Southern Comfort (19 page)

He shook his head. What was wrong with him? He didn’t need these kinds of thoughts. She was the antithesis of everything he stood for. She caved to “the man,” she did what she was supposed to do, and then she made everybody else around her do what they were supposed to do. He was a free spirit, and he wasn’t buying her upper crust rules. It didn’t matter how pretty she looked in baby pink.

“Why don’t you come down a couple of steps, and I’ll hand it up to you?”

“I’m perfectly fine going down the stairs.”

He eyed her skeptically. “Okay, but you go down first. That way if you fall you won’t hit me and knock me the rest the way down too.”

“Hardy-har.” She opened the doors to the cellar, and he explained the changes that he had made to the stairs.

“It’s more like a ladder now,” he said. “Turn around and go down with your face toward the stairs and your hands on the hand rails.”

She did as he asked, and then he realized another benefit of having her go down first. It gave him quite an impressive view down the front of her dress.

Pervert
, he chastised himself. Though if that was the case, he was a pervert who would very much like to get her in bed for the rest of the afternoon.

Yesterday had been spectacular and this morning showed that it was not a one-time deal. Together the two of them together had something explosive. Phenomenal. Outright special. And he wanted to experience it again. And maybe another time. And with any luck a couple more times before Thursday’s ghost appeared.

But she thought she was marrying stuffed-shirt Gerald Davenport. Though he hadn’t asked her to marry him yet. And she had no ring. And Gerald was completely wrong for her.

“Are you coming?”

He cut his gaze back down into the cellar to see if Natalie had made it to the bottom. “Be right there.”

He started down the steps the same way he’d instructed her. From just inside the cellar he heard her ask, “Is the flashlight still down here?”

“Watch this,” he said, as his feet touched the cellar floor. He turned around and slung one arm through the air searching for the pull string. It took only a couple of seconds and he found it, jerking it down and flooding the basement with light.

Natalie shielded her eyes from the glare. He had to admit it was quite bright down there now. Not at all like it had been when all they had was a single-beam flashlight.

“How did you do that?”

Newland smiled. “I spent some time with the Amish a while back. Long story. Don’t ask. But I learned how to wire up a light to a battery.” He pointed to the corner edge of the shelf where a car battery sat. The light was wired to it using cables which in turn were attached to the ceiling allowing the bulb to hang above them. It was a perfect setup really. “Now if your aunt was to come down here she can not only get down a little easier because she’s got the new ladder, but she’s also got light to see her favorite jellies.”

“And her moonshine,” Natalie muttered. She walked over to the shelves lining the wall, pointing to a couple of jars that appeared to be filled with nothing but water. “How do I get these back upstairs?”

“You’re really not going to make her throw it out, are you?”

Natalie plopped her hands on her hips. “I suppose I should just let my aunt get drunker than Cooter Brown all by herself?”

“What about card night? Maybe if she were to drink with her girlfriends.” He stopped his explanation as Natalie begin to shake her head.

“They’re worse than she is.”

Newland had no argument for that.

“It’s better this way,” she said. But he realized then that was her solution for everything. Her way was the best way. Oh, she meant well. She had the best intentions to help everyone in her life. But was it really helping?

“Why don’t you come over on card night and then you can have a drink with them?” Newland finished on a slightly higher note; it was almost a question. But not quite.

“Are you saying you know what’s better for me and my aunt than I do?”

“Oh, don’t start getting all defensive. All I'm saying is that you might have a good time every now and then if you let your hair down and spend a little more time enjoying yourself instead of making sure everybody’s in line.”

He hadn’t meant to disrespect her efforts, but he felt it was his duty to show her some of the error of her ways. She was young and beautiful and had her whole life ahead of her; if she let loose just a tad it would be so much more fun.

Who was he to say what she should do to enjoy herself? But he just couldn’t let it go.

“Whatever,” he said. “She’s your aunt.” Which was the truth. As much as he wished that Natalie would loosen her white-knuckled grip on every aspect of her life, it really wasn’t his concern. This was her family, her life, her choice.

Her lips parted at just the right angle for kissing, or maybe she was going to agree with him. But she stopped. She pointed to the corner of the cellar where crate upon crate was stacked on top of one another. Wooden crates filled with who knew what. “What’s that?”

Newland shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? It’s your aunt’s cellar.”

“But those weren’t here the last time we were down here. Were they?”

“There were a few of them,” he said.

“But?” Natalie prompted.

“But I don’t remember there being so many of them. There was maybe two or three at the most. But now there has to be … ” He trailed off and started to count. “Eight, nine, ten … There’s at least a dozen of them now.”

“And they were here when you fixed the light and the steps?” Natalie asked.

Newland shook his head. “I don’t remember. I mean, there weren’t that many, but I don’t remember if there was the same number as before.”

“You didn’t bring them down here?”

He snorted, but otherwise didn’t answer.

“Right,” she said with a nod.

“So if I didn’t bring them down here and you didn’t bring them down here … ”

She shook her head.

“Do you think Aubie did it?” He stopped. “He’s sixteen. Stupid question.”

“Maybe we just didn’t see them because it was dark.”

“Maybe,” he said, but he wasn’t convinced.

“What’s in them?”

He shrugged. “No idea.”

She looked at him, then at the stacks of crates. “Don’t you think we should look and see?”

Newland grabbed the two jars of moonshine off the shelf to his left, then started for the ladder. “No, I don’t. I don’t see how it’s any of my business.” But he wasn’t convinced about that either.

Natalie seemed on the verge of saying something else, but she shook her head again. “All this talk of ghosts and your little excursions out to the cemetery is making me paranoid. Aunt Bitty stored some stuff down here. Simple as that.”

“Yeah, I suppose. But I’m going to ask her about it just in case.”

“Can I talk to you about something for a minute?” Natalie tapped on Newland’s door and pushed it open a crack. He was sitting on his bed typing something into his laptop. She hated to bother him. But she knew that was just her reluctance to say what needed to be said.

“Sure.” He gave a small nod and pushed his laptop to the side, motioning for her to come in and sit on the edge of his bed.

She eased into the room, but ignored his invitation. “About last night,” she started. She almost laughed at the cliché of it all. “That can’t happen again. That’s not me. I don’t know what happened. It just can’t happen again.” Had she said that already?”

Newland didn’t say anything at all. He just stared at her as if she were a two-headed pig at the circus. “You think I judged you for that?” he finally asked.

Judge her? Of course he judged her. Everybody judged everybody else. It was the way of life. She knew he had already made up his mind about her. So what did it matter what he thought? He was going to be gone in just a few days.

“It can’t happen again,” Natalie said.

“I believe you said that already.” His eyes were unreadable, his expression a blank canvas.

Natalie stood there a moment just looking at him, unsure of what to say next. She wanted him to agree with her, tell her that it couldn’t happen again. Admit that it was a mistake. But he didn’t. So she stood there, just waiting.

“Is that what you came to tell me?” Newland asked.

Natalie nodded.

“I see,” Newland said. He rose to his feet and came slowly toward her.

Natalie refused to take a step backward despite the fact she wanted to so badly. Self-preservation and all. She needed to be as far away from Newland Tran as she could be.

He stopped just inches from her, their bodies not touching but that magnetic pull still there.

“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart, and maybe you’ll start to believe it. But deep down you know this: I can have you in three seconds flat. One kiss is all it would take.”

Natalie was speechless. She stared at him, her mind running over a half a dozen possible comebacks but not landing on any one. What could she say to that? Anything she said would just be thrown back at her.

He moved closer still, and she thought for a moment he might kiss her just to prove his point. Instead, he raised a hand, almost touched her face, then turned and went back to sit on the bed.

Natalie almost collapsed with relief. Or was it regret?

“Okay then,” she said. “Now that it’s settled.” Saying goodbye sounded odd so she turned on her heel and walked out of the room. She had too much to do today to give Newland Tran a second thought.

• • •

A knock sounded on Newland’s door. He saved his document before calling, “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Bitty poked her purple head inside. “The girls have come over for tea. Would you like to join us?”

He stretched again, working out the kinks in his back. Typing while sitting on a bed wasn’t an optimal situation, but he didn’t have a desk in this room. It didn’t help that he’d been sitting there for two straight hours, immersing himself in the story he was writing and doing his best to forget about Natalie and her little “that was a mistake” speech she had given him that morning.

“I’d love to.” He smiled. He hadn’t had anything to eat for breakfast and it was almost two o’clock.

Bitty smiled. “That’s what we were hoping you would say.” She disappeared out the doorway again, and Newland had a strange suspicion this would be the most different kind of tea he’d ever attended.

He turned off his laptop and made his way down the stairs. “The girls,” as Bitty referred to them, had gathered in the parlor around the oval-shaped coffee table. They were laughing and talking as he came into the room, then they all stopped and smiled.

“Oh my,” a lady he didn’t know said as he walked in. She was a beautiful woman, with mocha skin and snow white hair, close cropped to her head. She wore a bright red shirt, a long, tie-dyed Gypsy skirt and more than her fair share of jewelry, including earrings made of disks that clicked together like a wind chime every time she moved.

“Oh, that’s right. You weren’t here last week, Josephine,” Bitty said. She stood and took Newland by the elbow and dragged him farther into the room. “This is Newland Tran. He’s the reporter who’s come to help me with my ghost. “This is Josephine Waters. She lives across the street.”

Oh, he remembered now. Josephine was the one with the boyfriend, the one who skipped out last week and left him playing poker with three geriatric card sharks.

Newland stuck out his hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

She shook his hand in a surprisingly firm grip, and he immediately liked Josephine. There was just something about the sassy woman, that spark of life in her eyes, the mischievous slant of her smile. She was the perfect complement to the other three and Newland could see why they had been dubbed the Fab Four. They truly were amazing.

He settled himself down in the armchair opposite Bitty. Before him on the coffee table was a spread worthy of high tea in any society parlor: tiny little finger sandwiches, scones, cookies, and an antique silver pot with a puff of steam coming out the spout.

Bitty came around the coffee table and poured him a cup of tea. “Here you go, dear.” She served his plate as well but before she returned to her seat she pulled a small flask from somewhere inside the bodice of her dress.

Newland tried not to look shocked as Bitty winked at him. “Would you like a snort?”

After this morning’s hangover he was about to say no when she poured a large dollop into his tea.

“There you go.” Newland stirred it around like she advised as she headed back to her own seat. Maybe it’d been a mistake for him to bring that moonshine up from the cellar.

Bitty tucked her flask away in its secret place and picked up her own saucer. “Now, where were we?”

He listened as they talked about the troubles with the barking dog down the street, the lawn service they were convinced was out to scalp them, and Josephine’s new boyfriend. He was amazed that no one mentioned the buckled sidewalk out front of Bitty’s house. It seemed that was just part of the neighborhood.

“Bitty,” Newland started. “Did you store anything down in the cellar?”

The women all turned to look at him, and he realized he had spoken out of turn. They had been discussing whether a peach cobbler should be baked at 400 degrees or 350 when he blurted out his question. Still, it had been bothering him all day. Why was there stuff stored down there if no one in the house had stored it? What was in those crates?

“Of course not, dear,” Bitty said. “How am I supposed to get down into the cellar?”

That was just what he had been thinking too. So if she didn’t put the crates down there that only left Aubie or the part-time housekeeper. Aubie seemed least likely to lug something to the cellar if he could find somebody else to do it for him and he couldn’t imagine the housekeeper dropping anything into the cellar without Bitty’s prior approval. So how did those crates get down there?

He nibbled on his cookie, sipped his hooch-laced tea, and let their scattered conversation wash over him. He needed to get down there and check it out. Find out what was in those crates. But the last thing he wanted to do was alarm Bitty.