Honeysuckle Haunting

by Amy Boyles

  Sounded like a great plan.

  I eased in just as tires squealed down the street and came to a grinding stop beside us.

  Roan loosened his grip, and I jumped back, fearing for my life. Seriously, you don’t know how folks drive around here. Half of them were tourists on the lookout for ghost sightings. The other half were people who simply couldn’t drive.

  I guess you find those folks everywhere.

  But this situation was neither of those. A Caprice Classic, which was actually more boat than car, came to a rumbling stop.

  Ruth Biggs, a tall, lithe woman in her sixties, jumped out of the passenger side. She wore her gray hair mostly in a bun, though a fringe of blonde bangs slashed above her eyes.

  “Alice, for goodness’ sake, you’re going to kill someone. You’ve got to keep to the speed limit.”

  Alice Cassidy, a squat woman with thick Coke-bottle type lenses in her glasses, huffed as she wiggled from the driver’s seat.

  “Everyone knows the speed limit around here is only a suggestion, Ruth. As long as you don’t go too far over, you’re fine.”

  Ruth shot her a dangerous look. “I reckon as long as we’re talking about wishes, I’ll be hoping a unicorn shows up and farts on you.”

  I burst into laughter.

  Roan ruffled the back of his hair. He pivoted toward me. “Listen, I had a great time tonight, even if you tried to cut me off at the knees.”

  “At least then you’d almost be my height.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Maybe we can do it again?”

  My lips slowly curled into a smile. It mimicked the one on his face. You know, the one that made my knees weak, made me want to become a puddle on the ground and just lay there being worthless.

  “Sure. Sounds great.”

  He pointed to Ruth and Alice. “You two—try not to get into any trouble.”

  Alice scoffed. “Then what’s the fun?”

  Roan waved. His gaze snagged mine, and I felt that familiar lub-dub thing my heart sometimes did when I looked at him.

  “Night,” he said.

  I waved. “Night.”

  Ruth hooked her arm through mine and pulled me up the sidewalk to my rental. “We’ve got to talk.”

  I glanced at Alice in confusion. “What about? I thought y’all decided to ruin my date before I did something stupid like sleep with him.”

  Alice waddled past us. “We don’t care who you sleep with, Blissful.”

  I frowned. “I would think you would care a little bit. I mean, what if I became known around town for being trashy? Then we’d never be hired for a ghost hunt.”

  Thanks to some publicity a few weeks ago, the ladies had been called out on several ghost hunts. They always took me with them since I was the only one of us who could see spirits.

  Thing is, all the cases we’d investigated had been worthless. It was folks who left a window open in their attic and suddenly heard footsteps and noises coming from there. Well of course they did, because a family of squirrels had moved in and were gnawing at the insulation.

  No, I’m not kidding. That’s what we’d been discovering.

  So I didn’t understand the sudden urgency. Ruth was dragging me up the porch when I dug in my heels.

  “Stop. What’s going on?”

  Ruth glanced over her shoulder. “Did you hear about the announcement at Grills and Ghouls?”

  “Did I? I was there. So?”

  We reached the front door. I slid my key in the lock and let the women in. “Anyone want coffee? Tea?”

  Ruth poked the air. “I’ll take coffee. Come on, I’ll make it.”

  Alice whisked a tin of cookies from her purse. “I brought dessert.”

  This might not be so bad after all. Dessert and coffee, what could be wrong with that?

  I tossed my purse on the couch and followed them to my kitchen. It was amazing that they knew their way about the place.

  “Y’all are acting like you’ve been in here before.”

  “Most of these homes are the same in town,” Ruth mumbled.

  “What’s going on?” I plopped into a chair at the wooden table. Ruth rummaged through my cupboards. “Top left are the grounds and filters.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alice opened the tin, revealing little shortbreads covered in chocolate. “Millionaire shortbread. It’s the best.”

  I nearly wiped drool from my bottom lip. It looked wonderful and smelled even better. But I would not be seduced by chocolate and kindly old women.

  I watched as Ruth expertly measured and brewed coffee. When she was finished, she slumped into a chair, draping one long arm over the other.

  I crossed my legs. “What’s going on?”

  The women exchanged a charged look.

  “Would you just spill it? What’s the big deal about that guy’s announcement?”

  Ruth twisted her fingers. “Well, the thing is—you know he’s after Susan Whitby’s killer, right?”

  “Right,” I said. “Which is something the police should be doing, not him. Is that even legal? Sounds like slander or libel if you ask me.”

  Alice bit into a square of shortbread. “Can’t wait for the coffee.”

  Ruth rolled her eyes. “Stress eating won’t help at a time like this.”

  “I don’t care,” Alice snapped. “I eat when I’m stressed.”

  Alice was round, so she must’ve been stressed a lot.

  Ruth pressed a finger into the table. “It would be slander unless the guilty party is dead.”

  My gaze flickered from Ruth to Alice. Alice to Ruth. “What’re you saying?”

  Alice yanked a tissue from her waistband and dabbed her eyes. “No one ever discovered who killed Susan, but there were a lot of leads. A lot of them.”

  “I still don’t understand. One of y’all is going to have to explain this to me.”

  Alice opened her mouth but clamped it shut. She pointed to Ruth, who squeezed her friend’s arm.

  “I’ll explain.” Ruth focused on me. “From what we’ve heard, we think this fella must have picked someone who’s dead to pin the murder on. We hope so, at least. That’s where the problem comes in. Our dear friend Alice has had a lot of tragedy in her life. You know her daughter, Donna, died when she was young.”

  “Yes.” But that was all I knew. The girl had passed away; I didn’t know why or how.

  “She was very sickly her whole life.” Alice brought trembling fingers to her face. “One year she got a terrible virus, it turned into pneumonia and she passed away.”

  Which reminded me—I had promised Alice that I would see if her daughter resided in the local cemetery, the Oaks. With the fragile shape Alice was currently in, it might not be a bad idea to take her out there, or at least scope it out myself first.

  I squeezed Alice’s arm. “I’m sorry about Donna.”

  She nodded.

  “But that’s not the only tragic thing that happened,” Ruth continued. “When Susan Whitby went missing, the both of us were living here, in Haunted Hollow.” She thumbed toward Alice. “I was able to stay out of it, but Alice wasn’t.”

  The coffee was ready. I crossed to the counter and filled three cups, dumping sugar and creamer into Ruth’s and Alice’s. Me? I took mine black.

  I returned to the table and slid the cups to the women. Alice’s mouth dipped down, and lines wove into her forehead. Simply put, she looked miserable.

  Ruth took a sip before speaking. “Alice’s brother was one of the men questioned by the police for Susan’s murder.”

  “Was he her boyfriend?”

  Alice shook her head. “No. They were good friends. The theory was that he’d been jealous of her real boyfriend and killed her.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes,” Ruth said. “The entire town was crazy to find the killer. For some reason they thought Susan’s boyfriend was an angel and Alice’s brother to be the devil. They threw rocks through his windows, set things on fire in
his front yard. It was horrible. He was a grown man. He’d never married but was dating. All that changed when the town turned against him.”

  “His health was never good after that.” Alice’s voice quivered. “He had a job at the mill, but it was almost unbearable. The way some folks treated Harry was horrible. Those people sent my brother into an early grave.”

  “So he’s gone?” I felt stupid asking, but I needed to make sure I had all the facts correct.

  “Yes, he died about ten years after Susan. Heart attack at forty.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Alice’s lower lip trembled slightly before she pursed her mouth. “He was a good man. Not a killer. There was no way Harry was a killer. Absolutely not. But now this man—”

  “Neal,” I said.

  Her face tightened. “Now this Neal is going to announce to all of Haunted Hollow that my brother was the killer.”

  My stomach clenched. “Wait. You don’t know that. That might not be what happens.”

  Which was when Ruth and Alice shot me a look that ultimately suggested I was too stupid to live.

  I closed my eyes and counted to ten. “Okay. What makes you think—besides the fact that your brother, Harry, is dead—that he’s the man Neal is going to pin the murder on?”

  Ruth and Alice exchanged another long, mind-reading type look. Alice straightened her glasses. “Because, Blissful, out of all the suspects in Susan’s murder, Harry is the only one who’s dead.”

  Ruth pinned her focus on me. “No matter what, we’ve got to stop that announcement tomorrow night. Alice can’t go through all that again. She can’t and she doesn’t deserve it. Harry was a good man. Are you going to help us?”

  My stomach twisted. These women were my friends. I liked both of them and trusted their instincts. If Alice said her brother hadn’t committed the murder, then I believed it.

  “I’ll do whatever I can. I’ve got your back, Alice.”

  THREE

  The next day the town was buzzing, and not from a bumblebee infestation. No, everyone was talking about Neal Norton and the gigantic reveal he was going to be doing later that night.

  I’d promised Ruth and Alice that I would help, but I still had to work that part of the plan out.

  I’d showered and entered my kitchen to find Susan sitting in a chair chewing ghostly bubble gum and painting her toenails.

  “Like, I don’t know about you, but I’m totally so excited about tonight. Who do you think did it? Who do you think killed me?”

  I closed my eyes. “This is not happening.” I opened my eyes. Yep, Susan was still in the room. I opened the fridge, uncapped a bottle of water and took a long sip.

  “What’s your damage? Blissful, I’m, like, so, like, totally psyched. This is gonna be rad beyond belief. I’ll, like, finally know who killed me, and I can exact a slow, burning revenge on them.”

  I spewed water into the sink. “You’re what? Going to haunt your killer?”

  “Totally.” She tossed her teased and sprayed hair to one side.

  I sighed. I did not want to be the person to break this to her, but it looked like there was no choice.

  “Susan, there’s not going to be an announcement.”

  “Of course there is. You were there. I was there. That guy is going to tell everyone.”

  How to be gentle? Maybe ripping off the bandage in one go was the best way. “Listen, Susan, one of my friends is very worried that her brother is going to be wrongly accused.”

  She did that half-frown, half-pout thing some women do. “Who?”

  “Harry? Do you remember him?”

  She blew her toes. “Oh, Harry! He was gnarly.” She paused. Stopped. A look of concern flashed across her face. “Do you think Harry did it?”

  “I don’t…I don’t know. But his sister is convinced he’s innocent, and she doesn’t want his name dragged through the mud. He passed away a long time ago.”

  “But if he did do it, it needs to be known. You’ve never been murdered, Blissful. You don’t know what it’s like. It’s not as righteous as you might think.”

  “You are correct. I haven’t been. But I don’t think he did it.”

  Susan slipped her feet into her ghostly jelly shoes and rose. “This is my life, Blissful. My life. I want whoever murdered me to be found and punished.”

  “What if they’re already dead?”

  She fisted her hands. “It doesn’t matter. Justice must be served. And until you realize that, I’m no longer talking to you.”

  With that, Susan vanished.

  “Touchy, touchy,” I murmured.

  But Susan was right. She deserved to know.

  Crap. I hated conflict.

  The day passed quickly. There wasn’t much for me to do except run a couple of miles, check my e-mail, which was mainly filled with spam, and get ready to intercept Neal Norton before his big announcement.

  “What’re we going to do?” Ruth had said the night before.

  “Tackle him like a star linebacker?” I suggested. Ruth and Alice hadn’t seemed to like that answer. “Let me think about it. I’ll come up with something.”

  Something turned out to be me tracking Neal to a motel outside town. It hadn’t been hard. Roan, who owned and operated the Haunted Hollow Bed and Breakfast, didn’t know anything about Neal.

  Which left the Happy Spirits Motel. It was your basic place. You enter a cheap-looking office, write your name on the registry, pay your money and rent a room that had seen better days.

  The parking lot was full of cars. Haunted Hollow was a pretty touristy town. Lots of folks came to enjoy the ghost culture the shops thrived on.

  I parked my Land Cruiser in the one empty spot I found and headed into the office. I was relieved to find an acne-covered teenager manning the helm.

  His eyes lit when he saw me.

  Gross. I was old enough to be his older sister.

  “How can I help you?”

  And his voice cracked. Even better.

  I draped one arm across the counter. “I’m looking for a guest named Neal Norton. You know which room he’s in?”

  “Gonna cost you.”

  Kid didn’t even blink when he asked for a bribe. This guy was good. Better than I’d anticipated. I rolled my eyes and pulled a twenty from my pocket.

  I flattened my hand over it and slid it toward him. “Which room?”

  “Twelve.”

  The kid grabbed for the money. “Uh-uh.” I pulled it toward me. “Is he in there?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not the guy’s babysitter.”

  I stared him down.

  He gulped. “I think so.”

  “Thanks.”

  I gave him the twenty and marched to the door. I knocked hard and fast. The door swung open.

  In front of me stood a very disheveled Neal Norton. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and his clothes were rumpled as if he’d slept in them.

  I hitched a brow. “Neal Norton?”

  “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “I’m not here to hurt you.” I glanced over my shoulder. “What’re you talking about?”

  He shook his head. “It’s off. The whole thing tonight. It’s off. I’m not doing it. Now leave me alone.”

  Neal slammed the door in my face. Whoa. That was weird. Neal was definitely rattled, but why? Had someone threatened him?

  It wasn’t my business. As far as I was concerned, the guy was doing what Alice wanted him to—leave the dead alone.

  Honestly I was relieved. I wanted to help Susan and Alice, but I couldn’t do both. I despised being caught in the middle. It came down to the fact I’d promised Alice first.

  But still, Susan did deserve to have her murderer found. But not in some sort of garish way. Maybe the police would reopen her case and solve it. Maybe. It wasn’t my business.

  When I got home, I called Alice. “He’s not going through with it. I don’t know what happened, but Neal is letting it drop. You don’t have anyth
ing to worry about.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Don’t thank me. He’d already made the decision.”

  I hung up and was about to toss my phone on the bed when it rang again. I glanced at the number and groaned.

  ANITA TUCKER flashed on the screen.

  Anita Tucker was my nemesis. No, I’m not kidding. She was technically my boss even though I was suspended from the Ghost Team, a covert government agency dedicated to tracking down troublesome spirits and making them cross to the other side.

  I thumbed it on. “Hi Anita. To what do I owe this honor?”

  “Blissful, I really hate that our relationship has become so strained.”

  Yeah, right. “You’re the one who suspended me, remember?” Not to mention the person who took the job that rightfully belonged to me—the job I’d trained my entire life for and should have inherited when my father passed away. Yep, Anita took the job of director by sleeping with my dad’s old boss.

  No, I didn’t have issues. What would possibly make you think that?

  “I was calling to see how things were going on the Lucky Strike front. Do you have any leads?”

  A staggered breath exhaled from my lips. Oh, I’d had leads. I’d found Lucky, in fact. In five minutes Lucky had told me that the Ghost Team had been languishing so my dad had hired him to create disruptions large enough to garner human attention. My dad kept promising Lucky that at the end of the next job, he could pass into the afterlife.

  But Lucky never got his payoff. He’d been stuck in limbo, and it was all my dead adopted father’s fault.

  Yes, if you were still wondering, I definitely had issues.

  But what could I tell Anita about that? She’d never believe me and would fire me. Here’s the thing—if everything Lucky had said was true, I wanted him to be vindicated and I wanted my father’s involvement to come to light.

  Fair was fair in my book. But at this point all I had was one ghost’s word against someone else’s—and that someone else was dead.

  “Blissful,” Anita said in an annoying voice like she was trying to talk through her nose, “do you have any leads on Lucky Strike?”