P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

As if she’d conjured them up, two movers appeared in the kitchen doorway, asking for instructions. She dealt with their logistical issues, then returned to mixing the pancake batter, talking while she worked. “I have to admit, after reading about the murder investigation in Greeley’s memoir, I’m wondering whether he got the right man. The evidence was mostly circumstantial.” She filled them in on Frank Lewis’s claim that he’d been drugged and the bloody fingerprint. “I haven’t asked Darcy whether that would’ve been enough to convict in the nineteenth century, but I’ll run it by her tonight.”

Tom looked troubled. “Have you read about the trial itself?”

“No, just portions of the investigation so far. I had hoped to find trial information, either in Greeley’s memoir or at the Historical Society.” She flipped bacon and pancakes, then washed strawberries. “It would be nice to read the actual witness statements. Depending on who gave damning evidence against Frank, I would be swayed one way or the other. Eleanor Canby, for example, probably wouldn’t have hesitated to make things look bad for Frank and Hattie.”

“More evidence could’ve come out during the trial that swayed the jury,” Tom argued, accepting plates of pancakes from her.

He was right, she realized as she poured more batter onto the griddle. But if she couldn’t find the trial transcripts, it was a moot point. And though she wasn’t yet willing to admit as much to Tom, she had a bad feeling about the veracity of Greeley’s account. The police chief had clearly felt the need to prove he’d built an airtight case against Frank Lewis. If he’d had doubts at any time, he wouldn’t have admitted to them or documented them.

Then again, what would have been his motive to bungle the investigation? Had someone who wanted Lewis out of the way put pressure on him? Had Michael Seavey seen an opportunity too good to pass up?

Evidently, the food smells had reached the backyard—Amanda entered through the back door, giving Tom and Jase high fives.

“So you guys know each other,” Jordan said, handing Amanda plates of food with instructions to deliver them to the movers.

“Tom tips me off about which houses are haunted,” said Amanda over her shoulder.

“Of course he does,” Jordan agreed faintly, and Jase grinned. She busied herself with mixing more batter.

“How does the fire tie in with the murder?” Jase asked as he ate.

“What fire?” Amanda asked as she stepped back into the kitchen.

Jordan handed Amanda a plate while she described the 1890 waterfront fire, then answered Jase’s question. “I’m not certain yet, but my gut is telling me it’s related.” She flipped more pancakes. The dog nudged her thigh, and she fed him a slice of bacon. “I’ll search the library and see how many of Hattie’s diaries I can find. Maybe if I put her account side by side with your great-grandfather’s, I can track through the events from the two different perspectives.”

“Hattie’s would have ended before the murder, whereas Tom’s great-grandfather’s probably wouldn’t have mentioned Hattie until he investigated the murder,” Jase pointed out.

“Damn. You’re right.” She’d been counting on reading both to see whether she could pinpoint any discrepancies that would lead her to other avenues of research.

“What about Charlotte? Did she have a diary?” Tom asked.

The possibility hadn’t even occurred to her. “I don’t know. I’ll …” Her voice trailed off as she realized she’d been about to say, “I’ll ask her,” and Jase grinned, following her train of thought. She finished gamely, “… hunt through Charlotte’s old room and see whether I can come up with anything. I found a doll hidden in the back of the closet—it’s possible I’ll discover more.”

“Have you searched the attic yet?” Tom asked. “The former owners may have stored it away, not understanding its historical significance.”

“Or tossed it in a fit of pique, after being endlessly harassed by a couple of ghosts?”

“That, too.” Tom smiled.

“They’re already harassing you?” Amanda popped a strawberry into her mouth. “Cool.”

“In any event,” Tom continued, “you’d be surprised what people around here find in their attics. We could take a look.”

Jordan folded her arms. “Are you here to help with the murder investigation or discuss the plan for the renovation?”

Tom looked sheepish. “Both. You gotta admit, the old murder is exciting stuff.”

“I might be getting a little hooked,” Jordan allowed, then shrugged. “I haven’t even stuck my head inside the attic door—I don’t even know where the attic is. Wait, I think I saw a closed door next to Charlotte’s room that could hide a set of stairs.”

Tom gave her a curious look. “You didn’t go up there before you bought the house?”

“No, I left that to the guy who conducted the structural and pest inspections.”

He and Jase exchanged a look that clearly said “first-time home buyer.”

Tom stood and carried his dishes over to the sink. “That was delicious. You mixed those pancakes from scratch, didn’t you?” At her nod, he placed his hand over his heart. “Will you marry me?”

“Now, that’s just pitiful,” Amanda declared, polishing off her fourth pancake.

* * *

AFTER Amanda left to prune the bushes she thought could be saved, Jordan led the men up to the second floor. When she opened the door she thought would lead to the attic, it revealed a second bathroom with a huge claw-foot tub, a pedestal sink, oak wainscoting, and a cracked black and white tile floor. She had an immediate vision of soaking in the tub, surrounded by the soft glow of candlelight, after a hard day’s work on the house.

Jase took her shoulders in both hands and turned her away. “Focus.”

“Attic. Right.”

She hit pay dirt with the door on the other side of Charlotte’s bedroom, over the library. Trotting up the stairs, she flipped on the light switch on the wall at the top of the landing.

And promptly let out a bloodcurdling scream, wind-milling her arms.

Both men raced up the stairs.

Jase grabbed her, pulling her behind him. “What?”

Tom stood on his tiptoes, peering over their heads, and started laughing.

The entire room was filled from ceiling to floor with vines that crisscrossed every square inch of space, creating an impenetrable jungle. Smaller, dead vines hung down into the stairwell, creating a lacy tangle of twigs, into which Jordan had run headfirst.

“What the hell is it?” Jordan asked him, her voice shaking.

“The wisteria, is my bet.”

“It grew through the wall?” she wailed.

“It grows through foundations,” Jase corrected, taking a closer look, then chuckling and releasing her. “You okay?” he asked, still smiling.

No, she was mortified that she’d screamed like a ninny.

Tom was already talking on his cellphone. “Yeah, get over here. I’ll check the foundation while we wait.” He flipped the phone shut. “Bill’s on his way over with a chain saw.”

“Chain saw?”

“Just to clear inside the room,” Tom assured her. “Before we can cut the rest of the vine, we have to make certain the roots haven’t compromised the structure.” Seeing her stunned expression, he hastily added, “We’ll jack up the foundation, if necessary—don’t worry.”

Don’t worry . Jordan closed her eyes.

“I thought you said you had this place inspected,” Tom said.

“Of course I had it inspected! I have the report out in the car.”

“What was the guy’s name?” Jase asked. “Because you should seriously consider going after him for negligence.”