The Icing on the Corpse

by Liz Mugavero

  “Huh. Super cool.” Amara hesitated. “You think I should e-mail him/her?”

  “Well, duh. Isn’t that why you did all this?”

  “True. I guess I’ll go for it.” She swiped the e-mail button, tapped out a short message, and hit Send. “There. I guess now I wait. But wouldn’t this person be pretty old? You think they’re using e-mail?”

  “That’s such a stereotype! You’re terrible. Besides, look at Helga. She was probably better at technology than we are. You should Google Carmen. See what you can find.”

  Amara pulled up Google search and typed in her new relative’s name. “Hmmm. I have a male Carmen Feliciano from New Jersey who’s being indicted for racketeering.”

  Stan laughed. “You have mob in your family? That’s kind of cool.”

  “You’re so weird.” Amara scrolled through the hits. “The rest of them are female. And way too young to be my Carmen. Listen to this. Carmen Feliciano on Twitter. ‘Dog owner, macchiato junkie, super-sexy double agent.’” She shook her head. “Doubt she’s mine. But here are some white page listings.” She scanned them. “There is one in Connecticut, but doesn’t give the town and it’s unlisted. She/he would have to live close by, right? For Helga to get DNA?”

  “No idea. The kit could probably be sent by mail. Maybe wait a day or so and see if you get an e-mail back and then you can decide what else to try,” Stan said.

  “I guess I’ll have to.” Amara shrugged. “I’ve waited this long, what’s another day?”

  “While you’re waiting, here.” Stan went to the freezer and began pulling out frozen doggie meals. “Why don’t you take these home so you have them. And I can get them out of my freezer. I have a wedding to cater and I need the space.”

  Chapter 35

  “You ready?” Izzy had dressed for the ghost-hunting occasion. Or maybe she had dressed for a spy investigation—Stan wasn’t sure which. She wore head-to-toe black, including a knitted cap pulled low over her forehead. She still managed to look elegant and magazine-cover ready. Everything she wore seemed to work on her. If Stan didn’t like her so much, she might be jealous.

  “I’m ready.” Stan shifted her weight from foot to foot, trying to stay warm in the would-be foyer while they waited for Adrian and his crew. She’d kept her outfit simple—jeans and a sweatshirt, heavy coat, hat, and gloves since it was still freezing out. And probably inside, too.

  Tonight was the night—they were going through the building with equipment and cameras, the next step in proving the Ghost in the Almost-Bookstore was for real. Despite all the bad things going on in town, Stan was excited. Not only had she gotten to meet her hero, but she was going on a ghost hunt with him. This day would definitely go down in history. Cyril had to be losing his mind that he couldn’t report on this, but Stan wasn’t about to add to her problems by taking that on, too.

  Fox and his team had been on-site setting up since the workers left, and it looked like quite a production. There were six of them now, and they were running around with wires and cameras and other equipment. They moved quickly and efficiently with a minimum of conversation, evidence of a well-oiled machine. Outside, curious citizens—and some Fox groupies—lined up across the street, hoping to be the first to hear what they uncovered.

  “They’re gonna have to lock the doors,” Izzy said, gazing out at the crowd. “These crazies’ll be following us inside if they think they can.”

  “We’ve got that covered.” Fox materialized next to them. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had a . . . keen interest in a site. Sorry to keep you waiting, ladies. Why don’t you come right on in,” he said, flashing them his high-wattage smile. “We’re just waiting on one person. In the meantime, I’ll tell you what we’ve done.” He motioned them into the main room, a mess of concrete, wires, tools, half-cut wood, and blueprints. “We’re working with two kinds of equipment tonight: infrared cameras and digital audio recorders, which capture electronic voice phenomenon.”

  “EVPs,” Stan said.

  “Exactly.” Fox smiled at her. “You do watch.”

  Stan blushed under Izzy’s scrutiny. She felt like the teacher’s pet all of a sudden. “I do,” she said defensively.

  “I think it’s great. So. With Izzy’s permission, we connected the cameras on all three floors.” Stan noticed he didn’t mention Jake’s permission. Fox walked them around the room, pointing out cables and cameras of various sizes. “Our focus is on the basement area, because based on our research that’s where the body was discovered. But we don’t want to limit it to just this floor, because we’ve had worker reports that evidence has occurred on other floors as well. Tools missing, voices when there’s only one person working, that sort of thing.”

  “Does Frank know about the worker reports?” Stan asked Izzy in a low voice.

  Izzy shrugged. “No clue. I think they banded together and compiled it after he ignored their complaints.”

  Stan was about to ask her what happened after Frank stormed into the café, but one of Fox’s crewmen walked in followed by Sarah Oliver.

  “Ah, Sarah. Delighted you could join us.” Fox stepped forward and gave her a hug. “Sarah offered to be here tonight to see if she can help us uncover activity.”

  Sarah beamed. She looked a little like she’d been drinking, or maybe it was the high heels she wore while trying to balance on the uneven flooring. She wore her usual flowy skirt, this one black lace, and a matching top. Her black hat had a lacy veil that covered her eyes, giving her an eccentric old-movie-star look. “And tell my mother’s story. The hat is my mother’s,” she explained. “She wore it often back then. I’m getting the feeling she wore it on the night of the party.”

  Izzy caught Stan’s eye and raised an eyebrow. Stan shrugged.

  “Okay,” Fox said, with a nod to his crewman. “Val, let’s secure the doors and get going.”

  Val nodded and went off to follow orders. He returned with the rest of the gang.

  Fox made the introductions. “Wolf and Val are running cameras. Max has recorders for EVP. Andy over there is using the dowsing rods.” He produced a notebook and pen. “Me, I’m in charge of taking notes and making sure we capture everything. Izzy is our building owner, Stan is a friend of hers who loves the show”—he winked at her—“and our medium, Sarah.”

  “Yo,” said Max, flipping an unruly piece of too-long hair out of his eyes. He was the guy Stan remembered driving the van when they first came to town. He chewed gum incessantly and wore a shirt featuring a tiger looking down the scope of a rifle. “Let’s get this party started.”

  Chapter 36

  They started on the top floor. Stan wondered if that was on purpose. A buildup of the excitement as they made their way to their final destination—the basement.

  Wolf held the video camera, Val the digital. Max carried his recorder at the ready. Andy did something in the next room. Fox turned quiet. Serious. He consulted his notes, then turned to Izzy. “Anything on this floor you noticed?”

  Izzy shook her head. “I didn’t spend a lot of time up here. I wasn’t exactly sure what I wanted to do with this space, so I didn’t pay it much mind.”

  Fox nodded. He walked slowly around the room with his flashlight. Motioned to Max, who pressed a button on his recorder. “Is anyone here?” he asked.

  Nothing. Nothing that Stan could hear, anyway. She leaned forward, listening intently. On the show, there was always some crackle or static noise that they later deciphered. Max shook his head. Wolf did a slow pan of the room with his camera. Then they moved into the next room.

  “Try the rods,” Fox said. Andy nodded. He pulled out two copper-colored wands. They glowed in the crew’s lights, shooting off flashes of gold around the room.

  Andy focused on the rods for a few seconds, then closed his eyes. “Felix. Are you here?”

  Stan held her breath. Waited. Next to her, Izzy grabbed her arm in anticipation.

  The rods didn’t move.

  “Is anyon
e here? Does anyone have a message for us?”

  This time, the rod in Andy’s left hand moved, ever so slightly, to the left.

  Izzy peered at it. “What does that mean?”

  “That means yes,” Andy said. Izzy gasped.

  “What’s the message?” Stan asked.

  “How are you going to get a message with the rods?” Izzy asked.

  “It’s more to determine yes or no answers,” Andy said. “We just got the answer that someone is here, and there’s a message. Adrian—want to try with the recorder?”

  Fox nodded. Max wagged the recorder and hit his button.

  “What do you want to tell us?” Fox asked the room.

  Nothing. Izzy relaxed her grip on Stan’s arm.

  “Who are you?” Fox tried.

  Nothing again.

  “Dude. You sure you weren’t moving the rods?” Max asked. Wolf snickered. Andy sent him a nasty look.

  “Behave,” Fox said, before Andy opened his mouth. He looked around. “Val, snap a few shots.”

  Val obliged. Wolf panned the room again. Fox noted a few things on his pad. Sarah floated around, eyes closed. Stan envisioned her getting tangled up in the wires with those heels and taking the whole operation out. She stifled a giggle. Izzy looked at her curiously.

  “Next floor,” Fox said.

  They descended on the main floor. In the northeast corner of the main room, near the spot where Izzy said one of the guys had told her they’d heard some knocking, the camera caught some kind of orb.

  “Bingo,” Wolf said.

  “What does that mean?” Izzy asked anxiously.

  Wolf shrugged. “Hard to say. This part is all about capturing the evidence. The next thing is to watch the hours of footage and see what we’re really getting, and listen to the recordings. You guys are seeing all the glam.” He winked at them.

  Izzy started to ask something else, but then from the other side of the room, an audible gasp. All heads turned to see Sarah, standing near the window, hands on her head as if she suddenly had a raging headache. Stan remembered her similar show at the Groundhog Day event, and what happened next. She did not want a repeat performance.

  “Sarah?” Stan hurried over. “Are you okay?”

  “My mother,” Sarah murmured. “My mother is trying to tell me something.”

  Stan looked at Adrian, unsure what to do. She couldn’t tell what he thought either. But Sarah didn’t seem to care what either of them thought. Eyes still closed, hands on her head like she was in some sort of weird trance, she moved away from Stan. Glided over the floor, her heels miraculously not getting caught up in tools or cables, and headed straight for the stairs leading to the basement.

  “She said it was an accident. All of it was an accident.” She paused, opened her eyes, and looked around at them. “She wants to show us.” She vanished through the door onto the steep wooden staircase. Stan heard her heavy heels clunking down the steps.

  Stan felt a little thrill. Was she really talking to Helga? Right now? Was this endeavor actually going to reveal something? Was Sarah for real? The opening bars of “Rhiannon” played in a back corner of her brain. Peering after Sarah, she balked at the narrow black space ahead of her. Sarah hadn’t even waited for a flashlight beam.

  “Holy cow,” Izzy muttered. “This is weird.”

  Adrian motioned to Max. “Let’s go.”

  “On it.” Max headed down behind Sarah, recorder on. Fox turned to Stan and Izzy, who brought up the rear of the party. Izzy was dead last, holding on to Stan’s arm. “Be very careful on these stairs,” he warned them over his shoulder before starting down. “The workers told me they haven’t done much to shore up the basement structure. They’re old and very steep.”

  Stan craned her neck, trying to see past him into the darkness that had swallowed Sarah. She could still see Max’s outline, but not hers. The walls on both sides of the stairs looked like they could crumble at the slightest touch. There was no railing. Adrian stepped onto the staircase, his heavy boot echoing against the old wood.

  She turned to see if Izzy was behind her. She was, and she looked eerie in the glow of the spotlight Fox’s team had set up near the camera. It cast a strange glow over everything on the main floor. Stan couldn’t tell if the shadowy shapes dancing around the room and down the steps were real or her mind played tricks on her.

  “Mom?” Sarah’s voice called from the dark.

  Stan took one step down just as she heard some weird static noise echoing back from below. Max’s excited voice echoed back to her, though she could no longer see him. Then a creaking noise drowned out any further words, followed by a crack that sounded like the entire floor had broken in half below them. Then, a thunderous crash, a scream, and silence as Max vanished from their view in a cloud of dust.

  Stan felt air beneath her feet and braced for impact. Instead, she felt herself being lifted and propelled backward, hitting the floor with a thud. Her breath left her in a whoosh as Adrian Fox ended up on top of her. From somewhere above her she heard Izzy yell. She lay there for a second, stunned, until Fox scrambled to his feet and pulled her up with Izzy’s help.

  “Are you okay?” he asked urgently.

  “Fine,” Stan said, rubbing the hip that had taken the hardest blow. “What just happened?”

  Max, Val, and Wolf ran over from various spots in the building when they heard the chaos.

  “What the—” Wolf looked stunned. “Where’s Max?”

  “Stair collapse. Call 911.” Fox grabbed the giant flashlight out of Wolf’s hand and turned back to the now-gaping hole in the stairwell as Val made the call. “Max! Sarah!” he hollered.

  Stan, holding on to Izzy, held her breath and prayed for a response. She didn’t know if Sarah had been on the stairs, too, or if she had been on solid ground when Max fell. Minutes ticked by that seemed like years; then she heard Sarah’s voice, faint but there.

  “I’m here. Max is hurt.”

  Fox cursed. “Are you okay? Can I get down there?”

  Sarah’s voice was remarkably calm. “I’m fine. I was already on the ground. I wouldn’t try to come down. The stairs have pretty much collapsed down here. Are you all okay?”

  Stan nudged Izzy and pulled her forward so she could hear better.

  “We are. Is Max conscious? How bad are his injuries?” Fox asked. He knelt at the top of the stairs and shined his own light down. “Can you see? Can you grab his flashlight?”

  “Hang on.” A brief silence as Sarah presumably hunted around for Max’s light. Then a second beam of light shined on. “Got it. His leg looks broken. Max? I think he’s coming around,” she called.

  “Was this a ghost thing?” Izzy asked, eyes wide. “Did he do that to Max?”

  Fox ignored her question. “Is there a door outside that goes into the basement?” he asked, his tone urgent.

  “There is.” Izzy snapped to attention. “I’ll show you.”

  “Hang tight, Sarah. I’m going to come around the back,” Fox yelled down.

  “Okay,” she called back. She was so calm. Stan was impressed, because her own heart was going a mile a minute. She followed Izzy and Fox out the front door and around the back of the building, trying not to alert the crowd lined up across the street that anything was wrong. They’d know soon enough. She hoped the police showed up, too, to keep the scene calm.

  Izzy took the flashlight from Fox and shined it along the wall. “It’s here somewhere,” she muttered to herself. “Aha!” She pointed the flashlight beam triumphantly at a narrow door, old and probably rotting. She stepped forward and tried it. Locked. “Crap.” She rapped on it a couple of times, probably hoping to lead Sarah to it so she could let them in.

  Adrian Fox lifted one black-booted foot and kicked the door in. The ancient lock popped off on the first try. The wood buckled and splintered. Fox kicked one more kick for good measure, then pushed the door in. “Wait here,” he told them. “I don’t know how safe it is in there.”
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br />   Despite the severity of the situation, Stan had a moment of pure admiration as her original stereotype of the big, bad ghost hunter came to life in front of her eyes.

  “Well,” Izzy said after he disappeared into the basement. “That’s one mad ghost.” She pulled her phone out. “I gotta call Jake before he hears this from someone else.”

  Stan didn’t respond. Was it a mad ghost? Or the perils of traipsing around in an old building? She heard sirens as two ambulances roared to a stop out front. One of the guys must’ve directed the EMTs to the back, because soon they rushed around the corner. She and Izzy stood off to the side and watched. Stan felt numb as the EMTs did their thing. This scene had played out in front of her entirely too often in the last week. She thought of Max, his love of Southern food, how fond Char was of him, and sent a quick prayer to whoever happened to be listening that he was okay. She caught a glimpse of his face in the darkness as they brought him out on the stretcher and it looked too white.

  As they loaded him up, Adrian Fox strode out of the building, conferred with the EMT, and got in the back of the ambulance with him. Sarah emerged a minute later, in the midst of a heated discussion with another EMT who was clearly trying to get her to the hospital, too.

  “I don’t need to go,” she insisted. “I didn’t even fall!”

  The EMT clearly disagreed. They were about to get into a brawl about it when Sarah spied Stan. She jerked her arm away and raced over, hiking up her long skirt. It was a miracle she didn’t fall with those heels. When she reached Stan, she took her hands and leaned in close so no one else heard her.

  “My mother spoke to me. Did you hear what I said inside? That she said there was an accident here?” she asked.

  Stan nodded. “Was Felix Constantine’s death an accident? Is that what she meant?”

  “She wants to help.” Sarah took a deep breath and squeezed Stan’s hands, so tight Stan almost cried out. “She says Sir Arthur Conan Doyle holds the key. He will tell you what happened.”