In the Dead of Night (32 page)

Not sure I’d ever buy that, since the man lives for the infinitesimal chance he could be her Prince Charming.

“He already knows,” said Angie.

Hard to tell if Jackie caught that glint of satisfaction in both voice and facial expression, but I did. And my wife sure as hell did, too. Not voiced, and she wouldn’t let on otherwise. But I felt her bristle just the same.

“Huh?”

That was me, giving my standard surprised response, although Jackie wore a similar confused expression.

“Hey, it’s no big thing…just part of the deal for me not to have cops around twenty-four/seven,” Angie explained, her expression softening as if she realized her previous response was a little bitchy. The tension from the other females diminished somewhat. “He’s planning to stop by around nine. That’s all the more reason to get busy, so his energy doesn’t mess things up for us.”

Good point.

“I thought you were a skeptic about ‘energy’, ‘ghosts’ and shit like that?”

Justin poked his head through the door, and it was Angie’s turn to look surprised. Dude can sneak up on you if you’re not careful.

“What up, Ale-e-a-ah-h-s-s?”

I could tell he was totally jazzed to be here, and his eagerness seemed to help Fiona relax. Maybe we’d catch something flitting about, even though there’s still plenty of daylight outside. But with Justin around, at least it’d be a helluva lot more festive.

“Good to see you, bro!”

“Same to you, Jimmy!”

Dressed in fatigues with a gold chain across his ‘Bonnie Blue’ rebel flag T-shirt, no one from around here would ever take him seriously if they didn’t know him like we do. Believe it or not there are others like him, who share similar passion for the past. One of the things Fiona did uncover from her recent internet browsing is there are nearly four hundred black Civil War buffs in the southern states—many of whom are second and third generation enthusiasts. So it’s not as unusual as I assumed…although I’d bet everything I’m worth very few of them share Justin’s interest in the paranormal.

And they sure as hell can’t be as funny as him either.

“Are Tony and Tom ready to get started?” asked Angie.

“Yeah, everything’s set up and ready to go!” he enthused. “Do you still want them to start with the smoke house out back?”

“Yes,” she said. “You and Jackie will take the cellar and work your way up to the first floor, where Jimmy and Fiona will be. We’ll save the upstairs for last, since that’s where most of the reported stuff happens. I thought it would be cool if we explored that section of the house together.”

I forgot momentarily this was her gig. Normally, even when members of the group arrange a visit, Fiona is still the one who captains the ship for us. Jackie or Tom usually fell in line next, with me, Tony, and then Justin last. When Angie joined us last year, she became the runt of the litter, meaning she got the scraps instead of Justin.

But obviously that wasn’t the case tonight.

I looked over at Fiona, thinking she might bristle again, but she was preoccupied with her Blackberry. It surprised me that it worked out here near the outskirts of College Grove, her thumbs and fingers striking the small keys vigorously. Texting a message to Ed, I assumed.

This was all so weird to me. Not the usual flow for an investigation.

I suddenly worried about the killer. What if the dude watched us from somewhere nearby? Wouldn’t that figure…especially on a night when our normal ‘modus operandi’ had been turned upside down and inside out.

“I’m hoping something will finally sway me from my skepticism,” said Angie, more to me than anyone else, since Justin and Jackie were already moving past us toward the south side of the house where the cellar sat. “I’ll begin working with the boys out back and join everyone else by the time Jackie and Justin have rejoined you and Fiona inside the house. Sound like a plan?”

She smiled, and for the first time since I could remember, she seemed at peace. Maybe she sensed tonight would be the investigation that sold her on the validity of what we do. Or maybe her recent encounter with a vicious murderer had mellowed her…taken the edge off her rogue nature.

Just as long as she didn’t try to convert me into some L. Ron Hubbard clone, we’d still get along fine.

“Well, why don’t you two get started in the main level and I’ll go see what Tom and Tony are up to?” Angie suggested. She moved past us down the porch steps.

“What’s the layout like inside, Angie?” asked Fiona.

Good question.

We always knew the layout for an investigation in advance, and this was one of the sticking points for visiting Montebello Manor. Sketchy details at best, since according to Angie, the Purdues offered little to go on. Very strange, and a cause for concern since the investigation’s outcome could easily be compromised without a solid plan to work from. Free-flow shit usually doesn’t work out well, at least in our experience.

“Well, I could show you real quick.”

Angie started back up the stairs, a pained grimace on her face.

“That’s okay—just give us a basic floor plan to work with,” said Fiona, her tone compassionate, stopping Angie before she took another step. “It looks like there would be a parlor to the left once inside.”

“And, from there a short hallway will take you to the modern kitchen the Purdues have added, in what used to be one of the sitting rooms and a den,” said Angie, pointing to a pair of tall windows next to the porch. “From there, you’ll move through several other rooms on the main floor. Take your time, since it may take twenty to thirty minutes for everyone else to meet up in the foyer. Okay?”

Again, there’s that excitement in her eyes. Like when our oldest boy, Ryan, told us about a kindergarten homework project this past school year, where he created a game in class and had to teach his mom and dad how to play it. Geez, tonight’s event is truly important to her.

“Sure. That should work fine,” Fiona assured her. “We’ll see y’all in a little while.”

Angie waited until both Fiona and I’d stepped inside the house, and then limped her way around the south side of the building. I thought the smoke house sat on the north side…. Or maybe I’ve got my bearings wrong, thrown off by our hodge-podge approach. Thank God the camera crew didn’t come along tonight, or we might be kissing the upcoming TV pilot bye-bye.

Plastic sheets hung from the ceiling throughout much of the main floor, and only a few furniture pieces were left inside the house—at least from what we could tell. The owners must be planning an extraordinary facelift to the inside, which isn’t completely unusual. In order to keep the historical significance of a house like this, the main structure must be protected, but a lot of freedom exists for modernization. The place would be a dream for most interior decorators, certainly.

“Well, this is really turning into a one-of-a-kind event tonight,” observed Fiona, snapping pictures while keeping an eye on the EMF detector in her hands. “I’m not sure we’ll catch anything with the house in such disarray. Sometimes remodeling will ‘spook the spooks’ as easily as it can attract activity.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” I agreed, lifting one large plastic sheet for her to pass through, to reach the hallway after we moved through the barren parlor. This might turn into the quickest investigation we’ve ever had. “So, who were you texting back there?”

“You already know it was Ed, I’m sure,” she said, eyeing me mischievously. Like I’ve mentioned, my jealous streak both amuses and annoys her. She stepped under the plastic and I followed her. The sheets made the hallway darker than it’d normally be.

“So, what’s up with him?”

She sighed before answering, snapping a single shot toward her right into a small alcove.

“Well, Angie’s right. He’s coming here around nine tonight, after he takes care of some personal business first.”

“Is he pissed about us being here?”

I tried to sound nonchalant, collecting a few of my own random photographs.

“He’s not happy about it,” she said, looking over her shoulder before leading the way into the kitchen. “But, he confirmed that Angie already arranged for everyone to be here, so I think he’s more irritated with her than anyone else.”

Suddenly a loud thud resounded from below us.

Did something fall in the cellar? No cries or other noises, so I guess everything’s oka
y….

“You think we should go check on Jackie and Justin?”

Fiona looked as worried as she sounded just then, and I was grateful for the numerous windows in the kitchen. At least we had plenty of light still from the setting sun. Good for another fifteen minutes or so. After that we would need our flashlights, since the only working light fixtures are hooked single bulbs used by the carpenters and painters contracted for the restoration project.

“Maybe…if we don’t hear anything in a minute or so,” I said.

“Like we’d hear anything anyway. You don’t remember how thick the walls are in places like this?” She was starting to panic, which often brings out her biting sarcasm. The only time she ain’t such a princess.

“Okay…I’ll check it out in just a minute,” I assured her. “Tell me what Ed said was so important, the ‘development’ he texted you about on the highway.”

“All right, but you need to keep it to yourself,” she said, looking around to see if Tom or Tony’s audio recorders had been set up in the kitchen. It didn’t look like it, as no green or red lights were flashing anywhere in the kitchen, other than from a single camera in one corner of the room. Hopefully it was non-audio. She moved closer to me and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Ed said his contacts in New Jersey called him this morning at home. Two bodies were found a week ago near a sewage treatment plant in Trenton, New Jersey. A man and a woman, and both have now been identified.”

“Who are they?”

Standard reply, I guess, since the real question is what does this have to do with our current situation in Nashville, Tennessee. The fact two people died elsewhere is sad and terrible news, but doesn’t mean diddly to me personally if it doesn’t tie into our present situation, namely being prey for a guy who likes to take his time torturing his victims. Sorry to say, and it’s amenable if more personal facts are presented about these other victims. It just depended upon what she said next.

“Vito Travini and Maureen Marrero. They both were shot with the same gun used in the killings here in Nashville.”

“No shit?”

I certainly didn’t expect her to say ‘Vito Travini’. Candi’s angry ex, with insatiable vengeance on the brain, and the dude whose Buick was found in Kentucky nearly two weeks ago. I guess he’s not after us after all.

“Are you going to check on Jackie and Justin, or should I do it?”

“Yeah, I am,” I assured her again, and turned to head back toward the front entrance, since I didn’t see a door that could lead to a cellar. At least not in the kitchen. Common sense for me would be to backtrack and take the route everyone else did, rather than waste precious time looking for another way to get there. “When did they die, or do the Jersey cops know that yet?”

“Ed said they’ve been dead for almost three weeks,” she confirmed. Her voice revealed her escalating tension. “Right after Vito was paroled. And the girl…she’s apparently a cousin of Candi’s.”

“What??”

That got my attention. I stopped, whirling around to look at her. I’m sure I must’ve looked like she did last night at my gig, with my mouth gaping open in complete surprise. Damn, how the plot instantly thickened from the latest bombshell. This whole affair can now go in a myriad of directions.

“Why in the hell would anyone in her family want to hang out with that piece of shit—especially after everything we’ve learned about the sick bastard?”

I knew she couldn’t answer the question any more than I could, but it flew out of my mouth just the same.

“The mafia experts back east think they were operating together, and that she was holding his laundered fortune for him, keeping it safe until he got out of jail,” she explained. “The New Jersey authorities told Ed that Maureen picked him up from prison. She was the one driving—
Oh my God, Jimmy look out!!!”

Too late. For me, anyway.

Before I could duck out of harm’s way, something heavy struck the back of my head. Incredible pain radiated toward my face and the world around me turned black.

Chapter Twenty-seven

It’s hard to say which came back to me first…my hearing? Or was it my sight?

Maybe both came together as a hazy awakening…hearing footsteps and seeing my attacker’s feet. Slender black boots made for some priss of a man. Perhaps a teenager? I’m not sure, but from the steady clicks of the boot heels upon the newly restored yellow poplar floor, the dude seemed like he belonged to some Neo-Nazi group. Like an SS field marshal from yesteryear sucked through a time warp into the present.

Back and forth, over and over, the owner of the boots traveled from one end of Montebello Manor’s kitchen to the other.

Blurred at first by a splitting headache that dwarfed all my memories of what a debilitating migraine is like, I soon got a better glimpse of the boots. Quite nice actually. Add some steel chains and a pair of those would fit in great with my stage wardrobe.