When Good Ghosts Get the Blues

by Danielle Garrett

  Raymond’s ghost wore a manic smile. “You have the gift. You’re one of us.”

  “Something tells me you do not want to join that club, Scar.”

  “I felt you here, in this house,” Raymond continued, a gleeful look on his cadaverous face. “Our kind shares a special connection, you know.”

  Flapjack glanced at me and I shook my head. “No, I don’t know. What are you talking about? One of who?”

  Raymond swooped closer, his face large in the mirror. “Free me, and I will tell you everything you want to know.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t. Not until you tell me what it is you’ve done. Why you were contained to this mirror in the first place.”

  “I’ve killed,” Raymond said, unflinching. “In life and afterward too. Some call me a monster, but they don’t understand. I only took those who were suffering. Whose ends were near.”

  “That doesn’t justify murder,” I told him.

  Raymond chuckled. “Oh, you don’t understand now, but you will.”

  I sneered at him. “What about the little boy? Gayle told me a faceless spirit is responsible for his death.”

  Raymond laughed, the sound like jagged ice down my back. His face morphed in the mirror until it looked like a plume of silver smoke hovering above the collar of his shirt.

  “Scar… I think we should go,” Flapjack said.

  My head agreed with him, but my body refused to heed its warning. “What are you?” I asked, my voice a dry whisper.

  The smoke cleared and Raymond’s face reappeared, taking up the entirety of the mirror’s surface once again. “I am like you and you are like me, Scarlet Sanderson. You have powers beyond your wildest imagination. And one day—soon, I imagine—you’ll learn to use them.”

  The grip on my chest cinched tighter and I fought to breathe.

  “This guy’s clearly a crackpot, Scar. Let’s get out of here.”

  “How do you know my name?” I demanded.

  “I’ve answered one question already. You know why I was imprisoned. Give me my freedom and I’ll tell you what you want to know, including who killed that arrogant waste of a man in this very room.”

  His promise hung thick in the air. Something tugged at my hand and I lifted it to the mirror’s surface again. I could feel it. His spirit. If I willed it, I knew I could pull him from the depths, as easily as I could pull a teddy bear from a lake.

  But how? How could I possibly wield that kind of power? And what did he know about me? Thoughts spun in my head, faster and faster, in time with the frantic beating of my heart.

  A thump sounded, cutting through the murky layers of my conflicted mind. Everything went still, suspended in time.

  Thump, thump.

  “What was that?” I hissed, whipping around to shine my flashlight at the other side of the room.

  Flapjack went still. “Someone’s here. In the house.”

  I looked back at Raymond and saw naked rage in his eyes. “Free me!” he hissed, red sparks crossing his dark pupils. “Now!”

  Without a word, I killed the flashlight, turned and ran. I skid into the hallway and paused, the sound of footsteps getting closer. I moved as quickly as I could on my tiptoes, desperate to keep my sneakers from making a noise and give away my location. Then, as I rounded a corner, I bumped into a lamp and watched in horror as it tipped and fell, like a horrifying slow-motion crash.

  It hit the wood floor with a loud crash that echoed through the near-empty house.

  Flapjack swore.

  I squeezed my lips together to keep from adding a colorful word of my own.

  We stood still for a moment, both frozen in terror, when the footsteps picked up pace. I dared to breathe again when I realized they were headed away from me, and not closer. Suddenly, it dawned on me that the door on the balcony hadn’t been an accident. Someone must have been in the house the entire time I was. This realization only worked to spike my heart rate even higher, but then curiosity took hold.

  Who would break into a murder scene? Unless there was another ghost hunter set on chatting with Raymond or Gayle, it seemed it had to be someone interested in finding—or hiding—something.

  “Scar! What are you doing?” Flapjack called as I hurried down the hall, moving toward the front of the house.

  I burst into the foyer a moment after the front door slammed shut. Peering through one of the windows flanking the huge door, I saw a person dressed in black climbing behind the wheel of a dark SUV that was parked across the street. The driver paused for a moment and pushed back their hood—to reveal a sheet of platinum blonde hair.

  “I told you it was her!” Flapjack hissed.

  Chapter 16

  “You did what?”

  To say that Lucas was less than thrilled with my midnight escapades would be a major understatement.

  “I had to get answers!”

  Lucas shook his head, at a loss for words.

  “Can we get back to the part where I saw Brooklyn fleeing the scene?” I asked, barely resisting the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. “Think about it, Lucas, she was there the morning of the murder. She says she was doing paperwork, but come on, at five something in the morning? What could be so important?”

  Lucas held up a hand. “It’s strange, I’ll admit, but what’s her motive? Why would she kill Bart?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. Did they get along?”

  “Brooklyn gets along with everyone,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve never seen her butt heads with anyone.”

  “What if Bart was on her case about something? Maybe she just snapped.”

  “I—I don’t know, Scar. It seems far-fetched.” Lucas paced the length of the room, one hand braced on the back of his neck. His eyes were focused on the carpet as he walked.

  “We’re running out of other suspects,” I told him. “It wasn’t you. You swear it couldn’t have been Sam. We’re down to the camera guy, the fake psychic, and Brooklyn.”

  “Todd’s whereabouts are airtight,” Lucas said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I texted Sam last night before bed. You were in the shower. He says there is camera footage that’s timestamped to prove that Todd was out filming in the garden, getting background shots while Bart and Gilbert discussed the segment.”

  “In the library?”

  “That’s where they were filming.”

  “So, Bart and Gilbert were alone?” I asked.

  “Well, besides the murderous ghost living rent-free in the library,” Flapjack added.

  “And then, Todd comes back in, finds Bart dead. Why isn’t Gilbert at the top of the suspect list? What’s his alibi?”

  “He says he was in the bathroom putting on makeup. The police found his kit in the bathroom, so I guess they buy it.”

  “Okay, so, Gilbert leaves to get ready for the shoot. Brooklyn comes in, argues with Bart, he ends up dead, Todd comes in to start filming and finds Bart. That all fits!”

  “Even if that’s how it happened—and it’s a really big if—there’s no way for us to prove it. None of them left prints in the blood, and none of them had access to turn off the security cameras. From an investigative standpoint, I’m still the one who fits the bill.”

  “Do you have any of the security footage downloaded to your computer? You said that if Sam left the trailer, you’d have seen it on the camera that covers the driveway. What if we could check and see if Brooklyn left her trailer?”

  Lucas paused but then shook his head. “I don’t have the footage. They took my computer when they searched the other hotel room and I doubt the studio is going to let me have another look.”

  “Ugh, this is just going in circles.” I sighed and flopped onto the couch.

  “This is why we need to leave it alone. We don’t have enough information, so all we can do is spitball.”

  I glanced up at him. “Except, there is one thing we know that the detectives don’t.”

  Lucas groa
ned. “So, what, you want me to call my ex-boss and have her come meet us for lunch so we can interrogate her? I’m sure that would go over really well.”

  I frowned and he continued. “I appreciate that you keep trying to help, but I can’t get involved in this any more than I already am. If the detectives find out I’ve been poking around in their investigation, it’s not going to end well, especially if they were to find out my girlfriend broke into the crime scene in the middle of the night!”

  “Technically, there was no breaking, but I get it.”

  “Please, we only have a couple of days left until you fly home. I need to figure out my next move, too, now that I’m jobless and living on borrowed time here in this hotel.”

  Guilt punched me in the gut as I looked around the fancy suite. Lucas had set up the vacation and paid for everything, even my flight, refusing even to let me cover a meal so far. He’d clearly gone all out for the hotel room. I mean, it wasn’t the honeymoon suite or anything, but it was likely setting him back a few hundred dollars a night, at least. He would hate it if I offered money, but the words bubbled up anyway. “Let me pay for the hotel, at least half.”

  “I’ve got it covered,” he said, stubbornly. “I’m meeting with my lawyer on Monday. She’ll tell me whether or not it’s okay for me to get out of town.”

  “Then where will you go? Back to LA?”

  “For now,” he said. “I’ve got six months left on my lease. I’ll give it a month or so and see what job offers turn up, if any.”

  “Something will,” I told him, brushing his arm.

  He exhaled. “And if they don’t, then I’ll sublet the apartment out and move. As of right now, none of this is on my record. I could go anywhere and get a job working security for another firm. LA is great, but it’s expensive, and I’m really not a roommate kind of guy.”

  I smiled. “That’s too bad. I’d love it if you took one or two off my hands.”

  He snorted.

  “I’m going to assume you mean Hayward and Gwen,” Flapjack said, giving me a pointed look.

  My cheeks warmed. I’d forgotten he was perched beside me on the couch. I couldn’t think of the last time he’d ever been so quiet.

  “I’m really sorry this trip has been a nightmare,” Lucas said, suddenly serious. He reached for both my hands and held them tightly. “You took time away from your business and life, and it’s been a train wreck. How can I make it up to you?”

  “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” I said, squeezing his hands back. “We’ll get through this and in six months, when you’re back on your feet, I’ll let you have a mulligan, all right?”

  Lucas smiled. “Fair enough.”

  He leaned forward and kissed me slowly. And for a moment, the chaos and fear melted away and it was just us.

  Right up until Flapjack feigned a coughing fit…

  I pulled away from Lucas and shot the cat a glare. “If you don’t like it, you can leave, you know?”

  “I’m gonna guess that wasn’t directed at me,” Lucas said, chuckling.

  I pecked him on the cheek and stood up. “Tell you what, you stay here and get some business taken care of and I’ll go pick us up something for breakfast. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a little sick of this hotel-room coffee.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind? I can go with you.”

  “I’ll be back before you can even miss me.”

  Lucas released my hand and I grabbed my purse.

  Flapjack followed, wearing a wide grin. “We’re not going to get coffee, are we?”

  Chapter 17

  “All right, Scar. What’s the plan here? Loverboy is right, you can’t tell those detectives what we saw, at least, not without admitting that you were also breaking and entering an active crime scene.”

  “Again, there was no breaking,” I huffed.

  “You get the point,” Flapjack said.

  We stood across the street from the Saint Charles property. Two moving trucks were parked along the curb, one on either side of the driveway. The police tape was up, but I didn’t see any officers in the vicinity. From the looks of things, the studio was folding up their tent and moving on.

  Brooklyn stepped into view, one arm stretched out to gesture at the first truck as she explained something to the coverall-clad man beside her. Her expression was all business as she finished with the one crew member and turned to address another that approached.

  “There she is,” I said.

  “You’re sure about this, Scar?”

  “I have to know what she was doing there last night.”

  “All right, but I hope you have low expectations,” Flapjack said.

  “I don’t have any expectations,” I told him. “All I want is the truth, whatever it may be.”

  “Mhmm.”

  I waited for a truck to pass and then stepped off the curb. Before my foot found the pavement, I was jerked back onto the sidewalk. A hand closed around my wrist and I yelped out in surprise. On reflex, I swung wildly at my assailant, only to stop short when I saw Lucas out of the corner of my eyes. I jolted and dropped my balled fist. “What are you doing here?”

  His expression was hard as granite as he stared down at me. “You’re really going to ask me that right now?”

  I huffed and shot Flapjack a late. “You’re a crappy look out, you know that?”

  “He has special training!” Flapjack objected.

  “Useless.”

  “Scarlet!” Lucas barked. “What are you doing here? I asked you to stay out of this.”

  “No, you said you couldn’t be involved anymore.”

  His jaw flexed. “You’re an extension of me in this particular case.”

  I scoffed. “That’s a little 1950s of you, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not doing this with you right now,” he said, shaking his head. “We need to go. Now.”

  I yanked my arm and he released me. “Not until I talk to Brooklyn. I’m going to tell her I saw her here last night and I’m not leaving until she tells me what she was looking for.”

  Lucas tossed his hands up and started to turn away. “This is insane.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You know what I think is insane? This resignation you have. Your life is on the line, Lucas! Why aren’t you trying to do anything about that?”

  “I’m doing everything I need to do, Scarlet! I hired a good lawyer and I’m following their advice by staying low. That’s what innocent people are supposed to do in cases like these! Running around, meddling in everything just makes it worse.”

  “So, you don’t care why Brooklyn was skulking around the murder scene last night? She could have been in that library minutes before I got there, planting more evidence or hiding some! That doesn’t make you wonder?”

  “Of course it does! But I’m not naive enough to think she’ll tell me what she was doing if I ask really nice, maybe add a pretty please on top. Come on!”

  “Aha. Now I’m naive?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Not to get nitpicky, but you kind of did,” Flapjack said, though Lucas couldn’t hear him.

  I shook my head, scanned the street, and broke into a run before Lucas could stop me. I ducked under the police tape and stalked toward Brooklyn. She had her back to me, still speaking with a woman in a crew t-shirt, but turned around when she noticed the growing concern on the woman’s face.

  “Scarlet? What are you—”

  “I need to talk to you,” I interrupted.

  She glanced around as she took a few steps toward me. “I’m a little busy here, as you can see.”

  “We can do this here, or in private. Totally up to you.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you, Ms. Sanderson. If this is about Lucas’s contract termination, you’re barking up the wrong tree. It wasn’t my call, and there isn’t anything I can do to change it.” Her lips went into a thin line. “So, if you’ll please leave before I have to have you removed—” />
  “I saw you here last night,” I said.

  She froze. “That was you?” she hissed, leaning forward.

  “What were you doing?” I asked.

  She straightened and crossed her arms. “What were you doing?”

  “Holding a séance,” I lied, without blinking.

  Brooklyn’s eyes went wide. “Wha—what? Why would you do that?”

  “I was reaching out to Bart to see if he would tell me what happened to him. See, unlike you, I know that Lucas wasn’t the one who killed him.”

  “Is she lying?” Brooklyn demanded, looking past my shoulder.

  I turned and saw Lucas behind me.

  Brooklyn didn’t wait for a response. She looked back at me, her eyes frantically searching mine. “It—it wasn’t me! Surely he told you that!”

  “What were you doing here last night?”

  Her cheek jerked. “I was looking for something. I didn’t go anywhere near the library. I was in the master bedroom.”

  “What were you looking for?” Lucas asked. “Those rooms are still empty.”

  Brooklyn’s face turned a deep pink. “I was up there, with Bart, the night before … before he was … killed.” She paused and swallowed hard. “We were dating and that night, he’d set up a picnic for us on the balcony. It was really romantic. He put out blankets and pillows, candles, champagne. We had the whole place to ourselves and it was so quiet and peaceful.”

  “Where was Sam? He told me he’d be on site all night, making sure there weren’t any issues.”

  Brooklyn shook her head. “Bart told him to take the night off. We were supposed to be long gone by the time Sam got back in the morning for the shoot, but we fell asleep under the stars.” She drifted off, her eyes glossy with tears. “When we woke up that morning, Todd and Sam were already here. I panicked and played it off like I was there to do paperwork in the production trailer.”

  “Why not just tell Sam?” I asked. “Was your relationship with Bart against company policy or something?”

  Brooklyn wrung her hands. “Sam’s my ex.”