Sweet Tea and Spirits

by Angie Fox

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” I promised. “I just have one thing to do first.”

  * * *

  I left Ellis talking with his mother and walked around the side of the house. When I reached the backyard, I drew up short at what I saw.

  Bright summer flowers rested on pallets in and around the old graves. The underbrush had been swept away, replaced with fresh sod grass. Leaning tombstones now stood erect. Broken ones had been hauled off and replaced with crisp white crosses.

  “Who did all this?” I asked, marveling at the change.

  The ghosts no longer cowered in wisps around broken memorials. They’d begun to gather the courage to unfurl, to stand as survivors.

  “We do more than tea parties,” a crisp voice said behind me. I turned and found Kelli. “At least some of us do,” she said, navigating the backyard on her sky-high heels. How did she manage? “I wasn’t lying when I said I was glad you joined.”

  “So this was you.” I tried to picture the manicured socialite in gardening gloves, wielding a shovel.

  “My committee,” she said, “and yes, me too.” She smiled to herself. “I’m not all pearls and sass.” She grew serious. “That reporter, Ovis, he can be a blowhard, but his story about the forgotten girls made me want to do something.”

  Good. “I’d like to help.”

  She smiled at that. “Then you can be on my committee.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Believe me, you’re going to need allies. This group can be brutal.”

  “Then let’s make it better,” I said.

  She tilted her head, as if she was considering it. “We’ll just see.” She glanced at her watch. “Now come on. The meeting starts in five.”

  “You go on without me,” I told her. “I’ll be along.”

  I’d spotted Mother Mary gliding among the graves.

  I walked out to greet her and encountered Father Flagherty instead.

  He shimmered into being directly in front of me, wearing a long black cassock with lace at the collar, a black cowboy hat, and a smile. “You did good,” he told me.

  I glanced over his shoulder, to ghosts who shrank away from my gaze. “Are they going to be okay?”

  “They needed to be looked after by more than just me. I’ve been told,” he hedged, “I can be a bit judgmental.” He sniffed. “It’s not anything I meant to do. I want to change.”

  “You already have,” Mary called over her shoulder. “Knowledge is power.”

  “She’s appearing to everyone now,” he said, glancing back at her. “What did you say to my sister?”

  I wasn’t sure. “I think I just reminded her of who she was, who she’s always been.”

  “I’ve only ever wanted to help,” he said. “I sometimes forget I don’t have all the answers.”

  “I know the feeling.” I’d work on that as well.

  Mother Mary glided up next to us and placed a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “We’ll do it together. I shouldn’t have disappeared the way I did.”

  He placed his hand over hers. “I missed you. I think everyone did.”

  She smiled. “Thanks for noticing us, Verity. And for remembering.”

  “People care,” I promised her.

  They just needed to be reminded sometimes.

  * * *

  I walked out to the front of the house and found Ellis next to his truck.

  “Are you hanging out here to pick up women?” I asked as the last of the socialites hurried past.

  “One girl in particular,” he drawled.

  “Your mother glad I’m here for good?”

  He chuckled. “She’s in there having a duck fit right now.”

  “Well, I don’t want to miss that,” I said, leaning in for a kiss. And then another. “Or maybe I do.”

  “You okay with scandalizing society by the flower bed?” he asked, drawing me in for a long lingering kiss.

  “I prefer the foyer,” I told him. “But this’ll do.”

  * * *

  Note from Angie Fox:

  Thanks for joining me on Verity’s latest adventure! A few books back, I’d have said the chances of Verity making money at ghost hunting were about the same as Frankie having a love life, but look where we are now. Seriously, though, I’m both humbled and thrilled with the support readers have shown this series. You are the best! I’d originally planned only five books for Verity and her friends, but thanks to you, there will be plenty more.

  The next book, Murder on the Sugarland Express, is available now!

  If you’d like an email on the day each new book releases, sign up for Angie Fox new release updates. Emails go out for new books, and your email information will be kept private and safe by Lucy and a pack of specially-trained guard skunks.

  Also, follow me on BookBub and you’ll always get an email for special sales.

  Happy reading,

  Angie

  Don’t miss the next

  Southern Ghost Hunter mystery

  Murder on the Sugarland Express

  Ghost hunter Verity Long is overdue for a little R&R (rest and romance) with her boyfriend, Ellis, and a vintage train trip through the Tennessee mountains seems like just the ticket. The Sugarland Express carries history and nostalgia in every compartment, and Verity is determined to enjoy it—without ghostly interference. But the ghosts have other plans…

  On a dark, desolate night nearly a century ago, the train was stranded in the mountains, and a young woman was found stabbed to death in her locked compartment. The murder was never solved, and a ghostly Belgian detective is still pursuing the case from the grave.

  To Verity’s dismay, all of the ghostly suspects are back. And when history repeats itself and a new murder mirrors the old, it’s up to Verity and her friends to discover which of the passengers—dead or alive—could be behind the murders before the killer strikes again.

  * * *

  Enjoy a sneak peek at

  Murder on the Sugarland Express

  Southern Ghost Hunter book, #6

  Chapter One

  I ran a brush through my hair and fastened a thin gold chain around my neck, keeping one ear peeled for a knock on the door downstairs. Ellis Wydell, my one and only, would be dropping by any minute to personally escort me to the soft opening of his new restaurant.

  It was a night for family and friends to see the place, try the menu, and celebrate. Ellis had turned the old Southern Spirits distillery into a fun, modern gathering place with old-world charm. He’d done it to honor his deceased uncle, who had been his original partner on the project, and he’d done it for the town, to restore an old building to its former glory. I was so stinking proud of him. I couldn’t wait to see it—even if my ex-fiancé would also be there, along with my almost-and-potentially-still-in-the-future-but-OMG-it’s-too-soon-to-go-there mother-in-law.

  I took a sip of wine that turned into a gulp. I mean, just because I’d come within a toad’s hair of marrying Ellis’s brother didn’t mean this had to be weird. My relationship with Ellis had nothing to do with the rest of his family. We cared for each other because we were right for each other. Ellis and I were happy together. Ecstatic.

  The fact that my wedding to Ellis’s brother would have taken place a year ago this very night was just an awkward, strange coincidence.

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen the rest of the family since knocking Beau into the cake and storming out of the reception.

  He’d had it coming.

  Beau had cornered my sister the night before the wedding and tried to kiss her. She’d fended him off and told me everything.

  Like any girl with a lick of sense, I went to Beau that night and told him I wouldn’t marry him. But he showed up at the church the next morning anyway. Beau wouldn’t rest until he’d humiliated me in front of everyone we knew. Then Virginia Wydell sued me for the cost of the lavish ceremony and reception, forcing me to sell almost everything I owned to pay her back.

  By the time the dust cleared, I
realized I’d dodged a bullet. But Beau and his mother didn’t see it that way. As far as they were concerned, Beau was a catch and I should have been proud to march down that aisle and call myself Mrs. Beau Wydell.

  The ruined wedding had led to a frenzy in the Sugarland rumor mill that only got worse when I decided to become the local ghost hunter. It hadn’t helped that I’d taken on Ellis’s Southern Spirits property as my very first case—or that I’d started dating Beau’s black-sheep brother. But that was finally settling down. Now I just needed to blend in for the grand opening. The focus should be on Ellis and the restaurant. He certainly deserved it.

  I took a deep breath and applied pale pink lipstick with a bit of gloss on top. This was just one more speed bump on the road to happiness. I truly cared for Ellis and couldn’t be more excited to see his new place. Why, this very afternoon, he’d called to say that he’d made one final touch to the restaurant that would surprise even me.

  I fingered the tiny gold skunk pendant on my chain, a gift from Ellis. Time to go. I slipped out of the bathroom and bounded down the wide wooden staircase of my lovely ancestral home. Six generations of my family had lived and died here, and I would as well. I belonged here. I loved everything about the place.

  Except for the ghost of a 1930s gangster who waited for me just past the bottom stair. Frankie “The German” didn’t appear happy to see me, either. He planted a hand on the antique newel post and glared at me like I’d just stolen his last barrel of hooch.

  Well, I didn’t have time for his antics tonight.

  “Evening, killer,” I said, sidestepping around him.

  “Hold it right there.” The ghost formed again in the hallway directly in front of me, blocking my path to the kitchen.

  Frankie appeared in black and white, but I could see through him. Mostly. He wore a 1920s-style pin-striped suit coat with matching cuffed trousers and a fat tie. Oh, and he had a bullet hole in his forehead, courtesy of the last person he annoyed while alive.

  Sometimes, it wasn’t so hard to understand why it had happened.

  “My house, my hallway,” I said, pretending not to notice the way he loomed over me. He could take the angry specter act somewhere else. I’d been afraid of him at one time, but we’d pulled each other through enough harrowing and downright jaw-dropping adventures that I no longer startled at the appearance of the gangster hovering above my original red oak floors. “I have to make sure Lucy is settled in before I leave.”

  My pet skunk never minded when I had the occasional evening out. She liked to catch up on her sleep. But she did enjoy being cuddled before I left. And with Frankie floating around downstairs, she probably needed an extra snuggle or two. She might not have even eaten her dinner.

  Lucy wasn’t particularly fond of my resident ghost.

  Frankie allowed me to pass, but he wasn’t done. “Make it quick,” he said, straightening his tie. “I got a hot piece of business going.”

  “Please, not again.” The last time he’d seized a wild hair, I’d walked outside to find an entire ghostly racetrack in my backyard, complete with a bookie booth. “I don’t think I can take it.”

  “It ain’t for you,” he said, as if the idea were preposterous. “It’s a romantic gesture for Molly, and you’re about to blow it.”

  “Aww…” The frustration drained out of me. “How sweet.” Frankie had opened his heart a bit since he’d met his girl. Molly was a cute, Victorian-era ghost he’d fallen for during our last adventure. Sure, it had only been a few short weeks since they’d gotten together, but their budding romance appeared promising all the same. “Is she here? I’d love to say hi.” Only I couldn’t without his help.

  Frankie had to lend me his power if I wanted to see any other ghosts besides him. He wasn’t particularly fond of doing it since the drain on his energy made parts of him disappear. In fact, I had found myself bribing him on more than one occasion when I needed to get in touch with our town’s spiritual side.

  The ghost stopped in front of the hallway mirror, and I couldn’t help but notice how he cast no reflection. He checked his watch while I took the opportunity to fluff my hair. “Molly will be here any minute and, no, you can’t see her.” He ran a finger under his collar and yanked, as if it were too tight all of a sudden. “You’ll start telling her stories again.”

  I dropped my hands to my sides. “Oh, come on. The one about you and the urn is a classic.”

  Frankie and I had met after I’d done a bit of housecleaning. The ugly old vase I’d found in the attic had needed more than the quick and dirty cleaning I’d given it with my garden hose, but I’d done my best. While I was at it, I’d dumped out the loose dirt inside and rinsed it into the roots of my favorite rosebush, thinking I’d replace it with some fresh water and a nice, fat rose.

  Only it wasn’t a vase; it was an urn, and by rinsing Frankie’s earthly remains so completely into my garden dirt, I’d bound him to my property.

  I’d been as unnerved as he was.

  Our only saving grace was that I hadn’t done a bang-up cleaning job. A smidge of Frankie’s ashes remained inside the urn. That meant I could take him places with me, as long as I didn’t mind being the girl with an urn in her purse.

  And I did take him places. Just this morning, we’d gone to the library.

  It was the least I could do considering the circumstances.

  He rolled his eyes, and I took advantage of his distraction to scoot past him.

  “I should tell her about the time you got spooked in a haunted house,” I told him.

  “Hey, I told you Rock Fall mansion wasn’t your typical haunted house,” he protested, and I swore I saw his cheeks flush. Poor gangster. “I don’t deal in Egyptian curses,” he insisted.

  That case had actually turned out well, although I didn’t think Frankie would appreciate the reminder.

  “I’ll be out of your way in a sec,” I promised, finding my pet skunk next to the kitchen island. She’d emptied her food bowl and had somehow decided that it would make a good bed. She snuggled with her back legs and furry little rear inside, the rest of her hanging out, which didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. She lifted her head and curled her tail out when she saw me.

  “Did you get enough dinner?” I asked, reaching down to scratch her between the ears.

  Only she spotted Frankie first and took off like a shot for the parlor.

  “Darn it,” I said, watching her go.

  “Good. She was sitting on a clue.”

  “Frankie.” I turned to find him behind me, holding a small white basket with a handle. I couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d been holding a kitten. “Classy,” I managed.

  He let the basket disintegrate into thin air and pointed a finger at me. “This is none of your business. You’re supposed to be gone.”

  “It’s my house,” I told him. “I didn’t know you’d be playing Romeo tonight.” I’d have made kissy noises if I didn’t think it would make him bolt.

  He smacked a hand against his forehead. “I should have just stuck to my place. But Molly said she wanted to go somewhere new.”

  Ellis had installed a utility shed out by the pond that was all Frankie’s. His private retreat, if you like. I could understand the appeal of going out.

  “You should definitely put forth the effort,” I agreed. “Even small romantic gestures can mean a lot to a girl.” Then it hit me. “You should make her a mixed CD.” Did people do that anymore? “Maybe a mixed digital playlist.”

  His jaw slacked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I most definitely don’t need your help romancing a girl.”

  The kicker was, he might. Before Molly, I was willing to bet Frankie hadn’t had a serious date in almost a century. That basket certainly didn’t look like him. And even though I was no expert in the ways of love, I was a girl and I knew what girls liked. “Show me what you’re doing for her tonight,” I pressed. “Just one peek and, after that, I’ll wait outside,” I pr
omised. “I’ll even take Lucy.”

  She’d be happier out on her patio pillow, anyway.

  The ghost groaned and then hit me with his power.

  I gasped. Not because it hurt, but because I hadn’t expected him to do it. Perhaps some part of Frankie really did want my help.

  His energy settled over me with a heavy, prickling feeling that reached down to my bones. In a million years, I didn’t think I’d ever get used to it. Moments later, my senses opened and I could see the other side.

  My dated kitchen appeared much the same as it always did, with pale yellow walls and an oak-topped island. Frankie’s urn sat next to a cookbook I’d borrowed from the library. The avocado green wall phone stood waiting by the laundry room, its perpetually tangled cord trailing down to the floor. I had no kitchen table, no real appliances. I was still recovering from my brush with financial doom, courtesy of my once-soon-to-be mother-in-law.

  I had to find an easier way to say that.

  Ghostly rose petals shimmered into focus, leading from my back door through my kitchen. They branched off at Lucy’s bowl, and a folded note rested underneath it.

  “Is this one of your clues?” I asked, taking a closer look. I accidentally brushed the edge of the ghostly note. It felt cold, with a wetness that seeped into my skin.

  “Stop right there!” Frankie made a motion to block me, but he knew as well as I did that any touch between a ghost and a living person gave both parties quite a shock.

  “It’s private,” he insisted, “a scavenger hunt. She likes games. And I’m not finished. I still have to dim the lights, write a poem, and light twelve dozen mini votive candles around your tub.”

  Lordy. “You’re borrowing my grandmother’s antique claw-foot tub?” I asked. “The one I bathe in every day?”

  He shot me a cat-ate-the-canary grin that faded as soon as a knock sounded at the back door. “Oh no. She’s early.”

  Perhaps that was a good thing. That way, he didn’t have time to unleash a swarm of monarch butterflies or hire a classical music quartet. And I still wasn’t keen on having him in my tub—ghost or not.