P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

Great . She was crying over the death of the person who was sitting across the table from her. Her life couldn’t get any more Twilight Zone–like unless she invited the ghost of Rod Serling to dinner.

“I still don’t think Seavey murdered you,” she said for what felt like the twentieth time.

“How can you say that?” Hattie glared through eyes swimming in tears. “He kidnapped Charlotte, he threatened me—”

“He loved you,” Charlotte countered, sniffling. “If you’d simply looked , you would’ve seen it. I don’t care what kind of man he was, he fell for you the moment he set eyes on you, the night of the fire.”

Jordan agreed. “He tried to tell you he was innocent—you just didn’t want to believe him.”

“Right after he took me to the hotel room where his men were holding Charlotte,” Hattie pointed out.

“Okay, true. But what about Clive Johnson? If you unionized, Johnson had as much to lose as Seavey. Johnson easily could have murdered you and framed Frank. Did you have any contact with Johnson again after you tried to fire him?”

“No,” Hattie replied. “But remember, Timothy was coming to the house with daily reports, so I had no reason to visit the office. And once Charlotte had been kidnapped, Johnson could’ve burned Longren Shipping to the ground—all I cared about was bringing her home safe. But I’m certain Timothy would’ve informed me if Johnson were up to something.”

“Only if he witnessed it, and I doubt Johnson would’ve allowed that to happen.” Jordan propped her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands while she thought. “No, it’s all wrong—Seavey’s profile doesn’t match that of a murderer.”

Hattie gave her a look of sheer incredulity.

“Okay, what I meant was, he didn’t have the psychological profile of a man who would’ve murdered you . I’m betting anyone who got a visit from Seavey’s thugs knew exactly what they’d done to deserve it. Seavey didn’t kill in anger—he killed for cold-blooded convenience , for business reasons.” Hattie opened her mouth to argue and Jordan raised her hand. “And let’s not forget that you agreed to his conditions that night. So really, he had no reason to kill you—at least, not unless you failed to live up to your end of the bargain.”

“He could’ve worried I’d go behind his back and tell Greeley who had kidnapped Charlotte.”

Jordan shook her head. “Seavey had warned you of the consequences. He knew you were too smart to risk Charlotte a second time. No, if he had anyone to fear, it was Frank. And it would’ve been far easier to kill Frank—Seavey would’ve had to get past him to get to you. Why not simply kill him?”

“Because Seavey needed someone convenient to take the blame,” Hattie said. “I doubt Chief Greeley could’ve overlooked murder, even if Seavey did have him on his payroll.”

She had a point. Jordan rubbed her face with both hands. Outside, the sky was lightening to the east. She’d actually stayed up all night, trying to solve a century-old murder. She ought to have her head examined. “I know I’m missing something, but I’m too tired to figure out what it is.”

“Who do you think killed Hattie?” Charlotte asked, speaking up for the first time.

“Good question,” Jordan admitted. “And at this point, I don’t even know where to look for the answer.”

“What about Seavey’s personal papers? If he loved Hattie as much as I believe he did, then he would’ve written about her death. He would’ve been devastated by it.”

“Well, of course he would’ve.” Jordan stared at her, amazed that she hadn’t thought of it herself. “Not only that, he had the resources to hunt down the killer himself. Brilliant!”

Charlotte preened, then her smile slid a little. “Maybe not. You’re assuming Seavey didn’t believe that Frank murdered Hattie.”

Jordan started to tell them she knew Seavey had visited Frank after the trial, then realized she’d have to explain how she knew that. It was getting damned confusing, trying to keep straight what information she could tell which ghost. She stood to leave. “It’s worth a shot, anyway.”

They gave her blank looks.

“It’s worth the time it will take me to at least check out the theory.”

“Oh. Where’re you going?” Hattie asked as Jordan jogged toward the front hall, the dog on her heels.

“Upstairs to find Seavey’s papers. Charlotte’s right—the clues have to be in his personal journal entries between the time of the murder and Frank’s trial, because he wouldn’t have been able to sleep until he knew who’d killed you.” She grabbed the kitchen door frame, halting her progress long enough to ask, “What was the date of the soirée?”

“June 6, 1890,” Charlotte said.

“Do you want us to make you an espresso?” Hattie called after her. “We’ve been watching how you—”

“Do not touch my espresso machine!”

* * *

JORDAN located Michael Seavey’s papers, then sorted through them until she found a packet of loose, yellowed pages in handwritten script, bounded by a rubber band. The minute she tried to pull the rubber band off, it disintegrated. Pages fanned out, dropping onto the bed and the floor. Gathering them up and stacking them in their original order, Jordan sat down on the edge of the bed and began to read the entries around the date of the soirée.

June 3rd — I’ve come to the unfortunate conclusion I must take action to halt the rapidly escalating situation with regard to Clive Johnson. Sadly, the man has become more of a liability than an asset. I’ve always felt his unhealthy predilections regarding young girls would cause him trouble one day. To kidnap girls to appease his appetites, then once tired of them, to smuggle them overseas, is certainly distasteful. However, since being barred from the local brothels following the incident with the prostitute Isobel, his activities have begun to affect his business judgment. Still, I remained uninvolved, though increasingly concerned—that is, until I discovered he had decided to spread the rumor that I am behind the kidnappings. This, of course, is unacceptable and has to be dealt with .

Jordan resisted the urge to scream, because of course Seavey hadn’t felt the need to explain how he had dealt with the situation. If Seavey had pressured or beaten Johnson, he’d actually increased the man’s motivation to murder Hattie, whom he would’ve considered the source of his problems. Jordan started flipping through pages, looking for another reference to Clive Johnson.

June 5th — Today saw a disturbing development. Hattie Longren, whom I’ve come to admire, accused me of kidnapping young Charlotte. Though it will no doubt take me a period of time to recover from learning Hattie could think me capable of such an act, I am determined to get to the bottom of what has happened. To this end, I have ordered my men to bring Clive Johnson to the hotel. Clearly, my procrastination in dealing with him has jeopardized the sister of someone I care for. I can only hope I’m not too late to save the lovely Charlotte from Johnson’s disgusting proclivities .

With regard to Hattie, I find myself tormented by a personal dilemma most unusual … I’m deeply angry that she could suspect me of such a heinous crime, and yet, when I would typically strike back in kind, I find myself unable to. My instinct is to help her and to keep her safe, not to destroy her. I must overcome this new weakness in my character .

Jordan laid the papers on her nightstand. So she’d been correct about Michael Seavey all along—he’d loved Hattie, whether or not he understood the emotion well enough to recognize it. Her faith in charming psychopaths was entirely restored.