The detective shook her head. “I did not expect that.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
SEVERAL DAYS AFTER TALKING TO FELICIA, Olivia got a call from her saying that everything was okay and that she had made a mistake. She didn't buy it, but Olivia had her suitcase packed. She pulled it out the door and headed toward the elevator. The boyfriend had admitted to killing his girlfriend, which was the best scenario for a homicide. He was distraught over what he had done, though people usually didn't confess in the face of so many years in prison. In doing so, he made it just a little easier on the family.
Time for some rest in the Bahamas.
The plan was to meet her sister Charlotte at the John F. Kennedy International Airport and to fly directly to the Bahamas for fifteen glorious days at the Melia Nassau Beach Resort. The detective didn't like flying, but hopefully it would be a pleasant flight and not a trip to some towering skyscraper, but these days one never knew. Olivia knew she shouldn't think like that.
The flight ended up being uneventful, and she managed to take a short nap on the way. The hotel was immediately impressive. She loved the ambiance and the palm trees, perhaps because there weren't any in New York, and palm trees made one think tropical thoughts. She and her sister went to the bar after they had settled in and sat in white chairs at a small square brown table, sipping margaritas.
Charlotte smiled. “I wonder if people think we're a couple.” She was beautiful, long brown hair and intense green eyes, though she liked to change the color of both; her fiancé loved those perky breasts.
Olivia took another drink, playing with the ice. “I don't care what anyone thinks, and we are in the presidential suite. Did you see the size of my bed? Big enough for four people.”
“I know, mine can only manage three.” She winked, making her sister laugh.
The detective was checking out faces and demeanors; she looked at just about everyone with suspicion. The odds were in favor of a few bad apples in here. There was a man in particular that was too loud and bordering on obnoxious, and she would like nothing better than to hit him in the head with her Glock and knock him the hell out but, of course, it wasn't a serious thought. Besides, her gun was back in New York.
“There are some gorgeous guys here,” Charlotte said before she finished her drink. “You wanna walk down to the beach?”
“I'm just gonna read for a while before dinner.”
Charlotte shook her head. “You've come all this way just to read?”
“We'll go down in the morning. My stomach is upset. The thought of being trapped at thirty-five thousand feet when some emergency pops up is a bit more than I can handle. At least, if your car breaks down, you can get out and walk.
“Suit yourself. I'm heading to the beach, so I'll be up in a bit. It's freaking hot out there.”
Olivia went to the elevators as her sister headed out to get a view of the ocean. As she got to the elevator she was aware of someone behind her, an attractive fellow in his early forties. As Olivia glanced at him he looked away. Probably nothing but she was on her guard as they ended up the only two inside the elevator as it ascended. It wasn't long after the doors closed that he approached her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
AFTER A LATE NIGHT WITH TWO HOOKERS that he had taken on the kitchen table, John was sleeping in on this sunny Sunday morning while Mexico was chewing on his master's socks. A western painting above his bed was depicting two gunfighters, guns drawn, with a bullet approaching the cowboy's left eye. He had commissioned the painting because of a recurring dream. The dog sneezed several times, banging his head on the beige carpet each time he did. John opened his eyes and looked down at Mexico. “Are you allergic to my foot stink? I should pull that sock right over your head.”
Mexico barked several times and ran downstairs as fast as he was able. John could hear him barking in the backyard now, and when he looked out the dog was doing his business on the back lawn. “When you gotta go, you gotta go.”
He jumped in the shower as his genitals were a little on the tender side, and then he remembered that the condom had come off at one point last night, making him shake his head. If he were still itchy tomorrow, he would need to get it checked out. John made his way to the kitchen, took out a cast iron frying pan, cooked seven pieces of bacon and four slices of French toast, and covered them with butter and a generous amount of salt. He drank black coffee from an oversized white cup and opened the Savannah Morning News he had collected from his front steps. He hadn't even gotten to the sports section when Henry entered.
Mexico, now under the table, was squealing for a piece of bacon.
“John.”
“Henry.”
Henry sat at the kitchen table, poured himself a cup of coffee, and added four spoons of sugar. “Did you ever see those commercials on TV where you can buy some goats for poor people in Africa?”
John drank noisily from his hot cup of coffee. “As a matter of fact I was going to buy a couple, but I never got around to it.”
“I bought five this morning.” Henry added yet another spoonful of sugar.
“You bought five goats?”
“Yup.”
It appealed to John on some level, helping people across the ocean. “Can you bring up the site on the computer?”
“I think so.” Henry brought John's laptop to the kitchen table, and it didn't take long for him to get back to the website. “Here it is.”
“Get my wallet off the coffee table.”
Henry got the wallet and tossed it to John before stealing another piece of bacon. The more he ate, the hungrier he was getting, and that bacon was delicious.
“Stop eating my breakfast. Cook some fucking bacon if you want some and cook three more slices for me while you're at it.”
Henry put the frying pan back on the stove, tossed in another eight slices, and had to open another package to do it. John ordered ten goats at seventy-five dollars each, envisioning African families receiving the animals.
“There, I just ordered ten goats.”
Henry shook his head and would order more without telling John about it. “What do you suppose happens if one of the goats runs away?”
John's eyebrows tightened. “Then you get an email from the African saying, “I need another goat.” He produced a thunderous belch.
Henry nodded. “I bet if they get hungry enough they eat the goat.”
“They say they use it for milk.” John finished his coffee.
Henry laughed. “The jealous neighbor probably steals and eats it.”
“Five villagers killed because of a goat. Goat wars.”
Mexico suddenly ran into the other room, barking and squealing as if chased by a mountain lion.
“What the hell?” John stared at Anita's silhouette, which faded and disappeared.
Henry's eyebrows tightened. “What?”
“Thought I saw a ghost there for a second.” John went back to his paper.
“Must be plenty of ghosts following us around, but the dead can't hurt the living. Your dog is gonna take a dog heart attack.”
“I'm not giving him mouth to mouth.”
Chapter Thirty
At a little after two in the morning, Aunt Stella was watching an old movie, The Third Man, about a novelist who travels to postwar Vienna and discovers the death of his old friend Harry. Suddenly she got the chills as never before. The cooler night air was more conducive to spirits, but this felt different, as if the devil himself had entered. The air was both thin and cold now, and it was getting harder to breathe. The electricity quit, leaving her in the dark. Stella tried to get to the drawer in the coffee table to get the silver cross that had been blessed over a hundred times, but an unseen force threw her across the room to keep her away from it.
Stella was hurt. She wasn't young and getting tossed like that hurt her back and shoulders. Pissed her off too.
A gray swirl in the middle of the room seemed to be trying to manifest an image. Appeared to
be a man's face. Boils on his cheeks? Like watching a movie cast on fog. Whoever the hell it was she knew it wasn't going to be an enjoyable visit.
“You bastard! You dare come into my house that is so blessed. Do you want the Lord himself on your ass?”
Quiet, vile woman! The voice was deeper and darker than she had thought possible. It wasn't the devil but a demon named Scratcher. He had torn the skin from many over the centuries.
Stella attempted to speak, but it was as if her mouth had been sewn shut; she could even feel the stitches on the inside of her lips. Now all she could do was to make unintelligible sounds. Again Stella tried to go for the cross but wasn't able to do so.
She felt the baritone voice down to her bones as he laughed.
“Stella, struggling will only injure you further. Keep your nose out of Anita's business or I will return, and I won't be so nice next time. Am a making myself clear? We do not appreciate your interference.” Scratcher tried hard to rake her across the face, but discovering that he wasn't able to do so made him furious and the room shook.
Another unseen presence helped her get rid of the stitches. “Don't waste your breath, whoever the hell you are. If you could harm me, you would already have done it.”
As the white-light approached him, Scratcher was quick to vanish back to the nether regions, not at all happy with the result.
“You made me miss part of my movie, you asshole.”
Chapter Thirty-One
ANITA FOUND HERSELF IN AN EXPANSIVE WHITE ROOM with no doors or windows. The chairs, walls, and ceiling, and even the floor were white and there were crosses on the walls. In a clear vase on the desk was a single purple Munstead Wood Rose and its scent was unique. The contrast of the purple rose against all that white was quite striking. She sensed a level of happiness in here that she had never experienced before, a feeling of absolute love, every part of her felt it. She closed her eyes and relished for a time.
I could get used to this. If this is not heaven, it should be. Feels like God is so close. Maybe he's just beyond these walls. As soon as Anita opened her blue eyes, Cuthbert came through the wall and sat, and this time he wasn't wearing his hat.
“Hello,” she said. “Is this heaven?”
“On the outskirts.”
If this was only the outskirts, what must it feel like in heaven? There was a kitten on the floor near her feet, and it began meowing up a storm. She hadn't noticed the cat until this moment. It was gray with four white paws and a white chest. It surprised her, and she picked it up and put it on the desk. The cat looked into her eyes as she stroked it and it returned the affection, rubbing its head on Anita's hand and then laying down and stretching so that she could caress more of it. “What a cutie! What's her name?”
“This is Sun-Jade, a tabby. Notice the bright green eyes. She lived to be almost twenty and had a grand life. As a kitten, she gets more attention, and we often see her in this form.”
“Does she belong to you?”
“She belongs to herself.”
The cat went to Cuthbert and meowed several times as if talking to him. She stood up on two legs and waved her paws.
He looked into Sun-Jade's eyes. “Well, I don't know. I guess we'll see.”
“You understand what she's saying?”
“And you would too if you spent enough time with her.”
I don't see how that's possible. I wonder what Sun-Jade said to him? It seems like it was probably about me. What am I saying? She was sufficiently curious to ask. “What did she say?”
“She wanted to know if she could go with you. Sun-Jade told me she likes you already, and that you give off a warm feeling.”
“I guess I do have a way with animals.”
He sighed. “We have some serious business to attend to so I suppose we should get to it.”
What could be serious here? Anita was dead, how much more serious could it get? And again she tried to push up her glasses that she no longer wore or needed. “I don't understand.”
Cuthbert nodded as he thought about how he was going to say what he needed to tell her. An unusual situation. It was a delicate business. “Sometimes lives intersect for a reason. You have two sisters, Eva and Courtney.”
“Yes.” Where was this going?
“Your sisters are going to intersect with the two who killed you.”
“What? What do you mean? Is someone going to hire them to kill my sisters?”
The kitten jumped down and curled up under the desk.
“Those two meet their demise in a hail of bullets near your Florida home, and both girls are, unfortunately, killed in the process.”
“Oh no! Can you stop them? Please!”
“It is rare that we interfere with free will, but there are extenuating circumstances. Courtney is crucial to the world, but if she's dead, her accomplishments won't happen.”
“She is smart. What will she do? You have to stop it from happening! They're so young!”
“I'm afraid I cannot.”
Anita stood, ready to leave. “Then why would you even tell me this?”
Cuthbert paused as he saw the anguish in her face, raising his hand and gesturing for her to sit. “I cannot, but you might. See your connection to the killers allows you to go to them, and your link to the detective opens a rare opportunity. I have sought and received permission to allow you to try.”
She glanced down at the kitten, who was dreaming and twitching, and then back at him. Another temporary suspension in the conversation. “To attempt to do what exactly?”
“Stop them from being at the location where the gun fight will erupt. If you can change the timeline by an hour or two, it will give them a chance. If they were in the house instead of the front yard playing basketball, for instance. Or you might even be able to have the confrontation with the police occur at a different location. Several possibilities, I would think. But direct interference won't work.”
Anita returned to her seat. “But how can I do that? I'll do anything to save my sisters.” And she was prepared to do anything, but how could a ghost change such a timeframe?
Cuthbert tapped his finger repeatedly on the desk. “The detective remains in the land of the living, and she can indeed alter things, and she can see you. You must somehow convince her to go after these two; her physical presence alone might change their path. Those murderers will die at the hands of the police regardless, but it would be best if it didn't happen at that location or at that time.”
It was a lot to process and Anita's mind was swimming. If she required the detective's help, she'd best get to it. It would be next to impossible for a spirit to influence a live person. “Where do I start?”
Cuthbert shrugged.
“What are my chances?”
“Less than ten percent. It's not easy to alter destiny or to mess with free will.”
As Anita departed, Sun-Jade followed.
Chapter Thirty-Two
TIM DISCOVERED ANITA with her head down, sitting under a Granny Smith apple tree. An unseen Whip-poor-will was singing nearby, and Sun-Jade asleep beside her. She stared at a wheelbarrow full of various purple flowers near the tree, and two Spotted Saddle Horses were nose to nose in the field behind her. A white fence went for miles, but no house or barn was visible; she had not created this scene, instead was in someone else's. A young red-haired woman walked through golden grass far behind Anita, apparently talking to herself, but then Tim saw the black dog jumping in the tall grass.
Anita closed her eyes and concentrated on Detective Brown but, for whatever reason, nothing happened. She didn't go to Olivia, even though she was now desperate to do so. Was it possible to try too hard? Why isn't this working? I've been trying for I don't know how long now. If this is an impossible task, then why give it to me? I feel so helpless. What if it's already too late?
Tim heard a bird singing in the tree, a Rose-breasted Grosbeak, a little beauty with black and white plumage and a dark red triangle on her white breast, and
then a crow cawing in the distance.
“Anita, you look deep in thought.” Tim sat beside her and began to chew on a blade of grass. He hoped that he hadn't ruined it by lying to her because he wanted to form a stronger bond with her. He had a girl here some time ago, but she went off with someone else. Tim saw her occasionally, and she appeared to be happy.
She blurted it all out. “My sisters are going to be killed by the same two who murdered me, and I have a chance to help them, but I need to spend more time with the detective to strengthen the bond. I have no idea how much time I have, and I don't know how to do it. I can't get back to her!”
Tim looked pensive. He had never heard of anyone influencing much on the other side. Was someone lying to her? He knew that some people could see a ways into the future, though he hadn't figured it out, and didn't even know how to make an attempt. “Usually, when a person has a connection to someone on the other side of the fence, so to speak, one can visit. Unless?”
Anita looked up at him. “Unless what?”
“Well, if the person is moving, say in a car, it can be harder to establish a connection–in particular–by a newly arrived like yourself. You should be able to get back to her once she's not moving so fast. I mean, if that is the problem.”
“Oh.” The information lightened her mood slightly and did kind of make sense. The idea that she needed to get the detective to help, or to alter the timeline or, even better, catch those two bastards, was the only thing she thought about now. Who would have thought that one could be stressed even after death?
Tim had to broach the subject, just couldn't leave it hanging, but he was apprehensive about bringing it up because she wasn't in the proper mood. Could this be his last chance to patch the hole? “Anita, have you forgiven me for my little white lie?”
I Was Murdered Last Night (Olivia Brown Mysteries Book 1) Page 9
