“Nope.” She grinned. That was her own private excursion. Her own justification that the memories she’d been seeing were real. She’d needed the proof and she’d found it.
“You’re going to drive me to drink.”
“That’s my job.”
A dark sedan pulled into the parking spot next to Ryley’s car. A man got out. His styled and spiked black purple hair matched his eyeliner. He had an employee badge resting against his wrinkled shirt and a coffee stain on his khaki pants. He hurried toward the back of the funeral home.
It wasn’t the man’s gothic looks that gave her pause—it was the huge black, cloudy mass following him.
Ryley cut off the car’s engine. “Listen, I’ve got to go see a guy about some bad juju. I’ll call you later.”
She hung up before he could ask questions. Plausible deniability would one day be his best friend.
Chapter 6
Black masses meant nothing good. Over the years Stretch had provided an education into everything undead. The first lesson had been terrifying, and fortunately, each educational moment after that had just been more of the same.
Equally unsettling was Stretch’s claim she was trying to get into the white light again instead of going someplace darker that she feared was her final destination. Ryley had decided early on to not question where that dark place might be. Good deeds were always rewarded, and Stretch had years to make up for all the bad ones. So, she made Ryley her pet project.
Ryley took off her hat and tossed it into the passenger seat before climbing out of her car. Her phone rang again, and the screen flashed her brother’s work number. She ignored it and crossed the parking lot toward the door where the dark shadowed mass had entered.
“Don’t go in there,” Stretch cautioned. “There’s some bad stuff in that cloud.”
Stretch actually shuddered before she blinked away.
Goosebumps rose on Ryley’s arms, making her frown. The sign on the door read Employees Only. The solid door had a card reader to gain entrance, like one might find used on a hotel room door. The light above it showed a solid red.
She touched the door and closed her eyes. The static energy from the other side zapped her fingertips from the touch. It was the same type of energy Ryley used to cross unwilling spirits into the light. A useful tool to have.
She yanked her hand away and rubbed her fingers. There were spirits inside. She was sure of it.
“Is there something I can help you with, Ms. St. James?” Henry asked as he rounded the corner, making her jump. Her hand flew to her chest.
“You should wear a bell or something, so you don’t scare a girl.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Are you trying to break in?”
She continued to rub at her fingers. “What’s behind this door?”
Henry glanced at it and raised his brow. “That’s where the mortician preps the deceased before service.”
“You mean like hair and makeup once the embalming is finished?” she asked.
“Of course. The deceased has to be presentable. It’s an emotional time for the family, and it’s upsetting if poor Grandma Greta looks like a drag queen for her viewing.”
“That sounds kind of fun.” Ryley glanced at the closed door once more. “Who was the guy with the spiky black and purple hair?”
Henry shrugged. “I believe Father James introduced him as Pete Roth. He’s Mercy Traver's new assistant. She’s the full-time on-site mortuary beautician.”
“Thanks, Henry.” Ryley patted his arm and headed back for her car. After slipping inside, she noted the names of the beauticians to check out later.
She rarely stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, but the black shadowy cloud that even Stretch seemed to fear had a way of screwing with the newly departed, and hanging around a cemetery there was plenty to be screwing with.
Ryley cranked her car to life and drove across town to her apartment.
She pulled into the lot and parked. Her gaze landed on the taunting gray metal mailboxes. She chewed on the inside of her cheek while scanning the building and nearby trees before returning her gaze to the mailbox. How could something so…normal, invoke so much apprehension around this time of year? She fought the growing tightness in her chest.
She let out a shaky breath and climbed out. “For crying out loud,” she mumbled. “There’s only one way to find out.”
She headed for the mailbox. Her fingers shook as she shoved the key into the slot. Twisting the lock, she counted to five to calm her shaky nerves before she eased the compartment open.
Nothing. Not even junk mail. The butterflies in her stomach dissipated and she breathed out the anxiety clogging her lungs. Today wasn’t the day.
Ryley climbed the stairs to the second floor and paused at her door. Squatting, she examined the tape by her feet that was attached to both the doorframe and the door. Still intact. That was a good thing. The tape was a homemade warning system she’d been using since the age of ten. She yanked the cellophane tape free and used her keys on all three locks.
Her apartment wasn’t much. She needed nothing more than a place to feel safe with a warm bed. When her mom had to quit waitressing because of her health scares, both Tucker and Ryley had found jobs while going to school to keep them all fed. Between that and food pantries, it had been the best they could do. She wasn’t complaining. Anything was better than having to deal with her father or potentially ending up in foster care.
She pulled the door open and stepped over the line of salt at her door before moving all three locks back into place. Evil people lived in both the static and the actual world. If a person was evil in life, most times he’d carry that trait into death and she’d met her fair share.
She dropped her purse and keys in the bowl on the entry table and tugged off her high heels, letting them dangle from her fingers as she headed toward her room.
Just being home gave her a renewed sense of security. The light feeling of the rooms helped to calm her nerves, as did the lingering scent left from the morning sage.
Protection was a priority, especially with the approaching anniversary. Ryley tossed her shoes into the closet, took a quick shower, and changed into her nightclothes. Closing the blackout curtains, she crawled into bed and set her alarm. She had a few more hours of sleep before she had to go to work.
Thoughts of the thick black cloud occupied her mind before she drifted off to sleep.
Her eyes flew open three hours later, and she jolted upright in her bed. She rested her hand against her racing heart. The remnants of the disturbing dream fluttered in her mind. The dark mass swirled around, coming into and out of focus, sometimes terrifying as it swelled and receded. Ryley turned on her side and stared at the clock, knowing sleep would probably not return tonight.
Ryley tiredly popped the top on another beer bottle and sat it on the serving tray next to the two shots of bourbon. Her lack of sleep from earlier had her behind dragging and her attitude annoyed. The men at the table across the room were already three sheets to the wind. They’d been drinking and celebrating a promotion since five. The poor soul who had died to make the job opening was hovering nearby shooting looks that could kill at his former co-workers.
All around Ryley, the air was tight with apprehension.
She’d been working behind a bar since she’d turned twenty-one. Waitressing hadn’t lasted long, not when the first roaming hand touched her thigh. She’d had to pay for the pitcher of beer she’d dumped on the bastard’s head.
There was a safety behind the barrier and staying out of reach.
Ryley ran her rag down the bar toward one of the regulars. Tim sat quietly at the other end of the bar, nursing his beer. The scent of mechanic oil added to the ambiance. “Can I get you another, Tim?”
“I’m good,” he answered without looking up.
“Let me know when you’re ready for me to call you a ride.”
He lifted the bottle in acknowledgment before taking ano
ther swig.
This wasn’t Ryley’s idea of a dream job, but it paid the bills.
Stretch was across the room, hovering near the party guys. She’d once suggested Ryley work in a strip club. Ryley had told her she had two left feet. Stretch had outright laughed and told Ryley it wasn’t her feet that the guys would be looking at, but even if she didn’t dance, she’d get way more generous tips from horny men even though she’d decided to bar tend instead.
Another part of the education Ryley hadn’t asked to learn.
The door shoved open, letting in a breeze from outside, when a familiar woman stepped in. She stood just inside the doorway, letting the door close behind her. Her business suit was pressed to perfection. An expensive cream-colored jacket covered her pink silk shirt.
“She looks lost,” Kent said in passing as he carried dirty glasses into the back to be washed.
Ryley tossed a napkin at the end of the bar, sat a wine glass on top, and grabbed the expensive stuff. Only the best for the one woman in the world that kept Ryley sane and out of prison.
Dr. Rosalind Crews smiled as she approached and slid onto the stool. She rested her purse on the counter. “Ryley, it’s good to see you.”
Ryley uncorked the wine. The sweet scent of fruit filled the air. They didn’t get much clientele that drank the blush colored liquid. Ryley poured a generous amount. “Dr. Crews, this is a pleasant surprise.”
“Please call me Rosalind. You haven’t been my patient in over a decade.”
“Rosalind,” Ryley said with a brief nod. “So, what brings you to this side of town?”
“Can’t I just drop in for a friendly hello?” she asked.
“You could if that was all you were here for,” Ryley said, re-corking the wine bottle.
Rosalind guzzled more than was normal for a dignified, elegant woman. Something wasn’t just wrong. It was seriously wrong.
Ryley ran her gaze over the woman. Her hair and makeup were perfect, but her bloodshot eyes and bags beneath them caused Ryley’s concern. She hadn’t been sleeping. Ryley knew the signs. She’d seen it in the mirror often enough.
“It’s almost that time of year. How are you holding up?”
She didn’t need to elaborate. “I’m good so far. No letter yet.”
“Good. Maybe this is the year he leaves you alone.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t think he’ll leave me alone even in death,” Ryley said. Pulling out another glass, she poured herself some wine and took a long sip, letting the fruity flavor coat her mouth and throat.
For some reason, this year the dread building inside her was off the charts. The anticipation of seeing her father’s handwriting on the envelope with no return address would be another mental slap to the face that he could always find her and knew where she was. They still hadn’t figured out how he was doing it.
Rosalind had claimed it was a form of emotional abuse. Ryley was sure her dad didn’t care what the hell it was called.
“So, what brings you by? You just checking in to see if dear old Dad has made an appearance?”
The color in Rosalind’s cheeks darkened. A look of worry clouded her eyes.
“Do you remember when you told me Stan was cheating on me during one of our sessions? You said my mother’s spirit had wanted you to warn me.”
“Yeah,” Ryley answered hesitantly. “I remember. You didn’t believe me until you caught him in the act.”
“You told me which hotel to find him at.” Rosalind’s voice cracked. She reached into her purse and pulled out a wrapped stack of hundred-dollar bills. “I need you to help me again before it’s my funeral you’ll be crashing.”
Chapter 7
Ryley’s mouth parted as she grabbed the money and shoved it back into Rosalind’s purse and closed it up. “Doc, you can’t be flashing money like that unless you want to get robbed.”
“You’re right. What was I thinking? I should have brought it in an envelope.”
“You shouldn’t have brought it at all,” Ryley said, heading toward the other end of the bar. She poked her head into the kitchen. “Kent, you’re up. I need a break, and I’m going to walk my friend back to her car.”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s early for you.”
Ryley raised her brow.
Kent wiped his hands on a towel and tossed it over his shoulder. “I’ve got it. Take all the time you need.”
She rounded the bar and grabbed Rosalind’s purse before gesturing to the door. “Let’s talk outside while I walk you to your car.”
Rosalind slid off the stool, drained the last of her wine, and headed for the door with Ryley following behind her.
The moon was full and high, giving the evening sky a soft glow across the parking lot where seven cars were parked. Rosalind crossed to her Jag and clicked the unlock button. Ryley handed her back the purse, and she tried to take the money out again.
Ryley rested her hand over the top of the purse, stopping her. “Would you please stop doing that? My gun and Taser are inside, and you never know who's looking for an easy mark.”
“Sorry, but I need your services, and I’m willing to pay.”
Ryley slid her hands inside her jeans pocket and leaned against the car’s front panel. “You helped me through a terrible time in my life, Doc. If it wasn’t for you, I could have turned into a monster like my dad. I’d like to think we’re friends, and I don’t take money from my friends.”
“Of course we’re friends,” Rosalind said, opening the door to toss her purse inside.
“So, tell me what it is that’s keeping you up at night, and we’ll fix it together.”
“A patient of mine is stalking me,” Rosalind said, clasping her hands together as if trying to reclaim her calm.
“That sounds like a job for the police, don’t you think? Isn’t your son a cop? Why come to me when he’s better suited to help you?” Ryley asked.
“Well, technically, he would be better able to help if my patient hadn’t started the stalking after she died. My son thinks I’m bonkers. He thinks I’m losing my mind. That’s why I need your help.” There was an unmistakable plea in Rosalind’s voice.
“Damn it. I must have missed one,” Ryley said, pulling her hands out of her pockets and resting her fist on her waist. “When was her funeral?”
“It hasn’t happened yet. She’s from a prominent family, and all the evidence points to a suicide, but they’re doing a full investigation.”
“Since when do they do that for a suicide? Did the family request it?”
Rosalind shook her head and visibly swallowed. “I requested it, since the patient didn’t show any signs of wanting to die. Quite the opposite.”
Ryley crossed her arms over her chest and dropped her gaze to the asphalt. “Bet they didn’t appreciate that.” Ryley tilted her head. “You’re sure it’s her stalking you and not someone else. Someone who knows the woman was your patient. Someone who might want you to believe you’re crazy?”
“Ryley, please. You know me. I’m a sane, rational person.”
“You’re right,” Ryley said, tossing her hands up in the air. “I believe you, and I’ll help you. I promise.” Ryley glanced back at the door. “How about I come over tomorrow morning, and you can show me what you’ve got?”
Rosalind gripped Ryley’s arm. “She shows up at night.”
“Okay, I’ll take tomorrow night off, and I’ll come over and spend the night and wait for the woman. If she doesn’t show, then I’ll sage and salt your house, and you’ll be protected.”
“You’d do that for me?” Relief filled Rosalind’s voice.
“Of course, and you don’t even have to pay me.”
“Here, let me give you my address,” Rosalind announced and pulled open her car door.
“That’s not necessary, Doc. I know where you live.”
“You do?” she asked with hesitation.
Ryley shrugged. “I needed to know in case of an emergency.”
“Ryl
ey, that’s an invasion of privacy.”
Ryley’s lips twisted at the corner. “I share the same blood with a criminal, but I never crossed that line. Your address was my safety net.” She tapped the hood of the car. “Now go home, or better yet, stay in a hotel until tomorrow just in case it’s someone alive screwing with you.”
Rosalind nodded. “I’ll do that. I’ll pack a bag and find somewhere else to stay tonight. You’ve got my number. I have appointments until five tomorrow, but the security code to get in is 4376 if you happen to get there before I do, and here’s my spare key.”
Ryley took the key and shoved it in her pocket. “Thanks. I might try to get a head start just to see what energy I can pick up.”
“Thank you, Ryley,” Rosalind said, climbing in behind the wheel.
Rosalind pulled out of the parking lot and turned toward downtown. Ryley watched until the brake lights faded away before she went back to work inside the bar.
Once her brother’s client showed up, Ryley was taking the rest of the night off. With Rosalind staying somewhere else, it would be a prime time to look around without the added emotions and extra eyes.
Ryley lost count of the number of beers she served that night after she popped the top off of three more and set them on the serving tray. The waitress whisked them away over to the promotion partiers. More than one had offered to take Ryley home and service her for the night.
She glanced down the bar to see who needed a refill when a newcomer took a seat at the bar. Everything about him spoke to her girly needs. He looked like a bad boy. Dark hair against his olive-toned skin. Deep green eyes that looked as though they could see clear down to her soul. A tattoo peeked from beneath the sleeve of his shirt.
She tossed the rag over her shoulder and sauntered in his direction.
“What can I get you?”
He glanced around the bar before his gaze settled on her again. “You Ryley St. James?”
All hope for a good time dissipated from her thoughts. There was only one guy she’d never met who was due to arrive—her brother’s client.
Grave Wrong (Lost Souls Society Book 1) Page 3
