southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet Read online

  Frankie huffed. "Leland Wydell," he clarified, mocking the name. "We called him Shifty. He ran our whiskey operation," he added, as if it were no big illegal deal.

  Wait. Frankie had said he was Beau and Ellis's great-great-uncle, which meant… "I've got to go," I told Melody. I'd explain later. I turned to Frankie. He hadn't been with me when I'd found the letter. He'd been too busy goofing off. But the generations lined up. Leland I would have been a contemporary of Frankie's, which meant… "You're related to Leland, aren't you?"

  Frankie gave a defensive flinch. "I married his sister, Kate. She was the best getaway driver in six counties." He softened a bit. "Not that it's the only reason I went on the lam with her."

  So Leland was in their mob outfit. "Beau always said his great-grandfather was an importer/exporter."

  The gangster shrugged. "He was in a sense. When he wasn't breaking heads."

  Nice guy. "I learned tonight that Leland had an older daughter, born two years before his son."

  Frankie furrowed his brow. "No, he didn't."

  I was about to argue when blue and white police lights lit up my back window.

  Frankie whipped his head back to see. "It's the fuzz," he announced. "Hit the gas!"

  I yanked my earpiece out, getting tangled in the wire. "We are not getting into a police chase." In fact, I would have pulled up against the curb already if I could just get my cheap hands-free doodad to cooperate. Muttering under my breath, I pulled over in front of the quaint bungalows that lined Cypress Avenue.

  Frankie stared at me. "You think Marshall saw you leave the library? You weren't exactly subtle."

  "I don't know," I said, my throat tight. I didn't know what to think.

  I planted my hands on the steering wheel, but the officer was taking his time. I took a chance and rolled down my window, squinting to see past the glaring lights.

  Curtains fluttered in the window of the house to our right and I cringed. Everyone in Sugarland would know by tomorrow I'd been pulled over. Nobody else in town owned a land yacht like mine.

  I saw movement behind me in my side mirror and turned as Ellis approached the car. He was alone. I hoped. He leaned outside my window. "Hey. Didn't mean to scare you."

  Too late. "What are you doing here?" Had something bad happened in the ten minutes since I'd left the library?

  Ellis frowned and shook his head. "Marshall called in a deputy to take over." A muscle in his jaw twitched. "He seems to think I might have a conflict of interest."

  "I'm so sorry. I tried to be discreet." I didn't know what I'd do if Ellis lost his job over me.

  "You were good," he said quickly. He rubbed at the back of his neck, his biceps flexing. "It's my mom. We pulled up Darla's phone records. It seems Darla called her from the library late last night."

  "Wow." Although I couldn't say I was surprised. Virginia Wydell was knee-deep in the business of glorifying the town and her family name, especially lately. "She could have been calling about Cannonball in the Wall." Then again, the letter Darla found could potentially disinherit the queen of Sugarland. What if Darla showed her hand to the wrong person? Virginia could be cold and calculating. I wouldn't put it past her to say or do something drastic. "What did your mom say?"

  "I'm not the one questioning her. Marshall's headed over right now."

  Virginia Wydell would have an excuse. She always did. The woman was too crafty to get caught in a simple lie.

  "Ellis," I began, resting a hand on his. It was no secret how I felt about his mother. She'd tried to ruin my life and render me homeless. But I hated that he had to suffer like this.

  And I really didn't want to make it worse by telling him what I'd found. There was no upside. Ellis would feel terrible. He'd feel obligated to confront his mom, who would know the evidence we were trying to find against her. And that I was behind it. She'd turn it all around on me. No doubt she'd enjoy that part. It's not like I had tangible proof.

  Still… I sighed. This wasn't about me. Ellis deserved the truth.

  "Listen," I said, opening the door. He let me and I leaned next to him against the car. The police lights stung my eyes. "I have something to tell you. You mind turning those off?"

  "Safety," he answered, as if he had no choice. "I don't want you to get hurt."

  I hoped he meant that in more ways than one.

  "Okay," I said. This place wasn't exactly private, but at least no one would be able to hear what we were talking about. I drew a deep breath, trying to decide how to deliver information that may very well alter his life, or at least change the way he viewed his family and where he came from. "I found a witness, someone who saw Darla right before she died. He showed me a declaration of parentage signed by your great-grandfather. Your grandfather wasn't supposed to inherit. He had an illegitimate half sister, born before him, who should have gotten it all."

  He stood, stunned. "My great-grandfather?"

  "It appears he was keeping secrets."

  His gaze found the pavement before it shot back to me. "I grant you most of the men in my family don't have the best track record, but are you sure about this?"

  "I don't know what to say. I'm only telling you what I saw." He'd asked me to investigate on the other side, and this was what I'd found. "It's on the ghostly plane, so I can't actually show you real, tangible evidence."

  Ellis ran a hand through his hair and let out a ragged sigh, but I knew better than to think he doubted me. Ellis had seen enough of Frankie's powers to believe in the other side. He just needed proof in the real world to do anything about it.

  "Whoever killed Darla took the letter, and most likely the entire antique secretary. Not to mention Darla's record of ever finding it." I hadn't seen anything like it on any of the display tables, or in that back room.

  He gave a sharp nod. "I'm going home to talk to my mom."

  "Do you want to wait at my house until Marshall is done?" It would look bad if he showed up now.

  "No," he said, watching me as if he didn't quite know what to think of this, of me.

  "I didn't expect to find this," I said simply.

  He reached out slowly and took both of my hands in his. "I know." His grip was tight, as if he needed something, someone to hold on to. "My mother may be a lot of things, but she's not a murderer."

  I hoped he was right. "There has to be more to it." Although whether or not more information would implicate his mother, well, I didn't care to speculate.

  I'd only told him about a ghostly revelation, a missing letter, and the fact that someone in his family had motive to kill. On the whole, he was taking it rather well.

  He gave my hands a final squeeze. "I'll call you later."

  "Do," I said, but he was already walking away.

  Damn. I shoved my hands into my pockets. I hated to be the one to tell him, but I owed him the truth, even if it did hurt him. Even if he was on his way to warn his mother.

  Of course he wouldn't think she did it. Even if she had cause.

  Virginia Wydell may be a conniving matriarch with a mean streak a mile long, but she was still his mother.

  And I'd chosen to date not one, but two of her sons.

  I didn't know who was crazier.

  "Come on," I said to Frankie as I slid back into my car, my stomach twisting, and not because of a ghost this time. Ellis had pulled out, but now he waited just ahead of me, to make sure I was safely in my car and back on the road before he left. I certainly didn't need him worrying about me.

  Frankie leaned his arm on the door, completely unaffected by the fact that his elbow stuck out the closed window. "You told that mug everything he needed to warn your mortal enemy," he said, glaring at me.

  "What was I supposed to do?" He deserved to know.

  "Hmm…let me think," he said, laying heavy on the sarcasm. "You could have lied, changed the subject, fallen and whacked your head against the pavement. Any of those would have been preferable." He let out a long-suffering sigh. "If I'm gonna partner with you,
I gotta know you got some ruthlessness."

  "Then you're out of luck," I told him. We hit the end of the street and made a left toward the main drag home. "I am glad you care," I added. For what it was worth.

  That drew a scowl from the gangster. "Don't flatter yourself."

  "Can you tell me anything else about your brother-in-law, Leland?"

  "Lots to make you blush, but nothing about a long-lost kid."

  Then he'd hidden his secret well. All right. We'd get to the bottom of this. "I'll need you tomorrow."

  "And I need you to unground me."

  "We're working on it," I told him.

  Frankie ran a hand down his face. "Look at me, woman. I have no legs."

  "True." But his thighs were starting to come back into focus.

  "I need time to recover from the energy drain." He leaned back against the seat. "You took a lot out of me tonight."

  "The good news is I don't need your power," I said as we bumped along the dusty back roads toward home. "I just need you to go with me to Virginia Wydell's house and snoop around while I visit."

  That got his attention. He eyed me from under the brim of his hat. "You're going to sip sweet tea with the dame that hung you on the hook after her cad son pawed your sister?"

  "That's the one," I said cheerily.

  He huffed and returned his attention out the window. "I've shot people for less."

  I had no doubt.

  Trouble was, I hadn't spoken to Virginia since my almost-reception. Hmm…although that wasn't too sticky of an issue. "I'll figure out what to say. I just need to get your urn into the house so that you can look around and tell me if she's hiding that secretary or the letter. We need tangible proof. And I'd like you to keep an eye out for that Bible the Jackson ghost talked about."

  Then we'd tip off the police and I'd be responsible for Beau and Ellis's mom being charged with murder.

  And possibly disinheriting them.

  And giving their childhood home and possessions to an unknown half aunt, or perhaps even her heirs.

  I gripped the steering wheel harder. I couldn't think that way. If Virginia did it, she'd brought a murder charge upon herself. And if there was another heir, then that person deserved to be recognized. I was only trying to do what was right, to find the truth, and to offer some justice to poor Darla Grace.

  Frankie shook his head. "I gotta give you credit. When you do something, you don't do it halfway."

  I didn't know if that was a compliment or not.

  "Better be the same for me," he added as we worked our way up the long drive to my house. I wasn't sure what he meant until he disappeared from my passenger seat and reappeared near the kiddie pool in my yard. I parked at the back of the house and walked over to join him.

  "It's separating pretty good," he called.

  I clicked on my flashlight. No, it wasn't. It was a pool of mud. "Give it time," I told him. "The experiment says to wait at least twenty-four hours." Who was I to challenge fifth-grade science?

  "Gotcha," he said. "I got a good feeling about this."

  "Me, too," I lied. We might as well hope.

  Frankie appeared tired all of the sudden, and I could tell he was preparing himself for a nice rest in the ether.

  "Take care of yourself," I said, watching him disappear. "And remember, I need you back first thing in the morning."

  "You're sure bossy tonight," he muttered.

  "Frankie," I began. He knew this was important.

  "Don't get all balled up," his voice drifted over me. "I'll be there."

  And then he was gone completely.

  I backtracked to my car to retrieve his urn, along with the extra flashlight batteries. Then I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed for the house.

  Lucy scratched on the other side of the kitchen door, no doubt excited to see me.

  As I inserted my key into the lock, I saw something far less welcoming propped up against the bottom of the door: a gold foil box of Godiva chocolates, with a white envelope tucked under the gold elastic bow. Scrawled across the front, in Beau's handwriting: My one and only Verity.

  Ha. One and only. No doubt because I was the only Verity he knew.

  My poor little skunk began to grunt on the other side of the door, shoving her nose into the crack at the bottom as if she could crawl straight through and onto my lap.

  "I'm coming, sweetie." I picked up the package, fully intending to open the door, when I saw a silver picture frame underneath. "Of all the…" It held a snapshot of Beau and me together. Laughing.

  We had been dating for only a few months when it was taken. He'd surprised me with a birthday party in the park.

  Later, I'd learned his mother had planned it.

  Lucy let out a high-pitched squeal.

  "I'm coming." I popped open the box of chocolates and ate a caramel-filled one as I opened the door. No sense wasting good candy.

  The minute I stepped through the doorway, a happy skunk assaulted me. I tossed all my junk onto the counter and bent to show her some snuggly love while she turned in circles and whipped her tail up and down. She crawled halfway up my chest as I rubbed her belly and let her snort to her heart's content. "I'm sorry," I said, enjoying her soft, warm fur as well as the taste of the chocolate. "I didn't mean to be gone so long. I know you don't like being alone."

  I picked her up and she immediately wanted down. Lucy was a lap skunk, but she had to be in the mood to be carried.

  I let her go and put the chocolates up in the cabinet. The card went into the trash. Then I considered the picture. It belonged in the fireplace, along with a few logs and some lighter fluid. The frame, however, appeared to be solid silver, antique, with mother-of-pearl butterflies in the corners. I might be able to sell it for some pocket cash.

  Then it hit me. I'd seen that frame before. It belonged on Virginia Wydell's grand piano.

  Tomorrow would be the perfect time to return it. Yes, I'd have to tell her that her son was courting me again, but it was better for her to find out from me than from Beau. Who knew what he might say? And besides, the truth should offer enough fireworks for Frankie to search the whole house twice over. Maybe even host a craps game.

  If I'd only known how right I was. And how unpredictable Virginia Wydell could be.

  Chapter Eight

  BY THE NEXT morning, Frankie's legs had come back all the way to his ankles. He'd be getting his feet back soon.

  We drove to the west side of town, and down the old mill road. Ellis was still working on opening up a restaurant on some property out that way. I doubted he'd gotten much done in the last week or two. I slowed when we passed the stacked white stone wall near the entryway.

  A large brick building stood at the end of a narrow dirt road. Tall green painted windows looked out from the first and second floors, sheltered under red brick arches. Faded letters, hand-painted in white on the brick, read "Southern Spirits since 1908."

  "You miss that place?" Frankie asked, leaning to see past me. "I'd thought you'd be hitting the gas."

  "I miss them," I said, referring to the friendly ghosts we'd met, not the run-ins with the poltergeist. Although I supposed that had worked out in the end.

  I steered the land yacht up the twisting road along the river bluff until we came to a private driveway blocked by ornate iron gates with the letter W emblazoned in stylish monogram-style script. Ah, the family homestead.

  A black box on a pole stood vigil on the driver's side. I trundled my rickety roll-down window all the way open and pushed the red button on the call box. "Verity Long to see Virginia Wydell."

  I hadn't rung in advance to tell her I was coming. I was afraid she'd make an excuse not to see me. Which still could happen.

  The machine clacked with static. "One moment," a man's voice drawled.

  I planted my hands on the large green steering wheel and glanced at Frankie. "Are we close enough for you to go on up there and take a look, even if I don't get in?"

  He squin
ted, as if he could see all the way up the tree-lined driveway to the house. "Too big a property. If this doesn't work, how do you feel about breaking and entering?"

  Absolutely not. I didn't know anything about sneaking or spying. And if we did manage to slink our way into the house and got caught, with my luck Ellis would be the one to have to come arrest me.

  I was saved as the gates slowly began to open.

  Whew.

  "It's not like it would be hard to break into this place." I said, now that I knew I didn't have to. "Over the fence, easy peasy." I gave a shrug. "I could do it if I had to."

  The gangster dipped his chin and regarded me. "You're a terrible liar."

  Perhaps he'd simply had more practice.

  I drove straight through the gates the very moment I was sure my car would make it. No sense giving them time to change their minds.

  Towering cypress trees lined the meandering drive that wound past small, carefully tended gardens of native purple passionflowers and American beautyberry.

  The Wydells had owned their property even longer than our family had lived in my home. This estate had been in the family dating back to the land grants in the early 1800s.

  "Feel like you're coming home?" I asked Frankie.

  I'd gotten his urn after Beau had ventured up into the family attic and thought he stumbled on a cheap yet historical-looking vase. He'd given it to me in lieu of something fun and useful. Not that Frankie wasn't useful. Or fun…sometimes.

  The gangster shifted in his seat. "I always came up the side drive. We had a hideout in the carriage house, but it was mainly just a place to stash loot and get schnockered."

  We pulled past the richly blooming blue and white hydrangea bushes that crowded the circle drive and scattered flower petals over the custom brick.

  The white plantation-style house, with its upper and lower porches and towering Palladian windows, had been designed to appear as if it had always been here. In truth, the place had gone up in 1982, after Virginia married into the family. Word had it, she'd been instrumental in razing the family's original home and replacing it with this overblown version of Tara.

  She'd also gotten a special permit to bulldoze the old-growth trees on the back of the property. That way, the house looked down on the river, as well as the entire town of Sugarland.