southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet (2 page)

Melody gazed down on me, thanks to her impossibly high platform sandals, and handed me a piping hot bag of kettle corn. "If you're serious about keeping out of hot water, you should stay away from Ellis."

"I know," I said, plucking a piece off the top. Nobody would understand the way Ellis and I had bonded over our adventure. They'd only see me chasing after the older brother of my ex-fiancé. "But he's like kettle corn. You can't have just one little taste."

Melody tsked. "You just like him because he saved your life."

"Yes, well, I saved his too," I pointed out. "Besides, you know it's more than that."

He was funny and brave. Kind. He was a darned good police officer, even though his family would never forgive him for joining the force instead of the high-powered Wydell legal empire. I admired a man who wasn't afraid to follow through with what he felt in his heart. I frowned. That kind of thinking could get me all tangled up if I let it.

Melody glanced out over the crowd. "We'd better get moving. The grandstand is filling up."

Portable metal benches took up the entire east side of the square. They were sponsored by the two leading families in these parts: the Wydells and the Jacksons. The Wydells ruled the roost in Sugarland. The Jacksons owned most of the land surrounding the town. Both families were careful to sit as far as possible from each other on account of a feud that had been going on since Lieutenant Colonel Lester Jackson may or may not have forgotten to salute Colonel Thaddeus Wydell during the War of 1812.

Melody took my hand and dragged me along. "Come on. My boss said he'd save us some seats."

"No kidding?" Montgomery Silas was not only our library historical expert, but he was also the man who literally wrote the book on the Battle of Sugarland, the one that was being made into the movie.

Melody waved to Montgomery as we made our way over..

"We are in high cotton," I said as he waved back. The eccentric scholar wore an ill-conceived pair of muttonchops and had a personal style that relied heavily on tweed and bow ties, but he was the closest thing to a celebrity we had around these parts. At least until filming started.

I couldn't wait.

We were just about to enter the grandstand when Darla Grace, Sugarland Heritage Society Volunteer of the Year—every year—closed a hand over my sister's arm. Darla stood five feet nothing, not counting her stacked auburn hair, done up with daisies for the celebration. It looked nice, and I could tell she felt pretty.

She gave my sister a conspiratorial grin. "Thank you so much for all your help in the library this morning. I don't think I could have handled that fiasco without you."

Melody let out a small laugh. "It was nothing." 

"I really appreciate it," she continued. "I mean, who in their right mind would think it's a good idea to add Myra Jackson's false eye into the jewelry display? Even if it is a family heirloom." Darla Grace shuddered. 

My sister chuckled. "You just need to learn how to say no."

"No," I said under my breath as Virginia Wydell sat down in the front row, right next to Montgomery. "Those were supposed to be our seats. He just let her take them."

"Oh." Melody cringed. "Well, the Wydell Family Foundation is funding the movie. He probably didn't think he had a choice. Don't worry. We don't have to sit anywhere near them."

"We won't," I said. Not while I was still breathing. "But we'd better find a spot. And soon."

Melody and I started toward the stands with Darla in tow when one of the young college volunteers rushed us. Panic widened her ice blue eyes and her bangs tangled in the sweat on her brow. "Disaster. Anarchy. I need you and Darla right now. The Jacksons are demanding we expand the exhibit."

"Don't you dare," I told them both. "I'm sure you've already done a wonderful job." They deserved more than political bickering in return. "Let's go, or we're going to miss the whole Yankee charge." I'd witnessed every reenactment since I was three years old, and I wasn't about to be left out this year.

"Expanding the exhibit is the only way to keep the peace," the student pleaded. She held up her phone. "I have a text from Montgomery. He says to work it out."

Darla groaned. "We don't want to offend the Jacksons or the Wydells, not at this hour."

Melody shot an apologetic glance to Darla. "I shouldn't have put out the Wydells' vintage corsets and lingerie. That might have tipped the scales."

"It did." Their panicked coworker looked ready to swoon. "The Jacksons retaliated with two muskets and a fainting couch." She drew a deep breath before rushing on. "Rumor has it Virginia Wydell just sent her eldest son to go dig into the family taxidermy collection."

"Perfect," I said. I had the solution. "This is a fine time to teach our fellow citizens the meaning of the word
no
."

Both Melody and Darla Grace's heads whipped around to cast equally horrified stares at me. "No!" they sobbed in unison.

Hmm… Perhaps this is why I tended to get into trouble, while they did not.

Melody touched her forehead, gathering her wits. "Don't worry. We'll sort everything out. As long as the heirlooms don't keep coming." She dropped her hand. "Verity, I have to handle this. You might as well go ahead and enjoy the reenactment."

"Not in a million years," I told her. I couldn't have fun while Melody and Darla were in such a spot. Besides, I didn't want to be anywhere near Virginia Wydell without my sister there for moral support. "If you simply cannot leave this undone, then you can count on me to help." Besides, it would be neat to see all the old relics and knickknacks.

Darla's brows pinched together. "We'd love that, but you can't. We had to sign papers. Approved personnel only."

Melody cast me a helpless look. "I'm afraid the rules are pretty strict."

"Okay, then." I felt for them, I truly did. "Just think," I said, trying to make it better, "after tomorrow's brunch it will be all over."

Both of them winced.

"Thanks for the deadline reminder," Darla groused.

Shoot. I hadn't quite thought of it that way.

"Go," Melody urged. "Find a seat."

That could be hard. The crowd had thinned around the grandstand, which meant most of them were in it. I watched as Melody and Darla made their way toward the library, trailed by the volunteer. I wished I could have done more.

Well, at least I could watch history being made. Again. I joined the last of the audience filing into the long benches and began working my way up, hoping to find a single seat…anywhere. I was craning my neck, distracted, when the last man on earth I wanted to see climbed up behind me and blocked my escape.

"You look gorgeous today, Verity." He had that slight, sweet, humble-if-you-didn't-know-him Southern drawl that made me want to punch him in the face.

I straightened and turned, already knowing what I'd find. "Beau."

Beau Wydell appeared quite harmless on the surface. Tall, with Matthew McConaughey good looks and a self-effacing charm that had bedazzled plenty of women over the years. He'd sure fooled me.

My ex-fiancé tilted his chin down and treated me to a shy smile, as if he didn't have a care in the world. And why should he? He was the one who'd cheated on me, lied to me, and then made me look the fool when he tried to force me to show up at our wedding. That was the day after he hit on my little sister, by the way. She'd gone to get another bottle of wine for our suite and he'd trapped her in a corner to paw at her. I didn't dare mention that here. No one knew. So far, Melody had stayed clean of this and I intended to keep it that way.

I'd told him the wedding was off. He'd waited at the altar anyhow, in front of the whole town. He'd made it appear as if I'd stood him up, and I became persona non grata to just about everyone who ever mattered to me.

"Please leave," I said, knowing I'd have to face him sooner or later, my heart racing all the same.

He shrugged. "The way I see it, you're standing in my family section."

I was? I almost dropped my popcorn. "Then I should leave," I said, trying to figure out a way to make it around him. We had folks on the seats above, watching us, along with several packed rows underneath, straining to hear.

Lord have mercy.

"It's all right if you sit by me, darlin'," he said, drawing closer.

"I'd rather set my teeth on fire." Before today, I hadn't seen or spoken to Beau since he'd invited me to join him at our reception. The whole town was there, he'd said, enjoying our five-course sit-down dinner. Dancing to the ten-piece band his mother had insisted we hire. Consoling him. Assuring him he was better off.

He'd sent me photos of the cake.

I'd snapped. That he would play the victim, that he would humiliate me like that after what he'd done… I'd like to plead temporary insanity, only I knew exactly what I was doing when I drove straight to the Hamilton Hotel, marched right into my almost-reception, and plastered Beau's face straight into our almost-wedding cake. Only I hadn't counted on everyone taking pictures. And videos. Not to mention the way I'd slipped on frosting and fallen on my rear.

I needed to escape. Now. Maybe I could shimmy under the seat and drop down to the ground below. Would I even fit? My luck I'd get stuck. Then we'd have more embarrassing pictures of me for Beau's Facebook page. 

His mouth tipped into a slow smile. "Are you going to make another scene?" he asked, smugly, as if he'd read my mind. "Can't say that I don't enjoy your moxie."

His words hit me like a bucket of cold water. My outburst at the reception had consequences. Beau's mother had sued me for the entire cost of the production she'd orchestrated. I'd had to sell everything I owned. I'd darn near lost my family home. Half the town still thought I was crazy.

No. I would not let Beau Wydell humiliate me again.

A cry erupted from the crowd around us. "Sit down," the woman behind me hissed. "The Yankees are coming. For real this time!"

I sat, next to Beau Wydell, and tried not to cringe as our shoulders touched.

He took it as an invitation and leaned his lips toward my ear. "I'm kind of glad we got stuck like this, darlin'. We should talk."

"Don't call me darling," I said, keeping my voice down and my eyes on the town square. "We have nothing to say."

The camera crew from the History channel sprang into action. I focused on the drama of the advancing army, on our outnumbered, outgunned small-town militia as they were pushed back, on Miss Emily Proctor's dance classes, ages five through sixteen, as they danced in front of the limestone buildings of our town square, dressed as red and orange flames.

"I'm sorry about what my mother did to you."

He actually sounded sincere, and I felt my cheeks redden. I glanced up at him. "What about what you did?"

He huffed out a breath. "You know I didn't mean that, sugar." His fingers inched toward mine on the bench. "I'd had a couple of beers. Your sister looks a lot like you. I made a mistake." He shrugged. "It happens to a lot of guys."

"No, it doesn't." I folded my fingers in my lap. "And you didn't have to embarrass me later."

"Hey," he said. "Look at me. I was hurt." He appeared so sincere a girl would be tempted to believe him. If you didn't know him. "I didn't hear that my mom sent you the bill until after I got back from our honeymoon."

And then he'd done nothing to stop her when she unleashed her team of lawyers.

The Yankees were now overrunning the square. Our men were trapped, flanked, through no fault of their own. I knew exactly how they felt.

"Excuse me!" a woman protested on Beau's left side as someone knocked into her popcorn, scattering pieces.

"Sorry," a familiar voice called back. "Pardon me," Ellis said as he shoved past his brother. I hoped it wasn't an accident that he stepped on Beau's foot.

I scooted over as far as I could to make room.

"What the hell?" Beau protested as Ellis squeezed in between us. 

I'd never been so glad to see him. "Shouldn't our sheriff be protecting the town?" I asked. It was too late to save me.

Then again, having him here did make me feel stronger.

"It's all going well," he said, pragmatically. "The whole place is on fire. There's hand-to-hand fighting in the streets. They'll be talking about this for years." He angled for some space and elbowed his brother in the process.

Beau elbowed back. "You're an idiot, Ellis."

Everyone watched as the Yankees pointed a cannon and fired on the Sugarland Library. Well, most everyone. Virginia Wydell sat six rows down, her platinum hair pulled back into a girlish ponytail, her pearl earrings large, and her eyes hard as she glared back at us.

Fun day.

My ex leaned over his brother as if he weren't there. "I miss your back rubs," Beau murmured to me.

Ellis stiffened. "You realize she dumped you, right?"

"Oh, look," I said, "one of the Yankees just lost his uniform pants. He really should have worn a belt." Or laid off the hooch. "I wonder if that will make it into the documentary."

Both men ignored me. They were too busy glaring at each other. Of course Beau had no idea about Ellis and me. If I wanted to be perfectly honest, even I didn't even quite understand what was going on between us. It had begun innocently enough.

But now, seeing the two brothers together, I was starting to realize I may have started something I didn't quite know how to finish.

Ellis and I hadn't gotten to the back rub stage. We were barely at the dating part. We'd fought for our lives together and had gotten close. Too close, maybe. Then we'd enjoyed one very nice, very quiet dinner a few miles out of town. He'd brought me daisies, and I'd baked cookies and pretended it was no big deal. He'd said they were delicious.

It had been wonderful.

Until now.

Beau groaned. "Can you move out of the way, Ellis?" 

"No," Ellis said simply. 

Oh, brother.

I'd never been so glad to see the Sugarland militia push the Yankees back and save our town.

We watched the two colonels, a Wydell and a Jackson, shake hands, as they did once a year. The patriarchs of the two families put aside their differences to lead the militia, a moment of cooperation before they went back to hating each other. Everyone in the grandstand stood and cheered. The cameras rolled.