Chasing Shadows Read online

  Well, it could go on…just not with me in it. With that sullen thought, Cam picked up an empty box from atop the dining room table and carried it back to the living room. If there was one thing Cam had learned in the five years that she had been in the show business industry, it was that it was fickle. Stay gone long enough and some fresh face would be brought in to take her place, with barely a hiccup on the American viewing public’s radar.

  Whatever intentions she may have had of abbreviating her stay, however, had been dashed by the fine ladies of Bethel Springs, who’d been quick to swoop in and educate her on “how things were done” in that part of the world. No, there had to be the repast—as the preacher’s wife had called it—organized by the ladies of Loralyn’s church, where the mourners would meet, greet, and eat as they paid their last respects. Cam had been blissfully ignorant of the word before the mob of blue-haired women all dressed in their Sunday finest descended on the house armed with casserole dishes.

  Despite the fact that Cam appeared weekly in the homes of millions of Americans, she was not, nor had she ever been, a people person. As such, she was more than a little overwhelmed by the turnout for the repast, where it seemed the entire town had turned out to share their fond remembrances of Loralyn.

  Well, everyone in town but for Mildred Smith.

  Cam grimaced at the memory of the encounter as she pulled an end table up to the bookshelf that lined the wall by the front window. Thoughts of the woman her great-aunt considered to be her cooking nemesis led to those of Mildred Smith’s granddaughter. Cam berated herself for approaching Avery Smith the way she had. But, the combination of four hours of sleep and two pieces of Reverend Mitchell’s wife’s spiced rum cake had given her the courage that she normally lacked in such social situations.

  Gingerly stepping up, Cam held her breath as the table legs gave the hint of a wobble. She paused, ready to jump off, but the aged oak held. Satisfied with her makeshift stepstool, she reached up to the top row of the bookshelf. Cam tugged at the nearest book—the Ladies of Brooks County Community Cookbook, 1974 Edition—and dropped it, rather unceremoniously, into the waiting box below.

  Although a few of the books were hesitant to move from the position they’d occupied for decades, Cam made quick work of clearing the shelves. Satisfied with her progress, she was halfway through the third row before she felt the table give an ominous creak beneath her bare feet. Cam stilled, simultaneously holding her breath and wondering exactly how many calories she’d consumed over the past seventy-two hours. Hell, the rum cake alone had probably added five pounds to her hips.

  Definitely going to have to hit the gym when I get back home.

  She gave a little wiggle and, hearing nothing from the end table in response, decided it was safe to continue. She stretched for the last book on the third shelf—another cookbook—and then leaned to the right, tossing it in the direction of the chair she’d been sitting in earlier.

  The right legs of the end table groaned their death knell a half-second before snapping in two. Cam’s flailing attempt to defy gravity was met with the sickening sound of her head thudding against the ancient hardwood of Loralyn’s living room floor.

  “Ow…oh, motherfucker…” Stomach roiling, Cam flopped onto her back and blinked her eyes, but seeing the ceiling spin above her in a colorful array, she quickly closed them again. She touched a finger to her head and, satisfied that she felt no blood, ventured to sit up. Her back creaked and her head screamed at the movement. “Nope, not going to happen,” she muttered, sinking back down onto the cold hardwood, the silence of the house suddenly deafening.

  Where’s help when you need it?

  “Taking a break already?”

  Cam’s eyes popped back open at the sound. She struggled to focus on the figure hovering above her. For the briefest of seconds she thought she saw her great-aunt’s face, but then the image shifted. “Who…” she began and blinked hard, squinting as a younger face came into focus. “Jennifer?”

  “Who else would it be?” She reached out to help Cam off the floor. “Here, let me give you a hand.”

  Standing intensified the pain in Cam’s head. “Damn that hurts,” she said gruffly, blinking back tears. “You’re late, by the way.” Cam stood, quietly staring at Jennifer as she waited for the nausea in her stomach to subside. She was struck by how little the blonde woman had changed over the years. Unlike many of the classmates that Cam had seen at Loralyn’s funeral, Jennifer’s face was wrinkle-free and still had a youthful shine to it. Although her hair was blonder than it had been in high school, she still wore it in the same frizzy style. Like Cam, she was dressed in a light cotton blouse and shorts. Cam paused as a thought occurred to her. “How did you get in?”

  Smiling, Jennifer shrugged. “You really should lock that front door. Bethel Springs may be off the beaten path, but we do have our share of crime, you know.” Slowly waving her index finger in front of Cam’s face, she said, “Follow my finger with your eyes.” After a moment, she nodded and patted Cam on the arm. “Your pupils look normal, so I don’t think you have a concussion.”

  Rubbing the back of her head, Cam grinned. “Says the accountant.”

  Jennifer smiled back. “Hey, now. I’ve watched enough Grey’s Anatomy to know what I’m talking about. Now, c’mere you.” In one quick movement, she wrapped Cam in a tight hug.

  “It’s so good to finally see you,” Cam said, breathing in the strong scent of vanilla body spray that she’d always associated with her high school friend. “It’s been too long.”

  Jennifer took a step back, one hand lingering on Cam’s arm. “How are you holding up?”

  Cam bit on her bottom lip as she felt the sting of tears threaten. It’d been eight days since she’d gotten the early morning call from the hospice worker. In that time, dozens of people had offered condolences and expressed sympathy over Loralyn’s passing, most with the same zeal they showed when placing their Starbucks order. Though it had been years since Cam had laid eyes on Jennifer, she could feel the concern that emanated from the woman was genuine. That, coupled with the throbbing in her head, was pushing her close to the emotional edge.

  “Better than I thought I’d be,” Cam answered softly. “I saw her at Christmas, and she seemed happy. We exchanged a few gifts…she made way too much food.” The memory brought with it a distant smile.

  “I can only imagine. Loralyn always did cook up a storm.”

  “That she did,” Cam laughed and shook her head. “I talked to her on the phone about once a week or so. When she told me that her oncologist suggested she start hospice care, I offered to bring her out west for treatment,” Cam brushed back a tear, “but she didn’t want to leave Bethel Springs. I’ve been trying to cut away to come visit, but things have been so hectic that I…”

  “Hey,” Jennifer tightened her grip on Cam’s arm. “Don’t beat yourself up. There’s nothing that your being here could have done that would have made any difference in the world.” Her forehead creased as her face took on a serious expression. “She’s in a better place now. Trust me.”

  Wiping away another tear, Cam nodded. “Thank you.” She sniffed and then blew out a long breath. “Speaking of Loralyn… Can I offer you something cool to drink? I’m sure that my aunt would be appalled by the fact that I haven’t already done so, even with my little Flying Walenda act.”

  “Oh lord,” Jennifer laughed. “That would be a cardinal Southern sin, wouldn’t it?” She shook her head. “I’m fine thanks. I brought that bottle of wine I told you about. We can crack that open in a bit.” She turned and began walking out of the living room, motioning Cam to follow. “First, we need to find you an ibuprofen or something for your head. If Loralyn is like my grandmother, she probably keeps all her medicine in the kitchen.”

  Cam rolled her aching shoulder as she trailed behind Jennifer. “In the cabinet to the left of the sink,” she confirmed. “I saw some medicine bottles up there when I was looking for a glass the other nig
ht.”

  Once in the kitchen, Jennifer opened the cabinet and began shuffling through the assorted pill bottles assembled there. “Let’s see… There’s a bottle of something called percogesic that looks like it may be for pain, a box of Goody’s Headache Powder…” She pulled out a white bottle and narrowed her eyes as she read the lettering on its side. “And a bottle of Tylenol that expired in two thousand and five.”

  “Oh, lord,” Cam said, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “Definitely not that. I guess the headache one.” She bumped the refrigerator closed with her hip and rubbed the back of her head, grimacing as she felt a knot beginning to form. “Wait—headache powder? What does that mean?”

  Jennifer arched an eyebrow and peered at her from around the cabinet door. “What do you mean what does that mean?”

  “Headache powder? So it’s not a pill?”

  Jennifer regarded her for a long minute before reaching into the cabinet and pulling out a cream-colored pill bottle. “Here,” she said, unscrewing the lid of the bottle, “take two of these percogesics. I don’t think your delicate California sensitivities could handle a Goody Powder.”

  Cam eyed the two orange tablets that Jennifer handed her suspiciously. “These aren’t going to kill me or anything are they?”

  “Believe me,” Jennifer grinned, “there are worse ways to go.”

  Deciding the ache in her head was strong enough to risk it, Cam popped the two tablets into her mouth and quickly washed them down with the water. Too quickly, she discovered. “Thank you,” she coughed.

  “Anytime,” Jennifer said, closing the cabinet door. “After all, I’m here to help.” She turned and leaned one hip against the countertop. “So,” she drawled, folding her arms, “I’m dying to know about this ghost-hunting business of yours, Barbie.”

  Cam took another long drink of water before answering. “Yeah, about that…”

  “Funny, I don’t recall that you had any special ESP skills back in high school. Although, that really would have come in handy in Mrs. Velez’s Spanish class.”

  “Wouldn’t it have, though?” Cam laughed. “If you’re still up for it, I’ll tell you all about it while we finish packing up the living room.”

  Chapter Four

  One of Avery’s ex-girlfriends owned a cat. It was a frilly, frou-frou thing—much like its owner—with long, wispy white hair that managed to find its way onto any article of clothing it passed.

  And green eyes.

  Prince, the aforementioned feline, had eyes that were the most striking color of emerald that she had ever encountered. On those not-infrequent occasions that Avery had stayed over at her girlfriend’s place, she would wake to find the sixteen-pound cat perched on her chest staring with those green eyes in a vaguely threatening manner. If that wasn’t sufficient motivation to get her up out of the bed to feed him, then Prince would begin to knead his pads—claws out—on Avery’s neck.

  Now, lying in bed, attempting to make up on the severe lack of sleep she’d suffered over the past several days, Avery had the sudden same déjà vu feeling that she was being watched.

  She slowed her breathing and listened, not wanting to leave the blissful cocoon of blankets that covered her. At first…nothing. Then she heard the gentle, almost imperceptible sound of breathing. Avery raised up from her decadently soft pillow and poked half a head out from under the covers.

  Green eyes stared back at her.

  “Miss Jane,” she croaked, throat dry and not yet ready for words, “do you need something?”

  “Oh, no sweetie,” came the saccharine response from the elderly woman hovering just at the edge of the bed. “Just making sure you were still asleep.”

  “Um, okay,” Avery frowned. Lord, it is way too early for this...

  Jane smiled brightly back at her and then popped out of the doorway. Shaking her head, Avery peeked at the alarm clock that sat on her bedside table before snuggling back under the covers. She still had fourteen minutes before she had to get up, and wasn’t ready to face reality just yet.

  It’s funny how the world works, she mused, closing her eyes and settling back into her pillow. One minute, she was living in a one bedroom-one bath condo in Midtown Atlanta, working a reasonably well-paying job with the Atlanta Police Department. Or at least, well-paying enough that she could afford said condo in Midtown and still have money left over to catch a play at the Fox or a concert at Eddie’s Attic whenever the mood struck.

  Then came the call.

  The one that struck completely out of the blue. The one that said the tire of the car her parents had been driving had blown out, causing them to lose control and hit a transfer truck head-on.

  More for her grandmother’s sake than anything else, Avery had come home to Bethel Springs for their funeral to play the part expected—that of the dutiful, grieving daughter. Well, the dutiful daughter, anyway. Any sense of grief she might’ve had was long since passed. Avery’s parents had been dead to her—as they had told her she was to them—since she’d come out in her sophomore year of college. It’d been so long since she’d had contact of any sort with either of them that Avery hadn’t quite known how to feel about their deaths. Sometimes still didn’t.

  She’d kept in contact with her grandmother over the years, but hadn’t really spent any considerable amount of time visiting with Mildred since moving to Atlanta after high school graduation. With her parents gone, she’d felt guilty about leaving the elderly woman all alone. Although Jane had moved in with Mildred shortly after the two widows had retired from teaching at the local middle school in order to share expenses, she wasn’t family. After a few failed attempts to get Mildred—and Jane if she wanted—to relocate to Atlanta, Avery decided to quit her job, give up her condo, and move back home to Bethel Springs.

  That had been nearly three years ago. With her degree from Georgia State University and seven years of experience at the APD, she’d easily gotten a job with the Brooks County Sheriff’s Department. Avery was living with her grandmother, sleeping in the room that had previously been reserved for guests and still smelled somewhat of mothballs, although recently she’d been considering—

  Making sure that I was asleep?

  Avery was struck mid-thought by Jane’s words. What had she meant by that?

  Damn it.

  Avery threw back the cover and stifled a shiver as she padded out of her bedroom and down the hallway. It was March and the mornings were still chilly, especially in Mildred’s drafty, hundred-year-old house.

  She could hear the faint chatter of voices coming from the kitchen. “We’re never going to get it now,” an unfamiliar voice said.

  Intrigued, Avery eased up to the doorway, hovering just outside as the discussion continued.

  “Well, hell, Pearl,” she heard her grandmother say, “if your granddaughter hadn’t been so quick to come when Rutherford called, I could’ve—”

  “Oh, good morning, Avery, I thought you were still sleeping.”

  All conversation stopped and three sets of elderly eyes locked on Avery’s. One did not need a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice to know that they were up to something.

  “So, uh,” she drawled, stepping fully into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

  Eyebrows raised and shoulders shrugged. Mildred smiled sweetly at her. “Going on, what do you mean?”

  Avery narrowed her eyes at the lot of them. Sitting around the table, eating scrambled eggs and grits and drinking out of Dollywood coffee cups, they reminded her of characters in a black and white Cary Grant movie that she’d seen on TV. The one where the sweet old ladies poisoned their boarders with elderberry wine. Although, Avery decided, in her grandmother’s case, it would probably be with a rum and Coke.

  “I mean the three of you—"

  “Would you like some bacon?”

  That from Jane, who stood in front of the stove, skillet in one hand and spatula in the other.

  “No, Miss Jane, but I would like to k
now—”

  “It’s maple bacon.”

  “I don’t….” On second thought… Sometimes the best way to get to the bottom of a caper was to infiltrate the gang. And if the gang happened to have maple bacon, all the better. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble”

  “No trouble at all,” she smiled “Eggs, too?”

  “Sure, why not.” Avery glanced at the clock over the doorway. “I’ve got a little time before I need to get ready for work.”

  They sat in awkward silence while Jane hummed at the stove and cooked up Avery’s breakfast in a surprisingly short time. Mildred and the other gray-haired woman, who Avery placed as Pearl Moody, quietly sipped at their coffee. Like Mildred and Jane, Pearl was dressed in a pastel-colored blouse and matching slacks. She fluffed at her hair as Avery bit into the bacon.

  “So what is it you’re hoping to get?”

  Smiling, Mildred peered at Avery over her coffee cup. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “You were saying just before I walked in….”

  The three women sitting opposite Avery looked at one another and then shrugged in unison. “I’m sure we have no idea what you’re talking about,” her grandmother said in a too-sweet voice.

  It’d been a few days since Loralyn’s death, the debacle at the funeral home, and the equally embarrassing run-in with Cameron Reinhart at the repast. Avery leaned back in her chair, biting on her lower lip at the thought of it all. She’d been tempted to drive back to Loralyn’s house the next day and apologize to Cameron, but had ended up talking herself out it. Better to leave things as they were than to risk saying the wrong thing and making them worse.

  Avery took another bite of bacon, following it up with a forkful of scrambled eggs. She regarded the women at the table closely as she ate. Jane and Pearl Moody suddenly seemed to be intensely interested in their nails. Mildred, on the other hand, stared back at Avery obstinately, as if daring to call her bluff.