Givin' Up The Ghost (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Mystery)

by Gwen Gardner

  Badger, in rolled up sleeves and faded jeans, tossed his wet bar towel onto the counter and joined us. The stone fireplace radiated much needed warmth toward our table.

  He gave my braid a quick tug before he sat. “I meant to ask yesterday - how’s your knee?”

  “Stiff, but otherwise okay.” My knee still throbbed, but the less said about that, the better, especially since the rather embarrassing situation in the snug. Propping my jean-clad leg on another chair, I dangled my multicolored, polka-dotted rain-boot over the edge. Bending my knee was still rather painful.

  He smiled. “Good. What are you guys up to?” Leaning over, he stoked the fire and added another piece of wood. One of the few pubs that still used a real fire, our choice seats would be in demand once the lunch crowd arrived.

  “Not much, we’re going to buy groceries and stopped by for an early lunch first,” said Simon.

  “I’m starving,” I said. “What’s good on the menu today?” I set my rucksack on the floor and looked toward the menu board for the daily specials.

  “The fish ‘n’ chips are good,” Badger answered. “And the Sheppard’s Pie is good, too, depending on what kind of mood the cook is in.” He grinned.

  “And today?” I asked.

  A timely clatter of pots and pans crashing in the kitchen, accompanied by a string of curse words, flowed down the hall in waves of gutter language. I’m no prude, truly I’m not. But I had no control over my flushing cheeks.

  “You’d better go with the fish.” Badger laughed, which I observed at our last meeting made the lines crinkle around his eyes. It transformed his whole face, making him irresistibly cute. But enough of that.

  “Fish it is, then,” said Simon.

  “Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll have that, too.”

  Badger went to put in our order, while I filled mugs with coffee from behind the bar.

  Bringing the mugs back to the table, I slid back into my seat. “When are you going to ask him about the police investigation?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Simon whispered back. He chewed his lip nervously before continuing. “People are starting to come in for lunch.” Indeed, a group of people had come in, laughing and shaking rain from their clothing. “I think Badger’s about to be too busy to sit back down with us.”

  I sighed. Now that I had decided to help with the murder investigation, I wanted to get on with it.

  “And that old bugger over there banging his pint glass on the bar isn’t helping matters, either,” Simon added.

  When I turned to look at the man on the end barstool, the psychic ambush almost toppled me from my chair. The short hairs on the back of my neck and arms pricked up. I swayed and shivered uncontrollably, the overwhelming noxious alcohol fumes engulfing me. I gagged into my shaking, cupped hands, ineffectually trying to block the smell. Dizziness threatened to overcome me.

  Thankfully, when Simon grabbed my arm, the connection to the man was broken. I took a shaky breath. That was truly a first for me. Psychic intoxication.

  Chapter Six

  Psychic Intoxication

  “Hey, earth to Indigo.” Simon waved his hand in front of my face. The hazy spell finally broke. I turned back to Simon trying to control the nauseous feeling of alcohol sloshing around inside my stomach. And I had never had an alcoholic drink in my life!

  “Are you all right?” Simon asked, looking concerned. “You’re awfully pale.”

  “Yes, I just...” I shook my head to clear it. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear with a shaky hand. “Simon, who is that man sitting at the bar – the one on the end – the one you pointed out to me?”

  He glanced to the bar briefly, then back to me. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “We need to know who he is. I’ll explain later,” I whispered, as a girl brought food to our table.

  “Hiya, Sharon!” said Simon, with a big smile.

  I should have known the girl was a friend. He seemed to know all the girls in town, and they all seemed to have a crush on him. I supposed his good looks, unruly blonde hair and amber-brown eyes helped. But it’s his endearing little-boy-flirty-smile that does the trick.

  “Hello Simon,” the girl answered with a smile of her own, setting our food on the table as she glanced over at me.

  “Have you met my cousin Indigo?” he asked.

  “Hello,” Sharon said to me, friendlier now that she understood I wasn’t the competition. She was exactly Simon’s type; blond, blue-eyed and pretty. I wondered why he didn’t ask her out.

  I smiled. “Hi Sharon, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Hey, I was wondering who that guy is at the end of the bar – I think I know him from somewhere,” said Simon.

  Sharon looked over her shoulder. “That’s Claude Burns. Don’t you remember? He works over at Saint Mildred’s as the groundskeeper. He’s the one that set fire to the church on Guy Fawkes Day last year. He was drunk and tossed his cigarette into the fireworks and almost blew up the church where they were stored.”

  “I remember now,” Simon said.

  Sharon flicked a lock of blonde hair over her shoulder and continued. “Shortly after that some kids found him butt naked in the vestry, drunk as anything, and singing a song about a banshee. It scared them to death, didn’t it?” She said the statement like it was a question, then lowered her voice. “He’s a menace to society.”

  “Thanks,” said Simon.

  “No problem.” Sharon smiled over her shoulder at Simon as she went to wait on other customers.

  When Sharon was out of earshot, Simon asked, “Okay, so what’s the deal?” He smothered his fish and chips with vinegar before taking a huge bite of fish.

  I sighed. “I’m not sure.” I bit into a chip and then told him about what happened when I first looked at Claude. How the sensation was physical, as if I had taken on his drunken state, right down to the smell and the nausea. “I wonder if he knows anything about Bart. Is he a regular here? Would he know Bart, do you think?”

  “I don’t know, but it would be pretty easy to find out.” He pulled out his notebook and wrote Claude Burns on the first page, and then snapped it shut, self-satisfied at his first entry.

  Still cold, wet and gray, at least the rain had finally stopped. I had scheduled a man to come and sweep the chimney, so I headed home, while Simon stayed behind to talk to Badger.

  The kitchen was cold, but prudence said not to light a fire. I’m not normally accident prone, but lately I’m thinking it’s better to be on the safe side. I’d be mortified if I burned up the chimney-sweep dude.

  I answered the knock at the front door to a man dressed in top hat and coat with tails, and quite dirty with coal dust. His white teeth shone out of a smudged face. I’m pretty sure the coal dust was part of the Victorian costume.

  “Hullo, luv, I’m here to sweep the chimney,” he said, tipping his hat with a flourish and bowing low.

  I had to smile. This guy went all out to portray a Victorian sweep. “Hello,” I replied. “I think if you’d go around to the back that would be the easiest thing to do. The fireplace that needs cleaning is in the kitchen.”

  “Right-o,” he said, laughing. “Pardon me. I forgot. The ‘elp should always go ‘round the back.” He walked off singing.

  At the back of the house, this time I opened the door to a youth, dressed the same, his arms loaded with brushes on long poles. His large brown eyes and crooked-toothed grin shone out of a grimy face.

  The two sweeps began to roll tarps out on the floor and covered the table with sheets to avoid getting coal dust in the room. The boy, about fourteen-years-old, with a slight build, stood inside the fireplace and began brushing, while the other chimney sweep went up on the roof.

  The job took no more than an hour, and then they were packing up their equipment.

  The boy sang as he rolled up the tarps, something about night and day and shadows in between.

  Goose bumps rose on my arms at the words, and chills sna
ked down my spine. They seemed to fit my life perfectly, sort of stuck between two worlds, between night and day, light and dark, with shadows lurking between the two.

  “What song is that you’re singing?” I asked, rubbing the chill from my arms.

  He grinned. “An old ditty about chimney sweepers. Its good luck, you know, to shake ‘ands with a chimney sweep.”

  I laughed. “Is it? Well, I can use all the luck I can get.” I stuck my hand in his and gave it a hardy shake. And sort of wished I hadn’t. Not because of the grimy soot, but because of the flash of trouble I glimpsed through the contact.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Deangelo Cappellano. Cappy for short.” He flashed a dazzling smile, which took the attention away from his rather prominent nose.

  “I’m Indigo Eady. It’s nice to meet you, Cappy.” When he would have pulled away, I increased the pressure on his hand. “Stay out of the park tonight,” I said, with a final squeeze of his hand before I released it.

  His smile slipped as he stared at me open-mouthed.

  “How did...how do you know...”

  Chapter Seven

  Interfering Ghost

  I grinned. “You’ll see.” Sometimes being psychic was okay. Especially when the little dude would avoid trouble by simply staying home that night.

  Once the chimney sweeps left, I went upstairs to gather laundry. I figured I might as well earn my keep. First I collected clothes from the hamper in Uncle Richard’s bathroom, then from the floor in Simon’s room, saving my room for last.

  My room was painted yellow, someone’s attempt to brighten up the décor on a dreary day. A dream catcher hung above my bed, for all the good it did me. Supposedly it trapped the bad dreams and let the good dreams slide down the feathers into dream time to give me good dreams. But I still suffered from bad-dream-intrusion.

  The room wasn’t bad. A twin bed, an easy chair in the corner, and a desk and chair against another wall. A trunk at the foot of the bed held everything I owned, everything I was able to bring with me when my father died.

  The room was abnormally neat for a teenager, partly because I didn’t own much. But mostly because I hadn’t unpacked yet. I was on the verge, though. Really I was.

  The best part of the room was the bay window with colorful pillows and cushions to sit or lie on, and a huge oak tree right outside. A nice place to while away the hours, if I could ever get any peace!

  The room was quiet for a change – no sign of spirit activity. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason as to when spirits were active, except they seemed to be more prevalent in the middle of the night. But having stayed up all night the night before, sleepiness suddenly overtook me. Changing into sweats and bunny slippers, I curled up on the window seat and wrapped myself in a blanket. Only for a few minutes, I told myself. And then I would start the laundry.

  When I opened my eyes, it was to a twilit room. For a brief moment my world was normal. Well, normal for me, anyway. But then I remembered. I sighed and cast a glance around the room. Perhaps this was the new normal, perhaps...

  I frowned. What was that smell? A fragrant perfume filled the room. I sniffed, looking around for the source. A lit pink candle glowed on my desk, casting dancing shadows on the walls. And now I became aware of other things, as well. Pretty tasseled pillows piled on my bed, with matching throw blankets. Personal items from my trunk were now arranged on my dresser and desk. A photograph of me with both my parents when I was younger sat on the nightstand.

  Someone had unpacked my things! I jumped up, incensed. Did Simon do this? No, he wouldn’t. And that’s when I glimpsed the old-fashioned figure of a woman drift through my bedroom door.

  I ran to the door and flung it open, catching sight of the spirit as she turned the corner and zipped downstairs. I charged after her.

  “You!” I yelled, running after her. “Stop. Right. Now!” I chased her down the back servant’s stairs, which wasn’t easy in bunny slippers with six inch floppy ears.

  I burst into the kitchen, skidding along like a penguin on ice toward the table. Seated at the table, Badger yelled, “Whoa!” jumping up with hands out to try and break my fall before I went head first over the table. I tried to put on the brakes. But when you’re me? Not so easy.

  Simon, always so helpful in these situations, jumped away from the table, laughing.

  Lying halfway across the table, with Badger’s hands around my waist, and bunny feet waving in the air, I cleared my throat. “Ummm. Sorry, am I interrupting?” You’d think I could come up with a better line than that, given how often these things happened. But no, I had to go and act like I was about to throw myself onto the table anyway. My face grew hot as Badger helped me off the table, his arms around me. Okay, so clumsiness had its benefits. Not that I’m clumsy, mind you. Merely a stage I was going through. A matter of equilibrium.

  “No, we were just talking.” Badger laughed. “Are you all right?” He steadied me and then took his arms away.

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  “Do you ever just walk anywhere?” he asked, with crinkled eyes. “Because running seems to be hazardous to your health. And mine.”

  I glared daggers at Simon, who stood there snorting.

  “I uh, I was, um, chasing the cat,” I improvised. “She uh, she stole my hair tie.” Yeah, that was good. “See? No tie, hair down.” I tried to smooth my hair back with my hands, but I’m pretty sure I looked like a wild woman. Badger reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “I like what you’ve done with your widow’s peak,” he said. “The white streak against your black hair is awesome.”

  “Oh, um, thanks,” I said. “But it’s natural, not bleached. I was born with it.” My grandmother on my mother’s side was an elder in the Viejas band of Kumeyaay Indians in San Diego where I came from. She’s gone now, too, but she knew about these things. She said it meant I was special. Yeah, so special the kids at school teased me until recently, when two-toned hair suddenly became cool.

  He looked surprised. “Oh. Brilliant.”

  I nodded, nothing more to say. Brilliant was better than freak.

  “I didn’t know you had a cat.” He looked at Simon.

  “Yep,” said Simon, looking around. “We recently acquired her. She’s running around here somewhere.”

  The boys sat back down at the table.

  “Let me grab a bite and a cup of coffee and I’ll leave you two alone,” I said. Plus, I needed to go deal with that interfering ghostie. The nerve of her, unpacking my things! She must be quite powerful, though, to move stuff about like that. My stomach flip-flopped a bit, thinking about it.

  “No, that’s all right,” said Badger. “We were talking about my dad. It’s not a secret...” he shrugged his shoulders, “... just frustrating. The police aren’t taking his disappearance seriously.”

  “Really? What do they say?” I asked.

  I know dealing with police can be frustrating. Somehow they don’t take it seriously when you say you feel someone is in danger, or that someone would never do or act in a certain way.

  I poured a cup of coffee and took a bite of plain bagel before sitting down at the table.

  What Badger didn’t know, what nobody knew, was that I had dreamed of my father’s death and had begged him not to go to work that fateful day. But he said he had to, that everything would be all right. But it wasn’t all right. He died that night.

  I frequently wondered if our destinies were already set. If he had stayed home that day, would he have been saved? Or would he have died the day after? I didn’t know. All the what ifs were enough to drive anyone crazy. It didn’t do to dwell on things.

  Simon cleared his throat. “Badger was telling me the police refused to take a missing person’s report. They checked around a bit, talked to a few people, but with no indication of foul play, they think his dad left of his own free will.”

  “And what do you think, Badger?” I asked. This w
as it – the moment when we should be telling him that his dad was dead. My hands shook slightly, and my heart sped up.

  Badger looked down at his hands for a minute before answering. “He wouldn’t have left us. Even if he and mum were having problems...”

  “Were they?” I interrupted. I held my breath. Most people were touchy about the subject.

  “No, absolutely not,” he replied.

  Simon and I exchanged an uncomfortable look, which was intercepted by Badger.

  “What?” He looked back and forth between me and Simon.

  I became intensely interested in the design on my coffee mug, turning it back and forth between my hands. Simon squirmed in his chair, desperately trying to think of how to say what he had to say now that the moment had arrived.

  “What did you hear?” Badger demanded impatiently. “What’s going on? Simon?”

  “Well, the thing is, mate” Simon began. “It’s like this...Indigo has something to say.”

  Chapter Eight

  Indigo Revealed

  Simon got up and poked the coals nervously after throwing me under the bus.

  “For heaven’s sake,” I said in exasperation to Simon’s back. With a deep breath I turned back to Badger and blurted it out. “Badger, I could see and speak to spirits ever since I was a little girl. And sometimes I dream things that happen. Sometimes I have visions. I never know how I’m going to receive the information that I’m given.”

  An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

  Badger tilted his head to the side. “Sorry? I don’t quite understand.”

  Color drained from my face, a dark foreboding taking its place. He wouldn’t believe what I had to say, but I couldn’t back out now. “I spoke to your dad’s spirit – he had a head wound, right at the back...” I pointed to the back of my skull.

  The atmosphere changed at once. Silence stretched out like a long, black road, and Badger’s face the roadmap with every emotion plain to follow. First incomprehension. Then disbelief, denial, fear. And then the almighty anger.