Giving Up the Ghost (4 page)

"Oh." Gabbie sank onto the couch to absorb this information. She was vaguely aware
that Cam had started pacing. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak.

"Who do you think did it?"

Cam scratched his forehead. He looked embarrassed. "It could be any one of a handful of
people."

Gabbie gulped. "A handful? You mean like more than one?"

He cleared his throat. "More like four. Six on the outside."

"Six! Six mortal enemies? You must have been a real upstanding citizen."

"I was what you'd call an entrepreneur."

Gabbie tossed back her head and let out a guffaw. "A wheeler-dealer, was what I was
told."

"That's a bit harsh."

"But accurate, I bet. I know your type. I just divorced the king of connivers."

"And how is he managing without you?" Cam said.

"He's in jail where he belongs. I helped put him there."

"Oh."

Gabbie was pleased to hear a note of respect in his voice when he said, "You're one
formidable woman."

"I certainly hope so," she said, with more confidence than she felt. Paul's arrest, trial,
and the subsequent divorce had knocked the stuffing out of her, and she was just beginning to feel
like herself again.

"Jill Leverette's another formidable woman. She was furious with me the last time we
were together, but I don't think she'd actually kill me."

"Was she your lover?"

His nod blended chagrin and pride. "And married to that idiot Fred, whom she should
have divorced years ago. Anyway, I was leaving town, and Jill got it into her head she was going
with me. Foolish girl. She was so sure I'd take her with me, she told Fred all about her plans."

"But you didn't want her along."

He grimaced. "She nearly had a stroke when I told her I didn't think it was a good idea
for her to leave her daughter."

Gabbie snorted. "Translated, you didn't want her cramping your style."

Cam gave her a wounded look. "That's not it at all. I had a few business stops to make,
and then I was off to the Cote d'Azur, with no definite plans after that. I had no idea where I'd end
up. My intention was to get away from CH for while, until things settled down."

"What things?"

"Just some fallout from a few business ventures." He tried to look innocent, but didn't
succeed.

"Specifically?"

He cleared his throat. "There was one deal in particular that gave me grief. Over a year
ago, I bought up connecting plots of land from some local guys and sold them to a builder. He got
the official okay to put up a housing development. I saw the plans. Real beauties--five-bedroom
Victorians with front porches, basements, on acre plots."

Gabbie tried to follow his logic. "You said you bought the land over a year ago. Why
would anyone wait to kill you several months later?"

"Frankly, it's hard to imagine. But seeing the project get off the ground, with signs
advertising the new development all over the place, inflamed their resentment. Made their feeling
I'd cheated them fresh in their minds all over again. Reese Walters was pissed something awful. And
Don Terranova threatened to shoot me on sight." Cam snorted. "As if he could hit the side of a barn
these days."

Gabbie heard what he was really saying. "So, you bought cheap and sold high. Did the
dirty on a bunch of your cronies."

Cam shrugged. "Cronies, acquaintances, call them what you like. I found the builder. I
practically designed the development, for God's sake. And those four lugs know damn well they're
twenty-five thousand dollars richer than they would have been if they'd held on to their bits of
land."

"But they didn't make out as well as you did on the deal."

"Don't worry. I made it up to them. Or would have--" He stopped abruptly as a thought
occurred to him.

She cocked her head. "Go on. What were you about to say?"

"Nothing for you to be concerned about. I am--I was--a businessman. Believe me, I
honored my debts."

"If that's the case, none of them would have been angry enough to kill you, would
they?"

"I certainly hope not. Those guys were my friends."

Interesting how quickly his acquaintances gained the status of friendship. Gabbie shut
her mind to Cam's discrepancies for the present and concentrated on the facts. "Getting back to that
afternoon, tell me what you remember."

He furrowed his brow as he thought. "Let's see. I finished packing around four-thirty,
and was sitting there in my lounger drinking my favorite gin." He chuckled. "I was kind of fuzzy by
then. I went outside to--er 'use the facilities' as they say--then returned to my desk to do some
last-minute paperwork. I was trying to make sense of some document when a terrible pain struck the
back of my head. I blacked out, came to, and blacked out again. When I woke up, I was dead."

"I am sorry." Gabbie tried to take in the enormity of what he'd just told her.

"Which is why I need you to help me, Gabbie."

"Oh, no!" She raised her palms to ward off his preposterous demand.

"I can tell you're resourceful, and you're good with people. Precisely the type of woman
capable of finding out who did the deed."

"I can't, Cam. I won't!"

"Come on, Gabbie. I need you. You're my link to this town. To the world."

"Look," she said, "I'm terribly sorry that someone killed you, but I've come to Chrissom
Harbor to recover from the traumas in my own life. I can't get involved in a murder investigation."
She stood, ready to flee.

"Don't go!"

She hesitated when she saw the anguish in his face.

"I hate to be melodramatic, but I'll shriek and carry on until you agree to find out who
killed me." He proved his point by letting loose an ear-piercing scream.

Gabbie clapped her hands over her ears. "Stop it! I get your message, but honestly,
there's nothing I can do."

"Just talk to those people." His words came faster and faster. "They'll know you're
staying here at the cottage. It's human nature for you to show an interest in my death. Wonder
aloud if I had enemies, if my death wasn't an accident. And if someone acts weird or his story
doesn't jive, tell Darren. Only don't let him know I started you off on this. He'll cart you right over to
the local nut house."

"Cam, I really don't--"

"It's easy enough. All you have to do is go to Logan's Place. It's that log cabin-looking
restaurant-bar on the far end of Main Street. Everyone in town goes to Logan's, sometime or other.
In fact, Jill often eats there Monday nights with her husband and daughter."

"No, no, no." Gabbie covered her ears and walked out of the den. He followed her to the
doorway, and called after her as she started up the stairs, "Jill works part-time as bookkeeper for
Reese Walters, and she does volunteer work, teaching reading to immigrants."

Both amused and exasperated, Gabbie returned to the hall and shook her head at him.
"I'll think about it. It's the best I can offer."

"All right." He gave her a heartbreaking smile. "I appreciate whatever you're willing to
do. Even if it's only to have dinner at Logan's tonight, to hear what people have to say about me."
His grin was mischievous. "The food's really good."

Suddenly she was hungry and not in the mood to prepare dinner, not even an omelet.
Going to Logan's wasn't a bad idea. She could meet some of the townsfolk and find out what they
were saying about Cam.

"I might go to Logan's, after all." When that brought on a huge smile, she quickly added,
"But that doesn't mean I'm going to play detective. I still have to think that over."

"When will you let me know?"

"As soon as I've decided. Please don't nag. I'm here to teach English, remember? I'll be
lucky if I keep one chapter ahead of the kids."

Cam dismissed her concerns with a flick of his wrist. "A piece of cake. I can tell you're a
pro."

Gabbie bit her lip. The anxiety she'd been holding at bay, swept over her like a
tsunami.

"I'm glad you have confidence in me because I'm terrified. I haven't taught in a
classroom in years."

Logan's Place resembled the kind of log cabin Abe Lincoln was supposed to have
grown up in, except that the restaurant-bar blazed with still-hanging Christmas lights. It stood back
from the corner, allowing patrons to park on all four sides of the rectangular-shaped building.
Gabbie pulled into one of the few available spots. When she tugged open the rough-hewn wooden
door, she was enveloped by the heavenly aroma of shrimp scampi.

She stood in the tiny vestibule, feeling like Alice in Wonderland as she debated which of
the two doors to open next. The one to the bar, Gabbie decided. She opened it a crack and peered in.
Several patrons sat on stools or leaned against the long bar. The drone of the six o'clock news from
the overhead TV reached her ears.

Maybe later. She opted for the larger, brighter dining room, where couples and families
sat at tables covered with red and white checked tablecloths.

The doors at the back of the room swung open, and a buxom blonde emerged. "Dinner
for one?"

"Yes," Gabbie said.

The woman led her to a small table flush with the side wall farthest from the bar. Gabbie
sat on a gingham cushioned chair.

"Tonight we're serving shrimp. Fried shrimp, shrimp diablo, shrimp sautéed, and
shrimp scampi. But we always have burgers and salads, if that's your pleasure."

She sped away and was replaced by a pretty young waitress wearing a name tag "Sarah"
over her red-and-white uniform. Sarah repeated the menu.

Gabbie forgot about the cheeseburger she'd planned on. "I'll go with the scampi."

"Mashed, french-fried, home fries or rice?"

"Home fries."

Sarah grinned. "My favorite. You also get soup and a salad. All for twelve
ninety-five."

Gabbie ordered Manhattan clam chowder and the blue cheese dressing. Certainly not
dietetic, but she'd start an exercise routine once she got settled. Sarah returned a minute later with
her soup.

"I made sure it's nice and hot," she told Gabbie.

"Well, thank you," Gabbie replied, touched by the young woman's thoughtfulness. It had
been some time since anyone had bothered to please her. She took a spoonful of soup and sighed. It
was scrumptious--plenty of clams and not overly salty.

Gabbie studied her fellow diners, and felt a pang of disappointment that none fitted
Cam's description of the Leverettes. Sarah served her salad and then the main course. The shrimps
were huge and succulent, the sauce zesty but not too spicy.

She ate leisurely, comfortable with her own company, for once not self-conscious about
dining alone. The hum of conversation gave her a sense of community without the obligation of
joining in.

She was contemplating dessert when the hostess seated a new party at the next table.
They were a couple in their late thirties, early forties and a sullen teenager--a tall, slender girl with
long brown hair.

The woman was pretty and shapely, with wavy blonde hair cascading halfway down her
back. Her companion, a bearlike, lumbering man, wore an intelligent though perplexed expression,
as if his mind were miles away resolving a difficult problem. They sat in silence until the waitress
came to take their orders.

Full as she was, Gabbie couldn't resist ordering a peach cobbler to go with her coffee.
While she was on her second cup, the party of three finished their main course and prepared to
leave. They'd hardly spoken a word, except for the few times the mother asked her daughter a
question and was rebuffed with a terse one-word answer. Poor woman.

"Find everything to your satisfaction?" the hostess said when Gabbie went to pay.

"Everything was delicious. I'll be back soon."

"I'm Monica. My husband, Mike, and I own Logan's."

Gabbie put out her hand. "Gabbie Meyerson. Pleased to meet you, Monica."

"We're the closest you'll get to home cooking in CH. Wednesday night's pasta,
Thursday's meat loaf, Friday's fish, and Saturday's a surprise. Sunday and Tuesday nights you have
to fend for yourself."

"Sounds good to me." Gabbie stopped in the vestibule and took a deep breath, as though
she were about to swim under water. Here goes. Miss Marple on the trail. I'll order a beer and finish
it, no doubt, before I think of something pertinent to ask the patrons at the bar.

The door to the bar swung open. The man who was about to come out held it for her,
giving her no choice but to enter. In the dim light she could see most of the tables as well as the bar
stools were now occupied. The TV was muted, and a dreamy sixties song filled the room.

"Over here, Gabbie," she heard someone call.

Reese Walters was waving from the far end of the room. She hesitated before
approaching the round table where he sat with two other men. All three smiled at her with
expectant expressions.

"Gabbie Meyerson, meet Terry Lopez and Jack McMahon. Fellas, Gabbie's the new
English teacher I told you about. Gabbie, why don't you sit down and have yourself a beer?"

Startled, she paused, wondering at the ease with which she was achieving her goal. But
was that what she wanted, to ask questions on behalf of a ghost? The thought suddenly struck her
as hilarious, and she had to cover her mouth to contain her laughter as she headed for the vacant
seat between Reese and Terry.

"Hello, everyone. Reese, thanks for putting in the new appliances so quickly." A pang of
guilt prodded her to add, "I'll start using them when I'm settled and find the time to prepare
meals."

"Use them or not, as you please. I'll get to the floor just as soon as I'm able."

The handsome Latino in his mid-forties turned to her and offered his hand. "Pleased to
meet you, Gabbie. I'm Terry, in case you're wondering who is who."

"And I'm Jack." The Jolly Green Giant in his rumpled flannel shirt smiled, showing the
gap between his front teeth. Though he appeared to be about fifty-five, there was something
childlike in his expression. Size-wise they looked like Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear, Gabbie
thought, but in reverse order of their ages.