by fox, angie
The truth was, there was something incredibly intimate about being in his private space, where he slept, and I'd rather focus on anything but that.
His brother, my ex, had surrounded himself with the best—expensive furnishings, professionally decorated rooms. He had a large home and plenty of objects to fill it.
One of the last things Beau ever said to me was that he believed everything and everyone could be bought for a price. Objects, people, women—you name it, they were all commodities to Beau. I was glad I'd slammed that door and never looked back.
I hadn't wanted to be owned. And I refused to be yet another thing for him to collect.
But Ellis was different.
I hadn't thought so at first, when he'd come to me with his offer. But now I understood. Ellis wasn't entitled. He was practical. And if anything, he didn't treat himself with the care he deserved.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his legs wide, his left arm in a sling and his right braced on his thigh, as if he'd run out of energy right there. "I'm fine now."
"Let me look at that cut on your forehead," I said. They'd cleaned it at the hospital, but it had opened up again.
"No," he said automatically.
"Wasn't asking," I said, as I gently lifted the bandage away.
He shifted in his seat, but didn't argue anymore. I located a first aid kit in his bathroom and used it to clean and redress the wound.
"You finished?" he asked, as I stepped away from him.
"I am for now, but don't worry. I'll find new ways to torture you," I teased.
Most likely without even trying.
His shirt clung to his chest, stiff and beyond dirty. It wouldn't be a picnic to sleep in those jeans, either. I swallowed down the flutter in my stomach. "Do you need me to help you undress?"
I tried to consider the logistics of sliding his gray t-shirt over his broad shoulders without disturbing his sling and not on the fact that I'd just asked if I could help him take his clothes off.
For a split second, it appeared as if he'd agree. He drew in a sharp breath. Then he let it out as if I'd punched him in the gut. "No," he said, his voice deepening, as if he were imagining what it would feel like to have my hands on him.
I felt myself flush.
"I'm not asking so I can ogle," I clarified. I wouldn't mind seeing his body under other circumstances, but in this case I was asking because I cared. It's not like anything could happen between us. He was my ex-fiancé's brother. I wasn't supposed to like him, much less touch him.
All the same, I was a little relieved when he scooted back to lie down on the bed.
Maybe I'd been out of line to ask. I wasn't always the smoothest around men. With our history, I probably should have been more cautious. But it bothered me, deeply, that he felt uncomfortable letting anyone truly help him.
Yes, I hated asking for help, too, but even I knew when to buck up. If I acted as stubborn as Ellis, sweet little Lucy and I would be in an apartment by the railroad tracks by now.
"Call me if you need me," I said. "I'll be out on the couch." His eyes were closed, his breathing even, as if he'd already dismissed me.
I turned to go.
"Verity," he said.
I paused in the doorway. "Yes?"
The light from the dresser lamp spilled over the bruises forming on his jaw and cheek. "You can fall on me anytime."
I hoped he didn't mean that literally. "Thanks," I said, before slipping out into the hall.
***
That night, I checked on him every hour or so. I was too keyed up, too achy to get much rest.
He slept soundly, on top of the covers. He didn't even take off his shoes. It puzzled me, until I saw the empty pill envelope from the hospital. He hadn't even asked for a glass of water.
I tried to locate a quilt for him, but found his linen closet empty. The top of his closet held a few shoe boxes. Dust bunnies lived under the bed. Where did he keep his things?
Did he even have much of anything?
It also bothered me that he hadn't called any of his buddies. As far as I knew, he hadn't even reported the assault to the police. He'd simply let me bring him home and collapsed in a very sparse house.
I found a few Tylenol in his bathroom and washed them back with a glass of water. I'd never met anyone so powerful, so in control of himself, who was also so alone. I wanted to do something about that. It was hard to figure out what, but I wanted to at least try.
I didn't sleep well for thinking, and besides, his couch felt harder than the ground. I slipped out shortly before sunrise and went home to go gather a few things. I wanted to take a shower at my place anyway.
When that was done, I changed into my purple dress, the one I'd worn on that first night. Good thing I'd had the sense to run laundry the other day.
By 7:00 a.m., I'd returned with three bags full of supplies and Lucy. She'd been so excited to see me, I didn't have the heart to leave her again. I'd been so busy, she'd hardly gotten any attention in the last few days. And when she gave me those wide, hopeful skunk-eyes, I just had to scoop her up and bring her along.
Ellis was still asleep, but that didn't matter. Little Lucy crawled right up next to him and snuggled in tight. Sometimes, animals just know when you need a little extra TLC.
I paused, admiring the scene in front of me. Ellis had barely moved from where I'd left him last night. I laid my Grandma's quilt over him and Lucy, and went to start the bacon on the stove. Thank goodness the Circle K was open twenty-four-seven.
We hadn't quite gotten around to that chicken last night.
I was cracking eggs into a frying pan when I heard him stir. Then he let out a yell.
The man moved quick because by the time I turned around, he was standing in the doorway behind me, clutching the frame. "There's a skunk in my bed!"
I smiled. "That's just Lucy." She toddled out after him and I flipped her a tiny sliver of bacon. She gobbled it right up.
Ellis ran a hand over his face. He looked cute all morning rumpled.
"I know I hit my head, but this is ridiculous," he said, eyeing the skunk as she sniffed at a chair leg. "And what are you doing in my kitchen?"
I ignored the ire in his voice. Some folks just weren't morning people. His hair was mussed, his shirt even more wrinkled than before, but he looked good. He had his color back, and that sparkle of interest lit his eyes.
"Lucy likes to cuddle, and I'm making breakfast," I said, turning back to the stove. "How do you like your eggs?"
"Scrambled," he said, easing into the room, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. I didn't see what the big deal was. It was only breakfast. He paused, searched for the right words. "I didn't think you'd still be here."
I stirred the eggs and added some milk. "You needed me."
He came up behind me, his interest turning to the crisp bacon on a plate lined with paper towels. "I could have made my own breakfast."
"Color me impressed," I said, pretending not to notice when he stole a slice. "Considering all you had in your refrigerator was a bottle of ketchup and a pack of triple-A batteries."
"What's this on my table?" He touched the edge of the green tablecloth like he'd never seen one before.
"A touch of home." He was actually cute when he was confused.
He watched me as I plated the bacon. "I don't want you to give me your tablecloth."
"I'm not giving it to you. It's on loan. Besides, I don't have a table anymore." I placed the plates in front of two chairs and went back to finish the eggs. If I was going to have a real breakfast for the first time in two months, we could least pretend we weren't eating it off a card table.
"Fine." He sat and reached for a pair of salt and pepper shakers that looked like watermelon slices.
"Those you can keep," I told him, placing a paper napkin on my lap. "I got them on summer clearance at the dollar store."
They'd ridden around in my trunk for the past month because it turns out you don't need to
salt crappy dollar store ramen noodles.
I poured the coffee and as soon as I picked up my fork, he dug in.
"This is good," he said, treating the meal as if I'd gone gourmet on him.
"I've always enjoyed making breakfast," I said, taking a slow sip of my coffee, feeling quite domestic.
"But I don't need it," he added, reaching for his mug.
"Of course you don't." I took a broken piece of bacon from the plate in the center and fed it to Lucy under the table. "Tell me. How are you going to run a restaurant if you can't stock your own kitchen?"
He took two slices. "I hadn't gotten that far."
"Now you sound like me."
He laughed at that and I found I enjoyed the sound of it. "I'm glad you stayed, Verity."
I could feel my skin heating up. "You scared me. But I'm pleased to see you're doing better. You look good."
"Sore," he admitted. "But alive, and that's what counts."
It was something to be thankful for.
I leaned my elbows on the table, ignoring my manners. I didn't think Ellis would mind. This was important. "I don't know why anyone would push me. I mean, say they're after the gangster treasure. Wouldn't they just wait until we left? We didn't even find anything."
He frowned. "Unless they were after something else."
"What?" I couldn't imagine.
"Last week, I was installing a dishwasher in the kitchen. Easy stuff. Only somehow the electric got switched back on. It sparked and I was okay, but as far as I knew, I was alone."
The weight of it settled over me. "Somebody tried to hurt you." It could have killed him. "Where was Harry?"
Ellis shook his head. "He'd gone home for the day. I was trying to do one last thing."
Someone wanted to hurt Ellis, and now me. And his uncle had been shot in the chest on a routine call. I felt Lucy's little nails on my leg and I reached down to pick her up. "Do you ever wonder," I asked, folding her into my arms, "what really happened to Vernon?"
Ellis didn't even flinch. "Not until last night. My close call could have been written off as an accident, but yours? No." He pushed his empty plate away. "My uncle had been first on the scene of an arson call. No one had reason to suspect he'd been targeted specifically."
"They never found out who shot him though, did they?"
He scooted his chair back. "No. We believed it was a random, senseless act of violence. But how random was the electricity being turned back on? Or your fall off that ledge?"
My sister was right. Perhaps I shouldn't have involved myself in this. Of course, I didn't see any way to back out now. In fact, I wasn't sure I wanted to be alone until we figured this out. And we would.
We had to.
I deposited the plates in the sink, then turned and leaned against the counter. "Where was your uncle killed?"
"At an abandoned house off Rosewood, south of Main," he said, thinking. "Neighbors spotted smoke billowing from one of the windows. He got there before the trucks."
I held my skunk closer. "Do you think this has something to do with the Wilson's Creek property?" Maybe someone found a significant fortune and wanted both Ellis and his uncle out of the way. Of course, that didn't explain why I had to die.
Maybe the attacks were connected to the vandalism in the kitchen somehow. We knew about the ghost, but maybe a person was riling up the ghosts on purpose. "Does Harry know about the hidden jewelry?"
He could easily sabotage Ellis's plans from the inside. And he'd watched us head down to the cliffs.
Ellis shut down when he saw where I was going. "Harry's a good guy," he insisted.
"We both know supposedly good people can surprise you." At one time, I'd thought Beau was a good person. He had to look at the facts here. "Your uncle was murdered. You were almost killed. Now me. We can't afford to overlook any possibilities."
Ellis stood, thinking. "The night he died, my uncle discovered something. He was really excited." He scrubbed a hand over his chin. "I don't think it was about money, though. He wanted to talk in private, but we didn't get the chance before he went on duty that night." He turned to me, as if he had an idea.
"Oh no," I knew where this was going.
"Find my uncle," he said, approaching me. "Talk to him."
He had this all wrong. "I can't just call people up." Frankie wasn't running a ghostly AT&T. Besides, I hadn't seen him since he'd gone into the ether yesterday.
"You're tuned into the spirit world," he said, as if talking to ghosts was something I did all the time, like a trip to the gas station or the store.
"I'll try my best," I told him. It really depended on Frankie, or anyone else I might get to help me.
Ellis stood over me, determined, looking stronger injured than most men did fully well. "Verity, it could be a matter of life and death."
It disturbed me deeply to realize he was right.
"I'll do it," I told him. "I'll start now. Only, I need a little privacy." And Frankie's urn.
Chapter Seventeen
"Come on, Frankie," I said, holding the urn as I slid into the back seat of the police cruiser.
Luckily, Ellis had taken his Jeep to the old carriage house last night and left his official vehicle in the driveway. He braced a hand on the open doorframe. "Do you need any help in there?"
I had a hard time meeting his eyes. "No. You can close the door now." I felt dumb enough sitting out front of his house and holding an urn in my lap.
I didn't need anybody staring.
Yes, this was the best approach to get the answers we needed. It just wasn't the way to appear sane, normal, or date-able.
I wasn't sure where that last part came from. Of course I could never go out with Ellis.
The seat felt hard, uncomfortable. I squirmed a bit and sighed.
Truth was, I sort of liked Ellis. Which made it even more awkward when he backed off a few feet and stood watching me through the window, as if Hale would manifest in the seat next to me, in full view of him and the entire neighborhood.
It would certainly make my job easier if he did.
Now I had to hope my favorite ghost hadn't checked out on me. "Frankie," I said, rubbing the urn. "I hope you've rested up because it's go time. I need to see."
Morning sunlight streamed into the car. Birds chirped outside.
And not one ghost appeared—not even Frankie.
My stomach twisted.
I hoped the gangster was okay. What if the poltergeist had attacked him the same time I was shoved? Lord almighty. I hadn't even stopped to consider if yesterday's assault hadn't stopped with me.
"Are you hurt?" I asked, hearing the edge in my voice. "In trouble?" I adjusted the bronze lid and ran my fingers over the blue, square-shaped tiles on the outside. "Can you try and bang on the side? Even if you can't appear right now, I need to know you're all right."
A low groan echoed throughout the car and the hair on my arms stood on end. "You realize I don't live in the urn."
Oh, thank goodness. I could have kissed him. "Frankie! It's so good to hear your voice."
"You could say I have more of an attachment to the urn," he yammered on, as if I hadn't spoken.
"Where have you been?" I searched for any sign of him in the car. "Where are you now?"
"I've told you how hard it is to manifest," he grumbled from somewhere to my left. "I've used a lot of energy on you. It takes a while to build back up."
A thin wisp of a white shadow caught the sunlight. "Is that you?" I leaned toward it. I couldn't tell.
He groaned, as if he was having trouble coming back to the living. "You still think I'm your personal, portable ghost."
I waved a hand over the empty seat next to me.
"Stop it," he snipped.
"Can I at least take a look at you?" He sounded like his normal cranky self. Tired. Probably not hurt. But I'd feel better if I could see for myself.
The ghost chuckled. "Well ain't that a gas? You usually get all bug eyed when I manifest."
Oh, please. "That's because you like to pop up and scare the bejesus out of me."
"Yeah," he said, the grin evident in his voice. "I'm starting to get the whole appeal of haunting."
Lovely.
At least I had him back. "Listen," I said. "I don't know if you realize, but I was attacked last night."
A chill wound through the air. "Damn. I was out of it."
"The colonel tried to warn me. Without your help, how did I see him?"
"I told you he was powerful. He show up right after sunset?"
"Late afternoon."
"Boy howdy," he muttered, "that takes even more juice."
"I think he was warning me. Someone tried to hurt me. Bad." I couldn't quite bring myself to say, 'kill.' "Ellis had an accident in the kitchen that may have been no freak thing at all. It makes us suspect his uncle might have been murdered. You met Vernon Hale. He was the one who needed a light for his cigarette."
"The fuzz," Frankie said, with a hint of contempt. "I never mixed with Hale before the other night, though. He don't hang with my crowd."
That didn't surprise me. "You think you can help me locate him?"
He huffed. "I can't go much past the urn, but if you take me to him, I'll make it so you two can have a conversation."
The vase tipped in my lap and I hastily straightened it. "I can't drive all over town, hoping we run into Hale. I wouldn't know where to start."
"Try heading to the place where he died. This is going to sound strange, and trust me, it's not as depressing as it seems, but when you get killed by surprise, sometimes it helps to hang out where it happened."
"All right. Thanks," I said, appreciating both his guidance and his honesty.
Although… I sank back into my seat. Poor Ellis would have to show me where his uncle died. I hated to put him through that.
I had to think if we could contact Hale, it would be worth it.
I chewed at my bottom lip. I didn't care what Frankie said. I couldn't help but feel sorry for Hale, lingering at the site of his tragic murder. I usually tried to avoid places with bad memories.
Maybe it was a ghost thing. "Frankie," I said, knowing I might be out of line, but I wanted to understand. "Did you? Hang around?" He'd never told me where he'd been murdered. I assumed it had been a surprise.
