I Was Murdered Last Night (Olivia Brown Mysteries Book 1)

by A. J. Gallant

  Anita found herself outside the Conoco gas station, staring in at Raymond; he was highlighted in yellow and all the other people weren't. Why was her attention directed toward this stranger? Did he have something to do with her death as well? A second ago she had Tim in a lip-lock, and suddenly she was here. It was inconvenient. There was no one who Anita could file a complaint with, and she sure didn't appreciate the interruptions. She felt she was supposed to pay attention to this guy but had no idea why. Anita wondered where she was now; this place wasn't the least bit familiar. The afterlife was thoroughly confusing so far. The highlighted man with the yellow glow walked through her on the way to his car and, for a brief second, she felt his fear.

  I just wish someone would get off their butts and explain to me what is going on. Tim doesn't get jerked around like this so why am I so special? Oh wait; I see a license plate. Am I in Colorado? A truck stop off the highway somewhere in Colorado? Am I supposed to follow this guy?

  Anita watched as he brought hot dogs back to his car and then she saw them. The bald guy and the other one. As Raymond got in his car, John reached in and blocked him from grabbing his Glock 19, then Henry entered the driver's side and plunged a knife directly into his heart, much like what had happened to Anita. John sat the fellow up straight, looked around to make sure no one had seen before exiting the vehicle, feigning goodbye waves as if friends.

  Anita screamed. Help! Someone call nine one one!

  But no one saw or heard a thing.

  Chapter Twenty

  DETECTIVE BROWN HAD PORTER in Interrogation Room Two. Porter was well versed in the art of manipulation, though she thought he was attempting to dial it down a little because she was no dumb bunny. She was getting bad vibes from him, but there was nothing she could do about that. Porter might be playing a good guy, but she sensed it was only an act. He looked smug, especially since he knew the detective had nothing on him. Porter had mostly recovered from the fright of a gun to his head and a bullet passing uncomfortably close to his skull as it killed his assailant. Olivia had seen it in the gunman's eyes that he was ready and willing to pull that trigger. The eyes said a lot about intention, and she could usually see a lot in those portals to the soul.

  “Detective, I want to thank you again for saving my life. I believe he was going to kill me, felt his muscles tensing.”

  “Just doing my job.” Olivia gazed at him for a time in an attempt to make him feel ill-at-ease, but Porter just raised his eyebrows and smiled.

  He knew all the rules. He thought Olivia was a surreptitious vixen. “Is there something else, Detective? I have business to attend to and an event to plan.”

  “Do you know this woman?” Olivia slid the file over to show him a picture of the deceased.

  How on Earth did she link me to her? “I don't believe I've ever seen her before, definitely not one of my clients. What is this about? Was she involved with my client?”

  “The deceased was a friend of one of your employees. Perhaps you saw her in the waiting room?”

  You've thrown the line, but I'm not biting. She has nothing. Porter adjusted his red tie. “Not that I remember. Now if you have no further questions, I have clients to attend to and I'm late but, thanks to you, not dead.”

  “So the fellow with the gun to your head was a client?”

  “Yes, but I can't talk too much about him. Attorney-client privileges remain even after death, you understand. Besides, he has a reputation for not being a good guy, if you know what I mean, and I fear someone else might try the same thing if I talk about him or his business.”

  The detective took that to mean he was into the business of selling drugs or, at the very least, illegal activity.

  Porter got up, adjusted his jacket, and left without saying another word.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ANITA STOOD IN THE DETECTIVE'S WASHROOM, staring in the mirror and, just like a vampire in the movies, no reflection. There was no need to use the facilities ever again, no more makeup or plucking eyebrows. She continued to get some satisfaction in painting her nails, even though Anita could just imagine them any color she wanted.

  It was darkish, though the bathroom door was open, letting in some light, and she felt like an intruder though perhaps she shouldn't, imagining that there were lots of ghosts around. There were two sinks, and a mini chandelier hung from the ceiling. The room had polished brown sandstone tiles with bright white walls. The loft came that way, and Olivia hadn't bothered to change a thing. Anita could put four of her washrooms in this big one; even had a hot tub in the corner across from the shower.

  It's a beautiful place. She must come from money. I wonder what would make her want to be a detective. It's a dangerous job. Not sure how much time has passed; I wonder if I'm in the ground yet. Still hard to think straight for some reason. Could be the trauma I experienced or the shock of it all.

  In the bedroom she lay on Olivia's king size bed, suddenly finding herself underneath it. No dust, the detective was a clean freak, she guessed, unlike Anita. She wasn't sure if she had come here herself or the fellow with the hat had transported her because Anita had been thinking about the place and Olivia. In any manner, Olivia wasn't here. Most likely out somewhere trying to solve her murder.

  Anita stared at a picture on the wall of Detective Brown in the ring; an action shot as she had connected with a roundhouse kick, and the other female was on her way to the mat. A black belt in Tae Kwon Do. Father said that girls who liked to fight were tomboys, not that there was anything wrong with it, but some men didn't like it, that it was a threat to their masculinity. I think it would have been fun to learn Kung Fu. Grab some guy by the underwear and pull it over his head. What does that have to do with a martial art? Ha.

  In the living room she found an artist magazine on the coffee table, though no sign that Olivia was a painter. Maybe she was thinking about trying to paint something? Some people had a desire to do something but always put it off, perhaps a fear of failure? Or just a time thing. I could have passed the detective on the street, never thinking she would be trying to solve my murder. Life sure was a kick in the pants for me. A clock on the wall showed nine. Not that it mattered. The idea that there was a ghost in the loft, and she was it, was mind-bending. All this was still too new, she supposed. She continued to think the same things over and over.

  Oh, she has a Tiffany lamp? I had several in my dream house, and a beautiful backyard with horses, even though I lived in the city. That wouldn't have worked out. Anita took a closer look at the lamp and discovered it was only in the style of a Tiffany, purchased from the Shopping Channel, though it was pretty enough. The receipt beside it showed that she had paid a hundred and nineteen dollars for it. I love that style, with all the dragonflies. Some people are so talented.

  A crash of thunder frightened her for a second because it had been so loud, but a bolt of lightning couldn't hurt her now, not that she was afraid of a thunderstorm. Florida was famous for their storms and she had even seen a tornado once, from a distance. That was the best place to see one, from a distance.

  There was a Nikon D3X camera on one of the end tables, with a relatively long lens, and Anita wondered if she used it for her work or pleasure, or maybe both. Back in Orlando, Anita loved to take photos of gardens. That would have also been a fun way to make a living. One of Anita's photos had won an award–a simple daisy with sunlight reflecting off the dew. But like a lot of things, one needed luck to make it big.

  I think she's coming in now.

  Detective Brown entered, she wasn't alone, and they were both drenched. Warmth emanated from her that Anita could feel. And something new, pink sparkles appeared to leave her body. Some of them made their way to Anita, landing on her, one on the back of her translucent hand as she watched it touch down and fade. Another puzzle piece that didn't fit anywhere. Another twinkle of light touched down on her arm. One soul subconsciously talking to another?

  The couple began to kiss, and Olivia shoved her hand
into his pants and felt his privates. David, in his early forties, had a salt-and-pepper beard and a muscular physique. Anita thought he looked a bit like a lumberjack; this guy was big. She imagined that he was big everywhere.

  They undressed one another as Anita put her hands over her eyes, but she could see through them, making her giggle. They made it into the bedroom, and she didn't follow. Moans of pleasure engulfed the loft as Anita faded.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  JOHN SMITH WAS IN HIS GARAGE, dismantling his AR-15 Model 3TM assault rifle, cleaning and appreciating every piece that went together to make such a beautiful weapon. It weighed seven and a half pounds, semi-automatic, with an A2 flash hider. It chambered 5.56 NATO shells with a thirty-round magazine. He was thoroughly enjoying the act of maintaining the weapon.

  Mexico was dozing on the floor beside him when the dog opened his eyes and stood, sniffing the air cautiously. The dog's action didn't go unnoticed. Mexico went to the garage door and scratched as John put his hand on his Glock 19, though after he had looked up at the monitor he could see it was only Henry. He opened the door and immediately closed it after Henry entered.

  “John, you should put that thing away. They robbed the bank on the corner, the police are going from house to house, and I know you don't want them to see this stuff.”

  “Who robbed the bank?” asked John.

  “How the fuck should I know? The point is the police could be knocking on your door in a few minutes.” Henry picked up the dog and laughed as he gave him a friendly bark. “Why didn't you get a big dog instead of this little shit? He is kinda cute though, in an ugly sort of way. Aren't ya boy?”

  “See, with a big dog, you have to walk them. And when you go away for an extended period they'll get mad and eat the furniture, even the walls.”

  Henry laughed. “What about the stove? Would he eat that too?”

  “Probably. Help me carry this stuff upstairs.”

  They laid out the parts of the gun on John's bed, where Mexico proceeded to smell them. The police wouldn't have a warrant so they wouldn't be able to search. John looked out the upstairs window but so far he couldn't see any cops.

  Henry sat on the edge of the bed. “There was a write up in the New York Times about that girl you killed in New York, asking people to come forward if they saw anything.”

  “I prefer not to look back. Forward is the only way to go.”

  A police officer started ringing the bell before pounding on the door. Ding dong.

  John made his way down and opened the door. “Yes, officer. What's going on?”

  “There was a bank robbery, and the vehicle went through the neighborhood before we lost it. I'll need to have a look in your garage.”

  “Sure, I'll go around and open it for you.”

  Mexico barked and barked, following John around to the garage. The cop looked around, but there was nothing untoward inside, not even a car. John's Lexus GSF was in the driveway.

  “Cute dog,” said the officer.

  “It's a good thing that the bad guys didn't come in here cause Mexico would have torn them to pieces. He's a killer.”

  The cop smiled and headed to the next house.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  EVA AND COURTNEY, Anita's sisters, were running as they played basketball in the driveway, throwing at the hoop attached to the garage. They were twelve and thirteen, both blond and sweet, though not so full of life today. Their sister died exactly one week ago, and they felt in their hearts they would never get over it. These terrible things only happened to other people. Unlike most sisters they almost never fought, and Anita had always been there for them, even more than their parents at times. The last thing she taught them was that they were too young for makeup, and that it was mainly to hide senior citizens' wrinkles. They had laughed at that.

  Eva kicked the ball and just missed her sister's face, and that was enough for Courtney. Game over. Neither had felt like playing. They didn't know what to do with themselves; big sister was dead, and there was no bringing her back. Her room never felt so empty, and each time they passed it was a sad reminder of what had happened.

  Courtney, the older of the two, opened the garage and took out her model rocket. With the E engine, it would fly to over three thousand feet and they would need some luck to recover it. They had lost several over the years. She had just finished painting it the morning she had heard the awful news.

  “I almost forgot about it. Is it ready?” Eva's eyes showed a spark of her old self.

  Courtney brought out the rocket launcher, pushed the engine in the engine mount, and slid the rocket on the launcher. The nose cone was quite pointy and would receive a lot less resistance to the air. She liked to experiment with the shape of the wings and to make her own designs.

  “Courtney, you can't launch that here! It's dangerous. We have to go to the field near the school.” But Eva could tell by the look in her sister's eyes that the thing was going up now.

  Courtney ignored the warnings, put the igniter in the engine, and got it ready for launch. After she had gotten the remote, Courtney backed up to the edge of the steps. She removed the key and pressed the ignition. Whoosh! In a fraction of a second, the rocket was gone, so fast that they didn't even see it go even though they were both looking into the sky. No parachute, no nothing. It was just gone.

  Eva couldn't believe it. “It's just gone!”

  “That is so freaking weird! I don't even see a smoke trail. Maybe the shape of my fins was too aerodynamic? Holy shit! We should have launched it after dark. At least, we'd have seen the fire from it.”

  They ran toward the street with their heads tilted high, but there was no sign of it. They looked into each other's blue eyes and laughed. Launched plenty of them over the years but nothing like that had ever happened before.

  Eva shook her head and her ponytail. “We're never gonna find it.”

  “Nope. Just like Anita, it's gone forever.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  SHE HAD CONTEMPLATED being with Tim and then abruptly she was there.

  Anita went over to Tim's vacation residence, a beautiful cabin in the forest, overlooking a mountain range that she didn't recognize. He was sitting on the porch whittling a small barn owl, and his face lit up when he saw her. She heard movement behind her and when Anita turned she saw a fawn approaching. The deer walked up beside her and nudged her right hand. She caressed it and then watched as it climbed the porch and lay beside Tim. And to her left, Anita noticed some bleeding heart flowers. Beautiful pink hearts that she had treasured taking pictures of on Earth, always searching for the perfect shot that was elusive.

  “Beautiful cabin.”

  “My grandfather built it in Wyoming, and now my father owns it; I guess it would have been mine one day. We spent time there every summer. There are some differences, but it is a sound reproduction.”

  “Are there bleeding hearts in Wyoming?”

  “I don't know. The guy in the top hat told me that you like them and so, voila.” Tim reached over and they touched hands. “More flowers in the back.”

  “So the hat guy is talking to you now?”

  Tim checked the progress of the bird. It was taking shape, but a lot of detailed work remained. “Briefly. That's all he said, that you like bleeding hearts. Would you like to see the garden in the back?”

  Suddenly, Anita remembered that a knife in the heart was what killed her, a brief glimpse of a huge hand plunging it into her chest. But she decided not to spoil the mood. The garden on the other side of the cabin was lovely; red roses in the shape of a heart, surrounded by white Lily of the Valley and, of course, they were all in pristine condition. Several bees were busy in the flowers, with pollen stuck to their legs. The afterlife was quite wonderful. Tim picked a rose and gave it to Anita–the reddest she had ever seen, no colors on Earth quite like this. The flower was alive, of course, but the colors also seemed alive.

  The fawn came around and watched. “Is the de
er here all the time?”

  “Yes, she appears to have adopted me. The last time I was in the cabin on Earth, I found a little deer like this that some asshole shot. I buried her. I think it's the same deer. She's bonded to me somehow.”

  Anita was aware that the deer was staring at her. “Why isn't she in heaven?”

  “She goes into the light and comes back. I believe her mother is here as well, a large female, and they are often nose to nose.”

  “Lucky her, able to go into the light, I mean.”

  Tim touched her hand again. “You know, ever since I first saw you I can't think of anything else. Too soon to say stuff like this, I know, but I'm dead so what can you do to me? Except break my heart.”

  “I'll try not to do that.” The moment had turned awkward although she wasn't sure why. The bees were buzzing in the flowers, and it was a pleasant scene; the scent of the roses was invigorating. “Is there a bed inside?”

  “Yes, two.”

  Anita missed certain things, and sleeping was one of them. “Do you think I could take a nap?”

  “Sure, just go in, and I'll go back to working on my owl. Sleep as long as you want.”

  It was nice inside. Two cowboy hats were hanging on the wall, and she wondered if they belonged to Tim or his grandfather. A wagon wheel for decoration as one might hang a photo and a painting of the battle at the O.K. Corral was hanging on one wall. The place was bigger than it looked on the outside. In the bedroom, she found a pair of cowboy boots beside the bed that looked expensive. Anita got comfortable and closed her eyes, and in no time she was asleep.

  Anita found herself in a cloud, looking down on her sisters from above; they were setting up a model rocket in the yard and arguing about something. She wished she could give both of them a hug and a big kiss. Many things went unsaid and were unappreciated in the land of the living. The rocket blasted by Anita at a high rate of speed and then she went down for a closer look.