Wicked Little Secret (Paranormal in Manhattan 3)

by Lotta Smith

  “One condition,” she said, raising her right index finger. “If you promise to go on the ski trip with Rick, then I’ll go and bring Brian for your rescue.”

  I had no idea why Jackie was so obsessive about the trip, but I agreed. Okay, I’ll ask him if his previous invitation for the trip is still open. Will that work?

  “Fine. I’ll go see Brian.” She started to float off, then turned back to me. “Where does Brian live?”

  I stopped a moment to think, though my feet were still working like mad. I hated this situation. I don’t know, but Rick should be able to tell you.

  “How can I talk to him without you?” She cocked her head to the side.

  Had I still had control of my body, my jaw should have dropped. I didn’t know the answer to her question. Perhaps you can ask around? I mean, ask people like you. Also, if you happen to bump into someone who can communicate with you, then you can just ask the person to call Rick. You know his number, right?

  “Right. I’ll try my best, but you must keep your promise. Or else.” She gave me a warning stare and disappeared.

  CHAPTER 3

  After parting with Jackie, Holtz took a cab, telling the driver to go to Penn Station, which made me even more nervous. He opened my purse and inspected the contents. Without even the slightest hint of hesitation, he reached for my wallet and paid the driver using my money. When he purchased a one-way train ticket for Harrisburg, Connecticut, using my cash, I felt like vomiting. Had he used my credit card, Rowling could have tracked me down when he noticed I didn’t call him for an update.

  I had no idea about the purpose of his journey. Well, actually, I did have a hunch about his intentions. He was heading for his hometown. Considering how wrathful he sounded when he muttered the words “unfinished business,” it didn’t require rocket science to assume his interests were hostile. Perhaps he was killed by someone he knew—and perhaps he was going to retaliate for his murder.

  My freak-o-meter was off the chart. I couldn’t stop thinking about the worst-case scenario. What would happen if he killed his killer using my body? Would I be able to win immunity against prosecution? No, I didn’t think so. Rowling might believe my words about being possessed, but I couldn’t imagine a judge and jury siding with me.

  I felt my heart beating frantically. Mentally, I took a deep breath and tried to convince myself to look at the bright side. At least Holtz wasn’t taking off on a plane, which was great. Had he decided to buy a business-class ticket for some far-off place, such as Europe, my already messed-up finances would be dead.

  Speaking of Europe, I should have accepted Rowling’s bribe card involving a vacation in Switzerland. Not to mention, I deeply regretted having declined his offer to tag along with me to the crime scene like a babysitter. I didn’t even mind the idea of going skiing. So I sucked at skiing; all ski resorts had some nice café or two, right? I could always spend my time lounging in the café, enjoying hot tea and some ice cream while my boss traveled up and down the slope. I felt like pulling my hair out, except I couldn’t do that on the account I had lost control over my body.

  Hello, Mr. Holtz? So, what’s your plan for today? By the way, if you’re thinking about revenge, I suggest that you reconsider. You know, violence against violence solves nothing. Again, I tried to talk to my hijacker using my willpower, but he didn’t respond to me. I took the silence as a sign of his cold-hearted determination.

  I hoped Holtz didn’t have murder on his to-do list. I also wished I hadn’t switched off my phone in the first place. My attempt at manners backfired this time. Had my phone still been active, Rowling could track me down using GPS. I swore to keep my phone turned on for my next interview with a ghost—if I ever had another chance.

  As I floated along the sea of worries, I heard my stomach grumbling. Oh, did I mention that I tend to get hungry when I’m nervous? Mr. Holtz, why don’t you visit the café car for a bite? You know you can’t think clearly with an empty stomach, right? I’m in the mood for a hot dog. How about you? I kept up the mental chattering, but he didn’t open up, nor did he bother to put food into my body. I was hungry and I was pissed. I felt like killing him, if only he were alive.

  Three hours later, the train reached the Harrisburg station. The sun was still high in the sky, which made the whole situation a little less spooky. Okay, so having been taken over by a total stranger was beyond spooky, but at least I felt less intimidated by dead people under broad daylight.

  Holtz got off the train and took a cab, maneuvering my body flawlessly. He even gave his destination to the driver. I tried my best to visualize Jackie miraculously popping up with Brian Powers in tow, since every self-help book I had read said that picturing your desired outcome and feeling it as real is the first step of making it real. Unfortunately, neither Jackie nor Brian appeared in front of me.

  When the cab stopped at a low-rise building accommodating a lawyer’s office and small businesses, Holtz steered my body to tell the driver to wait in the parking lot. As I observed him in silence, he took the stairs to the third floor and went straight to the ballet school. A young woman with the figure of a dancer, probably a college student, was working as the receptionist and greeted him. He told her he was thinking about taking ballet classes. When he asked if it was okay for him to observe the lesson, the receptionist enthusiastically said it was fine. She had no idea about the person she was actually dealing with. I was no dancer, and I was a little bit on the chubby side to seriously take on ballet, but at least I looked less dubious than a dude in his mid-forties keenly watching little girls in their dance costumes.

  A dozen girls from about four to nine years old were practicing. They held the bar and stretched their little arms and legs in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. As I observed, I recalled the time when I took ballet lessons when I was five, before I noticed the bad blood between gravity and myself. Also, I thought I’d wear a super-frilly tutu—baby pink, I was thinking—and not the blue leotard that was so unflattering to my chubby stomach. I only took the lessons a couple of times. The teacher acted as if I was invisible, but she tried to recruit Alicia, and Mom was infuriated.

  While observing the lesson, Holtz kept glancing at the clock on the wall. He watched the girls for four full minutes, and then he thanked the receptionist and left. Intense was an understatement to describe the way he looked at two particular girls in the class. One was about seven years old, and the other looked about five. Still, he didn’t make me want to scream “Pedophile!” I knew nothing about David Holtz other than the fact he was murdered and had hijacked my body, but I could feel that he cared for them deeply.

  When he came back to the cab, he switched on my phone, and I mentally cried with joy. I expected him to make a long phone call or two, but he switched it off immediately after checking the time.

  Holtz gave another address to the driver. The cab headed into a residential area where large houses featured impeccably manicured lawns. Some of the mansions had a helipad in their yard. During the ride, he opened my purse again and ran a thorough inspection of the contents. When he took out my FBI employee ID card, I developed a temporary tachycardia out of nervousness. Having my ID improperly used by my captor wasn’t in my best interest.

  The cab reached the destination in no time and Holtz paid for the fare, which was good—at least I wouldn’t be remembered as a woman who bilked the taxi driver. He ambled toward a moderate-sized Victorian house. There was a Prius and a Lexus parked in the driveway, and for a while, he fidgeted. During that time, I noticed that I’d regained feelings in my fingers!

  Holtz tried to ring the doorbell. I resisted, but he was stronger than me. As I heard the bell’s ringing, I wished no one was home, but of course my wish was not granted.

  I heard footsteps approaching the doorstep and the door opened. A woman stood in front of me in a blue summer dress and extra-heavy makeup.

  “Hello?” she said, sounding more like a question than a greeting. Due to heavy layers of co
smetics, it was hard to estimate her age, but as she spoke, I assumed she was in her early- to mid-thirties.

  Under normal circumstances, I would have acted weirdly, because I didn’t know what to say other than “Hello.”

  Still, Holtz was in charge of my body. “Hello, my name is Amanda Meyer. I come from the FBI’s New York City field office.” He showed my ID to her without my permission. “So, Mrs. Holtz, I’d like to ask you a few questions about Mr. David Holtz.”

  Had I had control over my body, my jaw would have dropped. In the past few hours, I’d been obsessed with the worst-case scenario about Holtz getting even with his killer using my body; however, meeting his family wasn’t something I expected as my captor’s motive.

  “Oh my….” Mrs. Holtz gasped in surprise. “Thank you for coming. I appreciate your time. Please come in.”

  Holtz thanked her and followed her inside to the cozy home with a number of family photos and kids’ drawings decorating the walls. A variety of cards and decorative papers were scattered over the table in the living room, and in the center was a smiling photo of David Holtz.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Mrs. Holtz said shyly. “The kids were working on them for their father’s funeral. They wanted to keep on working, but I persuaded them to go to their ballet lesson. I want them to spend their time as normally as possible.”

  That was an aha moment for me. The girls he’d observed at the ballet school were his daughters. “I understand. I’m sorry for your loss,” David Holtz offered condolences—for his own death. “How are you all holding up?”

  “We’re still shocked and confused, but we’re good. Thank you for asking.” Mrs. Holtz smiled. “I got a call from his company informing me we’ll have not only the insurance but worker’s comp death benefits as well.” The tone of her voice was unexpectedly dry.

  I feared my captor would get bitter and cast a nasty comment or two to his widow, but instead he displayed an empathic smile. “Oh, isn’t that consoling?” he said.

  “So, did you find out anything new about the killer?” Mrs. Holtz asked.

  “The killers, to be precise,” David Holtz said, and my ears perked. Agent Petite didn’t mention this piece of information to me. “Your husband was assaulted by a couple of young men with long hair and tattoos. In spite of your husband giving away his cash, the robbers tried to take away his credit cards and driver’s license. They got into a struggling match, murdering Mr. Holtz.”

  “Oh….” Mrs. Holtz sighed. “I can’t believe he ended up dead because of silly credit cards and a driver’s license. His work often required traveling to crime-infested big cities, so we had discussed the possibility of being mugged. I learned in self-defense class that you always hand over whatever the mugger wants. I told Dave that! He was such a smart person, but sometimes he can be… no, I mean, he could be such an ass. His stubbornness cost me my husband and his daughters their daddy,” she muttered, stroking the picture of her late husband.

  David Holtz, the murdered husband, didn’t respond. He didn’t even try to justify himself to his wife. I wondered if I looked saddened, confused, or was crying, but there was no way to know. David Holtz was still in charge of my body, and I wasn’t at liberty to look into the mirror on the wall.

  I completely agreed with Mrs. Holtz’s opinion. If the same thing happened to someone I knew, I would have said, “Damn it! How could he be such an ass?” Still, even I couldn’t say those exact words to the victim himself.

  David Holtz flawlessly played the part of an FBI employee coming from Manhattan. Using my mouth and my words, he promised his wife that he’d be in touch when the killers were caught, and then he left.

  Approximately twenty steps after leaving the house, my legs stopped moving. I was beginning to feel gravity on my body.

  Raising my hands, I wiggled my fingers and stomped my feet, just to ensure that I had regained the power to control my body. As I clenched my hands into fists and then extended my fingers, I noticed the ghost of David Holtz standing in front of me. He wasn’t bleeding anymore. Except for being a tad bit transparent, he looked just like a normal human.

  “Hello, Ms. Meyer. I apologize for all the trouble.”

  “Well, Mr. Holtz… I’m sorry about your death,” I mumbled. I didn’t have the heart to say things that could potentially rub salt in his wound.

  “No one can do anything about my death.” He looked up at the sky. “Still, I was so glad to see my wife and kids one last time. I can’t thank you enough.”

  I glanced up at the sky, taking in the same scenery as Holtz. I caught sight of a black helicopter flying toward us from the corner of my eyes. “You could have talked to the girls,” I suggested. “Hey, Mrs. Holtz is going to pick up your daughters from the ballet school, isn’t she? I could help you talk to them, perhaps hug them and say good-bye.”

  “Thanks but no thanks.” Smiling sadly, he shook his head. “I appreciate your offer, but I’d cry my eyes out if I actually encountered Cindy and Melissa. Considering that you’re a total stranger to them, I’d only scare them. I don’t want to traumatize my kids.”

  “I understand.” I nodded. He had a point. “By the way, you said the cause of your death was a robbery gone wrong.” I steered the conversation to the one I needed to have in the first place.

  “Yes, one was blond with long hair reaching the middle of his back, and the other had frizzy dark hair to his shoulders. The blond one had a Pikachu tattoo around here.” Holtz indicated the inside of his left wrist and made a face. “How lame! As for the frizzy, dark-haired guy, he had a skull earring on his right earlobe.”

  “I see.” I furiously scribbled his words on my notepad. “You have contributed to a number of national security projects. Did they try to milk information regarding any of the projects in which you’ve been involved?” My voice got louder, mostly because I had to compete with the helicopter noise. It was in the neighborhood, landing somewhere nearby—perhaps on one of the mansions with a helipad.

  “Oh, that’s why the FBI came to ask me questions.” He tilted his head to the side.

  “Yes. Your death is being investigated as a possible act of terrorism.” I nodded, and then I realized I hadn’t switched on my phone. Booting it up, I grimaced. “I have to report your words to the agent I was working with, except he was looking at me like he was dealing with a temperamental swindler.”

  “Sorry about that. I was in a hurry. Still, I’m so glad. Not only was I able to see my daughters one last time, but I even talked to Bella, my wife.” He smiled apologetically.

  “You know, I don’t think she’d have called you stupid if she knew she was talking to you,” I said.

  “Thank you, but she had a point. I was stupid resisting the muggers. At first, I gave up my cash and credit cards, but they tried to make me tell them the PIN to my debit cards and I snapped. I created those PINs out of my daughters’ birthdays using one of my star algorithms, and the next thing I knew I was fighting them—only to be murdered.”

  “Oh… that’s terrible” was all I could say.

  “I know. Still, it was nice to know that my wife cried like crazy. You saw her heavy makeup, right? When she cries, she hides the blotches on her face with layers of foundation and eye makeup.”

  “Your family will miss you.” I wasn’t yelling anymore because the helicopter noise had faded.

  “I know.” He smiled, and then he disappeared.

  All of a sudden, my phone beeped, and Jackie popped up in my face from out of nowhere.

  Startled, I jumped up a foot. When I landed on the ground, one of my fingers touched the talk button.

  “Mandy!” Jackie, hugging me and coming through my body, and Rowling, from the other end of the phone line, said in unison.

  “Mandy, you’re safe! Look at the helicopter, the one landing on the helipad at that huge mansion. It’s carrying Rick and Brian,” Jackie said breathlessly, flapping her arms like wings.

  “Are you back in control?” Rowling s
houted over the phone, perhaps competing with the chopper rotor sound. “I’m coming to you with Brian. He should be able to exorcise whatever ghost is possessing you.”

  “Hi, Rick!” I deliberately produced a cheerful voice. “I’m fine. Everything’s under control. By the way, this case was a robbery gone wrong and not terrorism.” I told him the description of the killers.

  Three minutes later, a black Escalade pulled up, almost running over me. Rowling bounded out with Brian in tow. “Mandy! Are you okay?” He grabbed me and hugged me so tight I almost choked.

  “I’m good. Thanks!” I gasped. Then I did a little wave of my fingers at the exorcist. “Hi, Brian, thank you for coming.”

  “I told you to stop messing with the dead!” he snapped. “It’s dangerous for an untrained amateur like you.”

  I nodded in agreement, but Rowling turned to him. “Brian, you don’t need to shout. At least she’s got the situation under control, and she’s even managed to obtain information from the victim.”

  “She did, like hell.” Brian shrugged. “Rick, you owe me eight grand for my travel and trouble.” He looked considerably paler than usual. When I pointed it out, he spat, “Choppers are hell!”

  “He had a heck of a time with motion sickness, and he’s extra cranky,” Jackie whispered in my ear.

  According to her, while she was looking for someone, anyone who could talk to her, she came across an electronics shop with a bunch of TVs airing a live show featuring Brian Powers himself. She went directly to the studio, looking for Brian—she didn’t need to present a visitor’s pass, which was one of the perks of being a ghost. Blissfully, Brian was able to communicate with her, so she asked him to help me. It was fortunate that he recognized her as my guardian angel.

  Meanwhile, the moment Rowling finished—and passed—his physical fitness test, he got a call from Agent Mike Petite, complaining about my lousy service and lousier attitude. My boss questioned him further about my erratic behavior, and he immediately knew something went wrong. He snagged Brian for help and even went so far as to use USCAB resources to access security camera feeds covering all of Manhattan. When they found me, I was on a train heading for Connecticut. They immediately jumped in the helicopter in order to get me faster.