Ghost in Trouble (2010)

porcelain vase, securely in place for many years, would topple of its own accord? Or was her early-morning inspection more sinister in intent? Was she a thwarted murderer hoping that there would be no suspicion raised about the vase’s fall?

I watched as she climbed the steps. After one initial brush with her hand at the base of the steps, she climbed with confidence. I didn’t know why she had visited the cul-de-sac. However, it was obvious now that poor vision was no obstacle to Evelyn Hume’s going anywhere she chose. Would she have noticed the not-quite-hidden tools? The old Spanish cabinet was on the way to the front door. Did she customarily reach out to touch the cabinet to confirm her distance from the door? Had her hand encountered the cold steel tip of the crowbar?

I didn’t know.

However, Evelyn Hume’s poor vision was no proof of her innocence. She could easily have walked up behind her brother on the balcony, pushed him to his death, and slipped away in the darkness, just as her hand might have gripped the crowbar that tipped the vase last night.

I glanced up at the balcony. A silent observer watched as Evelyn reached the terrace and moved purposefully toward a side door.

I landed a few feet from Ronald Phillips. His silver hair was stiff from hair spray and his Vandyke perfectly trimmed. He was natty in a blue polo and blue-and-white-striped seersucker trousers. Ronald was too much of a dandy to be attractive to me. Nor did I care for the cunning look on his face. He reminded me of a ferret. As Evelyn disappeared, he moved swiftly and lightly, his steps making little sound, to a French door.

I followed him through a ballroom to the main stairway and down to the second floor. He turned left and walked swiftly to the end of the hallway and opened a door.

Laverne sat at a desk midway across the room. She watched as he stepped inside. There was no warmth in her gaze. A lamp revealed a face with all imperfections concealed by makeup. She, too, was fully dressed. Despite the heat, she was garbed all in black, a rayon blouse, polished cotton slacks, leather sandals. “Where have you been?”

He gave a satisfied smile. “Here and there.” He had a light tenor voice. “Evelyn’s worried. She was down there nosing around the broken vase.”

Laverne’s narrow face was abruptly expressionless. “Where were you last night?”

He smoothed his beard. “Out for a cigarette. It’s damn stupid I can’t smoke in here.”

“You know how Diane feels about smoking.” Laverne’s tone suggested this was a familiar reply to an oft-stated grievance.

His face twisted in a sneer. “This place has absorbed plenty of cigarette smoke. And enough whiskey to supply a whorehouse.” His smile was wolfish. “I’ve got more stuff for James’s spirit to talk about, thanks to the historical society. The ladies there think I’m wonderful. I take them Godiva chocolates. They can’t wait to help me find stuff. Yesterday I looked at microfilms about James and Diane’s wedding. I even got some pix. Did you know Jack was part of the wedding party when James and Diane got married?”

She waved a long thin pale hand in dismissal. “Diane didn’t like Jack. She only wants to hear about her husband.”

Ronald rocked on his feet, the quick movement of a man with too much restless energy. “James will have lots to say.”

Laverne’s dark eyes were alert. “What are you doing, Ronald?”

His smile was reckless. “Looking around. I like to know what’s going on. I’m good at putting two and two together.”

Her hands clenched. “You’d better be careful.”

“Don’t worry about me. I always land on my feet.” His eyes gleamed. “Maybe you’re the one who should be careful. You went down to the garden last night.” His gaze was sharp.

“I heard that crash. You weren’t here.”

He took a step toward her. “I was here.” His light blue eyes were cold, commanding. “Neither of us left the room until you went out to see about the noise.” He took two quick steps, seized her arm. “Where was I?” His voice was silky.

“Here. With me.”

He nodded in satisfaction, loosed his grip. “I’ve been thinking about tonight’s seance. Who knows what you might hear from the great beyond.” He smiled and turned to leave the room.

As the door closed behind him, Laverne’s tight fists slowly opened. She flexed her fingers. Her face looked bleak. And frightened.

I almost whirled outside again, but decided to check the floor for other occupants. In a large bedroom, one wall contained sports trophies inscribed with Jimmy Hume’s name. The room had a comfortable, masculine appearance with brown plaid drapes and a brown rug with geometric black squares. A copy of a thriller lay open on a brown leather couch. The bathroom was still steamy. Jimmy had apparently showered and dressed and left not too long ago.

Two doors down, I found Diane Hume. This room was clearly feminine, white-and- gold French Provincial furniture, a gold Persian rug, and a plethora of knickknacks, including Chinese lacquered boxes, Hopi dolls, crystal bowls, and gleaming brass animals.

Diane arranged peach-colored dahlias in a cut-glass vase. On top of a marble table, gardening gloves rested in a basket with traces of dirt and remnants of stems. She wore a loose blue blouse and designer jeans with mud- stained knees. The anxious lines smoothed out in her face as she gently rearranged the blossoms.

When she was satisfied, she placed the vase behind a framed photograph in the center of the tabletop. She gazed at the arrangement for a long moment. She started to turn away, then picked up the silver frame. She sat in a small gilt chair and looked down at a man’s face.

He seemed familiar to me, dark hair a trifle overlong, long oval face, high bridged nose, dark eyes, well-formed lips. His gaze was remote, as if he listened to faraway music.