southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet (14 page)

Not yet, at least not until Frankie found the evidence we needed.

Montgomery entered first, twisting his head this way and that looking for Virginia, not sparing a glance for the maid. "There you are," he said, opening his arms wide as he approached us. He wore one of his signature tweed jackets with a blue striped bow tie. She didn't move to embrace him, but rather let him pay homage to her on the settee. He bent and made show of kissing her hand. "The crew wasn't interested in my weather report from the day of the battle. And we ran through the actual mechanics of the cannon shot to the library rather quickly." He straightened, his gaze roving the grand room, startling a bit when it landed on me. "They were anxious to come film the family manor."

Dating all the way back to 1982.

I snickered and tried to care when Virginia shot me a dirty look. 

"By all means," she said to her pet historian. "I'll count on you to point out our family's ties to significant events. I don't want to brag."

Too late.

"Hi, Montgomery," I said, since he hadn't addressed me yet.

The historian turned to me. "Hello," he said, as if I'd popped up out of thin air. "I didn't expect to see you here." 

Yes, well, one should never underestimate a Southern girl. "I didn't expect to be here," I admitted, "but I had a few things to discuss with Mrs. Wydell. The Cannonball in the Wall Festival is deadly important to her." That earned me a biting glare from Virginia. 

"Er, yes," Montgomery said, flustered at the obvious tension in the room. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm hopeful we can get things back on track. That was quite a morning yesterday," he added, in the understatement of the year. I wondered if Darla had to be dead a hundred years for the historian to care about her.

There was a commotion at the door while Sissy let the film crew into the house and I immediately lost Montgomery's attention. "Come in!" he said, going to them. "You're going to find this fascinating. The history contained in this house cannot be overstated."

Virginia gave a gracious smile when she perhaps should have thrown him a liver treat for good behavior.

That was my cue. I stood and gathered my bag. I'd wait out the rest of Frankie's search from the front seat of my car. "Congratulations again on your documentary and your film."

Virginia nodded, as though she was the queen of England and I was being dismissed. 

All right, then. I passed two cameramen and caught the eye of the producer on the way out. Poor man. I gave him a quick, reassuring smile. "Ask to see the carriage house." It was the only original building left. Beau had taken me inside once. "It's pretty neat." 

"Wait," he called after me. "Miss, are you going to be on camera with Mrs. Wydell?" He glanced at the queen bee. "If so, we may want to put some makeup on you."

"Oh no." Virginia stood, all grace and manners. "She's not part of the family. She didn't make the cut."

I patted the man on the arm. "Good luck." And with that, I slipped out of the house.

The film was for the sake of Sugarland, I reminded myself as I descended the brick patio steps. This wasn't just about the Wydells.

Only it was.

I climbed into the land boat. Virginia would get hers some day. I had to believe that.

In the meantime, Frankie shimmered into view in the seat next to me.

"You done making chitchat?" he asked, like I'd been in there gabbing over pastries and coffee. "Because I found something."

Chapter Nine

"W
HY
DIDN
'
T
YOU
come get me?" I gasped, starting the engine. 

"I was waving to you from the front window," he said, demonstrating. "And on top of the piano. I practically slid down the front hall banister."

"I was distracted." Getting Virginia's tacit confession. And now the evidence. It was almost too much. I punched the gas harder than I'd intended. The green monster shot forward and I had to quickly force the wheel left, lest we end up in a hydrangea bush. "Where was it?" I mean, I'd hoped we'd find the secretary, but I didn't think it was likely. "The smart thing would have been to destroy it." 

Leave it to Virginia to get cocky. 

Frankie chuckled. "I thought the same thing." He leaned back against the seat. "Maybe we're not so different after all." 

"So where did you find it?" We'd inform the police and let them handle it from here on out.

My arms ached as I muscled us down the driveway. I'd never missed power steering more than I did at that moment, but Frankie's discovery gave me plenty of motivation to get away from the Wydell estate. As if I needed more. 

"It's in the carriage house," Frankie explained. "We used to hide out in there." He smiled, remembering. "We had this secret room underground, with an entrance under the stairs. I swear nobody's been down there since we dropped our card game and ran out of there after Lemonhead botched that drop in 1933."

 It made sense. I'd be willing to bet nobody had been down there except for Virginia Wydell. She didn't think anyone would find her trophy, but she hadn't counted on a sneaky ghost. I wanted to kiss Frankie, to hug him. My stomach quivered and my head swam. I'd hoped this would work out, but part of me hadn't dared think it would be this easy. I gripped the wheel as we lurched over a nasty bump—testing the Cadillac's ancient suspension. "Virginia Wydell is a murderer!"

There. I said it out loud.

Yes, the woman was a vicious Southern belle who would smile while she scratched your eyes out. She massacred reputations, ripped into hearts and souls without a thought. But until she'd admitted having blood on her hands, I'd never let myself fully believe she could stab Darla Grace in the back with a bayonet.

Now we had proof. Especially if her fingerprints were all over that document.

"What are you talking about?" Frankie asked, leaning hard as I maneuvered a tight turn around a bend, narrowly avoiding a small garden. "She tell you that?"

Of course not. No. "She didn't need to tell me. You found the antique secretary, with the letter, on her property. And did it have Darla's notebook in it as well?"

That would prove she had a motive and link her to Darla. 

I didn't know if I should call Ellis about this, or talk to Marshall first and then talk to Ellis. The police would have to get a search warrant.

Frankie groaned as I hit another dip in the road. "I didn't find no secretary."

"Just the letter?" I pressed.

He shook his head no.

I ground to a stop as we approached the guard gate. "But you said you found it in the carriage house. " Maybe he hadn't used the words
letter
or
secretary
exactly. "What kind of proof did you find?"

Maybe I shouldn't have been having a terse conversation with the empty passenger seat of my car. Not with security cameras pointed at me. But we had to get this straight.

Immediately.

Frankie shook his head as the gate slowly opened for us. "When I said I found something, I meant our poker game. From 1933." He grinned broadly. "It was still laid out like it was before we had to get out of Dodge." He leaned toward me, as if this were the good part. "I picked up Silvio the Greek's hand and—bam—he had an extra ace. I knew he was cheating! I told him that night. That bastard owes me fifty bucks!"

"Wait. You were talking about a card game?" I didn't need this from him. Not now. "We're investigating a murder here!"

Frankie furrowed his brow. "And I had a life before I met you. Geez." 

Unbelievable. "I thought we had real evidence."

He leaned back against the seat. "You want my help but you don't care at all that I knew Silvio was a cheat. He brought that ace in from another deck. I know because I marked the cards."

I tried to find it in me to care. "Isn't that cheating?"

Frankie waved me off. "You're missing the point."

I rested my head on the steering wheel as my euphoria drained away. "So you're telling me that's it. An old card game. That's what you found." 

"Yeah." He glanced behind us. "You want to go back and swipe the evidence for me? I was thinking we should try. Just in case Silvio's ghost is still around. I fully intend to collect. It's not hard to get down there if you know how. I was gonna take you back, but then you got all excited and went barreling down the driveway like we was being chased. I just figured we were. You know, habit."

Oh, Lordy. "We can't go back in there now. I told the film crew to head that way." Besides, he couldn't spend fifty dollars even if he could track down this Silvio guy. Dazed, I started driving through the gate as it lazily swung open. 

"That's okay," Frankie said. "We'll break in later."

I checked for traffic before pulling out onto the old mill road. I'd been so happy, but now my best chance at getting a lead for Ellis had turned out to be a complete dud. "I thought we solved the case."

"No, but after you unground me, and after you help me liberate my card game, I may help you with this murder thing."

"Gee, thanks." 

As we drove, the countryside opened up and I saw downtown Sugarland in the distance. 

I wouldn't say it out loud. Frankie wouldn't understand. But even after this morning's less-than-stellar results, I believed that our whole initial accident—me dumping the urn, grounding him, us being flung together—had happened for a reason, a higher good if you will. Too many positive things had come of it for me to think otherwise, from finding justice for that poor girl a few weeks ago, to giving us a clue about who might have killed Darla Grace. 

But Frankie did have issues. I might be able to help, as long as I did it gently. The gangster wasn't the most touchy-feely person on the planet.

I tightened my fingers on the wheel. "Frankie, do you want to visit your death spot?"

He'd never wanted to tell me where he died, or what had happened that night. The only clue I had was the raw bullet hole in his forehead. I respected his need for privacy, but I was starting to suspect that it came with a lot of pain. The gangster might feel a lot better if he shared the load.

"You don't want anything to do with what happened to me," he said, shutting down. "I don't even know everything that went down before, you know"—he put a finger to his forehead—"boom."

"I'm so sorry." 

He shrugged and retreated from me to stare out the window. 

I waved at a passing car driven by one of my mom's old church friends. 

When Frankie showed no sign of wanting to continue our exploration into his past, I took mercy and switched back to where we'd started in the first place.

"Did you search everywhere you could for that declaration of parentage?" It would be easier to hide than an entire secretary.

He rested a hand over his eyes, appearing tired all of a sudden. "It's not there. I looked into every nook and cranny in that pile of bricks, and the carriage house." He smirked. "Saw more than I ever wanted to see of dame Wydell's personal life. Whatever you do, don't look in the nightstand drawer."

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Perish the thought." My blinker gave a loud
click-clock, click-clock
as I made a right onto Jackson Boulevard. It skirted south around the main part of town and back toward my house. "That document has to be somewhere on the Wydell property." I didn't know where else Virginia would hide it. 

I could feel the gangster's gaze on me. "Unless she didn't do it."

"She's the best lead we have." And she was more than capable.

"Then we'll just have to figure out someplace else to look." The gangster gazed out the window at the bare trees dropping the last of their leaves. 

I thought about it the rest of the way home—where else Virginia could have stashed the evidence. If she still had it anymore. 

I was still thinking about it when I ground to a stop in my driveway.

"Verity," Frankie said, his face coming straight through my windshield at me. I startled. I'd thought he was in his seat. "The experiment is finished." He reappeared next to the kiddie pool as I hurried out of the car. "See?"

"Right," I said, rubbing a hand over my face. I joined him at the edge of the muck-filled plastic toy and sure enough, a thin layer of ash appeared to be floating on top.

"This is good," I said, grinning at him. 

"Get the net," he ordered, following me as I walked over to where I'd left it by the hose. "Get both nets."

"Hold on," I told him. I needed the Tupperware. And some towels from the bathroom. "It's not going to disappear while I go get what I need."

I'd never seen Frankie this excited. He practically hummed with it. "But you will get me separated, won't you?"

Now was as good a time as any to find out.

Chapter Ten

I
KNELT
BY
the kiddie pool while Frankie eyed me expectantly. I'd laid out a large Tupperware bowl and had a fish net in hand. Gently—expertly, I daresay—I skimmed the net over the top of the sludge-filled pool. 

Flaky bits of ash stuck to the net, and when I'd gotten enough, I emptied them into the bowl. Sort of. "I still think I should put water in here so I can rinse the net."

Frankie watched over my shoulder. "The kid didn't say to do that."

Bits of ashes stuck to my fingers as I rubbed them up against the bowl. "The kid got a C on this project."

"C for complete," the gangster reasoned.

I glanced back at him. "You didn't pay a lot of attention in school, did you?"

He winked. "I lost interest after I learned how to count money."

Typical. I scooped some more, emptied some more. 

"Use both nets," Frankie coached.

"This is barely working with one," I told him. It was a two-handed job. 

By late afternoon, my back had started to ache and my knees were stiff from kneeling. I stood when Lauralee's red Ford Focus rolled into my back drive. Frankie groaned. "Don't worry," I said, careful not to upset our Tupperware bowl. "I'm just taking a little break."