Killer Moves: The 4th Jolene Jackson Mystery (Jolene Jackson Mysteries) (16 page)

“And we all know what is motivating that,” I said, feeling my own anger rise again. “Money. Always about the money.”

“Well, I’m telling you people are dying right and left,” Lucille said. “Now, I want to know what you’re going to do about it, because I know what I’d be doing about it!”

The lights flickered again.

“Oh, for crying out loud! Not that too!” Lucille flung her napkin on the table and waved her hand at the light over the dining table. “That’s it! I have enough problems without having to deal with all that too!”

“It’s just a bad light bulb, Mother,” I said, feeling my own surge of exasperation in response to hers. “If I knew where to find replacements, I’d change them all out. But since I don’t, just ignore it. Okay?”

“Oh, Good Lord, Jolene,” Lucille said. “It is most certainly not okay. You can’t just ignore these things. That just makes it worse. Don’t you know anything?”

Apparently not. But I sure thought I was capable of changing a damn light bulb. Hell, I’d personally replace the whole fixture if it came to that.

“That wouldn’t help either,” Travis said, looking at me and answering as if he’d read my mind. Then, he turned to Melody. “Would you like to tell her or shall I?”

Melody’s eyes widened. “You know? You communicate too?”

“For crying out loud, everybody knows,” Lucille said, scooting her chair back from the table. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to come up to this place, well, at least one of the umpteen reasons. I just didn’t think this nonsense would start the minute I walked in the door.”

“What are you talking about?” I said, totally confused.

“You can’t be this dense, Jolene,” Lucille said, waving her hand. “Brand new lights do not just flash off and on by themselves. Everybody knows there’s a ghost up here.”

No, everybody did not know. And if everybody had known, everybody wouldn’t have agreed to move into the haunted house on the hill, and she certainly wouldn’t have signed the damn papers that trapped her into staying in it. “I do not want to go down this road,” I said. “Not now. Not ever.”

“Actually, there are two spirits,” Travis said, ignoring my very clear directive. “It’s rather obvious who they are.”

Melody nodded. “Both are quite eager to chat.”

“I’m not.” I’d had my own firsthand feelings of unease here, but they’d been just been random bouts of weirdness. Putting names to the reasons for the feelings made the situation much harder to ignore. Still, I was willing to give it my best shot. “I really prefer the bad bulbs theory. Can’t we just stick with that?”

The lights flickered again and Melody laughed. “It wouldn’t do any good.”

I leaned back and rested my head against the thick upholstery of the dining room chair. “I have to sleep here tonight.”

Lucille pushed up from the table and stood. “Well, you aren’t the only one that has to put with it, missy. I’ve been doing it for forty years.” She looked up and waved her hand at the light fixture. “I’m going to bed and go to sleep now, Glenda. You hear me? Don’t you be showing up in my bedroom like you used to. And don’t you be bothering Jolene either. You know how skittish she is. We’ve talked about this. You hear me?”

I’d heard. And I didn’t like it. The mother who’d raised me was talking to the dead one who’d birthed me as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do. It was not. “This may all be just a normal day for all of you, but I’m not dealing with this tonight,” I said. “Everybody got that?
All
of you?” I waited for the light to flicker in understanding. It did not.

Melody walked over to Lucille and held her arm for support. I walked to the other side and did the same. Lucille grumbled that she didn’t need any help, but it was half-hearted at best. She was exhausted and probably in pain, not that she’d admit it.

After settling Lucille in bed, Melody and I returned to the dining room to find that Travis had already cleared the table and was stacking dishes by the sink.

“You are just full of surprises, Doctor Travis,” Melody said, her voice twinkling right along with her eyes.

“Yes, thanks for taking care of the dishes,” I said.

Melody walked toward the kitchen, her fingers fiddling with the stone necklace. “I’d like to know more about your intuitive gifts.”

Travis smiled. “And I yours.”

I just wanted to talk about the stuffy doctor doing the dishes or something equally inane. I didn’t want to know about anything else. Okay, I did, but not tonight. Furthermore, with the way the new friends were eyeing each other, they had more earthly pursuits on their minds as well.

“Hey,” I said, pointing to the door. “Why don’t you two check out the fountain and the swimming pool? The lights look pretty even from here and I bet there’s a nice view from the top of the hill too.”

“Sounds lovely.” Melody said. “Don’t you want to come?”

“No, I think I’m going to call it a night. Go enjoy the evening. It looks like a great night for star gazing.”

They both just stood there, sort of frozen in place, so I shooed the unlikely pair out of the kitchen. They could figure out their next step outside where I didn’t have to bear witness to it.

Seeing attraction bloom in front of my eyes was nice, but I’d rather be living my own. I wished that Jerry were here and that we too could just walk out the door and forget about everything but each other. I wished that somehow all the real world problems—and now the otherworldly ones—would magically vanish and we could have just one day that at least teetered on the edge of normalcy. Was it really too much to ask? The obvious answer would be yes.

I couldn’t do a single thing about the flickering problems lurking here at the house and the pill thing was just going to have to wait until later. However, I could certainly make some problems down the hill vanish in the morning. Specifically, problems that involved Dr. Richard Waverman and his grand—and mostly unnecessary—plans for my project. He considered me a stupid woman that couldn’t understand his big words or technical details. He was about to find out differently.

Chapter 21

It only took about three minutes for me to get from the top of the hill to the jobsite gate on the highway. Still, it was plenty of time for me to be primed and ready for Waverman. The more I’d looked at the plans last night, the more annoyed I’d become. Maybe he had good reasons for what he wanted to do. I doubted it, but it would be amusing to hear him try to explain it. And when he couldn’t, he was done. Regardless of what the attorneys said, I didn’t have to put up with Dr. Dick’s dickery. He and his ego were both going down in short order.

I guided Mother’s Buick carefully through the gate and slowly up the rutted red dirt road. When I finally made it to the project staging area at the edge of the mesquites, I eased up to the line of open-sided tents and parked off to the right as I had before. I didn’t see anyone around, but I thought I caught a flash of movement under the canopy closest to me

Then, a man shot up from behind a stack of ice chests like a gopher popping up out of a hole. He wore a tan safari hat held on by a strap under his chin. Big startled eyes peered out from a pale face. When he finally noticed the car, he jumped up and raced toward me.

Waverman’s sidekick was eager, I’d give him that, but it was the big man I wanted. Still, Gilligan could surely give me directions on how to find the skipper. I rolled down my window. “Hello.”

The man stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes popping open wide. “Oh, no,” he said, or at least mouthed it. His eyes darted back toward the tent. He looked like he wanted to run, but he didn’t move, just gave a tentative little wave.

Well, we were off to a great start. Since he obviously wasn’t going to come to me, I rolled my window back up and got out of the car. My sensible jeans and sturdy sneakers were wisely well-sprayed with chigger repellent, but that wouldn’t help ward off what sure to be a tedious and annoying exchange. “Is there a problem?” I said, walking toward him.

“Yes, well, uh, no, not with the project,” he said, twisting his hands. “Everything’s fine. We’re just getting things set up for today’s sampling.” Little beads of sweat covered his face. Adjusting his hat, he made a little sucking sound with his teeth then said, “We weren’t expecting you, Miss Jackson.”

“No one ever is.” How my mere presence could evoke these sorts of responses was truly beyond my comprehension. “You obviously know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, his pale face blooming crimson. “I’m Phillip Finch, Senior Geologist.” He offered me his hand, trying to project a professional demeanor, but it still came off as just awkward. Shaking my hand, he said, “We weren’t expecting you today.”

“I got that part. But I am here, and I need to speak with Doctor Waverman.” No sooner had the words come out of my mouth than I heard a horrible retching noise coming from the mesquite brush behind me. I turned toward the sound. “What was that?”

Finch stepped in front of me. “Doctor Waverman will be back in a little while,” he said, trying to herd me toward one of the open tents. “You can wait over here.”

I didn’t move. “You mean until he’s finished puking in the bushes?”

“Well, um,” Finch mumbled, twisting his hands again. “He’s not feeling well this morning. His wife is supposed to be bringing him some medicine. I thought you were her when you drove up.”

Well, that explained why he was so eager to greet me. But it didn’t explain everything. “Medicine’s not going to fix what’s going on in those bushes so he can stay on the job. He needs to go home.”

“That’s what I told him,” Finch said, his hat flopping with every agreeing nod. “He won’t listen.”

That part didn’t surprise me at all. “Well, he’ll listen to me. After all his harping at me about safety, he should know better. If he can’t do his job, he’s a safety hazard and not just to himself, but to others.” This was not the specific what-for I’d had planned for Waverman, but it was where we were going to start. I stepped around Finch and marched toward the bushes. “Besides, it’s just plain stupid to not take care of yourself.”

“Please don’t go over there,” Finch said, following at my heels. “He’s not going to like it.”

“Don’t care,” I said, following a trail into the thorny brush.

“Really, please,” Finch pleaded, trying to dart in front of me. “Just give him a few more minutes.”

Through a break in the scraggly mesquite bushes, I saw Waverman. He was sprawled out in the dirt and weeds, his pale skin mottled with splotches of bright red. I burst into a run and screamed at Finch, “Call 911!”

Puddles of slimy vomit pooled in the red dirt beside him. Ants had swarmed around the pools and I could see some on his arm and shirt. “We’ve got to get him out of here!” How to do that was the question. I wasn’t going to be dragging three-hundred pounds out by myself, and from the looks of Finch, he wouldn’t be adding enough horsepower to do it either. “Do you have a tarp?” I yelled. “And bring water. Hurry!”

I couldn’t see Waverman’s chest moving, so I checked for a pulse and to see if he was breathing. I thought I could feel faint signs of both, but I wasn’t certain. Not knowing what else to do, I pressed my fists together and started compression pumps on his chest. On the second set, he started coughing. And spitting.

Finch ran up with a huge blue tarp over his shoulder and three bottles of water under his arm. “Ambulance is on the way.”

Waverman coughed and sputtered, but didn’t open his eyes.

“Help me roll him on his side,” I said to Finch. We did and that seemed to help, but Waverman was only semi-conscious at best. “Spread that tarp out and let’s get him on it before the fire ants eat him alive.”

We managed to roll and maneuver him onto the tarp. Thankfully he hadn’t landed in a nest or he’d have been swarmed and maybe even killed, since that’s what the little bastards do.

Waverman was covered in sweat and vomit, so I used the water Finch had brought to help rinse off what I could and help him stay cool. As we all know by now, emergency response is not real zippy in these parts, well, except for yesterday when the fire department was already here. But they weren’t here today—I asked—so we had to wait.

Finch called Mrs. Waverman and the company office to let them know what was going on, then hopped in a truck and headed to the highway to make sure the emergency responders could find us.

It seemed like hours, but in reality it was only maybe fifteen minutes before the ambulance arrived, which was about half the time I’d feared it would take. After Waverman was loaded up, I turned to Finch. “Are you going to follow them to the hospital?”

“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t leave. I’m the certified hazardous waste and site safety office now. We’ve got contractors on site. I have to be here.”

“Oh, right, regulations.”

“Richard is very serious about compliance,” Finch said, his voice firm and solemn. “He’d have my head if I left here. Besides, his wife will be with him. She’ll make sure he’s taken care of.”

I bet she would since her identity—and license plate—depended on it. Who would MRS RJW by without the RJW? “Follow me to the car, Mister Finch, and I’ll give you a card.”

He nodded, his beady black eyes sparkling beneath his floppy hat. Apparently, it was sinking in that he was now the big dog onsite—and he was liking it. “It looks like we will be working closely together for a while, so please, call me Phillip, or Phil, if you prefer.”

Things were sinking in for me too. As much as I innately despised Waverman, I wasn’t jumping for joy over dealing with Finch. The upside was that he probably wouldn’t argue with me over things as Waverman would, but that didn’t mean he was competent to do the work. And besides that, I got a weird vibe from him too. To say the least, he didn’t inspire confidence. Still, until I figured out what to do otherwise, he was all I had. “I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call as soon as you hear anything on how Doctor Waverman is doing.”

“Richard’s had these bouts of nausea off and on for a few weeks now,” Finch said. “This was the worst. He’s never passed out before.”

Well, that was information I needed. This wasn’t the first episode, but it surely was almost the last. Bad for him personally and bad for my project. “I hope they figure out what’s going on and get it taken care of.” I reached into the Buick for my wallet. “I’d like one of your cards as well.”

“My cell phone’s on there too,” Finch said as we exchanged information. “Call it instead of the office.” He smiled. “I’ll be available anytime, so feel free to call.”

I nodded. “We’ll need to get together this afternoon or in the morning and go over a few things.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling and standing at attention. Thankfully, he didn’t salute, but his exuberance still tripped the creepy meter. “I’ve worked with Richard for many years, so rest assured that I will take care of things for you.”

I hoped so. At least he was moving more deliberately now. His new leadership status had put a spring in his step. And as I watched him jog back to the tent, I wondered if the next time I saw him he’d have “Commander and Chief” emblazoned across his floppy hat, hard hat or both.

I was about to climb into the Buick when I saw a familiar white pickup truck with lights across the cab and pipes sticking out of the top headed my way.

Gilbert Moore pulled up beside me with dark sunglasses covering his eyes and his ponytail perched on his shoulder. “What the hell’s going on over here?”

“Shouldn’t you be home in bed recuperating?”

“A man’s gotta eat.” He reflexively reached for his shoulder and frowned. “I’m fine.” Nodding to the emergency response trucks still parked by the tent, he said, “What happened?”

“Waverman collapsed. Ambulance just took him to the hospital.”

“How bad?”

“I thought he was dead at first, but he was semi-conscious by the time the EMTs arrived.” I shrugged. “It looked serious, but I really don’t know.”

“Hell,” the big man said. “He was a heart attack waiting to happen, so one way or another he’s down. That means Finch is up to bat and I wouldn’t trust him half as far as you could throw him.” He grinned. “Now me, I could throw him pretty far.”

I frowned. “You can’t be that big of an ass, that insensitive and callous.”

“I’ve heard I am,” he said, nodding. Then, his face became serious. “Jokes aside, with Waverman gone, we’ve got a problem. I have a couple days left on the monitoring wells, but then I’m scheduled to start digging on the pits. If Waverman’s not here, I’m not doing it. He’s a bigger ass than I am, but he knows his stuff.”

“And Finch doesn’t?”

“That’s not the problem,” Gilbert said, shifting his extra-tall frame around in the seat. “He’s not a decision maker and I’m not babysitting him every step of the way. One little thing goes wrong and he’d piss himself. You need somebody else in charge.”

I’d come to the same conclusion myself—without the peeing image. The next logical—and thoroughly disheartening—supposition was that I would have to take over.

“Don’t even think about it, cupcake,” he said. You don’t know jack shit and you can’t learn overnight.” He pulled a card from his pocket. “I meant me. I’ve done this kind of work for twenty years. I know how to manage people and projects. Finch can handle the environmental, but he answers to me so I can make sure nobody dies while we’re getting that shit out of the ground.”

I took his card. “If that was supposed to make me feel better, it didn’t.”

“It’s not about feeling good. It’s business.” He put the truck in gear and looked at me seriously. “It’s the best option you’ve got.”

No, shutting the whole thing down until I could get a competent consultant in here was my best option.

But as I watched him drive away, I had to concede one valid point—I didn’t know enough about the project to be in charge of it. Hell, I barely knew enough to ask reasonably intelligent questions. Visions of long tedious hours at the computer flashed in my head. Just the thought of having to trudge through another boring academic tome of pomposity made my head spin. In this day and age, you’d think they have a short version for dummies or idiots or something—a Toxic Waste Tutorial for regular people.

And why was it again that I had to do anything? The estate could very well pay somebody besides me to do this crap. Or was my taking ownership of things part of the unpleasant terms and conditions of the estate? Seemed like it was. Nevertheless, I’d be revisiting that topic with the Vanderhorns posthaste.

I picked up my phone to do exactly that, and the second I touched it, it rang. At first, I thought I’d hit a button and mistakenly dialed. I hadn’t. It was an incoming call from a number I didn’t recognize, a local number. I answered. “This is Jolene.”

“Miss Jolene, this is Emmajean. Clove is having a fit about you leaving before he could talk to you this morning. Can you come on back up here now for just a few minutes?”

Oh, boy, another lecture from Clove I did not need. “I’m already headed that way now and will be there in a few minutes.”

The trip back up the hill took twice as long as the trip down because I was still replaying the incident with Waverman. The guy had looked dead and I had been very afraid he was. As much as I disliked his attitude and ways, I still felt compassion for the big oaf and hoped he was okay.