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

by Gwen Gardner

  Badger watched closely as I ran my fingers over the photographs. Stopping on a photo of a young Indian couple, a sharp intake of breath erupted behind me.

  “Who are these people?” I asked, unpinning the photo and holding it out to him.

  He took the photo. “Shelly and Nat, my dad’s secretary and her fiancé. She disappeared at the same time as my dad. It had people talking.” He looked at me questioningly. “Are you getting anything from this photo?”

  “I was drawn to it, certainly.” I took the photo back and put it in the folder. “It may be something, or it may mean nothing. It may be that she disappeared at the same time. I don’t know for sure. But him,” I waved the photo of Nat and Shelly, “I feel something not quite right about him.”

  I turned back to the corkboard and took down a few more photos and inserted them into the folder as well.

  I carried the folder over to the desk. Under a bunch of papers was Bart’s calendar. After flipping through a few pages, I put it in the folder as well. I made one more turn of the room and then looked to Badger.

  “We’d better copy these first, and put them back as soon as possible. There’s that place down around the corner – The Copy Corral. With both of us, it shouldn’t take long. I’ll let Simon know what we’re doing.” I pulled my cell phone out and hit speed dial.

  By the time we arrived back at the snug, Simon and Riley had already started a suspect list based on the people questioned in the police report. I laid the bulging folder of copies on the table and took off my coat. I sniffed the air and looked around, spying a small table in the corner with a half-full pot of coffee.

  “Awesome!” I walked over to pour a cup. “Thanks,” I said to Riley, with such a profound look of gratitude that it made everyone smile.

  Simon held the list of suspects he and Riley had come up with so far, while I pulled the copied photographs out of the folder.

  I handed the photos over to Badger. “First, who are all these people?” He took the photos and started naming the individuals, “Andy Hall...”

  “Check,” said Simon, making a mark on the murder board.

  “Butch Stolerman.”

  “Check,” said Simon again.

  “Gerald Puttock.”

  “Check.” Simon made another checkmark.

  “Nat Pradeep and Shelly Patil,” Badger finished.

  “Check and check,” said Simon, making two more checkmarks.

  They turned as one to look at me, like I was a particularly interesting specimen in a jar, maybe something with two heads.

  “That’s amazing,” said Badger. “You picked out a photo for every suspect on the list, before we even had a list.”

  “Yeah, sometimes I get lucky like that.” I lowered my head to hide cheeks warming into a blush. Finally, I wasn’t making a fool of myself. I hadn’t run over Badger all day. But the best thing about all this was they weren’t ridiculing me, or looking at me fearfully, or treating me like an escaped mental case. Or chanting, witch, witch, witch, and calling for my head on the gallows, which had happened to me at school a few years ago. People were afraid of what they didn’t understand.

  I cleared my throat. “Right – let’s talk about what’s missing. I didn’t see a laptop in his office, and presumably he had a cell phone. Do you have them?” I looked from Badger to Riley.

  “No, they’re both missing,” Badger answered.

  “Cell phone records?” I asked, hopefully.

  “It’s a business mobile provided by Shoreline Construction as part of his consulting contract,” Riley answered. “The records are not available to us due to privacy laws...but I’m working on it.”

  Badger eyed his sister thoughtfully. That made twice that day she had surprised us. I was pretty sure we didn’t want to know where she got her information. Sort of like, what we didn’t know wouldn’t hurt us. Still, the potential possibilities made me squirm.

  “Okay,” I said, “what about the camera? There are a great deal of photos, both of family and friends and construction sites in his home office.”

  Badger and Riley looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “Another item for the missing list,” said Simon. All the while he wrote notes on the investigation board, and taped photos above the suspect’s names. He wrote the word ‘camera’ in the corner with a question mark next to it. “Now, how are these people connected to your dad? I know that Shelly was his secretary and Nat her fiancé,” he said, scribbling. “And of course Gerald Puttock owns the pub around the corner, and let’s see...Butch is the butcher next door, and so, hmmm.” He was mostly talking to himself. “Andy Hall is that developer he sometimes works for. Got it!” He looked up with a self-satisfied grin.

  We discussed Claire’s birthday party at the pub the night before Bart’s disappearance, and added a separate list of attendees to the investigation board. Obviously, some of the names were duplicated. That was bound to happen with a close community and long-time friends. Badger worked the open bar the night of the party and hadn’t observed anything unusual. Riley was at home babysitting their little brothers, Henry and Harry. Simon, feeling that every piece of information was important, recorded these facts on the investigation board.

  I stared down at the board, thinking we had a pretty good start.

  “I hate to bring this up.” Badger frowned down at the board. “But have you noticed a pattern?”

  I studied the board. Nothing sprang out at me.

  Badger looked up with a frown. “All of our suspects are friends.”

  Chapter Ten

  Won’t You Come In?

  We stared at each other, slightly in shock.

  “Well, they do say that it’s always someone you know,” said Simon philosophically.

  “Yeah,” said Badger, tapping the board. “But these people? I can’t imagine it.” He shook his head.

  “It could still be someone you don’t know,” I said to Badger and Riley. “This,” I pointed to the board. “This is just a beginning. We’ll be adding to it.”

  “Yes,” said Riley, “that’s true. But I think we should prepare ourselves anyway.” She began gathering the empty glasses on a tray. “I mean, who would’ve imagined anyone would have had a reason to kill dad? I don’t trust anyone anymore.”

  “She’s right. We need to keep an open mind,” said Simon. “We can’t cross someone off the list because we’ve known them a long time.”

  We all agreed.

  Simon and Riley worked on Tuesday evenings, so Badger and I went to see Nat. We took a shortcut through the park and crossed the Sabrina River using the footbridge, the fastest way to Nat’s flat.

  Cold, gray and misty, I bundled into my pea coat and boots, topped with hat and scarf. I eyed Badger, who was pretty much dressed the same. Note to self: learn how to dress like a girl, girlfriend.

  When we arrived at Nat’s apartment on River Bridge Street, a few minutes of fumbling took place on the other side of the door before he opened it. Without saying a word, he left the door open and walked back into his flat. Glancing warily at each other, we shrugged and followed him inside. Not much of a greeting, but this wasn’t a social call.

  Everything in the tiny flat could be taken in at a glance. Every surface was covered with...stuff. Lots of stuff. Nothing appeared to have its own place. Nat poured himself a drink from a half empty whiskey bottle, half-heartedly offering us a drink, which we both declined. Neither of us drank, but even if we did, by the looks of his glass it hadn’t been washed in months. I tried not to breathe in too deeply, because the dude’s place was rank with stale alcohol, rotting garbage and unwashed body odor.

  Nat was average height and extremely thin. His sharp shoulder-blades slumped inward. The whites of his large brown eyes were jaundice-yellow, and sunk deep into his skull with protruding cheekbones. Of Indian descent, he was naturally dark-skinned, which no doubt kept him from the sickly pallor that could be sensed beneath the surface. Nat was a sick man. The room in w
hich we found ourselves reflected that underlying sickness.

  The whole place gave me the creeps. Nat shoved clothing, newspapers and candy wrappers off the tattered sofa and chair, tucking an unfinished bottle of whiskey beneath the chair cushion, before indicating that we should sit down. I sat on the edge of my chair, trying not to touch more than I had to.

  He never did invite us to remove our dripping jackets.

  “So what can I do for you?” he asked Badger, sinking into his chair with a backward rock. Half drunk already, he must have started downing the booze as soon as he arrived home.

  “You’ve probably heard they found my dad’s body?”

  Nat nodded, hiding his face in his glass and taking a sip.

  “So I’m wondering if you’ve had word from Shelly,” he added. The room turned a few degrees colder, if that was possible. I shivered.

  “No,” said Nat, slurring. “She ran away with him,” he answered, gesturing with his glass and sloshing whiskey onto the greasy carpet.

  “How do you know?” asked Badger. “I mean, do you have any proof?”

  And then the explosion. “Proof?” he said. “I don’t need any proof, other than what I can feel with my own gut!” He thumped his stomach, becoming more agitated by the minute. “They were always huddled together telling their secrets, weren’t they? Every time he called, she’d go running.” He patted his shirt pocket and pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes. He lit one with shaky hands and blew out a long stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “At your mums party they were wedged together in the corner all night, whispering who knows what.” He was so silent for a moment that I started to think he forgot about us. But then he continued. “We had a huge row about it after. And what did she do?” he spat, spittle flying from his mouth. “As soon as he called she ran off to him. And I haven’t seen her since.” He took another drag from his cigarette and flicked the ashes on the floor, landing atop scattered newspapers. We had to get out of there before dude started a fire.

  I think Badger figured he listened to enough of the vitriol. He stood up and prepared to leave, with me right behind him.

  “Thank you for your time,” said Badger, extending his hand for a handshake. Nat struggled out of the chair and shook his hand. I hadn’t said a word during the interview, but I politely held out my hand, too.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. Nat scowled but took my hand reluctantly. He clearly didn’t think much of women, which was verified in the next moment when our hands met. The instantaneous vision lasted while our hands were still joined, and rolled like a fast-forward scene in a movie. Nat shook Shelly by both arms and yelled into her face. Crying, Shelly tried to get away, but Nat held her tightly, his fingers digging small divots into her arms.

  I gasped when Nat pulled his hand back. The palm of my hand burned something fierce. I shoved it, throbbing, into my coat pocket. A look of concern crossed Badger’s face. I tried to grin, but I’m sure it came out more like a grimace.

  Badger took my elbow and led me down the street, holding our tongues until we were well away from that foul little hell-hole.

  “Hey,” he said. “Are you all right? What happened in there?”

  I sighed. How would I explain this?

  “I, um, sometimes get visions through touching. It’s called Psychometry – reading the energy of objects or people through touch. When I shook hands with Nat, I had a vision of him shaking Shelly, pretty violently.”

  Badger looked at me like I had a third eye in the middle of my forehead.

  “The violence manifested itself by burning my hand.” I pulled my trembling hand out of my pocket, palm skyward. Tiny blisters bubbled up, bright, red and angry.

  Badger gently lifted the back of my hand to peer closer at my palm. Both hands were scarred from past energy surges, much like the one I experienced with Nat, and I tugged them back, embarrassed.

  “Blimey!” he exclaimed, shocked at the sight. “Come on.” He grabbed my elbow. “We need to get something on those blisters.”

  A smile tugged at my lips at the “blimey” word. It was so foreign and cute coming from him. Focus, Indigo.

  His concern touched me, but I shook my head. “No need. It will be gone in a few days. I can take care of it.” I had to downplay it if I didn’t want him to continue thinking that I was hazardous to his health.

  He eyed my pale face disbelievingly, but we continued walking along the dark street in silence.

  Tension, like a third entity, walked between us.

  “What is it?” I asked. Maybe he already regretted getting involved with me – I mean the investigation.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. We should probably call this whole thing off. It’s not your problem, after all. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

  “No!” I exclaimed, tugging on his sleeve, forcing him to stop. “We need...we want to do this, Simon and me.” I began walking and he followed. I sensed he had questions after that outburst, but I didn’t want to talk about it right then.

  “How about you,” I said, touching his arm lightly. “Are you okay?”

  He laughed flatly. “If you call hearing your dad is a cheater more than once, then yeah, I’m brilliant.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

  “I know. It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I’m learning to grow thick skin, but I’m not quite there yet. It’s not every day your dad gets murdered.”

  No, it’s not. The authorities ruled my dad’s death a suicide, but I knew better. Like Bart, he had been murdered. But I hadn’t told anyone yet, not even Simon.

  Badger sighed. “Sorry, I’m just tired. It’s been hard with my dad gone, trying to help mum with the kids, running the pub and-” He looked at me apologetically. “Listen to me, rambling on.”

  “That’s okay. I know it’s hard.”

  “You do know, don’t you? I forget you just lost your dad as well. I’m sorry for that, if I haven’t told you.”

  “Thanks. And me, too. I’m sorry about your dad.” I wasn’t ready to speak about my father yet, so a change of subject was in order. “Look Badger, I know it looks bad, and as far as I’m concerned, Nat goes to the top of the suspect list. But being an abusive, jealous boyfriend doesn’t make him a murderer.”

  Badger nodded in reluctant agreement as we headed back through the park. The steely-gray night filled with mist lifting off the river. Fog floated thickly in the air. At least the rain had finally taken a break. Sane people stayed inside in this kind of weather. I never actually claimed to be sane, only that I wasn’t insane. There’s a difference.

  We walked through the lamp-lit park, along a meandering pathway. The illuminating yellow glow cast halos on the wet pavement. Halfway through the park a tingling started on the back of my skull.

  I took a deep breath. “Badger, don’t turn around, but I think we’re being followed,” I whispered.

  He glanced my way. “How do you know, did you see someone?”

  “Nope.” I shrugged. “Just one of those crazy feelings I get.” I waited for him to laugh or make fun. He didn’t.

  “Okay.” He linked his arm through mine. “Do you trust me?”

  I surprised myself by nodding.

  “Then follow my lead, okay?”

  He took hold of my good hand and I came to a stop, facing him under the halo of a lamp. He put his arms around me. “We’re just a pair of young lovers out for a walk, right?”

  Quick to understand the game plan, I put my hands on his chest and looked up into his face. “Right. Now what?” I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around his neck. I was on the verge of hyperventilating.

  “I’m going to kiss you.” Before I could protest, I mean if I wanted to, he leaned in for the kiss, turning me slightly, sweeping his eyes across the park toward the direction we had come from. His lips were firm, but soft against mine. He lifted his head and looked down into my face. Did I mention he was tall?

  “Well?” I
whispered, slightly breathless.

  “Nice. Very nice.” He smiled.

  I laughed softly. The darkness, my friend for a change, hid my warm cheeks. “Thanks. But I meant...”

  “Oh! Right. Two men. Near the entrance. And doing a pretty poor job of hiding behind a tree.”

  I laid my head against his chest so I could peek down the path. “It’s starting to rain again. If I’m not mistaken, it’s about to pour buckets. We can give them the slip by pretending to run from the rain.”

  “Yeah, we could,” he whispered. “But that would take all the fun out of what we’re doing now.”

  He was flirting with me. Me! I laughed again lightly. Given the situation, his heartbeat should have been rapid, erratic. Instead, it beat steady and reassuring beneath my palms.

  “Seriously, though.” I looked up into his face.

  “What color are your eyes?” he asked.

  If eyes are the gateway to the soul, he was staring straight at mine.

  “Focus,” I reminded him.

  “Oh. Right. Running it is, then.”

  “Do you think you can keep up?” I teased.

  “That sounds like a challenge.”

  I grinned up at him and hoped he couldn’t read the expression underneath. That had been my first kiss. Okay, not a real kiss, but for a fake one, it was really good.

  A crack of thunder followed by lightning and then torrential rain came right on cue. I pushed against Badger’s chest and took a few steps back, turning with a playful swagger, and a catch-me-if-you-can smile thrown back over my shoulder. I threw my long braid of wet hair back and crooked a finger at him playfully, inviting him to chase me, totally into the game now. And then I turned and ran for all I was worth, Badger on my heels.

  We tore off across the sodden grass, sprinting through bushes and trees toward a park exit. Rainwater streamed down our faces. I dashed toward a slit between buildings leading into a rundown historic area.