Haunting Jordan (32 page)

“How could you possibly understand anything about me? You killed your husband because he cheated on you!”

Ted turned to look at them, his expression alarmed.

“I’m a therapist—I see women like you all the time,” Jordan retorted. “You can’t sustain a loving relationship because you’ve never worked through your childhood abandonment issues. Trust me, I get that. But
self-regulation
does
not
translate to dating every father figure you happen to cross paths with.”

“Well, you would know, now, wouldn’t you?” Didi taunted. “You were married to the man for seven years! If anyone had daddy issues, it’s you!”

“Excuse
me?”

“Jordan, calm down,” Ted said, looking shocked. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“I’ve had a particularly trying day,” Jordan snapped. “And I’m losing patience with needy, dysfunctional people who think they can mess with my life by feeding false information to the police!”

“Whoa,” Ted’s bass player murmured, looking up from applying rosin to his bow. “Catfight!”

Didi screeched and lunged for her.

Jase wrapped an arm around Jordan’s waist and pulled her behind him, removing her from the reach of Didi’s manicured claws. “Get your girlfriend under control,” he told Ted, fending her off, “or I’m throwing her out.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Ted said, and Didi howled. He grabbed both her arms. “Be quiet!”

“Get counseling!”
Jordan shouted over Jase’s shoulder, blocked from moving any closer.

“You’d be the
last
therapist I’d call, you murderous bitch!”

Jase planted his hands on Jordan’s shoulders, turning her toward Darcy’s table and pushing her across the room. “I’ve got JT verifying her alibi,” he said in a tone only Jordan could hear. “If she’s lying, he’ll figure it out.”

“Oh, she’s lying all right,” Jordan growled, dragging her feet. “I’m
trained
to know when someone is lying.”

“I’m sure you are. You might want to dial back on the ‘proactive’ just a bit, though,” he advised, a thread of laughter running through his voice.

Angling a glance up at him, she saw that he was grinning.
Great
.

She dropped into her chair, her cheeks heating as she realized the scene she’d caused. “I can’t believe I did that.” What was the
matter
with her? She’d
never
used her training in such an inappropriate and damaging way. Yes, she cared that Ryland’s murderer was found, but still …

“You did have ample provocation,” Darcy pointed out, then grinned as well. “And though you are so terminally
nice
it makes my teeth hurt, the entertainment factor is way up there. Listening to the trio this evening will be anticlimactic.”

“Cute.” Jordan ventured a glance around the room, noting the number of covert stares aimed her way. “And I’m
not
nice, I’m tough as nails.”

“Right.”

“Oh, shut up.” She concentrated on her breathing.

Jase set another full glass of wine before her, then gave her a quick shoulder rub. “Drink up. In a little bit, you won’t feel a thing.”

“That would be good.” She took a large gulp. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t expect it to get that out of hand.”

Jase looked amused. “No problem. The pub is getting quite the reputation. Business is bound to pick up.”

“Ha-ha, funny.” But she noted that during her talk with Didi, the room had become twice as crowded. “Though I like the way you let folks simply hang out, that you don’t force them to buy drinks to be here,” she added.

He exchanged a confused look with Darcy. “Come again?”

“All the people who’ve been coming to the jazz performances and just hanging out.”

They glanced at each other again, then Jase shook his head, clearly not understanding her.

“All the people standing around by the entrance? At the bar?” She wondered whether the two of them were particularly oblivious this evening.

“There aren’t any people standing by the entrance,” Darcy said, her expression becoming intrigued. “Exactly what do you see?”

Jordan felt a chill. “Oh, no.” She shook her head. “No, no, no. Do
not
pull that crap on me—I’ve had a bad day.”

“What do you think you see?” Jase repeated.

She turned toward the entrance, counting the patrons that stood there. “A couple dozen people, mostly men in work clothes, crowded just inside the door.” She’d had a fleeting impression that their clothes were a little odd, but her mind slid away from that fact. “Right?” she asked a little desperately.

Darcy grinned. “Hey, Tom!” she shouted, waving him over, and Jordan watched him walk right through several “people” standing next to the bar.

She closed her eyes and laid her head down on the table.

Jase rubbed her back with one hand. “It’ll be all right,” he said, chuckling. “To tell you the truth, I’ve always wondered whether there were any ghosts hanging around in here. It’s an old building.”

“There are ghosts in here?” Tom turned in a circle, scanning the room.

Jordan thudded her head against the hard surface of the table.

It all began to sink in—the little girl with the antique doll, the elderly couple in the porch swing, the young man on the old-fashioned bicycle. The woman in the
cape
leaving the grocery that first night. Half the
people
she’d seen in the damn town!

Darcy was having a look around herself. “So what are they doing?”

Jordan quickly glanced up, then laid her head back down. The table’s cool surface was such a comfort. “Hanging out, talking to each other? Listening to the music? I don’t know.”

“I wonder if they like my selection of bands,” Jase said.

“What do you suppose they want?” Tom asked her.

“How the hell should I know? You want me to go take a poll? First, I’d have to poke each one with a finger, just to make sure I’m talking to a ghost, which could be a bit embarrassing to explain to the humans I accidently poke …” Her voice trailed off as she realized the import of what she was saying. “Oh, God—I can’t tell the difference,” she wailed, mortified. “They’re
everywhere
, and they all look just like real people to me.”

“Is that really a problem?” Jase asked, and she gave him a dirty look.

“An entire community of ghosts, huh?” Darcy said.
“Seriously
cool. Maybe you can help me figure out what I need to do, to be receptive enough to see them.”

“I think either you can see them, or you can’t,” Tom said. “It’s not like you can develop powers you don’t have.”

“Why the hell not?” Darcy asked.

Jordan’s head shot up as a new thought occurred to her. “Oh,
oh.”

She jumped up, scanning the crowd until she found the man from two nights ago who’d never paid for his drink. He held her gaze for a fraction of a second, then turned and slipped through the crowd.

Dammit!
He was getting away. She hurriedly nudged the dog awake with her foot.

“Whoa, hold on.” Jase took hold of her arm. “Where’re you going?”

“There’s someone I need to check out.” She folded the rope for the dog.

“Wait
a minute—with all that’s been happening, you’re not chasing after someone on your own.”

“No, really, I’m okay,” she assured him. “I don’t think I’m in any danger.”

“Dammit—”

“I’ll explain later.” She was already out the door, jogging toward home.

* * *

S
HE
followed the stranger, keeping a half block between them. Though she was fairly certain he knew she was there, he didn’t stop or look back, instead disappearing around the corner. As she and the dog turned onto her street, she spied him standing next to a streetlight across from her house.

The dog planted all four paws, the hair on his back raised, and growled low in his throat. She halted, barely
avoiding somersaulting over him. Putting a hand on his neck, she murmured, “Go up on the porch, boy. I’ll be okay.”

He cast a distrustful glance toward the man, then reluctantly did as she asked. Sitting on the top step, he kept watch as she jogged across the street.

The man straightened as she approached, his expression becoming resigned. She had a fleeting moment to wonder whether she was out of her mind, walking up to a stranger on a deserted street, and that thought had her stopping a safe distance from him. She shoved her hands into her pockets and met his hard gaze.

“You’re Frank Lewis, aren’t you?” she accused.

Chapter 14

THE ghost gave her a blatant once-over that had her wondering whether even after crossing over … well, to wherever ghosts cross over to, men continued to be plagued by a preoccupation with women and sex. She carefully returned his perusal.

Actually, now that she could see him rather than relying on Hattie’s written description of him, she could understand the attraction. Attitude radiated from him in waves, and in a rough-hewn, antiquated sort of way, she figured he pretty much personified “bad-boy hunk” for the nineteenth century.

The fact that his clothing was a century out of style and hung loosely on his hard, angular frame did little to lessen his impact. And though Jase held far more appeal for her, she wasn’t completely immune.

She brought herself up short. Okay, she hadn’t just compared the sex appeal of a ghost to that of a real man, right?

“Does Hattie know you’re here?” she asked.

He shook his head, settling himself more comfortably and shoving his hands into the pockets of his baggy work pants. “You’re not to tell her, either.”

Jordan crossed her arms. “You know, that would’ve gone over a whole lot better as a request. Just in case you need tutoring in twenty-first-century customs vis-à-vis the gender wars.”

His expression turned wary. “Pardon?”

“Never mind.”

Glancing around the darkened neighborhood, she wondered whether any neighbors were watching. If so, they would think she was standing on the street conversing with a light pole. It was a safe bet she wasn’t enhancing her reputation. Then again, given the most recent rumors that were bound to be flying around, talking to a light pole might be considered a minor infraction.

“So why are you here?” she asked.

“To keep an eye on your investigation.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile. “You could say I have an uncommon interest in your findings.”

She eyed him suspiciously. Either she’d had too much to drink, or he’d just made a spectral pun. “Have you been following me since I arrived in town?”

He snorted. “If I had been, you wouldn’t have known I was there. We can be present without revealing ourselves.”

“So why reveal yourself at all?”

“Because I thought it was time to impress upon you the importance of finding Hattie’s murderer. From what I’ve seen so far, you’re rather inept.”

She gaped at him. Not only was she delusional, her imaginary friends were now criticizing her performance. This had to represent a new low in methods of self-recrimination. “Did
you
kill Hattie?”

“Of course not.” His tone was chiding, as if he thought she was dull-witted.

“You were in the house that night, which makes you the most likely suspect,” she pointed out stubbornly. “You had opportunity.”

“How ironic. Aren’t you currently criticizing the police detective on
your
case for thinking you’re the most likely suspect in your husband’s murder, simply because you were there when he was murdered?”

She could’ve argued that
she
wasn’t the one with the reputation for violence, but he had a point. Still, his people skills definitely could use some improvement. “You claimed you were drugged. How?”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “At first I thought it was possible Hattie had slipped laudanum into my tea. We’d argued about my refusal to take the drug—I was concerned with remaining alert, but she didn’t like to see me suffering. But I brewed my tea after she retired upstairs for the evening, so I had to rule out that possibility. I did add brandy to my tea, though. I doubt I would’ve tasted the laudanum, had it been added to the decanter.”

“And the physician left the laudanum in the house when he’d examined you after your attack.”

“Yes.”

“Clive Johnson ordered the attack on you, didn’t he?”

“I never knew for certain. Two of the men who attacked me were employed by Johnson, but the other two worked for Seavey. Hattie believed Johnson had ordered it, though.”

Jordan frowned. “So who do
you
think killed Hattie?”

“That’s what you’re supposed to find out, isn’t it? With all that expertise you have digging around inside people’s heads?”

“You must’ve had your suspicions.”

“Seavey was the perfect suspect—he was in love with Hattie, and he had a reputation for destroying what he couldn’t have. He also wanted the union neutralized, so framing me for her murder would have been an efficient solution.” Frank’s mouth twisted. “He looked quite pleased at my hanging.”

Jordan couldn’t quite wrap her mind around experiencing one’s own hanging and then “living” to tell about it. But in the face of Frank’s suspicions of Seavey, she had to wonder once again whether she was letting her weakness for charming psychopaths color her impressions. After all, there was no question Seavey hadn’t been a good man. So why didn’t she believe he’d killed Hattie? “I’ve been bothered by the fact that John Greeley didn’t pursue any other suspects.”

Frank lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Don’t forget, Greeley hated Hattie. He blamed her for Charlotte’s ruination. Had it not been considered a society murder, he might not have investigated at all.”

“Clive Johnson had good reason to kill Hattie, not
to mention frame you for the murder. That’s pretty damning.”

Frank shook his head. “Not from Greeley’s perspective. I mentioned Johnson, of course, but Greeley held him in high esteem—I doubt he would’ve investigated him.” Frank rubbed his jaw. “Seavey came to see me one night after the trial. I told him I was innocent and that I believed Johnson had committed the murder.”