married to Jackson Crow, the field director for all Krewe agents. While Jackson managed most of their commitments, there was still their overall head, Adam Harrison, who’d first recognized those out there with special intuition—that ability to talk to the dead. He was an incredibly kind man with a talent for finding and recruiting the right people for his Krewe.
Angela came online. She was a beautiful blonde who looked like she should have starred in a noir movie.
“Anything?” she asked Jane.
“So much!”
Jane told her about the morning’s events, then said, “I need you to do a search on a woman named Margaret Clarendon, who lived here in the mid-1800s. Find out anything you can about her—before and after she worked for the Roth family.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Elizabeth Roth believes that she was murdered, and that her fiancé was murdered, too. She thinks she was killed by this maid.”
“And that will help you now?” Angela asked.
“I think so,” Jane said. “There’s no one to benefit from Emil Roth’s death or from him being ruined. There has to be another motive.”
“And you think Margaret Clarendon, despite the fact that she might have been a murderess, felt that ill was done to her?”
“We’ve seen it before. Sometimes there’s a descendant out there who feels that they have to right a family wrong,” Jane said.
“But remember that sometimes people just act on greed, jealousy, or revenge. Modern day psychos or self-centered asses,” Angela reminded her.
“I’ll watch from all sides,” Jane promised her.
She said good-bye and they cut the connection. Jane drummed her fingers on the table for a minute, and then hopped up again. She was going to have to wait for results, but she couldn’t sit idly by.
Time to try to pay a visit to John McCawley again.
* * * *
“Here’s what I can’t figure. If Mrs. Avery was hit on the head, she had to have been hit on the head with something. Where is that something she was hit with?” Sloan asked.
“Whoever hit her took it with them,” Logan said.
Sloan was the one driving as they headed back to the castle. He saw a coffee shop and switched on his blinker, ready to pull into the lot.
“We’re stopping for coffee,” Logan said.
Sloan grinned. “I thought we’d try for a little more gossip.”
“Sounds good to me. And coffee, too,” Logan told him.
They went in and were noticed right away by the hostess, who stood at the cash register. A number of patrons were sitting around at the various faux-leather booths. They were definitely the outsiders, probably known as the people who were the guests at the castle. Where bad things happened.
“Sit anywhere?” Sloan said, smiling at the cashier.
“Wherever,” she said.
He and Logan claimed a booth. A waitress came over, offered them menus, and took their orders for coffee. She scampered away, then returned quickly. She looked as if she was both anxious and afraid to talk to them.
She flushed as she poured the coffee and caught Sloan’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I mean, it’s a small village. You’re guests at the castle, right?”
“Yes, we are. Sad business there, though,” Sloan said.
“My God, yes! The poor reverend. Everyone loved him, you know. And now they say that Mrs. Avery has fallen down the stairs and broken her neck, too!”
Her nametag identified her as Genie.
“Yes, Mrs. Avery died,” Sloan said.
“The poor woman,” Logan agreed.
The cashier, apparently, couldn’t stand being out of the know. She headed over to the table with a bowl of coffee creamers.
“Poor woman, my foot,” she said. “Denise Avery thought she was better than anyone in town. She really thought Emil would run himself into the ground with drugs, or his stupid bungee jumping, or parachuting or whatever. He fooled her.”
Sloan and Logan glanced at one another and up at the cashier. Her tag noted her name as Mary.
“Oh, I know!” she said. “I must
Angela came online. She was a beautiful blonde who looked like she should have starred in a noir movie.
“Anything?” she asked Jane.
“So much!”
Jane told her about the morning’s events, then said, “I need you to do a search on a woman named Margaret Clarendon, who lived here in the mid-1800s. Find out anything you can about her—before and after she worked for the Roth family.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Elizabeth Roth believes that she was murdered, and that her fiancé was murdered, too. She thinks she was killed by this maid.”
“And that will help you now?” Angela asked.
“I think so,” Jane said. “There’s no one to benefit from Emil Roth’s death or from him being ruined. There has to be another motive.”
“And you think Margaret Clarendon, despite the fact that she might have been a murderess, felt that ill was done to her?”
“We’ve seen it before. Sometimes there’s a descendant out there who feels that they have to right a family wrong,” Jane said.
“But remember that sometimes people just act on greed, jealousy, or revenge. Modern day psychos or self-centered asses,” Angela reminded her.
“I’ll watch from all sides,” Jane promised her.
She said good-bye and they cut the connection. Jane drummed her fingers on the table for a minute, and then hopped up again. She was going to have to wait for results, but she couldn’t sit idly by.
Time to try to pay a visit to John McCawley again.
* * * *
“Here’s what I can’t figure. If Mrs. Avery was hit on the head, she had to have been hit on the head with something. Where is that something she was hit with?” Sloan asked.
“Whoever hit her took it with them,” Logan said.
Sloan was the one driving as they headed back to the castle. He saw a coffee shop and switched on his blinker, ready to pull into the lot.
“We’re stopping for coffee,” Logan said.
Sloan grinned. “I thought we’d try for a little more gossip.”
“Sounds good to me. And coffee, too,” Logan told him.
They went in and were noticed right away by the hostess, who stood at the cash register. A number of patrons were sitting around at the various faux-leather booths. They were definitely the outsiders, probably known as the people who were the guests at the castle. Where bad things happened.
“Sit anywhere?” Sloan said, smiling at the cashier.
“Wherever,” she said.
He and Logan claimed a booth. A waitress came over, offered them menus, and took their orders for coffee. She scampered away, then returned quickly. She looked as if she was both anxious and afraid to talk to them.
She flushed as she poured the coffee and caught Sloan’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I mean, it’s a small village. You’re guests at the castle, right?”
“Yes, we are. Sad business there, though,” Sloan said.
“My God, yes! The poor reverend. Everyone loved him, you know. And now they say that Mrs. Avery has fallen down the stairs and broken her neck, too!”
Her nametag identified her as Genie.
“Yes, Mrs. Avery died,” Sloan said.
“The poor woman,” Logan agreed.
The cashier, apparently, couldn’t stand being out of the know. She headed over to the table with a bowl of coffee creamers.
“Poor woman, my foot,” she said. “Denise Avery thought she was better than anyone in town. She really thought Emil would run himself into the ground with drugs, or his stupid bungee jumping, or parachuting or whatever. He fooled her.”
Sloan and Logan glanced at one another and up at the cashier. Her tag noted her name as Mary.
“Oh, I know!” she said. “I must
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