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

by Gwen Gardner

  And Badger believed I was a disaster.

  I struggled to swim up to the surface of the troubled sleep I finally achieved. An incessant knocking kept disturbing my lack-of-sleep induced coma.

  “Simon,” I mumbled, without opening my eyes, trying to stay asleep. “Get the door.” I pulled the blanket up to my chin and re-adjusted my position in the armchair. I wasn’t the least bit interested in who was at the door. I wanted to hibernate for a couple of months and come back renewed, possibly in spring.

  Last night I had gone back down to the kitchen when everyone had gone. Puffy eyed and bruised, I curled into my armchair. Simon and I sat silent for hours, staring into the fire. He tried to assure me that Badger had been wrong, but he may as well have been talking through a soup-can telephone, his voice tinny and indecipherable.

  The pounding still continued. With a frustrated sigh, I gathered my blanket around me and stumbled to the back door. Peeking through the curtains, I didn’t see anyone. And the knocking still continued.

  I turned back into the room. Simon still slept in his chair, Cleo curled in his lap. The loud knocking did not bother him in the least. I tamped down the uncharitable thoughts I was having about my dear cousin when I glimpsed the kitchen door to the living room vibrating and finally became conscious that the knocking came from the other side. I walked slowly to the door and stopped, listening.

  “Who’s there?” I whispered, pressing my ear to the door.

  “There you are dear,” said a kindly voice from the other side. “You’re terribly hard to wake - I’ve been pounding for hours.”

  Franny.

  With the herbal sachets above the door jamb, she couldn’t enter the kitchen. So she banged instead.

  I pushed against the door and stepped into the hall.

  “Hours?” I said. “Seriously?”

  “Well, not quite that long,” said Franny, contrite. “But I’ve been terribly worried, dear. Word is, you had an accident last night and I had to see for myself you were all right.”

  She wore a modest morning dress, her coal-black hair cascading down her back. She held a delicately monogrammed handkerchief in her hand and dabbed her nose with it.

  I wondered at the human traits of ghosts that they still retained after death. Did ghosts honestly have runny noses?

  Okay. Focus.

  “I’m fine. A small mishap with a balcony collaps...hang on. How did you know?” Now I was suspicious. I narrowed my eyes at her. “Were you eavesdropping?”

  “Well, I, I...I do live here, don’t I?” she asked indignantly. “And for your information I wasn’t eavesdropping on you. Others were speaking about it this morning and I happened to overhear.” She sniffed and dabbed her nose again.

  “Oh.” Others were the main reason I slept in the kitchen.

  “And I came straight here.”

  “Thank you, Franny. I’m fine. Truly.”

  She searched my face. “You look like a shipwreck, if you don’t mind my saying so, dear.”

  The cut under my eye had turned a nice shade of black and blue, and my eyes were swollen. Probably more from crying half the night than the accident. I had other scratches, too. Franny couldn’t see the damage to my arms or legs.

  She looked at me suspiciously. “What are you kids up to anyway?” Her eyes narrowed.

  I had to remember that Franny was once a madam and no doubt used to the dangers of this world. The nineteenth-century’s equivalent of street-smart.

  I vowed to google Franny Bishop, nineteenth century madam, when I had time. I reminded myself that I now had loads of time, since Badger called off the investigation.

  Shaking myself from my reverie, I countered with, “What do you know about any of this, Franny?”

  She turned and drifted down the hall, her long hair swaying.

  I recognized the delaying tactic. She was measuring her words, wondering how much to say.

  When she turned back, she looked resolved. “You’re in over your heads, that’s what I know!” She took a defiant stance.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean murder and mayhem and kids who don’t know what they’re getting into!” She looked scared, her form fading in and out in distress. The effort to continue communicating while upset was draining her energy. “If you’re not careful, you could end up dead!”

  I shivered. The hall was cold, and every time Franny drifted by my breath turned misty. “What have you heard, Franny?”

  Not that it mattered, because the investigation was over. But Franny clearly had something to get off her ample chest.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  What Franny Heard

  “You know I’m not one to gossip,” said Franny with her chin in the air. “But I don’t want to see any harm come to you.”

  “I know,” I said. “I appreciate your concern. I do. Please tell me.”

  “Well, when those pellucid poltergeists upstairs...” She pointed up and rolled her eyes (trust me, not a pretty sight,) “...started talking about you having an accident and coming home all scraped up, I listened in. You know how I like to look after my girls.”

  She considered me one of her girls. Strangely flattered, if I wasn’t so depressed, I might have laughed.

  The ghostly gossip network was clearly more extensive than I had originally thought.

  The chilly, mauve-painted hall became quite icy, with puffs of fog now issuing from my nose and mouth. Even the family photographs hanging on the walls were beginning to develop frost and grow icicles. My great grandfather’s portrait as a clean-shaven dandy now grew a white mustache and beard. If my relatives in the photos and portraits lining the hall started shivering, I was so out of there.

  I wished Franny would spit out what she wanted to say, but I patiently waited for her to continue.

  “It’s nice the boys chased that man away – I told you not to wear that skirt, dear – but I think they got the wrong man.”

  “What do you mean?” I was confused.

  “I mean Bart Bagley had an argument with Butch the butcher before he got killed.”

  “We know that, Franny, but an argument over an order is not a good reason for killing someone.” I had hoped Franny had something useful to tell me, but the information was redundant. “As a motive, it doesn’t make sense.” Deflated, I thanked her and started to turn away. What did it matter anyway? The investigation was over.

  “Yes, but did you know he also had an argument with that colleague of his? What was his name? Arnie. Yes, Arnie Ball, that’s it.” Her voice hung on a triumphant note.

  I stopped in my tracks, the tiny hairs rising on the back of my neck. My heart skipped rope at least ten times.

  “Do you mean Andy? Andy Hall?”

  “Yes, dear. That’s what I said. Andy Hall.” The look on her face was quite smug. She raised her chin and consciously flipped a long strand of hair back over her shoulder.

  “What did they argue about, do you know?” I wanted to grab her arm, keep her there, but I stopped myself. I had walked through ghosts many times, and the experience was unpleasant for both parties. Recovering from the creepy, chilly feeling took a while.

  “I don’t know, but apparently on the Tuesday – no Wednesday,” she corrected, “before he disappeared, he had lunch at a restaurant...” She tapped her chin. She drifted up and down the hall, shushing me and holding up her hand when I would have interrupted her concentration. “I know!” She snapped her fingers in sudden recollection. “Jack’s.”

  “Jack’s?” I echoed. It sort of sounded familiar.

  “Who’s Jack?’ said a voice, followed by Simon’s ruffled blond head peeking around the kitchen door. He clutched a blanket around his shoulders, a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and sweatpants underneath, but his feet were bare. “And what are you doing standing out here? Who are you talking to?”

  He looked down the empty hall.

  Franny tucked her robe about her more tightly and touched her hair to ensure she was presen
table.

  “It’s a restaurant. Do you know it?” I asked Simon.

  He started to shake his head, but then said, “Oh! Do you mean Jake’s?”

  I looked down the hall to Franny for confirmation. Simon followed my eyes, still seeing nothing.

  “Yes, that’s what I said dear,” said Franny. “Jake’s.”

  “Thank you,” I answered. I wondered if Franny had begun to go senile or had Alzheimer’s before she passed on. She definitely had a problem with names.

  “You’re welcome, dear,” she replied, and disappeared immediately, still clutching her robe closed.

  Simon shrugged and went with it. “No problem.” He followed me back into the kitchen. “What about Jakes?” He went over to stoke the fire while I put a pot of coffee on. I pulled clean mugs out of the cupboard and sniffed appreciatively as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

  “That’s where Bart had lunch with Andy Hall on the Wednesday before his disappearance,” I said. I pulled bagels out of the pantry, popped them in the toaster and went to the refrigerator for cream cheese.

  “Yeah. That was on his calendar. We already knew that.”

  “What we didn’t know,” I added, bringing coffee and bagels to the table, “is that they had an argument at lunch that day.” I let the significance sink in as I spread cream cheese on my bagel.

  The skin was sore and tight under my eye as I bit into the bagel and winced. I wondered if I looked as bad as I felt and decided that yes, yes I did.

  “Bloody hell,” said Simon, shaking his head. “We were aware they had lunch that day. Even asked Andy if Bart had confided anything to him, or if anything was bothering him.”

  I nodded, taking a huge bite of bagel. I never did get to eat dinner last night.

  “He bloody well never said they had an argument!” He sipped his coffee and took bit into his bagel before looking up at me. “I know a waitress at Jake’s.”

  Of course. “But the investigation is over,” I said. “Badger made that pretty clear.”

  “Yeah, he was a right prat last night.”

  We ate in silence. I didn’t feel like defending Badger again. I could do without his stubbornness and anger. His honesty kind of sucked, too. I was so over him. Right?

  “I’ll go talk to her and see if she remembers anything. Or maybe one of the other waitresses might remember something. No harm in that, right?”

  I gave a whatever shrug.

  Anyway, Badger wasn’t the boss of us.

  We finished breakfast and moved to the chairs by the fire after refilling our coffee mugs. I winced as I lowered myself into the chair.

  “How’re you feeling,” Simon asked, still chewing. “You look like hell.”

  “Thanks a lot.” I know my tone dripped with sarcasm, but having been told the same thing twice already that day rankled.

  “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Cleo jumped into his lap as soon as he sat down, circling a couple of times before curling up and licking her extended claws.

  “I’m sore,” I admitted, touching my face. “I’m glad your dad left early for that conference in London. My face could use some healing time.”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t looking forward to explaining why your face looks like I beat you up.”

  We grinned. What Uncle Richard didn’t know wouldn’t hurt us.

  “So,” he began. “Don’t get mad, but...these accidents you keep having...”

  “I am not accident-prone,” I said, annoyed. “It’s just... as soon as I came to this country, things started happening.” I shrugged. “I feel sort of off-kilter, like I have a foot in both worlds and belong in neither. I think England has more ghosts than America.”

  Simon gave me a skeptical look, and I threw a pillow at him. It hit Cleo, who jumped down hissing, before strutting away and disappearing through the kitchen door.

  Since Uncle Richard was away until the following Monday, December 19th, Simon and I were in charge of buying the Christmas tree. Yeah, the one we were supposed to get last weekend. We had to get it, decorate it, and put something under it before Uncle Richard got home. We decided to go to the Blind Badger for dinner first. The possibility of seeing Badger made my stomach and heart trade places, like circus performers swinging back and forth on the flying trapeze. But we were hoping Riley’s source would have gotten back to her. We were all on pins and needles waiting to see if any of us were implicated in Billy’s murder.

  When we walked in, Bart sat in his usual place at the bar, still uncommunicative. Once he had turned the murder problem over to me, he sat back and waited for me to fix it. He might sit there for eternity, reading his newspaper, waiting and waiting, not ever knowing I gave up on him or let him down. A pang of guilt stabbed my heart so sharply that tears stung my eyes.

  The Wednesday evening crowd was sparse. A few people sat at the bar, and several couple’s occupied tables. Light music played in the background. A wide array of ghostly beings, representing every century for at least the past six hundred years, drifted in and out, some working, some being served.

  “Good evening, m’lady.” A well-dressed spirit wearing a dark blue coat, with a short, square-cut crimson waistcoat and yellow, skin-tight breeches stopped at our table. He nodded and tipped his three-pointed hat to me before moving politely on, silver-tipped cane in hand. I nodded briefly, trying to avoid a conversation that would put me in an awkward position.

  Bart and Agatha were both there, along with a certain brown-haired spirit that hid every time I caught a glimpse of her.

  Two fireplaces cast dancing figures across the room, swirling and swaying like lovers around the dance floor. Mismatched and half-spent candles flickered on table centers, giving the room a warm, homey feeling. Romantic, even, for people other than me.

  Spying Badger working behind the bar, I looked quickly away. Riley emerged from the kitchen carrying steaming plates of heavenly-smelling food.

  Stomachs growling, Simon and I took a table near the fireplace. I could not seem to get warm since last night. When Riley had a free minute, she took our order of Sheppard’s Pie with coffee for me, and the same for Simon with ginger ale.

  Riley studied my face, noting the bruises and puffy eyes. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Sore, but fine.” I shrugged it off. We didn’t need to discuss last night right now. Or ever, as far as I was concerned. I had refused Franny’s help to cover the damage, but took extra time with my appearance. The weight of my thick, wavy hair contained in the usual braid made my sore head ache, so I left it to flow down my back. I dabbed makeup on the bruising, and even applied mascara and blush. A long white cowl-necked sweater over white leggings and black boots were comfortable and looked good, too. I needed all the confidence I could get after the blow to my already fragile ego.

  Riley glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one was listening, and then whispered, “No word yet, but I haven’t had a chance to check my phone in a couple of hours. It’s just now finally slowed down.” She looked at the clock above the bar. Eight o’clock. “I’m off at nine, so’s Badger. Meet us in the snug.”

  I nodded, hesitant to face Badger again so soon. But it couldn’t be helped. The investigation was over, but we still had to know if we were murder suspects. My stomach sank at the thought. Seriously claustrophobic, I’d never do well in prison.

  We finished our meal before nine o’clock and headed back to the snug with me leading the way. As we entered the hall, I caught a glimpse of a shadow disappearing to the left.

  A woman, with long dark hair.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Soul Collector

  All evening I had the feeling I was being watched. The slightly chilly, hair-rising-on-the-back-of-your-neck kind of feeling. The spectral kind. I was pretty sure who my new spectral stalker was, too. For several days now, I’d been catching glimpses. One who wanted to know what was happening, but didn’t want to ask. A shy spirit.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, an
d headed down the hall while Simon went into the snug. I turned left to follow the spirit. Darker at this end of the hall, I walked slowly, trying to sense where the spirit went. I shivered when I hit a cold spot and knew the spirit was close. I turned the doorknob on the right and slowly opened the door. Puffs of condensation issued from my mouth when I entered the room.

  “Hello?” I whispered. “I know you’re here – I only want to talk.” I continued further into the room, slowly, looking around as I went.

  As a rule, I didn’t go looking for ghosts. But this was different. This one, I definitely wanted to speak to.

  When I hit the coldest spot in the room, I stopped. My heart rate and breathing accelerated. Hair on the back of my neck stood up, chills went up my arms. It happened this way with spirits I didn’t know. Not like with Franny or Hannah. The unnatural chill told me the spirit was within a few feet of me.

  “Shelly?” I whispered.

  A shimmering figure materialized gradually in front of me. Dark-skinned, big brown eyes and long dark hair. Her face was partially in shadow. She looked sad.

  “Yes,” said the spirit. “I am Shelly. And you’re the one they’re talking about. The one who can see and speak to us.”

  I nodded. “You’ve been following me...”

  “Yes,” Shelly interrupted. “I don’t have much time.” She looked left, then right, and then appeared inches from me without me seeing her move. Her moves were furtive. Scared. She was totally freaking me out.

  “What is it?” I whispered, darting my eyes around the room. I was shivering and clenching my jaw tight so that my teeth couldn’t chatter. Shelly was so close. I was getting totally creeped out.

  “They’re watching!”

  “Who?”

  “They’re watching you. And me. They don’t like what you’re doing.”

  “WHO?!” Sure, mysterious dark entities concerned me. But because I didn’t want to miss the opportunity, I said, “Tell me what happened to you and Bart.”

  At the mention of Bart’s name, Shelly’s face crumpled. She put her face in her hands and wept, turning away. And that’s when she revealed the shadowed part of her face, caved in on the right side. Blood and bone sunk deep in a concave, her eye...crushed.