Soul Food Spirits (Southern Ghost Wranglers Book 1)

by Amy Boyles

  Nope. No way.

  EIGHT

  I stared at the ceiling, unable to get Roan off my mind. Okay, so his bread was fabulous. Too fabulous. So fabulous the man had invaded my thoughts. I needed a distraction.

  “I have a lead on Lucky Strike.”

  “Thank God.”

  I bolted from the bed and flipped on the switch. Susan stood by the door, dabbing ghostly powder on her face.

  I threw on my jacket. “Where is he?”

  She closed the compact and slid it into a ghostly pocket. Some spirits were way too attached to the things they’d done while they were alive. When I died, I hoped I went straight into the afterlife and didn’t sit around putting on lipstick and mascara.

  “You’ll see,” Susan said. “It’s cold outside.”

  “Did you see what happened to Xavier?”

  “No. That nincompoop Nancy made me leave the restaurant before she scared y’all. Told me she’d set my hair on fire with grease if I didn’t.”

  “You know you’re dead, right?”

  “She’s a nasty spirit. I wouldn’t put it past her to figure out a way to screw with my looks. I wasn’t going to take any chances. Everyone hates her. She especially has it in for Ricky who lives at the bookstore.”

  “Why?”

  “Said he stole a roll or something.”

  “Someone murdered Xavier.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Who?”

  I grabbed my keys. “No clue. But his computer has something on it that I need. You know where he lived?”

  She winked at me. “Nope. But where I’m taking you, there’s someone sure to know.”

  “Great. Let’s roll.” I cracked the door open.

  “Your boyfriend’s not asleep. Try to be quiet.” She shrugged. “Or not. I like to watch.”

  I rolled my eyes and tiptoed downstairs.

  We made it outside easily enough and hopped in my Land Cruiser. It started right up.

  “Turn left up here,” Susan said.

  I took the left. The shops of Haunted Hollow disappeared in my rearview mirror.

  “Turn right.”

  “At the gate?” I said.

  “Yep.”

  We passed an iron gate. The road curved up and around to a tall hill.

  “We’re visiting a graveyard?” I said.

  “You’ll see.”

  I’d been to lots of graveyards in my life. Most of them were nothing more than places where teenagers liked to go to get spooked and where the occasional bad spirit hung out, waiting for unsuspecting visitors in order to attach themselves to the living.

  Not really the sort of place I liked to visit on the weekends.

  But this being Haunted Hollow and the fact that this town was just a teensy bit different from most other towns, I let Susan lead me to a spot on the hill. I parked and pulled the emergency brake.

  “Give me just a second,” she said, disappearing through the door.

  I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and waited. Finally, she popped through the door. “Follow me.” She disappeared again.

  “Easier said than done.”

  I climbed out and tailed Susan until we reached a copse of gravestones. These were crumbling and leaning, probably the first stones laid in the soft dirt.

  I drank in the scent of the place. The smell of fresh earth was strong, filling the air. Something sweet tinged it—honeysuckles maybe. Hard to tell. The atmosphere was thick with humidity even though the night was cooler than the day had been.

  My gaze flickered to Susan. “So why’d you bring me here?”

  “All right, y’all, time to show the lady that we’re nice in this town.”

  I frowned. I didn’t know what Susan had up her sleeve, but this better not be some sort of trap. Of course, we were talking about a Teenybopper with red heels and a jacked-up shirt collar. It’s not like she was some sort of criminal mastermind.

  The headstones shimmered. I blinked to make sure I was seeing correctly. A moment later apparitions glowed to life. There were maybe a dozen or so of them, and each one sat on his or her grave marker.

  “Who’s this?” an older woman in period dress said. “She looks like a Yankee.”

  “She’s not a Yankee,” Susan said. She rolled her eyes and whispered to me. “Some folks think everybody’s a Yankee.”

  “I’m Captain William Fitzpatrick Blount,” said a man. “Officer in the Confederacy.”

  He wore a Confederate uniform with bars on the sleeves. He had a long curling mustache and a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Hello,” I said.

  He floated over and reached for my hand. I gave it, and he bowed to kiss it. My skin pricked as his ghostly flesh slid over mine. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “Oh shut up, Blount,” came a voice from the side.

  I glanced over and noticed a man in a button-down shirt, overalls and pants.

  “Be quiet, Kency,” Blount said. “Your very existence damages the calm that the good Lord creates.”

  Kency strode up. He had been middle-aged when he passed. His dark hair was streaked with gray, and his beard was made of a thin layer of scruff. “Don’t let that old windbag woo you,” Kency said. “He’ll swear he’s your friend, and then he’ll steal your chickens.”

  “You gave them to me,” Blount exploded.

  Kency’s face twisted in anger. “No, sir, I did not and you know that.”

  While the two apparitions argued, Susan strolled up. “Those two are the Hatfields and the McCoys of these parts. Started over a chicken.”

  “So I see,” I said. Though as entertaining as it was, there was a reason I was here. Time was clicking on, and I needed answers.

  “I need to know where Lucky Strike is,” I said loudly.

  The ghosts stopped fighting. Everyone turned. Blank expressions greeted me.

  “Great,” I grumbled. “One of them has to know something.”

  “Lucky Strike,” Kency said, stroking his face, “is difficult to find.”

  “I know that, that’s why I need your help.”

  “Maybe if you get a membership, we’ll help you,” said the older woman. I glanced at her headstone. The name Mildred Cuffman was chiseled into the rock.

  What were they talking about, a membership? “Do y’all have some sort of club?”

  “Not a Yankee,” Mildred said, looking smugly over her shoulder to the ghosts behind her. “Uses the word ‘y’all’ right.”

  “My dear,” Captain Blount said, “we are a group of dedicated spirits fighting for the cause of liberty, justice and the American way.”

  Um. What? I shot Susan a quick look. “I don’t understand.”

  Blount placed a hand over his heart. “From time to time there are folks who show up in town and want us to move on to the great battlefield in the sky.”

  “We don’t want to go,” Granny Mildred said. She pointed to the ground. “We want to stay right here where we belong.”

  Did they know what I did for a living? “But sometimes spirits make messes. Interfere with the living—like Lucky.”

  “All Lucky Strike wants,” Kency said, “is what the rest of us want—to be treated equally with the respect that’s deserved. If we don’t want to go to the other side, we shouldn’t have to.”

  I groaned. Were these guys serious? From the stiff upper lips, I would say that was a yes.

  I took a step forward. “There are people like me—I’m one of those folks you were talking about. I can help you move to the light if you want. But only if you want. We can’t have spirits causing chaos, hurting people. That’s not good for anyone.”

  “Haven’t you been hearing us, girl?” Mildred said. “Y’all folks in those high towers need to listen. To our demands. The first thing we want is a no-capture clause.”

  Oh boy. These spirits were delusional. I raised my palms. “Okay, listen. I’m not the person in charge of policy making.”

  “It’s what Lucky wants,” Blo
unt said, “if I may speak for another.”

  The realization of what they were saying hit me like a punch to the gut. I gritted my teeth. “Looking at the group of y’all gives me the willies. Seeing you is like wearing a wool sweater without anything on underneath—I itch. Y’all realize you’re supposed to cross over, right? That’s the natural order. You live, you die, you cross. Get it? That’s how things work.”

  I raised my hand. “The only thing that’s stopping me from helping y’all to the other side is the fact that I don’t care. I’m here for Lucky. I need to talk to him. He doesn’t have to cross. I want that to be clear right now. I want to come to some sort of truce with him. He can stay. He doesn’t have to go on, but I need to talk to him.”

  Not exactly true but they didn’t need to know that. Once I had Lucky captured somehow—that part I still hadn’t worked out—I’d make sure Anita saw him and then I’d make the spirit cross.

  Natural order.

  The ghosts exchanged concerned looks. Finally Kency the Farmer floated forward. “Lucky will come to you when it’s the right time.”

  I slapped my thigh. “When it’s the right time? What do I have to do, prove myself?”

  The ghosts murmured a round of “yes.”

  That was ridiculous. Frustration built inside me. “I don’t have time to prove myself. Actually I don’t have to prove myself to anyone. I’m a helper. I will help you move over. All I want is to talk to Lucky. I don’t need the rest of y’all.”

  “I think you do, ma’am,” Captain Blount said.

  I crossed my arms. “Why? Tell me, why do I need y’all?”

  I must’ve been brain-dead because when the answer came, I could’ve smacked my forehead.

  “Because we’re friends with the ghost who lives inside Xavier Bibb’s house.”

  I shot Susan a dark look. “You told them.”

  She shrugged. “They can like totally help.”

  Then the realization of what Captain Blount said hit me. I nearly tripped over my own tongue. “Xavier lived with a ghost?”

  If Xavier lived with a ghost it might be easier to get into his house, check it for his computer, get my life back. I might not need Lucky Strike after all.

  Blount nodded. “Another Blount. A man dedicated to the cause.”

  “What cause would that be? Never mind.” I held up my hands to stop them from talking before they even started. “I know what cause. The whole ‘we deserve equal rights’ thing, right?”

  “That’s the one, my lady,” Blount said.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Susan stood to the side, quietly laughing. “What’s so funny?”

  She shrugged. “See? I told you that you’d need them.”

  Blount extended his hand. “You’ll need to prove to Blount that we sent you, of course.”

  “How will you do that?”

  The captain flattened his palm over my knuckles. Hot, searing fire scorched my skin.

  “Ouch,” I yelped, jerking my hand away. I blew on the flesh. My knuckles burned like I’d dipped my hand in honey and then let an army of fire ants bite the dickens out of me. “What in God’s name are you trying to do? Brand me?”

  “That is exactly what I did,” Blount said. “Consider it my ghost gift to you.”

  I blinked. Ghost gifts were serious business. Even though Susan had pretty much squandered hers, they weren’t given lightly. Or at least they weren’t supposed to be.

  “Did you just give me the mark of a ghost?” I said.

  Blount sniffed. ”It will help you. When you need it, the mark can make a ghost help you. It’s entirely up to the spirit. Some don’t acknowledge the mark. Others do.”

  I stared at my blazing skin. It was cooling, though not as quickly as I would’ve liked. My flesh was still red, but in the very center knuckle I noticed a small swirl.

  Captain Blount clicked his heels. “Like I said, not all spirits will recognize you for a friend, though some will. Henry is one of them.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I think,” he added quickly.

  I marveled at the fact that this ghost, one I didn’t know, had just bestowed me with sort of get-out-of-jail-free card.

  Susan winked. “Now. Isn’t there something you needed to get from Xavier’s house? Something that’s going to save your life?”

  A slow smile spread across my face. “There is indeed. Let’s go steal his computer.”

  Susan rubbed her hands with glee. “Sounds like my kind of date.”

  NINE

  Xavier Bibb lived in what was probably Haunted Hollow’s only art deco home. The cream concrete block structure was located at the top of a hill surrounded by six-foot hedges.

  It was gated and I was waiting for a large, scary Doberman pinscher to jump out from a bush and attempt to rip my face off.

  Apparently I had a very full imaginary life, even if I did lack friends in the real world.

  “What’d you think of the crew?” Susan said.

  “If you mean those delusional spirits, then that’s what I think.” I gave her a pointed look. “They’re delusional. You have to understand. I’ve spent my entire life helping spirits cross to the other side. Hanging around your gravestone isn’t normal. It’s psychotic.”

  “You’re being, like, a total bummer. You need to stop being such a grown-up. All we want is the same as other people—to be left alone.”

  “You’re forgetting you’re not the same as other people. You’re dead. You’ve lived and now it’s time for you to move on. There isn’t enough room for all of us—the dead and the living. Can you imagine the congestion if all spirits just hung around all the time? It would be a logistical nightmare for me.”

  “We don’t drive cars,” Susan said. “It’s not like we’re adding more traffic to y’all’s interstates.”

  “Whatever. The dead are supposed to move on. The only reason I’m not forcing anyone to meet their maker is because that’s not what I’m here for.” I stared at the keypad on the electric gate. “How’re we supposed to get in?”

  Susan pulled a ghostly bobby pin from her hair. “Leave that to me.”

  She pushed the pin into the lock. Sparks shot from the box. The bolts disengaged.

  I pushed the gate. It squeaked louder than I liked. But what the heck, a ghost had already destroyed the lock.

  But still…this might look bad. Like someone killed Xavier and then broke into his house. I rubbed my prints from the bars and sneaked inside.

  “We don’t have much time,” I said. “The cops will search this place next. See who may have wanted Bibb dead.”

  “Too bad his ghost didn’t tell you who did it,” Susan said. “It’s always so much better to get the story straight from the rooster. Don’t you think?”

  “Sure.”

  The house was big and formidable. One side featured curved corners with glass block windows. A small terrace looked out from the second floor, and long, straight lines of wood ran down the face, stopping above the front door.

  I cut to the back and kept my fingers crossed that there wasn’t an alarm. Knowing I wouldn’t get that lucky, I hoped whoever the ghost was that inhabited the house would be kind enough to let us enter.

  Susan plumped her teased hair. “I’ll go see about Henry. See if he can drag his sorry butt out and open the door for you. Unless you can slip through cracks?”

  “I can talk to ghosts, not work miracles.”

  She shot me a wide, red-lipped smile. “Be back in a jiff.”

  I paced. We needed to hurry. Really hurry. Like the-cops-would-be-here-any-minute hurry. My first introduction to the sheriff didn’t need to be with my hand in the victim’s underwear drawer.

  Wait. Was Xavier even single?

  I almost laughed. What a ridiculous thought. That guy was the biggest player around. I was sure of it. The slick hair was a dead giveaway.

  The lock turned. My heart jumped into my throat. I waited for the door to swing wide. When it did, I found
myself staring at a ghost wearing a silk smoking jacket and holding a pipe. He leered when he saw me.

  “Well, well, well, I didn’t realize my guest would be so attractive. I could do without the hair color though. But we can change that. I’m sure there’s some coloring of Xavier’s that will work wonders on it.”

  Susan popped up beside him. “Blissful, meet Henry Blount. Henry, Blissful.”

  “Charming. What a delight,” Henry purred.

  My stomach roiled like I was about to hurl chunks the size of footballs. Even in death this guy gave me the creeps.

  “Henry said we can look around,” Susan said, chomping her ghost gum. Her gaze swept Henry from head to foot and then to me. “But be careful. Even though he’s a spirit, he can still make the bed shake, if you know what I mean.”

  Gross. I did.

  “Did Xavier live alone?”

  “Yes, though I suppose now I’ll be getting a new resident.” He pouted out his bottom lip. What grown man did that? “And I was just getting used to him.”

  “So no one else is here?”

  “No one.”

  I swept past Susan into the house. It was dark. I could’ve waited for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, but seeing as I didn’t have a flashlight, I’d have to see with other means.

  “Can one of y’all glow a little for me?”

  “Only if you let me smell your shoes,” Henry said.

  “Ew. And why did I need the ghost protection thingy again?” I said to Susan.

  “Oh, Henry wouldn’t have let you in without it. I told him.”

  He waved a bony hand dismissively. “I can see it from a mile away. You’re welcome here.”

  Susan did me the honor of glowing for me to see. I entered what looked to be a chamber of torture. In one corner sat an open iron maiden, points particularly sharp and glistening. A rack was set to one side, just waiting for an unsuspecting victim. Finally a chair similar to those used in electrocution was pushed to the wall.

  “Who was Xavier?” I said. “How can one person have all this weird stuff? And who would want to date him? I’d run screaming from this place.”

  “He loved wooing women,” Henry informed us. “That’s why we got along so good.”