Southern Gothic (2 page)

“Why? This isn’t like New York City where murders happen probably every day. I can’t imagine you have that many to deal with in Winston-Salem.”

Rolson raised an eyebrow. “More than you’d believe. Too many, as far as I’m concerned.”

Drummond had drifted over to the desk. “Keep him talking. I’m working as fast as I can.”

It took Max a huge effort to keep his eyes on Rolson. He didn’t know what Drummond’s
work
consisted of, and he didn’t want to know. Putting out his hand for a shake, he said, “Well, Detective, I guess that’s it. I came, I saw, I answered questions. I suppose none of this has anything to do with me anymore.”

“What are you doing?” Drummond soared over next to Rolson. “Your client was murdered. You can’t walk away from that. Besides, you haven’t had an interesting case in ages. This is a murder. That’s big.”

“One second,” Rolson said, holding up his index finger. “I have another question for you. I’ll be right back.” He walked out of the room with a firm clip to his step.

Drummond got right in front of Max. “Listen to me. I know you. You aren’t going to pretend this didn’t happen. You can’t.”

In a harsh whisper, Max said, “Nobody’s paying us to look into this murder, and in case you haven’t noticed, money’s been a bit of a problem. So while I’m sorry for Sebastian, I can’t really help him either. Especially since he’s dead.”

“Have you learned nothing since we’ve met? Do you listen to anything I tell you?”

“I try not to.”

“You better listen this time because your life is probably in danger.” Drummond passed over the corpse. “This man is dead only a short time after hiring you to start digging into his past. That doesn’t strike you as an important sequence of events?”

“There’s no reason to think that the two are connected.”

“Oh, Max, don’t be naive. If I’ve taught you anything, it should be that when it comes to crime, there are no coincidences. Not like this, at least.” Drummond looked in his coat pocket and frowned. Joshua Leed, a highly educated witch hunter, who had been reduced to a ghostly glob which Drummond carried around, still managed to talk with the old detective, though Max could not hear a word — Drummond was the only ghost on Max’s otherworldly radar.

A moment later, Drummond slid over to the desk. “You don’t want to believe me, okay. I’m telling you my gut knows there’s something wrong here and that you might be in danger. Or maybe even Sandra. Leed agrees.”

“Are you really going to go after my wife with this?”

“Stop being a brat, come over here, and grab these papers before the copper comes back.”

Max stomped over to the desk, his eyes blazing. “I’m not going to steal evidence because of your gut-feeling when you don’t even have a gut anymore.”

But even as Max spoke, his fingers brushed the papers. He could deny Drummond for all eternity but that wouldn’t change the nagging in the back of his head — the voice that reminded him how Drummond knew this line of work too well, that he would never suggest stealing like this unless it was important, that Drummond cared deeply for Sandra and maybe even for Max, too. That voice also pointed out that Max’s gut had been sharing Drummond’s uneasy feelings about this crime scene.

With a quick glance at the door, Max grabbed the papers, folded them once, and shoved them into his pocket.

Great,
Max thought.
Now, I’m a thief.

Chapter 2

During the entire drive home,
Max did not utter a word. The stolen papers weighed down his pocket a little and his conscience a lot. When Drummond realized his partner would not be speaking, he settled in the back seat and talked softly with Leed.

Twenty minutes later, Max pulled off Peters Creek Parkway onto a gravel road that led to a rundown trailer park — fourteen trailers lined up in three rows. Next door, the heavy fumes of a Marathon gas station polluted the air. Across the street and a down a little, a McDonald’s did the same.

Max slammed his car door shut and trudged over to his trailer. Ever since the resurrection of Tucker Hull, life for the Porters had become difficult. They lost their home, their business, everything. But Sandra refused to be run off with tail tucked. Much of the time, her strength kept Max going. Even when they learned that Forsyth County mysteriously annexed certain properties from neighboring Davidson County with the end result that Max’s trailer now sat in the higher tax-bracketed Forsyth — even when that happened, and he knew in his heart that the Hull family had engineered the unfortunate turn, seeing Sandra’s jaw jut out and her fists clenched inflated his confidence. She would not let them break her or Max, so Max had to be strong, too.

Except when Max entered their trailer, he had to stop and observe the squalor of their lives — a torn couch, a chipped table for two, rusting appliances, a closet-sized bathroom, stained carpets, and a grimy odor that coated his clothes and skin. Was this really what they fought for? And now Drummond wanted Max to jump into a mess involving a murder. Probably to stave off the old ghost’s boredom. Sure, he said that trouble approached, but so what if it did? They had so little left, they had nearly reached the point of
nothing to lose
.

Drummond entered through a wall. “I know that look. You’re upset. Let me tell you something.”

“No.” Max pulled the stolen papers from his pocket and tossed them in the trash. “We’ve got one of the wealthiest families in all of North Carolina gunning for us, which is bad enough, but then add to that the fact that this family is led by a man dead since the 1700s and, oh yes, did I mention that they have used witches and magic for centuries? And you think I should be concerned over the murder of some guy I hardly knew who only wanted to find out about his family? Really?”

“Something inside you knows I’m right. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have taken those papers.”

“Thanks for that, too. I’ve committed a serious crime, stealing evidence, so now I can improve my life by going off to jail. I’m sure Sandra would love visiting me, only talking through a phone, seeing me bruised and beaten — you know I’m not tough enough to stand my ground in jail. They’ll rip me apart.”

“Max, please, you’re acting hysterical.”

“I am not going to get involved in this.”

A car pulled up and backfired — Sandra. They had needed a second car but couldn’t afford anything but a used piece of junk that clearly had been in more than one accident. Max watched from the dirty window as she turned off the car and gathered her things together. He dashed the three steps it took to get to the trash and fished out the stolen papers.

“Over here,” Drummond said, indicating a torn piece of carpet near the back wall.

Max shoved the paper under and placed a pillow over the ripped carpet. With a harsh look, he pointed a finger right at Drummond’s face. “Not a word.”

The door opened and in walked Max’s wife. Sandra still could take his heart away. Even in the hard times they suffered through, looking at her shapely figure and bright smile gave him hope.

Max wrapped his arms around her and planted a big kiss on her mouth. She smiled playfully. “Now that’s the kind of welcome home I like.” Hearing her own words, Sandra frowned. “Wait a minute. Why are you home? Shouldn’t you be researching some family history?”

“I have some bad news about that. My client is dead.”

“What?”

“I’m hoping it was an accident or natural causes.”

Drummond stretched his arms over his head and groaned. “That colored boy was murdered and you know it.”

With an impatient sigh, Max said, “He wasn’t a
boy
and I swear if you use the word
colored
again, I’m going to end our partnership.”

“What did I do?”

“Don’t act all innocent. You’ve been haunting this world for decades. You know all about the Civil Rights Movement, about the changes in this world, and you know that the way you thought back when you were alive was wrong. So start checking that your mouth is synced up with the times. We’ve got enough problems without having to deal with Southern bigotry.”

“Now you listen here —”

“Gentleman,” Sandra said with an easing tone. “Let’s not argue about prejudices that neither of you have. Drummond, kindly update your vernacular so that you speak less offensively in this modern world. Max, stop taking the bait for a fight simply because you and Drummond are feeling ornery. And one of you, tell me what the hell happened today? Your client was murdered?”

Max slumped into the kitchen chair. Sitting wedged between the sink and their only table, Max explained the events of the day. He never mentioned the papers he stole nor that he had them stashed underneath the carpet, but otherwise, he provided every detail as best as he could recall.

When he finished, Sandra pounded her fist against the counter with one hard strike. “It’s not fair. We can’t even get a break on a simple damn family research job.”

“I’ll get some other work. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

“No, it won’t. How are we going to survive if Hull kills off every client you get?”

“We don’t know it was Hull. We don’t even know if it was murder.”

Sandra dropped her purse on the table. Its stitching had started to unravel, and she flicked the loose, limp strands. “I can’t support us both working part-time at a bakery, and they won’t give me any more hours.”

“It’s not your job to support us. We do it together.”

“Not when you have no clients.”

Drummond tipped his hat and lowered his head. “I think I should be going for a bit of a stroll. See you later.” Max opened his mouth to utter a word of protest, he figured having the ghost’s support might help in this fight, but before he could speak, Drummond floated away.

Max turned toward Sandra. “We’ve been through tough times before, and they say the economy is getting better. I’m sure more clients will come our way.”

“Stop that. You’re always playing the part of Mister Positive when I’m pissed, but I know deep down you’re angry and worried about all of this.”

“Of course. We’ve got plenty to be angry and worried about. That doesn’t mean we have to give up, and we certainly don’t have to fight about it. It’s not like this is my fault.”

Sandra’s eyes flared. “Don’t you start blaming me.”

“I didn’t —”

“Just because I’m the one who had the guts to tell Tucker Hull to go back to the hell he came from, doesn’t mean this is all my fault. Or would you have rather we ran away from North Carolina and simply prayed that a psychopathic zombie with a witch fetish would forget about us? You really think that would’ve worked? The Hulls never forget. Look at all of your big cases down here. Every one of them that involved the Hulls, and that’s almost all of them, involved old scores they were still trying to settle. You really think they’d let us go? After you held them off of us by threatening to expose them? You really think that?”

When Max sensed that she had vented the last of the moment’s anger, he smiled. “When I said it wasn’t my fault, I meant my client’s murder. That’s it.”

Sandra stood next to the refrigerator, suddenly finding great interest in the dent from where the previous owner had kicked it. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry.”

Her bottom lip quivered and as her tears fell, Max swooped her up in his arms and stroked her hair. “I don’t blame you for any of this. When you sent word to the Hulls that we weren’t going to run, I was so proud of you. And I still am.”

Sniffling, she said, “I know. I do. I’m just sick of things not going our way. Ever. It seems like every time we’re so close to building a stable life, some catastrophe happens to knock us back down. I swear all of those catastrophes have the name Hull attached somewhere along the line.”

“Hey, don’t worry so much. We’ve still got each other. And this lovely home.”

With a chuckle, she stepped away and grabbed a tissue. “That we do. When they get this away from us, we can live out of the car.”

“That’s right. The Fall is almost done, but we can drive further South if the ice storms get too bad. Otherwise, the weather here is fine. Who needs a house?”

“I’ll tell you, seriously, it’s hard not to see the Hulls hands in everything bad. Even when I was asking for more hours, the way Cheryl hesitated before saying she couldn’t do it — I swear she needs the help, and all I could think was that Hull got to her, too.”

Max nodded. “I feel it, too. Driving up to the crime scene today, I saw those cops, and I couldn’t really put it into words until now, but yeah — I think I had that same suspicion. I didn’t even know what had happened yet, but on some deep, subconscious level, all I could think was that the Hulls were about to screw up my life again.”

Max thought about the papers under the carpet. He had yet to look at them, and he wondered if the letterhead would be a big blue H with a little door on the one leg.

Sandra hugged Max. “Let’s promise not to talk about the Hulls anymore. At least, not anymore tonight.”

“Okay. Deal.”

“You know, Drummond ran off because we were fighting.”