Ghost Hunter gh-4

by Jayne Castle

  Rose batted her lashes with blatantly false modesty and looked hopeful.

  "Gracious, did you think I'd forgotten?" Beatrice removed a clear plastic bag bulging with cookies from the pocket of her coat. She opened it and took out one cookie. "There you go. Peanut butter and chocolate chip. Baked them fresh just last night."

  Rose accepted the snack with a polite air and fell to nibbling daintily but with great efficiency.

  "Here's your rez-root, Mrs. Kim." Elly put a small white sack on the counter and stepped briskly to the cash register. "That'll be fifteen dollars, please."

  "Thank you, dear." Beatrice put the plastic bag full of cookies on the counter and gave Elly a conspiratorial wink. "I made some extra for you and your houseguest."

  "Thank you," Elly said, determined to be polite. "That was very thoughtful of you."

  Beatrice raised her eyes to the floor above with a politely inquiring expression. "The two of you got home quite late last night. Expect you were out having a wonderful time on the town, hmmm?"

  "How do you know that we got home late?"

  Beatrice waved one hand in a casual manner. "Saw your lights come on for a few minutes around three in the morning." She chuckled. "Not your usual bedtime, is it, dear?"

  Elly leaned both elbows on the counter. "Were you spying on me, Mrs. Kim?"

  "Heavens no." Beatrice's eyes widened. "I wasn't sleeping very well. Got up to fix myself some of your excellent moonseed tonic and couldn't help but notice the lights over at your place."

  Elly's jaw tightened. "You and everyone else on the block, apparently."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  Elly sighed. "Sorry, Mrs. Kim. The thing is, I've had a nonstop stream of people in here today, all from around the neighborhood. Everyone seems to be extremely curious about my houseguest."

  "Well, you can't blame us, dear."

  Elly raised her brows. "I can't?"

  "With the exception of Griggs, the florist, this is a very friendly neighborhood," Beatrice reminded her. "We take an interest in each other. By the way, I saw Phillip and Gar-rick a short time ago, and they told me that they let you borrow their pass to The Road to the Ruins. I'll bet you and your friend danced the night away."

  "We did dance, yes."

  "How romantic. Phillip mentioned that he thought he saw your friend's car pull out of the alley earlier this morning. Did he go home?"

  "No. He went out to take in some of the local sights."

  "Which ones?"

  "I believe he said something about going to the zoo."

  "Oh, I see. Then he'll be returning soon?"

  Elly drummed her fingers on the counter. "Yes, Mrs. Kim."

  "I'll come back later, in that case."

  "Why?" Elly asked bluntly. "Your rez-root is ready now."

  Beatrice peered into her pocketbook with an air of vague dismay. "I seem to have forgotten my wallet."

  "Don't worry, I'll put it on your account, Mrs. Kim."

  "No, no, dear, that's quite all right. I prefer to pay cash."

  "I wouldn't want you to make an extra trip."

  "I'm just down the street." Beatrice smiled benignly and went to the door. "The exercise will do me good."

  She let herself out onto the narrow sidewalk and vanished into the fog.

  Elly looked at Rose, who had finished her cookie and was showing a marked interest in the bulging plastic bag that Beatrice had left behind.

  "So much for my theory that here in the big city people aren't interested in their neighbors' private affairs," Elly said. "Looks like Mr. Guild Boss was right about folks being entertained by the goings-on in other peoples' sex lives."

  Rose made a sympathetic sound and began to fiddle with the little plastic slider that sealed the bag.

  Elly tried to shake off the restless anxiety that had been growing steadily within her. She glanced at the clock. "He's been gone for hours. What do you suppose is keeping him?"

  There was a soft whisper of plastic on plastic. Rose had gotten the bag open. Gleefully, she reached inside to pluck out a cookie.

  Elly thought about the new quartz-green flower in the vase on the kitchen windowsill.

  "Speaking of wild nights and fast living, just where did you go last night, missy?" she whispered.

  Rose chomped down on a cookie.

  The doorbells chimed again. Elly watched another familiar local, Herschel Lafayette, take one last, nervous look over his shoulder before he ducked inside the shop.

  "Afternoon, Elly."

  She groaned. "Not you, too, Herschel."

  "Huh? Huh?" Herschel scuttled toward the counter. "Not me, too, what? What?"

  "Are you here to ask about my private life? Because if so, you can turn around and go straight back outside."

  Herschel stopped in front of her, pinched features screwed into an impatient scowl. "Why in green friggin' hell would I give a fried ghost ass what you did in private?"

  A heretofore undiscovered sense of fondness and affection for the little ruin rat rose within Elly. She gave him a warm smile.

  "I always knew there was something unique and special about you, Herschel."

  "Yeah, yeah, I'm special, all right." He checked the misty view through the windows again. "Came by to see if you've heard from Bertha Newell lately."

  Elly stiffened before she could help herself. Fortunately, Herschel didn't seem to notice. He was still watching the sidewalk.

  "No, I haven't, now that you mention it," she said, injecting what she hoped was a suitably unconcerned note into her voice. "Why? Is there a problem?"

  "Dunno." He turned back, jiggling a little. "Been by her shop a couple of times since yesterday. She's not there. Wanted to show her something I found in my sector. Get her opinion, y'know? When it comes to identifying the valuable stuff, she's as good as any of those fancy para-archaeologists up there at the university."

  "She's probably working underground."

  "Don't think so." He pulled the grease-stained collar of his jacket up around his neck, compulsively attempting to shield his features from passersby on the street. "She never stays underground overnight. Sleeping down in the catacombs spooks her."

  "Maybe she went to see her daughter and grandchildren," Elly offered helpfully.

  "Nope. She told me she was there a couple of weeks ago for one of the kid's birthdays. No reason she'd go back so soon."

  "Well, I wouldn't worry if I were you," Elly said, trying for a soothing approach. The last thing they needed was to have Herschel start asking questions about Bertha's extended absence. "I'm sure she'll turn up. Meanwhile, why don't I fix you a nice cup of Harmonic balm tea?"

  Herschel's eyes darted to the table that held the hot water pot and plastic cups. "Yeah, sure, that'd be great. Thanks."

  Elly crossed to the tea table and selected a canister from the shelf while she tried to think of a way to distract Herschel from Bertha's closed shop.

  "You say you've come across a particularly valuable relic?" she asked casually.

  "Maybe. Don't know yet." He shoved his hands into his pockets and bounced on his toes a couple of times, peering out at the street. 'That's why I want Bertha to look at it before I sell it. If it's as special as I think it is, I may go straight to the folks at the Cadence Museum with it, instead of my usual cheap-ass dealers."

  "Good plan." She put the herbs into a cup, poured hot water over them, and stirred gently.

  "Can't figure out why she'd up and disappear like this." Herschel began to pace. "Thought maybe the guy who runs the flower shop next door to her place, Griggs, or whatever his name is, might have seen her or at least know where she went. But he was closed, too."

  She carried the cup of tea to the counter and set it down together with a small paper napkin. "Here you go, Herschel. Be careful, it's hot."

  "Yeah, yeah, sure." He picked up the cup and inhaled the steamy aroma. Some of the nervous tension in him eased. "Thanks."

  "You're welcome."

  Her
schel took a cautious sip and went toward the door. "I ran into Benny and Joe. They hadn't seen her either."

  "Who are Benny and Joe?"

  "Freelance hunter-tangler team. Some of the ruin rats hire 'em to go underground as protection. Griggs uses them a lot because he doesn't have any para-rez talent of his own."

  "Stuart Griggs, the florist?" she asked, startled. "He goes into the catacombs to search for relics? I didn't know he was in that line."

  "He's not." Herschel made a face. "Benny and Joe don't know why he likes to go down into the catacombs, but he hires them on a regular basis. They don't give a damn what he's looking for as long as he's willing to pay for their services."

  "I see."

  "Well, thanks for the tea. See ya."

  "Bye, Herschel."

  Elly leaned on the counter and watched Herschel hurry away into the gray mist.

  "Guess the state of my sex life isn't of great interest to everyone in the neighborhood after all, Rose."

  Rose crouched over her hoard of jewelry like some tiny, fluffy dragon gloating over a pile of gold, and munched her second cookie.

  "You know, it occurs to me that other people may start to notice that Bertha isn't around," Elly said. "We don't want folks to get too curious about her absence. Maybe I should trot on down to her shop and put up a little sign saying she's out of town for a few days."

  The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. She had a key, she reminded herself. She could slip down the alley, enter the shop through the back door, put the sign in the window, and depart very discreetly.

  Given the rapidly thickening fog, it was unlikely that anyone would notice her coming and going via the alley. But even if someone did see her, no one would think it odd. Everyone knew that she and Bertha were friends. She could always say that she'd had a call from Bertha. Something about a family emergency.

  She used a felt pen to hand-letter the sign on a sheet of paper. When she was satisfied with the results, she turned over the Back in Ten Minutes sign in her own shop window.

  She yanked her coat down off the hook, put it on, and opened her tote for Rose.

  "Let's ride, sister."

  Mumbling cheerfully, Rose dashed along the top of the counter and hopped down into the tote. She hooked her front paws over the top and poked her head up, blue eyes open wide, so as not to miss anything.

  Chapter 21

  THE SMALL, INDIVIDUALLY WRAPPED PACKETS WERE packed neatly inside the three cardboard boxes stacked inside the old storage closet. The boxes were labeled Toilet Tissue, which struck Cooper as oddly appropriate under the circumstances.

  He let himself out of the closet. The two-hundred-year-old basement was walled and floored with stone, but water had seeped in, as water always did in such places, creating a damp, moldy atmosphere.

  Water was not the only thing that trickled into the large, dark space, he noticed. A lot of stray psi energy permeated the atmosphere down here, too. Not surprising, given the proximity of the Dead City Wall. Probably a hole-in-the-wall somewhere in the vicinity, just as Elly had suggested.

  He used the flashlight to make his way back to a heavy wooden door that looked as if it had been there since the building was constructed.

  Opening the door, he went up the old, cramped staircase.

  At the top of the staircase, he paused to listen intently for a moment before opening another door and moving into the janitorial storage room.

  The shelves were crowded with cleaning supplies, cartons of industrial-sized rolls of toilet tissue, and paper towels.

  He crossed the room, selected a few rolls of paper towels, and let himself out into the hall.

  The janitorial carl was waiting right where he had left it. He grabbed the handle and went down the corridor and around the corner to a private elevator marked Executive Offices.

  Finding the stash of drugs had been easy, he thought. Maybe too easy.

  Chapter 22

  THE ALLEY WAS CHOKED WITH DAMP, GRAY MIST. AN uneasy chill flashed down Elly's spine and raised the hair on the nape of her neck. The close, looming walls of the buildings that lined the narrow service lane cut off much of what little light the fog allowed to filter through. She could barely make out the shape of the trash container across from her. The thick vapor acted like an otherworldly sound absorber, muffling the engines of the cautiously moving cars on the surrounding streets.

  "Perfect cover," she whispered to Rose. "No one will see us."

  She went forward, unable to suppress an icy prickle of tension.

  The fog was a good thing under the circumstances, she thought. So why was it making her so nervous?

  She found herself listening intently for the familiar clatter of a garbage can lid or the soft thud of footsteps behind her.

  From time to time she glanced down at Rose, watching for signs of the dust bunny's second set of eyes.

  Rose appeared alert but showed no indication of alarm.

  When they arrived at the opening at the end of the alley, Elly felt a sharp sense of relief. The sensation vanished quickly when she discovered that the cramped street in front of her was disconcertingly empty of traffic and pedestrians. The entire neighborhood seemed to be suddenly deserted.

  Hurrying across the pavement, she entered the alley that serviced the next block of shops. Maybe it was just her imagination, she thought, but the fog seemed denser and more ominous now. It had a disorienting effect on her sense of sight and direction. Rose rumbled softly in what seemed a reassuring manner.

  She paused at the rear entrance of a shop to check the sign, afraid that she might overshoot her goal.

  "Stuart Griggs, Florist," she read aloud to Rose. "Almost there. Bertha's shop is next."

  She looked down at the dust bunny and froze when she saw that Rose was staring very hard at the closed door of the florist's shop. All four eyes were wide open, but there was no sign of any razor-sharp teeth.

  Rose rumbled softly.

  "What is it?" Elly asked. She looked from Rose to the door and back again. "I know you don't like Mr. Griggs, but I wish you wouldn't growl at his door. It's embarrassing."

  Rose's attention remained riveted on the door. Something was wrong; Elly felt it, but Rose was not acting as if she sensed a threat.

  Herschel's comment about the floral shop being closed, too, went through her head.

  Tentatively, she tried the doorknob. It twisted easily in her hand. Rose rumbled again, but there was still no sign of her teeth. She had not gone all sleek and dangerous, either, Elly thought. So far, so good.

  She opened the door of the florist's back room. The faint hum of a refrigeration unit vibrated in the darkness. Her psi senses tingled gently. The rich, lush scents of cut flowers and greenery wafted toward her.

  There was something heavy and unpleasant blended into the mix of floral smells, something that did not belong.

  Probably dead and decaying flowers, she thought. Whatever it was, it made her feel queasy. She had to fight the impulse to turn and run.

  The only thing that held her there, poised on the step, was the realization that Rose was still not displaying any indication that she sensed an imminent threat.

  "Mr. Griggs?"

  There was no answer. She knew then, deep down, that she had not expected a response.

  The smell intermingled with the floral fragrances was that of death.

  Chapter 23

  ORMOND RIPLEY CHECKED HIS AMBER-FACED WATCH AS he went past his executive assistant's desk. "Please tell Maitland I want to see him in my office in half an hour to go over the new set of financials."

  "Yes, Mr. Ripley." The assistant reached for the phone. "Mr. Dugan called while you were out. He said to tell you that he's found a new, very hot act for the club. The group will be auditioning at four this afternoon if you want to check it out for yourself."

  'Thanks, I'll be there." He went to the door of his office. "Send Maitland in as soon as he arrives."

  "Yes,
sir."

  He opened the door and walked into his office, savoring as he always did the hushed atmosphere. In his considered opinion, the room exuded an aura of power and luxury that was infinitely more intoxicating than any drug and more compelling than any woman he had ever met.

  The walls were paneled in wave-wood that had been cut and shipped from the jungles of remote islands. The intricately inlaid stone flooring had been quarried in the mountains of the Northern Continent.

  The artwork on the walls had once belonged to the private collection of one of the founders of the Cadence Museum. The paintings had been destined for the museum's galleries, but Ormond had made certain that they ended up here, instead. He was no great fan of the softly hued works of post-Era of Discord modernism, but that was not important. What mattered was that the art of that period was considered by connoisseurs to be brilliant and extremely valuable; in short, the province of the most elite collectors.

  He had come a long way from the dusty, backwater mining town where he had been born and raised, he thought, and every time he walked into this office he took a moment to reflect on that journey.

  His dissonance-energy para-rez talents had been his ticket to a good-paying job as a Guild man. He'd had no family connections to lean on, but an aptitude for internal politics and an intuitive ability to choose the winning side had helped him rise within the Guild to the status of Council member.

  But he had known from the start of his career as a hunter that he wanted to do more with his life than chase ghosts through the catacombs. His driving goal had been to establish his own empire. The Road to the Ruins was the culmination of his ambitions, and he gloried in the most minute details of the day-to-day operations of his kingdom.

  He started toward the heavily carved wooden desk at the far end of the room.

  The door of his private bathroom opened almost but not quite soundlessly. Startled, he turned on one heel.

  He scowled at the janitor lounging in the opening.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked. "That bathroom is never cleaned at this time of day unless I request it."