Ghost in the Wind Read online

  Tessa Boynton walked into the den, saw us around the table and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she said quietly, as if she’d just made a loud noise in a library.

  I stood up. “No reason to be, Tessa,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Oh, nothing!” Tessa seemed horrified. “I’m fine, really. I’ll just leave you to your dinner.” And she turned and left before I could protest.

  I looked at Josh. “Should I go after her?”

  “You probably should,” Liz volunteered. “She’s your guest, and you’re in the customer service business.” Liz ran a successful consulting firm, so I took her at her word.

  “You’re right, thank you,” I answered. “That’s just what I should do.” I walked into the hallway, saw no sign of Tessa and walked back into the den to resume my seat. “Well, that was easy. Thank you, Liz.”

  “You’re going to let her tell you how to run your place?” Maxie seemed appalled when I would have expected her to be amused. Practiced, I ignored her.

  I thought Melissa was going to feel my forehead for signs of fever. Even Josh’s eyes had lit up with curiosity. Dad, in the corner over the fireplace, paid no attention to the commotion and looked up the chimney, head through the brick, no doubt checking to see if I needed to fire up a creosote log before the season began in earnest.

  “Not at all,” Liz said. She had probably never heard of sarcasm, but to be fair, I wasn’t showing any intentionally. “We businesswomen have to help each other out when we can.”

  Jesse opened the glass doors from outside, letting in a cool breeze. Everyone looked up (except those who were floating overhead and had to look down). “Anybody seen Tessa?” he asked. “I think she’s hiding from me.”

  “If she has a brain,” Maxie offered.

  “I haven’t seen her,” I said lightly, resisting the urge to give Maxie a stern look. I do that so often the urge barely even makes itself noticed anymore. “Have you looked on the beach?” I asked, despite it being clearly where he’d just come from.

  “I’ll have to go back and check,” Jesse said. “Hey, is that chicken?”

  We admitted it was, and while he didn’t actually ask for any food (“I had a salad for dinner and I’m stuffed”), he did look longingly at the table until Melissa offered him a biscuit. He took it like a grateful puppy and headed back from whence he’d come.

  “Maybe having the dinner in this room wasn’t the best idea,” I said to no one in particular.

  “I was going to say something, but I figured I’d be polite.” Liz.

  A.J. bailed me out this time. “I think it’s a lovely room,” he said. “Would someone pass the green beans, please?”

  Josh did so, but not before Berthe Englund walked in from the library side. “I should just open up an ice-cream stand in here,” I muttered, then stood up. “Hi, Berthe! What can I do for you?”

  She reacted much like Tessa had, seemingly stunned to encounter people eating in here and somehow embarrassed, as if she’d intruded on us doing something private. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Didn’t know you were eating.”

  “It’s absolutely fine,” I said, walking toward her before she could turn tail and run. Liz could not have another chance to tell me how a good businesswoman operates. “Please. I’m at your service. What do you need?”

  “You’re sure it’s not an intrusion?” She looked mortified.

  “Of course not. Would you care to sit down?” I gestured toward the table, only then realizing the only available seat was my own.

  “On what?” Maxie asked, laughing.

  Paul, I’d noticed, was watching each guest who walked in, getting close to their faces and examining them intently. He doesn’t really think he can determine who is guilty of a crime this way, but he does seem to get some information about each individual character. I’m not sure if it involves close observation or some odd intuition.

  “No, I’m fine,” Berthe said. “I was wondering if we might—that is, some of the people staying here—mostly Tessa and me—we’d like to put on a movie in the room, you know. Is that okay?”

  “As long as it isn’t Lawrence of Arabia,” Maxie offered. She was in an especially wise guy mood tonight, which only made me more irritated. I had guests besides my guests, I was trying to make a good impression and there was a decent chance there was a murderer in the house. Listening to Maxie be “hilarious” was the step too far, but I couldn’t say anything for fear of looking rude to the invisible person. Ghost etiquette is very tricky.

  “I’m planning a game night for later, but of course you can,” I told Berthe. “Do you need help setting it up?”

  “No, thank you,” she answered. “It’s pretty simple. We’ve already done it, to tell you the truth. Just thought it would be a good idea to say something to you before you heard noise coming from in there.”

  “Feel free. Enjoy the movie,” I said. “What are you watching?”

  “Die Hard,” Berthe said, heading toward the movie room. “The first one.”

  Well, at least nobody seemed especially upset about spending time back there when a man had been knifed to death the last time we tried to show a movie.

  Once Berthe was gone, I resumed my seat, although dinner was almost over by now. Melissa had not mentioned a dessert, which was just as well. Liz struck me as one of those women who hears the word chocolate and goes into a diatribe about how unhealthy anything that tastes good must be.

  Still, it was my mission to convince her that I was the greatest thing since sliced kale, so it was back to work. “So tell me about consulting,” I said. “It sounds fascinating.”

  “I’ve already told you twice,” Liz answered.

  “She steps in when a business is faltering and sees to it that the bottom line improves,” A.J. jumped in. He turned to Liss. “It’s really a pretty simple process.”

  “Fascinating,” I repeated.

  “Hardly simple,” Liz muttered.

  Melissa, who had likely decided I’d gone mad, asked, “May I go watch the movie after we clean up?”

  “You can go ahead now,” I told her. “You cooked. We’ll clean up.”

  Faster than one of John McClane’s speeding bullets, she was up and gone. I stood to start clearing the table, undoubtedly missing the incredulous look Liz was giving me.

  “Die Hard?” she said.

  I picked up my own plate, plus Melissa’s and Liz’s, deciding I’d get the other two on the second trip, but Josh was up and at it before I could say anything.

  “Yeah,” I told Liz. “It’s an action movie with Bruce Willis.”

  “I know what it is,” she answered. “Are you sure it’s appropriate for an eleven-year-old?”

  I wanted to point out that the real question was whether the movie was appropriate for a nine-year-old, since that was the age Melissa had been when she first saw it, but then I remembered my mission tonight was to be nice to Liz. This presented, unsurprisingly, a conundrum.

  “I know it gets a little raw,” I said, “but Liss is really very mature for her age, and I’m sure she can handle it.” Based on the six other times she’d seen it and had not been outwardly affected other than to ask why Professor Snape was pretending to be German.

  Josh and I cleared the plates while A.J., over my protests, picked up the glasses and some silverware to bring into the kitchen. Liz, I noticed, was not moving from her seat.

  “I just don’t know that I’d let my daughter see a movie like that at this age,” Liz huffed, despite not having any children at all. I wondered if this would be an issue if Melissa had been my son, but that just led to me wondering why I’d name a boy Melissa.

  My goodwill tour was about at its breaking point when Maureen Beckman ambled slowly into the den, eyes on her feet and the fuzzy green tennis balls on the legs of her walker. She did not
seem as shocked as the other guests had been at the spectacle of people eating dinner in what had once clearly been a dining room. She just moved through as well as her arthritic hip would allow. “I’m heading to the beach for the last night,” she said. “This is the most direct route.”

  “Of course,” I told her. “You feel free to come through whenever you like.”

  Maureen stopped and stared at me. “I do,” she said simply.

  Josh took the plates out of my hands and he and A.J. headed into the kitchen. If there was a guest in the room, he knew I needed to be available.

  “It’s just so bloody and violent,” Liz said. She had tenacity, if you consider that a plus.

  “What is bloody and violent?” Maureen said, her tone sharp.

  “My friend is saying she thinks the movie they’re watching inside might be a little rough for Melissa,” I explained. “And she’s probably right.” I actually reached over and squeezed Liz’s shoulder.

  Josh, behind Liz’s shoulder, mouthed, “Who are you?”

  “I’m concerned about Melissa,” Liz told her, intimating that perhaps I, Melissa’s mother, was not.

  “That’s what makes us love you so,” I said. Okay, there was probably an edge of irony in my voice by this point, but then . . .

  It was the fuzzy green tennis balls on Maureen’s walker that did it. Not really, but sort of. Because I finally realized they reminded me of the green fibers found under Bill Mastrovy’s body, and then I remembered where I’d seen that color green before.

  On the carpet pads protecting the floor of Jeremy Bensinger’s car.

  I stood straight up like Roy Scheider does in Jaws when he sees the shark at close range for the first time. I avoided telling anyone we needed a bigger boat, but looked up at Maxie and Paul and hissed, “Get Vance.” They gave each other a confused look, then Maxie headed out toward the movie room. Maybe she knew something I didn’t about Vance’s whereabouts.

  Paul swooped down, questions in his eyes. “What happened, Alison?” he asked.

  “Vance who?” Liz asked.

  Maureen shook her head. “Vance McTiernan. He plays guitar here.” Then she walked to the beach doors and left.

  “Who’s Vance McTiernan?” Liz asked, cementing my opinion of her.

  Paul’s eyes were intent on me. “You know something,” he said. “Tell me.”

  “It was Jeremy Bensinger,” I said. “He killed Bill. I’m guessing about Vanessa, but he definitely killed Bill.”

  From behind me I heard the very voice I’d been hoping not to hear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jeremy said. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Oh god,” Liz said. “They’re all talking about killing again.”

  “Him?” Paul asked. “How do you know?”

  “It was the carpet in your car, Jeremy,” I said, really answering Paul’s question. “You got out of your car after you followed Bill here and when you killed him, and some of the fibers from that carpet landed beneath him.”

  Jeremy, dressed for the office and not the beach, had no weapon that I could see. I don’t know why, but somehow that didn’t make me feel better. “Why would I kill Bill?” he asked, ignoring my remarks. “He was a friend.” He started to walk toward me.

  “I’m going to find a cell phone and text the lieutenant,” Dad said. He was out the door before I could fish mine out of my pocket. My father is a problem solver.

  “Because once he heard from me that Vanessa was murdered, he put two and two together and figured it was you who did it. And because he wanted his due on the songs he wrote for Vanessa’s album but you didn’t want to share, did you?” I was prodding Jeremy to keep his focus on the conversation and not the objects moving around the room. Vance and Maxie appeared from the ceiling. Maxie, sizing up the situation, headed for the fireplace to get a poker. Vance just looked shocked.

  “Why should I?” Jeremy demanded, getting just to the table where Liz was staring at him as if he were a madman, which might have been the first time Liz was right that evening. “I was entitled! I worked on every one of those songs, and now they were going to pay off! And he was going to ruin it. I didn’t want to kill him but he was going to go to the police and lie to them about what happened with Vanessa.”

  I was instinctively circling back away from Jeremy and toward Josh, who is always a source of security. “Lie? You’re saying you didn’t kill your sister? If you didn’t kill Vanessa, who did?” I asked. Not only did I want Jeremy to keep talking, I also wanted to know the answer.

  “Vanessa was an accident,” he said defensively. “I didn’t know there was soy in her food.”

  I shook my head as Maxie circled around him, but Jeremy, even without seeing the poker flying (Maxie had secreted it in her jacket) must have felt the threat because he picked up a knife from the table and reached . . . for Liz.

  “You didn’t know there was soy in soy sauce?” I asked. Maybe I could lunge toward him; Maxie was positioned badly and would have to float around.

  Jeremy pulled up on Liz’s chin with the flat end of the knife, and Liz, who was trying to protest, stood without speaking, but she did make a gurgling sound. “Vanessa had a million-dollar voice she wanted to give away for nothing!” he shouted. He was sweating heavily through his suit jacket. “Her father had screwed up his fame and fortune and she thought that was the way it was had to be.”

  Vance stopped in space, stunned. “Me?” he said. “It was my fault?”

  A.J. pushed in through the kitchen door, smiling, then stopped in shock. “What the hell is going on?”

  “It’s a situation,” I told A.J. “We’re going to make sure Liz doesn’t get hurt, right, Jeremy?”

  But he wasn’t necessarily hearing what anyone but he was saying right now. “I had to do what was necessary,” he said. “Vanessa would be heard, and heard more because she’d be dead. I held a gun on her while she drank what she had to drink. She kept begging me to call the rescue squad, and I wanted to but I couldn’t!”

  Maybe sympathy was the way to get through to him. “I totally get that,” I told him. “She was wasting her talent and all you wanted to do was show it off. She was being unreasonable.”

  “Don’t condescend,” Jeremy said. He shook his head as he pulled back on the knife and tried to maneuver Liz backward with him. She, characteristically, was being stubborn and resisting. But Jeremy was talking directly to me. “You’re going to do exactly as I say or your good buddy here gets her throat cut.”

  “You’re making a huge mistake,” I told him. “I don’t even like her.”

  “Excuse me?” Liz croaked.

  “Huh?” A.J. chimed in. I couldn’t tell what that meant.

  “It’s true,” I told Jeremy. “She’s a really annoying know-it-all. She’s been getting on my last nerve all night.”

  Maxie looked down. “I can’t guarantee he won’t slit her throat if I hit him,” she said. “Should I hit him?”

  I shook my head again. Maxie looked a little disappointed.

  “Here’s how it’s gonna work,” Jeremy said. “You’re not going to do anything. I’m going to take your friend here and drive away in your car because I actually had to walk here from the beach. Couldn’t let anyone hear me drive up, could I? Then the two of us are going to drive away. If I’m confident no cops are following us, I might let her go in a couple of days. That’s how it’ll work.”

  “No!” Liz protested. “I don’t want to go!”

  There was only one card left to play. “You can’t have my car,” I said.

  “What?” Liz stared at me, eyes wide.

  Jeremy also stopped and looked, but his eyes were clear and focused. “I’m taking your car.”

  “You don’t care what he does with me but he can’t have your car?” Liz shouted.

  I stole a glance at Josh, who
was suppressing a grin. He knew what I was doing.

  “I can’t let you,” I told Jeremy, buying time. “I need that car.”

  “You have insurance,” he suggested. “Mine’s too far away.” He was going to reason with me now.

  “The thing’s too old. They won’t give me what it’s worth and I won’t be able to replace it.”

  “Excuse me?” Liz said. “I’m the one being kidnapped here!”

  Jeremy looked at Liz. “I’m starting to see your point about her,” he told me.

  A.J. frowned. “Hey.” He took a step forward, but Jeremy held up the knife and A.J., chastised, held his ground.

  From the corner of my eye came movement, but I forced myself not to look so Jeremy wouldn’t know what was coming. Maxie with a shovel? Dad with a cop? The lady with the wagon looking for Lester? I had no idea.

  And that’s why it was such a surprise when Vance, launching himself like a projectile at Jeremy, hit him low, below the waist and just about at the knee. He dropped the knife and let go of Liz while letting out an “oof” noise that sounded exactly like the ones in old cartoons; it was perfect.

  He struggled, but Vance was unrelenting; he was a machine, automatic and unforgiving, almost suffocating Jeremy with his being, holding him down. He finally passed out, presumably from lack of oxygen.

  “You killed my little girl,” Vance said deeply. “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.”

  I had no time for his triumph. “Get something to tie his hands,” I said to Paul. He started to take the tiebacks off the drapes near him to the right. A.J. watched them fly by and mouthed some words but no sound came out of his mouth.

  Liz, having fallen to the floor, slowly propped herself up on one elbow. “What the hell was that?” she demanded.

  “I told you, it’s a haunted house,” I said. “What did you expect?”

  Paul started in on tying Jeremy’s hands as Josh moved to my side and A.J. walked—a little casually, I thought—to Liz. He knelt down and asked if she was all right.