiss Marie’s statement, but she didn’t encourage her to say more. Instead, she smiled and nodded her head. “What is it you do again, dear?”

Marie removed her hand from her eyes. “I do many things. I have a very strong link to the spirit world, you see, and I often send and receive messages for people.”

“Like the Long Island Medium on television?” Bessie had become fascinated by the woman on that television program after her dear husband, Robert Purdy, had passed away some years before.

“Oh, well, yes, I suppose I do some of the same things,” Marie replied, “but I also do spiritual advising, you know, tarot readings, aura assessments, that sort of thing. You’d be surprised how many people simply neglect to consider their spiritual well-being,” she confided. “I’ve been communicating with the dead since I was girl, you know. I woke up one day and my grandmother was sitting on the end of my bed, smiling at me, which was very confusing because she’d died the week before.”

Bessie nearly choked on the tea she was drinking. “Oh, my! Were you frightened?”

“Of course not! She only wanted to wish me well and tell me that we would meet again, and we did. She visits me often, you know.”

“Oh,” Bessie replied. “I hope she knows that there’s a surcharge for extra guests in a room,” she joked. Marie didn’t laugh. “That must be a terribly fascinating career,” she added, hoping she hadn’t offended the woman.

“It can be. I have helped many people,” she stated simply. “That’s probably why this Lou Ross fellow is bothering me so. I fear he expects me to help him with his unfinished business, whatever that may be, but I have nothing to go on, no idea of where to start.”

The idea of a dead man having unfinished business was both ridiculous and a little sad to Bessie. On one hand, he was dead. Nothing that anyone did could change that, so anything the man had left to do on this earth couldn’t be that important, especially if it involved being a con artist.

On the other hand, a repentant ghost who wanted to make things right, well, that sounded like quite a nice idea. Bessie wondered for a moment if ghost Lou had undergone a change of heart--perhaps he wanted to confess his crimes from beyond the grave or even help give his victims back the money that he’d stolen from them. Bessie’s curiosity began to stir, which was never a good thing.

“It’s the strangest thing,” Bessie confided, “but I remember Annie telling me that he had a mother in Mobile--Alabama, I presume--but he didn’t list her as a next of kin. You know, we always try to put someone down in case, heaven forbid, something bad happens.”

Marie nodded. “Makes perfect sense. Did he mention her name, perhaps? I’m sure if we knew who she was we could try to find out where she lives, maybe pass on a message for Mr. Ross.”

Bessie shook her head. “No name. Annie spoke with Emmett about it, though, so maybe the police can track the woman down and notify her of his passing.” She suddenly remembered what Annie had told her about the man having a package delivered to the house. “Oh, and it’s so sad, but Mr. Ross was planning to have a package delivered right here to the house. He’d told Annie that he was having a gift for his mother delivered to him while he stayed with us. I guess she’ll never get it now,” she added, shaking her head.

Marie’s eyes grew large. “Has Annie received the package yet? That may be why his spirit is so restless--he wants the package to reach the rightful owner.”

Bessie hesitated. “Well, she received a couple of packages this morning, but I have no idea if either of them belonged to Mr. Ross. She was so busy with the power outage, I believe she just stuck them in the office and forgot all about them. I suppose I’d better remind her to be on the lookout for his package in particular. She’ll want to take it to Emmett as soon as she gets it, though. After all, if anyone can figure out who and where Mr. Ross’s mother is, Emmett and the police can.”

Marie narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t want to say anything because I know that Annie gets upset when I mention my
talents
, but I’m not sure that the fire was an accident. Neither was Rob and Kizzy’s illness. You know, they were the last ones on the deck the night that poor Mr. Ross died.”

Bessie leaned forward, trying to close the gap between Marie and herself. She glanced at the other guests, who were at the far end of the table and likely out of earshot, but she didn’t want them to think she was talking about any of them. “What do you mean? Did you see something?”

Marie cast her eyes down the table towards the other guests. “I don’t want to say anything here,” she said quietly. “Why don’t we finish our chat in the sitting room?”

Bessie felt guilty for talking about the other guests behind their backs. “I’d really ought to be getting these dishes cleared away,” she apologized. “And I’m not as young as I used to be. I’m absolutely worn out from today. Maybe we can sit and have a chat tomorrow over a nice cup of tea. I’d bet you’re an Earl Grey fan, am I right?” Bessie shifted the conversation as she stood.

Marie took the hint. “That would be lovely,” she replied. “Would you like some help with these?” She gestured towards the dishes.

“Oh, no, that’s alright. Annie will be in here in a minute to help. You just let your food settle and enjoy the evening.” Bessie picked up several plates and balanced them carefully, then backed out of the dining room. As she walked towards the kitchen, she had the awful feeling that perhaps she’d said too much to Marie. After all, Lou’s death was still an ongoing investigation, and Annie had told her to be careful about what she said around the guests. Still, she supposed that if Marie was the real deal, she’d already know most of what the police did anyway.

Bessie decided that she’d make sure that the next time she spoke to Marie, she’d let the psychic do most of the talking. As she loaded dirty dishes into the dishwasher, Bessie decided that she’d also better not say anything to her daughter about her chat with Marie. At best, Annie would laugh at her for even entertaining the idea that Marie could actually communicate with the dead. At worst, Bessie would be in big trouble for spilling the beans about the mysterious package that was supposed to be delivered for the dead man.

Still, something else worried at Bessie’s heart. What if Marie really could communicate with the dead? Could a simple ritual like a seance solve a murder? Shouldn’t they at least try if it meant that a killer could be brought to justice? Bessie also had another thought, one that she didn’t quite want to linger on. If Marie could speak to those who’d passed, did that mean that she could contact Robert, too? She pushed that thought away as quickly as it formed and brought her focus back to the dirty dishes in front of her.

With a surprising burst of energy (probably from the super-sweet iced tea,) Bessie finished clearing the dinner dishes on her own, then slipped up to her bedroom for some peace, quiet, and to enjoy her current murder mystery novel, though these days, real life was beginning to become far more interesting than the mysteries on the pages of her books.