When Good Ghosts Get the Blues

by Danielle Garrett

  Gwen nudged him with her elbow.

  “And you’re our bestest friend in the whole wide world,” he added with a sour note.

  I chuckled, the sound somewhat muffled by the lump in my throat. “I love you too, ya little puffball.”

  “All right, all right. Enough of this mushy crap,” he said before standing up and launching off the countertop. “We’ve got a police station to find.”

  “Let’s go to the set of the TV show,” I said. “That’s the last place Lucas would have been. Someone there is bound to know where he went.”

  “Then we get to haunt the coppers?” Flapjack asked, clearly too enthusiastic about the potential of spying on a police station.

  Ignoring him, I looked at Gwen. “Give me five minutes?”

  She nodded. “All right, boys. Time to scram! Scarlet has lady business to attend to.”

  Hayward dashed back through the wall like his heels were on fire. Flapjack, on the other hand, took his time and gave his tail an extra swish with every step.

  I rolled my eyes at his departure, but couldn’t stop smiling.

  Gwen lingered. “It’s going to be all right, Scarlet. We’ll figure this out. We always do.”

  “Thanks, Gwen.”

  She smiled and then vanished, leaving me alone to get ready. I splashed some water on my face and scrubbed away the previous day’s make-up before dragging my tangled hair up into a pile on the top of my head. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a graphic printed t-shirt with a glasses-wearing owl. A pair of ballet flats completed the outfit. I grabbed my phone from the charger. It wasn’t anywhere close to being fully charged, but I’d have to worry about that later. There was no way I could leave it behind.

  The ghosts chatted during the ride across town to the house on Saint Charles, but I remained silent. Even if I put a Bluetooth earbud in and pretended to talk on the phone, I would still sound crazy to anyone who overheard us.

  “Wowzers, is this the place?” Flapjack said when the driver stopped the vehicle in front of the looming house.

  I nodded slowly. The beauty of the house that initially filled me with awe and a hint of jealousy now gave me an overwhelming sense of dread. Terrible, dark things had happened behind those walls, and the one responsible for them could very well be lurking somewhere in the city, or even on the property itself.

  We got out of the car but I couldn’t find the will to cross the street and step back onto the property. Not yet.

  “What’s with all the shutterbugs?” Gwen asked, gesturing over at the crowds still gathered on the street side of the police tape. “Is this house on one of those bus tours or something?”

  I shook my head. “No, although, it probably will be after this is all over.”

  “Then what are they all doing?”

  “The murder has gone viral because it’s associated with the Carters’ show. It’s all over the internet and probably splashed on those terrible magazines they keep at the grocery store checkout lanes, too.” I paused as a horrifying thought crept through my mind. Was a mugshot of Lucas about to join the smorgasbord of scandal and gossip? His career would be ruined forever if that happened. Who would hire a once-murder suspect to protect their building or TV set?

  “Scar?”

  I came to and glanced at Flapjack, realizing they were all waiting for me. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Oh—sorry, yeah, I was just … trying to remember if I brushed my teeth this morning. That’s all.”

  The trio exchanged a suspicious glance.

  I frowned. “Come on. Let’s get on with it.”

  Gwen’s eyebrows lifted but no one said anything. Not waiting for them, I stalked across the street, gathering up every particle of fury I could muster with each step. I wasn’t leaving until I had answers and I didn’t care how many cages I had to rattle to get them.

  I forced my way through the pack of vultures salivating at the police line and ducked under the tape. A hushed flurry of whispered speculations surged through the crowd, but I thrust my shoulders back and ignored them as I marched up to the first uniformed officer who spotted me.

  He held up a hand as he walked toward me. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you need to stay on that side of the line. This is an active crime scene.”

  “Yes, I know that. My boyfriend is head of security for the Carters’ show. He was called down here yesterday to speak with the studio’s legal team about the case, and I haven’t heard from him since. I want to know what’s going on and I’m not leaving here until someone tells me where he is and why he hasn’t been able to contact me.”

  “Go, Scar!” Flapjack cheered. “Give ’em hell!”

  “I’m not sure that’s the prudent move,” Hayward chimed in. “After all, you win more bees with honey than vinegar!”

  Flapjack scoffed. “It’s flies you stuffed-shirt. And you don’t win them, you attract them.”

  Hayward harrumphed. “Why would anyone want to attract flies? Downright unpleasant creatures.”

  “Shut up, both of you,” Gwen said. “You’re distracting her!”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, knowing the officer didn’t have the context and would assume it was directed at him. “Please, Officer. I need to know where he is.”

  The man considered me for a long moment and then held up a finger. “Let me get one of the detectives out here.”

  I nodded.

  The officer turned his back toward me and took a few steps away.

  “Scarlet?”

  I pivoted toward the sound of my name and found Sam coming toward me from the direction of the driveway. “Sam! Thank goodness. Do you know where Lucas is? He came down here last night and I haven’t seen him since.”

  A vein pulsed on his brow and he glanced past me. “You’re really not supposed to be here.”

  “Yeah, I’ve gathered. But something isn’t right, Sam!”

  “Why don’t you wait over in that trailer,” he said, gesturing toward an RV at the driveway. “I’ll call one of the producers and have them come talk to you.”

  I started to object, but quickly dropped it and nodded. “All right. Thanks. And can you tell the detective too? That officer was supposed to let them know I’m here.”

  “Sure,” he said, bobbing his chin.

  “Who was that?” Flapjack asked as we started toward the trailer.

  “Sam. He works security with Lucas. Or for Lucas, I guess, if you want to get technical about it.”

  “Why won’t he just tell you where Lucas is? Why be so cagey about it?” Flapjack asked, glancing behind him. “You want me to follow him, Scar? See what he knows?”

  “Don’t bother,” I said. “I doubt he knows anything. He’s probably just here to watch over the studio’s equipment and stuff.”

  The trailer was unlocked so I let myself in. “Hello?” I called softly. “Anyone here?”

  “Talk about swanky!” Flapjack said, leaping up to wander along the granite countertop in the kitchenette. “This thing is bigger than your apartment, Scar. Nicer too.”

  He wasn’t wrong. The trailer had two slide-outs that gave it a spacious feel. The gourmet kitchen had a tile backsplash and stainless steel appliances that looked almost full-size. Plush microsuede furniture sat around a huge flat-screen TV mounted above a gas fireplace. I wandered down the hallway and peeked into the bathroom and found more designer stone and tile.

  The front door opened and I closed the one to the bathroom so fast I pinched my finger. I yelped as I whirled around to find a woman in a pencil skirt and a merlot button-up blouse appeared. Her blonde hair fell past her shoulders in a silky sheet that shone under the recessed lighting. “Scarlet Sanderson,” she said with a warm smile. She took a step forward and offered me her manicured hand. “Brooklyn Skye. It’s nice to meet you in person.”

  The name clicked and I realized she was the producer who had offered me a slot on the show as a ghost consultant once word got around that I had an intuition about the spirit world. I�
��d turned the gig down, assuring everyone that my gift was a little overblown. In truth, it wasn’t, but the idea of talking about it on national television was enough to make me want to burrow under my bed and never come back out again. Imagine the wackadoo fan mail I’d get?

  No thanks.

  “Hello, Brooklyn,” I said, shaking her hand. “I didn’t know you were here in New Orleans.”

  She pushed her hair over her shoulders. “I normally stay in New York, but the studio sent me down here to help with damage control. We’ve already got the paparazzi swirling around the Carters, and now this.” She paused and blew out a long sigh. “It’s a mess.”

  “Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I’m here to find out what happened to Lucas.”

  Brooklyn nodded, making it clear I didn’t need to fill in the blanks. “I apologize. Someone should have called you.”

  “Is he in trouble?” I asked.

  “Let’s sit down,” she replied, moving toward one of the beige armchairs. My stomach dropped, but I followed her lead and perched on the edge of the sofa. Flapjack hopped up beside me and sat expectantly. Hayward and Gwen stayed anchored by the door of the trailer.

  “Lucas didn’t have anything to do with this, Brooklyn. You have to believe me.”

  She nodded and then laced her fingers together, her hands sitting on her knees. “None of us doubt Lucas’s innocence, Scarlet. Our legal team is simply trying to get ahead of this thing. The more we all cooperate, the faster we can put this terrible tragedy behind us and move forward.”

  “I get that, but why are those detectives so hell-bent on talking to Lucas? He already gave them a statement.”

  Brooklyn considered me for a moment and her expression softened. “Listen, I’m really not supposed to say anything, but the forensics team found a boot print, uh, in the blood. They seem to think it belongs to Lucas’s work boots. That, along with the argument he had with Bart the day before…”

  Flapjack swore.

  The interior of the trailer started to rotate, like some kind of carnival ride. “A—a boot print?”

  “That’s right. I’m sure it’s a mistake,” Brooklyn said, her voice gentle. “Like I said, we’ve worked with Lucas for a few years now. I’m sure the print belongs to someone else, but until they rule it out, they want more information from him.”

  My head bobbed as though I understood, but my mind rattled, searching through my memories, desperate to remember where I’d last seen Lucas’s boots. Surely someone had stolen them. It was the only way his print could have been found at the scene. Wasn’t it?

  “Remember, the more information he can provide the detectives, the sooner they can cross him off their list,” Brooklyn told me.

  “But he’s been gone since last night. Wouldn’t the lawyers have pulled him out of there by now?”

  “I could call one of the lawyers,” she offered. “See if they know when he will be done.”

  “Would you?” I asked, peering up at her like she’d just tossed me a life vest off the side of a ship.

  She smiled. “Of course. Give me a few minutes?”

  “Thank you!”

  She swept up from the chair and stepped outside the trailer. As the door thumped closed, I exhaled and sagged back against the couch. My side had a stich in it, making each breath hurt, as if I’d just run a marathon.

  “Scar, you okay?” Flapjack asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

  “His boot,” I said. “How can this be happening?”

  None of them offered an explanation.

  “Um, Lady Scarlet, I do hate to ask, but is there a chance that—”

  “No!” I snapped, glaring at Hayward.

  He reeled back so quickly, his top hat tumbled from his head. Gwen caught it and passed it to him with a stern look. “Of course not, Hayward. How could you even think such a thing?” she hissed.

  He sputtered, “I—uh—it was simply a—”

  “A mistake,” Flapjack finished, his voice ice cold.

  Hayward shrank back further and slipped through the wall of the trailer. Gwen watched him go, her expression still tense. After a moment, it broke and she sighed. “For Pete’s sake,” she muttered, going after him.

  “It’s going to be all right, Scar,” Flapjack said as she disappeared. “Don’t listen to that moron.”

  I looked down at Flapjack and wished I could run my fingers through his thick fur like I’d done so many times back when he was alive. He’d never been an overly affectionate cat, but even his stingy little heart couldn’t resist a good chin or ear scratching from time to time. “Everyone keeps telling me it’s going to be fine, but I’m having a hard time seeing how this is going to work itself out. Even when they find him innocent, something like this leaves a stain.”

  “You think the studio would can him for this?” Flapjack asked.

  I pulled in a breath and released it in an effort to soothe my nerves. “Maybe not, but it might limit his options for the future.”

  “Nah,” he replied. “This story will blow over. As of now, Lucas’s name hasn’t even hit the media, right?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I saw the story on my phone this morning, but I didn’t read the article.”

  “I’m sure it was all speculation anyway. It’s not like the police will give real information out.”

  My brow furrowed. “You been watching CSI or something?”

  “Ha ha.”

  The trailer door opened and Brooklyn appeared. Her skin looked a shade paler, but I quickly told myself I was seeing things. She didn’t make a move to sit back down, so I stood. “Did you reach them?” I asked, trying—and likely failing—to not sound desperate.

  “I did,” she replied. “I’m really sorry, Scarlet, but the police arrested him.”

  Chapter 9

  Arrested.

  The word rang in my ears over and over, like a tolling of the bells. Flapjack said something, but I didn’t hear him. Brooklyn came closer and reached a hand out to pat me on the arm. She said something too, but it didn’t make sense.

  I shook my head, trying to clear out the horrible echo.

  “Would you like me to book you a flight home?” Brooklyn asked. “I’ll cover the cost to change your original ticket. I’m so sorry for all this. It must be a nightmare for you.”

  “He didn’t do it!” I burst out, jumping out of her placating reach. “Lucas wouldn’t murder someone!”

  Brooklyn and Flapjack blinked, almost in unison.

  “Right, I mean, of course not. I only offered because I feel so badly that your vacation is being ruined like this.”

  “My vacation?” I spat. “What about Lucas’s life? His career!”

  She wrung her hands together and glanced sidelong, as if hoping for someone to swoop in and save her.

  I held up my hands and closed my eyes for a long moment. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t your fault and I do appreciate the offer. But no thank you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Slinging my purse back on my shoulder, I started for the door. “Thank you for calling his lawyers. I do feel somewhat better knowing he’s not alone over there and that he has a good legal team. I’m sure they’ll get him out soon.”

  Brooklyn licked her lips. “Well, um, that’s the other thing—”

  Flapjack’s tail twitched. “Uh oh.”

  “What?” I asked, peeling my eyes off him.

  “The studio’s legal team isn’t going to be able to represent Lucas,” Brooklyn answered.

  “And just why not?”

  “Technically, Lucas doesn’t work for the studio. He’s contracted. Bart, on the other hand, is a top-ranking member of the production team. So representing Lucas now that he’s been arrested for his murder would be … well, it’s a bit of a conflict of interest. In their eyes,” she hurried to add.

  Flapjack spouted off a string of colorful arguments while I drew in a slow breath and tried to keep my own rage in check. It wasn’t Brooklyn
’s fault. As someone who worked with ghosts, I’d personally learned how important it was not to shoot the messenger and wasn’t willing to drive my anger toward her.

  So, I tucked my chin, thanked her, and stepped out of the trailer without another word.

  “Unbelievable! The nerve of these people!” Flapjack fumed, floating in step beside me. He was apparently too angry to keep up the charade of moving his legs as he often did when motoring from one place to the next. “Don’t worry, though, Scar. We’ll find him better—more loyal—representation!”

  I snorted humorlessly. “Oh, did we win the lottery while I wasn’t looking?”

  “Your parents have loads of cash,” he replied.

  “Oh, sure. Hey, mom and dad, can I borrow ten thousand dollars so I can bail my accused-murderer boyfriend out of jail?” I snorted and shook my head. Get real, Flapjack. You’ve met them.”

  “So, tell them it’s for something else. A new car or something.”

  Behind us, the trailer door opened and I heard Brooklyn’s heels click down the two steps and then across the driveway.

  I shook my head and in a lowered voice told Flapjack, “Not going to happen. We have to find another way.”

  Across the yard, a rustle went through the crowd on the sidewalk. I followed the swiveling smart phones and found them pointed at the front porch of the home, where a man in a dark suit appeared to be in a heated conversation with the same officer who’d first approached me.

  “Great. Just what I need today,” Brooklyn muttered behind me.

  I stopped walking and looked back at her. “Who is that man?”

  “Gilbert Jenkins,” she answered, her tone weary as she came to a stop beside me. “He’s a YouTube star who travels around, giving psychic readings and holding séances.”

  “What’s he doing here?” I asked.

  “He was slotted to come on and do a tour of the house for a special half-hour segment we were planning to run alongside the episode featuring the renovations. The idea was that if it got good enough ratings, we’d make it a regular thing.”