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

by A. J. Gallant

  John thought it interesting. “You have a thing for butterflies?”

  “No. I just don't like the little freaks, bugs with wings.”

  A slight smile. “Gonna be another hot one.” John sank half of his Budweiser. “I like the heat, don't know how they can stand the winters up north. I'd crawl south, if necessary, to get away from snow.”

  “You mean Canada?” Henry twisted open his beer.

  “You don't have to go as far as Canada to freeze your ass off. I turned down a job in Maine because of the cold. Caught the flu there when I was young, almost died. May as well get a big fucking freezer and live in it.”

  Heading for one of two boats were two lovely ladies in matching bikinis, the white material practically see-through. John wondered if they were a couple and why they would be wearing matching bikinis. They didn't look like family though, only a guess. The type that could make a man's eyeballs pop right out of his head.

  Anita arrived, though went unseen. These two sure get around. Makes me so damn mad to see them sitting here, drinking and having fun. I don't know how they live with themselves. No conscience whatsoever.

  John opened the second bottle of beer and took a drink, but before he could put it down Anita pushed on it with two hands and drove it into his head, producing a solid pok when it came into contact with his skull.

  Henry wasn't able to stop himself from laughing. “What you do that for?”

  John's eyebrows tightened. “I didn't.”

  “What do you mean you didn't?”

  John lowered his voice. “That damn ghost must be here.”

  Henry couldn't see anything. Although John didn't have much of a sense of humor, it might be his idea of a joke. Everyone around them had moved closer to the water, so no one was able to hear them. “How come she doesn't attack me?”

  John felt the bump above his right ear. “Well, I wish she would. Not playing fair, being dead and all.”

  Oh, it was fair killing me, was it?

  “John, that means one day we'll both be ghosts?”

  “I guess so.” That didn't set well as there wouldn't be any killing on the other side. John again felt the lump, finding a bit of blood this time. The idea that one day he would be a spirit made him shake his head.

  Henry cocked his head slightly as his eyebrows tightened. “That means all those people we offed will all be there.”

  “Fuck 'em, all they can do is nag us.”

  I have to be changing things, at least somewhat, but how will I ever know if it's enough. Feels good to be able to touch things in the physical world, to push that bottle into his stupid head. I shouldn't feel good about hurting someone, but it's the situation I'm in here.

  Henry finished his beer and opened another one. And although he didn't want to, he thought about hell. An unpleasant contemplation but there was no rewinding the clock now. Not only too much water under the bridge but too many corpses floating by as well. He had been naturally cruel as a child, having vexed many at school and, of course, hadn't grown into an exemplary adult. “Can't run from a ghost. Don't even know when they're around until they hit you in the head with a bottle.”

  John's pupils opened a bit wider, seeing a priest getting off a blue charter boat and heading up the dock toward them, collar and all. Father Carroll had a wedding that evening and became aware of John's eyes upon him.

  “How are you?” said the priest as he approached.

  “Do you exercise spirits?” Smith blurted out.

  “I imagine spirits get lots of exercises and don't need my help.” Father smiled and just kept going.

  Both the priest and the killer caught off guard with what they had said and the awkwardness of it. Men of the cloth always gave John a peculiar feeling, as if caught cheating on a test by a teacher.

  “What are you gonna do about her?” Henry gazed up at a bird of prey that was circling.

  “Who?”

  “You know, the ghost.”

  “What the hell can I do?” He took another drink, and Anita hit the bottle out of his hand, sending it ricocheting off Henry's head and making John smile.

  Stephen was suddenly standing beside Anita with a stupid grin that dissolved when two dark silhouettes grabbed him, one on each side, and then all three vanished. It appeared he had received his ultimate punishment.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  AUNT STELLA, WAS IN BED WATCHING RIO BRAVO, an old John Wayne movie, and eating a bag of Funyuns. Suddenly felt a chill. A belch and then a giggle escaped her. A draft was sometimes a sign that a spirit was nearby, at least the movies got that right. It was one of the indications that there was a ghost hanging around, though she was unsure whether they would make their presence known or not. The other side always had its agenda. “I'm watching a movie here so manifest or move along and stop freezing me.”

  Stella looked up at the three antique crosses above the television, she thought the one in the middle might have moved slightly and that meant that whoever it was wanted her attention, but sometimes it took a lot of effort to do so, especially with no link between the living and the dead.

  Cuthbert appeared at the foot of the bed and Stella was puzzled by the top hat. “Who are you? And what do you want with me? Be quick about it.”

  “Much.” Cuthbert watched as Stella shook her head. “Sorry. A little spirit humor.”

  “Very little. Hey, I can actually hear you.” The ghost was white shimmering smoke, took the form of Cuthbert, though continuously attempting to dissipate but then reforming.

  “I need you to contact the detective, convince her to cut her vacation short and to return home.” Cuthbert was somber and didn't like the look he was getting.

  Stella had heard it all now. “You mean Olivia? That is just not possible. Even if I could get in contact with her what would I say? Is she in danger?”

  “No, but others are. We are at the beginning of something significant, but the window of opportunity is closing, and lives hang in the balance. The lives of two children.”

  That struck a chord. Stella had so wanted children when she was younger and when she discovered that she couldn't have any it had been a crushing blow. Even now she looked at little girls as they passed, wondering what might have been. “What am I supposed to tell her?”

  Cuthbert was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  DETECTIVE BROWN LAY by the pool, taking a nap. She dozed off thinking about the ghost. It seemed that reality was as blurred as fantasy at this point, though she was no longer able to put it off as hallucinations, and that was the scary part. Olivia was living in a new reality. Who would have ever thought that Aunt Stella had it right?

  Olivia stood staring at a plane, a white Cessna Skycatcher, flying low over the ocean. It was dropping what looked like body bags, and they weren't empty, and each time one fell into the water it created a sizable splash. Ripples went out from the bags hitting the water, much like a pebble in a pond. The drop was in such a straight line that the detective imagined someone was planting them and that they would grow more. Each location where a body had gone into the ocean, a swirl of seagulls appeared.

  Olivia looked down at her feet where the tide was lapping and then back at the Cessna. The plane had turned around and was returning to release another load and was now dropping another corpse. This time, she saw two men tossing out the black body bags and then sharing a high five.

  The water on her feet had been refreshing, but now it was blood red.

  The sound of Olivia's cell phone caused her to open her eyes. “Hello? Aunt Stella?”

  Almost eleven hours later Detective Brown was on a flight back to the States, back to New York to see her aunt. She should probably have her head examined, cutting her vacation short because of a ghost, but there was no denying what she had experienced and seen with her own eyes, and even her sister had seen her. Charlotte remained back at the hotel, though Olivia imagined she wasn't alone.

  The detective had come from money and most
wondered why she had chosen such a path, but she had wanted it from a relatively young age, just as some boys wanted to be a firefighter or an astronaut. Catching bad guys did appeal on many levels. These days it seemed there were almost as many evil men as bad. And now, in the recesses of her mind, was the notion that she might give it up. But what to do after this career was over remained up in the air.

  Olivia was almost shocked when she entered the apartment, almost. Aunt Stella was sitting on the floor behind the coffee table and on the other side stood a ghost wearing a top hat. She gestured to Olivia to take a seat beside her and be quiet. Another surprise was that she was able to hear the spirit. He explained, in detail, what Anita was trying to accomplish, how she was attempting to save her sisters. How the deceased was linked to both the detective and the killers, and how they needed Olivia's help to circumvent another tragedy.

  It was a lot to deal with, never mind the knowledge that ghosts were real. “How am I supposed to catch these two when I have no idea who or where they are?”

  Cuthbert had a kind though serious face. “Your connection to Anita grows stronger every time you come into contact with one another. You need only to change the timeline which is, unfortunately, easier said than accomplished. So far Anita has not been able to manage it, even though she has physically struck one of them.”

  Again the idea that there was mental illness in her family was not lost on her. Could this be the ravings of a lunatic? And was she the crazy one? Perhaps tied down in some hospital bed somewhere with potent drugs flowing through her? “Does this sort of thing go on all the time? Spirits trying to help from the other side?”

  “Spirit visitations are usually quite brief.” And with those last three words he vanished.

  Aunt Stella stood and made her way over to the sofa. “The connection is lost.”

  Olivia sat beside her and they were quiet for a time.

  “You see Olivia, it's not so much that there is insanity that runs in the family, but that we can see spirits. Many people can't. Seeing ghosts does make a person doubt their sanity. Millions prefer to believe that there is nothingness after we die. And think of it this way–when it's your time to go, you may be back here helping people on this side.”

  Olivia grunted. She tried to imagine it, but it wasn't easy. “I need a drink.”

  “I have some wine.”

  She observed as Stella went into the kitchen. “I think I'll tender my resignation effective immediately, see if I can stop this thing from happening. Anyway, I've seen enough death and destruction to last a lifetime and beyond.”

  Stella came out with a glass of red wine. “You might want to reconsider that as being a detective gives you more connections.”

  “Just talking to myself, I guess.” She laughed at the absurdness of it all.

  “Here. I'll try to get Anita to go to you around three in the morning. It'll be quiet and thinking of her will help to pull her in. People think that midnight is the bewitching hour, so to speak, but it's three in the morning.”

  “Sure why not?”

  Three in the morning in Olivia's loft came and went, and then three ten and three twenty. She gazed at the dark big screen television and resigned that she would go to bed soon. And again she closed her eyes and concentrated on Anita, not ready to doze, but it wouldn't take long for her to get there. The detective opened her eyes when she felt a breeze, and there were no windows open as the air conditioner was functioning.

  Anita slowly materialized, just barely visible at first and then more substantial, seemingly happy to see Olivia.

  The detective sat up straight and decided to get right to business. “Anita, can you tell me where they are?”

  “They are somewhere that's hot because there are palm trees.”

  “That doesn't help much. Are they even in this country?” Again she wasn't able to hear her but was getting better at reading lips as she had practiced some in the mirror.”

  “Yes, I think so. Wait. There was a Georgia newspaper, so I believe they're in Georgia.”

  Olivia nodded. “Georgia. I'll book a flight and a hotel in Atlanta, and if you can pop in, we'll see if we can track them down.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What's it like to be dead?”

  Anita shrugged. It wasn't something easily explained. “I'm living it, and I still don't understand it. Well, I guess living it doesn't apply anymore.”

  Chapter Forty

  OLIVIA SETTLED INTO THE TWELVE CENTENNIAL PARK HOTEL in Atlanta in the one bedroom deluxe suite. She couldn't have guessed this trip in a billion years, trying to help a ghost catch or stop two killers. The time for looking back was over; it was time to move forward. Olivia took a fifteen-minute walk to the New American Shakespeare Tavern for a drink and a salad. There was no performance going on, but she might return later if she had the time. Maybe even check out the Georgia Aquarium.

  Olivia wasn't sure how this was supposed to work or if even Anita could track her down in this new location, couldn't guess how it functioned from the spirit side of things. Come nightfall she would go back to her room and wait, nothing else she could do. If these two were hit men, and she believed they were, they would be dangerous. People who killed for money were the most dangerous breed and usually smarter than the average Joe, whether from their intelligence level or their experience at murder and not getting caught. The detective knew they wouldn't hesitate to kill her if the opportunity arose, and she must be prepared to respond in kind.

  Back in the hotel, she ordered a nine-inch pizza with the works and two cans of Pepsi. She started flicking channels on the 37-inch television until the pizza arrived. If the ghost didn't show up in a day or two, all she would be able to do would be to head back to New York. It was tough to have expectations when it came to a spirit. The pizza arrived, she gave the young guy a ten dollar tip, and watched some CNN as she ate and drank. The news was all about the upcoming election and mostly about Trump. At least no breaking news about shootings.

  At two in the morning, the detective went to bed as Anita hadn't shown up, more than a little disappointed. And not at all sure about how long to give the ghost.

  Chapter Forty-One

  ANITA, SITTING IN A FIELD OF GOLDEN STRAW, was concentrating hard on her killer. Tim was sitting beside her and holding her hand, hoping she could manage to accomplish her goal of saving her sisters from an early death. But it was as if she had lost her connection to the other side and at the worst possible time. Tim was doing lots of praying; they both were. A grizzly bear was scratching his back on a tree at the edge of the field when a man appeared and helped the bear scratch his itch. Tim looked up at the animal; he was aware that Anita had gone. Yes! Get 'em, Anita!

  Anita was unexpectedly on John's front walkway as he was exiting his vehicle. He unlocked his front door to the sound of Mexico barking, the dog's routine of welcoming him home. On extended trips, he had someone come in and feed the little monster. John stopped and proceeded to take in the mail; nothing looked interesting, mostly junk. Inside he received a warm welcome from his dog until Mexico caught sight of Anita and ran upstairs as fast as his little feet would take him.

  Don't tell me that damn ghost is back? Must be something I can do to get rid of it. John got a cold beer and went into the living room, dropping the junk mail on the coffee table. “Now listen here, ghost. Why don't you go track down whoever paid for the hit; he's as guilty as I am.”

  That he was trying to deflect the responsibility of killing her aggravated Anita; she kicked his right foot, sending it to his left and knocking him down.

  Contact!

  “Stop that, you freaking bitch! I can't bring back the dead. And if I could I wouldn't bring you back!” As soon as he said it, he realized it might not be smart to aggravate someone he had killed, if that made any sense. He was giving some thought lately to what it was going to be like in spirit form.

  Anita could tell that John was scared of her and that was satisfying, but there
was a bigger picture that she needed to alter. She tried to kick him again, but this time her foot went through him. If only Anita could make contact more consistently. Maybe she could stick a knife in his chest? No, even if I could I wouldn't do it.

  John stretched out on the sofa and put his feet up, his eyes moving from one area to another, scanning for the ghost, though he saw nothing. What he would do to a sleeping body if the tables were turned gave him pause. Haunted for the rest of his life was not something he'd like to consider, not that he didn't deserve it. If she tripped him on the way down the stairs, she could conceivably kill him. Would his soul then stand up out of his body for yet another confrontation? Another strange thought. John closed his eyes and took a nap, not at all restful as several ghosts pursued him in the nightmare, all people he had recently killed.

  John got up after eleven, cooked a pork chop for lunch and brought the meal to the coffee table, along with a cold Budweiser. Mexico showed up to beg as was customary, but Sun-Jade appeared and chased him up the stairs, and the poor dog yelped and squealed all the way. “Some ghost, picking on a defenseless animal.”

  Anita looked down at the mail. She now had his address and should be able to bring the detective right to him. Now she had him, as long as Olivia got to him in time, providing he didn't stop the detective instead of the other way around.

  As John brought his fork and the meat to his mouth she managed to hit it and send both the fork and the pork chop flying; he got up swinging but felt like a fool for doing it. “My food you bitch!” Mexico returned and commenced to eat John's meal, growling all the while. The spirit was becoming a big problem.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  OLIVIA SPENT TWO HOURS at the Georgia Aquarium; the whale sharks were quite impressive. Seeing something so large up close was exciting. The diversity of nature was incredible. Too bad people weren't more considerate of the environment. It seemed that money was worth more than the planet itself.