Soul Food Spirits (Southern Ghost Wranglers Book 1)

by Amy Boyles

  “We didn’t break in,” Ruth said.

  Kency smirked. “I found your business card and heard what sounded like an ATV driving away from the house.”

  Uh-oh. Think fast, Blissful.

  “Sheriff, these ladies have been with me all night. I left the haunted house screaming, ran into them. I was so scared I started crying. Ruth and Alice, these nice old ladies, brought me back here where we talked about life, pantyhose and monogramming for the past few minutes. Ruth promised to teach me how to bake a chess pie.”

  “Pecan,” Ruth said. “I don’t like chess.”

  “I think it was peach,” Alice said.

  I shot them both dark, scathing looks. Would they shut up? Kency Blount would believe me if the two of them simply sat and nodded as if they were deaf, mute and dumb.

  But at the moment I was thinking they would score a one hundred on the dumb part of an exam.

  The sheriff pursed her lips. She eyed Alice. “Is all that true?”

  Alice sat in front of me. She twisted her fingers behind her back. It was the universal signal that she was lying, but because her fingers were crossed, it was okay.

  “It’s all true, Kency.”

  Kency gave a quick nod, stared around the room and turned to go. Her boot heels hit the floor hard. She stopped, twisted back. “Do one of y’all care to tell me why I found your card in Xavier’s house?”

  “He promised them an estimate on some equipment,” I said.

  Her eyes narrowed. She dragged her gaze from me. “Is that true, Ruth?”

  Ruth placed a hand over her heart. “May the Lord strike me dead if it isn’t.”

  Kency gave another nod and headed for the door. “First thing tomorrow, Miss Breneaux.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The door shut. The three of us stared at one another. Then Ruth jumped up and slipped into the living room. She popped back in a second later.

  “She’s gone. Driving off.” Ruth clapped her hands together.

  Alice slumped her head to the table. “I lied. I hate lying.”

  “You crossed your fingers, didn’t you?” Ruth said.

  “Of course. But I still feel bad.”

  “Ah, don’t feel bad. Blissful—that’s our new friend’s name—she lied worse. She covered for us.”

  Ruth turned her gaze on me. “Why’d you do that?”

  What was I supposed to say? That I didn’t want a couple of old ladies to go to jail for a crime they didn’t commit? I knew they were innocent, felt it in my gut. But someone wasn’t. Someone had killed Xavier Bibb and possessed the evidence I needed to get my old job back.

  I shrugged. “I was only trying to help you out.”

  Ruth rubbed her jaw. She glanced at Alice and then back to me. “I think it’s about time you started telling the truth, Blissful Breneaux. Why don’t you start right now?”

  ELEVEN

  “What makes you think I’m hiding something?” I said.

  Alice shifted her Coke-bottle glasses. “Why would you help us?”

  “Call me stupid but I have a feeling you didn’t have anything to do with Xavier’s death. I thought I’d make life a little easier for you.”

  Ruth thumbed her chest and then pointed the digit at Alice. “The two of us aren’t town gossips. We let people be who they are. Only a few folks have ever seen the Teenybopper ghost. She certainly doesn’t show herself in daylight. Then Xavier let you go on the hunt with him. He’s never let us do that. Or, he never did—may his soul rest in peace. So who are you?”

  I swallowed a knot in my throat. I could lie. I really could, but as I studied the two older women, I realized that they might be my greatest assets in this town.

  “What did you say you do for a living?”

  “We run the ghost investigation service in town,” Alice said. “We try to clean up the ghosts by scaring them off or capturing them. We’re not into that hocus-pocus séance sort of stuff. We’re scientists.”

  “Where’d you study?” I said.

  Alice cleared her throat. “In our basements. We’re homemade scientists. But,” she added quickly, “we’re almost positive we can capture a ghost.”

  I hid my amused smile behind my hand. “And what will you do with a ghost when you catch one?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Ruth said, “sell it to the government. Let them experiment on it.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was the funniest thing I’d ever heard.

  Alice’s face reddened. “You just wait here. I’ll show you.”

  She retreated into the house and returned a minute later. I was expecting her to bring out that ghost-busting looking box that they swore would help them catch a ghost, but instead what she held in her hand was a rope.

  “Where’d you get that?” Ruth said.

  “I left it in your living room. Was going to take it with me when I went home.”

  I eyed the thing. “What is it?”

  “It’s a fiber-optic rope. Attached to one end is an energy pack. It works on the same light frequency as ghosts.”

  I stopped and stared. The Ghost Team used tools very similar to this to capture spirits. Not all spirits were easy to convince over to the other side. Some fought like the devil. Those that did were captured—usually by someone else and then brought to me, where I would guide them over.

  I brushed my fingers against the smooth surface. “Who made this?”

  “We did,” Ruth said.

  Alice gave her a funny look.

  “Okay, Alice did. But I helped.”

  “All you did was bake cookies and tell me where things should go.”

  Ruth shrugged. “That’s called supervising.”

  I couldn’t contain the surprise on my face. “Does it work?”

  “Beats us,” Ruth said. “We haven’t been close enough to a ghost to find out.”

  I stared at the lasso and at the women. It would work. Or it could at least hold a spirit for a minute or two.

  “Ladies,” I said, “I’m looking for a spirit.”

  Ruth cocked an eye. “What do you mean, ‘you’re looking for a spirit’?”

  I cleared my throat and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to put the Ghost Team at risk, but I sure could use this rope to catch Lucky Strike.

  “Have you ever heard of a ghost named Lucky Strike?”

  Ruth and Alice exchanged glances and then each in turn shook her head. I folded my arms and rested them over the table.

  “In Haunted Hollow lives one of the fiercest spirits known—Lucky Strike. Remember the blackout a few years ago that took out the entire Southeast?”

  “Of course I remember,” Ruth said, grabbing a tin from the counter. She opened it, took a cookie and dunked it in her tea. “Want one?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll take two,” Alice said.

  “Two won’t help your figure,” Ruth chided.

  “I’m sixty-five. What do I care about my figure for?”

  Ruth shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Seems Mr. Hodges might like you a little smaller.”

  “Who’s Hodges?” I said.

  “Owns the bookshop. It’s haunted, you know. Most of the stores are.”

  “Except the bed-and-breakfast,” I said.

  Ruth and Alice exchanged a look. “It’s supposed to be ghost-free,” Ruth said, “but we don’t believe it.”

  “Yeah, there was something fishy about the Storm family,” Alice seconded. “Old Mr. Storm—the grandfather, not the father—he was a real piece of work.”

  Ruth raised her hand. “We’re getting off topic. Blissful wanted to talk about a spirit—Lucky Strike, is it?”

  I took a bite of cookie. “That’s good shortbread.” It was. It melted in my mouth, leaving a buttery residue on my tongue. “I could eat these all day.”

  “I do,” Ruth said.

  “We all know you have a high metabolism,” Alice snapped. “There’s no need to brag about it.”

  “I wasn’t b
ragging.”

  Alice mumbled, “Right.”

  “Anyway, I’m looking for Lucky. I need him for, um, reasons. He’s very smart and totally good at evading folks. No one’s ever been able to catch him.”

  Ruth fixed an eye on me. She stared so hard I felt that she was seeing all the way to my soul, or at least my stomach. “And why do you need him?”

  “Because he does things like cause blackouts. He’s dangerous. Word is he’s gearing up to do something else—something big. I need to find him before it’s too late.”

  Okay, so the gearing-up part was a bit of a stretch. I didn’t have any intel that pointed in that direction, but I did need Lucky and there was no telling what the ghost had listed next on his agenda. Cause a crack in the Tennessee Aquarium? Poke a hole in a dam? The sky was the limit with this guy.

  “The two of us are amateurs,” Ruth said. “We want to capture ghosts for our own reasons. We’re not bounty hunters.”

  I finished the cookie and brushed crumbs from my fingers. “And what reasons are those? Why would two women want to capture spirits?”

  Ruth shot Alice a look. Alice ran her fingers tenderly over the rope. “My daughter died when she was very young. I’ve always wanted to communicate with her. Talk to her. Oh, there were charlatans who said they could help me reach her, but I didn’t believe them. I thought—in a town full of ghosts, why can’t one of them be my daughter?”

  My gaze switched from Alice to Ruth. “I still don’t understand.”

  “I felt that if we could catch a few of them, one of the spirits would know her—know my Donna.”

  “Oh, so you wanted to play Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon?”

  “Who?” Alice said.

  “Never mind. What I’m saying is, you figured you capture enough ghosts, one of them will eventually lead you to your daughter, where you’ll get to find out if she’s at peace?”

  Alice’s eyes were wet with tears. She knuckled them away. “Right.”

  I nodded. “Where’s she buried?”

  “Here. At the Oaks Cemetery.”

  I threaded my hands and leaned forward, keeping eye contact with Alice. “I tell you what—you two ladies help me, and I’ll see what I can do about your daughter. I’ll see if I can help you reach her. I can’t promise anything, but I should be able to help—if she’s around.”

  Ruth refilled her glass of tea. “And why can you help? What can you do?”

  I sighed. “Because, for lack of a better way of putting it, I see dead people. I help them cross over to the other side.”

  “You can?” Alice said.

  I deflated into the chair. Well, it looked like the cat was out of the sack now. Why stop with only a hint of truth? Might as well keep going. “That’s why I could see the Teenybopper at the restaurant. Sometimes when spirits are near me, they become stronger. Their energy builds to the point where regular people can see them.”

  “I told you,” Ruth said to Alice. “I knew there was something about her.”

  “Lucky guess,” Alice said.

  “Why were you at Xavier’s?” Ruth asked.

  “Well, it wasn’t to steal his equipment,” I said. “But I do need his computer.” My palms were sweating. I never talked this much about myself. I rubbed them on my thighs. “Before he died, Xavier told me he received an e-mail from my boss—well, ex-boss. I was just fired from my job because I allowed a spirit to stay in our world. She had some unfinished business, wasn’t a threat—at least not to me. In a few weeks she would’ve crossed over. But that’s a big no-no in my business.”

  Ruth looked shocked. “And you were fired for that?”

  “Lady wanted to see her deaf daughter attend prom.”

  “It’s sacrilege to be fired for something like that,” Alice said. “Even the Methodists would agree.”

  “That’s what I thought too, but the woman who stole my job—”

  Ruth raised her hand. “She stole your job?”

  I nodded toward the tin of cookies. “Maybe I will have another shortbread.”

  Ruth opened it up. “Help yourself. Alice?”

  Alice adjusted her glasses. “If two will stick to my waistline, I’d hate to see what three will do to me.”

  “Probably give you a heart attack,” Ruth said.

  Alice skewered her with the evil eye.

  I raised the cookie. “These really are delicious. See, I’m a part of a team that was started by my father. The goal is to stop unwieldy spirits from wreaking havoc by helping them see the light and transition to the other side.”

  So far I felt safe. I’d told the women about the team to give me some credibility, but I hadn’t named the team directly nor anyone’s actual identity.

  “My father died a few months ago.”

  Ruth’s hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist. “You haven’t had time to properly mourn.”

  “I’m working on it. Anyway, I applied for his old job and should’ve gotten it, but I was brushed aside for a perkier woman in a shorter skirt.”

  “You wear jeans,” Alice said.

  “Case in point. I don’t wear skirts. Anyway, Xavier told me that he had proof my firing had been planned months ago. It didn’t happen because I’d disobeyed orders.”

  Ruth rubbed a hand over her mouth. “So you want the evidence so you can take your rightful position.”

  “Right.” I slid my elbow onto the table. Yeah, I knew it wasn’t perfect manners, but I wasn’t about to let that stop me. “Ladies, I need your help. With that rope, you can help me catch Lucky Strike and I can get my life back. Alice, I can see if I can contact your daughter. No promises, but she might still be sticking around.”

  My gaze flickered from one woman to the other. “So what do y’all say?”

  Ruth and Alice exchanged a long look. Alice gave a slight nod. Ruth slid her hand over, palm up.

  “Blissful Breneaux, it looks like you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  TWELVE

  By the time I woke up and hauled myself down to breakfast, all the regular visitors had disappeared and most of the dishes had been cleared away.

  And by dishes I mean things like plates of smoked ham, scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy. All that was left was a small dish of honeydew and muskmelon.

  Yuck. I hated melon. Unless it was watermelon, and then I’d eat the whole thing. But those other two—the green and orange—you couldn’t pay me to eat them.

  I picked through the melons until I found a chunk of pineapple hiding at the bottom.

  “Good morning.”

  My heart fluttered in my throat. My cheeks burned, and I cursed my body for the stupid way it reacted.

  “Morning,” I said, keeping my focus on the table.

  “Would you like a real meal?”

  “You mean there’s more than leftover melon?”

  “That depends on whether or not you want to look at me.”

  Crap. Why did Roan have to push my buttons and make me do things like raise my eyes?

  I slowly lifted my gaze to find the owner leaning on the doorjamb. He wore a waffle-patterned long-sleeved shirt, low-slung jeans and his hair was neatly combed.

  “Morning,” he said again. This time with a definite twinkle in his eyes.

  “Morning.” I cleared my throat. “So you’ve got more than melon?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Am I supposed to follow you or are you bringing it out?”

  “I thought you might want to eat in there.”

  His eyes held me too tightly. I felt like I was suffocating. My gaze darted away. There was suddenly a very intriguing spot behind him that I found incredibly important to stare at.

  “And what could tempt me away from an empty table with sad-looking melon?” I said.

  “Apple pancakes.”

  My stomach growled. “And what makes you think I like apple pancakes?”

  He shrugged. “Seems like a better option than scraps of melon.”

  Roan had me
there. I hitched one shoulder and said, “Okay. I’ll bite.”

  “I hope you do more than bite.” His gaze snagged mine, and my heart did that stupid thundering thing. I did my best to ignore it and followed him into the kitchen.

  Two plates with pancakes already stacked on them lay at the table. “Were you expecting someone else?” I mean, did the guy hear me come down the stairs and plate these up? How’d he do it so fast?

  He pulled out my chair. “I heard you come down the stairs. Everyone else is gone.”

  It irked me that he was acting like such a gentleman. What was he going to do next? Make his guitar appear out of thin air and croon a song?

  Let’s hope not.

  The pancakes smelled delicious. The scents of warm apples and maple trickled up my nose. I glanced out the window. The fall colors were just about at peak—brilliant oranges and fiery reds danced in the breeze.

  “What makes you think I like apple?” I said. I just couldn’t let him think I was so easy to get into a breakfast chair, now could I?

  He cut into his pancakes. “Nothing. I just thought you might be hungry. You don’t have to eat them. I have no problem packing away a couple more.” He grabbed my plate and pulled it toward him.

  I pitchforked the center of a cake. “Not so fast there, partner. I like them. I’ll eat.”

  That stupid twinkle lit in Roan's eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  “All right. Thank you. Thank you very much for this amazing breakfast.”

  Our eyes met. Energy whipped between us, and the next thing I knew we were both laughing.

  “You’re a spitfire.”

  “And you’re too nice.”

  “I can be mean.”

  I scoffed. “I’m sure. I’d love to see the trail of broken hearts left in your wake.”

  “I don’t like to start what I can’t finish.”

  My heart froze. The words were so pregnant I could barely think.

  “Wise words,” I finally whispered. Cinnamon mingled with the maple. I moaned with pleasure. Roan quirked a brow. “These are amazing. I love them. Can I please have these for every meal?”

  “You’d have to make them yourself if you want them that much. I can teach you. It’s a family recipe.”