by Erin Huss
"Come with me."
I follow Patricia down a linoleum-floored hall. Through a door I glimpse a few old men sitting in wheelchairs with knitted afghans on their laps, staring out a window with blank expressions on their faces. I don't feel the presence of any spirits, which doesn't strike me as odd. If I died here, I doubt I'd come back either.
"Are you related to LeRoy?" Patricia asks, showing me into to a reception area.
"No, I’m, um, a … friend?”
"I'll need you to sign in." She steps behind a desk and hands me a clipboard. I write my name and hand it back to her.
Patricia scans the form. "Are you related to John and Mary Lane?"
"They're my parents."
Patricia's face lights up. "They put my house on the market Saturday, and I already have two offers."
"Is your last name Attwood?" I ask, trying to remember what listings my parents have right now.
"It is. I didn't even know the Lanes had children until I heard about what happened."
Oh, no. "What happened?"
"You got hit by a car?"
Oh, that.
"It's all everyone is talking about," she says. "Old Man LeRoy plowed you over, and Brian Windsor had to do CPR to bring you back to life. I heard you lost a leg." She peeks over the desk to verify that all my limbs are intact.
"I think the story may have been exaggerated," I say. "No CPR, no missing legs. I suffered a minor concussion, and that's all."
"Found him!" Willie appears, and I scream.
"Shhh, person. You want people to think you're crazy?"
Patricia rushes around the desk. "Are you okay?
"I'm fine." I clutch my chest and will my heart back to a normal rhythm.
"Come with me." Willie starts down the hallway.
"Thank you for your help," I say to Patricia. "I know where LeRoy's room is located." I chase after Willie, leaving a stunned-looking Patricia in the waiting area.
"Don't scare me like that again," I hiss.
"He's the last door on the left," he says, ignoring me.
As somber as MelBorne looks from the outside, it has nothing on the state of Old Man LeRoy's room. The walls are white and bare. The curtains are drawn, and the light is off. Boxes labeled clothes, pictures, personal items are stacked in the corner. A wilted potted plant is on the nightstand, and LeRoy is lying in a hospital bed with his arms at his sides and his eyes glued to the wall.
"Hey there, old pal." Willie crouches down and speaks to his friend. "What the hell are you doing in here? You don't belong in a nursing home."
LeRoy doesn't even flinch.
I clear my throat, hoping to grab his attention. Doesn't work. "LeRoy?" I try.
Still nothing.
"The man is hard of hearing. You're going to need to speak up," Willie says.
Oh. "LeRoy!" I yell, and he flops his head to the side.
"Who the hell are you?" he asks.
"My name is Zoe Lane."
He returns his attention back to the wall. "I don't want visitors."
I feel a stab of sympathy for the old man. This is no way to spend your final years. I grab a chair from the corner, drag it closer to the bed, and sit down with my hands in my lap. "LeRoy, if you're upset about the accident, please know that I'm fine and I don't harbor any ill will."
"Leave me alone," he groans.
"Tell him I'm here," Willie says. "Tell him to get his saggy butt out of bed and go back home."
"LeRoy," I reach to touch his hand, and he jerks away.
"Tell him I'm not mad," Willie says. "Tell him I know we fought the last time we were together, but it doesn't matter. There's too much history between us. I'm good."
"Willie says—"
"Also, tell him about how young I look." Willie straightens his tie. "Tell him I'm in my early thirties and when he dies, he'll be young too. He can go back to being my wingman."
"Willie is here, and he says—"
"Also tell him about being able to walk through walls."
"I will if you let me," I hiss out of the corner of my mouth and scoot my chair closer to LeRoy. "Willie is here, and he—"
LeRoy jolts upright and points to the door. "Get out!"
"But—"
"Out!"
Yikes. Okay. Okay. I retreat as fast as I can. This is not how I anticipated the visit going. "Has he always been so mean?" I ask Willie as we power walk down the hall towards the exit.
"Not usually."
"He did lose his freedom and his best friend all in the same week."
"So what? He needs to suck it up."
"You need to work on your compassion …” my voice trails off as I realize every person we pass is glaring at me with an alarmed expression.
Oops.
I take out my cell phone and place it to my ear. "We need to tell him that I took his car."
"You heard him—he doesn't want visitors."
"But it's not right that he thinks he's lost his mind."
"Zoe?" A familiar voice hits my ear, and I turn around. It's Rosa from the library, holding a vase of sunflowers. "What in the world are you doing here?"
I snap my phone shut. "I came to visit someone. Are you here to see your mom?”
"I am, but it's fate that I ran into you." She thrusts the vase at me and digs through her purse, pulling out a ball of yarn, a wallet, ChapStick, a crossword puzzle, a cell phone, Tabasco sauce, and a stick of gum, until she finds what she's looking for. "Here you go." She hands me a crumbled flyer for a local authors event at the park. "A couple of your favorite authors will be there, including KR Tuss."
I gasp.
"Who is that?" Willie asks.
"She writes the Sizzling Firemen series," I reply in awe. I've read all her books, including Hot Policemen, Hot Doctors, and Hot Baby Daddies. The covers may have abs and pecs and smolders on them, and the language may be on the crude side, and my mother surely would be mortified if she knew what I was reading, but, oh my, can KR Tuss write a good romance. All her books end with happily ever afters, and I can't put them down until the heroine and hero have found each other—usually in an elevator, naked, but whatever.
Willie rolls his eyes. "You're kidding me, right?"
Rosa clenches her jaw and looks over her shoulder. "Did you hear that?"
Willie and I share a look. "Yes?" I say cautiously.
Willie goes up to Rosa and places his mouth directly at her ear. "Can you hear me?"
Rosa's eyes gloss over, and her arms erupt in tiny bumps. "Goodness me, I just got the chills. Anyway, I need a good turnout, so please plan to come."
"I'll be there." I hand Rosa back the flowers. "Have a good visit with your mom."
I walk out into the fresh air while reading the flyer. I've never met an author before. I'll have to make a list of questions for KR Truss. I open my briefcase and stick the flyer inside the Reaching the Other Side book.
"I can't believe people actually pay money to read that crap," Willie says.
"Which crap?"
"The medium book you're reading. You either see dead people or you don't. What's the point of a book?"
"Clearly there's a need. Not only do I love it, but someone has read it before me because pages have been dog-eared and multiple paragraphs are underlined with pencil."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I don't care. What time is it?"
I check my watch. "It's three thirty."
"Let's call Betty."
"Why don't we call her from home," I say with a yawn. "I'm tired."
"Yeah, I can tell. You look like crap."
"Thanks."
"You'd look better with cute shoes."
“Get off the shoes!”
Chapter Fourteen
"Six, seven, eight, five, four, eight," Willie says. He's lying on the ground of my parents’ bedroom staring up at the ceiling.
I type in the numbers. "Denied access."
"Six, seven, eight, five, four, nine."
I type in the numbers. "Nop
e."
Willie spouts off another set of digits from the list. Over the last four days, we've tried three hundred numerical combinations. The autopsy results haven't been released, the detective hasn't been in contact, LeRoy put a "no visitors" sign on his door, and I called in sick to my imaginary job because today is Monday. Nothing happened over the weekend, and I want to be readily available if Betty receives the autopsy results or if Daniel files the appeal.
I type in the next set of numbers, blinking hard as the digital display blurs.
Access denied.
"I'm done for now." I drag the chair back to the table and curl up on the couch with a blanket.
"The results should be in today. Don't you think? It shouldn't take this long. He said the preliminary should have been in by Friday."
"Mmmhmmm." I pull the blanket over my head.
"Let's go find Betty," Willie says. "I want to get out of this house. We've been in here too long."
"Let me take a power nap first." I roll to my side and close my eyes. Jabba jumps up on the couch and decides to lie on my head. Not exactly comfortable, but I’m too tired to care.
"You've already taken one nap today."
"I need another."
Willie grunts, and Jabba hisses at him.
“That cat is possessed,” he says.
“This coming from a ghost wearing a homburg hat.”
“What does my hat have to do with anything?”
“Don’t know.”
“All this waiting is getting to me. I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I've come up with more people who could have killed me. I need you to write them down and give the list to Betty so she can hand them over to the detective. He thinks you're crazy, so it's probably best that it comes from her."
"Mmhmmm." I've already tuned him out.
"Zoe! Get up!"
Ugh. I move Jabba (much to his disapproval) and shuffle to my bedroom to get a pen and paper. I unlock my briefcase, and suddenly it blurs into two. I blink a few times to focus and shake my head.
I return to the couch and my blanket, cross my legs, and click the pen. "Who wanted to kill you?”
"I'm up to fifty people."
"Fifty?"
"I'm starting in nineteen fifty-two.”
"Fifty?"
"Are you going to start writing or not?"
"Yes, but fifty? I don't even know fifty people, and you have fifty people who you think could have killed you."
"Start with Jenny Clark. We dated for six weeks. I had to break up with her because she had terrible breath."
"Why would she want to kill you?"
"Because I told her she had terrible breath. Someone had to.”
I start to write the name down. "Wait. Is that the same Jenny Clark who owns the salon?"
"Yes."
I scribble out the name.
"What are you doing?"
"She's a sweet old lady. She does my mom's hair."
"So she's blind with bad breath?"
"Boundaries," I remind him.
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles.
There's a faint dinging sound, and I sit up straighter. "Do you hear that?"
Willie listens. "Sounds like a phone."
"Whose phone?"
"Probably your phone?"
Oh. Right. In my briefcase is my cell. It rarely rings, and I forgot what it sounds like. A blocked phone number flashes across the small screen, and I flip it open. "Hello?"
"You have a collect call from a Trucker County inmate. Do you accept these charges?"
"Who is it?" Willie appears.
"Someone from jail." I don't know any inmates, but I accept the call anyway.
"Zoe!" The line is staticky. “Zoe, it's Betty. I need your help."
"It's Betty," I mouth to Willie and put the call on speaker. "Betty, why are you at the jail?"
"I've been arrested."
"For what?"
"Killing Willie." I can hear the fear in her raspy voice.
I fall against the wall and slide down to my butt. She can't be serious. "Did you kill him?" I ask in shock.
"No! I swear I didn't. At least … I don't think I did. But they're saying I did. I don't know. Did I?"
Willie disappears while I scramble to collect my thoughts. “Betty, when were you arrested?"
"This morning," she says, there's a commotion in the background, and I can barely hear her. "Detective Manfreed came to my door with cuffs and told me that I was under arrest for the murder of Willie MacIntosh."
"Without any warning? Did they question you after I left the other day?"
"They asked me to come down to the station on Saturday after the autopsy results came in."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I spent the entire day at the station. They were questioning me in this tiny room for hours, Zoe. Hours! I was hungry and tired and confused. They kept asking me why I wanted to fill Willie's blood pressure medication two weeks early. Then they searched the entire house."
They searched the house before they arrested Betty. That's not good. I wonder what they found. "What did the autopsy say?"
"You have one minute left," an automated operator says.
Crud!
"Can you ask Willie if I killed him?" Betty says. "I don't think I did, but maybe it was an accident."
"No, Betty. You didn't kill him." I don't think. But who knows. "Where exactly are you?"
"I'm at the East Trucker jail in the sheriff's building."
"I'll be right there. Hold tight. We'll figure this out."
I hang up and clamber to my feet … whoa. The world tips to the side, and I grab ahold of the dresser to regain my balance. Right now is not a good time to be sick. "Willie!" I call out as I rummage through my closet. "Where are you?"
Willie appears, seething. "This is Daniel's doing. I know it."
"Where'd you go?" I peel off my nightgown and deposit it on the floor, not even carrying about Willie, not that he's paying any attention to me.
"I tried to leave, but I can't. I made it down the street before I reappeared here." He paces the room, rubbing his chin, muttering to himself.
I pull on a pair of black slacks and slip into a black sweater, grab my briefcase, and shove my shoes on. We're out the door and make it to the stop sign at the end of the street before I realize. "We can't walk to East Trucker. That will take us all day."
Willie throws his hands up in the air. "Why can't you have a license and a car like a normal person?"
"This is no time to argue." In my periphery I see our neighbors at the end of the street standing in their driveway holding grocery bags and staring at me. I give a friendly "Hello" and wave.
They continue to stare.
I press one finger to my ear. "Bluetooth," I say to them. "Sorry."
They exchange a look then nod their heads and walk into their house. The wife peeks out through the blinds. I need to buy a real Bluetooth and keep it in my ear at all times.
Anyway, back to Willie.
"I have an idea," he says.
"What is your—yeah, okay, I'm coming." Willie has already taken off down the street.
* * *
"Why are we at The Gazette?" I place my hands on my knees and gasp for air. It was hard keeping up with Willie.
"Ask Brian to give you a ride."
"That's a terrible idea."
"My girl is in trouble. You need to hurry up." He disappears into the building, and I take a moment to catch my breath.
Ghosts are fast.
I pull the door a few times before I remember to push. The work area looks exactly as it did the last time I was in here. Everyone is mindlessly at their computer but in different clothes. No one pays much attention to me, and I push open Brian's door, sending it crashing against the wall.
He spins around in his chair. "Zoe?"
"Betty MacIntosh has been arrested …” I pause to suck in a breath. "And I need to get down to the jail right now."
It takes a
minute for this to sink in. "Let's go." He grabs his coat on the way out.
Chapter Fifteen
Okay. Play it cool, Zoe. Sure, you're in Brian Windsor's car. But it's no big deal. He's simply giving you a ride because you burst into his office like a total maniac and asked for one. It's no big deal.
Don't. Get. Weird.
As we pull out of the Gazette parking lot, I feel almost convinced that I'm going to blurt out something stupid (like the unfortunate glandular comment last week). Oh, gosh. I'm going to accidentally confess my feelings for him, or talk to Willie out loud, or make a comment about how Brian smells like fall leaves and orange zest and it's the most delicious aroma I've ever encountered.
Oh no, I'm going to be weird.
I can feel it.
It's coming.
I bite my lip to keep from talking.
Brian's car is much like his office—clean, organized, and Lysolled. Not a piece of lint or a speck of dirt, and the passenger seat is at a ninety-degree angle, which is uncomfortable, but I'm afraid to recline because everything appears in perfect order. Well, everything except for the sullen-looking ghost in the backseat.
Don't. Be. Weird.
We turn onto the highway toward Trucker, and Brian adjusts the rearview mirror. I catch a whiff of his intoxicating scent and dig my teeth into my bottom lip harder.
"Do you know the case specifics?" he asks.
I decide it's best to stick to the facts and avoid chitchat. "The autopsy results came back Saturday morning," I say. "I don't know what they determined to be the cause of death, but Betty mentioned blood pressure medication, so I'm assuming they found large traces of meds in Willie's system. She was brought in for questioning on Saturday, the house was searched Sunday, and Betty was arrested this morning, but she claims she didn't do anything."
"Call Jackson Anderson," Willie says from the backseat. "Tell him to get Betty out of jail right now."
Right. Lawyer. I pull out my cell phone. Willie rattles off the number while I dial. A deep voice answers on the third ring, "This is Jackson."
"Hi. My name is Zoe, and I'm a friend of … um … Betty MacIntosh. Um … she’s been arrested and needs legal help."
