Janet Evanovich - Full Bloom

"Because I'm psychic and more open to this sort of thing," Destiny said. "She wants to communicate with me, but she can't, which leaves her frustrated and angry. Which is why she sometimes throws things, mostly my stuff," she added, "and that, combined with almost no sleep, pisses me off. I'm usually more patient with spirits.

"Anyway, I recently began having visions of what it was like back then. I see women dressed in corsets and gartered black stockings and wearing heavy rouge; I see well-dressed gentlemen following them upstairs." She suddenly sneezed. "Only the wealthy could afford to visit. Does the name Fairchild mean anything to you?" she asked Annie.

"Oh yeah. The Fairchild family settled here before the Revolutionary War. They were wealthy and highly respected. Some became politicians. There are still a few descendants living here, but most of them moved to Charleston."

"For some reason I keep seeing that name in my mind." Destiny shrugged. "By the way, the house does look much the same as it did back then." Another sneeze. Annie went for the box of tissues. "Except for the kitchen and some of the furniture," Destiny added, yanking a couple of tissues from the box.

Wes looked intrigued by what Destiny had to say, but it was difficult to tell how much, if any, of it he believed. "How often do you have these, um, visions?"

"I can't predict them," Destiny said. "Sometimes they're very clear; other times they're vague and I spend hours trying to decide their meanings." Destiny sipped her coffee in silence for a moment. "Having this spirit around could work to your advantage," she told Annie.

"How?"

"Spirits are not limited by time or space. I'm willing to bet Lacey knows who murdered your husband. She probably saw the whole thing."

Annie gaped.

"Which is why I wish she would communicate with me," Destiny went on. "I probably shouldn't have yelled at her for getting into my stuff. I'll probably have to start sucking up to her if I hope to get her to cooperate. I hate sucking up to dead people."

Annie laughed. "Could you imagine me marching into Lamar Tevis's office and telling him some ghost had solved the murder?"

Destiny shook her head. "No, but if this spirit could tell us who the killer is we might be able to point Lamar in the right direction."

Annie heard a noise at the top of the stairs. "We need to drop the subject for now. I don't want the others to know." She barely had time to get the words out of her mouth before Lovelle came down, dressed in gray slacks, a silk dove gray blouse, and a cream-colored cashmere sweater.

"Good morning, ladies," she said brightly.

"Boy, you look nice," Annie told her. "What's the occasion?"

Lovelle patted her hair. "I'm having breakfast with a friend, and then we're driving to Savannah for an art show."

Annie smiled. Although Savannah was only forty-five minutes away, she could not remember when she'd last been. "Sounds fun."

Lovelle draped her sweater over one chair. "I wish I could find my fuchsia scarf. I always wear it with this outfit."

Destiny looked up. "It's in my room. I meant to bring it down and ask who it belonged to."

"Well, how in heaven's name did it get there?" Lovelle said.

Destiny shrugged. "Probably the same way my lingerie ended up in Wes's bathroom."

"Hey, you didn't hear me complaining," Wes said. "I like having women's lingerie hanging over my shower rod. I have a thing for lacy black garter belts."

All three women looked amused. "Let me grab that scarf," Destiny said.

Lovelle looked at Annie. "This is getting out of hand. Every time I turn around I'm missing something. Yesterday Theenie accused me of taking her favorite nightgown. You've seen it, that flannel thing she wears with blue dogs and pink kittens. As if I'd be caught dead in old lady flannel," she added.

Someone knocked on the door. Annie answered it and found Lamar Tevis on the other side. "Good morning, Annie," he said. "Sorry to stop by so early, but I thought we might talk a bit." He glanced about the room. "Preferably in private."

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, no. I, um …" He paused and cleared his throat. "I need to discuss a few things with regard to your husband's, um, remains."

Wes got up from his chair. "I'd like to listen in if you don't mind."

Annie led Wes and Lamar into a large sunroom that had once served as a sleeping porch. Windows lined the room and had offered relief during hot summer months before fans and air conditioners were invented. Wes and Annie took a seat on one of several sofas; Lamar chose a chair opposite them.

Lamar pulled his small notebook from his shirt pocket and thumbed through several pages. He wore a sad smile as he regarded Annie. "I don't suppose this will come as a surprise to you," he told her, "but all the evidence we found on or near the remains that were discovered on your property proves without a doubt that they are those of your husband." He paused as though waiting for her to take it all in. "I'm sorry, Annie."

Wes reached for her hand. "You okay?"

"Yes." But she wasn't. Not really. She felt a deep sadness that the man she'd been married to had lost his life at such an early age.

"What was the cause of death?" she asked.

Lamar hesitated. "I'll get to that in a minute, but first let me tell you what we do know. The coroner faxed his findings to me; in laymen's terms, your husband suffered a broken neck and head trauma."

Annie realized she was holding her breath. "Did he suffer?"

"I suppose he could have been unconscious at the time, but the head injury didn't penetrate the skull, so there's no reason to suspect that's what killed him."

"So he died from a broken neck," she said.

Lamar wiped his hands down his face. "We don't really know at this time."

"You don't know?" she asked.

"The coroner claims the vertebra was still intact, so it's highly unlikely there was damage to the spinal cord or any kind of obstruction that would have interfered with normal breathing. I know we don't have all the answers, but I'm pretty impressed with what the coroner was able to come up with, seeing as how he's not one of those experts. I can't think of what they're called at the moment; it'll come to me."

"Forensic anthropologists," Wes said.

Annie looked perplexed. "Why wasn't Charles taken to the Medical University in Charleston, where their methods are more advanced? I thought that was the normal procedure for suspicious deaths."

"That's true," Lamar said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, "but our coroner insisted on taking a look, since we don't get many cases like this. Some of our law enforcement people stood in on the exam, so it was a learning experience for them."

Once again, Wes and Annie exchanged glances. She frowned. "You're saying my husband's remains were not immediately sent to Charleston because the local coroner decided to use them for teaching purposes?" She didn't give Lamar a chance to respond. "Good grief, Lamar, the man isn't even a bona fide medical examiner. Did you not consider Charles's family or how anxious we might be to find out what happened to him?"

Lamar shifted uncomfortably in his chair and stared at the floor. "Annie, I'm sorry to say it gets worse." He shook his head sadly, and it was obvious he did not want to tell her.

"Why don't we stop beating around the bush here and get to the point?" Wes suggested to the man.

Lamar continued staring at the floor. "Annie, I regret to have to tell you we've, uh, lost your husband's remains."

Annie sat there for a moment, unsure she'd heard Lamar correctly or even understood what he'd just said. "Would you run that by me again?" she said.