Sweet Tea and Spirits Page 5

  “Then it’s settled,” Julia said, as if we’d come to a business agreement, which I supposed we had.

  “I’ll draw up the papers,” Eudora said, as if she wasn’t quite sure how this had come about.

  I was right there with her.

  “I’ll get you a member pin,” Kelli said, with enough enthusiasm to fill me with dread, “and call my handyman to dig out your car and buy some more flowers.”

  “I’ll pay you back,” I said, feeling a moment of panic before realizing that I did have some money now, although I wasn’t sure I felt right about spending it before completing any of the job.

  “No need to compensate.” Kelli winked at me, her ear already to her phone. “You’ve given me enough of a gift.” She bounded up the front steps, pausing just short of the porch. “Just be sure to wear that dress to the Sweet Tea Luncheon on Tuesday. It’s at Virginia’s house.”

  I looked down at my pretty flowered dress. What had I gotten myself into?

  Don’t think about it.

  I had what I needed—a paying job and a way to help the ghosts. As for the rest, I’d take it one day at a time.

  * * *

  I made my escape with a flower stuck under the wheel well.

  Heaven help us all.

  I wrestled my hands-free earpiece from my center console and tried to untangle the mess of black wires as I stopped my car at the end of the tree-lined drive. The earpiece was a garage-sale find that should have been thrown out long ago, seeing as it was out-of-date, fraying, and probably going to electrocute me next week. But it worked, for now.

  Just as I was hooking the receiver over my ear, a red Aston Martin made a right turn next to me and nearly swerved off the road. From the driver’s seat, Virginia Wydell stared at me as if she were the one seeing ghosts.

  “Hello,” I said, waggling a few fingers at her in a semblance of a wave. She frowned, clearly displeased to see me.

  Little did she know this would be the best part of her day.

  I dialed my boyfriend’s number and then pulled out slowly into traffic.

  He answered right away, which was typical of Ellis. “Did you see your new shed?”

  “What?” I asked. “Can we pick it up?”

  “I was at the hardware store this morning,” he said, the warmth in his voice soothing my raw nerves. “They had it ready, so I brought it out and set it up by your pond.”

  “Thanks so much.” Frankie would think I was the ultimate bargain keeper. “Are you at my house now?”

  “I’m back at the restaurant. They just delivered my four-top tables. Stop by and take a look.”

  Ellis was in the process of opening up a small business. He was renovating the old Southern Spirits distillery into a brewpub and eatery. It was just the kind of modern gathering place the town needed, and there had been a lot of interest in his new venture since I’d helped him rid the place of a poltergeist.

  “I’d love to see the new tables,” I told him, holding onto my earpiece so it wouldn’t fall out. “I’m just down the street.”

  He’d done a lot of the work himself, on his off time from the police force, so he had even more reason to be proud of the accomplishment.

  I steered down the country road and smiled when I saw the battered limestone wall that marked the beginning of the old Wilson’s Creek property that Ellis had purchased. Moss clung to the uneven top. Clumps of grass and weeds sprouted from gaps in the mortar. We’d had some good times here.

  The rock wall rose higher on both sides of an open iron gate. A large stone marker read Wilson’s Creek. I turned, expecting a narrow dirt road. Instead, I encountered a wide, smooth patch of pavement. I knew he’d been hard at work, but goodness. I was proud as punch and I hadn’t even gotten to the place.

  The new road led to a modern parking lot in front of a large brick building with wide wooden carriage doors. Tall windows lined the first and second floors, sheltered under red brick arches. He’d even restored the wood turret off the back. Crisp letters, hand-painted in white on the brick, read “Southern Spirits since 1908.”

  “My stars,” I said, walking past the repaired, repainted brewery wagon out front.

  The large wood door opened easily and I found myself in a carriage house turned modern restaurant.

  Stylish lantern-style light fixtures hung from the newly refurbished, exposed rafters above. The smell of fresh lumber mixed with century-old brick and wood polish.

  Ellis Wydell leaned against the antique bar at the front, grinning.

  No doubt he’d seen me coming. Ellis always saw everything coming.

  He was as handsome as the rest of the men in his family, which was to say drop-dead gorgeous. He stood tall and lean, with broad shoulders, bulk in all the right places, and a dimple in his chin that deepened when he smiled the same as when he frowned.

  “You’ve done so much,” I said, rushing to give him a big hug. “I should have come by sooner.”

  “As I recall, you were busy with a haunted mansion.” He planted a kiss on my head and held me close. “Not to mention helping me decorate my own house.”

  “Yes,” I said, noticing the shiny new barware and coasters with the logo I’d done for him last month—white block lettering on a brick background. “This is beyond what I expected.”

  “I’m glad,” he said, keeping hold of my hand as I went to explore. “I wanted you to see it all at once.”

  “The new furniture looks great,” I said, marveling at the distressed wood tables. They fit so well in this old carriage house. “Everything does.”

  I was so pleased for him. I’d seen firsthand how he struggled with aesthetics. Even after I’d helped him fix up his house, he still preferred to keep most of the walls bare and seemed genuinely perplexed at the idea of decorator pillows. He’d never made his own comfort a priority. But when it came to Southern Spirits, a place he not only loved but also wanted to share, he made every detail important.

  He dragged me back for a kiss, but just then his handyman walked in from the kitchen near the back.

  “Hi, Harry,” I said, noticing his beard had grown longer and his hair even shaggier since the last time I’d seen him.

  He shrugged at me and mumbled a hello, which was more than I used to get out of him when I thought he was responsible for the murder of Ellis’s uncle.

  I supposed I couldn’t blame him. Tool belt clanking, he disappeared into one of the seating nooks built into the old stable stalls on the left side of the building.

  “You’re sure dressed pretty,” Ellis said against my ear.

  And people said Beau was the charming brother. I turned to Ellis. “Frankie and I stopped by the Sugarland Heritage Society this morning.”

  “I figured you might,” he said, pulling a chair out for me. “Did you talk to any ghosts?”

  “No, but I ran into Julia Harper Youngblood.” I told him about the dirty mannequins and how they seemed to be the work of an unknown ghost.

  He sat back in his chair, surprised. “I point-blank asked her if she’d seen anything strange in that house and she said no.”

  “She was probably embarrassed to tell you,” I said, running my fingers over the gorgeous wood of the table. We both knew what happened when someone in this town started talking about seeing ghosts.

  “I’m dating you,” he said. “She should know I’m safe to talk with.”

  “Well, you did something right because she hired me based on your recommendation, and she paid up front.”

  “That’s fantastic,” he said, with that lopsided grin of his. “I knew you’d make a good ghost hunter, even if it does scare the bejesus out of me sometimes.”

  Me too.

  “Nobody can know about the mannequins except us,” I cautioned. “I promised her.”

  He shrugged a broad shoulder. “We’ve kept secrets before.”

  Not well. Everyone in town had found out we were dating. Of course, that was because Ellis had wanted to go public with our relatio
nship, claiming we had nothing to hide.

  My eye caught the old trapdoor that led down to the root cellar. I stood and walked over to it.

  “I’m not worried about either of us spilling the beans,” I said, running a foot over the door, “but I did have to do something drastic to give me an excuse to be on the property.” Just thinking about it made me sweat. “You’re looking at the newest member of the heritage society.”

  “That’s great,” he said, shocking me to my toes.

  Truly? I turned to him. “Not everyone is going to think so. Your mother about crashed into a tree when she saw me pulling out of the property this morning, and as far as she knew, I was just visiting.”

  “She could stand a little shake-up,” he said, his hands in his pockets. Upon seeing my frown, he relented a bit. “If you have trouble with women like my mother running these things, you did the right thing by joining. You should stick around after this job is over and make some changes. Invite your friends to join. Lauralee likes meeting new people.”

  He’d clearly mixed up running with joining. I wasn’t looking to take over. “Lauralee has her hands full with the PTO. They want her to be the box top mom this year.” My best friend had four boys under the age of eight. She could be counting those little slips of paper for years.

  “See?” Ellis said. “She likes to volunteer.”

  “For her kids,” I conceded.

  “And for the good of Sugarland,” he added, as if it were that easy. “Get your sister in there. Get Bree from the animal shelter.”

  He’d officially gone insane. “I like these people. Why would I do that to them?”

  He took my hands. “I’m telling you, you can make a difference here. Get some nice people, ones who care about our history, to sign up. Find the thoughtful people who are already members. Organizations like that go to the biddies because caring women like you leave it to them. You can turn it around, bring it back to being useful. You could do a lot of good.”

  I’d been a member for twenty minutes, and he already had my coup planned out. “I think you’re giving me far too much credit.” Besides, I didn’t want to be in charge. I wasn’t a leader. “Even if I do like the idea of changing things, I can’t even control my own backyard. Frankie is holding horse races out there. When I left this morning, he had cowboys and cavalry soldiers and heaven knows who else running a dirt track next to a bookie booth.”

  “I thought the colonel might have gone out,” Ellis mused.

  I’d broken him in far too well.

  “What makes you think they got to Colonel Maker?” The colonel haunted the first stable stall on the left. I’d met him and his horse, Annabelle, when I was going up against the poltergeist.

  “It’s usually a few degrees colder over here.” We walked to the table Ellis had set for Colonel Maker in the alcove he haunted. “Now the air is positively balmy.”

  He was right.

  “I like what you’ve done with his alcove,” I said, running a hand over the table, set with a photo of the Rough Rider, an empty place setting for him, and one for his horse. Ellis and I had planned this gesture after the colonel had been so good to me on my first ghost hunt.

  “You even left a carrot for Annabelle.” I smiled.

  “I do it every day. This is their home.”

  Ellis wanted everyone to feel welcome at Southern Spirits.

  I looked over the lovely tables, the glazed concrete floors, this space that held so much history. “I’m so happy for you, Ellis.”

  The tips of his ears reddened at the compliment. “Now that the tables are in, I’m going to do a small tasting party for friends and family next weekend. There are a few things on the menu I’d like to test out and the chef is available.”

  Wow. I hadn’t realized he was this close. “Is this like a soft opening?”

  “Not exactly. This is much smaller. I want to say thanks to everyone who has supported me.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe it had all come together. “It’s taken a long time to make this place ready.”

  It had. He’d originally bought the building with his uncle, who was planning to retire from the police force and run the restaurant full-time. But Vernon had been killed in the line of duty before the project could get off the ground.

  “So it’ll be your family,” I said as casually as I could.

  I was the girlfriend now. I’d have to get together with them sooner or later. Although I’d been hoping for later.

  “My mom and dad,” Ellis said. “Beau,” he added, naming my ex with barely a pause. “My brother Leland.”

  “Ah, yes.” The last time I’d seen them all together had been the night before I’d been set to marry Ellis’s brother.

  “Sorry to spring this on you.” He gestured helplessly. “It’s the only weekend Dad will be in town for the next two months.”

  I hoped I didn’t look as horrified as I felt. “It’s great.” It would be fine. After all, this was what my life would be like if we were together; family picnics and birthdays, Thanksgivings and Christmases.

  “If all goes well, I’ll start putting ads in the paper and do a soft opening next month,” Ellis said, “and if you’re still willing to design those menus, I’d really appreciate it. Just as soon as I know what to put on them.”

  “I’ll start drawing up some ideas. It’ll give me something fun to think about this afternoon.” Besides ghosts in my backyard and dinner with my boyfriend and my ex-fiancé.

  “It’ll be fine.” He wrapped a reassuring arm around me. “You’ll see.”

  Ellis, the eternal optimist. I normally liked that about him. If only I didn’t sense a storm brewing, and darned if I wasn’t rushing headlong into the middle of it.

  Chapter 6

  When I returned home, Frankie was nowhere to be seen.

  I shut off the land yacht’s engine, ignoring the way it popped and crackled. At least it hadn’t made a mad rush for the middle of my rose garden.

  Frankie had been so eager to get home. I almost wished I had been tuned into the spirit world so I could see what fresh havoc he was orchestrating in my backyard.

  Or perhaps I didn’t want to know.

  “Frankie?” I called, slinging my bag over my shoulder, feeling the weight of the urn inside. I’d at least check in with the ghost, if only to give him a stern warning to keep himself whole and in shape for tonight. He owed me that much.

  But I didn’t see him on the porch or near the pond or even under the apple tree.

  “Frankie!” I called.

  This was important. If we could get to the bottom of the ghostly happenings at the heritage society this evening, if we could solve the mystery and be done with it, I would be able to gracefully decline my membership to the ladies who lunched.

  Better still, I wouldn’t need Frankie’s powers again—at least for the time being.

  The small break would give me time to rein in Frankie’s new venture. If I didn’t, I was afraid I’d walk out on my porch tomorrow and see Secretariat being saddled up.

  “Where are you?” The urn bag bumped against my side as I walked out past the fishing pond to the field beyond. “You’re not going to believe what happened after you left this morning.”

  It was much more exciting than a haunted horse race, at least for me.

  I wandered toward the field in the back, where Frankie sometimes took a load off. I had no doubt the horses were still running on the spiritual plane. For one thing, I saw no birds, squirrels, or wildlife of any kind. Little critters seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to ghosts. For another, I expected the races to go until dark, and then the post-party to last until dawn. I’d seen firsthand the way these guys lived it up. It was no wonder they’d all died young.

  I shook my head. It wasn’t any of my business. The ghosts were free to make their choices. But I would make sure my own personal gangster saved some of his energy for tonight.

  My gaze landed on the shed out back. Ellis had
set up one of those prefab wooden ones, the kind you get at the feed store. It wasn’t huge, but it was a home base Frankie could call his own.

  The gangster had to be excited, but I couldn’t imagine why he’d be in there instead of attending his own race.

  Unless he was hurt. Or he was holed up with a randy flapper. Either way, I needed to make sure he was okay.

  I approached slowly, looking for any sign of spirits—which was ridiculous because I couldn’t see a thing without Frankie.

  “Frankie?” I asked, knocking to be polite, wincing because if he really was in trouble, I’d just given myself away. “I’m coming in.” The door creaked as I pushed it open.

  Dust motes swirled in the stark, empty space.

  “Are you in here?” I stood, listening for him, the sun hot on my back as I breathed in the smell of fresh lumber and stale air. “Give me a sign if you can hear me.”

  In the distance, my neighbors’ children laughed and called to each other. The breeze blew through the leaves of the old apple tree. But there was no sign of Frankie.

  Okay, now he had me worried.

  I slipped out of the shed, not sure what to think. He wouldn’t walk out on his own race. Quite the opposite. He’d been in a hurry to get back. He couldn’t leave the property without his urn, which I’d brought back with me in my purse.

  Something awful could have happened. Perhaps he’d gone too far this time, ticked off the wrong criminal. Perhaps even now he was at the bottom of my pond, wearing a pair of cement shoes. Not that it would kill him, but I needed him for tonight.

  I scanned the yard again. I walked all the way around the shed. I looked for anything amiss on the porch as I climbed the white painted steps.

  Inside the house, a sleepy Lucy curled on the futon in my parlor. At least she was all right. I stroked her head as she stirred herself awake and rubbed her cheek against my arm.

  “Did you see anything?” I asked, ruffling the fur at her neck. She lifted her head, giving me better access to her sleep-warmed underbelly. “I wish you could tell me. Although it looks like you snoozed the whole time.” She was largely nocturnal, after all.