Giving Up the Ghost (10 page)

Sonia let out a sigh of exasperation as she turned to Gabbie. "What is it?" Her manner
was ungracious, bordering on rude.

"I couldn't help noticing your reaction to the article I was reading," When she got no
response, she continued. "Did you know Cameron Leeds well?"

Sonia ducked her head, but not before Gabbie saw the red rising across her plain face.
"As well as anyone, I suppose."

"Then I imagine you were very upset when he died."

Sonia lifted her chin and glared at Gabbie. "He's dead and gone, and you'd best let
sleeping dogs lie."

"Do you think it's possible someone murdered Cam?"

Sonia's mouth worked. "I-I..."

To Gabbie's dismay, she spun on her heel and escaped through the door for Employees
Only.

* * * *

Cam offered to swear on a stack of Bibles that Sonia knew nothing about his death. "Are
you kidding? She's the meekest person in Chrissom Harbor. As I remember, she never even set foot
in this cottage."

"What does that have to do with the price of tea?" Gabbie said.

Cam shrugged, a graceful gesture. Gabbie could imagine it sent women swooning at his
feet. Or drove them to his bed.

"Nothing, I suppose. But I can tell you Sonia was crazy about me. She loved when I
flirted with her."

"I can't imagine anyone flirting with Sonia. What on earth did you say?"

Cam grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "I always made a big fuss over her when I
saw her in town. Sometimes I'd whisper I was mad about her, and we'd tie the knot one day."

"How could you?"

"Where was the harm? It was all in good fun. It made Sonia giggle and feel important.
Gave her male attention in a safe way."

"I suppose you're right. You've got me suspecting everyone I run into of murdering
you."

"You're doing great, Gabbie. I have confidence you'll find the one who did it."

She eyed him balefully. "Let's hope he doesn't try to kill me first."

* * * *

Gabbie ate an early dinner, and decided to stop at Logan's for dessert. Cam was right.
The restaurant was the heart of CH, and the best place to gather information about what had been
going on the day of Cam's death. Her heart raced with anticipation as she applied lipstick. She was
getting obsessed with finding his murderer.

When she opened the door to the bar, she squinted in the dim light. Terry and Jack were
at the same table they'd occupied on Monday night. A small, plump woman sat beside Jack. Gabbie
saw her pat his arm with great affection.

"Muy buenas noches, señorita." Terry smiled up at her. "Are you joining us
tonight?"

"Hello, everyone. I thought I'd stop by for dessert." Gabbie took the empty seat next to
Terry.

"Hello there, Gabbie," Jack said. "Meet my wife, Adele. Mutt and Jeff is what they call
us."

"Hi, Gabbie." Adele smiled and waved across the table. "Pleased to meet you."

Mike came over to tell her the specials. When she said she only wanted dessert, he
advised her to try the Apple Betty.

"I certainly will. And a cup of decaf please."

Terry, Jack, and Adele went back to their salads and to the conversation they'd left off,
filling Gabbie in with relevant bits of information. The topic was new sewers, one that didn't
interest her, so she said nothing as she sipped her coffee, feeling oddly at home. She appreciated the
warm welcome she'd received from everyone she'd met at Logan's, and experienced a pang of guilt
for scrutinizing each of them as Cam's possible murderer.

Reese joined them as Mike was serving Terry, Jack, and Adele their main course.

"Is Don coming too?" Gabbie said.

"Nope," Reese said. "He only shows up Mondays and Thursdays, Tessa's nights out with
the girls."

Terry and Jack burst out laughing. Clearly Don didn't trust Tessa. Not since her affair
with Cam. She was wondering how to introduce the subject of Cam, when Reese did it for her.

"Of course Tessa's been as good as gold since her little escapade with Cam three years
ago."

"Don knows better than to upset his apple cart," Adele said dryly. "Tessa's the money
maker. All he does it strut around the salon and order supplies, when he isn't playing cashier
because the receptionist's busy."

Terry winked. "Now how do you know that, Adele?"

Adele let out a sigh of exasperation. "Jeez Louise! I do have my hair cut once a
month."

The subject of Cam had come and gone. Gabbie needed to revive it. "I was reading about
Cam's fall in the old newspapers in the library. Didn't the police even consider the possibility that it
might not have been an accident?"

Reese grinned. "You mean, did Darren think one of us got i-rate enough to do him in?
Sure, it crossed his mind. Questioned half the town, didn't he?"

Terry nodded. "The four of us, anyway. He let up when the old doc said there was no
sign of a struggle, on the body or the terrain."

"What was the cause of death?" Gabbie said.

"Broken neck, I think." Reese chomped down on a bread stick. "Didn't it say so in the
newspaper?"

"And the body had contusions from the fall," Terry added.

Adele shuddered. "Please! Must we rehash this? Sorry, Gabbie. I suppose you're curious,
living in Cam's house and all that, but to us it's old news and not the most appetizing dinner table
conversation."

"Sorry," Gabbie murmured. She was eager to change the subject, too, now that she'd
gotten what she'd asked for.

Jack, Adele, and Terry ordered coffee and dessert, and Reese dug into his meatballs and
ziti. They talked about the new development being built with remarkably little rancor.

"One good thing," Reese said. "Those houses will help lower our taxes, though they put
more of a strain on our water supply."

"But not on the school system," Terry commented. "The school population's gone down
in the last few years." He turned to Gabbie. "How's the job working out? Anyone give you any
trouble?"

"Everything's fine," Gabbie answered with a smile.

She was dying to find out what they might know about Barrett Connelly, but decided it
wasn't ethical for a teacher to talk about a student in Logan's. Anything discussed here might as
well be aired on the local TV channel. If Barrett found out, he might retaliate by pulling a malicious
stunt. At the very least, hearing she'd asked about him was sure to feed his ego and urge him on to
more outrageous behavior, something she certainly didn't want to encourage.

Time to leave, she told herself. She ate the last bite of her Apple Betty and asked for her
check. Mike brought it over, along with a broad smile. "Pot roast tomorrow night. It's
dynamite."

"Sounds great. Good-night, guys. Nice to meet you, Adele."

She bent to pick up her pocketbook. When she straightened, she found herself face to
face with Darren Rollins. She drew in breath, taking in the scent of his now familiar aftershave
mixed with the leathery smell of his bomber jacket.

"Hi, everyone," he said. "Gabbie, don't tell me you're leaving."

She wished she could think up a plausible excuse for staying. No, it was better that she
was going. Darren was a distraction she didn't need in her life. Their eyes locked. He winked and
she quickly turned away, having the distinct impression he knew exactly what was running through
her mind.

Outside it was cold and dark. Gabbie shivered as she got into her car. As she drove
slowly back to the cottage, she tried not to think about Darren. She unlocked the front door and,
desperate for company, headed straight for the den.

Cam appeared immediately. He flopped down on the couch and stretched out his long
legs to rest on the coffee table. "Hello, Gabbie. Who was at Logan's?"

"Jack and his wife, Terry, Reese." She felt herself blush. "Darren came in as I was
leaving."

"Ah."

To change the subject, she told him about the essay Barrett had written for her
class.

"He's a hand grenade, waiting to explode," Cam said.

She let out a snort of exasperation. "And the school won't do anything to stop him."

"That's Tim Jordan's fault. He's a wimp from the word go."

"When I was in the library this afternoon, I looked up the newspapers from last May. Did
you know Barrett and Ross found you on the beach?"

"Nope." He walked to the sliding doors and gazed out at the night.

"Do you think they did it?"

He turned and shrugged. "I don't know. They had no reason to kill me. Unless they did it
for the money."

"Yes, but they had no way of knowing you kept such a large sum in the house."

"True enough. Except some people who should have known better kept up the buzz that
I made millions on every deal. And I rarely locked the cottage, so anyone could have come in."

He shook his head. "It's hopeless, isn't it? There's no way we'll find out who killed
me."

Gabbie had the sudden urge to hug him as she would a child. "I ran into Jill at the library.
She invited me to dinner on Friday night."

"Good. You'll meet Fred."

"From what you've told me, he doesn't sound like I'm in for a treat. But I can ask him a
few questions. Though I tried that tonight at Logan's and came up with zilch. Adele reprimanded me
for bringing you into the conversation."

Cam came to stand before her, looking pensive. "I'm beginning to think I was wrong to
ask you to play detective. All your snooping around is leading nowhere. Except it might upset my
killer and send him after you."

Gabbie fought the tremor of fear that spread through her body. "In which case, we'll
know soon enough who's the guilty party."

He reached out both arms as though he meant to shake some sense into her, but let
them drop to his side. "Please don't do anything stupid. I couldn't live with myself if he killed you,
too."

Gabbie shuddered at his choice of words. "The person I have to convince is Darren. He's
so damn certain you died accidentally because he trusts Doc Bradley."

"Then talk to Darren if you like, but to no one else."

"I'll be careful," she said, knowing she wouldn't stop asking questions. So far she'd
learned very little, but the residents of Chrissom Harbor loved to gossip. Sooner or later, someone
was bound to let drop a vital piece of information that would reveal the identity of Cam's
murderer.

"Well, good-night, then." He faded away.

Gabbie brewed herself a cup of tea, which she carried into the den along with her school
bag. She stretched out on the couch and started reading The Great Gatsby, stopping occasionally to
make notes regarding lines she felt warranted class discussion.

When the phone on the desk rang, she got up to answer it. She heard breathing. "Yes? Is
someone there?"

"Hello, Gabbie. Are you alone?" The voice sounded muffled, as if the speaker was holding
a handkerchief over the mouthpiece.

The question sent her heart thudding against her ribs. "Who is this?"

"A friend who wants to give you some good advice."

"What do you mean?" Her words came out weaker than she'd intended.

"Leeds' death was an accident. Stop asking questions, or you just might fall and break
your neck like he did."

Gabbie heard the click of the disconnection but couldn't unclasp her grip on the phone.
Finally, her hand opened and it clattered to the table. She drew in deep breaths to free herself of the
paralyzing terror.

Damn, if only she had Caller ID! She tried *69 and got a busy signal. The creep had
thought of everything.

Who was it? Whose buttons had she pushed? Her heart pounded against her ribs and
she had trouble breathing. Yet underneath her nervousness ran a vein of anticipation. The
murderer was afraid Gabbie would uncover evidence that he or she had killed Cam.

Gabbie shivered. What helped keep her fear at bay was knowing she wasn't alone.

"Cam? Cam, please come! I need to speak to you."

She shouted his name a few more times, but he didn't appear. After a while, she
remembered his telling her about the other place he often inhabited. Clearly, he wasn't always
hovering about the den, ready to make an appearance at her beck and call. She was alone in the
cottage on this desolate road.

She checked to make sure the doors and downstairs windows were securely locked, and
she turned on every light in the cottage. Once upstairs, she put Darren's card with his phone
numbers on her night table. Reassured that she'd done everything she could to make herself safe,
she got ready for bed, where, after some tossing and turning, she managed to fall asleep.

* * * *

Thursday Gabbie gave her sophomores a quiz and was pleased to see that most of them
understood the point Fitzgerald was making. They saw that Jay Gatsby was a self-created figure, a
one-hundred-percent American product, invented and spurred on by his love for Daisy.

"Does he really love Daisy," one student had the sense to ask, "or is she an illusion
created by her class and wealth?"

"There's that bit about her laugh," another pointed out.

Careless Daisy, Gabbie thought, zooming ahead to the end of the novel. She's ninety
percent responsible for his death.

Barrett walked in late. He crossed his arms on his desk and pretended to sleep through
the period. Gabbie ignored him. Let sleeping dogs lie. She was even happier on Friday when she
read his name on the absentee list and he didn't show up. She put him out of her mind as she talked
to her seniors about Fitzgerald and Hemingway, and the many famous writers and artists who'd
lived in Paris in the nineteen-twenties.

After her last class, she went into town to buy a bottle of wine to take to the Leverettes'.
She decided to do some grocery shopping, have a quick lunch, and be back at school by three-fifteen
to meet with the Photography Club. As she wheeled her shopping cart to her car, she heard
someone calling her name. She turned and saw Don Terranova, a bag of groceries in each arm.