Page 70 of Ghost
“Yes, I understand.You had a bump on the head.”The silver-haired woman smiled at him warmly.“It happens that way sometimes.There once was a woman who lived in Charleston who got a bump on the head and quite unexpectedly began speaking French.The brain is a strange but a magnificent thing, is it not?”
Mason didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing and only nodded.
“Now then, tell me about Francis,” Mrs.Trudeau looked expectantly at Mason, taking another small sip of her own drink.
“Did Imogene kill the lad?”Mr.Trudeau asked, his face hard.
Mason looked from one Trudeau to the other.“Yes, his mother did kill him.As far as Francis goes, he’s fine, I guess, other than being dead, of course.”He realized what he’d just said.“Oh, I’m sorry.I didn’t mean it like that!I mean that he’s good, it’s just that—”
Both of the Trudeaus laughed.
“It’s okay, Mason.”Mrs.Trudeau wiped at one eye with the tip of her left forefinger, removing a tear, the diamonds on her hand flashing.“I completely understand.Sometimes even I get confused as to who is living and who is not.”
Mason shook his head and grinned.He was beginning to really like Ellen Trudeau.
“Dinner is served,” Sharon announced from the doorway.
“Shall we?”Mrs.Trudeau asked, as she stood, still smiling.“And please, continue to tell me all about my dear Francis as we dine.”
Sharon served a creamy tomato and basil soup.
Mr.Trudeau was standing looking out a window, facing the side street.
When Sharon left, Mrs.Trudeau picked up her soup spoon and looked at Mason.“Well?”
“I’m not sure what it is you want me to tell you.”Mason followed his hostess in picking up his own spoon.“He’s fine, I guess.We talk quite a bit, especially since my friends have left.”
“Does he seem at peace?”Mr.Trudeau asked, still facing the window.
“I guess so.He doesn’t seem agitated or upset if that’s what you mean.”
“That sounds like Francis,” Mrs.Trudeau commented.“He was always so easy going.There was hardly anything that fazed him.”
“Until it came to business,” Mr.Trudeau commented.“The man was said to have a sharp mind and knew how to make money.I personally saw proof of that.”
“And sadly, I think that is why he was killed.”Mrs.Trudeau sighed heavily.“Imogene, without understanding it, killed the golden goose.”
“What do you mean?”Mason asked as he finished his soup, which was delicious.“This soup was really good.Thank you again for having me.”
“Our pleasure.”Mrs.Trudeau smiled warmly.
“What my dear wife means is that Imogene was a selfish spendthrift.”Mr.Trudeau turned to face the pair at the table.“She spent money like it grew on trees with never a thought of where it came from.”
“Imogene despised living on the plantation,” Mrs.Trudeau added.“She wanted to live in the city.”
“There wasn’t any way to prove it, but I am sure that she killed Francis’ father as well.”Mr.Trudeau looked angry.
“That was always the rumor,” Mrs.Trudeau said.“I don’t remember him very well.He was just as handsome as Francis, however.I do remember that and that he was a kind and gentle man.”
Sharon came and gathered the soup bowls and quickly returned with a small, tossed salad.
“I promised Francis that I would find out about the family home,” Mason said.“Do you know anything about it?”
“Of course!”Mrs.Trudeau said, looking somewhat astonished, like I should have known.“I own it.”
“Couldn’t let those damn Yankees get their dirty hands on it,” Mr.Trudeau added.“We couldn’t really afford it at the time, but I was able to shake some bushes and get the financing.”
Mrs.Trudeau picked up the story.“Gerald and a few of his banking friends got the money together with the promise that they could build a hunting lodge on the property.”She snorted.“I am sure that there were many things that went on in that lodge that were anything but Christian.”
