southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet Page 3

  He hadn't made an appearance all evening, which was nice in a way. I treated myself to a granola bar for dinner, then took a long, leisurely soak in the tub.

  The house lay silent. Warm.

  Just as it would be if Frankie were truly gone.

  My cell phone rang as I slipped out of the tub. It was Melody. I reached for a bath towel and answered. Maybe she'd made quick work of the new donations and had gotten back to the festival.

  "How's it going?" I asked, struggling to balance the phone while wrapping the towel around myself.

  "Did you enjoy the reenactment?"

  I let out the water in the tub. "It was like nothing I've ever seen before." I'd give her the details later. "Are you about through all of the donations?"

  "We were. Until your crazy almost-mother-in-law sent over Leland Wydell's entire Civil War collection."

  I wiped the moisture from my cell phone and brought it back up to my ear. "Leland Wydell the first?" That was Ellis's great grandfather.

  "The man was obsessed. He collected uniforms, letters, even furniture from dozens of different families in the county and especially liked to buy the estates of war heroes. These aren't even strictly Wydell family heirlooms anymore."

  Actually, I liked that. "This way, there will be more families represented."

  "True," Melody said, "but we're going to be here all night. In fact, that's why I called. I was hoping you could help me out tomorrow. I'm not going to have time to set up tables or direct the caterers. Can you meet me at six and handle those details while I finish going through the artifacts?"

  "Six in the morning?" I asked.

  "Lots of people get up earlier than that," she said, drily.

  Yes, but I wasn't usually one of them. "Of course," I said. How hard could it be?

  Good thing I had no idea.

  ***

  The next morning, I pulled into the back parking lot of the library at 5:59 a.m. Melody was just getting out of her car, balancing a tray of three coffees. I helped her with them while she reached into the passenger seat for her satchel. She wore a stylish pink suit and had tucked her hair into a French twist.

  "If you went for a run this morning, I'm going to officially declare you a superwoman."

  "I wish," she said, taking a coffee while I did the same. "I was here until almost two this morning. I could barely see straight." We headed for the back door of the building. "Even then, Darla Grace wouldn't quit. Not that I'm one to do anything halfway, but let's just say that when this woman volunteers, she volunteers. I left her sorting through an antique secretary."

  I took a sip of the drink. It was hot, delicious. "That does sound kind of fun." I loved looking through antiques.

  Melody swung the door open. "True. But Darla Grace really does need to learn when enough is enough," she said. "She left me a message at three this morning, saying I had to get back down here. She'd found something urgent." Melody took a fortifying sip of coffee. "Luckily, I didn't get the voice mail until I woke up," she added under her breath. "What could be so important in a bunch of old letters?"

  "Maybe you'll have to expand the exhibit again," I said, half joking. I loved history as much as the next person, but preserving it should be a labor of love, not this battle between the families. Every light in the library blazed. "You're going to have to preserve this month's electric bill for posterity," I said, trying to get her to smile a little. "It'll be epic."

  I was glad to see Melody's mouth tug into a grin as we walked down a back hallway and up the stairs to the main level.

  "It'll be fine," she said. "I just worry about Darla sometimes. She needs to learn to take it easy and treat herself better. Maybe I could teach her some of my yoga stretches."

  "And hope she survives." Melody was as bendy as an acrobat.

  I pushed open the doorway to the main reading room and let my sister enter first. "Darla," she called. "We're here."

  Velvet-covered tables spanned the edges of the historic high-ceilinged room, which was packed with artfully displayed Civil War muskets, family albums, and letters sent home by long-dead war heroes. Headless mannequins stood in full military uniform. The room appeared even larger now that they'd taken out all the heavy wood tables. The catering company would replace them with sleek serving stations for the banquet.

  My footsteps echoed in the cavernous space. "I can't believe none of this is under glass."

  "It was all in someone's attic last month," Melody said.

  "Try yesterday." I snorted. One of the display cards proudly declared its contents as part of "How the Jacksons Saved Sugarland."

  "The Wydells are on the other side," Melody said, sipping her coffee.

  "Of course." We wouldn't want their artifacts to mingle.

  "Maybe Darla finally went home," Melody said. "Although if that was the case, I wish she would have locked up." She ventured past me. "I'm going to head into the donations room and see how far she got."

  "I'll be here to greet the rental company," I told her. "You want the banquet tables set up the same as last year?"

  "Yes," she said, before a pained look crossed her features. "I'm sorry. I wasn't even here last year, but you were."

  I'd attended as Beau's fiancée. The newspaper had taken our picture. He'd proudly told stories about his family leading the defense. I told about my ancestor who grabbed his rifle and ran from our house on the outskirts, straight into town and, as silly as it sounds, I'd felt like I was part of something. This year…

  "No worries," I told her. "That was a lifetime ago." I was better off now.

  Even still, I found myself drawn to the Wydell exhibit.

  Melody gave me a small, one-armed hug, then headed toward the storage office–turned–staging room while I browsed.

  I studied the old photographs, skipped the documents, and thanked heaven that I didn't have to fit into any of those tiny corsets. I stopped at a table display of Wydell family taxidermy, the subject being stuffed squirrels. I couldn't see what was so historical about squirrels, no matter how strange their poses. Three of these poor animals were preserved forever paddling a hand-carved dugout canoe. Another squirrel sat sewing. Two more rode a tandem bicycle. I averted my eyes, not sure what to think, and a shoe poking out from under the draped velvet caught my attention.

  It didn't appear antique, just a modern white flat. But if it did belong in the display, and Virginia Wydell stopped by and saw it on the floor, poor Melody would have a scene on her hands. I walked over to where it was and bent to draw it out from under the draped velvet. Only it was attached to a foot.

  I yanked my hand back, taking the table curtain with me. Stuffed squirrels went flying, but my attention was drawn to something else entirely.

  Darla Grace lay curled on the floor under the table, as if she'd tired herself out completely and slept where she fell. She wore the same flowered dress from yesterday.

  My stomach felt hollow. "Darla," I nudged her, hoping to wake her up gently. "Darla Grace…"

  She felt cold.

  Her eyes were open.

  And when I moved more to the left, I saw a rusty bayonet lodged in her back, the wound around it wet with blood.

  I screamed.

  Chapter Three

  MELODY WAS ON me in a second. "What happened?"

  I stepped back quickly to let her see. "I just found her. Like this."

  Melody gasped. "I think she's dead."

  There was no "thinking" about it. The woman had a bayonet lodged in her back. I gathered my courage and crouched low near Darla's head. Her glassy, lifeless eyes stared into nothing. A wilting daisy had fallen from her hair and onto the cold marble floor. "Call the police."

  Melody dialed her cell phone, her voice trembling as she told dispatch what we'd found.

  "Close her eyes," she said, ending the call.

  "I wish I could." But I wasn't about to touch the body. It occurred to me to say a prayer, but my rattled brain couldn't think of one.

  I stoo
d, shaking. Poor Darla Grace.

  I didn't want to look at the body anymore, but it seemed almost disrespectful to shield myself when Darla had suffered.

  My sister shivered next to me. She'd wrapped her arms around her chest, as if that would protect her from the tragedy in front of us. She wiped away a tear. "I should have answered her call last night. I didn't know." Her voice caught. "She was always calling about details that didn't matter. I never thought she needed help."

  None of us could have imagined it.

  "If you'd shown up, you might have been here when…this happened." I couldn't even say it.

  She nodded. "Maybe I could have done something."

  Or maybe my sister would be lying dead next to Darla Grace.

  Darla had died in a place where my sister often volunteered to work late, where Melody would have been if she hadn't had the sense to go to home.

  I struggled to understand what had happened. It was the only thing I could do. "Darla left you that voice mail at three o'clock this morning saying she'd found something urgent. Did she say what it could be?"

  Melody chewed at her lip. "No. She just wanted me to come down right away."

  I scanned the display tables. Everything seemed to be in order, save for the smattering of dead squirrels.

  Steeling myself, I gingerly bent down to take another look at the poor, deceased library volunteer, her fingernails bitten to the quick, her eyes wide with shock. Then I saw the outline of something in Darla's dress pocket. "What's that?"

  Melody took a deep breath and joined me. "Probably her little pink notepad. The library kept a comprehensive list of donations as they came in, but Darla liked to have her own backup."

  "She recorded everything?"

  Melody nodded. "Down to the last antique button."

  We shared a glance as we heard the wail of police sirens approaching.

  Melody and I quickly stood as Police Detective Pete Marshall strolled in, joined by Ellis, who wore his police uniform. Ellis appeared grim, with a hand braced on his gun belt, while the aging Marshall seemed almost excited at the prospect of a murder. I'd read about his recent promotion in the paper. No doubt this would be his first big case.

  Marshall had been one of the first to arrive after I'd solved a decades-old murder last month. With Ellis too personally involved, Marshall had led the investigation and clearly, his star was on the rise. His ruddy cheeks flushed, and he moved with more spunk than typical for a man in his early sixties. Although to be fair, I usually encountered the chief (and only) detective in town at the diner, enjoying his after-work serving of peach cobbler à la mode. I always said hi. Ever since I'd become a persona non grata in town, he rarely said it back.

  "Verity Long," Marshall said, in a noncommittal tone that felt like an accusation all the same. "You going to visit every one of my crime scenes?"

  Because there were so many in Sugarland.

  "I didn't choose this, Detective," I said, moving aside so he could see the body. "We came in this morning and found Darla Grace just as you see her."

  He and Ellis approached the scene with caution.

  "Was the door locked?" Ellis asked, studying the placement of the body.

  "No," Melody stated. "Darla was supposed to lock up behind me. When the back was open this morning, I'd assumed she was still here."

  "The front was left open as well," I added, "since you didn't need us to let you in."

  Marshall gave Melody a quick once-over. "Was there anyone else here with you two?"

  "Not since about nine o'clock last night. We sent the rest of the volunteers home," she said. "Darla Grace was the only one willing to stick it out longer."

  "Even longer than you?" the detective challenged.

  Melody stiffened, and I couldn't help but get a little angry when I saw the hurt and the guilt flash across her features. "She couldn't stop until everything was perfect."

  "I'll call the medical examiner," Ellis said, stepping away.

  Marshall gave a quick nod to Ellis. "Also grab the camera from the car." The detective reached into his back pocket and slipped on a pair of latex gloves. "When did you last see her?"

  "At about two in the morning, when I left." My sister's breath hitched as he began a cursory examination of the knife stuck in Darla's back. "I should have insisted that Darla go home too."

  Marshall drew back, resting his forearms on his knees. "Was your sister Verity with you this whole time?" He said it casually, but I knew what he meant. Did I have an alibi?

  I'd shot a man to defend myself, so therefore, at least in his mind, I must be capable of cold-blooded murder. "They wouldn't even let me inside the library last night," I told him. "I was only helping out this morning because Melody needed me. And," I made sure to point out, "I had no reason to hurt poor Darla Grace."

  He stood. "We've had two dead bodies in twenty years, and you've been on the scene for both." He held out his hands. "I'm just trying to cover all my bases."

  "I was on the scene both times, too," Melody said hotly. "We may have been quite involved last time, but Verity and I had nothing to do with this."

  "Except find the body," he countered, before losing steam. "I have to ask, okay?" He slipped off his gloves and gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Look at it this way, sugar. I know a sweet girl like you could never do something like this." His eyes settled on me and his tone cooled. "Ain't your fault the rest of the world's full of crazies."

  Meaning me? The man had the manners of a gnat.

  Ellis returned with a camera slung over his shoulder. He placed his phone in his back pocket. "What'd I miss?" he asked, seeing the detective stone-faced and me a bit put out.

  Marshall kept his attention focused on Melody and me. "We need to ask you both some questions," he said. "Separately. After that, we'll start processing the scene," he added to himself.

  Ellis nodded to his partner. "You talk to Melody up front. I'll take Verity over by the circulation desk."

  "Good," I gritted out. I was still feeling shaky, and Marshall would be the last person who could help with that. I walked with Ellis to the very back of the room, making it all the way to the research help desk before I let loose some of my frustration. "He doesn't like me," I whispered.

  "Relax. Marshall doesn't like anybody," Ellis said, easing close, trying to get me to settle down. "You might also want to stop glaring at him."

  I hadn't even realized I was doing it. "If I did, he deserves it. He might as well have accused me." I sneaked a glance past Ellis's formidable frame, watching the older officer give a fatherly talk to Melody.

  "Look at me," Ellis urged, his expression intent. "I've got this. Now, first questions first: What happened?"

  When he focused on me like that, I wanted to tell him every single secret I had ever kept, like the fact that I had fantasized about him in his cop uniform one Christmas when I was dating his brother, but that didn't have anything to do with this investigation. I had to stick to the facts at hand. I had nothing criminal to hide.

  He drew out a small notebook as I began. "Last night, Melody called and asked me to help set up the brunch." I blew out a shuddering breath. So much had changed since then. "They were overloaded yesterday and got behind. Melody and Darla kept getting new donations for the display. In fact, when Melody had to work on it yesterday afternoon, I ended up in the bleachers alone, where Beau found me."

  He appeared almost relieved at that, a crack in the cool veneer he wore as an officer of the law. "I was wondering how you ended up in the grandstand with my brother." He huffed, almost to himself. His tone was wry, but he bent stiffly over his notebook, as if he were afraid of my answer.

  "It wasn't my choice. Beau trapped me," I said, needing him to get that fact perfectly straight.

  He gave a sharp nod and his broad shoulders relaxed just a bit. "Noted," he said.

  He couldn't actually think I'd wanted to be there with Beau. Still, when it came right down to it, Ellis dealt in facts, and the fact of
the matter was I'd come within a hairbreadth of marrying his brother.

  His striking hazel eyes met mine and held. "When was the last time you saw Darla?"

  "Right before the reenactment yesterday."

  "What time did you and Melody arrive at the library this morning?"

  "We met in the parking lot a minute or two before six and walked in the back together."

  He raised his brows. "Did you have any other contact with Darla after you saw her yesterday?"

  "No. She barely knew me. Besides, Lucy and I ate too much dessert and were in bed early. I should never have let her talk me into a second banana."

  The corners of his mouth turned up as he wrote that down. No doubt his mind was going back to the same place mine just had—to the night when Lucy had snuggled up beside him in his bed.

  Everybody does better with a skunk to love. Even sexy guys in uniform.

  Or out of uniform, as he had been.

  He lowered his voice. "Did you touch anything?" he asked, his tone intensifying.

  "No," I said. I'd wanted to. "Wait. Yes, I touched the tablecloth because I saw Darla Grace's shoe poking out from under it. I thought the shoe might be a display piece that dropped."

  His stoic expression was back. I didn't know if that was good or bad. "What else did you touch?"

  "Nothing," I stated. "But there's one more thing." He'd walked in and seen me, hadn't he? Oh my. I leaned close enough to catch the spicy scent of his aftershave. For courage. "Melody mentioned a pink notebook where Darla kept a list of donations. We think it may be in her pocket. I stooped down for a closer look, but I didn't touch anything."

  His lips twisted. "Good. Because I saw you bending over the body when we walked in, and I was going to need an explanation."

  "So you thought the worst? I'd never fiddle with a crime scene!"

  "I believe you," he assured me. At my surprise, he added, "You forget. I know you." His voice warmed. "You don't just attract trouble. You have it on speed dial."

  "It's part of my charm," I said, glad to have him on my side. "But don't worry. I wouldn't do anything to make your job harder than it already is."

  "Thanks, Verity," he said, glancing over my shoulder at Marshall. "We'll figure this out."