The narrow road disappeared on the horizon, a straight path that cut east to west across the Long acreage. Roger pressed the gas pedal on the big v-8 dually he drove on farm business. He’d been to town and was loaded with a ton of fertilizer he had to deliver to a spreader truck in the north acreage. But first he headed to the office, driving through the back fields that he loved to tour and check out.
This year’s crops were planted and the gamble on a new type of cotton had been taken. His grandmother, Suellen, would be proud of him for taking the risk. Farmers didn’t need to go to a casino to scratch a gambling itch. Everyday life for a farmer was a huge gamble that depended on sun and rain, control of pests and fungi, and the ability to harvest when the crop was ready and not a day before or after. Timing, luck, and weather—a farmer controlled none of those, but lived or died by them.
He tried to focus his thoughts on the company budget, but every time he got one tangle squared away, he found himself thinking about the young woman who’d invaded his aunt’s home. Something was up with Tabitha Kingsley, psychic medium. He’d heard about her at Millie’s Café when he stopped by for breakfast and the morning gathering of local farmers. Stories of Tabitha were all over town. She spoke with dead people. She saw the future. Right. Just another bloodsucker preying on the desire of the living to have one more word with the dead to assuage some guilt they held.
Well, he’d about had it with people trying to take advantage of his kind-hearted aunt and uncle. Charline and Sam would give anyone the shirt off their backs, but they’d grown up in a time when folks were more trustworthy, more responsible for themselves.
He stopped at the business office of Long Agricultural Products, not half a mile from his uncle and aunt’s home, and stepped into the warmth of the office. The empty desk where Trudy Wells had sat made his temper rise. The little butterfly in amber paperweight, the ceramic pig pen holder—it was all a reminder of Trudy. She hadn’t worked for him for very long, but she’d been astute and smart. She’d had a bright future with Long Agricultural as a lot more than a receptionist. She’d seemed to be settling into the routine of Sunflower County and her work at the office. She’d eagerly taken on more tasks aimed at research and had done a fine job. The other employees had taken to her. So where had she gone?
Worry and aggravation made him sound gruff. “Ellie, start the search for a new receptionist.”
“Yes, sir.” Ellie, who was his personal assistant, swallowed. “Right away.” She hesitated. “Any news from Trudy? I hate to hire someone else if—”
“She left without any word. Just find someone else.”
“It’s going to be hard. She was really smart about the plants and those new chemicals. I wonder why she’d just up and leave like that.”
Roger realized that part of his anger was at that fact. “Yes, she was an asset. She had a future here, but she left. I’ve given her time, and I have to accept that she isn’t coming back. Replace her.”
“Yes, sir.” Ellie turned on her heel and started to her office.
“And have Eddie bring the fork lift to the warehouse. More fertilizer will be delivered in an hour.” He swept past her into his office and slammed the door. The first thing he did—before his curiosity about Tabitha Kingsley got in the way--was call the local sheriff’s department to report that a bloodsucker had leeched onto his aunt and uncle. He wasn’t surprised when Deputy DeWayne Dattilo explained that as long as Charline and Sam invited the woman into their home, there was nothing the law could do. The local sheriff, Coleman Peters, was out of town with his girlfriend, Sarah Booth Delaney. The two deputies, DeWayne and Budgie, were capable men, but they followed the letter of the law. Good enough. He’d handle it himself.
He went straight to the Internet and looked up Tabitha Kingsley, psychic to the suckers. He found a professional website that included a number of testimonials to her abilities to bring peace and solace to those grieving the loss of a loved one. It also said she’d worked with local law enforcement in New Orleans to solve cold cases. He stopped reading there and eased back into his chair. Zinnia already had one private detective agency—in fact he’d considered hiring Delaney Detective Agency when Trudy first went missing. But he hadn’t. Now, though, he might need someone to look into both Tabitha’s appearance and Trudy’s disappearance. He wasn’t psychic, but he definitely felt there was a link.
He stood up, the desk chair slamming backwards into the wall. Just another example of his bad temper for the office help to chew on and discuss. He grabbed his jacket and left again. He needed to check the new cotton crop. The weather had been good and the plants should be peeking out of the soil. A cold snap was forecast, and the wrong weather now could kill the tender young plants. This experimental crop was a real gamble—he’d paid a fortune for the seeds, even though Trudy had voiced concerns about the new crop. But the only way to stay afloat in farming was to risk and risk more.
He found peace out in the fields. He longed for the time when Samuel made the business decisions and he worked physical labor. Those days were clean, without the murkiness of money, employee needs, trying to balance his labor force, profit, and payroll in a way that proved fair to everyone. Everything was simply bigger than he’d expected.
Add Trudy’s unexplained disappearance to the top of the pile. What in the world had she gotten herself involved in? He didn’t want to believe her disappearance was somehow connected to his cotton, but a niggling worry in his gut told him he couldn’t rule out that possibility. Of the many regrets he had in the past year, Trudy was at the top of his list. There had been inconsistencies in her story. He should have sent her packing the day she showed up asking for work and pretending she knew anything about being a receptionist. But she’d jumped at the job and worked so willingly, throwing herself into Long Agricultural. Water under the bridge. He couldn’t undo what he’d done. Now he had to work.
So, Tabitha Kingsley has ingratiated herself into the Long household. Just as Pluto suspected would occur. One thing you should know—Pluto claims his residence called Dahlia House is haunted. Excuse me while I scoff. Pluto has been sippin’ the mint juleps! Perhaps everyone in Sunflower County is a bit barmy. Both owners of Long Hall are seeing things. I wonder if they’re hearing voices. Nonetheless, Pluto does have a mystery to resolve, and he thinks someone here in Long Hall has information about what has happened to Trudy.
Trudy’s behavior isn’t consistent with her love for the little marmalade cat. Pluto tells me that Vesta is insistent that Trudy would never dump her. Trudy’s absence can only be attributed to foul play.
I’ve seen Vesta—a foxy little fluff tail—and I have to agree. No one in her right mind would abandon such a magnificent feline. Some evil is afoot. I must act quickly, too. My humanoid, Tammy Lynn, brought me over to Zinnia while she’s attending an indie bookseller conference. We’re staying at the Prince Albert, but around this little burg, it’s easy enough to catch a ride, especially when there are vehicles that proclaim Long Agricultural Products on their doors. I am, after all, trained in logical deduction.
My logic tells me that I’ve learned all I can here in Long Hall. Tabitha has gone to get her belongings to move in. Charline is in the kitchen, supervising the menu for dinner. I’m going to try for something to eat. If I get booted out, then I’ll walk to the agriculture offices about a half mile away. I should go back to the hotel. Tammy will be out of her meeting soon and she’ll let me pick from room service. A small sample of warm sole in a light cream sauce would give me renewed energy for the work. How to convey that to Charline Long?
She’s taken aback to see me in her kitchen, but she isn’t angry. More like curious. Yes, she is stroking my fine black fur. And she is asking me if I’m hungry. I’ll give my most pitiful yowl and it is working like a charm. She’s raiding the fridge for some…chicken parmesan? Yes, that will do nicely. One thing about these Southern ladies--they know fine dining, or at least they hire a cook who does. This is delicious and will sustain me in my quest.
Before I skedaddle from the “big house” and head back to the hotel, I need to stop off at Long Ag offices. That’s where Vesta said Trudy worked. That’s the last place she was seen. A good detective knows to pick up the trail where it ended. If there’s anything to be deduced, I shall discover it and thus begin the journey of finding the missing Trudy.
And I also intend to poke around a bit in the business of one Tabitha Kingsley. It’s a mighty big coincidence she shows up to speak with the dead when a Long employee has gone missing. Like my father, Familiar, and my hero, Sherlock Holmes, I do not believe in coincidences!
Tabitha threw her clothes into the two suitcases and then carefully searched the hotel room to be sure nothing was left behind. This had worked out even better than she’d anticipated. Gaining entry to the Long house might have taken a week instead of one day. A week of hotel bills that were draining her meager savings account. So far, very good.
She checked out of the hotel as the afternoon was waning. True spring wasn’t far away, but the days were still short and chilly. It was during the gloaming that she found it most difficult to control her anxiety and worry about her sister. Trudy was headstrong and impractical—and not always truthful. She went off half-cocked on a regular basis, involving herself in madcap plots. Her trip to the Mississippi Delta was one such ill-advised scheme. According to Trudy, she’d gone on some dating website, met a man who claimed to be a gentleman farmer, and he’d invited her to move to Zinnia. But there was more to the story of Trudy’s sudden interest in cotton and Sunflower County—and if Tabitha could figure it out, maybe she could find her sister. Tabitha had found brochures about cotton crops, pesticides, GMO seeds in Trudy’s suitcase. Trudy may have come to the Delta to date a man, but there was a lot more to it, and all roads led to Long Agricultural. But how or why? That’s what she didn’t know.
Things had gone swimmingly when Trudy first arrived in Sunflower County. She’d called regularly, talking about her work at Long Agricultural and the mystery man that she refused to name. But Trudy had been happy. Truly Happy. And then Tabitha had gotten the call. Trudy was scared. Someone had been following her. Tabitha had offered to drive to Zinnia to get her sister, but Trudy had said to wait a few days.
Tabitha had urged Trudy to abandon her wild plans and to move back to New Orleans, but her sister wouldn’t hear of it. She liked the little Delta town. She liked her job and the people. She was staying. She said she was involved in something really important at her work. And that was the last time they’d talked. Now no one answered Trudy’s cell phone.
Tabitha was torn between calling in the local law or hunting herself. She’d taken on the job of finding Trudy because she had no evidence that a lawman would believe. And, in truth, she wasn’t sure what Trudy had gotten herself involved in. There had been a few past incidents where Trudy had fallen in with unsavory people up to no good. Rather than rely on the law, in desperation, Tabitha had developed her own cover story to pry into the family where Trudy had been working.
She couldn’t help but wonder if Roger Long was the man Trudy had fallen for. He was handsome enough, and Trudy did like the bad boys. Domineering, a shade on the side of rude. That would crank Trudy’s motor; she was always up for the challenge to tame a man or bring him to heel. It never worked, but Trudy bit for the lure every single time. Trudy should have learned this lesson from her mother, who’d had a series of bad boy boyfriends after their father had been killed overseas. Larry Kingsley had been a great soldier but a terrible father. Even though he’d forgiven his wife for the affair that resulted in his second daughter, he’d failed to give Trudy his last name. Perhaps he would have come around to adopting Trudy in time, but an IED had taken his life in Kabul, leaving Shelly with two kids and no source of support except the small pittance from the government.
Shelly Kingsley had been a distracted mom. In the end, Tabitha had mothered Trudy. When Shelly died of a bad heart, Tabitha had naturally stepped into the full-time role of mother. She’d done her best with her wayward and headstrong sister, but now she was worried about Trudy.
As she drove through the open brown fields with the first hint of green sprouting up, Tabitha almost turned around to go to the local sheriff and report Trudy missing. Something stopped her. Something in the last phone call she’d had with Trudy. Her sister had made a comment to the effect that everyone in the rural county knew each other and they stuck together no matter what. Trudy was the outsider. A big city girl, Tabitha was wary of small town politics and the desire to close ranks against an outsider. If Trudy was involved with a married man, which wasn’t beyond possibility, she might have gotten herself into real danger from a romantic triangle instead of issues with new agricultural products.
There was also the possibility that Trudy had involved herself in something illegal. It wouldn’t be the first time. She’d always been on the fringes of mad schemes to make quick money. She’d been an unwitting accessory to one plot to bilk insurance companies. Trudy had seen it as a victimless crime. Tabitha had other opinions. Cheating was wrong—no matter what the reasoning behind it. A fact that applied to her subterfuge to get close to Charline Long. Tabitha wasn’t trying to steal from the Longs, but she was being deceptive. And she would continue to be. She couldn’t risk calling in the law until she found out exactly what Trudy was doing.
Tabitha continued to the Long estate, determined to find her sister on her own.
She decided to try her sister’s cell phone one last time just as she turned down the shell drive to Long Hall. On the third ring, someone answered.
“Hello, Trudy?” She was so relieved. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been searching everywhere.”
There was only the sound of breathing on the other end.
“Trudy?” Tabitha couldn’t keep the panic out of her voice. “Say something, dammit.”
The reply was the click of the call ending.
Tabitha stopped the car and fought back tears. She only cried when she was angry or afraid. Now she was very afraid. If that had been Trudy, she would have said something, given some sign that she was safe. The only logical conclusion was that someone else had Trudy’s phone.
She was hyperventilating when a big dually pulled up behind her and hit the high beams. It startled her out of her panic attack, and she eased down on the gas and continued to the house, the truck lumbering behind her. She pulled over, trying to park inconspicuously. The truck drew abreast and the passenger window rolled down.
No surprise, Roger Long stared down at her. “The help parks in the back,” he said.
It took all of her restraint not to lift her middle finger in his face, but she didn’t. She just rolled up her window and killed the engine. If Charline and Samuel wanted her to park in the back, she’d be glad to do so. After the actual property owners told her.
She got out of her vehicle and grabbed her bags, still fuming. Her anger was just a way to avoid the sheer panic that wanted to rise up and suffocate her. Who the hell had Trudy’s phone and why wouldn’t they speak to her?
Charline met her at the door and ushered her inside and upstairs to a lovely suite. Tabitha was glad for the kindness and sense of welcome. Her feelings were raw, and it took all she could do not to confess her scheme to Charline.
“Dinner is at seven,” Charline said. “Samuel is home and happy that you’ll be staying with us. He’s serving cocktails at six in the parlor if you’d like to relax with a drink. If you’re tired, we understand. I know you need time alone to…connect with the spirits.”
“Thank you.” Tabitha was really grateful—and also ashamed of taking advantage of this kind woman. Perhaps Roger Long had good reason to behave so brutishly to her. After all, she was little more than a flimflam man in the Long home under false pretenses. She didn’t see another option. If the facts supported her suppositions, then someone in the Long family could end up in jail for abducting her sister. All she had to do was prove it—and find Trudy.
As much as she wanted to hide out in the lovely suite, Tabitha freshened her makeup and went downstairs for cocktails. Within two minutes of entering the parlor, she had an old-fashioned in her hand and a warm greeting from Samuel Long, who seemed delighted to have a house guest. He was a trim older man, the perfect mate for Charline in temperament and graciousness.
“I do believe my mother’s spirit is here,” Samuel said. “Little things. Knickknacks that are moved, a recipe that’s fallen out of a book and just happens to be one of my favorites, the clock in the hall chiming the wrong number of hours.”
A little chill rushed up Tabitha’s body at Samuel’s recounting of events. She wasn’t a psychic medium, but she did believe that the ghosts of the past often lingered with their loved ones, sometimes to protect or warn and sometimes to extract revenge. She’d had no sense that Trudy’s ghost was around, which she was taking as an omen that Trudy was alive. She had to cling to that.
“So, Tabitha, tell us how you became interested in the occult,” Samuel asked her.
His question held no censure, only open curiosity. She was about to answer when she sensed a darker presence in the room and turned to find Roger standing behind her, his signature scowl in place.
“Yes, tell us,” he said with a contemptuous smile.
“I grew up in New Orleans and wrote a music column for a local website for several years. I’d make it a point to listen to the new bands or gatherings of musicians, and I met some tarot readers and psychics. They were open and willing to tell me about what they do and why they do it.” So far she was telling the absolute truth. She paused for a few seconds to be sure Roger was listening to her. “Surprisingly, the psychics I know want to help people. Yes, some of them are pretenders, but the truly gifted readers and psychics have a talent. Often they can bring comfort to a grieving child or parents. That’s their gift.”
“Even if it’s a pack of lies?” Roger asked.
Charline walked up to her nephew. “Raj, I love you, but you’re being rude and ugly. Stop it now or leave my house, and it is still my house. Keep that in mind.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Charline.” What looked to be true remorse passed over Roger’s face, until he looked at Tabitha, and then his features hardened.
“Ms. Kingsley is our guest. I invited her because she does bring me comfort. I don’t care if you don’t understand or don’t believe. This is for me and Samuel, and you’ll respect our wishes or leave.”
“Of course. My apologies, Aunt Charline, Uncle Samuel.” He turned to Tabitha. “May I freshen your drink?”
“No, thank you.” She wasn’t big on alcohol and certainly not in a situation fraught with emotion.
“Tell us about your family,” Roger said in the most civilized tone.
“My parents are dead, so there isn’t much family left.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said with what sounded like sincerity.
“Yes,” Charline said. “No wonder you’re so attuned to the other side.”
“My interest in connecting with the departed is partially a result of my losses.” This was also true, and she wanted to stay as close to the truth as possible.
“I’m surprised a woman as lovely as yourself hasn’t married and started a family,” Samuel said.
Tabitha forced a smile. “I haven’t focused on building a new family, I suppose.” No, she’d spent too much time trying to corral her wayward sister and work on her writing career to worry about dating and marrying. In truth, she couldn’t risk caring for another. When a person opened her heart to others, she was asking for pain.
“What have you focused on?” Roger asked.
“Developing my skills.”
“As a psychic?”
“And a writer and musician. I write lyrics for some of the local bands.”
“How interesting.” Charline was genuinely impressed. “I always wanted to paint, but I ended up collecting work by other artists. There are those who do and those who collect, I suppose.”
“And both are necessary,” Samuel said, putting his arm around Charline’s shoulders. “You’ve helped me run a big business and this house. That’s creative aplenty.”
Tabitha jumped at the opening. “How many employees do you have in your agricultural business?”
Roger was quick to respond. “Fifteen in the office, and up to a hundred during harvest, which is almost year-round now because of the crop rotation. Skilled workers. Equipment operators, crop analysts. Farming isn’t hoeing and picking cotton anymore.”
“The vista here is so beautiful. The openness of the fields that stretch forever.” She did her best to build rapport with Roger since he’d given her the tiniest opening.
“So you grew up in New Orleans? I think I’d suffocate in those neighborhoods where the houses are so close together.”
She smiled, ignoring the barb. “When I was a child, I loved it. I had a dozen playmates all within half a mile. We could bike to each other’s house, gather after school for games, and then be home in time for…supper.” She almost said for her to cook supper. “I live in the Quarter now.”
“What an interesting life,” Charline said. “The Quarter is filled with characters.”
“Music, laughter, and a lot of sadness,” she agreed. “But it’s home. I’ll be glad to return there.” She caught herself just in time. “If I don’t find the property here that I’m looking for.”
“Whether you move here or not, you always have a place with us. We do appreciate you staying here until we resolve the visits from Suellen,” Charline said, getting a nod of agreement from Samuel.
“I’m happy to help. Would it be possible for me to see the farm operation? I’ve been working on this song, kind of bluesy, and for some reason, I feel like knowing a little about farming might help me finish it up. After all, this land is the heartbeat of the blues.”
Roger started to object, but Samuel stepped in. “Raj would be happy to show you around, wouldn’t you?”
“Sure, Uncle Sam. I’d be delighted. Meet me in the kitchen at six o’clock in the morning.”
“Great. I’m an early riser.” She matched his challenge.
“I’ll see that Nancy has something warm ready for breakfast,” Charline said, a knowing smile on her face. “Maybe you can picnic along the way.”
Tabitha had to struggle not to laugh out loud. Charline Long had gotten her nephew’s goat in the most effective way. With kindness.
“I believe dinner is served.” Raj dodged the subject of a picnic. “Now let’s enjoy the food that Nancy prepared for us.”
They went to the dining room and Tabitha was impressed with the simple goodness of the food. She hadn’t expected soul food at Long Hall but the peas, cornbread, and pork loin were all delicious. She noticed a pretty yellow cat sitting in the dining room window. “Is that your kitty?”
Roger frowned. “No, it belongs to one of our employees. It would seem she’s abandoned the poor creature.”
“May I take it some food?” Tabitha had plenty of left over pork roast.
“Of course. I suppose I should bring her inside. The nights can be cold.” Charline went to the window and opened it wide for the cat to come inside. The little marmalade didn’t hesitate. She hopped right into the room and went for the dish of food Tabitha put on the floor. “I love cats,” Charline said. She looked at her husband. “It seems she’s chosen us.”
Samuel started to shake his head, but he sighed instead. “If she chooses to stay, keep her. My grandmother loved schnauzers. They’re wonderful dogs but so active. She installed the topiary. Suellen was more of a cat person. Charline loves all animals.”
“We haven’t had a cat since Suellen’s pet passed away several years ago,” Charline said. “She adored that cat, Sheba. We all did.” She walked behind her husband and put her hands on his shoulders, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. I miss not having a pet.”
“What about the black cat that was here when I arrived?” Tabitha asked.
“Black cat?” Everyone but Charline looked blank.
“There’s no black cat living here,” Samuel said. He turned to Charline. “Is there?”
“Maybe,” Charline said with a secret smile.
“He was sitting on the stairs. I saw him clear as day,” Tabitha insisted.
“Grandmother’s cat, Sheba, was black.” Roger said, bemused. “Could it be the spirit of Grandmother’s cat?”
Tabitha was caught off guard. She was positive the cat had been flesh and blood, but she couldn’t say so, repudiating her skills as a psychic and medium. “Of course, it could be a spirit cat. Just another sign she’s here and wants you to know it.”
“He’s one spirit cat with a good appetite,” Charline finally said. “I fed him in the kitchen earlier. I do believe he’s flesh and blood.”
“Maybe the cats are an omen,” Samuel said.
Tabitha had other thoughts. Maybe the orange feline was Trudy’s pet cat that she’d adopted. Trudy had sent a photo of the little female she’d found at a dumpster on a back street in Zinnia, and this kitty looked exactly like Trudy’s Vesta. But what was the cat doing at the Long plantation? Logically the cat would be in the rental where Trudy lived. There was no cat there—Tabitha had looked for the animal, knowing it would be confused and scared at Trudy’s absence. But then, two weeks was a long time to be on her own. Maybe she had sought solace and shelter in a place that was familiar.
“Perhaps the cat has a message,” Roger said, barely able to contain his smirk.
“Tomorrow I’ll see if I can summon the spirit of Sheba. I have a very special talent with pets,” Tabitha said, knowing she was digging herself deeper and deeper into a hole. She was pretty good at selling her abilities as a communicator with the dead, but soon she’d have too many balls in the air to keep up.
“Would anyone care for coffee or an after-dinner drink?” Charline asked.
“No, thank you.” Tabitha eased her chair back from the table. “Everything was delicious. I think I’ll take a walk. I need to stretch my legs and let some of that wonderful food settle.” More than anything she wanted a chance to snoop around Long Hall.
Trudy had written eloquently of the lovely estate and the grounds. And she’d been strangely content working in the agricultural business office. Trudy had a talent for numbers and charts, comparing and contrasting, and she’d found a niche. Perhaps she could pick up her sister’s trail. She was still disturbed by the fact someone answered Trudy’s phone, and this was the best place she could think of to start looking for who it might have been.
“The driveway can be very dark,” Charline said, a pinch of worry between her eyebrows. “Maybe Roger should--”
“Thank you but I’ll be fine. I have a flashlight and I just need to move around so I can sleep.” Tabitha was firm. Roger Long was poor company in a roomful of other people. Alone he would be intolerable. Besides, she couldn’t snoop if he dogged her footsteps. The strange call to Trudy’s phone made the situation even more urgent. “I won’t be out long.”
It looked as if Charline might protest, so Tabitha quickly made her escape out the front door into the darkness. The night was cool, bordering on cold, but she set out down the driveway at a brisk pace. She could smell the land, and it relaxed her. Growing up in Nola, she’d dreamed of having a horse with pastures surrounded by wood fences, a patch of a garden, of living in a place where she couldn’t hear the neighbors argue. Long Hall was like one of her childhood Cinderella fantasies. Even in her wildest dreams, though, she’d never envisioned the graciousness and beauty of the Long home.
Perfection would describe it—if only Trudy were there to share the place with her.
Where in the hell had her sister gotten off to? Why had she left without alerting anyone to her plans? And why would someone be following Trudy?