P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

Darcy’s expression was skeptical.

“Okay, look,” Jordan said, warming to her subject. “Seavey said in his journal entry that the man he killed had murdered Hattie ‘in retribution.’ He indicated he’d ‘persuaded’ the man to talk. That sounds an awful lot like Seavey had his thugs beat him until he talked. Seavey also said he enjoyed watching the man he’d killed die a ‘slow and agonizing’ death. A gunshot to the abdomen would qualify as slow and agonizing.”

“Okay, I might buy that. But what happened to Clive Johnson?”

“Good question … wait. Seavey talked about handling the problem with Johnson around the time of the kidnapping—he felt that by not acting sooner, he’d allowed Charlotte’s kidnapping to occur.” Jordan picked up the stack of newspapers, shuffling them to find the ones from early June. After some quick skimming, she grinned and handed an issue to Darcy, folded open to the police report. “An unidentified man was fished from the bay on the morning of June 7—the day after the soirée. The corpse was beaten beyond recognition.”

“People died almost every night on the waterfront—that proves nothing.”

“Yes, but if Seavey had rescued Charlotte by the night before, he’d already gotten hold of Johnson, forced him to reveal Charlotte’s location, then ‘handled’ the problem.”

Darcy folded the paper and handed it back to her. “You realize all you have is supposition and circumstantial evidence, right?”

“Yes, but strong supposition, and all the dates match.” Jordan replaced the newspapers and set the box back in its place on the shelf. “We know that’s what happened, even though it will never be proven in a court of law. And the psychological profile of Greeley fits Hattie’s murder—it was a crime of passion.”

Closing up, they walked back out to the police cruiser. Darcy’s expression was troubled. “This will devastate Tom.”

Jordan’s steps faltered, and she stared at Darcy in consternation. In her zeal to solve the crime, she hadn’t thought of the consequences of revealing the murderer’s real identity. Darcy was right—the family’s reputation could be irreparably harmed in the community. “So what do I do?”

Darcy started up the car and backed it out of its parking place, looking thoughtful. “Tom deserves to know. Tell him what you’ve uncovered, then show him the journal entries. Let him decide how he wants it handled. After all, you can tell Hattie and Charlotte without revealing the information publicly, right?”

Jordan thought about it, then nodded. “That makes sense. I also need to find a way to break it to Charlotte—she still believes Greeley loved her. I doubt she’ll take the news well that he was a violent, narcissistic stalker whose love for her was so twisted he murdered her sister.”

“Now, that would be an understatement.” Darcy turned onto Jordan’s street.

Jordan’s cellphone rang and she pulled it out as Darcy stopped in front of Longren House. “I’m here,” she said by way of answering. “I just had Darcy run me on a quick errand—we’re a bit late getting back.”

“Actually,” Jase replied, “I was calling to tell you I’d gotten tied up with the supplier and was on my way out the door. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

“I’ll wait for you here.” Jordan walked up the steps onto the porch with Darcy behind her.

“Oh, and JT called back—he got the name of Drake’s reliable witnesses. One, not surprisingly, is Didi Wyeth. But the other—get this—is Ted Rawlins.”

“But that doesn’t—” Jordan abruptly halted at the front door, causing Darcy to slam into her from behind.

Darcy sidestepped around Jordan. “Jesus , Marsh—” she swore, then shut up. Ted stood in the front hall, a handgun in his hand.

Jordan heard an odd coughing noise just as she saw Darcy reach for her gun.

Darcy went down without a sound.

Chapter 17

JORDAN’S phone dropped from nerveless fingers. Oh God, oh God . She fell to her knees beside Darcy, frantically searching for a pulse.

“Get up, Jordan,” Ted said calmly. “It would be best if I didn’t have to shoot you just yet.”

From somewhere deep inside the house, she could hear Malachi barking furiously and scratching. She slowly rose, keeping her eyes on the gun pointed at her, which looked really, really big. “What have you done with my dog?”

“Shut him in the butler’s pantry, where he won’t be a nuisance. I don’t like to harm animals.” Ted gestured with the gun toward the library. “Let’s have a chat, shall we?”

Jordan gave Darcy one last glance, then walked ahead of him, her heart pounding so hard it felt like a fist hitting her chest from the inside.

Charlotte was hovering at ceiling level, fading in and out, and hissing. Hattie stood in the shadows next to the French doors, her eyes on Jordan, waiting, Jordan realized, for some kind of sign from her. She glanced at Ted, who was frowning distractedly to himself. Surreptitiously, she splayed one hand out at her side, hoping Hattie understood her signal to wait.

“Hold still, Charlotte, and wait for Jordan to tell us what to do,” Hattie said.

“But I can get his gun!” Charlotte swooped right over Ted’s head, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Jordan shook her head slightly, and Charlotte retreated to ceiling level with a loud sniff.

Think , Jordan told herself. Jase would’ve heard the commotion and realized she’d dropped her phone—he was on his way, and he would have called the police. She just had to stall until the cavalry arrived. “Why don’t you let me call the EMTs, Ted? You don’t want Darcy to die.”

Ted shrugged. “Why would I care? She was in the way.” He used the barrel of the gun to scratch the side of his head, mussing his hair.

For the first time, Jordan noted that his clothes were wrinkled. Changing personal hygiene habits—a sign of deteriorating mental stability . Not that shooting Darcy without hesitation hadn’t already illustrated that salient fact.

“Killing a cop, Ted—that’s not good. You can get the death penalty.”

“Only if I’m caught, and I won’t be.”

“Just let me make the phone call,” Jordan urged. “Then you can take me to your house.”

“Don’t give him any ideas, Jordan,” Hattie admonished. “He could abduct you!”

“No. Just shut up while I think,” Ted snarled.

He paced slowly around the room, keeping the gun pointed in her direction. Through the French doors, Jordan could see Amanda weeding with her back to them, her butt swaying to whatever tune she had on her MP3 player. Chances of getting her attention were slim at best.

“I’m disappointed, Jordan,” Ted said, drawing her focus back to him. “I came to you because I lost the record contract. And you helped me, remember? I’m back on the road to greatness, and I deserve that greatness. But you’ve fucked it all up.”

She didn’t have to fake her confusion. “How?”

“You moved! Did you really think you could just relocate up here and I wouldn’t be upset?”

“But you were the one who invited me up here last year—”

“For the goddamn festival, not to buy some run-down old heap!” he shouted, straightening his arm and shoving the gun at her. “You belong at my side, in L.A. You’re perfect for me—you are the person I need to help me in my career.”

Charlotte hissed and swooped, and Jordan shot her a warning glance. “I have a career of my own, Ted.” Falling into therapist mode, she kept her tone even, her reasoning rational. If she persuaded him of his flawed logic, she might be able to get him to give her the gun. “How did you think that would work?”