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

by A. J. Gallant

  Olivia stood in the tunnel and watched the sharks and rays swimming around, and got more than she bargained for when she observed another spirit to her left, watching as a young boy walked through him. He was a short man with a handlebar mustache. And then she saw another, a tall man dressed in old-fashioned clothes, also watching the fish, and she saw several people walk through him. Now that Olivia was receptive to the idea of ghosts was she seeing more of them? She hoped that would not be the case. Life was sufficiently difficult, and Olivia didn't need to be braking for spirits crossing the street.

  Olivia made her way back to the hotel and took a shower, and as the detective finished she immediately got a chill. Might be a good bet that Anita was hanging around, and it was about time. Olivia got dressed in a black pantsuit and discovered Anita on the bed with the kitten nearby. “What's with the cat?”

  “It's tough to explain. I guess she adopted me. I got his address.”

  The words were in and out though she did get the idea that she had gotten the killer's address. How was it that she actually heard a ghost? “You have an address?”

  Anita nodded. She saw a pen near the television and a feeling came over her that she could manipulate it, so she picked it up and wrote the address, though it took several tries. Anita was proud that she had managed it. It appeared she was getting stronger on this side, especially when she was around the detective or the killer.

  Olivia studied the note. “I'll punch it into the GPS and we'll see where it takes us, supposing you can follow along. Soon as I put on some makeup, we'll head down.”

  Olivia got into her rental car, a white Chevy Malibu, and tucked her Glock in the holster. Olivia was strangely excited, though she couldn't imagine how this was going to play out. She had no reason to arrest them, and they weren't even close to her jurisdiction. A long way from New York. There was no plan, and the idea of it was ludicrous, though she felt she had to follow through to get rid of the ghost.

  After a three-hour drive following the GPS, she found herself on a rural road approaching her destination. Olivia had never been to Georgia, and the area wasn't at all familiar. Observing the ghost in the rearview mirror in the backseat was bizarre; Anita didn't like the vibe of the electronics in the front.

  “You have arrived at your destination.”

  The detective pulled into the driveway and was surprised at the mansion. “Wow, son-of-a-bitch is well off.” Olivia got out of the car and looked around. “Are you sure this is the place?”

  Anita nodded. The vehicles were gone, and that worried her. Were they already on the way to Florida? If so it might not be easy to track them down. If she couldn't pop in and see John when she needed to do so, then all might be lost. And again, Anita thought a spirit shouldn't be able to feel stress.

  The detective pounded on the front door, and that made Mexico bark. “He can't be gone for long. We'll wait for a while and see if he returns tonight.” She became aware of the security camera over the front door, and if anyone was watching it would look as if she were talking to herself.

  Olivia got into the car and, after a brief pause, drove across the street and up the road a distance where there was an empty lot. Must have been a residence or business that had been there years ago but now just an overgrown space and a partial driveway. From here they could easily see the killer returning. Unfortunately, he would be able to see her as well, though he would likely think that someone had lost their way. Olivia imagined that hitmen were suspicious by nature.

  Two hours turned into four and then eight. At a little after one in the morning, the detective didn't know what to think. She wanted to leave and return in the morning, but Anita was adamant that she stay, as this might be their only opportunity. Anita tried to go back to John's location, but for whatever reason, she was unable to do so, both worrying and frustrating. At sunrise, the detective went to a nearby gas station and had an egg sandwich for breakfast. This spiritual adventure was off to a sluggish start. The detective had gone over multiple ways to stop them, including smashing into them if necessary. Were there others on the other side watching these events unfold?

  Chapter Forty-Three

  JOHN AND HENRY WERE IN A SMALL WOODED AREA on the outskirts of Massachusetts. They had received the money for a hit that needed to be done as soon as possible. Both were carrying rifles, identical Nosler M48 TGR hunting rifles. Henry had targets in his pocket to feign target practice if they ran into anyone, which was unlikely out here. They had specific directions to locate the newly built cabin, but so far no luck. They might or might not be close to their objective, but so far the only thing they had spotted was a female moose that they didn't dare shoot, not wanting to give away their position.

  Henry looked frustrated. “How the hell are we gonna find this damn cabin? I see no sign of it.”

  “With no trails to follow it's not going to be easy. Supposedly, most of the materials were taken in by helicopter, it's a hideout, you know. There's a small lake in the area, but we can't even find that.” John examined the map to try to get his bearings, but one tree looked like another.

  “Can you believe all the jobs we're getting lately? I wonder if it's because those other guys were killed by the mafia?” Henry sneezed loud enough to wake the dead.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “It snuck up on me.”

  John sat on a decomposing tree stump and perused the map. “You know what, I'm not even sure that we can find our way back.”

  “I bought some more goats yesterday.” Henry smiled as if he had one-upped him.

  John slowly turned and looked up at him but didn't say a word, and then handed over the map for Henry to examine. They had followed a slight trail for several miles but then had to get off it, and that they had not found the brook nor the pond told Henry they could be miles off course. “Well, Henry, what's your opinion?”

  “I don't know what to think. Gonna be dark in a few hours, and if we have to backtrack to find the path and start all over again, it'll be dark. Might have to spend the night here and try in the morning.” Henry sat with his back against a tree.

  “Great minds think alike.” John took out some of his beef hotdogs and commenced to eat.

  Henry killed a mosquito on his arm, leaving behind a drop of blood. “Stupid minds too. Tell me that story again about your father.”

  John shook his head. “On what level does that fulfill you? That my old man picked me up over his head and threw me down the basement steps, breaking my leg?”

  “I don't know. My father was cruel too, held my hand on the stove when I was eight. Nice to know that I wasn't the only one, I guess.” Henry sprayed himself with bug spray.

  “Man, that stuff stinks.”

  Henry shrugged. “Better than getting eaten alive by mosquitoes.” He smelled his arm where he had sprayed. “I'm allergic to this stuff, but only if I get it on my face. My lips swell up. Imagine if we could never find our way out and died in here.”

  Anita was standing amongst the trees, looking puzzled. What was she doing in the forest? And then she saw them, one against a tree and the other sitting on a stump. They were armed with rifles and didn't look particularly happy. Anita took in her surroundings and didn't think these woods looked like Georgia forest, but she couldn't be sure. She attempted to listen to telling sounds, of maybe a highway nearby, but a woodpecker beating on a tree was all that she could hear.

  What are they doing in here with rifles? Deer hunting maybe? They can't be hunting for someone to kill in the middle of the forest can they? Maybe they're following someone, but I don't see anyone else. Anita listened as they talked, something about buying goats.

  A couple minutes after the sun went down John smelled smoke, faint at first, but someone was burning something. “Henry, you smell that?”

  “I smell something burning. I'll bet it's from the cabin. Who else would be out here starting a fire?”

  They stood up, reinvigorated, and begun pursuing the scent.
However, it wasn't easy. The wind could blow smoke in multiple directions. It took them over an hour before they could finally see the log cabin just beyond a scenic pond. It was the fanciest cabin they had ever set eyes on, and it even had a satellite dish on the roof. They hunkered down for a time as they took turns looking through their 10 X 42 Zeiss binoculars. Light in the kitchen, so there was obviously someone in there, hopefully, their target. A short man walked past the window, but it was too fast to confirm the mark, though it did look like the seventy-year-old they were sent to kill. Harlan was bald with a gray beard.

  Anita watched as they both aimed their rifles.

  Inside the cabin, Harlan sat at the table near the window as a steak was cooking on the nearby gas range. Drinking a large cup of Gold Star Arabica coffee, he was reading To Kill a Mockingbird for the fifth time on his Samsung tablet. As he brought the cup to his mouth, the impact of the bullet was so loud that it sounded like a bomb going off. The shots didn't make it through the bulletproof window, though a few splinters of glass did. He dropped both the cup and the tablet, spilling his coffee. Neither broke.

  For several seconds Harlan couldn't hear a thing and then loud ringing in his ears. He hit a large round button on the wall which turned the inside lights out but the external lights on, blinding both John and Henry. He opened the trap door on the floor and dropped down, grabbing his AR-15 rifle.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  OLIVIA LEFT THE HOUSE, as she assumed the killer had gone away for a few days, even though he had left his dog behind. Perhaps he had one of those automatic dog feeders that released a degree of food every day, or maybe he just didn't give a shit, but there would be lots of that to clean up when he returned.

  Back at the hotel, Olivia got some KFC delivered for lunch and waited for the ghost to reappear. Every time she thought about the situation it made her shake her head and smile, waiting for a ghost to show up. But Olivia was coming to terms with the situation; that ghosts were as genuine as she was. How would a psychiatrist react to such a story, especially if the spirit appeared to the shrink to confirm it? These days he or she would be more likely to believe it was a hologram than a spirit.

  Although she thought she wouldn't, Olivia was enjoying the time off, if one could call this a vacation. Was this her new calling–helping a ghost to solve crimes? Having a spirit on her side could come in handy. She shook her head at the absurdity of it all. And she'd begun dreaming about helping Anita. They chased a woman serial killer. It had been so vivid, and she never had seen such detail while asleep. The red-bricked building the killer had gone into remained an active memory, the numbers 1759 above the door. Now she wondered if her imaginary friend, a blond woman in her forties that she played with as a seven-year-old, really had been a ghost. Why did this craziness have to run in the family? Apparently, there had also been something weird about her great-grandmother, another medium she believed, who used to read people in the circus.

  An hour after the sun set Anita appeared beside the television. “I found them, but they're in the forest trying to kill someone.”

  “In the woods?”

  “And I have no idea where. One tree looks like another. I can wander only so far.”

  The detective considered that because of no identifying markers, finding them there would be just about impossible. “We do know where one lives.” Olivia was attempting to give the spirit hope, but the endeavor just might be futile.

  “The guy they tried to kill is in a cabin that had a bulletproof window, and now he's shooting at them. I hope he kills them.”

  “That would be what they deserve. I'll stake the house for a while longer. Go back and see what's happening.”

  “If I can.”

  The detective heard her voice, a little like she was speaking through a tube or a hose or something, but she could hear her.

  “I am curious, Anita. What were you doing in the park so late?”

  Anita shrugged. “It is strange, but I can't recall most of what happened. I don't know; maybe I'm not supposed to remember. Oh, I'm fading.”

  “Yes, I see that.”

  Anita was gone. Olivia thought she would like to get the ghost on video if it were possible. At some point, she might even show it to someone, proof that she wasn't crazy. But then again, maybe not.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  HARLAN GAZED THROUGH THE SCOPE of the AR-15 and could see the two of them running; he needed to kill them before too many trees were in between him and them, and then, no doubt, they would double back. Harlan held his breath and fired between heartbeats. Unfortunately, for him, John couldn't see where he was going and had commenced falling at the same time. The bullet that should have gone through John's head instead shot most of his left ear off. The burning pain was quite something as he touched the wound with his hand. They ran like two scared rabbits, desperate to get away from those bright lights. Perhaps they needed to come back after the sun rose, though being in daylight might not be an improvement. It was a lot different with the bullets coming at them than the other way around.

  A bullet shot a piece of the bark off the tree near Henry's face. “Who the fuck is this guy?”

  “Businessman my ass. Bastard shot my ear off!”

  A bullet shot the tip off of Henry's left shoulder, grazing the bone. “Oh God, I'm hit!”

  They were now far enough from the cabin with sufficient coverage to stop and check their wounds. Henry's was borderline severe, but the bullet didn't pass through any artery, and he would likely make a full recovery if he didn't bleed out.

  “John, you're gonna be even more ugly now with only one ear.” Henry joked through the pain.

  “Let me see where he got you.” John examined Henry's wound under the small flashlight beam that he carried in his pocket. “You'll live unless an infection gets you. A little lower and you wouldn't be here.”

  Henry put a thick bandage on his shoulder, held in place by his shirt. “How the hell are we gonna go back with those damn lights? He can see us coming from a mile away.”

  “We need to be quiet. He could come out and get us.”

  They listened for movement but didn't hear a sound. Neither had ever been in such a situation and weren't sure of the next move; neither one wanted to retreat. There was a level of excitement here. The light made another approach dangerous, but John wanted another go at this bastard. However, shot dead wasn't going to accomplish anything, at least, not from their point of view.

  Harlan was no ordinary Joe; he was an enforcer for the mob, but now he had a contract out on him for whacking the nephew of the boss. The nephew had raped and killed a friend. How they had discovered him in that cabin, he would never know. Should be no cell reception out here to trace him and the helicopter pilot who dropped his supplies was a close friend. Maybe they had gotten to his friend's family if they suspected he knew anything.

  The woods went dark. Then the lights came back and extinguished once again. Was he signaling that he was coming?

  Henry hoped that he wasn't losing too much blood, too far in here for John to carry him out. “What's he doing?”

  John shook his head. “No idea, unless he wants us to think his system is not working properly? Come on, we'll work our way around to the side of the cabin where, hopefully, there's no window.” He put the rifle on his shoulder and pulled out his 9 mm Luger Centerfire Pistol as they commenced to move, trying their best to be quiet, but things usually snapped and crackled under one's feet in the forest.

  They moved slowly and deliberately, stopping at intervals to scan and listen, both wondering if there were bullets in that guy's gun with their names on them. The forest remained dark, which worried them. What if he was now out here? What if he had a scope with night vision? Why the hell didn't they bring their night vision? And he'd damn well know the area better than they did. They reached the right side of the cabin where no window existed. They froze for a time and listened attentively.

  Who, who!

  The barn ow
l almost made both of them jump out of their skin. Much better to be the predator than the prey. John nearly pulled the trigger on his Luger. That would have put a target on their exact position, and he felt like an amateur for the first time since his teen years.

  The scent of steak was in the air.

  “You want me to head for the back door?” said Henry.

  “No, I'll do it. Keep your eyes and ears open, or it'll be the last thing you ever do.” John looked around the corner and pulled his head back quickly to see if he was going to draw fire. He saw no one, and no bullets were coming at him this time. It took courage to move forward around the cabin, combined with a little stupidity. This time the deer had a gun and knew how to use it. He had no idea how they were going to get inside. He ducked and crawled under the back window with his pistol ready to unleash as many shells as necessary.

  Henry felt a knife at his throat.

  “Think very carefully about your next move. Where's your friend?”

  “He went around the corner.” Henry would go for it and take his chances, but he was in a lot of pain now and, unfortunately, he knew he wouldn't be able to move fast enough. He was also aware if this guy were smart he would cut his throat now. So this was the way it was going to end. Live by the sword …

  “Who sent you? I know who but I want to hear you say it.”

  “It was an undisclosed contract.” Time appeared to stop for Henry. The blade, whetted to perfection, was now pushing a little deeper into his throat. What was it going to be like to be a ghost?”

  A gunshot went off so loudly it was as if Henry were in the center of an explosion, and then the smell of fresh gunpowder. Harlan fell, a piece of his head had come off. Too much talking had given John sufficient time to circle the cabin just in time to save his friend's life.

  The back door was unlocked, tethered to a grenade. A tripwire painted the same color as the floor, a bit of a miracle that they even saw it. With one booby trap, there were likely to be others. They decided not to enter the cabin and instead headed out to tend to their wounds.