Haunting Jordan (25 page)

“I can make calls on her behalf to any number of old acquaintances. One can hop a plane—”

“—and be here by tonight
and
come up to speed on the case?” Darcy shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Jordan said irritably, “and I can make my own decisions.”

“Jordan?” The call came from the front porch.

Jordan recognized Ted’s voice.
Damn
. She’d forgotten all about his visit. “In
here
,” she called.

He walked through the library doors, dressed stylishly in chinos and an Egyptian cotton button-down shirt, finger-combing the damage the breeze had done to his hair. He halted just inside the doors, his smile of greeting fading when he saw the crowd in the room.

Jordan introduced him to Tom and Darcy, whom he hadn’t yet met.

“What’s going on?” Ted asked Jordan.

She managed a smile. “I may need a rain check on that tour I promised you.”

He frowned. “Are you in trouble? What can I do to help?”

“I’m fine. The police just want to talk to me again about Ryland’s murder. The detective in charge of the case is flying up tomorrow to interview me.”

“That’s ridiculous. Who is this asshole? He can’t harass
you like this—I won’t have it.” Ted pulled out his cellphone. “Give me his number, and I’ll talk to him.”

“Bad idea,” Darcy said. “The guy’s just doing his job, and any interference from civilians will only make him more pugnacious.”

“Well, we can’t just sit here and let him run roughshod over her!” Ted snapped.

“We’re dealing with it,” Darcy told him.

Jordan intervened. “Jase used to be a criminal defense attorney, and Darcy is the chief of police. They’ll both be present to ensure Detective Drake doesn’t step out of line.” She rose to place a hand on Ted’s arm. “I’ll be all right. But I’m pretty slammed, so …”

“You’re betting your future on the legal expertise of a
tavern owner?”
Ted’s expression was incredulous.

Irritation crossed Jase’s face, but Jordan shook her head at him.

“There’s no way I’m trusting anyone else to handle this for you!” Ted stated categorically.

She tamped down her impatience. “Ted. We’ve discussed this—I can take care of myself.”

“But you shouldn’t have to, dammit!”

“It’s what I prefer.” She noted his increasing agitation and quickly added, “I really do want to have that coffee with you. How about I give you a call in a couple of days?”

“All right,” he said grudgingly, “but promise me you’ll call if you need my help. I’m not without influence, you know. I could bring some pressure to bear on that detective. He’ll think twice before treating you disrespectfully.”

“I appreciate the offer.” She guided him toward the door. “So how did you meet Didi Wyeth?” she asked, keeping her tone conversational. “Through your new agent?”

“Yeah, she was leaving Arnie’s office one day as I arrived. We got to talking, and one thing led to another. She mentioned she was taking a break this summer, so I offered to let her stay at my house up here.”

She drew him onto the front porch. “You know Didi dated Ryland for a while?”

“Sure, she cried on my shoulder about it. The bastard broke her heart. I think that’s why she’s taking some career downtime, though she hasn’t admitted as much.” Ted gave Jordan a stubborn look. “I’m sorry Ryland’s dead, Jordan, but you deserved better. You understand that now, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she said lightly. One of the movers came up the steps, obviously needing to talk to her. “I’d better go. See you in a few days, okay?”

After answering the mover’s question, she turned back to find Darcy leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded. “What’s his problem?” she asked, cocking her head at Ted as he climbed into his car.

Fragile ego, abandonment issues, lack of empathy for others, and maybe a tad too much transference during the therapy process
. Not that Jordan could say
that
aloud.

“That screwed up, huh?” Darcy concluded from the look on her face. “Why don’t I just pull out a gun and shoot the son of a bitch. Put him out of his misery.”

“Difficult call to make, given that I’m in worse shape than he is.”

Darcy looked amused. “There is that.” She pushed away from the door frame. “The interview is set up for eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. You know where the station is?”

Jordan nodded, tensing again.

“There’s nothing you can do for now, so go back to your unpacking. I’ll be there, and so will Jase. I threatened to find financial backers for Kathleen’s restaurant if he doesn’t represent you.”

“If he’s uncomfortable with the idea, I don’t want him pushed into it.” Despite what Jordan had told Ted, she didn’t yet know how she felt about Jase representing her.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Get a grip. He won’t let any other attorney within miles of you—he’s not taking any chances with your defense. And he’s damn good, so do what he says tomorrow. No heroics, no rebellious moves. Got it?”

Jordan nodded again.

“Just let Drake go through his routine, answering with only the barest minimum of information. He’s holding his cards close to his chest at the moment—I couldn’t get much out of him. We’ll have a better idea of what he’s got after the meeting, and then we can devise a strategy.”

Jordan swallowed and nodded a third time.

“You okay?” Darcy peered suspiciously at her.

“Sure.”

“You’re not going to hyperventilate or faint or anything silly like that, are you?”

“Of course not.”

* * *

J
ASE
was waiting for her when she walked back inside. She could hear a chain saw whining upstairs—Bill must have come in through the kitchen door while she was talking to Ted on the porch. Amanda and Tom were arguing in the upper hallway. Jordan heard Amanda say that some one had to stand up for the plant’s rights, and she decided to steer clear of that debate. She headed for the kitchen.

Jase followed, standing in the doorway and watching her pull open a moving box to start unwrapping china.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She shrugged. She knew he’d picked up on her ambivalence, but she didn’t trust her instincts where he was concerned. She’d seen no reason not to trust him, but—

“I was young, and it’s the family business. I was expected to enter the firm,” he explained again. “As soon as I realized what I’d gotten myself into, I bailed.”

“But you were good at it.”

“Yeah, I was.” His voice turned cool. “Why do I feel like that’s a criticism?”

Why indeed? She had no answer for either of them—she didn’t yet understand why the knowledge of his past upset her so much.

She turned away to stack dinner plates in the cupboard to the right of the sink. “I guess it doesn’t matter, does it? I need a lawyer, and you’re willing to help. Darcy is right, beggars can’t be choosers. I should be grateful.”

“But you don’t have to like it,” he concluded astutely.

She didn’t reply, pulling another newspaper-wrapped stack of china out of the box.

He sighed and held out his hand. “Give me five dollars, dammit.”

She fished the bill out of her pocket and handed it to him. “In the movies, it’s always a dollar,” she said lightly.

“I’ve never been cheap.”

She smiled, but it was halfhearted.

He shook his head. “Anything you need to tell me before the meeting tomorrow? Something you might know that never made it into the accounts in the newspapers?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“All right.” He turned to go, then paused. “Just one more thing.” She looked up from her unpacking. “Just in case you’re inclined to make comparisons, I’m not at all like your late husband. Got it?”

She nodded. Again.

He certainly wasn’t acting laid back any longer.

* * *

F
OR
the rest of the day, Jordan unpacked, focusing on the kitchen, trying to ignore the sounds of the chain saw and large pieces of wood thumping down the stairs. She worked even harder at ignoring the meeting tomorrow and her stark terror of being arrested. Somehow, if she could get the kitchen under control, she told herself, she would be able to handle the chaos in the rest of her life.

The ghosts remained conspicuously absent, for which she was grateful—she couldn’t cope with them at the moment.
She could only hope they weren’t up to anything nefarious.

Tom poked his head in around midafternoon to tell her that the foundation was solid, but that the library wall would have to be rebuilt. Calling Amanda in from the garden, they discussed strategies for saving the wisteria and creating an iron trellis structure that could be attached to the outside wall and support the vine, preventing it from damaging the new wall.

Not too long after, Felicia Warren dropped by to deliver the forms Jordan would need to fill out to have Longren House added to Port Chatham’s historic homes register. They spent a pleasant hour discussing the pros and cons of owning and refurbishing a historic home. Jase was right—the woman was a fount of knowledge. Jordan’s head was spinning by the time she left.

Just before dinner, Jordan slipped out to deliver the dog to the vet’s for grooming and a wellness check, repeatedly promising him that she would be back to pick him up in the morning. She could tell by his expression that he didn’t believe her. Clearly, he had as many trust issues as she did—he’d probably been betrayed in his life just as many times.

The movers were finished by the time she returned, and she wrote a check, adding a large cash tip. She even accepted with aplomb the Goth kid’s note referencing a Tourette’s syndrome hotline and support group.

When the ghosts still hadn’t reappeared by dark, she decided to simply enjoy the time on her own. Pouring
herself a hefty glass of Merlot, she knocked down empty boxes for recycling, then smoothed and folded a small stack of packing paper, to be saved in case she decided she had to slip over the Canadian border in the middle of the night with the dog and a few belongings. With a second glass of wine in hand, she headed up to the attic to search for Charlotte’s diaries. After an hour of digging through boxes covered with debris from the earlier chain saw activity, she’d uncovered nothing of interest and admitted defeat. A search of Charlotte’s room yielded similar results.

It wasn’t until late that night, after she came back from taking a long walk through her new neighborhood, missing the company of the dog the entire time, that she realized she was still so keyed up over the upcoming interview with Drake that her chances of sleeping through the night were slim to none.

She changed into an oversized football jersey, crawled under her down comforter, and, with a cool night breeze flowing in the window, picked up the stack of Hattie’s diaries she’d pulled off the library shelves that afternoon.

Might as well distract herself with a murder investigation she
could
control.

Unintended Consequences

HATTIE reached into the carriage and lifted Frank’s hand to feel for a pulse. Fast and erratic, but there.
Dear God. She’d
been the cause of this.

“We have no doctors on the waterfront,” Mona said in a low voice behind her. “I didn’t know who else to turn to. He’s been unconscious for hours—my men found him in the alley behind the Green Light this afternoon. I had hoped he’d come to, but …”

Arms wrapped around herself to keep from trembling, Hattie straightened. “Sara!” she yelled.

The housekeeper must have been standing close by, for she appeared within seconds.

“Go quickly and fetch the girls,” Hattie ordered. “Have Charlotte rush a note over to Dr. Willoughby’s infirmary—we need him on a matter of utmost urgency.” Willoughby was Celeste’s father and ran the neighborhood medical clinic. “Instruct Charlotte to take Tabitha with her, and to remain vigilant, returning home at once.
Upon their departure, put clean bedding on the cot in the attic bedroom.”

“Ma’am!” Sara protested, spying the contents of the carriage. “You can’t possibly mean to bring him into our home!”

“That is precisely what I intend. Mr. Lewis may have suffered this beating because of what I asked of him. It’s our responsibility to see that he gets the care he needs. Now,
go!”

The housekeeper fled, and Hattie turned back to Mona. “Can your coachman help us carry him inside?”

“Of course.” Mona walked to the front of the carriage and gave a quiet order. “Frank was doing your bidding when this happened?” she asked as they waited for the man to climb down.

“Yes, he was looking into a business matter for me.”

“So you might know who did this—or ordered it done.”

“I have a very good idea, yes,” Hattie replied, her fury building. “Rest assured that I intend to have a word with Chief Greeley.”

The coachman had opened the opposite door of the carriage and positioned himself at Frank’s head. With Hattie and Mona holding Frank’s legs, they eased him out of the carriage and onto the ground.

The coachman leaned down and gently lifted him in his arms. “Where to, ma’am?”

Hattie directed him through the back door, then up two flights of stairs to a room under the eaves. He
lowered Frank to the cot Sara had just finished hastily making up, shifting his body to a more comfortable position.

Hattie surveyed the room, mentally rearranging the secondhand furniture to create a small but functional infirmary. If she left the door open to the floor below, heat would make its way up the stairs and keep the room comfortably warm. Frank would be safe, yet well concealed. If anyone made a social call, he or she would be none the wiser.

Sara handed her a blanket, which she shook out and draped carefully over Frank. He hadn’t stirred since he’d been removed from the carriage. She turned to Sara, who hovered, sneaking curious glances at Mona. “Prepare a basin of warm water, along with some clean rags, and bring them to me.”

“Yes, ma’am. The girls are on their way to Dr. Willoughby’s, ma’am.”

“Good.” Hattie glanced at Mona. “There’s nothing more we can do for the moment. If you’d be kind enough to follow me down to the second-floor parlor while we await the physician’s arrival, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”