Ghost in Trouble (2010)

I would have enjoyed exploring the subtleties of the white bedroom. Wherever I looked, I saw unusual decorations: a photograph of a polar bear on an ice floe with brilliant blue sky the only note of color, an ivory miniature of the Taj Mahal at sunset, a framed Alencon lace bridal handkerchief with the intertwined initials CKH, an all-white spiral seashell in an alabaster box lined with red velvet, a lustrous white costume pearl necklace dangling from a red coral branch. Instead, as soon as the door closed after Diane, I became invisible and followed her.

In the hallway, I hovered near the frescoed ceiling, white clouds shot through with gold against a blue sky. Diane stood at the landing, her head turned to look up toward the third floor. She shuddered and whirled away. She hurried downstairs, her shoes thudding on the steps as if she could not go fast enough.

I dropped by the Phillipses’ suite. Laverne lay back on a chaise longue, a magazine loose in her lap. Alone, all pretense of imperiousness was gone. Her heavily made-up face sagged, lines of uncertainty and foreboding pulling at her lips. She lifted a shaking hand to massage one temple.

I bypassed Diane’s suite and the unoccupied guest rooms. Jimmy Hume wasn’t in his room. At the other end of the hall, I entered Evelyn’s suite. The impress of her personality was everywhere, from Stickley furniture to art- glass windows to Mission-style lighting to a vibrantly warm still life by Helen Clark Oldfield. The oil painting in an understated white frame hung by itself in the center of a cream stucco wall. On a teak table rested a silver-handled magnifying glass. How much did Evelyn see when she held the oversize glass close to the canvas? Perhaps a dim melange of Oldfield’s rich colors. Was possession of beauty enough in itself to give her pleasure?

Downstairs, Margo worked in the kitchen. Her face was pinched in thought. She looked dour. Evelyn Hume sat at a piano in an alcove off the living room, her expression remote, her hands forceful as she played a polonaise. Ronald of the white shoes was not in any of the ground-floor areas, nor did I find Jimmy Hume or Shannon Taylor.

I stood in the central hallway. I almost materialized to go to the kitchen when I decided to look over the grounds. The sound of a steel guitar led me over a row of poplars. Below was a sparkling swimming pool in the shape of a T and a cabana.

Green-and-cream-striped awnings provided shade. Jimmy Hume lounged on a cushioned deck chair. He wore swim trunks, but they appeared dry, and a laptop was propped on his knees. The music thrummed from speakers mounted on the cabana. I floated behind him, read over his shoulder.

…and the oil-bearing layers are reminiscent of a sponge, in that…

I moved to the other side of a hedge and swirled present as Francie the Frump. My soft-soled flip-flops made no sound as I strolled around the greenery and crossed the deck. “Hello.”

He looked up in surprise, but put aside the laptop and came to his feet.

I appreciate good manners. He was also a hunk, dark hair thick on his tanned chest, flat stomach, powerful legs, and the good looks of the Hume men.

“May I help you?” His voice was youthful, but confident. Millions in the bank have a way of instilling confidence.

“I’m Francie de Sales, Kay Clark’s assistant. I wondered if I might visit with you for a moment.” I pushed up the granny glasses and endeavored to appear innocuous. Of course, that is always a challenge with red hair, despite a lack of makeup.

He closed the laptop and gestured toward a white wrought-iron table and chairs. When we were seated, he looked at me inquiringly, but said nothing. He reminded me of a long-ago movie actor, Montgomery Clift.

I explained in a diffused and rambling fashion that I was gathering material for the book about Jack’s life. I leaned forward, pen poised above an open notebook, my expression earnest and slightly dim-witted. “I hope you will describe your uncle’s last few days. I understand you had a difficult exchange with him the day he died.” I made my tone confidential and sympathetic.

His face twisted in a frown. “So who’s mouthing off about me?”

“My sources are confidential.” I sounded regretful. “Of course, that’s why I am asking you. Everyone deserves to defend themselves.”

“There’s nothing to defend.” He was clearly angry. “I tried to talk to Jack and he blew me off.” There was depth of pain in Jimmy’s anguished eyes. “He treated me like I was a stranger.”

I felt an instant of connection with Jack Hume. That final day a powerful force had driven him. Something mattered terribly to him, mattered so much he couldn’t take the time to understand his nephew’s distress.

I was also touched by Jimmy’s misery. There was grief in his eyes as well as anger. “Did you want to talk to him about Shannon?”

“Jack blew her off, too. I’d never seen her so upset.” Jimmy was gruff. “I didn’t want her hurt, not like that. She had a big-time crush on him and he made her feel like a silly fool. I knew all along that Jack wasn’t serious about her, but he shouldn’t have dumped her like that. I was going to tell him he was a jerk.”

“Is that why you threatened to knock him flat the next time you saw him?”

Jimmy’s jaw jutted. “Yeah. I would have. After dinner, I was going to make him pay. I went up to the balcony.”

I looked at him in a confused fashion, but there was no confusion in my mind. “Let me see. I thought he fell down the balcony steps. If you went that way—”

Jimmy shook his head. “I was inside. I came up the interior stairs.”

I observed his handsome face. I liked him. I wasn’t sure I believed him.

“I went through the ballroom and out to the balcony. He wasn’t there.” Jimmy looked half sick. “If I’d gone down the steps, I guess I would have found him. Instead, I went back into the house.”

Shannon Taylor wasn’t in the house nor was she attending Evelyn. Outside, I floated above The Castle. In addition to the workshop, I saw a long building with five bays that obviously served as the garage. I caught a glimpse of white beyond a row of willows. In an instant, I stood in front of a modest frame house with a screened-in porch.

Inside, Shannon sat on a cheerful yellow chintz sofa. She looked young and lovely in a rosebud-embroidered