Free Southern Ghost by Carolyn G. Hart

want to know the truth about my parents. My real parents.’ ”
    He pushed back his chair and strode to the fireplace. For a long moment, he gripped the mantel; then his hands fell away and he turned toward them, anguish in his face. “I couldn’t tell her! God, I couldn’t tell her—and she was so sure I would know, so certain that all she had to do was ask me—and I had nothing to give her. I should have made Carleton tell me.”
    Annie understood his regret, but that wasn’t what mattered now. “How did Courtney know Delia and Carleton weren’t her parents?”
    “She was clearing out Delia’s papers.” He stroked his beard. “I have to wonder, you know, if Delia intended for Courtney to know. Courtney was going through her mother’s things, packing a lot of them away, boxing up clothes to give to the Salvation Army. She found a blue silk letter case inDelia’s bedside drawer. And in it, Courtney found a letter—a letter that made it clear that her father was Ross Tarrant.”
    “And her mother?” Annie asked.
    “No hint. At all.”
    That was all he knew.
    The lawyer gave them a copy of that letter and Max added it to the file. But, when they stood to go, Max had one more question.
    “Just for the record,” he said quietly, “where were you, sir, from approximately four yesterday afternoon to, say, ten o’clock last night?”
    Smithson stiffened. Bright patches of color stained his pale cheeks above his beard. Then, abruptly, he nodded. “Fair enough, Darling. I was in conference with a client from shortly after four until almost six. I had a quick dinner at the cafeteria across the street because I’m on the city council and I had to be there for a meeting at seven. The meeting didn’t end until eleven-thirty.” A dry smile. “Zoning generates enormous excitement.” He reached for a pad from his desk, scribbled names and numbers on it. “You can check these.” The angry patches faded away. He reached out, gripped Max’s hand. “I’m very fond of Courtney. You’ll find her, won’t you?”
    Max pushed open the gate to the St. George Inn, holding it for Annie. In the street behind them, a car door slammed. Running footsteps thudded on the sidewalk.
    “You! Hey, you!”
    They paused and turned.
    Annie felt a swift thrill of fear, because this was a man out of control. He was young—probably her own age—the kind of person who normally would be immediately accepted, well dressed in a pale-green, crisp summer cotton suit, well groomed with short auburn hair, unobtrusively attractive with open, frank features. But his necktie was bunched at his throat, his suit jacket swung unbuttoned, a red gash on his chin from a shaving cut still dimpled with blood, his browneyes flared wide and wild, and his chest heaved as he struggled for breath.
    “You—you’re Max Darling?” He was at the gate now, and no one existed in the world for him at that moment but himself and Max.
    Max nodded and his accoster grabbed his jacket with a shaking hand. “Goddammit, where’s Courtney? I’ll
kill
you if you’ve hurt her, I swear to God I will!”
    His eyes full of pity, Max stood unresisting in the young man’s grasp. “I’m looking for Courtney, too. My wife and I both are.”
    Annie chimed in and that got his attention. “Listen, my husband had nothing to do with Courtney’s disappearance. She hired him to find out about her family, and we’re doing everything we can to find her. Don’t waste our time. And don’t waste your time! Do you know who’s trying to hang her disappearance on my husband? The police chief! He wants to keep everything quiet for the Tarrants. Courtney hired Max to find out what actually happened the day her real father died. We’re still trying. If you want to find Courtney, the best thing you can do is make sure the Chastain police do their work.”
    Finally, he calmed down enough to listen. They took him to their suite and, while Max made coffee, they heard his story. His