Read Southern Belle for Free Online

Drummond," she said. "You want to come with me? It'll be more fun than watching Max read about handbells."
    But Drummond did not answer. Max followed the ghost's gaze to the newspaper Joshua Leed had given him. It lay open on the floor next to Max's laptop. The headline of Dr. Ernest's murder seemed to grow bolder every second. Drummond looked from Sandra to Max, his brow locked in confusion.
    "What's wrong?" Max asked, hearing the tremor in his own voice.
    Drummond pointed Sandra back to her chair. To Max, he gestured toward the bookcase. "You might want a swig."
    Max didn't have to ask. He had been thinking the same thing. He walked over to the bookcase and pulled out one of several false books Drummond had always stored. Inside was a silver flask filled with well-aged whiskey.
    After Max sat and had poured a shot for Sandra and one for himself, Drummond began to pace the room. He clasped his hands behind his back. He took another glance at the newspaper and said, "We've got to talk."
     
     
     

 
    Chapter 5
     
    Max and Sandra waited as Drummond drifted around the room — his version of pacing. Questions stampeded through Max's mind, but he kept quiet. The fact that Drummond caught sight of the newspaper did not incriminate Max directly. After all, Max could have bought the paper that morning, and it just happened to flip open to the page detailing Dr. Ernest's murder. There was no undeniable link between Max and any knowledge of Dr. Ernest. Of course, if Drummond thought about it for more than a second, he'd wonder why Max had a newspaper in the first place when Max had been a digital guy for years.
    Then I have to make sure he doesn't think anymore. "Are you going to talk or did you simply want us to watch your ability to float around the room?"
    Drummond shot Max a warning frown. "Have a little patience. This goes back a long time. I want to make sure I have the details right."
    The details. Drummond had taught Max that when a suspect starts concentrating on the details, chances are that lies will being coming out soon enough. Max exhaled as softly as he could manage. If Drummond picked up on his relief, the old ghost might get suspicious.
    "My apologies. Take your time."
    To Max's pride, Sandra picked up on the situation as well. "Should we order food? If this is going to run all day into dinner, we'll want to make sure we get something delivered."
    "Good idea, dear. You want Chinese or Indian tonight?"
    "Okay, okay," Drummond snapped. "I didn't know you were in such a hurry." He gazed at the office door, the frosted glass showing its age with cracks from the corners and stains on the edges, and his face relaxed as if he were sailing back in time, seeing it all happen before his dead eyes.
    "That man in the paper, the one that died — his name was Dr. Matthew Ernest. He was a young man when I knew him, and though I only knew him a short time, I've always felt close to him. Sort of like how soldiers become brothers under fire." He pointed to the door. "The day he came through there, I had been working the oddball angle for quite a while. Ghosts, curses, witches — if it had a hint of the unexplained, people found their way to my door."
    So far Drummond had stuck to the truth, but Max did not expect it to last. One of the first techniques Drummond taught him — if you have to lie, mix it in with as much truth as you can. It'll make the lie sound real and will be far easier to remember down the line.
    Drummond turned back to Max and Sandra. He licked his cold lips and shook his head. "Doc came from up north. Virginia had been his last stop, but he'd been making stops in Pennsylvania, New York, and Ohio. Maybe elsewhere, too. I don't recall. See, Doc was a paranormal investigator. Not that such things officially existed back then — I suppose they barely do now — but back then he had no school behind him."
    "So he just called himself Doctor?" Sandra asked.
    "I think he had a doctorate in English or History.