“You know this area—and the plantation—well, so why don’t we just start there?” he suggested.
Kendall paused, adding a touch of spicy mayonnaise to a piece of dragon roll. “I know about the Civil War, of course. Or the War of Northern Aggression, as people down here still like to call it.” He noticed that she had a single dimple, in her left cheek when she smiled. “I actually had one teacher who refused to refer to it any other way. The heir to your property, a man named Sloan Flynn, wound up in Lee’s army. He had been a captain in the Louisiana militia, but after the first year and a half of the war, more and more of the troops were called out to help Lee. The truth is, the North had more men. The South had some of the most talented generals, but when a man went down, he wasn’t easy to replace, while the North was bringing in immigrants who landed on their shores daily, and then there was conscription and so on. Anyway, Sloan was off with the army when New Orleans and most of the surrounding area came under Union control in 1862. Supposedly Sloan’s cousin—who had joined the Union army—was trying to keep an eye on the Flynn plantation, and his cousin’s secret wife, Fiona, who he’d married on the sly because of the war and Sloan being a Reb. Anyway, Sloan made a detour down to the old homestead, and his cousin was there, along with several other Union soldiers. The cousins shot each other, and according to official reports, Fiona threw herself over the balcony in despair. So naturally a beautiful woman in a white gown can be seen screaming and running across the upstairs balcony, and both Union and Confederate soldiers can be seen on the grounds. By those looking for ghosts, of course.”
“Of course,” he said, staring at her.
He felt a strange trickle of unease. Hadn’t he thought he’d seen a woman in white on the upper level?
But that had been Kendall Montgomery. It had to have been.
At least he hadn’t seen any soldiers marching around.
“What else—historically?” he asked.
She was thoughtful for a moment. “Well, there’s the story that came along later. I told you about it at the house. The one about the beautiful servant who supposedly had the affair with the master. She was hanged, and the wife fell down the stairway. You know, I have a friend who’s with the historical society. She’s on vacation right now, but she’s due back this weekend. I can introduce you to her. She’d love to tell you all she knows.”
“That would be great, thanks,” he said. He picked up a piece of salmon roll, studying her as he did so. She looked more than gorgeous every minute, her perfume was a truly intoxicating scent, and she seemed completely focused on him.
She wasn’t, though. He was sure of it. She was distracted. Something was bothering her.
Well, something was bothering him, too.
“May I ask you a personal question?” he said.
She stared at him, features betraying wry amusement. “Can I stop you?”
“You can refuse to answer me. I’m just trying to figure out how you came to be so close to Amelia.”
“Really? I’m trying to figure out how you never knew she existed.”
“That’s easy enough. My father was an only child. His father was killed during World War II. I guess my great-grandfather was the first to settle in the Gainesville area, and that was pretty much all we knew about his family. My mother was first generation Irish, and her folks died when I was young. And that was that.”
She reached over to try the salmon roll, but before she popped it into her mouth, she said casually, “I wonder how Amelia knew you all were out there, then. I mean, I could see it if the property had gone to your father. But all three of your names were listed in the will.” She stared at him, and smiled. “You know, the lawyer said she wrote that will right before the end of her life.”
“Your turn. Should she have left the property to you?”
“Probably not. I couldn’t have kept up with the insurance and the taxes.”
He was good at reading people, and she seemed to be speaking honestly and without rancor.
“Amelia might have thought she would just have been leaving a giant burden tied around my neck,” she went on. “She might have thought I would try to carry it and fall down with the effort.” She took a drink of tea. “I guess your business does fairly well.”
He shrugged. “Well enough. Just when we were getting started, Zachary pulled in a gig from a certain rock star I can’t mention. His daughter had disappeared in Brazil. We found her, managed to get her back. Her father wanted to pay us a fortune in gratitude, so we let him. It set the agency up well.”
“Do you only work for rich people?” she asked him.