Chapter Nineteen

The Costume Ball

The ravishing creature smiling back at me from the full-length mirror in my bedroom looked damn good considering the cosmetic calamity of her face. Savannah’s sea-green ball gown hugged my curves, and the off-shoulder neckline plunged daringly low, emphasizing the creamy expanse of skin pushed to its corseted limits.

My coiffure, a cobweb of dark gold ringlets piled high and secured with twinkling jeweled bobby pins, drew attention away from the slightly crooked shape of my broken nose.

“I feel like Cinderella,” I told the vision in the mirror. Liquid brown eyes, heavily made up to conceal the black bruises, glowed with eagerness, and the red bouffant lips pouted becomingly. “Minus the glass slippers, of course.”

Laughing at my silliness and embracing the glorious moment, I twirled around, reveling in the rustling sound of crisp crinolines. Losing the cage-like petticoat of the 1800s, instead I’d opted for today’s modern synthetic material, it being more comfortable and easier to travel in. The antique slippers had pinched my toes so I sported a new pair of white satin heels.

“I must say, Jolene, you make a stunning belle in Savannah’s gown.” Scarlett, dressed in an equally magnificent ball gown of violet silk, sat perched on the side of my bed, watching me pose in front of the mirror with obvious delight. “Josiah will be pleased.”

“Right back at ya, Scarlett. I see you raided Vivian’s closet.”

“Where else would I go in a pinch?” She floated to the bedroom door. “Oh, your hunky detective is here.”

Musical door chimes echoed throughout the house.

“See you at the ball, Cinderella,” Scarlett said and left as silently as she’d arrived.

Taking one last looksee in the mirror, I grabbed my clutch bag, lace shawl, and hurried to greet Prince Charming leaning on the doorbell. He whistled appreciatively when I stood in the opened threshold. His blue eyes bathed me in admiration.

I did the same. Bradford’s clothes were simple but rich. Black tail coat over a low-cut black vest, white shirt and bow tie, black trousers, shoes, and a top hat.

“Why, Mr. Bradford, sir, you’re the picture of a 1860s southern gentleman,” I said in an exaggerated drawl.

He held out his arm in a formal manner. “And I, my dear will be the envy of every man. Shall we go?”

Climbing into the passenger seat of his pickup proved challenging with yards of billowing silk, lace, and stiff petticoats. Finally, Bradford packed me in good and tight and we were off to the party.

The long drive out to the plantation sped by as we chatted about today’s successful reenactment of the battle, both of us avoiding the subject of the continuing investigation into Theo’s death, mainly the suspicion surrounding Daddy, knowing that it would put a damper on tonight’s event.

When we turned down the long driveway leading to the mansion, I couldn’t believe what a few days of hard work had accomplished. Nancy and an army of maintenance workers and gardeners had transformed the grounds into a fairy wonderland straight out of the mind of Hollywood. Tiny white Christmas lights glittered everywhere, bringing to mind freshly fallen winter snow. They were strung through the ancient magnolias and pines standing near the house, and the neatly trimmed azaleas and clipped, boxwood hedges lining the neat brick path leading to the front veranda. Every long, rectangular window in the house itself glowed softly against the black velvet backdrop of the night like stars littering the heavens.

“Oh, Bradford, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” I gushed. “Victor must be thrilled with the results. Surely, Mayor Kent will take note of Nancy’s hard work and let her continue in spite of everything.”

He reached for my hand. “Remember, tonight is about having fun. Things tend to take care of themselves when you leave them alone.”

“You’re a wise philosopher, Samuel Bradford,” I said. “I like that about a man.”

He rewarded me with a wolfish smile. “Philosophy isn’t what I like most about you.”

His bold gaze dropped to my breasts in a roving manner that kick-started my desire to explore the matter further as we pulled up to the valet parking attendant.

Bradford jumped out of the driver’s side, handed the keys to the young man, and opened the passenger side door for me. With skirts held high, I delicately exited the truck, not wanting the yards of fragile silk to touch the ground until safely inside.

Nancy herself greeted us in the foyer, and I did a double take. She, like me, had gone whole-hog. Her gown of lilac silk with a fancy lace design on the skirt had a sash of white silk trimmed in black velvet, and tiny lilac rosettes adorned her hair.

“You look beautiful,” I told her. “And you’ve done such a wonderful job with the grounds and mansion. The tree is the perfect crowning touch.”

Sometime in the last couple of hours, a huge Fraser Fir had been erected in the large foyer, and decorated with old-fashioned handmade Christmas ornaments. The unforgettable scent of a fresh-cut evergreen permeated the room, triggering childhood memories of long-ago seasons when Daddy would take the whole family out into the countryside to cut down the perfect Christmas tree.

“How kind of you to say so,” she said. “Most of the ornaments date back to Josiah’s time. They’re family heirlooms.”

“Congratulations on a job well-done,” Bradford added. “This festival week has been a huge success. So successful, in fact, that I don’t know how you’re going to top it next year.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Detective Bradford, but I’m afraid this may be my last year as Pecan Festival Director,” Nancy said.

The front door opened and another couple waltzed in. Bradford and I left her to greet them and followed the soft strains of Big Band music to the ballroom at the back of the house. The moment I stepped into the grand room with its azure blue, satin window curtains, rich blue paper with gilt against dark hardwood floors, the magic of the evening swept over me.

On the dance floor, couples waltzed by in their various period costumes. Confederate and Union officers, complete with swords in scabbard, twirled their ladies with dashing abandon, the rainbow-colored gowns dipped and swayed with the swelling music.

Scanning the room, I saw Mama and Daddy, both dressed in period costumes, seated in blue silk damask “elbow” chairs lining the opposite walls. Deena, resplendent in white, stood nearby talking with a Union officer who could be none other than William two-faced Mahoney, as I now dubbed him. Billie Jo was a vixen in black, and Roddy had worn his Union uniform from this afternoon’s reenactment.

One of the catering staff, easy to spot by their modern apparel, offered both Bradford and I a glass of champagne. With glasses in hand, we skirted around the dancing couples and greeted my family.

Deena studied me for a moment. “Jolene, my God, where did you find that gown?” She fingered the material. “The local vintage shop doesn’t carry clothing of such high quality.”

“A friend lent it to me for the night,” I replied. “This good friend has connections in antique clothing.”

“Wow, some friend,” Billie Jo said. “So it’s the real deal? I mean the gown is authentic?”

I squirmed under their scrutiny, feeling like a bad germ under the microscope, and snagged another wineglass from a passing server. Bradford eyed me questioningly, but didn’t comment when I downed the champagne.

Roddy offered his hand to Billie Jo. “Let’s dance, honey. You can badger Jolene any ole time.”

Billie Jo took his hand, pausing when Deena said, “Who’s the woman in the stunning gown being escorted by Victor?”

All eyes turned to the handsome couple making their way into the room.

Barbara Herrington.

Theo’s weeping widow literally waltzed in wearing a demure smile and Savannah Redding’s blue velvet gown from the attic portrait.

I had the sense of something moving secretly just beneath the surface of my psychic vision, but my spiritual equilibrium kept shifting like loosened sand on a desert hilltop. With my intuitive knowing off kilter, I couldn’t read the tea leaves, so I had no choice but to surrender to the moment until the static snow cleared from my celestial receptors and I could figure out what the hell Barbara Herrington was up to now.

****

The music died down, and the dancing faltered to a stop, as couples spotted the host and his partner sweep by. As much as I hated to admit it, they made a magnificent pair and I, like the others, couldn’t take my eyes off them as they approached the bandstand.

A myriad of muted sounds…voices, murmurs, whispers of speculation, wrapped around me like water around a rock in a fast moving stream.

“She’s taking her husband’s death rather well, isn’t she?”

“Lower your voice, Deena, before someone hears your unkind remark.”

William Mahoney’s critical voice left me frosty. Bradford must’ve noticed because he escorted me a short distance away from the pious-in-the-ass pastor and handed me another glass of bubbly.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Victor said from the bandstand, “Because of the tragic circumstances, the winner of the pie bake-off will finally be awarded their winnings. It’s my great pleasure to announce Barbara Herrington’s gracious acceptance to attend tonight’s gala in memory of her late husband, Theodore Herrington. In his honor she will now present the first-place prize to the winners of Tuesday’s Pecan Pie Bake-Off Contest.”

Light applause sounded around the room as he handed the microphone over to Theo’s now teary-eyed widow.

Barbara smiled at the audience. “Thank you for your kind hospitality, Mr. Redding, and for the use of this authentic antebellum gown belonging to your great-great-great-grandmother, Savannah Redding. Whew, that’s a lot of great grandmothers.” She paused as laughter rounded the room. “At first, when the festival committee approached me with the idea of honoring Theodore in this manner, I turned them down. But after further thought, I knew my husband would’ve loved being here with you this evening. So without further ado, would the winner of Whiskey Creek’s fifteenth annual Pecan Pie Bake-Off contest, Don Juan’s Plumbing on Pine Needle Drive, please join me to receive your first-place prize of an all-expense paid trip to Disney World in beautiful, sunny Florida?”

“I’ll be right back,” I said over the ringing applause, and handed the empty wine glass to Bradford. “I need a refill.”

Mama and Daddy had risen to their feet and were clapping in response as the winners joined Barbara and Nancy who’d stepped up with an envelope in her hand.

“That would’ve been us if someone hadn’t screwed with our entries,” Mama said as I slipped my arm around her.

“Now, don’t get up a head of steam, Annie Mae,” Daddy admonished. “It’s time you start writing your cookbook.”

“Daddy’s right, we’ll win next year.”

Barbara congratulated the winners, and the presentation ended with a champagne toast to Theodore Herrington. Then the band struck up a waltz, and Victor led her out onto the dance floor with other couples following. Deena and William took to the floor, Mama and Daddy joining them.

Bradford bowed over my hand. “Dance with me, beautiful lady? The drums of war have sounded, and I long to hold you in my arms before the light of tomorrow’s day brings destruction’s blight upon Georgia soil,” he said in an exaggerated southern drawl.

“Sir, I, too, long to be in your strong arms before the dawn’s early light.” I giggled, batting my eyelashes at him. “And to bestow a token of my affection upon you before Daddy runs you off the plantation for deflowering his innocent daughter.”

We both dissolved into playful laughter, and Bradford swept me onto the crowded dance floor. Together, we waltzed with synchronized abandon among the dancers, our heads and bodies touching, swaying to the swelling music, our attention riveted on each other; up to the moment I caught hazy movement out of the corner of my eye. A few yards away, transposed over the press of bodies, a spectral couple danced—and then another, and another, until the whole ballroom crackled with the galactic luminosity of spirits haunting the plantation.

I could’ve stayed in my lover’s arms all night, but after three dances in a pair of new high heels pinching my sore toes, I stumbled to a halt.

Bradford led me off the crowded dance floor. “Would you like another glass of champagne? It’s damned hot in here.” He removed his black tailcoat and draped it over a chair.

Fortunately for me, I’d had tied the antique silk fan I’d found in the attic trunk to my wrist. Snapping it open, I generated a cooling breeze around my face with forceful efficiency.

“I’d love a glass,” I said, slipping off my shoes under the cover of my long skirt.

Deena and William were exiting the dance floor as Bradford strode in the direction of a group of waiters at the other end of the room. Deena caught my eye, stepped over to my chair, and sank down into the one next to me, recently vacated by Bradford.

“Whew, I’m exhausted,” she said. “Where’s Sam disappearing off to?”

“He’s in search of cool refreshment,” I replied.

“That sounds wonderful. William, would you mind?”

He nodded. “Two bottled waters coming right up.”

Deena grabbed his coat sleeve as he started to leave. “I’d like champagne. Tonight’s a special occasion.”

“We’ve had this discussion before, Deena.”

“Yes, Bill, I’m aware of your feelings, but I want a glass of wine.”

The two stared awkwardly at one another for a moment before he nodded, and sauntered off.

“I hate to ask but what’s got into you?” I asked her, surprised by her behavior. Deena rarely stood her ground. Perhaps, mine and Billie Jo’s defiant nature had finally rubbed off on her. She could use some backbone once in a while.

She scanned the crowd. “I’m feeling rebellious. Gina Glover is here.”

“Oh,” I said, understanding perfectly. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What would you suggest?”

“Let her have him and find a man who’s more suited to you,” I suggested over the strings of the waltz. “I could ask Bradford if he has an available friend in the department.”

She didn’t respond. Bradford and William were making their way toward us through the crowd. Bradford reached me first and set the full wineglass on the table beside me. William arrived several seconds later with two bottled waters and handed one to Deena.

Slipping on my heels, I stood up and handed Deena my glass of wine. “Take me for a stroll in the garden, Bradford.” I grabbed his arm. “I need a breath of fresh air.” Escape afforded me the only means of saving Deena further humiliation and me another trip to jail when I nailed Pastor Putrid with my spiked heels.

Mayor Kent waylaid us at the terrace doors.

“A word with you, Detective.” He gave me the once-over. “Privately.”

Bradford tightened his hold on my arm. “I’m off duty, Mayor. Can’t this wait for a better time? Jolene and I were headed for the garden.”

“I’d prefer to speak with you now.”

Impatience darkened Bradford’s eyes but he turned to me and said, “You go on ahead. I’ll only be a minute or two.”

Stepping out into the cool night air, I strolled down the terrace which ran the length of the house absorbed in the dazzling sight before me. As with the front lawn, tiny white lights twinkled against a brilliant backdrop of azaleas and white Cherokee roses, dogwoods, sweet gum, and pines. A three-quarter moon cast its silvery shine over moss-draped oaks towering beyond the peaceful garden, their shadows shielding lovers from prying eyes.

A nearby stone bench offered privacy in which I could slip off my heels and wait for Bradford to join me. Seated demurely, I breathed in the majesty of the night, and stilled my anxious thoughts. Several minutes passed with no sign of Bradford, and I wondered if perhaps he couldn’t find me tucked here in the shadows. As I debated whether to wait or go find him, the mayor’s tense voice drifted over to where I sat.

“This conversation isn’t over, Detective.”

“You’ve made your point, Mayor. The department is working overtime. What else would you have me do?”

“Make an arrest.”

“I don’t have sufficient evidence to make an arrest.”

“What about Roger Wesley?” The mayor’s voice rose.

“Roger Wesley has a solid alibi.”

“Are there any other suspects that stick out in your mind?”

“Ryan Herrington for one.”

“Theo’s son! Ludicrous. Ryan is an upstanding citizen. What about Harland Tucker? My wife’s cousin heard him threaten Theo at the beauty parlor.”

“He’s a strong suspect, Mayor, but the evidence against him is circumstantial.”

With an ache, I realized they were discussing Daddy. More than anything, I wanted to make my presence known, but that would spark an embarrassing scene so I sat frozen in place, forced to listen.

“You’re dating Tucker’s daughter.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I’m wondering if your association with the family might color your perspective on the case, Detective. A fatal mistake which could cost you your job. All I’m suggesting is maybe you’d better rethink the relationship. At least until this case is put to bed.”

“Be careful, Mayor, that sounds like a threat,” Bradford snarled. “I won’t railroad an innocent man no matter how much you want this case to disappear.”

“Find the smoking gun and make an arrest, otherwise I’m going to call a close friend in the GBI and get them involved, understand?”

“Are you finished? I’d like to enjoy what’s left of the night.” The intensity of his lowered voice raised goosebumps over my body, and I knew the mayor had pushed Bradford into a corner. Not good for Bradford. The mayor smelled political blood and would bulldoze the police until an arrest was made. Not good for Daddy.

Retreating footsteps echoed on the stone floor. The distant chatter and lilting music of the ballroom once again intruded on my thoughts, but the magic of the night had vanished. Pushing myself to my feet, I moved woodenly toward the golden light spilling out the opened terrace doors and the merriment waiting inside.

****

Bradford found me draped around Daddy. Tired from a long day, my parents were leaving the party, and I, having inside information felt as needy and clingy as a young child.

Daddy disentangled himself from my clutches. “Jolene, what’s up with you?” A handkerchief magically appeared in his hands. “Here, wipe your eyes. You’re ruining your pretty face with those tears. Sam, what’s wrong with my little girl? Y’all have a fight?”

“I believe she’s had too much wine and excitement,” Bradford said, hugging me close to his side. “I’m going to take her home and put her to bed. She’ll be fine after a good night’s rest.”

Even though I disagreed wholeheartedly with his statement, I let it stand. Better my parents believing alcohol and exhaustion caused my roller-coaster emotions than the truth that Daddy topped the suspect list in Herrington’s murder, and the mayor was out for his blood.

Mama gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “You do what Sam says, and I’ll see you at church in the morning.”

I gathered up my lace shawl and clutch bag and followed Bradford through the crowd. Billie Jo waggled her fingers at me from the dance floor as we passed by her and Roddy. Deena and Bill, nowhere in sight, probably had left since he had to conduct the early morning church service.

Outside the night had grown chilly, and the lace shawl provided little warmth. Seeing me shiver, Bradford placed his black tailcoat around my shoulders as we waited for the valet to return with his Dodge Ram.

“Care to tell me what’s got you teary-eyed?” Bradford handed me into the passenger seat, slid behind the wheel, and maneuvered around so we were facing the driveway.

“Just what you said, the wine and dancing went to my head,” I answered above the soft roar of the diesel engine as we followed a line of taillights down the long dirt road.

“I’m sorry for lying to your father. A couple of glasses of wine and a little dancing won’t cause those tears,” he countered. “Did something happen on the terrace?”

I clammed up, not knowing how to respond to his question. With Bradford’s job at stake, the game rules had changed. No more insinuating myself into his investigation and putting his job in jeopardy. No fessing up that I’d been privy to his conversation with the mayor. From this point onward, I’d keep my thoughts and suspicions to myself. An acute sense of loss assailed me when I realized what I had to do.

“Something did happen and I’m tired of hiding the truth from you,” I confessed, keeping my gaze on the road and away from his handsome profile.

“From the tone of your voice, I don’t believe I’m going to like what’s coming.”

My next words would nail down the coffin lid, but Bradford needed to be free of me. Or, as the mayor had so eloquently put it, until the case was put to bed. If there’s a relationship left to restore after tonight, I’d give it my best shot, but for now I had to make the sacrifice. A proposition I’d made many times in the past for my sisters. One more thing I’m good at.

“It’s over between us,” I said. “It came to me while I waited for you on the terrace, and I knew I couldn’t go on denying it any longer.”

“Just spit it out, Jolene.”

“Scarlett’s back with a whole boatload of her friends.” I kept my voice calm. “They were at the reenactment battle and danced alongside us at the ball tonight. Hiding my paranormal abilities from you is a burden I’m not willing to bear any longer. Since neither of us is capable of changing, well, I’ve decided to move on to greener pastures and spare you the ghost stories.”

Silence filled the cab for several seconds. I stole a glance at him. Strong hands gripped the steering wheel like steel bands ready to explode.

“I didn’t see this coming so I don’t know how to respond,” he finally said. “This is sudden. Are you sure this is what you want? Why don’t you take some time and think about the consequences of your actions?”

Here’s my chance to take it all back, to regain our footing, but I couldn’t back down. Bradford loved his job and I wouldn’t be the reason he lost it.

“Yes, I’m sure. We’re not compatible.” My voice sounded concrete and final even to my own ears.

His sigh almost unraveled my plan. “Jolene, you chase after your tail and wind up biting yourself on the ass. I’m tired and not in the mood for all this drama, so if this is what you want I’m not going to stop it. But I’m not happy about it. You’re throwing away a good thing.”

He’s right, my heart whispered back. I pressed my lips shut and in silence, we completed the trip to my house. Once there, I practically fell out of the truck in my haste to escape him. Bradford caught me in his arms before I could harm myself.

Every fiber of my being burst into flames at the sudden contact of his hard body, I tried to resist but couldn’t. Our gazes locked. Blue eyes flared with raw desire. My defenses weakened.

His mouth crashed onto mine, his tongue exploring the recesses of my mouth. Somehow we were at the back door. I stood on trembling legs as Bradford fished the key out of my bag. Again, I found myself swept up into his arms and deposited onto shaking limbs in the semi-darkness of my kitchen.

“The alarm,” I managed to say.

I stood in limbo for several seconds as he disarmed the security system, and then I was back in his embrace, his mouth on mine. Hungry hands roamed over my breasts and hips, pushing the material away to expose my fevered flesh. Desire burned so hot in my veins a fine sheen of perspiration covered my body.

And then, as soft as a whisper, his lips left mine. He stepped away and I tottered unsteadily.

His husky voice cracked when he spoke. “Goodbye, Jolene. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

The door slammed shut behind him. I collapsed into a chair, and bowed my head into my hands. For a long time I sat there in the darkness listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the cat purring at my feet in the quiet kitchen.