Sweet Tea and Spirits

by Angie Fox

  Ellis and I exchanged a glance. “I told him to just take it to the garage and bill me.”

  “I’ll accept no charity,” I told him, even if I might have to dig into Julia’s payment to afford the bill. The thought made me cringe.

  We headed out and watched Ron lower my car down onto the driveway. “It wouldn’t turn over for me. The battery looks good and you have gas in it. Could be a bad ignition switch or a bad connection in the solenoid control wire.” He popped the hood for Ellis.

  “Think it’s the neutral safety switch?” my boyfriend asked.

  “Might as well check,” Ron suggested.

  Ron tossed him the key and Ellis slid into the driver’s seat. He left the door open and turned the ignition.

  The car started right up.

  “It’s my safety switch?” I asked.

  Ellis shut the car down. “No. I just started it up regularly.”

  Ron stared. “I swear it didn’t start for me.”

  I believed him.

  He slid into the driver’s seat and it started up for him as well.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said, shutting it down. “I can check it out at the garage if you want.”

  “I think I’m good,” I said. It wasn’t my car. It was the ghost.

  Now I wondered if it was even my car’s fault or mine that I’d crashed into the flower bed. It seemed someone wanted me at the heritage society. That scared me more than accidents or repair bills.

  “Thanks, Ron,” Ellis said, handing him a fifty for the tow.

  “I’ll pay you back,” I promised. I didn’t carry that kind of cash.

  “I’m not worried about that,” Ellis said as we watched the garage owner climb into his tow truck and depart. “I don’t think you should be driving to the heritage society tonight.”

  “I’ll leave that to you,” I agreed. Although I wasn’t sure it would make a difference. It wasn’t my car they wanted. It was me.

  * * *

  “Be careful,” Ellis warned as we pulled up to the society in his truck.

  “I always am,” I promised.

  Only it didn’t always make a difference.

  The windows stood dark in the fading light. I was relieved to find nothing overtly threatening. Although we did arrive just in time to see Frankie skulking around the right side of the house.

  He looked like he was in trouble.

  And let’s face it: I wasn’t the only one with a problem.

  “Give me a minute,” I said to Ellis, slipping out of the pickup and into the warm, clear night.

  If Mick and his men had found Frankie, I might be his only hope. I wasn’t tuned into the other side, but there had to be some way I could help. I could at least grab his urn and get him off the property.

  This time, I didn’t announce my presence. I didn’t ask any loud questions. I was stealthy. I edged around the side flower bed and slunk up behind Frankie so I didn’t give away his location.

  He seemed so intent I wondered if he’d even heard the purr of Ellis’s truck engine as we’d arrived.

  My gangster friend moved like a shadow through the bushes at the side of the house and then crouched down.

  I drew up behind him. “Hey,” I whispered.

  “Gah!” He threw up his hands and an explosion of ghostly flowers flew everywhere.

  “I thought you had a gun,” I said, trying to make sense of the pale, shimmering wildflowers at my feet and on the bush. And since when could I sneak up on him? I felt an odd cold stinging on the side of my head and realized one of Frankie’s flowers had gotten into my hair. “Ick!” I shook my head and a rosebud disappeared as it fell out onto the ground.

  “Real nice,” he said, straightening his white Panama hat. “You know how much time it took to pick all these?” He bent down to retrieve his bouquet.

  I was ashamed to admit it, but I felt a little betrayed. “I thought Mick found you. I snuck out here to defend your life. Why else would you be skulking around like that?”

  He’d been acting strange ever since we’d arrived at the society house.

  Crouched on the ground, he held up a small shimmering dandelion. “I was picking these little flowers that grow behind the bushes.”

  “Why?” Then it occurred to me. “Are you making dandelion wine?”

  That would be a nice hobby, although I didn’t know where he’d find the equipment. Then again, this was Frankie.

  “Why, why, why? You’re worse than a toddler,” he bristled.

  “You’d better not be trying to romance any widows,” I warned.

  He gathered a fallen peony. “Maybe I just like flowers.”

  Oh, sure. He’d been pleased as punch to be dumped in my rosebush. “Listen, I met the girl you saw when we first came here. She’s not your type at all.” Too sweet. Much too innocent. “You need to stay away from her.”

  He stood. “Are you giving me dating advice?”

  “I am.” I notched up my chin. “And I’m saving you a lot of trouble. And heartbreak. I know for a fact that Molly is smitten with a positively charming lawyer,” I said, laying it on thick.

  A wry tilt touched his lips. “I don’t recall asking, but thanks for bothering me anyway. Now are you done?” he implored, going back to his flowers.

  “Not at all. I need your powers. A ghost has been fiddling with my engine. Now Ellis and I have to go back inside the house to find Julia’s list and I don’t want to get surprised by Mother Mary.”

  He ran a hand over his chin. “Not even half of that made sense.”

  When I opened my mouth to explain it, he held up his hand. “Don’t tell me. I don’t care. Honestly, Verity, I didn’t realize how exhausting you were until I had my own place.”

  “It’s a latrine.” I couldn’t believe he’d prefer an outhouse to my ancestral estate.

  He shrugged. “Home is what you make it.”

  “Hold still,” he instructed before zapping me with his power. He didn’t hit me hard, but the sudden infusion made me gasp as countless needles of energy pricked over my head and arms, traveling down my body to my toes. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to the feeling.

  “Now leave me alone,” he said, walking away with his flowers. “I got business.”

  “What business?” I asked, trailing him to the small outhouse. Shimmering gray light seeped between the boards and shone in glistening rays through the knotholes.

  He paused at the door of the latrine. “None of your business,” he said, slipping inside, the door flapping closed behind him.

  Okay. That wasn’t the weirdest thing I’d ever seen him do. Not by a long shot. But I still didn’t know what to make of it.

  I watched the outhouse for a moment, not sure what I expected to see. Maybe one of his gangster buddies would walk out, or Frankie would go flying headfirst through the door and out into the side yard.

  But none of that happened, so I shook my head and walked back toward the front of the house.

  Ellis had parked the truck in front of the flower bed I’d decimated on my first visit. He leaned against the driver’s side door and was just ending a phone call with someone.

  “That was Marshall again,” he said, stowing the phone in his back pocket. “He hasn’t opened up a formal investigation yet, but he will if we can find something.”

  “Good.” I scrubbed a hand over my chin, still trying to put together what Frankie had been doing.

  He slid his thumbs into his jean pockets. “Is everything okay with your ghost?”

  I glanced back toward where I’d last seen the gangster. “I’m worried about him, Ellis. He has a mob assassin after him and he’s acting really strange.”

  “If you’re concerned, talk to him,” he said. “I’m going to check the doors for any sign of forced entry. If Julia was killed—” He cleared his throat before correcting himself, “Assuming Julia was killed, I need to look at this place from a different angle. I may be able to learn more about the night she died. Th
en we’ll head inside and find that list.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said, glad to have him on my side. Normally, I didn’t mind investigating on my own, but partnering with Ellis opened up so many more possibilities. He had the analytical mind of a police officer and the understanding of a true friend. I made a quick promise to myself that I’d never take that for granted.

  Ellis headed for the front door.

  Meanwhile, I made it to the side of the house just in time to see Frankie gliding away from the outhouse and into the backyard. The latrine still glowed, and I was tempted to peek inside, but decided I’d rather follow him.

  Frankie didn’t seem to want to tell me what he was up against out here, so I’d have to do a little investigating of my own. Now that I had his powers, I’d be able to see exactly what kind of trouble he was courting.

  He glided across the barren yard and hesitated when he reached the end. Ghostly shadows churned in the old cemetery beyond. I shivered at the unnatural gray fog sifting through the centuries-old headstones. Frankie had warned me about that place and now he stood on the very edge of it.

  I ducked behind a rosebush when he glanced back at the house. He tugged his hat low over his brow and gave a single low whistle, like the call of a dying bird. A heartbeat later, he repeated it. Then he walked straight into the graveyard.

  Oh boy. Frankie had been adamantly opposed to reaching out to the ghosts in the cemetery. Or had he just been opposed to going out there with me?

  Either way, I wasn’t exactly crazy about following him.

  I had Frankie’s power flowing through me, which meant I could interact with the spirits, but I was also vulnerable to them. He’d said those spirits out there were bad news. They could touch me, hurt me, even kill me if they wanted.

  While I was still deciding what to do, I saw the shimmering form of a woman glide from the house, through the wall near the museum. She wore a long gown and her dark hair flowed out behind her, as if caught in a swirling spectral wind.

  I didn’t dare stop her. I couldn’t even determine her features as I watched her disappear into the blighted cemetery.

  That settled it.

  When Ellis and I left tonight, I was taking Frankie’s urn with me, no matter what the smart-aleck gangster said. I’d stash him at Melody’s apartment if I had to. He could run the halls with the schoolkids and do ghostly finger painting for all I cared. At least he’d stay out of trouble.

  In the meantime, I had no choice but to see what he’d gotten himself into.

  I hurried across the dark, deserted yard, toward the forsaken cemetery, and entered in the same place Frankie had—between a cracked and broken cross and a stone so badly weather-beaten that any defining features or inscription had all but melted away.

  The ground felt soft and wet, the air a bit chilly.

  I dug in my bag and found my keychain flashlight.

  “Frankie?” I whispered, pressing forward, venturing deeper into the field of crumbling and broken graves.

  The cemetery had appeared misty from the outside, but from within, the gloom shrouded everything. It was as if I’d entered another world.

  I stepped onto a hard spot and drew a sharp, low moan from the ground beneath me.

  I gasped and jumped sideways, shining my light down onto a shattered stone slab amid the weeds. “My apologies.” I hadn’t meant to step on anybody.

  Although I was most likely stepping on a lot of bodies.

  Sweet heaven. I shone my light forward and hurried deeper into the cemetery. I saw a faint light up ahead, swirling in the fog. It was impossible to tell if it was a spirit or an outbuilding or a particularly haunted piece of burial ground. I just hoped it wasn’t worse than where I was.

  When I neared it, I saw figures moving inside, at least two.

  “Frankie?” I called, hoping I wasn’t making a horrible mistake. “Are you in here?”

  He gave no response. Either he wasn’t there, or something had happened.

  I said a quick prayer, then stepped forward, braving the unknown, and let it surround me.

  As soon as I did, the space around me cleared.

  I stood in a small grassy meadow, with the sun shining overhead and not a tombstone in sight. My annoying, conniving gangster buddy lounged under a large healthy apple tree, feeding a strawberry to a sweet, trusting Molly.

  She wore a crown of dandelions, probably woven from the ones I’d seen him picking earlier.

  “I don’t believe this,” I barked, startling Molly into overturning the nearby picnic basket.

  Frankie leapt to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m investigating. I’m trying to figure out why you’d enter the creepy, awful cemetery you told me to avoid.”

  “Creepy.” Molly held a hand to her chest, as if I’d offended her.

  “You come with me,” Frankie ordered, as if I were the troublemaker. He walked us both straight out of the lovely vision and back into the deadened cemetery. “This is a bad place for you to be,” he said through gritted teeth. “The ghosts out here don’t know anything but sadness and pain.”

  “Then why are you having a picnic?” I demanded. “With the sweet girl I told you to avoid.”

  “Since when do I take orders from you?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

  He had a point. “Frank—” I sighed “—what is that happy place? How does it exist in the middle of a decrepit cemetery?” Maybe we could find a way to expand that good spot. It was worth a try.

  Frankie planted his hands on his hips. “The ghosts here are barely surviving, which makes me the dominant spirit,” he said, as if he were weak for admitting it. “I get the feeling Molly hasn’t had a lot of good in her life. I wanted to treat her to a nice picnic.”

  Henrietta would flip a gasket. Mother Mary…well, there was no telling what she’d do. I’d noticed that Molly had kept her face and her figure blurred as she escaped the house, which probably meant she’d been sneaking out to meet Frankie for this little interlude.

  “You’re going to use up all your energy,” I said. He was lending it to me; he was creating happy places for a girl he barely knew.

  I looked him up and down. Strangely enough, he’d remained whole.

  “She makes me feel good,” he said defensively. “I’m stronger because of her.”

  He looked it. “You made a light place in the darkness. For her,” I said, trying to understand. She didn’t know what she was courting.

  The gangster cleared his throat. “She makes me want to be a better man.”

  That, I hadn’t expected.

  I studied his face for any sign of his usual flip attitude, but detected none. Perhaps he saw Molly differently than he did the ditzy flappers at his gang parties. I didn’t see how he’d gotten to know the young lady, unless he’d been sneaking around behind my back, talking to her. That was definitely a Frankie move.

  Well, then… “Have you kissed her yet?” I asked.

  He looked slightly horrified. “That’s none of your beeswax.”

  “That would be a no,” I teased.

  He frowned, then glanced back at the swirling light of the picnic. “We’re working up to it. She’s a good girl. You can’t just rush into these things.”

  I never thought I’d see the day.

  “Now will you scram?” he added, reverting back to the Frankie I knew.

  I supposed they were two consenting adults. They were both certainly older than me. And at least he was taking things slow. “Just…be careful.”

  “You too,” he cautioned as he retreated into his misty bubble and left me among the darkened graves.

  A hollow wail drifted across the foggy darkness. That was my cue to split.

  I gave a final glance toward the swirling paradise before I hustled out of the cemetery in record time. Still, I felt the tendrils of spiritual energy clinging to me even after I stood firmly in the backyard.

  This was becoming a strange, strange night.
r />   And I had no idea what had happened to Ellis.

  My arms prickled as I made my way around the back of the house. I moved slowly, trying to listen for any sign of my gorgeous deputy sheriff boyfriend.

  Perhaps we needed to go on a picnic after this was all over.

  “Down here,” Ellis said out of the blue, nearly giving me a heart attack.

  “Where?” I asked, searching the shadowy ground near the house until I saw a dark opening with the faintest light shining from it.

  I made my way over and found him at the bottom of a dug-out staircase leading down to a door that must open into the basement.

  Ellis braced a small flashlight between his teeth while snapping a picture with his phone.

  He shoved the flashlight under his arm. “You can stay up there,” he said quickly. “I was just getting one last baseline shot.” He returned his phone to his pocket and headed up the stairs. “No signs of forced entry on any of the doors, but I did find something you might like to see.”

  I didn’t like his ominous tone or the hard set of his jaw.

  He led me over to the side of the house, near the stairs I’d used to flee the first day.

  “I came this way the morning Julia died,” I said, spotting the museum exit.

  When we drew near the stairs, he caught my arm. “Stand back. Don’t go any closer.” He shone his light down on a set of wide tire tracks. “Do you remember seeing these?”

  The grooves appeared deep, and they’d torn up some of the grass. “I wasn’t looking.” I’d been too busy running. Still, I’d have liked to think I would have noticed.

  “It could be something,” Ellis said, his light bobbing over the mysterious tracks. “I took pictures and sent them to an expert I know.” He shot me a meaningful glance. “Society ladies don’t drive off road.”

  Except for me.

  “Can you guess what kind of car made them?” I asked. I knew it wasn’t my 1978 Cadillac. I’d stopped in the flower bed.

  The tracks were about a yard long and close together. They dug hard on the end closest to the stairs, as if the vehicle had stopped in a hurry.

  “These are four-wheeler tracks,” he said, taking a few more pictures. He lowered the cell phone camera, his expression stern. “It could be kids out for a joyride, or it could be a man who lives up the hill, who needed to transport a body.”