Sweet Tea and Spirits

by Angie Fox

“The truth always comes out,” I said. At least it did in my line of work.

  “I don’t know.” Henrietta shook her head. “The town certainly forgot about us. Frankly, I think a lot of people wanted to forget.” She shrugged. “The home for widows and orphans became reality so far as the history books are concerned.”

  “So all of you are…?”

  “Earning our keep,” she said, with no small amount of pride.

  I thought about wholesome, innocent Molly and how Frankie had lured her into that salacious pose. He’d claimed she’d seduced him.

  Unless she had been a little more eager than I’d imagined. “Oh my word. Molly too.”

  “She was raised here. She never worked.” Henrietta tilted her head. “At least not that way, but no men came courting, either.”

  “Poor Molly.” That picnic in the cemetery really had been her first romantic interlude.

  “Molly liked the lie. She liked being respectable.” Henrietta shook her head. “I knew it wouldn’t last.”

  It hadn’t.

  “And I knew she’d get hurt.” Henrietta planted her hands on her hips. “That’s why you need to get your friend out of here. She’s forgetting who and what she is.”

  Perhaps change was good in this case. “I walked in on them tonight. She ran off.”

  “Good. It’s time for your friend to leave her be.” Henrietta sighed. “Just don’t tell him about her past. It would break her heart if he knew. She shouldn’t have lied to him, but she realized a big-time lawyer like him would never date a girl who washed sheets in a whorehouse.”

  Oh, brother. “I need to talk to her.”

  She paused for a moment, as if listening. “She’s not here.”

  I couldn’t believe this. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

  Henrietta tsked. “I don’t.” She tilted her head. “Listen, I have to see about a man in a tub.” She held out her hand and produced a steaming kettle of hot water. “It wasn’t my idea to lie to you. Or”—she held up the kettle, displaying voluptuous curves—“to hide this body.” She lowered the kettle. “I did it because I care about my friend.”

  “I understand.” More than she realized.

  She turned to pass through the door and return to her naked bubble bath with the mayor. “Wait,” I called after her. “What about Mother Mary? I thought she was a nun!”

  “Oh, honey,” she said over her shoulder, “we call her mother because she’s the madame.”

  Chapter 19

  I found Frankie at the bottom of the stairs.

  “I heard you talking to someone,” he said, straining to see around me. “Was that her?”

  “It was Henrietta.” And of course he’d heard the whole thing. Frankie had bat hearing. Poor ghost. I hated that he had to find out this way. I stepped down the final stair and clasped my hands in front of me. “Do you want to talk about what Henrietta said?”

  He knit his brow. “I can’t hear anything from that second floor. It’s like they’ve got it rigged. What were you surprised about? Where did Molly go?”

  “She went off to think,” I said. If he wasn’t onto it already, then this was her secret to tell.

  “Where?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know.” I honestly didn’t. “She’s not on the property. But don’t worry. It’s not like she can leave for good.”

  “Oh, yes, she can,” he said, punching the wall. His fist went right through it. “I’m the only one who can’t leave a piece of property.”

  Poor grounded ghost.

  “She will come back and you will talk,” I promised. If any couple ever needed a talk, it was them. “Give it time.”

  He took a step back. “I don’t care,” he vowed. “I don’t. I really don’t.” And with that, he turned away and zoomed straight out the front door like a ghost on fire.

  Ellis walked in a few seconds later, shuddering. “I just got smacked in the head with a cold spot.”

  “That would be Frankie,” I told him.

  He gave a quick nod. “At least I know I’m not crazy.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I sure hope we find something tomorrow.” He glanced around the foyer. “In the meantime, we should think about getting a few hours’ sleep.”

  “We should.” It was already three in the morning, but there was no earthly place to lay our heads.

  “We could go upstairs,” Ellis suggested halfheartedly. I understood his reluctance. I wouldn’t put it past Vincent and Constance to sneak back into the house. We wanted to be in their way if that happened.

  Besides, “I don’t want to sleep upstairs in this house, not while I have Frankie’s power.” Who knew how loud those working girls could be? I took his hands and drew him close. “This place used to be a bordello,” I whispered in his ear, so as not to offend the ladies upstairs.

  Ellis opened his mouth and then closed it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Of course I have no proof,” I said, playing with one of the buttons on his shirt.

  “I wouldn’t expect it,” he said, a grin playing over his lips.

  “Although after five minutes of trying to sleep on hardwood, I’ll probably be willing to trade it in for a few randy ghosts and a real bed.” I wasn’t a kid anymore.

  “Tell you what,” Ellis said, breaking away from me, “I’ll bring a mattress down.”

  Oh my. I wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. I watched him head up the stairs. No telling what had happened on those feather beds. “Whatever you do, don’t go in the middle bedroom,” I called.

  “All right,” he said, heading straight for Mother Mary’s room.

  Of all the… “You’d better let me help!” I called, hurrying after him. “The ghosts are still mad about their things getting stolen.”

  Mother Mary had threatened me when I’d looked through her office. I didn’t want to know what would happen if I dared sleep in her bed.

  I reached the landing too late. He was already lugging the feather bed out of her room. “This isn’t original to the house, so we should be fine.”

  “How could you possibly know that?” I asked, bracing for Mother Mary or Henrietta to descend on us in full attack mode.

  Ellis hefted the feather bed up and drew back the cotton covering. “It’s from Sears,” he said, displaying a long crinkly mattress tag.

  A giggle erupted from Henrietta’s room, followed by a man’s hearty laugh.

  “Okay,” I said, grabbing an end of the bedding, “let’s get this out of here.”

  It was more awkward than heavy. Ellis did most of the lifting. I did a lot of supporting and guiding as we made our way like drunken sailors down the stairs and plopped the feather bed near the couches to the right of the main staircase.

  I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure this was a good idea, but dang, that soft feather mattress sure looked good. I hadn’t realized how bone tired I was until I saw that bedding waiting for me.

  Mother Mary forgive us. “I think I could fall asleep right now,” I said.

  “Wait for me.” Ellis turned off most of the lights, leaving the one over the front door burning. “We have about three hours until Marshall and the investigators arrive.”

  “It’ll be three more hours of sleep than you got in the last haunted house,” I said, gathering the blanket I’d brought.

  “That case ended well,” he said, plopping down, folding his arms behind his head.

  I flicked the covers over our improvised bed and over his face while I was at it. “This will work out too, right?” I asked, sinking into the feather bed next to him.

  He drew me under the covers, and I rested my head on his shoulder.

  “Marshall wants me to go question Vincent first thing tomorrow,” he said. “He’s hoping Vincent will mess up and say something he shouldn’t.” He drew my hair back from my face and planted his cheek on my forehead. “I think Vincent is smarter than that.”

  I ran my fingers over his firm, warm chest. “Vincent will walk.
Again. We don’t have what we need.” He’d come here looking for what I could only imagine had been the proof Julia had gathered against him, but it was gone now. I didn’t know how or why, but that didn’t change the fact.

  Ellis planted an arm under his head and looked down at me. “We need you to find her death spot.”

  I knew that. I’d been trying. “It’s not here.”

  The lines around his eyes crinkled as he winced slightly. “It could be at their house.”

  I stared up at him. “It very well could be. Can you get a search warrant?”

  “Not with the evidence we have.”

  Which was no evidence at all.

  I rose up on an elbow. “Maybe I can get upstairs while you’re down talking to him.”

  He sighed. “You can’t. Promise me you won’t. As much as I want to nail him, I won’t jeopardize our ability to prosecute him.”

  Dang law and order, at least in this case when it worked for the bad guy.

  “I’ll search the cemetery again,” I promised him. It was the only other place I could think to check. Julia had walked through the graveyard on the mornings before her death. Only she hadn’t died in the morning. It had been afternoon or evening, and she’d driven her car.

  Still, it was worth checking out. I had to do something, even if it involved the creepy old graveyard.

  Ellis met my promise with a kiss and then another. And suddenly I didn’t mind so much when a few minutes later, we ended up on the floor.

  * * *

  Unfortunately, daytime came much quicker than I would have liked.

  I woke sprawled under the covers, with Ellis’s comforting weight beside me. I had an arm flung over him, and a leg, as if he were a giant teddy bear.

  The front door banged open and a man’s throaty chuckle greeted us.

  Oh, Lord. My eyes flew open. Ellis lay bare chested. I still had my sundress on—and everything else, thank you—but I still felt like I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

  I rolled over and saw Marshall looking down at Ellis and me. The older detective’s smug expression suggested he knew exactly why Ellis listened to the crazy girl who thought she could see ghosts. Officer Duranja and two other men in ties stood behind him.

  “So this is what you call investigating,” Marshall said, walking inside, giving the rest of them a good view.

  Ellis stood slowly. “It’s better than ruling a murder an unfortunate accident,” he said, his chest bare, his jeans slung low on his waist. He made no attempt to apologize for his lack of dress or anything else.

  Duranja snickered when I double-checked the straps on my sundress and ran a hand through my mussed hair.

  “It’s almost nine o’clock,” Marshall said, as if we’d slept in to spite him. “I’d expected you to be at the Youngblood house by now, Officer Wydell.”

  Ellis reached down and offered me a hand. “I have a uniform in the truck.” I took Ellis’s hand and stood, trying to channel his devil-may-care attitude. “You’ll be fine here with them,” he assured me.

  “She’s not going to be in here while we’re investigating.” Marshall frowned.

  “Of course not,” I said quickly before Ellis uttered anything he’d regret. I gathered my sandals from the floor. “I’ll just pop on over to the cemetery.”

  Marshall and his men looked at me strangely as Ellis escorted me, sandals in hand, out past the Sugarland PD.

  “Call me if you find anything,” Ellis said once we’d made it out to the porch. “I’ll be right there. Duranja is trustworthy too, they all are.”

  Yes, but they didn’t believe in me or my abilities, and that could put me in danger.

  “I’ll be fine,” I assured him.

  He had to do his job and so did I.

  I kissed him goodbye out by his truck, trying not to care that anyone might see. I wasn’t some tart or a twit who got by on her looks and nothing else. I cared about Ellis and he cared about me and there shouldn’t be anything to feel ashamed about.

  I left him gathering his uniform and headed down the side of the house. Perhaps Frankie would like to visit the cemetery with me. A good ghost hunt would help him forget his lady troubles.

  “Hey,” I said, knocking at the door to his latrine. “How are you doing, buddy?”

  “Go away.”

  As if. He hadn’t been himself last night. Or heck, since we’d gotten here.

  “Frankie, I’m worried about you,” I said, ever grateful that he didn’t have enough oomph to operate the latch lock.

  I opened the door and nearly doubled over from the cigarette stench.

  Frankie’s hat hung over the one remaining sconce on the wall, his suspenders tossed over the back of the couch. I almost stepped on a ghostly whiskey bottle empty on the floor. The club chair had gone missing, along with a good portion of the formerly glorious mahogany paneling. Ghostly peanut shells littered the floor, along with a half-eaten pie and more cigarette butts than I cared to count.

  “Is the housekeeper dead?” I asked, trying for a bit of levity while navigating the mess.

  My friend lay on the couch, one leg dragging on the floor, the other leg missing clear up to his thigh.

  “Oh my gosh, Frankie.” It hadn’t been more than a few hours since we’d headed to bed. He’d gone downhill fast.

  “I’m living the bachelor life,” he said, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his hand. “Woo-we. I can’t tell you how great it is not having a woman to tell me what to do.”

  “It looks like a real blast,” I told him. He smelled like a liquor cabinet. “You realize you’re losing parts now that she’s gone.”

  “I don’t care,” he muttered, taking a drag from his cigarette, the smoke filtering out his nose. “I’m fine. I don’t need anybody.”

  “Frank,” I said, trying to find a non-ghostly place to sit. There wasn’t one. “I think there’s a connection between your feelings and how fast you…” I didn’t want to say deteriorate.

  “I don’t have feelings.” He stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t have anything.”

  He did. And I was willing to bet that when he was actually in touch with them, he was a much more powerful ghost. I couldn’t help but notice how he’d been with Molly versus the state he was in now.

  I had to figure out a way to fix this for him. If I counted on Frankie to have a revelation, well, let’s just say he could be stubborn as a goat.

  In the meantime, I was all for distraction. “I’m going out to the cemetery in a minute—”

  “She’s not there,” he interjected.

  “You might enjoy the walk,” I suggested. “Last night, I freaked out when a hand grabbed my leg. You could get a good laugh out of that.”

  He stared at the ceiling, smoking.

  “All right. Well, when I get back, I’m going to take you home.” I said it to get a reaction, but he didn’t seem to care. That worried me even more. I sighed. Perhaps it was a good idea to get him away from this place. Maybe Suds could cheer him up or at least take his mind off Molly.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I promised, leaving him to his thoughts as I closed the outhouse door behind me. It would have been nice to have company while searching the cemetery, but I knew how numbing it could be to lose at love. I certainly wasn’t going to judge him for it. I’d help him fix it if I could. Once I dealt with the murderer, of course.

  I smoothed my dress and walked determinedly toward the cemetery. I could handle this on my own. This wasn’t my first time dealing with the dead and it wouldn’t be the last.

  If anything, seeing Frankie so down had made me realize it was even more important to find Julia’s death spot, if it hadn’t disappeared already. Not only did we need proof to bring in the prime suspect, who was suspicious of us already, but also because Frankie was losing energy fast. I didn’t know how quickly I would drain him now that he’d lost his girl.

  I slowly approached the graveyard, with its hunched and leaning stones. A deat
h spot should stand out among the bleak gray stones. Only none did, at least not that I could see.

  Dry grass crunched under my feet as I stepped inside. An unearthly mist swirled around me.

  “Hello?” I called.

  Spirits whispered in the crackling of leaves and the calls of the birds overhead. This place felt sad and forlorn. And no wonder. These weren’t the graves of poor widows, but the forgotten graves of prostitutes. I stepped over a fallen stone. They were probably buried here because they were seen as disgraceful and unworthy to deserve a place in town.

  They were left here, abandoned—both then and now. No one kept up this cemetery. No one visited. Except the ghost of Father Flagherty, and he’d judged Frankie for having a picnic.

  No wonder this place felt so heavy with despair.

  Up ahead, I spotted the field beyond the graves.

  I turned and walked toward the path that cut through the middle of the cemetery, making a wide arc around the fallen tree Ellis and I had hidden behind last night. The sound of a woman weeping carried in the breeze and I said a quick prayer for her, that she’d find peace somehow.

  The other side appeared much the same, only smaller, with the graves pressed closer together, some even leaning against the others, as if for support.

  One large stone stood near the center. Spirits, shadowy and weak, wound at the base, like smoke before a fire.

  I approached the burial marker, with its flat base and single obelisk among the hunched and leaning stones. I slowed my pace over the uneven ground surrounding it until I drew close enough to read the inscription:

  Here lay the ashes of many a lovely girl

  Together forever

  There didn’t seem to be much joy in togetherness, or much comfort.

  I heard weeping again, but this time, it came from a ghost I could see. A woman in a long dress stood on the other side of the cemetery, with her back to me. She didn’t appear lost like the others. And while I didn’t like to disturb the dead, I couldn’t escape the notion that perhaps she’d seen something or knew where I could find Julia’s death spot.

  I went to her, careful of the uneven ground, relieved to leave the stifling sadness of the cemetery behind and step into the field beyond.