P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

Frank shook his head. “Not from Greeley’s perspective. I mentioned Johnson, of course, but Greeley held him in high esteem—I doubt he would’ve investigated him.” Frank rubbed his jaw. “Seavey came to see me one night after the trial. I told him I was innocent and that I believed Johnson had committed the murder.”

“What did he say to that?” Jordan asked, curious.

“Nothing. He just nodded and left.”

The dog approached, growling. She put out a hand to bring him to her side, shushing him.

“What’s his name?” Frank asked.

“You know, I’m getting tired of people asking me that.”

He smiled slightly. “Try Malachi.”

“Why?”

“I had a friend, an Irishman and a ship’s carpenter, who was shanghaied out of New York City on the same boat I was on. He completed a lot of the work on your house for Charles Longren. He had this dog, Malachi, who looked a lot like your fellow.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

Frank nodded, straightening. “Are you going to solve Hattie’s murder or not?”

Jordan’s exasperation returned. “Do you have any suggestions as to how I might do that?”

“Hattie wrote about everything up to her murder. Also, read Greeley’s personal papers. If he wrote in a daily journal, he might’ve let something slip. Or he might’ve regretted his actions after the fact.” Frank stared at Jordan, his expression brooding. “It’s important that Hattie find some peace. I couldn’t give it to her when she was alive.”

Jordan softened a bit. “Look, why don’t you come inside with me? I suspect seeing you would go a long way toward making her happy.”

He shook his head, and for the first time, Jordan saw the pain and sorrow in his eyes. “I didn’t stop her murderer—I don’t deserve to see her.”

* * *

JORDAN’S cellphone buzzed as she and the dog walked up the front porch steps. She pulled it out of her pocket to check the caller ID. Carol.

“You left me hanging,” Carol complained the minute she answered. “How did the interview go with Drake?”

“About like you’d expect,” she answered as she walked down the hall to the kitchen in search of a drink of water.

She skidded to a halt. Hattie and Charlotte sat at the kitchen table, smiling. “Where have you been?” she asked them.

“At work, where else?” Carol said. “Why?”

“Not you, the ghosts.”

“At the telekinesis seminar,” Hattie replied. “We thought we’d give you some time to calm down after discovering the inspection report.”

“And it gave us an opportunity to practice our skills,” Charlotte added, beaming.

Frightening thought .

“You mean, you don’t just see the ghosts, you talk to them like regular human beings?” Carol asked.

“It’s a little difficult to tell them apart,” Jordan muttered.

“Ah.” Hattie nodded, looking pleased. “So you’re now noticing the rest of our community. Excellent.”

“We’ve been staying away from the tavern,” Charlotte explained. “We didn’t want you to think we were harassing you.”

“Perish the thought.” Jordan headed for the sink, opening the cupboard door directly above.

“Interesting one-sided conversation,” Carol observed.

“Self-destructive and delusional,” Jordan corrected. She reached for a glass, only to find that they weren’t where she’d put them—the cupboard was full of cleaning supplies.

She frowned. She could’ve sworn she’d put them there yesterday afternoon … She opened the cupboard to the right, where she’d put the dinner plates, and found cereal.

“What are you trying to find?” Charlotte asked, looking helpful.

“Glasses. I know I put them in here.”

“We moved the crystal, china, and cutlery into the butler’s pantry, where they belong.”

“You rearranged my kitchen?”

“They did?” Carol asked, laughing. “Fantastic.”

“A well-organized home is the foundation—” Charlotte began.

Jordan turned on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen, heading upstairs. “You’ve got to take pity on me and at least prescribe some nice tranquilizers,” she said to Carol.

“I’m far more worried about what Drake’s up to.”

“He wanted to arrest me, but Darcy and Jase talked him out of it.” Jordan used the glass she’d brought up to the hall bath the evening before to gulp down some water, then summarized the meeting for Carol.

“I’m definitely taking the next flight up there.” Carol sounded worried. “You need me.”

“What can you do, other than sit around and wring your hands? I asked Jase to hire a PI, and as we speak, he’s busy investigating, trying to crack people’s alibis and find out who fed the police information. Really, all we can do is wait and see what he digs up.”

“So Jase took your case? Good . I Googled him—he used to be hell on wheels.”

He still is .

Jordan blocked that thought and headed for the bedroom, but she was halted at the doorway by the dog, who was sniffing the air and growling. She glanced inside. Nothing seemed out of place.

Shrugging, she walked around the dog while she described her interactions with Didi Wyeth to Carol. “What’s your off-the-cuff profile? Is she capable of murder?”

There was a moment of silence while Carol thought. “Well, of course, I’d need to interview her to be certain, but yeah, I think she’d probably be willing to skewer anyone who messed with her career. And you said her breakup with Ryland was picked up by the gossip columnists, right?”

“Yes, but what’s the saying—‘Any publicity is good publicity’? So why would having the sordid details of their breakup splashed across the front page of The Hollywood Reporter harm her career?”

“Sweetie, she jumped into bed with L.A.’s most notorious psychiatrist, who was in the middle of being sued for sexual harassment by his client. That doesn’t exactly make her look stable. And whereas the general consensus was that you deserved sympathy, given Ryland’s slimy morals, I’m sure most folks thought Didi had a screw loose. If I were a film producer with two hundred million of my investors’ cash at stake and a bonding company to keep happy, I’d think twice about casting her.”

Jordan sighed. “You may be right, but she has an alibi.”

“Wait and see what the PI turns up—I’ll bet she’s lying. My money is on her infamous temper.”

“Well, I can vouch for the temper,” Jordan said wryly.

“You sure I can’t visit for a few days and at least provide moral support?”

Jordan thought about the wisteria and the gritty film that had settled over everything. Definitely not Carol’s preferred milieu.

“I’ve got two words for you,” she replied. “Plaster dust.”

“I just became the least supportive best friend you’ve ever had.”

“I thought you’d see it that way.” She flipped the phone shut, setting it on the nightstand next to her bed.

Given the revelations of the day, she felt eerily calm. Of course, there was probably only so much stress her nervous system could take before it completely shut down its fight-or-flight response. Maybe she was a walking zombie at this point. So the possibility loomed that she might hang just like Frank Lewis, for a crime she didn’t commit. So what? So there were a few extra ghosts populating her reality. Not a problem.

She changed into sweats. Glancing out the bay window, she noted that Frank hadn’t stirred from his post across the street. Their gazes locked for one long moment, and he inclined his head. She closed the fragile lace sheers, ridiculously reassured that he was standing watch for the night.