Southern Ghost

'Have you seen or talked to Courtney Kimball?' Max didn't try to keep the eagerness from his voice.

Annie ached for him. He still felt responsible because he hadn't reached his young client in time.

'Wednesday afternoon,' Enid said briskly.

Annie tried not to get excited, but this was as close as they'd come to Courtney Kimball in three days of searching. Wednesday afternoon!

'I was at work—we had two hundred chicken potpies due at the County Horticultural Building—that's out at the fair­grounds—by five o'clock. She insisted she had to talk to me. I told her straight out I was too busy. She didn't want to take no for an answer. You can tell she's always had her way.' The

resentment of a lifetime crackled in the words. 'So I'm not surprised when you say she was Sybil and Ross's girl. It's in her blood.' A meager smile curved her lips in reluctant trib­ute to the kind of personality that sweeps the world before it. 'I couldn't help but kind of like her, bright, smart, brash—and pretty, very pretty. Yes, I can see Ross Tarrant in her face, now that I know. He was always the handsomest one. The best of the bunch. He saw me as a real person—talked to me about going to college and what a difference it could make in my life. I couldn't believe it when he killed himself. The only thing I could figure was that Sybil had thrown him over, and he took it too hard. Sybil's the kind of woman—and that was as true twenty years ago as today—who lives from her heart. That will hurt you pretty bad. She broke down at the funeral. I thought it was a guilty conscience. Anyway, that girl Court­ney's got Sybil's wild streak, I can tell you that. I saw it in her eyes. Not afraid of the devil himself.' She pursed her lips. 'Maybe she'd have been better off if she'd had the sense to be afraid.'

'What happened?' Annie urged.

'I don't put up with sass. Not from anybody. White or black.'

Annie didn't doubt her for a moment.

'When she saw I meant what I said—I wasn't going to fool with her right then—she kind of laughed, and gave a shrug, and said, 'So you're upfront about things. Then answer one question for me and I'll leave. Of all the people who were at Tarrant House when Judge Tarrant and his son died, who can I trust?' ' There was grudging admiration in Enid's dark eyes. 'Not many people ever get around me. She did. I didn't have an extra minute to spare. Eliza Jones had called in sick. Proba­bly her son'd beat her up again. My best driver had the mumps. Thirty- four-year-old man with the mumps! I was busy six ways from Sunday. But I took the time. I told her, 'Not a single one of them.' I told her if she wanted help from someone in the family, old Miss Dora was the only one I'd put any stock in. Then I shooed her out the door and went back to my chicken pies.'

Had Courtney tried to contact Miss Dora on Wednesday? Obviously, she hadn't succeeded. Otherwise, Miss Dora would have told them, Annie was certain. But she made a mental note to check with their employer when they met her at Tar­rant House in the afternoon.

'What time was this?' Max asked.

'Just after two. I was keeping a close eye on the time, I can tell you. I deliver on time. And I did on Wednesday.'

Was that pride of ownership? Or was Enid Friendley trying to show she was too busy to have been involved in Courtney's disappearance?

Annie attempted to sound casual. 'So you made your deliv­ery around five. What time did you leave the fairgrounds?'

Enid took just an instant too long to answer. When she did, her words were clipped. 'I finished the cleanup, still two short in my crew, about nine o'clock.'

Max gave her his most charming smile.

There wasn't a quiver of response on Enid's face. Annie wondered if Max felt a bit as though he'd smashed headfirst into a brick wall.

Undaunted, Max continued good-humoredly, 'I suppose that like every business in the world, there's always some crisis —major or minor—in completing a job. Did you have to get back to your kitchen for anything?'

Once again, her response was just a beat too slow. 'One dessert carrier was left behind. I went back for it, but returned directly to the fairgrounds.'

Annie was pleased that Max let it drop. It was obvious that Enid read the newspapers and knew when Courtney had last been heard from and equally obvious that Enid had been away from the fairgrounds at about that time.

'You didn't see Courtney again?' Annie asked.

Enid bristled. 'No. Why should I? I didn't have anything to do with her disappearance. You can look to the Tarrants for that.'

'We are,' Max said soberly. 'As for the Tarrants, what can you tell us about the day the Judge was murdered?' Enid smoothed her unwrinkled skirt. 'That day . . . It

was a lovely day, soft and warm. It smelled good, spaded-up dirt and honeysuckle and wisteria and pittosporum. I didn't usually work on Saturdays, but I'd had the afternoon off earlier in the week.' Her narrow face was sleek and satisfied. 'I'd enrolled for the summer session at Chastain College.' She darted a quick glance at them. 'If you've found out much about Judge Tarrant, you'll know he often helped students—poor people—to go to school. He gave me the money to start college. Actually, that was the last week I was to work there. But, because of what happened, I stayed on for a few weeks, after the funerals, to help with packing things away. That kind of thing. But that Saturday I was there, catching up on the ironing. So I was in the laundry rooms behind the kitchen.' She scowled. 'I hated being a servant.' Her voice was controlled but Annie heard the resentment, saw it in the flash of her eyes. 'Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am, scrubbing up after people like they were kings and I was a slave, all for barely enough money to buy a little food. And people so proud of themselves. The Tarrants. The kind of people who bought my people, bought them like a broom or a shovel and threw them away when they couldn't work in the fields.' Now those slen­der brown hands were laced tightly together. 'I started in Tarrant House, but I'll tell you this'—she lifted her chin—'I could buy Tarrant House now. I wouldn't want it, but if I did, I could buy it.' Her eyes were cold. 'People so proud of themselves, so used to telling people like me what to do. So high and mighty, but they had their secrets, all of them. The Judge—I wonder what all his fine friends would have thought if they could have seen the pictures he kept locked in the wooden box in his room.' She flicked a glance at Annie. 'Not the kind of pictures you'd know about—women tied up. And other things.' Dark amusement glinted in her chilly eyes. 'Such a high and mighty man. Just goes to show, you know, that white hair and a gentleman's face don't mean much. The next week, after the Judge died, I saw Miss Amanda slip out of the house