Ghost in Trouble (2010)

“Oh, James.” Her voice wavered.

I understood the familiarity. This was Jack Hume’s younger brother. The resemblance was there, but James’s portrait had no hint of the vigor and engagement in Jack’s picture by the falls.

Diane’s eyes glazed with tears. “James, you need to tell me what to do. You will, won’t you? But I can’t tell Laverne. I’m too afraid…Maybe”—her tone was feverish, intense—“you can send me a message I’ll understand.”

In the front hall, the grandfather clock struck the quarter hour. I supposed breakfast was served at eight. I still had fifteen minutes to find Jimmy. I checked the first-floor rooms, all of them silent and dim, then zoomed outside and hovered above The Castle. I spotted Jimmy on a huge stretch of grass below the second terrace. The Millie No. 1 pump jack rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

Jimmy addressed a golf ball. He swung an iron back, then down through the ball and forward. The ball hooked to the left.

I stood a few feet away. There was no joy in his practice. His face was drawn in a tight, grim frown. He hit the balls, one after another, with ferocity. If he had skill, it was lost in the fury of his swings. Usually, the balls hooked.

Finally, he glanced at his watch, yanked up a golf bag, and flung three irons into it.

The crowbar, hammer, and chisel would have fit easily into the bag.

He walked with his head down, oblivious to the chitter of starlings and the low cry of mourning doves. On the terrace, he hesitated, then swung toward the rear of The Castle. In a moment, he was looking through a window into the kitchen. His young face was taut with unhappiness, his gaze uncertain, his lips pressed together.

The Castle kitchen was impressive, everything up-to-date, with granite countertops, gleaming silvery appliances, stone floors. Daffodil yellow curtains framed the window. Shannon emptied the contents of a juicer. Fresh orange juice glistened in a clear glass pitcher. She worked swiftly, competently, but her expression was distant, as if she were far away, where no voice could reach her.

Jimmy took a step toward the door, then, with a mutter, swerved and disappeared around the side of the house.

Inside the kitchen, several platters waited on a counter. Margo’s face was flushed with exertion. She retrieved the last few strips of bacon from a skillet, dropped them onto a paper towel. “You’d better take that tray up.”

Shannon looked irritated. “As if I don’t have enough to do to get the buffet in place. Why can’t she come down to breakfast like everybody else?” Shannon added a napkin to a tray and condiments, including jam and ketchup.

I nodded in approval at a plate with bacon and sausages, scrambled eggs, a Danish, toast, and coffee. The note I’d left last night had requested that breakfast be delivered to Kay’s room at eight A.M.

Shannon’s face twisted in resentment. She turned to pick up the juice pitcher.

I used the tongs to add more bacon and eggs. I slipped an extra plate beneath the first.

“Maybe last night upset her.” Margo gestured toward the window. “I went out to look this morning. She must have been terrified.”

“Too bad the vase didn’t hit her.”

“Shannon.” Margo’s voice was sharp.

“I don’t know who she is, coming in here and acting like Jack belonged to her.” Shannon’s hand shook as she poured juice. “And she insisted on staying in his room.”

“I suspect she knew him better than anyone here.” Margo’s voice was dry.

“Jack didn’t care about her. I know who he was sneaking around to see.” Tears brimmed in Shannon’s eyes, spilled down her face. She gulped back a sob as she grabbed the tray and hurried to the door to the back stairs. She opened the door, left it ajar.

Margo’s eyes burned. “He isn’t worth your tears. He was…” Her words were lost in the clatter of Shannon’s shoes on the uncarpeted stairs.

I was waiting inside Kay’s room when the knock sounded on the hall door. From the bathroom, I heard the splash of the shower. I called through the panel. “Leave the tray on the floor. I’ll get it in a minute.” I’m quite good at mimicking voices.

I waited a moment, eased open the door. As soon as I heard the door to the service stairs close, I retrieved the tray and closed the door. As I placed the tray on a table near the window, I hummed “Oh What a Beautiful Morning.”

The extra plate was perfect. I found a glass at the wet bar and poured half the juice in the tumbler. As for silverware…I shrugged, picked up the spoon. Kay could make do with the knife and fork. I fixed the plates share and share alike, each with bacon, sausage and eggs, half a Danish, and a piece of toast. I replaced the plate cover over Kay’s portion.

Would it be remiss to begin without her? I called out, “If you don’t mind, I’ll start before the eggs are cold.”

Kay appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, pulling on a terry-cloth robe. She looked at the table and the settings. Slowly she lifted her hands, covered her eyes, waited a moment, let them fall.

“Delicious.” I added a dash of ketchup to my eggs. “Thanks for sharing.” I lifted a spoonful of eggs.

Her eyes dark, her face strained, she stalked to the table. She pawed the air, bumping my arm.

The spoon tipped and the eggs fell. Fortunately, they landed on my plate. “Don’t be rude.” I retrieved the eggs. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Get used to it.” In case Wiggins was attuned, I added, “Please.”

She uttered a sharp, short expletive, then grimly sat in the opposite chair. “A spoon in the air. A floating glass of juice. I thought a good night’s sleep would clear up my mind.”