Page 24 of Deadly Avarice
“And thank you for inviting Aurelia to Harvest Day. When she popped into Phil’s home, we were just sitting down for an evening meal. Aurelia demanded Jell-O of all things.” Peaches’s soft laughter twittered across our phone connection. “She was disappointed when Phil told her he didn’t have any. Aurelia was so irritated she popped out of the room and didn’t come back. I saw her sulking around the orchard late last night. I’ve already placed an order for several packages. They should be delivered later this afternoon.”
“I hope you got cherry flavor.”
“I did, as well as a few others. We’ll see if Aurelia’s fascination is just with the one flavor or if she likes others.”
I grinned remembering Aurelia’s expression while eating the Jell-O.
Peaches and I discussed a few other inane things before we mutually decided it was time to end the call. Tossing my phone beside me on the couch, I placed my socked feet on the coffee table and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Pops was headed back to California today. Unless his flight was delayed, he should already be on a plane and Momma should be on her way back to her house. I hadn’t gotten a text telling me anything was amiss so I could only hazard a guess all was well.
It had been wonderful seeing Pops again. All in all, I counted Harvest Day a win. Mrs. Hart thanked me profusely for looking after Miss Pattycakes. I told her it was no problem and left out the part where she’d almost given a hamster a heart attack.
Franklin was back at the precinct, working on ongoing cases. To my knowledge, he hadn’t been called to a new case. I hoped his day was quiet. He’d stay tonight again. We had plenty of edible leftovers. Momma never need know that her green bean casserole went into the trash five minutes after she walked out the door. Franklin had given me a lot of shit about pulling him into my green bean casserole conspiracy. I’d just laughed my ass off and run round the kitchen as he’d chased me with a towel
My cheeks heated with the memory of what happened when he caught me. I was still grinning like a loon when my phone rang. I should have checked the caller ID but I was too blissed out thinking of Franklin and answered a lazy “Boone.”
“Necromancer Erasmus Boone?”
I immediately straightened, my feet hitting the floor at the authority laced within that voice. It wasn’t one I recognized, but it was one that grabbed my attention.
“This is he,” I answered. “And who am I speaking with?” I counted it a win that I didn’t say,And who the hell are you?
“Detective Emmanuel Cardoza. I called and left a message the day before Harvest Day.”
I smacked my forehead, having completely forgotten about the message. “I’m sorry. You did call and I forgot. Yesterday was—”
“Harvest Day,” Detective Cardoza congenially said. “It is understandable.”
“Thank you. How can I help? Considering you’re calling from Louisiana, can I assume this has to do with the Titus McMahon case?”
“Unfortunately, you are correct. I had a very interesting meeting with Mr. Pablo Jimenez. It seems his employer has some concerns regarding paying off an insurance policy on Mr. McMahon, especially now that there is some question regarding the identity of Mr. McMahon’s remains.”
I shook my head. “There’s no question, Detective. Those remains buried in Titus McMahon’s grave aren’t his. They belong to Thomas Speedler.”
“So I’ve been informed.”
“You were informed correctly.” My hackles rose. While I understood my word couldn’t be taken at face value and was often inadmissible in court, or at least without corroborative evidence, I balked at being doubted. It was a defense mechanism honed after years of putting up with this kind of thing.
There was a pause, and I remained silent, waiting Detective Cardoza out. My patience was finally rewarded when he said, “Given other evidence, I’m inclined to believe you, Necromancer Boone. I meant no offense earlier, and I mean no offense now when I say that necromancers aren’t known for their reliability.”
Detective Cardoza was being PC. Replacereliabilitywithsanityand you had his true thoughts.
“I understand,” I answered and was sad that I truly did get it.
“I’ve listened to Mr. Jimenez’s phone recording, but I’m afraid I’ll need to witness your interactions with Mr. Speedler’s soul myself.” I’ll give Detective Cardoza credit, he got that all out without tripping over his words. “Would you be able to bring Mr. Speedler’s soul back again for further interrogation? I’m sorry if I don’t have the terminology correct. This is a first for me. I was unaware there were even necromancers capable of doing what Mr. Jimenez claimed happened.”
“We’re a rare breed,” I answered, unsure how true that was but afraid it was more accurate than I wanted to believe.
“Indeed.”
I inhaled before asking, “When would you like me to drive to Louisiana?” While it would be nice if Detective Cardoza could bring Thomas Speedler’s remains to me, I knew better.
Quiet filled the line again. Huffing and uncomfortable sounding shifting broke through that silence and when DetectiveCardoza finally came back on the line, it was with a heavy sigh. “I’d say ASAP, and while that’s what I’d like, that isn’t what can currently happen. I’m having some issues with the family and the top brass.”
“Speedler’s family or McMahon’s?”
“Both,” Cardoza grunted. “Titus McMahon’s widow is up in arms saying the insurance company had no right to exhume her husband’s remains. She’s screaming about a warrant, but life insurance companies aren’t the police and they don’t need the same type of documentation we need. Just a heads-up, the widow’s talking about suing anyone and everyone, including you, Necromancer Boone.”
I wasn’t all that surprised and only a brief wave of unease sifted through me. “I’ve heard that song and dance before.” Maybe not given this particular situation, but others.
