"Full Bloom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evanovich Janet, Hughes Charlotte)

Chapter Six

"I hate going into this attic," Annie told Wes that evening. "It always gives me a bad case of the heebie-jeebies. I've seen a couple of bats up here." She shuddered.

He followed her up a short landing that led from the third floor to the fourth-floor attic, the only room on that floor. "I'll bet this is where Destiny's spirit spends most of her time."

Annie gulped and missed the next step. She teetered, but Wes immediately reached out and prevented her from toppling and knocking him down the stairs as well. Instead of releasing her once she'd regained her footing, he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him.

Annie was very conscious of her hips pressing into his hard body. "Um, Wes?"

He nuzzled the back of her neck. "Yeah?"

Annie closed her eyes as his lips caressed her nape. Her skin prickled, and tiny shivers ran down her spine. Oh boy, she thought. The man only had to touch her, and her body went ape-shit.

"Excuse me," she said, using the same tone Theenie used when she took Erdle to task over his drinking. Wes kissed his way to one ear and nipped Annie's earlobe gently with his teeth, and she forgot what she had been about to say. Her bones started to melt.

"I want to make love to you," he said.

Instant adrenaline rush, followed by flash of heat low in her belly, followed by shaky noodle legs. Not a good sign.

Wes turned her around, looked into her eyes. "What d'you think?"

"Um." Annie gave herself a mental shake to clear her head. "We should probably think about it carefully. We don't want to rush into anything."

"We don't?"

"Definitely not. I have it on good authority that men and women who fall into bed out of simple lust only end up feeling empty or disappointed because despite meeting their sexual needs, lust does not address emotional needs. They often experience guilt, resentment, and low self-esteem. Even worse, they are at higher risk for sexually transmitted diseases. If you watched Oprah or read 'Dear Abby' you'd know that."

Wes just looked at her. "You're serious?"

"Absolutely. They offer sound advice on just about every subject, ranging from office affairs, ending relationships gracefully, to tips for getting along better with your mother-in-law and the drawbacks of body piercing, to name just a few." Annie paused to draw in breath.

Wes looked confused. Finally, he released her. "So do you want me to go into the attic first?"

"Yes, please. And check for bats."

He opened the attic door, found the light switch, and flipped it on. He stepped inside. Annie waited just outside.

"Wow, there's a lot of stuff in here," Wes said.

"Do you see anything flying around?"

"Nope. Don't worry; I won't let anything get you."

Annie peered inside the open doorway. When she didn't see any ugly black objects darting about, she stepped inside but remained close to her point of exit. "I sorted through a ton of boxes after my grandmother died, and I donated a lot of items to the women's shelter. But that was before the bat flew at my hair. I almost killed myself trying to get out of here."

Wes lifted several sheets and peeked beneath them. "You've got a lot of cool antiques."

"My grandmother refused to part with anything that was handed down through the family. No telling how long they've been up here."

Wes motioned toward several tall file cabinets along one wall. "Is that where you keep your income tax records?"

Annie nodded. "Third cabinet, top drawer," she said. "They're filed by year and marked as backup copies." She remained where she was as Wes crossed the room, opened the file drawer, and pulled out what he needed.

"I'm assuming you and Charles filed jointly?" he said.

"Yeah." She told him what years to look for.

Annie was relieved to leave the attic behind. Returning to the kitchen, Wes set the files on the kitchen table and began flipping through one of them.

"What are you looking for?" Annie asked.

"Charles's Social Security number, credit card receipts, cell phone bills, and anything else that might be helpful."

"He charged all his business expenses on American Express."

Wes found an envelope marked: Business Receipts. He opened it, thumbed through them, and pulled one out. "Where is the Hilltop Steakhouse?" he asked.

"It's in Mosely, about twenty-five miles from here, on the way to Charleston."

"The two of you went often?"

"I've never been."

"Obviously he took somebody, because there are eight or ten receipts and the bills are pretty steep."

"Those were probably the nights I stayed home and ate tuna fish sandwiches."

Wes glanced up at her. "He traveled?"

Annie nodded. "His boss, Norm Schaefer, owns several real estate franchises in and out of state, so they often took turns attending monthly sales meetings, and Charles enjoyed going to various seminars, mostly geared toward sales or real estate. And there were golf tournaments and fishing trips with customers. Mostly out of town, of course," she added flatly.

Wes checked his watch and closed the folder. "There's a lot to go through here," he said, "and it's getting late. Why don't we call it a night and I'll look through the files first thing in the morning? In the meantime, I'll keep this in my room, away from the others."

Annie knew Wes would probably spend most of the night studying the files, but he was trying to spare her feelings. "Just so you know, I've gotten over Charles's indiscretions. You don't have to keep secrets from me."

"Good." He smiled. "Tell you what, Red. I'm going to need the latest picture you have of him."

" 'Red'?"

"It seems fitting."

Annie hurried into the formal living room and opened a cabinet along one wall. She pulled out a photo album and flipped through the pages, quickly bypassing her wedding pictures. She found a couple of photos of Charles taken only a few months before his disappearance. She felt a dull sensation in her stomach as she studied them. Finally, she carried them into the kitchen and handed them to Wes.

He gave them a cursory glance. "Not a bad-looking fellow."

Annie shrugged. "I guess I wasn't the only woman in town who thought so." But she didn't want to think about Charles. Her big toe was hurting, and she needed to get off her foot. "I suppose I should get to bed."

"I'll follow you up."

Wes carried the files upstairs. He reached his room before she did hers. "You might want to have a doctor look at that toe if it doesn't feel better in the morning," he said once she'd arrived at her bedroom door and opened it. She frowned, wondering how he knew the toe was giving her problems when she'd been so careful to hide it.

But she had a feeling Wes Bridges knew or suspected more about her than he was letting on, and that worried her.

* * * * *

It was not yet 6:00 a.m. when Annie finished frying bacon and stirring blueberries into a large bowl of batter for waffles that she planned to serve for breakfast once her guests began waking. This was her favorite part of the day, the house so quiet she could hear the leaves on the live oaks rustling in the breeze just outside the window over her sink. She had added an extra place setting in case Danny arrived early, and she'd filled a carafe with coffee and put on a fresh pot. She poured a second cup, grabbed her notepad, and carried them to the table, where she started her daily list.

Max and Jamie's rehearsal dinner was only a few days away, and the wedding was drawing nearer. So many things to do in the meantime, she thought, even though she, with the help of Theenie and Lovelle, had managed to tackle several major cleaning projects after the Christmas and New Year's guests had gone and all the decorations had come down. The marbled entryway and pillars had been cleaned, as had what seemed miles of solid mahogany baseboards, elaborate trim, wainscoting, and floor-to-ceiling panels in the study. The porcelain tubs and sinks in all six bathrooms sparkled, and Annie had spent a solid week on her knees scrubbing the tiled floors and walls, oftentimes using old toothbrushes to get the grout clean as well.

Perhaps if she concentrated on what remained to be done she wouldn't spend so much time worrying. Not that worrying had ever solved a thing, her grandmother had told her many times after Annie had moved in and found herself tackling the expenditures and upkeep of the mansion. She wished her grandmother had worried more and spent less money so that Annie hadn't been forced to pinch every dime and nickel of her inheritance to renovate the spacious eight-bedroom mansion and prevent it from falling into total disrepair. Not only had the woman lost a bundle in the stock market; she'd also donated money to every imaginable cause.

Annie's mother, Jenna, who'd married money and profited greatly when she'd divorced Annie's father, Gunther Worthington III, had little to do with her own mother and wasn't concerned about expenditures, since the woman had always lived frugally when Jenna was growing up. However, when Jenna discovered, after her mother's death, that the family fortune had dwindled to almost nothing, she had been furious.

"So much for your inheritance," she'd told Annie. "I should have my head examined for not taking that woman" — as she often referred to her mother—"to court and having her declared incompetent. Not to mention that old geezer who managed her finances. All you have now is a tacky broken-down whorehouse."

There were times Annie wondered what her grandmother had been thinking when she'd made Annie promise not to sell the house, and times Annie wondered what she had been thinking when she'd agreed.

Annie glanced up at the sound of boots on the stairs. Wes was dressed in his usual faded jeans and a blue work shirt that emphasized his tan complexion. He paused and glanced around. "Where is everybody?"

"Sleeping. Theenie's light was still on when I got up during the night to see to Peaches. Theenie sometimes sits up late reading."

"How long have you been up?"

"Since five. I like getting up early so I can spend a few minutes by myself before putting breakfast on. The house is so quiet and peaceful this time of day."

Annie wondered if he had any idea how good he looked in the morning, fresh from his shower. Not that he looked bad in the afternoon and evening as well, she thought. The man was too damn handsome for his own good. "How about a cup of coffee?" She started to get up.

"Sit," he ordered. "I can get it myself." He crossed the kitchen, opened the cabinet, and reached for a coffee mug. He filled it and joined Annie at the kitchen table. "I see you're planning your day," he said, noting her list. "You forgot one thing."

Annie glanced down. "I did?"

"You haven't scheduled any time for R and R. When's the last time you went dancing or enjoyed a nice meal in a restaurant, where it wasn't up to you to clean up afterward?"

"I don't remember."

"Your problem is you spend too much time closed up in this house."

"You're saying I'm boring."

He looked thoughtful as he reached over and stroked her cheek. "You are the least boring person I've ever met. You've surrounded yourself with people who love you, and you obviously enjoy what you do." He pulled his hand away and reached for his mug.

"But?"

"I don't see you taking much time out for yourself. You're always looking after other people. I guess my question is: who takes care of Annie?"

"It works both ways. These people are the closest thing I've ever had to a real family. Not that my grandmother didn't love me dearly," she added quickly, "but I was more like her caretaker."

"What about your parents?"

She smiled. "They are very nice people, but they had no idea what to do with a child. My mother much prefers me as a grown woman who will lunch and shop with her when I visit, sip expensive wine by the pool, and make sympathetic noises while she regales me with horror stories of growing up in this house. That way she doesn't have to feel guilty for staying away all those years."

"Do you see her often?"

"No, she hates this place, and it's hard for me to visit her in Atlanta with my business and all, but we usually talk on the phone once a week. Only right now she's spending a month with friends in West Palm Beach. Our lifestyles are vastly different."

"Does she know about the recent discovery in your backyard?"

Annie shook her head. "I'll tell her about it when it's all over. No sense worrying her."

"What about your father?"

Annie chuckled. "Like I said, a very nice person who still has no idea what to do with a child, especially a grown daughter. He lives in the south of France, sends nice checks for birthdays and Christmas, which I use to make ongoing repairs to this house."

"Brothers and sisters?"

"Nope. You?"

"There are seven of us, three girls and four boys."

"Holy cow!"

"I'm the middle child, who, according to statistics, gets the shaft. Somebody obviously didn't inform my family of that fact, because I pretty much had it okay." He picked up his and Annie's coffee cups, refilled them, and carried them to the table.

A noise from the stairs caused them both to look up. Destiny nodded a weary "good morning" as she cleared the last step and paused, giving a huge yawn and blinking several times as though she was trying to make herself fully awake. "Coffee," she said, stumbling toward the pot.

Annie noted the tired look on her face. "Another sleepless night?"

Destiny nodded. "Dead people don't sleep. I need to check on my apartment, see when I can return." She sank into a chair across from Wes. "Not that it matters. Once a spirit person latches on to me they usually follow me everywhere. Until I convince them to go to the light," she added. She glanced at Wes. "You don't believe a damn word I'm saying. You think I'm crazy."

He shrugged. "I've noticed a few oddities around here that don't seem to have a valid explanation."

"Now you know."

"I wish there was something I could do to help," Annie said.

"Do you believe in spirits?" Wes asked her.

She hesitated. "Okay, I'm going to tell both of you something I've never told anyone, only you'll have to keep quiet about it because I don't want to frighten the others." She spoke quietly. "My grandmother used to talk to herself. At least I thought she was talking to herself, but when I finally asked her about it, she told me there was a woman, a ghost, trying to communicate with her." Annie paused and looked at Destiny. "You were right. There were many times I felt a presence. Some of my guests have reported seeing things, some sort of apparition, and sometimes I would see something out of the corner of my eye."

"I don't know why you're trying to hide it from Theenie and Lovelle. They've suspected for some time. As for your fears that it might hurt your business, I think it could draw people. Do you have this place listed on a Web site?"

Annie shook her head.

"Lucky for you I know someone who might be able to design one for you," Destiny said. "You've met Jamie's editor, Mike Henderson."

She nodded. "What does he charge?"

"He worships me; he'll do it for free. But you have to be willing to give all the facts about the house, because that's what is going to draw people."

Annie wondered how much Destiny knew.

"You mean the part about it being a brothel at one time?" Wes asked.

"How did you find out?" Annie asked. "Not that it's a secret. Most people know the history."

Wes avoided a direct answer, but he grinned. "The house pretty much speaks for itself, Annie."

She nodded. "Supposedly it closely resembles the way it looked back in the eighteen fifties. My grandmother had an old photo album of pictures taken after it was built, but I haven't seen it in years. I suspect it's somewhere in the attic." She gave an eye roll.

"This spirit was one of the women who lived here when it was a bordello," Destiny said. "Unfortunately, I can't get any information from her because she's mute."

Wes cocked a brow, and Destiny went on. "In most cases, spirits who hang around long after they've died have suffered a tragic death. Most of them are still in shock; sometimes they don't even know they're dead. In the case of this particular spirit, she was strangled to death. She has the marks on her neck."

It was the first time Annie had heard about the marks, and she shuddered. "You're right," she said. "If you read the history of this house you'll learn that her name was Lacey and she was a prostitute. She was murdered by her lover, who was promptly hanged."

Destiny pondered it. "I think she may have witnessed the hanging," she said. "That, combined with her murder, may have traumatized her so badly that she can't speak. Or," she added, "her vocal cords may have been severely damaged in the strangulation."

Wes shook his head. "This all seems pretty farfetched. Why are you able to see the spirit so clearly and the rest of us can't?"

"Because I'm psychic and more open to this sort of thing," Destiny said. "She wants to communicate with me, but she can't, which leaves her frustrated and angry. Which is why she sometimes throws things, mostly my stuff," she added, "and that, combined with almost no sleep, pisses me off. I'm usually more patient with spirits.

"Anyway, I recently began having visions of what it was like back then. I see women dressed in corsets and gartered black stockings and wearing heavy rouge; I see well-dressed gentlemen following them upstairs." She suddenly sneezed. "Only the wealthy could afford to visit. Does the name Fairchild mean anything to you?" she asked Annie.

"Oh yeah. The Fairchild family settled here before the Revolutionary War. They were wealthy and highly respected. Some became politicians. There are still a few descendants living here, but most of them moved to Charleston."

"For some reason I keep seeing that name in my mind." Destiny shrugged. "By the way, the house does look much the same as it did back then." Another sneeze. Annie went for the box of tissues. "Except for the kitchen and some of the furniture," Destiny added, yanking a couple of tissues from the box.

Wes looked intrigued by what Destiny had to say, but it was difficult to tell how much, if any, of it he believed. "How often do you have these, um, visions?"

"I can't predict them," Destiny said. "Sometimes they're very clear; other times they're vague and I spend hours trying to decide their meanings." Destiny sipped her coffee in silence for a moment. "Having this spirit around could work to your advantage," she told Annie.

"How?"

"Spirits are not limited by time or space. I'm willing to bet Lacey knows who murdered your husband. She probably saw the whole thing."

Annie gaped.

"Which is why I wish she would communicate with me," Destiny went on. "I probably shouldn't have yelled at her for getting into my stuff. I'll probably have to start sucking up to her if I hope to get her to cooperate. I hate sucking up to dead people."

Annie laughed. "Could you imagine me marching into Lamar Tevis's office and telling him some ghost had solved the murder?"

Destiny shook her head. "No, but if this spirit could tell us who the killer is we might be able to point Lamar in the right direction."

Annie heard a noise at the top of the stairs. "We need to drop the subject for now. I don't want the others to know." She barely had time to get the words out of her mouth before Lovelle came down, dressed in gray slacks, a silk dove gray blouse, and a cream-colored cashmere sweater.

"Good morning, ladies," she said brightly.

"Boy, you look nice," Annie told her. "What's the occasion?"

Lovelle patted her hair. "I'm having breakfast with a friend, and then we're driving to Savannah for an art show."

Annie smiled. Although Savannah was only forty-five minutes away, she could not remember when she'd last been. "Sounds fun."

Lovelle draped her sweater over one chair. "I wish I could find my fuchsia scarf. I always wear it with this outfit."

Destiny looked up. "It's in my room. I meant to bring it down and ask who it belonged to."

"Well, how in heaven's name did it get there?" Lovelle said.

Destiny shrugged. "Probably the same way my lingerie ended up in Wes's bathroom."

"Hey, you didn't hear me complaining," Wes said. "I like having women's lingerie hanging over my shower rod. I have a thing for lacy black garter belts."

All three women looked amused. "Let me grab that scarf," Destiny said.

Lovelle looked at Annie. "This is getting out of hand. Every time I turn around I'm missing something. Yesterday Theenie accused me of taking her favorite nightgown. You've seen it, that flannel thing she wears with blue dogs and pink kittens. As if I'd be caught dead in old lady flannel," she added.

Someone knocked on the door. Annie answered it and found Lamar Tevis on the other side. "Good morning, Annie," he said. "Sorry to stop by so early, but I thought we might talk a bit." He glanced about the room. "Preferably in private."

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, no. I, um …" He paused and cleared his throat. "I need to discuss a few things with regard to your husband's, um, remains."

Wes got up from his chair. "I'd like to listen in if you don't mind."

Annie led Wes and Lamar into a large sunroom that had once served as a sleeping porch. Windows lined the room and had offered relief during hot summer months before fans and air conditioners were invented. Wes and Annie took a seat on one of several sofas; Lamar chose a chair opposite them.

Lamar pulled his small notebook from his shirt pocket and thumbed through several pages. He wore a sad smile as he regarded Annie. "I don't suppose this will come as a surprise to you," he told her, "but all the evidence we found on or near the remains that were discovered on your property proves without a doubt that they are those of your husband." He paused as though waiting for her to take it all in. "I'm sorry, Annie."

Wes reached for her hand. "You okay?"

"Yes." But she wasn't. Not really. She felt a deep sadness that the man she'd been married to had lost his life at such an early age.

"What was the cause of death?" she asked.

Lamar hesitated. "I'll get to that in a minute, but first let me tell you what we do know. The coroner faxed his findings to me; in laymen's terms, your husband suffered a broken neck and head trauma."

Annie realized she was holding her breath. "Did he suffer?"

"I suppose he could have been unconscious at the time, but the head injury didn't penetrate the skull, so there's no reason to suspect that's what killed him."

"So he died from a broken neck," she said.

Lamar wiped his hands down his face. "We don't really know at this time."

"You don't know?" she asked.

"The coroner claims the vertebra was still intact, so it's highly unlikely there was damage to the spinal cord or any kind of obstruction that would have interfered with normal breathing. I know we don't have all the answers, but I'm pretty impressed with what the coroner was able to come up with, seeing as how he's not one of those experts. I can't think of what they're called at the moment; it'll come to me."

"Forensic anthropologists," Wes said.

Annie looked perplexed. "Why wasn't Charles taken to the Medical University in Charleston, where their methods are more advanced? I thought that was the normal procedure for suspicious deaths."

"That's true," Lamar said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, "but our coroner insisted on taking a look, since we don't get many cases like this. Some of our law enforcement people stood in on the exam, so it was a learning experience for them."

Once again, Wes and Annie exchanged glances. She frowned. "You're saying my husband's remains were not immediately sent to Charleston because the local coroner decided to use them for teaching purposes?" She didn't give Lamar a chance to respond. "Good grief, Lamar, the man isn't even a bona fide medical examiner. Did you not consider Charles's family or how anxious we might be to find out what happened to him?"

Lamar shifted uncomfortably in his chair and stared at the floor. "Annie, I'm sorry to say it gets worse." He shook his head sadly, and it was obvious he did not want to tell her.

"Why don't we stop beating around the bush here and get to the point?" Wes suggested to the man.

Lamar continued staring at the floor. "Annie, I regret to have to tell you we've, uh, lost your husband's remains."