by Ann Simas
The Smokie laughed. See if you can catch one of those big, fat flakes on your tongue, Andi, like you did when you were a kid!
Andi chuckled and said, “I will!”
The brief conversation amused her, but didn’t diminish her unease. Nor did the White Rabbit, which had been progressing hippity-hoppity for the last four hours.
Andi peered out the window. Unlike the day before, skies were blue and not even a breeze ruffled the branches of the tree outside her window. For that she was thankful. She really didn’t like it when they screeched against the glass. But snow the following day? Yippee!
She decided to walk to Trattoria d’Italia for lunch. On the way out of the building, she ran into Susan, Lacey, Rico, Ted, and Brent, who were discussing eatery options. She invited them to join her and everyone accepted, except Rico, who mumbled something snide. Andi wasn’t sure she heard him right, but it sounded as if he said, “Another sparkling Andi moment.” She thought about asking one of the others for clarification, but since they were already discussing what they’d order, she opted not to, convinced that she must have misheard him.
Andi rarely ate with her co-workers, but she enjoyed their company and the hour passed quickly over delicious food and interesting conversation. She took half her lunch in a go-box, planning to eat it for dinner, instead of more drive-thru fare.
Back at her desk, she got her first whiff of smoke around two o’clock.
Her fingers paused above the keyboard, waiting.
No communication came, but she had no doubt a Smokie was passing through. Sometimes, it happened that way, like they were surprised to discover they had the ability to communicate with her before they moved on.
She settled her hands in her lap, waiting.
Still nothing.
Finally, she said, “You can tell me anything.”
All quiet on the Smokie front.
Was it a child, too frightened to speak? Or an adult, too flabbergasted to comment?
Or was she simply imagining that someone was there? No, that wouldn’t be it. She could smell the smoke and if anything, the scent had grown stronger, not lessened.
And then, finally, he spoke.
I did something bad, Andi, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Chapter 2
Andi wasn’t certain how to respond to the Smokie. Part of her was reluctant to pursue the admission. Another part of her wanted to know more, right now, but she was always aware that you couldn’t push a Smokie. They spoke in their own good time and at their own speed.
She waited him out. And waited, but nothing more came and the smoky scent faded away.
Disappointment knifed through her, but there was nothing she could do about it. She pulled out her journal and noted the time, date, and the few exact words the Smokie had uttered.
For the rest of the afternoon, she hoped for a reappearance, but nothing happened. Perhaps his words hadn’t been spoken as a plea for help, as Sherry’s first utterance had been. Maybe this Smokie had simply stopped to make a quick, brief confession in hopes of hoodwinking his greeter at the Pearly Gates. Or maybe, he was headed in the other direction and had no need of Andi’s help to rectify what he’d done.
Just before she was ready to call it a day, her phone sounded the “Bad Boys” tune. “Hi!”
“Hi, back. You working late tonight?”
“Nope. Code’s been oozing out of my brain like hot caramel today. I’m actually ahead of schedule now.”
“I knew you could do it,” he said, though she knew that while he was a brilliant detective, he didn’t actually get exactly what she did do all day long in front of her computer.
“Are you calling for another sleepover?” she asked.
“Don’t I wish.”
Andi heard the disappointment in his voice, even though they had made plans for the following evening. “What’s up?”
“We had an extradition come through and no one except me is available to go get the guy.” He blew out a harsh breath, the sound of which carried over the phone line.
“You have an early flight out?”
“No, I actually have a flight out tonight. In three hours, to be exact. I just wanted to let you know and to tell you I’m sorry I have to break our date tomorrow night.”
“I understand, Jack. Your job has to come first.”
“This is what happens when you’re the only single guy in the unit.”
Andi wondered if someday, maybe she and Jack would tie the knot and that wouldn’t be true anymore, but she didn’t voice the thought. “Sorry you drew the short straw.”
“You and me both.”
“When will you be back?”
“Day after tomorrow and when I get this jerk checked in at the jail, I’ll be part of the interrogation team. God only knows how long that’ll go on.”
In other words, don’t plan on seeing him again until the weekend. “Call me when you get there so I know your plane wasn’t hijacked,” she said, keeping her tone light.
“Our plane gets hijacked and I’m afraid I won’t be around to call anybody.”
She knew him well enough by now to know that was a true statement. Like many others since 9/11, he was a man who wouldn’t respond to someone trying to commandeer the plane by cowering in his seat. “Your flight will be a safe one.” She hesitated. “Where are you going, anyway?”
“Iowa. This a-hole ran home to his mommy and daddy and they didn’t take too well to harboring a felony fugitive. They turned him in as soon as he showed his face.”
“What’s he charged with?”
“Hit-and-run. Remember that case just before Christmas? The woman who got hit crossing from the mall to the parking garage?”
Andi remembered all too well. The woman had been seriously injured and was still in a coma. “Took him a while to get there.”
“He dumped his car and took a series of busses trying to ditch law enforcement.”
“Sounds like his parents have a good moral compass, at least.”
“No kidding. Look, I’ve gotta go, but I just want you to know I’ll miss you like hell and I’ll call you tomorrow. It’ll be too late tonight.”
“Okay, but honestly, I wouldn’t mind waking up just to hear your voice.”
“You need your rest because I plan to keep you awake a lot this weekend.”
“Promise?”
“Yep. See you soon, sweetheart.”
She considered telling him about the latest Smokie. “Jack?”
“What, babe?”
What was there to say? She really had nothing concrete yet. “Nothing. Stay safe.”
“I will. ’Bye.”
Andi said goodbye and hung up. What a bummer. Oh, well, the weekend wasn’t that far off.
She saved her progress, shut down her Mac, and gathered her stuff together.
The heavy scent of smoke permeated the air.
Andi sat back down and waited, but not for long.
I did something bad, Andi, and I don’t know how to fix it.
“Is it something I can help you with?”
After several moments, the voice said, I don’t know. I just know that I’ve made a terrible mistake and now I can’t do anything about it.
“Can you tell me what it is?”
No answer was forthcoming, but the odor of smoke remained strong. The Smokie was still there.
“I’m not here to pass judgment on you.”
After a least a minute, she heard, I did something bad, Andi, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Andi tried not to let her impatience temper her response. “So you’ve said, but if you don’t tell me what it is, how will I know if I can help you?”
An even longer silence ensued.
Andi set her purse on the desk and removed her coat.
How does a man get a do-over when he’s dead?
He probably doesn’t, Andi thought, but said, “I’m not sure he can, but if it’s possible, I’ll help you try.”
Your f
irst thought was more likely correct, Andi. I’m destined for Hell after this.
How bad was his sin? she wondered.
Bad. Very bad. Innocent people will suffer because of me. I don’t know what to do.
“I wish you wouldn’t read my thoughts,” Andi said.
I’m not doing it deliberately, it’s just happening. To me, it sounds the same whether you’re speaking or thinking.
“How is that even possible?” Andi muttered, though she didn’t expect an answer.
I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I just know I’m a bad person. I didn’t trust her and now she’s going to die.
The smoke vanished as quickly as a rainbow that’s lost its connection to sunlight.
Andi sat stunned, taking in the enormity of the Smokie’s words. I didn’t trust her and now she’s going to die.
She pulled out her journal and scribbled furiously, getting down everything he’d said. Now what?
I didn’t trust her and now she’s going to die.
This didn’t sound good at all.
She’d grown close to Jack over the past nine months. She trusted him with her life and her secrets, what few she had…the Smokies being one. Of necessity, he’d known before her family that she heard the dead. Skeptical at first, he’d become a believer fast enough when Father Riley O’Shaughnessy had asked him to help solve Sherry’s murder. Her first inclination now was to call and relate the Smokie conversation to him.
But Jack was under a time crunch. He was probably on his way home right now to pack before he drove to the airport. And then he’d be worried about her getting involved in yet another Sherry-like death investigation the whole time he was in Iowa. That wouldn’t do. He had to remain alert and on his game. It would be no simple task transporting a man who had willfully hit a woman with his car and then left her to die while he ran away. With the driver likely facing a lengthy jail sentence, if he saw an opportunity to escape, he’d take it.
Okay, so she couldn’t tell Jack right now, but there was someone she could talk to.
She pulled out her phone and hit speed dial for Father Riley. Of all the people she knew, he was the only one who wouldn’t give her grief for wanting to glean a little more information about the latest Smokie. “Hi, it’s me. Are you busy this evening?”
“Hello, Andi. As it happens, I’m free as a bird. What’s up?”
“A Smokie.”
“With a problem, I take it.”
“You could say that. Can I treat you to dinner?”
“I have enchiladas ready to go into the oven. Why don’t you come over and join me? That way, we won’t have to risk being overheard.”
Andi considered his invitation and he was right. “Can you do me a favor and call the mortuary and see if Phil is still there?”
“And what shall I say to him, if he is?”
“Ask him the name of the man who was cremated this afternoon.”
After what she could only describe as a startled pause, Father Riley asked, “Is this another Sherry?”
“In reverse, I think. See you in a few.”
On that ambiguous note, she disconnected the call.
. . .
Andi detoured to the nearby market and purchased a six-pack of Sierra Nevada. She also grabbed some salsa and tortilla chips. They could knock back a brewsky and munch on snacks while the enchiladas baked and they tossed around possibilities.
Father Riley opened the door before she completed her knock. He gave her a wry smile. “I see you came prepared for a jam session.”
Andi shrugged, offering the sack when he reached for it. “If I don’t talk to you about it, I’ll be going crazy until the Smokie comes back.”
She could almost hear him mentally rubbing his hands together. Unlike Jack, who thought she should butt out of police matters, Riley relished the opportunity to dissect possible crimes from every angle.
“And where is Jack this evening?” he inquired, looking over her shoulder, as if Jack should be behind her.
“On his way to Iowa to pick up a guy who fled the state on a hit-and-run.” Andi stepped inside, shut the door behind her, and followed the priest to the kitchen.
“Ah.” He set the sack on the counter and dug into it, extracting the chips and salsa and finally, the beer. “Nice. Thanks, Andi.”
“I figured we might need the fortitude,” she said, grinning. She slipped off her coat and hung it on the coat hook near the back door.
Father Riley handed her a bowl and said, “If you’ll do the honors, I’ll get some glasses.”
“Don’t get fancy for me,” she said. “I can take it straight from the bottle.”
“Me, too,” he said. He extracted two from the six-pack and put the rest in the fridge. He opened them and grabbed some napkins, then joined her at the table.
Andi accepted her bottle and took a healthy swig from it.
He did the same, then said, “His name was Clement Naylor. His friends called him Clem. He was forty-three, had a wife, Denise, and two children. He owned one-third of Benz Giustina and Naylor Commercial Properties and Investments. He died from an aneurism last Thursday.”
So that was the Smokie-who’d-done-a-bad-thing in a nutshell. “Did they do an autopsy?”
“They did. I was just getting ready to call Avery to see if he could add any additional information. Before I do, want to give me some background?”
He listened while Andi recited the initial contact, then the later conversation. With a contemplative nod, he picked up his phone and dialed, putting the call on speaker so Andi could hear, too.
“Avery Dodge,” came the deep-timbered voice.
“Hello, Avery.”
“Riley! How the hell are you? Don’t you keep in touch with old friends anymore?”
“I saw you last week,” Riley said, grinning. “You going senile already?”
“It’s possible,” the Medical Examiner conceded, “although it’s more likely you are, because it was week before last.”
Father Riley frowned. “Was it? Hunh. Time flies when we’re having fun, heh?”
“What’s up?”
“You had a man on your table recently by the name of Clement Naylor, died of a brain aneurism last Thursday.”
“So I did. Was he one of your parishioners?”
“No, but I was wondering if you could tell me anything more about him that I didn’t get from Phil Nelson.”
“Ah, shit,” the ME said. “Is this another cremation case?”
“Yes.”
Father Riley had, of necessity, taken Avery Dodge into their confidence about Andi’s ability to hear the recently cremated when they’d been searching for Sherry’s killer. Ideally, Andi would have liked to keep the need-to-know numbers to two, but somehow they kept growing: Phil at the mortuary, Avery at the morgue, Jack’s LT, Stacy Lowry. Her parents, her brother, her sister. Sherry’s husband, Vaughn Hemmer, and her parents. And now, they’d probably end up adding Denise Naylor to the secret circle, too.
At this rate of inclusion, the whole world would soon know. This time next year, her face would be plastered all over the front covers of National Enquirer and God only knew what other tabloids. Oh, goody.
Avery’s loud sigh came over the phone so clearly, he might well have been in the room with them. “Is Jack in on this?”
“He will be when he returns from Iowa. He’s on an extradition.”
Still the ME vacillated. Finally, he said, “Naylor was in good health except for the clot. He was fit, didn’t smoke, drank occasionally.”
“No other medical ailments, then.”
“No. Still awaiting tox reports, but as you know, those will take a couple of weeks.”
“But your expert opinion is that the aneurism killed him.”
“Yes.” A telling pause ensued. “Are you suggesting he was murdered, Riley?”
“No.” This time, the priest paused. “You’re not on speaker, are you?”
“No, and you know I�
�ll keep what you tell me confidential.”
“He’s spoken with Andi. Apparently, he did something bad while he was alive and he wants to fix it.”
The ME’s whistle was followed by a pause. “Man, that’s a bitch, ain’t it?”
“That’s one way to put it,” Riley said. “I’ll keep you informed, if I learn anything more.”
“You do that. Good God, man, you do realize what this means?”
“I do,” the priest said, his tone somber. “If we can figure it out, the man may be able to make things right before he reports to Saint Peter. Talk to you soon.” He disconnected. “Not much there to go on.”
“No.” She pulled out her journal and read Clement Naylor’s few statements aloud.
Father Riley took another healthy drink from his beer. “Let’s make a list of things he might have done to someone that were so bad he’d like to reverse it and atone for his error in judgment.”
Andi pulled out a small spiral pad from her purse, along with a pen. “I can think of three things right off the top of my head. Something financial. Something illegal. Something stupid.”
“Number three goes without saying,” Father Riley said, his tone wry, “and pretty much covers every wrongdoing we could conceivably come up with.”
“True.” Andi nibbled on her pen. She drew a line through stupid, then ripped out the page and started over again, putting each possibility in its own little box.
“Add ‘lie,’” Riley said, “and ‘cheat.’”
“Also ‘steal.’”
They began to munch chips and salsa while they considered other things the bad boy could have done, then went back and started listing subheads, like stock market or land deals or drugs under the appropriate heading.
“We’ve forgotten one all-important possibility,” the priest said.
And looked up from the notebook. “I’m afraid I know exactly what you’re going to say.” The numbers 1, 8, and 7 popped into her brain. In copspeak, 187 meant homicide, which could ultimately mean murder.
Father Riley shrugged and spelled it out for her, literally. “M-u-r-d-e-r.”
Like that made it any less palatable of a choice. “I was hoping I was wrong.”
