P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

She glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. Three o’clock. This was ridiculous—she hadn’t pulled an all-nighter since graduate school and had no intention of doing so now. Reaching out, she switched off the light, then lay back, pulling the covers over her as best she could, given that the dog had most of them pinned beneath him. Two minutes later, she turned the light back on and glared at the watermarks on the ceiling.

Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and trotted downstairs to the kitchen. How did one go about conjuring up ghosts, exactly?

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” she called.

After enough time had elapsed that Jordan was contemplating some sort of ritual dance to awaken sleeping spirits, the air shimmered, and the ghosts appeared in their assigned spots at the kitchen table. Both were wearing high-necked, ankle-length flannel nightgowns sporting lace and ruffles. Their hair hung in single braids down the center of their backs.

“Really,” Hattie admonished her, yawning. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Why do you care? Do ghosts actually sleep?” There had to be at least four yards of material in their nightdresses. Thank God football jerseys had been invented.

“Well, of course! We need our beauty rest, after all. And it’s not as if we’re part of some children’s parlor game. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are’? Please . Simply call our names and we’ll appear.”

“My apologies.” Jordan’s tone was sarcastic as she dealt with the espresso maker. “I just finished your diary. You have to tell me what happened the night of Eleanor’s soirée.”

“And you needed this information so badly you had to awaken us at three A. M.?” Hattie’s tone was querulous.

While the machine heated, Jordan ground beans. “I still don’t know who killed you,” she admitted. “I know about Frank’s attack, the abduction, and Seavey’s proposition. But that’s far from the proof I need to convince anyone Seavey murdered you.” And as added inducement, I now have another ghost breathing down my neck, criticizing my performance .

“What do you need to know?” Hattie asked.

Jordan poured her espresso and sat down at the table. “Tell me exactly what happened the night of the party.”

“Well, Charlotte was kidnapped the day before Eleanor’s soirée, as you probably know by now.” She smiled sadly at Charlotte. “Remember? You had wanted so badly to attend.”

Charlotte nodded, then gave her a look of encouragement.

Hattie’s eyes lost their focus, her mind in some distant place. “Mona and I had come up with a plan to free you, you see. She would have Booth find out who was holding you, and the location within the tunnels where you were being held. Then we would bribe the guards to turn you over to us. Once you were back at the house, we’d decide whether to try to force Greeley to press charges against your kidnappers.”

“You must have been so scared,” Charlotte murmured.

“Yes. The party was torture. Seavey was watching my every move. I thought it would never end. But around midnight, I slipped through the library doors while Scott Joplin was playing. He traveled the country back then, you may remember, playing at opera houses and brothels to support himself while composing his songs.” Hattie’s expression turned momentarily wry. “I always thought it ironic that Eleanor, of all people, would allow him into her home. But his music was so popular she probably overlooked his questionable connections.”

“Never mind that.” Jordan noted Hattie’s careful omission of Greeley’s refusal to help find Charlotte, assuming it was to spare Charlotte’s feelings. “Go on,” she urged.

Hattie drew a breath. “The guests were so enthralled with the music that no one ever saw me leave. Or if anyone did notice, they must’ve thought I was slipping out to the garden for some fresh air.

“The moon was bright, and there was already dew on the grass. My evening slippers were soaked through before I’d even made it halfway across the garden. Isn’t it funny the impressions you’re left with? I can still feel the cold damp soaking through my stockings.” She sighed. “Anyway, all I could think was that damp feet and ruined shoes were of no consequence, that I had to get to Charlotte. Seavey’s men had had almost thirty-six hours to do whatever they wanted, and though Mona wasn’t saying as much, I knew she feared the worst.”

Charlotte placed her hand on Hattie’s arm. “They never touched me. Seavey must’ve given them an order not to harm me. Oh, they talked about what they’d do to me when they got the chance, and they kept me petrified with the descriptions, probably so I wouldn’t fight to get away. But mostly, they just forced me to drink a foul-tasting tea of some kind.”

“Probably drugged,” Jordan surmised. She nodded at Hattie to continue.

“After a block or so,” Hattie said, “I thought I’d gotten away without Seavey realizing it. So I moved as fast as I could, trying to stay in the shadows of the buildings along the waterfront, hoping no one would see me.” She clasped trembling hands on the table. “I was afraid I’d be waylaid, you see. Danger abounded on the waterfront that late at night. If I’d had the bad luck of some group of drunken sailors spying me, keeping me from my destination …” Her face twisted. “As it turned out, I needn’t have worried.”

“Why?”

“Because Seavey caught me and dragged me into a dark alley before I could get inside the Green Light. Mona never even knew I’d arrived.”

Jordan almost dropped her espresso. “So Seavey did follow you.”

“Oh, yes.”

The Price Paid

MICHAEL Seavey wrapped an arm around Hattie’s waist, lifting her away from the Green Light’s door and clapping his gloved hand across her mouth to muffle her screams. He dragged her into the darkness at the end of the alley, silently swearing when her teeth sunk through leather into the fleshy part of his palm.

Holding her pressed between his body and the rough brick wall of the courthouse, he whispered into her ear, “Cease your struggles, my dear, if you ever want to see Charlotte again.”

She went limp.

“Excellent.” He turned his head as the back door to the Green Light opened. “Ssshhh.” Mona’s butler leaned out and scanned the alley, listening. After a moment, the man shrugged and went back inside, closing the door.

Michael loosened his grip slightly. He turned her so that her back was to the wall, his hand still firmly pressed against her mouth. From the look in her eyes, she would have spit at him if he’d given her the chance.

He said quietly, “If you promise not to scream for help, I’ll remove my hand.”

She nodded her head fractionally, and he lessened the pressure of his glove, waiting to see whether she’d keep her end of the bargain. When no sound other than her harsh breathing was forthcoming, he took a step back but kept hold of her upper arms.

“Unhand me!” she spat in a harsh whisper.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Though I suspect you’ve already ruined an expensive pair of kid gloves,” he added wryly, “and I’ll probably have a sore hand for days.”

“How dare you follow me, attack me!” One cheek was already reddening where it had scraped against the brick wall, and her eyes shone with unshed tears.

He shook his head. “Your plan to rescue Charlotte was foolhardy and doomed to fail—my bodyguards can’t be bribed. However, I will take you to her now.”

Hattie’s breath hitched, her expression turning wary. “There is a condition—I must know it.”

“Yes, very astute of you. I need your promise that you will tell no one of the events leading to Charlotte’s rescue.” He noted her confusion, but he added to forestall any further questions, “On this I am unyielding, Hattie. I will not explain myself, nor will I tolerate any prevarication on your part. I won’t risk arrest on kidnapping charges.”