Deadline

“Melanie’s daughter,” Lester repeated more to himself than the other man. Relieved that the woman hadn’t been Melanie after all, he slumped against the cold wall. “Christ almighty, I thought for sure it was Melanie. That she was one of those reincarnations and she’d come back to make us pay just like old woman Burns said she would.”

The other man swore again. “How many times do I have to tell you there’s no such thing as ghosts. Only drunks with shit-for-brains believe in all that voodoo crap.”

Lester didn’t argue. But he knew what he knew. He’d heard the stories about Jody Burns’s mother, how she’d lived for a time in New Orleans in the French Quarter. Sin City, his own momma used to call the place because the people there were wicked. They even messed with black magic and stuff.

“De Roach, did you hear me?” he snapped.

“What?” Lester asked, pulling his attention back.

“I asked if you said anything to her.”

“No. I never said nothing to her,” he said. No reason to admit that he’d told her to stay away from him, he decided. After all, it wasn’t like they’d had a real conversation or anything. “I just got my stuff and got out of there as fast as I could. Then I called you.”

“Okay. Good. That’s good. It’s best if she didn’t notice you. She didn’t, did she?”

“No,” he answered quickly. “Like I said, she was paying for gas and getting directions from the kid behind the register.”

“Directions to where?” he demanded.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t paying no attention.”

“Try to remember, De Roach,” he insisted.

Lester thought for a moment, tried to recall what the kid had been saying to her. “She wanted to know how to get to one of those guesthouses.”

“Which guesthouse?”

“I don’t know. One with a name like a flower or a tree or something like that.”

“The Magnolia Guesthouse?”

“Yeah. That’s it. That’s the place. The Magnolia Guesthouse,” Lester told him.

“All right. And you’re sure she didn’t say anything else or ask questions about anyone?”

“I already told you what happened. She paid for her gas, got directions and left. And then I got out of there as fast as I could,” Lester repeated. He jammed his fist into his jacket pocket and his fingers brushed against a slip of paper—a gas receipt. He must have picked it up from the floor at the Quick Stop when he’d had to crawl around and pick up the beers he’d dropped. If he were to tell the guy now that the bitch had dropped it when her purse had fallen, it would only piss him off. He wouldn’t understand how scared he’d been and that he’d grabbed the thing in fear.

“All right. Then I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

“How can you be sure?” Lester asked, not wanting to admit that he was still afraid. “I mean, if she is Burns’s kid, then she’s come back here for a reason. Maybe she knows what we did and she’s here for revenge and—”

“Would you stop saying that shit?”

“But if she knows—”

“She doesn’t know. Nobody does.” He all but spit out the words. “You got it?”

“Yeah. I got it,” Lester muttered grudgingly. Still, he had to ask, “So we aren’t going to do anything? Just sit around and wait?”

“I’m going to do some checking around, confirm she is the Burns kid and then find out why she’s here. And while I’m doing that, you are going to go home, lay off the booze and keep your damn mouth shut. Understand?”

Lester muttered his favorite four-letter word.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Lester grumbled.

“So, do you understand me?” he repeated.

“Yeah, yeah, I understand you.” But he sure as hell didn’t appreciate being given orders by the likes of him. Just who in hell did he think he was? If it wasn’t for him, the son of a bitch wouldn’t be where he was. The bastard owed him. They all did. None of them had had the balls to pull off the gig. They had needed him then, he remembered. They still did. And he’d show them, too.

“Then go home and keep your mouth shut. And, De Roach?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t call me anymore.”

“But suppose she finds out that we were there that night?” Lester fired back, the panic building again.

“She won’t.”

“But what if she does? I’m not going to sit around and do nothing if she comes after me.”

“She’s not going to come after you.”

“How do you know?” Lester asked.

“Because I’ll take care of her. In the meantime you need to keep your mouth shut. And don’t call me again.”

Then the line went dead.

Lester stood there listening to the dial tone. “Self-righteous prick. I’ll show you. I’ll show all of you,” he yelled into the receiver before he slammed it down onto the phone hook so hard that it fell off. Not bothering to pick up the receiver that dangled from the aluminum cording like a doll’s arm, Lester stormed away. He stuffed his curled fists into the pockets of his jacket and headed for his truck.

He climbed inside the dirty old pickup, too angry to notice the torn seats, the empty beer cans on the floorboards, the overloaded ashtray or the stench of cigarettes and fast food. He grabbed one of the two remaining beers, popped the top and chugged it down to calm his nerves. When he finished, he threw the can on the floor and then reached for the last one. He opened it, drained half the can, then leaned his head back against the seat. Closing his eyes, he sighed as he felt the buzz start up again.

When he opened his eyes again, he took another swig of beer. Then he pulled the crumpled gas receipt from his pocket and smoothed it out. For a moment, he remembered looking into those spooky gray eyes again and his hand trembled. “Not a ghost,” he reminded himself, shaking off the attack of nerves.

He hit the interior light switch of the truck, but nothing happened. Then he remembered the thing had been out for months. Lester angled the piece of paper near the dashboard so that the overhead light from the parking lot fell on it. Squinting his eyes, he could barely make out the name stamped on the receipt because the inked copy was so faint. “T. Abbott,” he read the name aloud. At least that’s what it looked like to him.

“Abbott,” he repeated as he sat back in his seat and took another swallow of beer to steady his nerves. Why did that name sound familiar? he wondered. But the buzz in his head was getting louder and his limbs were feeling looser. He’d remember later he promised himself, and started up the truck’s engine.

Maybe he’d go by his sister Doreen’s tomorrow. Her kid had a computer. Could find out all kinds of stuff on a computer these days. With a name and credit card number, he could probably even find the bitch’s bra size. Laughing out loud at his own joke, Lester pulled the pickup truck out of the parking lot and onto the road.

Yep, that’s what he’d do. He’d go to Doreen’s and tell her he was hunting for a job out of state. Yeah, she’d buy that. She was always after him to clean up his act and get a good job.

And once he found out who the woman was, he’d call that asshole and rub his arrogant nose in the information. He’d show him. He’d show them all. Lester De Roach wasn’t no fool. He was smart. Just as smart as the rest of them. And just like the last time, he’d be the one who saved all their asses. Only this time they were going to have to pay him for his help.

He put the beer can to his lips and drained what was left in it. Wishing he’d thought to grab an extra six-pack from the Quick Stop since the kid had let him go without paying, he debated going back now, but decided against it. No point in pushing his luck. The kid might ask him to pay for what he’d already drunk. So he continued on and headed for the battered unpaved road that led to his own place.

When he reached it, the tires on the truck hit the deep ruts in the road, jostling him. As something furry dashed across the road to the other side, Lester swerved hard, hit another rut in the road and ran the truck into a tree. “Damn rabbits and coons.” He’d have to get his rifle and go hunting soon or the varmints were going to take over the place.

Putting the truck in Reverse, he sent the tires spinning as he hit the gas pedal, then he jerked the gearshift into forward. In need of another beer, he hit the gas pedal harder and sped toward home. As he did so, he kept thinking about Melanie Burns and those spooky ghost-gray eyes.

Seated at his desk, he hung up the phone and skimmed down the Mississippi government’s Web site, clicking on the bio for Senator Theodore Abbott. Skipping over his political accomplishments, he went straight to the personal data. And there it was, the name Tess Abbott, listed as the granddaughter he and Mrs. Abbott had raised, now working as a TV investigative reporter in Washington, D.C.

After jotting down the station’s name, he exited the site and typed in Washington, D.C., then the station’s name. When the Web site popped up, he scrolled over to the news-staff listing and clicked on the icon marked Tess Abbott. He stared at the smiling female whose image filled the screen.

Damned if De Roach hadn’t been right, he thought. The girl did have Melanie Burns’s eyes. Picking up one of the prepaid cell phones he kept for just this type of occasion, he dialed a private number, which was answered on the second ring.

“Yes?”

“We may have ourselves a little problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Another loose end,” he explained. “One that talks too much and could be damaging to you.”

“You assured me that Jody Burns was the only loose end we had to worry about—that when he killed himself this would be over.”

“I thought it would be, but something else has come up. It’s nothing I can’t handle as long as no one starts spilling their guts. I can take care of it for you.”

“How much will it cost me this time?”

“The same as last time.”

The other man swore. “All right. Take care of it.”

“Since it’s so close to home, I’m going to bring in an associate to handle it.” While he hated giving up any of the money and could easily handle the situation himself, he opted to play it safe. That idiot De Roach may have called him from someplace where the number could be traced back to him, and this was no time to take chances. “But don’t worry, it won’t cost you any more.”

“You can afford it with what I’m paying you.”

It was true, he admitted to himself with a smile. The association the two of them had formed all those years ago had afforded him a good life—a life he had no intention of giving up just because De Roach was a loose-lipped drunk.

“Whatever you do, just make sure that you keep my name out of it.”

When the line went dead, he sat back in his chair. Unlocking his desk drawer, he retrieved the small black book he kept hidden in a secret compartment. He dialed another number, safe in the knowledge that the call was routed through an intricate untraceable network system across the country.

“Father Peter.”

The man smiled at the irony. “Father, I have a donation for the church. I’d like you to say a mass for a sick friend.”

“And what is the name of your sick friend, my son?”

“Lester De Roach.” He’d long admired the creativity of the man who made the contracting of a hit sound like a donation to a religious group.

“And did you have a particular mass that you want me to remember him in?” he asked.

“Tomorrow if possible. Or just as soon as you can.”

“Consider it done. I’ll remember him in my morning prayers,” he promised.

“Thank you, Father Peter. I’ll put the donation in the mail to you in the morning.”

“It’s my pleasure to be of service, my son. God be with you.”

He hung up the phone and smiled again. This time tomorrow Lester De Roach would be with God or, more likely, with his counterpart in hell.

Tess braked when she approached the first red light. As she waited for the light to change to green, she opened the candy bar and bit off a chunk. The calorie-laden chocolate was just what she needed to give her the energy to make the rest of the trip.

When the signal flashed green, Tess continued through the next two lights, traveling along rolling hills and quiet streets. The sliver of a moon and the stars that she’d noted before stopping for gas seemed to have ducked behind a blanket of clouds, making the night sky even darker. Unlike the big city, there were no neon signs flashing every few yards, and only an occasional lamppost on a street corner provided light.

Finally, she saw the sign that read Magnolia Lane and flicked on her turn signal. And the moment she turned onto the lane, Tess knew she’d made the right decision in choosing the quaint-sounding guesthouse over the two hotels in town. As she drove down the road toward the main house, she felt as though she’d stepped back in time. There at the end of the road, resting atop a bluff and surrounded by trees, was a picture-perfect Victorian house. Painted all in white, curved brackets framed the inviting front porch. As she drew the car to a stop, Tess noted the cane rockers, also painted white, that dotted the porch. She could easily imagine herself sitting there in the summertime, sipping glasses of lemonade to beat the heat.

She shut off the engine. For several moments, she sat there, staring at the house and taking in the details. Open shutters surrounded the multipaned French-style windows, giving the house an added charm and a sense of protection. She knew a little about architecture, and she recognized the columns that braced the roof of the porch were a Queen Anne design. Exiting the car, Tess continued to admire the house. She noted that the mill-work on the base of the columns featured a cloverleaf theme that had also been adapted for the rafter tails and the post brackets. The white-on-white scheme pulled it all together, giving the building a sense of unity. At the bottom of the porch, white and yellow chrysanthemums had been planted along the border of a white wooden skirt that echoed the same detailing on the house. Five wooden steps led up to the porch, where white flower boxes placed on either side of each window were filled with more lush, yellow chrysanthemums.

Suddenly eager to go inside and see the rest of the place, Tess popped the lock on the trunk of the car and hurried to the rear to gather her bags. With her suitcase and computer travel case in tow, she headed up the stairs and into the guesthouse. It was like walking into someone’s home—someone’s beautiful antebellum home, Tess amended. The floors were made of polished oak. An heirloom rug filled the center of the floor. On it rested an antique table with a cut-glass vase filled with fresh white roses.

“Good evening, ma’am. Welcome to Magnolia Guesthouse,” a lovely blond woman with a sugary accent greeted her from behind the counter. “May I help you?”

With those blue eyes, skin like milk and pretty smile, all the girl needed was a hoopskirt, Tess thought, and she would have been convinced that she had been transported back to the nineteenth century. Shoving aside her foolish thoughts, Tess walked over to the registration desk. “Hello. I’m Tess Abbott,” she said as she set down her bags. Up close, she realized the girl was a little older than she’d thought at first glance, probably in her mid-twenties. Yet she’d ma’amed her as if she was pushing forty instead of someone who had just turned twenty-nine. “I believe you have a reservation for me.”

“Did you say Abbott?”

“Yes, I did,” Tess informed her and thought she’d caught a flicker of recognition on the other woman’s face. But it was gone so quickly, Tess was sure she’d been mistaken.

“Just give me a sec,” the woman said as she punched data into a computer system.

Definitely not the nineteenth century, Tess thought, smiling to herself.

While the girl worked at the computer, Tess used the opportunity to scan the rest of the room. She noted the small silk pillows in rich jewel tones with needlepoint appliqués propped along the back of a settee. A lush green ficus tree sat in one corner. Another table with more roses sat near a window. Her gaze gravitated to the far wall, dominated by a traditional fireplace. A fire burned invitingly in the grate, reminding Tess of the damp chill in the air when she’d gotten out of the car. Her eyes lifted to the painting above the mantel. It was the portrait of a beautiful redheaded woman sitting in a garden that looked very much like the one that she’d seen outside.

“Oh, here you are, Ms. Abbott. It looks like we were expecting you yesterday,” she said in that same slow, sweet voice.

“Yes, I had hoped to arrive yesterday evening. Unfortunately, I was delayed. I did call and leave a message that I’d be arriving a day later than planned.”

“Yes. So you did. It looks like you spoke with Ms. Maggie. She’s the owner of Magnolia Guesthouse. She’s left a note in the system for me to call her when you arrive.” The girl picked up the phone. “If you’ll just give me a sec, I’ll let Ms. Maggie know that you’re here.”

A few moments later, a striking pixie of a woman with a friendly smile came bustling down the hallway. “Ms. Abbot,” she called out and extended her hand. “I’m Maggie O’Donnell. Welcome to Magnolia Guesthouse.”

“Thank you,” Tess told her.

“I realize it’s late and you must be tired, so I won’t keep you. But I wanted to talk to you about your accommodations.”

The woman was right. She was tired, and after the day she’d had and the incident at the convenience store, she didn’t need anything else to go wrong. “Ms. O’Donnell, please don’t tell me there’s a problem with my reservation.”

“The name’s Maggie,” she corrected. “And there’s no problem at all. It’s just that you requested one of the cottages and since you were arriving so late and wouldn’t have a chance to view them this evening, I wanted to suggest that you spend tonight here in the main house. Then tomorrow when it’s light and a bit warmer, I’ll give you a tour of the grounds and show you the cottages. That way you can decide which one you’d like to stay in for the remainder of your visit. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

Tess paused. She’d thought being in a cottage, away from the main house, would afford her more privacy while she investigated. She’d also hoped that she might even do some Internet research tonight on Lester De Roach.

“Of course, if you’d prefer, I can go ahead and put you in one of the cottages tonight.”

“No. You’re right. I would like to look over the cottages tomorrow. So the main house will be fine for tonight. Thank you for suggesting it.”

Maggie smiled at her. And Tess couldn’t help herself. The woman’s energy and friendliness were contagious. “Excellent. Then I’ll leave Mary Lee to get you registered and show you up to your room. Tomorrow morning, you just let me know when you’re ready and I’ll give you that tour I promised.”

“Thank you,” Tess told her, and after giving the girl behind the counter instructions, Maggie disappeared back down the hall.

“Ms. Maggie’s right. You’ll like staying here in the main house. Truth is, I think the rooms here are prettier than the cottages,” Mary Lee said in a whisper, as though she was sharing privileged information. She punched more information into the computer. “Here we go. Now, do you want to put the charges on a credit card or will you be writing a check?”

“Credit card, please.” Tess retrieved her Visa card from her purse and handed it to the girl.

The young woman zipped the piece of plastic through the machine, then handed it back to Tess, along with a receipt. “If you’ll just sign right here.”

Tess signed the receipt and the girl gave her a copy, which she stuffed into her purse.

“You’ll be in the Lady Charlotte Suite tonight,” she explained, handing Tess an old-fashioned door key, the kind that up until now, she’d only seen in old movies. “It’s right up the stairs and the last door at the end of the hall. If you’ll just give me a sec, I’ll help you with your bags.”

“That’s okay, I can handle them,” Tess told her as she hooked her computer bag to the front of her suitcase. “But thanks anyway.”

“Sure thing. Oh, by the way, we serve a country breakfast beginning at seven-thirty in the dining room. You don’t want to miss it.”

“That sounds good. Is it possible for me to get a wake-up call for six-thirty?”

“Of course. And if you need anything in the meantime, just ring down to the front desk. I’ll be here all night.”

“Thank you, Mary Lee,” Tess said, and once again she thought she’d detected something in the way the girl looked at her. An eagerness, almost as if she was bursting with a secret, Tess mused. Dismissing the notion to an overactive imagination brought on by fatigue, Tess headed toward the stairs, eager to set up her laptop and get to work. With any luck, she might just be able to find out who Lester De Roach was and whether or not he’d had any ties to either of her parents.

Chapter Five

“I don’t like this any more than you do, pal,” Spencer told the twelve-pound black-and-white cat he’d named George that sat meowing beside him on the couch in his apartment in Jackson. “But if you want me to keep you in cat food, I’ve got to finish this column. So stop with all the racket so I can think.”

Apparently insulted, George jumped off the couch and headed for the kitchen. Not that he blamed the cat, Spencer admitted. With the governor’s election less than a month away, he’d had his fill of campaign rhetoric, too. He’d also had a bellyful of Everett Caine. Damn, but he didn’t want to see that man get in the governor’s mansion. But Caine had covered his tracks well. Except for a few questionable appointments and the steering of some legal work to his cronies’ law firms, he hadn’t been able to find anything to derail Caine’s bid for the governorship, and to prove, once and for all, what a lying snake in the grass he was.

When his cell phone rang, Spencer ignored it. Instead he went back to staring at the computer screen on his laptop. Deadlines were a bitch, he thought as he looked at the half-finished column. He needed to finish the damn thing and turn it in before Hank had another hissy fit. Not to mention that the other newspapers that carried his column would be none too happy with him if he didn’t deliver the goods for which they were paying him.

Rubbing his face, he pretended not to notice that his face felt as if it belonged to a grizzly bear. He reread what he’d written.

WHAT ARE FRIENDS WORTH?

By Spencer Reed

Associated Press

Or perhaps the question gubernatorial candidate Everett Caine has been asking his friends and business associates is how much is friendship with the man who wants to be the state’s next governor worth to them? Quite a lot it seems if Saturday evening’s fund-raiser at the Ritz-Carlton in Oxford, Mississippi, is any indication. It was there that Lieutenant Governor Caine collected another $1,000,000 for his campaign war chest from two hundred of his closest friends at a $5,000-a-plate black-tie dinner. Let’s hope that for that price steak and lobster were on the menu. What shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone is to learn that three individuals, who each purchased tables of ten at the fund-raiser, have had their names mentioned as part of Caine’s management team if he should win the governor’s race next month.

While Everett Caine and his supporters are quick to point out the candidate’s record of good government, and purport him to be the man to wipe out the good-old-boy network that has long been the bane of Southern politics, this reporter has to disagree. Based on his own track record as a district attorney and lieutenant governor, Everett Caine has surrounded himself with friends who have helped him get into office. Payback? It sure seems like it to me.

Lieutenant Governor Caine claims to be the candidate who will keep his promises, a man who pays his debts. A $1,000,000 dinner is no small favor and we can only wonder how this debt will be paid, and how much it will cost the State of Mississippi and its citizens if Caine wins the governorship….