Southern Belle (9 page)

With trepidation, Max walked into the room. More archaic symbols lined the walls, written in a shaky hand. Of course, at ninety-something, Dr. Ernest's hand might shake from age, but Max suspected fear had more to do with it. Regardless of the reason, the result chilled his skin.

"This wasn't in the paper," Max said.

"What?"

"The newspaper article. It never mentioned this room. Why would they not write up something as sensational as this? It's a bizarre story with this room."

"The photo in the newspaper came from the police. They don't want the public knowing about a possible cult thing in the backyard until they have an idea of who's responsible. That's why they haven't released the crime scene yet. Once they do, the reporters will swarm in and get their sensational story."

As Max searched for the notebook, he thought about Joshua Leed and the angry cursed ghosts of witches, the turned ghosts, that had done this. Sandra was right. They had to make sure this didn't happen to Drummond — or the police would be wrapping yellow tape across their office door, and all that would remain of Max and Sandra would have been shredded into confetti.

"You find it?"

Over his shoulder, Max whispered back, "No. Any idea where I should look?"

"Sheesh, do I have to do everything? Check drawers, check under the mattress, if you need to, pull up the carpet or floorboards."

Since the drawers were already ripped out and strewn across the floor, Max started with the mattress. Underneath, he found plenty of dust bunnies and a forgotten plate. From the floor, it appeared that the drawers had contained mostly clothing, though a few papers, too. Max checked them — correspondences with Wake Forest University and UCLA. Dr. Ernest had begged for funding support, dismissed accusations leveled against him for improperly representing himself, and argued that his research held both valid and valuable purpose. Both universities offered terse replies in the nature of
Don't contact us ever again.

Max dropped the letters and cruised his flashlight for another turn around the room. About to give up and call for Drummond's advice, he stopped the light in one corner. The carpeting had an odd bulge as if someone had pulled up the edge and failed to put it back completely.

"Max? Anything?"

"Hold on." Max approached the corner, his mouth drying up, and poked at the carpet. He slipped one finger under the edge, felt the coarse weave, and gently pulled it back. The top of a manila envelope peeked out. Max's chest tightened. Ever since moving to the South, he had learned one clear thing — nothing good for him ever came in a manila envelope. "I got something."

"Was it where I said?"

"Nope. It's in a closet." Max had no desire to hear Drummond crow about his great investigative prowess. And even though it was a stupid thing to lie about, Max had to admit he always felt a little satisfaction when he could deny Drummond a chance at bragging.

Snatching up the envelope, Max hurried out of the room. Every second longer in that house meant another second to get caught. He rushed through the living room and out the kitchen, but as he closed the door behind him, he caught a glimpse of Drummond staring at the claw marks in the wall.

Crouching, Max scurried across the yard and up the sidewalk. Sandra had the engine running. She pulled into the street, Max jumped in, and they were off.

"I really hate doing that," Max said, exhaling a long breath. "No more breaking and entering."

As she drove, Sandra pointed to the manila envelope in Max's lap. "Is that it?"

Drummond appeared in the backseat. "Of course. I told you it was there, didn't I? Don't forget, if not for me, you couldn't have done this."

"I
wouldn't
have done this if not for you."

Sandra put them on a main road, and the more distance they traveled away from the house, the better Max felt. "So what's in it?" she asked.

Max slid his finger under the envelope's lip. He pulled out a stack of papers and inspected them. "Damn. Nothing's ever easy."

"What's wrong?"

"It's gibberish."

Drummond tried to grab the papers but his cold hand slipped through. "Let me see those."

"I don't mean it's gibberish like a raving madman, I mean it's just letters and numbers. It's a code."

"That sounds like Matt. He was always a bit more paranoid than necessary."

Sandra peeked at the papers. "Tomorrow I'll get to work on that."

Both Max and Drummond gaped at her. Max said, "Since when did you become a code cracker?"

"Back when we used to get newspapers I always liked the puzzle pages. Crosswords, jumbles, ciphers."

"I know that, but you haven't done that stuff in a long time."

Sandra smirked. "You don't really think I spend all my computer time at work focused on business? I'll have you know that my Daily Sudoku, Daily Cipher Break, Mad Ciphers, and Cipher-Squad skills are also quite adept — in case we get attacked by mutant cipher-bearing zombies. Besides, who else do you know that can help out? Let me take a shot at it."

Max shrugged. "Okay."

"Okay?" Drummond said. "This is serious stuff. Not a fun, little game."

"Like she said, I don't know anybody to turn to for this, and I certainly can't do it. You?"

"No," Drummond mumbled.

"Then it's settled." Max started to stuff the notes back in the envelope when he saw a thicker page inside. He pulled out a torn black and white photograph of a young woman with striking eyes and full lips sitting in a summer dress under a tree with a weird branch like a burnt finger. It looked like a frame taken out of a movie. Mostly open fields around her and the blurry edge of a building in the distance. The setting made him think of the old-time romances with sweeping violins and passionate kisses that faded to black. But her hollow, lost, hopeless face told another story — one of tragedy and horror.

Max heard Drummond's breath catch. Turning around, he saw the ghost's focus locked on the photograph, dread covering his head like the stylish hat he wore.

"You know who this is?" Max asked.

"Looks like some girl." Drummond's tone had lost all emotion. His face colder, deader than normal.

"Who is this? Why does Dr. Ernest have her picture?"

Under his breath, Drummond said, "Son of a bitch." Then he vanished from the car.

Chapter 9

Max slept little that night. The high of pulling off a successful job, of knowing he had escaped jail, kept him up at first. But then his mind tumbled over black and white images of the woman in the photo. What had happened to her to cause those beautiful eyes to look so haunted? Why did Dr. Ernest include the picture in the coded file? And what about her spooked Drummond?

By the time Sandra woke, Max had already eaten a toasted bagel and granola cereal. She glanced at the cold pot of coffee and grunted.

"Sorry," he said, picking a raisin from his teeth. "The last thing I needed was caffeine. I'm still wide awake."

She shuffled over to the counter and poured the dregs into a mug. "You'll crash this afternoon." Placing the mug into the microwave, she added, "Are you excited about the case or are you thinking about that picture?"

"
Excited
is not the right word."

"Confused, then?"

"How about
terrified?
"

The microwave beeped and Sandra sat with her head over the steaming mug of day-old coffee. "That seems a bit much. We've handled stranger cases than this."

"Never one that involved Drummond lying like this or one in which he sees a photo and runs off."

"Maybe we should confront him. Ask him directly."

"How much more direct could I have been last night?"

Sandra placed a hand on her forehead. "Not so loud, hon. Coffee hasn't kicked in yet."

"When it does," he said, softer but no less urgent, "I need you to figure out that code."

"Last night, you guys doubted me completely, and now you think I can just figure it out instantly. Unbelievable."

"I'm not expecting miracles. That's the point. I need you to get started because it's going to take time, and something tells me we don't have a lot of that left."

"You're getting hunches now?"

Max shared a smile with her and kissed the top of her head. "Watch out or pretty soon I'll be a full-fledged detective. Hunches and everything."

"Don't worry. I'll put all my effort into that code."

"You'll do great. Do you want to work at the office, or are you going to stay home?"

She lifted her coffee cup. "No decisions, yet."

"Well, when you're fully caffeinated, let me know. I'm going to take a shower."

Within minutes, hot water cascaded down Max's body, soothing not only his weary muscles but also his weary mind. He knew better than to attempt to solve everything at once. One step at a time and all that. And the first step, after his shower, would be to question Drummond.

"Sorry about taking off last night," Drummond said.

Shouting, Max slipped and crashed to the bottom of the shower. The jolt on his rear sent painful vibrations straight up his spine. "Really? You can't wait until I'm out of the shower and dressed?"

He heard Sandra race up the stairs. "You okay in there?"

"Fine," Max called back. "Drummond surprised me, that's all."

"Drummond's in there?"

"I am, my dear," Drummond said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

After a short pause, Sandra went downstairs without another word. Max grabbed a towel, dried off, and stepped from the shower. He looked at Drummond and shook his head. The ghost hovered above the toilet, hunched over either in thought or with the urgent need to use the facilities.

"You know there's a toilet in the office?"

Drummond raised an eyebrow. "Cute. Now can we focus on the case? Has your better half cracked the code yet?"

"Of course not. She's only waking up, and it's going to take some time."

"Can't be that hard."

As Max dressed, he shot Drummond an incredulous smirk. "I dare you to say that to her face." He sat on the edge of the bed. He felt like a mountain climber pausing long enough to see the steep path ahead but knowing that if he stopped for too long, it would be twice as hard to get going again. "Tell me about the woman in the photo. Who is she? Why is she important?"

"She's not. Never was."

"Then you admit to knowing her."

Drummond's face tightened. He loomed over Max, his head brushing the ceiling, and a misty darkness flowed off his shoulders like fog made of shadows. "You listen to me," he said, his voice deepening to the point of vibrating Max's bones. "We're not going to pursue her. She's got nothing to do with this case. Do you understand? Nothing."

"Calm down. Don't get so excited." Sandra's warnings about evil-turning ghosts reverberated in Max's mind. "I understand. I do. Whoever the woman is, she's not important to our investigation."

"That's right." The dark mist drifted into the bathroom looking like more steam from the shower. "Let's stay focused on Dr. Ernest and the Hulls. Forget about the photograph."

"Good idea." Max watched as Drummond returned to his normal, ghostly self.

"Huh?" Drummond blinked fast as he looked around. "Sorry, pal. I think I dozed off. Didn't know I could still do that. I guess you're so boring that my old instincts kicked in. So, what's a good idea?"

It took Max a few seconds before he believed that Drummond had forgotten the last moments, but once he did, he decided to take advantage of that fact. "You, um, had the idea of going into the Other and seeing if you could find Dr. Ernest. After all, he died quite recently. He might be lost and looking for some explanation."

"Yeah. I suppose so."

"It's a good idea. You go to the Other, find him, and tell him all about us. He'll be able to help discover his own murderer."

Drummond smacked his hands together. "That is a good idea. Glad I thought of it. Okay, I'm off for the Other."

"Good luck," Max said. Though he didn't expect Drummond to find anything useful — probably stumble upon some smalltime hood that picked the wrong day to go haunting houses — Max did hope Drummond's excursion would eat up most of his day. In the meantime, he hoped to give Sandra all the quiet she needed to work on the code. He would go back to the office, and —

His phone rang.

As Max picked it up, Drummond waved good-bye and disappeared. "Hello?" Max said.

"Please. Get here quick."

"Who is this?"

"She's coming for me. You've got to help."

"I think you've got the wrong number."

"Mr. Porter, please. This is Joshua Leed. If you don't get here soon, I think I'll be murdered like Dr. Ernest."