by Angie Fox
“You think this is a joke,” Frankie said, fading away.
Actually, I didn’t. “We need your help,” I told my sister. “Where are you working tomorrow?”
She hit the start button. “Breakfast shift at the diner, and then the library in the afternoon.”
“When you’re at the library, can you look into the history of the heritage society property?”
“Sure. I know it was originally the Home for Wayward Widows and Orphans,” she said. “Fifth-grade field trip.”
“I’d like to know more about that cemetery out back,” I told her, “as well as the history of the house.” I took a seat at the counter. “Also, if you could find as many pictures as you can, there’s someone I’m trying to place. I saw a ghostly portrait of a beautiful woman. And then I saw her face again, watching me from a bust.”
“Oh, yikes.” Melody shivered.
“She actually seemed shy. I’d love to learn more about her.” Knowing who she was might help me draw her out.
“I can do that,” Melody said, joining me at the kitchen island with her cup of coffee. “This has to do with Julia Youngblood’s death, doesn’t it? I heard about it at the grocery store and the gas station and at the library book club meeting.”
I explained to her what had happened and what I had to do. She shook her head at the end of my story. “Well, at least I already talked to Mom this morning and told her you weren’t getting into any trouble. We have about a week until she calls one of us again.”
I leaned my elbows on the island. “I just have to solve this before I’m on twelve heritage society committees. Unless you want to join with me,” I hedged.
“Not a chance.” She laughed. “This one’s all you.” She checked her watch. “I really have to get to bed if I’m going to run before work.”
“Go,” I told her, giving her a hug goodnight. She’d already been in her jammies when I’d stopped by. “I’ll be fine,” I promised.
* * *
Morning sunlight streamed through the long row of windows along one wall.
“The three girls were the worst.” Frankie stood in the middle of the old trunk Melody used for a coffee table, holding his head. “Just when I thought I couldn’t take the giggling, they started squealing. Those little voices could cut glass.”
“At least you didn’t run into Mick ‘The Angel Maker,’” I said as I leaned over my sister’s pretty gray couch, folding the sheets I’d borrowed last night. “And I’m glad to know those kids were enjoying their afterlife,” I added, making sure my folds were neat. Not that Melody was particular, but she had opened her home to us.
And let me sleep while she snuck out early.
“Kids should be out playing in a pond or stealing cigarettes,” Frankie fumed. “What are they doing in school if they have a choice?”
Well, it didn’t sound like they were doing much studying. I strolled into Melody’s kitchen. “They probably loved it here. I sure enjoyed grade school,” I said, pouring myself a plastic tumbler of tea.
I didn’t know the spiritual side like Frankie did, but I’d seen enough to know that the ghosts with a healthy mind-set often spent part of their afterlives in places that made them happy. This was such a light-filled, positive place. I took a sip of tea. Aww…Melody had brewed a fresh pot of Tazo black, my favorite.
I leaned my elbows on the kitchen island. “See that big long chalkboard behind the couch?” I asked. “That’s original. It’s neat.”
“You don’t know what’s written on it,” Frankie huffed, then grinned. “Little buggers.”
“Well, we agree on one thing,” I said, taking another sip. “We can’t stay here.”
Not that Melody wouldn’t welcome us. She was generous to a fault. But the loft only had the kitchen-living room area and my sister’s small tidy bedroom. We’d be in the way, and I had a house of my own.
“So we move.” Frankie shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled toward me. “I know a guy who holes up in the basement of the old Ezekiel Church that burned down. I bet there’s room for two more.”
“Not happening,” I said, savoring my tea.
“Listen. He has lots of guns,” Frankie said, as if that would make me want to go near the blackened husk of a building down by the river.
It did make me think about how I needed a shower. “We should go,” I said, reaching for my bag.
“Excellent.” Frankie grinned. “You’ll like One-Eyed Clyde.”
“We’re going home,” I corrected, opening Melody’s front door for him. “You have to make up with Mick sooner or later.”
Turned out that would be later.
Frankie fumed the entire way to my place, stopping only to list other safe house alternatives, like the haunted speakeasy underneath Southern Spirits, surrounded by his gang.
Where I’d nearly been shot.
An abandoned mineshaft just outside of town.
Hardly caved in at all.
And even an old fishing shack down by the river.
Now mostly above water since the river was lower in the summertime.
I kept my eyes on the road as we turned off the highway and onto the long familiar road that led to my home.
Frankie was getting out of control. He wasn’t just extorting favors from me in exchange for the use of his powers. Now his lifestyle was starting to affect mine.
Even without him offending Mick the whoever, he didn’t have any business running a racetrack out of my backyard, or whatever new scheme he was bound to cook up next week.
I had to figure out a way to get him to work with me and not against me all the time. Yes, he was accustomed to a certain lifestyle, but we had to find a way to meet in the middle, without driving either one of us crazy.
“Stop,” he ordered as my home and property came into view down the road. “You can’t make me do it.”
Actually, I could.
Frankie was grounded to my property, and if I headed home with his urn, he was bound to go with me. I didn’t like to force it on him, but I wasn’t going to move into my sister’s apartment, either. “This is the only way.”
He braced himself against his seat, as if he could stop the car through sheer will. “Give me some time first. I need to call in a few favors.” He looked at me, wide eyed. “For the love of all that’s holy. Please.”
It was the please that did it. That and I didn’t like to see him suffer.
On any other day, Frankie would have called me weak. This morning, however, when I pulled over to the side of the road just shy of my property line, he let out a sigh of relief.
I parked under a drooping willow tree and cut the engine. “I’ll walk from here.”
“Thank you,” he said, flopping back against the headrest and loosening his tie.
I dug his urn out of my bag and left it on my seat. Then I walked the rest of the way to my lovely, formerly peaceful home.
Lucy greeted me at the door, grunting and waddling in circles she was so excited to see me.
“Sweet baby,” I crooned, scooping her up, “I’m so sorry I left you all night.”
She rubbed her furry little head against my chin, my chest, anywhere she could reach as I stroked her back. “Are you hungry?” I asked, walking her to the kitchen.
A small white bag sat on the center island, with a note under it.
I scratched Lucy under the chin while I picked up the paper and read it.
* * *
Heard about what happened last night. Brought breakfast.
Call me when you get this.
Ellis.
* * *
I dug into the bag and found a fresh chocolate donut and a take-out container of cantaloupe. What a sweet gesture. I’d been telling him the other day how I’d been craving melon.
Lucy perked up at the smell of the fruit and I fed her a slice. I tried to call Ellis back and was surprised to get his voicemail. I left him a message. Then I showered, enjoyed my donut, and dressed in my very best su
ndress, the white one with the blue hydrangeas.
I might not be eager to join the Sugarland Heritage Society, but I was their newest recruit and I intended to make the most of it.
No telling how long it would take for someone to discover the mannequins in the museum this morning. With that surprise, and with Julia’s death, it would be an interesting first day.
The last thing they’d likely worry about would be me or my wardrobe, I assured myself. Still, I brushed my hair to a shining gloss before hurrying downstairs.
“I’m sorry I have to leave you again,” I said to the skunk, who had practically followed me into the shower this morning. Lucy tended to be more independent than many pets, but she still had feelings. “Here.” I took the container of cantaloupe and selected several large pieces for her bowl. “I know food doesn’t make up for attention, but it’s all I can do right now.” I’d also ask Melody to stop by after work. She loved Lucy.
We’d be back to normal in no time if I could just find Julia’s death spot, understand what was happening with the ghosts, and somehow tie everything together.
Piece of cake, right?
Lucy swished her tail as she ate, barely giving me another thought.
That at least was a blessing. I kissed her on the head, resisting the urge to sprinkle a bit of Vita-Skunk supplement over her fruit. We all needed to indulge once in a while.
“See you later, sweetie,” I said, waving a goodbye to her as I headed out.
This time, I locked the door behind me.
We didn’t usually bother in Sugarland. It had been a point of pride for me once that I didn’t need to take such measures. But if Frankie’s warning was true, if I was about to step into something sinister, it paid to be careful.
* * *
I hadn’t been gone from my car too long, but when I returned, I found no sign of my gangster buddy.
“Frankie?” I asked, scanning the empty road, the quiet houses, searching for any sign of him. The leaves of the willow tree rustled in the breeze.
A voice sounded in my ear. “Get in the car, real casual-like. And drive.”
It sounded like Frankie. I hoped it was him.
“Frankie, are you in trouble?”
“Drive,” he hissed.
“I hear you. I’m going,” I said, fumbling for my keys.
“Don’t answer me,” he shot back. “You are the worst criminal ever.”
Yep, that was Frankie. I resisted the urge to remind him that I wasn’t a criminal. You couldn’t pay me to be a gangster. I was merely a good Southern girl who had gotten caught up with a stubborn, shady ghost.
I moved his urn to the passenger seat and yanked the driver’s side door closed. The worn beige vinyl handle came clean off in my hand. “Oh my.” I placed it on the seat next to me and cranked the window open.
“What are you doing?” Frankie demanded.
The door hadn’t closed all the way. I reached an arm out and opened the lever on the outside, glad it stayed attached to the land yacht.
“You are never going to be my getaway driver,” Frankie fumed as I closed the door properly and started the engine.
“Good thing that wasn’t on my to-do list,” I said, battling the manual steering wheel as I made a tight U-turn, being very careful not to cross my property line. Maybe then Mick or any other gangsters on my land wouldn’t see or sense Frankie. That certainly seemed to be his plan.
“Drive casual,” he ordered as we headed down the road toward the Sugarland Heritage Society.
“You’re welcome,” I told him when we were on the main road and out of danger. I glanced at the handle on the seat next to me. “My poor car.” That handle had been loose for a while. Ditto for the fabric lining the roof, the FM knob on the radio, and both rearview mirrors. Even the door to the glove compartment was missing two out of three screws in a size they didn’t make anymore. When you got right down to it, everything in this car was hanging on with a lick and a prayer.
Frankie didn’t respond, or appear. In fact, he stayed quiet the whole drive, which was both refreshing and a bit worrisome. It seemed this Mick guy was real trouble.
But surely not worse than the murderer I was dealing with.
“We’re here,” I said, pulling into the lot at the heritage society. “You can come out now.”
Frankie shimmered into view in the passenger seat next to me and I couldn’t contain my gasp. He’d lost both of his legs, one arm, and he had a hole in his chest.
“Did you get shot?”
“Nah. Mick didn’t see me.” He attempted to close his coat over the missing part of his torso. “But the wait was stressful,” he said, fading into nothingness. “Excuse me while I try to fix this.”
“How?” From past experience, the only things that worked were rest and time.
“I think I discovered something,” he said, his head shimmering back into view. “I get energy when I let loose and have fun.”
“All right,” I said, although I doubted the former Home for Wayward Widows and Orphans offered gambling, horse racing, or wild flapper parties.
On this particular Sunday morning, the society seemed abandoned by the living as well. All except for a yellow BMW parked near the front entrance next to Julia’s Corvette. A pair of women about my age huddled close by. I recognized them as Kelli’s friends and members of the society. They spoke quietly and urgently to each other.
Their furtive glances at me turned into full stares as I rolled my window down and reached out to open my driver’s side door from the outside.
“Hi,” I said, trying to appear as friendly as possible.
I’d simply explain that I was a new member, before making some excuse to get into the house and lock them out. That should at least buy me some time to find Julia’s death spot.
Larissa Rose turned to me, her pretty pink lips set in a sneer. “No gawkers. Can’t you see we’re in a crisis?”
“I’m here to help,” I said quite truthfully. “You might not have heard, but Julia made me a member yesterday afternoon.”
“Julia is dead,” said Constance, Larissa’s companion and, if I recalled right, her best friend from high school.
“It’s terrible,” I said, understanding how shocked she must feel. “I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching out to Constance.
She recoiled. “Leave, please.”
I shook my head. “I wish I could, but that’s just not possible,” I said, ignoring their shock. “Before she died, Julia asked me to take care of something inside the house. I have to honor her wish.”
Larissa’s eyes grew round. “She wanted you to hunt ghosts.”
“Of course not,” I said automatically, although it hurt to deny it.
They exchanged a glance.
“We might as well show her,” Constance said cryptically. “Even if she talks, nobody’d believe her.”
Larissa nodded, her face mottled with unshed tears. “At least she didn’t plow down the flower beds this time.”
“I thought we agreed we weren’t going to talk about that,” Constance said to her friend.
“I’m right here,” I reminded them.
Larissa nodded, clearing her throat. “We were supposed to open the museum this morning for the First Baptist Church Group tour,” she said, looking at her friend instead of me. “They’re due right after the second service.”
“We didn’t even know what to do with Julia dying right inside,” Constance added, eyeing me like I wouldn’t understand.
“Julia would have been the one to tell us to cancel. Or to keep going,” Larissa agreed. “We’re new members like you. We can’t make mistakes. Well, I suppose you can do what you want, but we can’t.”
Boy, I needed to get inside, get out, and be done with these people.
“We figured we’d open up the house, just in case,” Constance said, “but, oh my.” She covered her mouth with her hand.
“You need to see this,” Larissa said, taking me by the shoulders an
d guiding me toward the house. “My husband says you’re crazy, but maybe that’s just because he’s friends with your ex,” she said, her hands beginning to shake as we neared the front porch. She leaned close to my ear. “I choose to trust you. I think you were smart getting away from that rat bastard.”
She didn’t know the half of it. “Is the door open?” I asked, stepping away from her. It seemed we’d already gone as far as she was willing.
“Yes. The…problem is right inside,” she said, backing away.
“This may take some time,” I cautioned them. “I’ll need you to stay out.”
“We’ll cancel the church group,” Constance called, pulling out her phone. “We have to do it. We can’t let them see what’s in there.”
“Verity told us to do it,” Larissa said, perfectly willing to toss me to the wolves.
“Good,” I said, not caring at the moment. I paused when I reached the porch. “Frankie?” I murmured under my breath.
The gangster didn’t appear, but I felt the prickling of his energy as it settled over me. I let it sink deep as I watched the ghostly flowerpot shimmer into view.
“Go on.” Larissa motioned to me.
“Right. No problem.” I pushed open the door and froze at the sight that awaited me.
The mannequin of the mayor’s wife lay dead at the bottom of the stairs, her arms sprawled, her neck broken like Julia’s had been. The remaining five figures stood in a semicircle behind her, staring at me.
Chapter 9
The mannequins couldn’t tell me what they’d seen, but the spirits in this house sure could.
I closed the door behind me and stood in the darkened foyer.
“Who did this?” I asked, my voice loud in the deserted house. “Talk to me.” Shadows cast by the trees outside rippled over the polished wood floor and over the death scene played out at my feet.
The interior of the house remained silent as the grave.
I scanned the stairs and the landing above for any sign of a ghost. I didn’t even see Frankie. He’d better be making himself useful, or at least whole.
