Instead of sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs, Ma’s pacing, digging a trench in the linoleum with her sneakers. She gives each of us a kiss and hug. “The attorney, your boss, is with her,” she says to Julian.
I glance at his rugged profile, and I’m glad he’s by my side.
He goes in search of coffee, water, a sedative, while I sit with Ma. “Where’s Pop?”
Izzie’s cell is in Ma’s hand. “He’s making some calls. He knows the editor at the Herald. He’s hoping this won’t make the local paper.”
Nice try, but how likely is it they won’t print a juicy story about an angry wife killing her husband’s clown? That’s like asking a nun not to pray.
Ma rolls her eyes. “He’s wasting his time. This is food for those vultures. But you know how your father gets when he’s made up his mind.”
Actually, she’s talking about herself. Pop’s the laid-back one. He doesn’t get involved unless he has to.
“Where’s Alice?”
“She went to a movie with a friend after dinner. That’s why I have Izzie’s phone. I called the friend’s mother and asked if Alice could spend the night.”
That’s a great idea.
I wrap an arm around Ma and lean my head on her shoulder. “It’s going to be fine.” Although, I’m not sure I believe that.
Julian returns with three, tiny cups of coffee and sits on the other side of Ma.
“Thank you for being here and helping Gianna through this,” she says to him.
“Of course. Do you know what they arrested her on?”
Ma sniffles and pulls a tissue out of her jacket pocket, but she doesn’t use it. She’s a rock, and I’ve rarely seen her cry. “Um, the detective said they found Izzie’s blood on the bat, and one of the deceased’s bloody hairs on Izzie’s dress.”
I softly gasp. “That’s impossible. Izzie wasn’t near Emma.”
Fire flashes in Ma’s eyes. “Of course she didn’t do it.”
“What about the blood on the bat?” Julian asks.
I think to the tiny cut on Izzie’s hand. “It’s from the glass and plastic shards from Paulie’s truck. Izzie never stepped foot near Emma.”
Ma nods. Julian reaches behind her and squeezes my arm.
“Where’s Enzo?” I ask. Maybe he knows more.
Ma takes a deep breath. “He ran off. I don’t know. He said he’d be back.”
I replay Ma’s words in my head. The detective said… “Which one?” I ask.
Ma frowns. “What?”
“Which detective told you about the evidence?”
“It was Kevin.”
Of course! Suddenly everything doesn’t seem so gloomy. Yes, getting arrested sucks, but I wouldn’t be surprised if on closer examination this evidence turns out to be fabricated.
Julian must be following my train of thought because he says, “He can’t lie about finding the hair.”
“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t planted.” I expect him or Ma to argue with me, and when they don’t, I realize it’s not as far-fetched as I fear.
I hand my cup to Julian. “I’m going to go find Enzo. Will you stay with her?”
“Of course.”
When Ma doesn’t protest, I hurry off and head to the other side of the building.
I find Enzo talking with another officer in the hall. I don’t want to interrupt in case it’s something important, but so is this. I pull out my phone and text him. Thanks to an ever slow cell service, I wait what feels like an eternity before he looks up. I nod for him to join me, and I take a few steps back.
He’s by my side in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. What I want to know is, who thought up that phrase? Some farmer who got his jollies watching lambs shake their tails? And then what? He told his wife, and she told the women at her knitting circle, and before they knew it, it was being said across the country?
“Did something else happen?” Enzo asks.
“You mean other than our sister being arrested for a murder she didn’t commit? What are you doing here and not by Ma’s side. When I got there, she was all alone.”
“Pop was with her when I left.”
“He’s off calling his friend at the Herald, and Ma’s trying to hold it together alone.” When I’m frustrated, I may exaggerate a tad. Ma’s never been known to cower at tragedy. It pumps her up and makes her stronger. And with us three, she’s lived through her share and more.
“What’s up with this evidence crap?” I ask. “Kevin’s a filthy liar, and there’s no way they actually found anything but sand and lint on Izzie’s clothes.”
Enzo grabs my upper arm and pulls me after him. We’re moving so fast, I barely have time to see the little stick man on the door he pushes me through. But sure enough, there’s no mistaking the urinals and pine air freshener.
He kicks in the two stall doors before he says, “You can’t blurt that out in the hall. Look, I know Kevin’s a jackass.”
“And he deserves to be demoted and to have hot wax poured on his ‘nads,” I add.
Enzo winces. “Ouch. But just because we think this doesn’t mean we can publicly slander his reputation.”
“Enzo, I hear you, but whenever I see him I remember him accusing me of Craig’s death. I have no doubt that he’s trying to frame Izzie because of his insane vendetta against me.”
He rubs his eyes. “If that’s true, you can’t prove it by accusing him of it.”
I blow a raspberry. “Fine. Have you learned anything else about Emma’s death? Have they even searched for Plaid Guy?”
He looks over his shoulder and says so low I almost can’t hear him, “I don’t know what a Plaid Guy is, but the last items in her stomach were beer, saltine crackers, and some type of peach and blueberry jam.”
That damn jam again.
“What? Does that mean something?” he asks, apparently noticing a change in my expression.
I fill him in. Just as I’m done and waiting for his explosive reaction, ‘cause it should be explosive, especially the part about mixing peaches and blueberries, shudder, there’s a sound at the door.
Enzo takes off as if his shoes are on fire and rushes into a stall.
My instincts aren’t nearly as fast, so when an older, uniformed officer walks in, I’m standing in the middle of the room, staring at him. And smiling. Can’t forget the smile. It makes some people uneasy. Especially when I look like I ate a canary.
“It’s mint,” are the words that tumble out of my mouth after my brain frantically tries to come up with a reason I’m a statue in the men’s room.
The officer frowns, as he should ‘cause I sound and must look like a lunatic. “Excuse me?”
I point to the walls. “The paint is the color mint. Just like out in the hall. I wanted to check to make sure of the continuity. And now I have. Bye.”
I sprint out before he arrests me for telling a lie. The color is actually seafoam.
* * *
I don’t get to see Izzie tonight, none of us do, but Mr. Hamilton reassures us she’ll make bail in the morning. He says we all need to go home and relax. Ha! He doesn’t know us very well. In two houses and one apartment, there will be much pacing, much worrying, and plenty of caffeine to punctuate it all.
Julian is called in to his job to work a new case, and I’m sad to see him go.
I flop onto my couch, channel surfing beside Billy. “I hate investigator’s hours.” I wanted to finish my conversation with Julian. I still don’t know how he feels. It’s a good sign that he accompanied me to the police station, but for all I know the work excuse is a ruse. He could be so angry with me that he’s at his job quitting, hoping to put a state back between us. Or he’s slinging back some beers telling the bartender how he used to date a crazy chick.
Bartender.
I grab my phone, search for Lindy’s on Google, and dial the bar.
“Why do you look like you just won the lottery?” Billy asks.
I glance at him as someone at the other
end picks up. I should seriously start playing the lottery. Maybe I’ll be a Mega-Million winner.
“Lindy’s,” says a sultry female voice.
“Hi, I was at your bar Saturday night, and I forgot to leave the bartender a tip. I paid for my drinks and was going to tip him before I left, but I ran into an ex, and you know how that goes. We got to arguing about how he works all the time and never made time for me, and before I knew it, I ran out, and the poor bartender didn’t make any money off me.”
“Okay.” She sounds less than enthused. A man cheers in the background and glasses clink together.
Billy shakes his head, probably wondering what the heck I’m up to now. When he passes over, at least he’ll get to tell the other souls that his last days weren’t boring.
“Can you tell me his name?” I cross my fingers.
“Um, it’s Andy.”
I smile. “Great. Is Andy working tonight?”
“Nope. Not until Saturday.”
“Thanks. Any chance you can give me his…”
The line clicks. She hung up.
“Number,” I say to no one.
Billy quirks his brows. “Trying to make your man jealous?”
“Hardly. I want to know what the bartender saw the night Emma died.” More specifically, if he saw Plaid Guy. If I’m not the only one then he can tell the cops, too. They’ll believe a stranger more than a suspect’s sister, right?
“Are you staying in tonight?” Billy asks.
I turn sideways, lean my back against the armrest, and pull my knees to my chest. “What are you doing tonight?”
He points to the television. “What I do every night. What choice do I have?”
“You can move on.”
He looks offended. “Why would I want to do that? This place is nice.” He pats the sofa cushion. “Comfy.”
This old thing? The other side has a dip, so when you sit, you sink down. Now I know he’s lying.
“Other than the creature comforts and how wonderful they are, which you can’t even enjoy, why are you sticking around?”
He shrugs. “Beats me. Just don’t wanna go.”
Which means there’s a reason. It’s usually they’re afraid of missing family or just afraid.
“Where’s your family? Any reason you stay here and not there?”
“They live in town. It’s boring there. Here I have you and Emma.” He stares into my eyes. “You guys can see me.”
And there he’s all alone, and hanging with sad, grieving people isn’t any fun, even if you love them.
“Is there anything you want to say to them? Something you didn’t get a chance to before you passed.”
His head is bent down, and he’s looking at the floor. “You’d do that?”
I jump to my feet, eager to help. I also don’t want to sit here and think about poor Izzie in a holding cell all night. “That’s my job. Come on. Let’s go visit them.”
He smiles and floats beside me. “That job sucks since you don’t get paid.”
“Volunteering is good for the soul. It’s like chicken soup.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, I pull up to a small, one-story house in the West End. I have to park several houses farther up because parking on these narrow, cramped streets is like fitting an elephant into a shoe box. I chuckle. Sometimes I make the corniest analogies.
When we’re standing in front of his door, he hesitates. “How are you going to do this?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.” If he makes me nervous, I may turn around and go home.
I knock and glance at the time on my phone. It’s early enough in the night to be almost rude. Ma and Pop always taught us never to visit or call someone too late or too early and never to visit people unannounced. I’ve tried to live by their rules. Except the one about throwing salt over my shoulder if I spill some. I’m not superstitious, and that one is just plain silly. Why waste perfectly good salt?
A woman in her forties opens the door. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“Mom,” Billy whispers.
“Hi. My name is Gianna, and I was friends with Billy.”
Sadness creeps onto her face. “Oh.”
“I don’t mean to bother you. I wanted to stop by and tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”
She presses her lips together and looks past me, as if she can see her son. She takes a step back and opens the door wider. “Please. Come in.”
I step into the living room and immediately start to sweat. Gosh, it’s stuffy in here. I glance at the two windows and see they’re both shut.
“Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”
I’d like a fan. “No, thank you.”
The room is dim. There are no lights on, only the TV, and it’s turned down so low I can barely hear a sound. She and Pop would hate hanging out together. I glance at Billy, wishing he could read my mind, because I don’t really know what to say.
I sit on the dark green sofa. It’s definitely more comfortable than mine.
His mother sits in an armchair close to the TV. “How did you know Billy?”
“Through Holy Mount.” I hold my breath and hope this is the Wyatt residence and I found the right article. It’s a safe guess. I mean how many college students died of alcohol poisoning over Spring break?
When she nods, I freely breathe. Thank goodness I know how to Google.
Bill sits on the other end of the sofa, right by his mom.
“How long have you been there?”
“Um, this is my second year.”
Hopefully I can pull off nineteen reasonably easily. She doesn’t seem to notice the tiny, and I do mean teensy, lines between my brows. Ma says I frown too much. Can I help it if other people have a way of irking me? Plus, being around the dead all the time doesn’t help much.
“Billy and I had a class together.”
“Oh, which one?” she asks.
Darn. Why did I say that? I will him to speak up with my mind, but he’s staring at her like he hasn’t seen her in years. My heart goes out to him, but he needs to tell me what he wants her to know. I’m going to melt if I stay in here much longer.
“Um, English.” That’s a safe bet, right? Everyone has to take that.
She nods.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come by sooner. I was just so sad, and I didn’t want to crowd you and your family.” I bite my lip, hoping there’s more family and she’s not the only one. Not so much because of getting caught in a lie, but I don’t know if I can deal if she lives here all alone. There has to be nothing worse than grieving by yourself.
“Thank you.”
When Billy doesn’t come out of his catatonia, I get fed up. “Um, would you mind if I had a glass of water?”
“Of course.” She gets up and walks out of the room.
I take a throw pillow and toss it at Billy. It goes right through him and luckily stays on the couch. “Hey, you,” I whisper. “I’m dying here. No pun intended. You want to help out? I’m not here for me.”
He rolls his shoulders, as if he has a kink in them. I’m pretty sure ghosts don’t experience muscle cramps. “Sorry. The last time I was here, she was sobbing to my aunt. This is the first time I’ve seen her looking normal since before I died. “
I nod in sympathy, but we have to get down to business. “What do you want me to tell her?” I whisper.
His mother reenters before I get any answers. She hands me a glass of tap water with no ice. Yum.
I smile, pretend to take a sip, and set it on the end table beside me.
“Tell her that I love her and Dad, and that I was always grateful for everything they did and gave me. Even if I didn’t always show it.”
“Um, Billy always told me how much he loved you guys.” I repeat the rest, too.
His mother sucks in a breath, and I wait for an outburst of tears, but she holds in it.
“And tell her that eating blueberry pancakes every Sunday morning is my favorite me
mory.”
I tell her and feel awful at her pain. Maybe I should leave the ghost hunting alone and concentrate on sandwiches.
Her shoulders shake, and she starts to cry. I get up, swipe a tissue out of a box on a side table, and hand it to her. I glance at Billy, and he’s gone. Vanished. Probably unable to handle the tears. I get it, but damn, it’s not like I know the woman.
After she calms down, she says, “Thank you, dear. This hasn’t been an easy time, with the arrangements, the funerals. Mr. Wyatt and I appreciate your stopping by. He’s not home now, but I will tell him every word.”
I smile. “Please give Mr. Wyatt my condolences too.” I figure this is a good moment to hightail it out of here, but I realize what she just said. “Funerals? There was more than one?”
She sniffled and dabs her nose. “Yes, you must’ve heard.”
I shake my head, not caring I’m blowing my cover. “I, uh, I couldn’t handle it, so I quit and haven’t gone back to school yet.”
She grabs my hand. “Oh, I’m so sorry. The night of the party, Billy wasn’t the only one who drank too much. Another classmate. Um, Stephanie Murdock also died. Not that night. She slipped into a coma and passed away a couple of days later in the hospital.”
Crap. Billy doesn’t know this. Were they close? Should I ask his mom and really look clueless? Would she even know? Do I tell him?
I get up, say good-bye, and nearly run out of the sauna. Outside, I wipe the perspiration from my forehead and open all my windows when I get into the car.
Billy appears in the passenger seat.
I decide to hold on to this information for the moment. “Why is your parents’ house so hot?”
He smirks. “Mom’s from Florida. She’s always cold.”
Makes sense.
“Okay, do you feel like moving on?” I ask.
He shuts his eyes and concentrates. After a moment, he looks at me. “Not yet.”
Damn. What now?
“Um, were you close to a Stephanie Murdock?”
He frowns. “Where’d you hear that name?”
I shrug. “Your mom mentioned her.”
Billy shakes his head and stares out the windshield. “Nope.”
Jennifer Fischetto - Dead by the Numbers 01 - One Garish Ghost & Blueberry Peach Jam Page 13
