Death by Haunting (2 page)

“Who’s doing the butler stuff?”

“Liam.” Bess spooned the stiff whites on the chocolate pies. “He’s not half bad . . . when he’s not under the weather.”

“Is that what we are calling him now?” I asked, as Liam had been known as Giles until recently.

It seems that Liam Doyle had been a thief by profession in another life and the Irishman had been hiding from the police under the disguise of an English valet. I guess his past had been ironed out as he was using his real name and that Lady Elsmere had decided to keep him. I know it’s hard to keep up with all of this.

Bess nodded while beating more egg whites.

I waited for her to say more about Giles, I mean, Liam, but she was silent. Darn! I continued, “That’s good. Maybe Charles and your mother can retire then.”

“June said . . . I mean Lady Elsmere,” teased Bess, giving a wicked grin, “that Daddy can’t retire from the Big House until she’s dead and buried in the ground.”

“That may not be for some time.”

Bess torched the meringue with a kitchen blowtorch, darkening the edges. “She’ll outlive us all. She’s having too much fun to die.”

“I know that things have been tried in the past to help lessen the strain on your daddy.”

“Part of the problem is that Daddy misses the house when he’s not in charge and thinks no one can do as good a job.”

“And he is right. No one takes care of this house like Charles but he’s got to oversee the farm, take care of June’s charities plus he’s on the board of the Humane Society. That’s way too much for anybody. June can’t live forever.”

“Who says I can’t?” demanded June, walking into the massive kitchen. “Are you trying to shove me into the grave, naughty girl?”

“NOOOO. We were just talking about how you make Charles’ life miserable.”

“Pshaww. Charles lives to complain. It’s one of his endearing qualities. Right, Bess?”

Shaking her head, Bess turned to study her pies. “If you say so, Miss June, but Daddy’s not getting any younger.”

“I do say so,” Miss June replied, giving me a long sideways glance. “Now what do you want? I just loaned Miss Eunice my best silver for some wedding reception you’re having at your place. Have you come to collect it?”

“If you get one of the boys to put it in my car, I’ll take it. However, you called me – remember?”

June started down the hallway. “What terrible weather to have a wedding reception. Just think of it. Supposed to be in the seventies next week. I guess the tornadoes will follow. They love to come with the spring rainstorms.”

“June, what are you rattling on about?”

“The weather. Everyone talks about the weather. Ahhemmm.”

I looked up and saw that June was standing in front of a newly acquired painting hanging in the hallway by the grand staircase.

On the wall was an oil painting of eight riders on horses racing beneath a dramatic stormy sky. It was gorgeous.

I leaned toward it. Were the horses in a race or were the riders exercising the horses and racing against the storm to get back to the barn? No, they had to be in a race as the riders were wearing silks. Looking for the name, I spied the “John Hancock” of John Henry Rouson.

“John Henry Rouson,” I mumbled out loud. “Never heard of him.”

“Oh my dear, he is very famous . . . or was. Lord Elsmere actually introduced us in England.”

“I’m not much into equine art.”

“Living in Kentucky and you don’t know who the famous horse painters are? I can’t believe that I have found a topic that I know more about than you.” June tapped her foot. “Well, what do you think of it?”

“I think it’s gorgeous. Where did you get it?”

“From Jean Louis. He brought his entire collection with him to Kentucky while he’s working on my portrait. He said he couldn’t bear not to see them for even one day. Isn’t that quaint?”

“Suspicious is what I call it. If he can’t part with them, why did he give you one?”

“Oh, don’t be such a gloomy cuss. Not everyone is on the make.”

“How much did you pay for it?”

“It was a gift. See there!”

I gave the painting a curious look.

Lady Elsmere continued, “He saw me admiring it and just gave it to me. Come. Come. You must see my new portrait. Of course, it’s not done . . . just the bones . . . but it’s wonderful. So like me.”

I followed June down the hallway to the library. She opened the door.

Inside I smelled oil paint, turpentine and the raw material of canvas. There were tarps thrown on the antique parquet floor in order to accommodate the huge wooden easel holding a very large canvas.

Behind the easel was Jean Louis puttering. He poked his head around. “Ah, bonjour mes amies.” He waved us in. “Entrez s’il vous plait. I was just cleaning my brushes.”

“I hope we’re not intruding,” said June.

“Lady Elsmere, you are never a bother. I see you bring the beautiful Josiah with you. Please come in. Madame Josiah, you have not come to visit me lately. Makes me think you don’t like me. Oui?”

“I’ve been busy with a sick friend.”

“Yes. Yes. It happened right after I arrived. Your friend, Monsieur Mathew Garth. He was shot, no?”

“Yes, and he is still gravely ill.”

Jean Louis pursed his lips. “So sad when someone is so young.”

“Yes, very sad for everyone.”

“But the bad man is dead, n’est-ce pas?”

“So they tell me,” I replied. I didn’t like to talk about O’nan. He was a rogue cop who had stalked me for several years, making my life a living hell.

“But I forget my manners; please sit. Lady Elsmere, might we have tea?”

“Of course. Please pull that rope for the butler.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I announced, opening the library door. I poked my head out into the hallway and yelled, “Hey Bess, can we have some tea?”

“Yeah, give me a minute or two,” she yelled back.

“Okay.” I closed the door. “It will be a minute or two,” I deadpanned. Yes, I did that just to be a stinker.

Lady Elsmere squinted at me with fury while Jean Louis twiddled with his mustache, looking amused.

I smiled sweetly and sat down on a couch in front of the portrait.

I hated when Lady Elsmere put on airs. After all, she was just June Webster from Monkey’s Eyebrow, Kentucky, and was raised on a farm shoveling horse manure like most of her generation. The only reason she had money was that her first husband was a genius and had invented some doohickey in his garage that made them both rich. He died of a heart attack while they were touring Europe and she then married Lord Elsmere, who was in need of a Lady but didn’t necessarily “need” a lady, if you know what I mean.

“So this is the painting,” I drawled without enthusiasm. “She already has two. The head and shoulders over the fireplace in her bedroom and the full-length portrait in the dining room.”

“Yes, but this is one of a woman in the full bloom of her maturity,” replied Jean Louis.

“You mean ancient,” I quipped.

“Really, Josiah, I don’t see why you are being so unpleasant this afternoon. If I want another portrait, what business is that of yours?”

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. I
was
being awful. “I’m sorry, June. My apologies, Jean Louis. I just had to make a difficult decision and I’m afraid that I am taking it out on the both of you. I’m so sorry. Really I am.”

June gasped, “You didn’t pull the plug on Matt, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Oh, goodness. Just for a moment I thought you had . . . well, you know.”

“Matt is doing better, but recuperation is going to take longer than expected. The bullet ricocheted in his body, hitting some vital organs.” I threw my hands up and stammered, “I . . . I hate to even talk about it. Again, my apologies for being a tyrant.”

“It is reasonable, Madame, that you wish to express your anger at the injustice of the situation in which you find yourself. However, maybe Lady Elsmere and I can take your mind off your difficulty at least for a few minutes.”

June sat beside me and patted my hand. “Jean Louis is right. Let’s talk about something else for awhile.”

I smiled kindly at June.

She clapped her wrinkled hands. “Let’s talk about my portrait. What do you think?”

Wearily I finally focused on the life-sized portrait of June complete with tiara, diamond necklace, bracelet and rings. I had to admit it was stunning and June looked rather . . . majestic.

The background was very dark, which emphasized the shimmering yellow organza ball gown that June wore, sitting with her hands folded on her lap. While her face portrayed serene countenance, it was her eyes that caught the viewer’s interest. They seemed so animated that one might say a fire was emanating from them.

“Ummm. You look rather regal.”

“Really? So you like it?” asked June.

“Now where is this painting going?”

“After my death, the University of Kentucky Medical Center will receive a large endowment . . . and this portrait as well.”

“So it is going to be hung in public then.” I stared at the portrait, not knowing how to say it. Surely she must know.

“June, I think it’s lovely, but don’t you think it looks quite similar to the 1954 portrait of Queen Elizabeth by Sir William Dargie? You know, the one where she is wearing a yellow gown and now hangs in the Australian Parliament. I mean . . . except for the face, they are almost identical.”

“Oh, Lizzie won’t mind.”

“Lizzie. You call the Queen ‘Lizzie’? I didn’t know that was a pet name for Her Majesty.”

At that moment the door opened and in weaved Liam carrying a tea tray. “Shall I pour, Madam?” asked Liam.

“No thank you. Josiah can do that.”

I made a face, as I disliked being conscripted to perform such tasks. The strength in my hands sometimes gave out without notice, causing me to drop things.

Seeing my discomfort, Jean Louis spoke up. “Put it by me, Liam. I’ll pour for the ladies.”

“Very good, Sir.” Liam put the tea tray on a small table near us and left quickly, but not before I caught a whiff of whisky on him.

I stood up. “You must excuse me. It has been a long day and I’m very tired. Shall we do this another time?”

“Naturellement,” replied Jean Louis, fluttering his pudgy hands.

“I’ll walk you out,” suggested June, giving me a concerned look. “You do look tired, Josiah.”

“You stay and enjoy your tea. My car is out back. No need for you to walk all that distance.”

“All right, but don’t forget that I will pick you up tomorrow morning at ten thirty sharp.”

I gave a blank look.

“For Terrence Bailey’s memorial.”

“Oh dear, I forgot. I promised Eunice that I would help her with the reception.”

“I’ll send Bess over to help Eunice. You go with me. Mavis would consider it a slight if we didn’t show up, being neighbors and all.”

“Won’t she consider it a slight if Bess doesn’t come?”

“Naw, she never liked Bess. Something about an ingredient being left out of a recipe that Bess was supposed to have given her years ago.”

“Okay, I’ll be ready, but I can’t stay forever. I must be home by one.”

June looked disappointed. She loved a good funeral and usually was the last to leave the wake. I think it was because she had a fondness for Jell-O desserts. At least one person usually brought Jell-O, especially if that person was over the age of sixty.

I gave a goodbye nod to Jean Louis and made my way out of the Big House, but not before Bess gave me one of her chocolate pies.

Gratefully, I accepted it. I was going to use it as a peace offering to Eunice when I told her I was going to a funeral in the morning instead of helping her.

I just hoped the pie was not going to be thrown back in my face.

3

S
ince I didn’t have the stamina to stand in long lines and June teetered as though she were going to fall over any moment, we both sat until the receiving line had thinned out.

The memorial had turned out to be a visitation. The funeral was the next day. I felt stupid sitting all dressed up in my widow’s weeds, but June loved the drama of it all.

Seeing that Mavis was getting tired of standing too, her daughter deposited her next to us. “Josiah, can you keep an eye on Mama for me?” she asked before joining her husband who was having much too good a time seeing old friends.

“No problem,” I replied.

The daughter gave a faint smile before returning to her father’s casket.

“Not like the old days is it, Mavis,” croaked June, “when we used to place our dead in the living room until the funeral?”

“It got to be too much if they died during the summer,” mused Mavis.

Both ladies cackled.

“I remember sitting up all night with my grandmother before they put her in the ground,” recalled June.

“Why did you do that?” I asked.

Both old crones looked at me as though I were a rather pretty but stupid pet.

“Robbers,” said Mavis. “They’d steal in your house and take the jewelry right off the dead.”

“Sometimes, they’d even take the bodies and sell them to medical facilities,” chimed in June.

“This sounds very Dickensian to me,” I challenged.

“Only uptown people could afford to let the funeral home keep the bodies until the burial, and even then, a family member would stay to keep an eye on the funeral home staff.

“In the deep South, the staff would cut the hair and fingernails off the deceased and sell it to the voodoo priests. Sometimes they even cut off fingers to use in dark magic,” detailed June.

Mavis nodded in agreement.

“Whatever,” I murmured.

June went on, “I hope it’s my first husband who comes for me when my time comes. I miss him so.”

I countered, “I thought the love of your life was Arthur . . .”

“Shush,” hissed June. “The dead do come for you.”

Mavis sniffed. “Oh, I see that Josiah is too educated to believe in the old ways, but I can tell you first hand that Terrence died after Mama came for him.”

June grabbed Mavis’ gnarled hands. “Really. Your mother came for him?”

I snorted with derision. I don’t know why. Hadn’t Brannon come for me after I had fallen off the cliff and was near death? Why was I being such a booger? Guess I’m ornery, that’s all.