The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (Charley's Ghost Book 1)

by Sally Berneathy

  “No, but I can give you the legal description.”

  “I guess that’ll have to do.”

  As soon as she finished talking to Dawson, Amanda called Detective Daggett. Though she assured herself she had the situation with Kimball under control and could handle it on her own, and though she knew Daggett wasn’t going to believe her, she had to try one more time.

  Surely, she thought, Daggett would be in the office at ten thirty on a weekday.

  He wasn’t.

  “Can I have him call you?”

  Amanda sighed and gave the receptionist her number. “I need you to give him a message.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “This is Amanda Randolph. I’ve spoken with him before about an individual in Silver Creek, Texas. Today I’m meeting with that individual and turning over to him a gun he thinks was used in a murder. Just in case I don’t survive this meeting, I want Detective Daggett to know what happened to me.” Perhaps the last sentence was a bit melodramatic...or perhaps not. “I don’t know where we’re meeting, but it may be in an old hunting cabin on Silver Lake. I’d like to give you the legal description. That way, at least maybe he’ll be able to find my body.”

  She read the description. The woman assured her that Detective Daggett would get her message.

  “I don’t know why you bothered to call him again,” Charley said grumpily. “He’s not going to help you. He’s not even going to talk to you. Not that it matters. You don’t need him. I’m here, and I’m going to take care of you.”

  “Like you took care of me while you were alive?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of giving somebody a second chance? Maybe this whole situation is to teach you about forgiveness.”

  “You better hope that’s not right, or you’ll be stuck here forever.”

  Amanda started to put her phone in her pocket, but hesitated, suddenly overwhelmed with an urge to call her parents.

  Ridiculous, she told herself. Her dad was working, and her mother was doubtless busy being Beverly Caulfield. Not like she’d never have the chance to talk to them again. She was not going to be murdered tonight.

  She slipped her phone into her pocket and headed downstairs.

  “Would you help me turn the mattresses?” Irene asked when Amanda walked into the living room.

  “Turn? Uh…sure. What? Turn the mattresses?”

  “To keep the wear even, I turn the mattresses twice a year.”

  Somewhere between turning the mattresses and dusting the jars of canned fruits and vegetables, Amanda decided Irene was creating work to help keep her mind off her impending rendezvous with Kimball.

  All day they turned, dusted, cleaned and cooked, and, in spite of Irene’s efforts, Amanda’s imagination created an endless litany of potential disastrous scenarios for the evening.

  The cell phone in her pocket remained obdurately silent.

  The twins returned from school, and Herbert came home from work. Dinner was another quiet meal. Amanda dutifully shoved bites of spaghetti into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. She had no doubt the food was delicious, but on that night it tasted like cardboard and was just as difficult to chew and swallow.

  After dinner, Paula and Penny went upstairs to do their homework. Irene, Herbert, Amanda and Charley settled in the living room to watch television. Though the TV was occasionally on during the evenings, it rarely received the complete attention of four people. Well, three people and one ghost.

  Herbert and Irene exchanged a few remarks about their day. Amanda could not summon the energy to attempt any sort of conversation.

  The windows were dark, the TV the only light in the room when her cell phone finally rang. Irene gave a small shriek and half rose from the sofa.

  Amanda pulled the phone from her pocket and looked at the display. “It’s him.”

  “This is it, Babe. Showtime.” Charley sounded excited.

  “Hello?” Was that squeaky, high-pitched voice coming from her?

  “Are you ready for our meeting, Amanda?”

  “Waiting with bated breath for you to say when and where.”

  “The when is soon. As to the where, I’ll let you know. You need to get on your motorcycle and go downtown. When you get there, stop in front of the courthouse and call this number. I’ll give you further directions at that time.”

  Amanda didn’t like the sound of that. Kimball was taking all possible precautions to be sure she came alone and that nobody knew where she was going.

  “Oh, good grief,” she bluffed. “We’re not going on a scavenger hunt. We’re supposed to be two adults meeting for mutually profitable business reasons.”

  “We’re playing by my rules. I’ll tell you where when you need to know.”

  “Excuse me? Your rules? I’d say you have more to gain from this meeting than I do so we’re not playing by your rules. Tell me where to meet you or forget the whole thing.”

  “Are you sure about who has the most to gain? You have an item I may or may not want while I have the power to make your life and the lives of your family and friends easy or difficult.”

  There he went again, boasting about his stinking power. Threatening her and Herbert and Irene. Amanda no longer felt exhausted and drained from the day’s tension. This arrogant piece of dung had to be stopped. All her fantasies of doing away with Charley paled next to what she wanted to do to Kimball.

  “With that much power at your command, you should be able to designate a meeting place and share that information with me without the slightest concern of interference.”

  “You have a bad habit of running your mouth when you shouldn’t. We don’t need anyone at this meeting but you and me.”

  He wasn’t going to tell her. “If you’re that terrified of my friends, I’ll humor you.” She hung up, determined to have the last word even if that word was ineffectual.

  She looked up to see Irene and Herbert sitting on the edge of the sofa, watching her intently.

  She forced a smile to her lips. “Game on.”

  “Where are you meeting him?” Irene asked.

  “He wouldn’t say. I’m to go downtown then call him, and he’ll tell me where.”

  “I don’t like this,” Herbert said. “If we don’t know where you are, I can’t get there to help you.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I find out. In the meantime, don’t worry. Remember, I have a loaded gun and I know how to use it.” She lifted her cell phone. “And a recorder. I’ll get his confession, you’ll get to see him on trial, sentenced to death and given the shot.”

  Herbert and Irene exchanged worried glances.

  “Let’s go!” Charley sounded delighted with the evening’s prospect of adventure.

  No need to fear for your life if you’re already dead. Amanda, however, was still alive.

  So far.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Amanda brought her Harley to a stop in front of the Silver Creek courthouse. The moon had not yet risen. Only the faint light of the stars and a few street lights relieved the total darkness. Familiar trees and buildings lurked as mysterious shadows. The streets and sidewalks were deserted. Only Billy Earl’s Roadhouse showed signs of life with its neon words flashing, lending eerie colors to the white columns and steps of the courthouse.

  And things were only going to get more eerie. Amanda pulled off her helmet and gloves then reached into her inside jacket pocket. Her fingers passed over her cell phone and continued, searching for and finding the hard metal of the gun. She’d put the hammer in another pocket at the last minute. Maybe it wasn’t as effective as a gun, but it made her feel more secure. Couldn’t hurt to have a backup weapon.

  She took out her phone. In the darkness the screen glowed like a spotlight. If Kimball had lured her there to kill her, this should make her an easy target.

  “Do it, Babe,” Charley encouraged, moving close. “Call him. You’ve got a gun, a hammer and me. We’re ready for His Honor, The Murderer.”

  Easy for
him to be ready. What could Kimball do to a ghost?

  She drew in a deep breath, straightened and sat erect on her bike. Locating Kimball’s incoming call on her phone, she hit the icon to return that call.

  His phone rang five times. Was he not going to answer? Had this all been a sick head game? Was he even now sighting in on her, preparing to shoot her?

  She looked around the square, half expecting to see Kimball lurking in the shadows. Billy Earl’s sign flashed, splashing red light over her, and for a moment, she imagined a red spot on her chest, a laser sight from a gun.

  “Amanda, how good of you to call.”

  The sound of his oily voice made her sit even straighter, turned her anxiety to resolution. Her jaw clenched. “Roland, you’re so irresistible, I simply couldn’t wait to see you.”

  “When you see a black Cadillac turn the corner, follow me.”

  “I’ll be right on your tail.”

  “Turn off your cell phone.”

  “Why? Are you afraid the signal will interfere with your navigation equipment in that hearse you drive?”

  “We don’t want to take the chance that anybody’s tracking you.”

  “Don’t do it!” Charley advised.

  “No problem,” Amanda replied to Kimball. “I wouldn’t want anybody to know I’m hanging out with a guy like you anyway. It would ruin my reputation.”

  She disconnected the call.

  Charley looked at her in alarm. “If you turn off your phone, you won’t be able to record his confession!”

  Amanda gave him a withering glance. “Of course I’m not going to turn it off. Have you forgotten all the times you ordered me to do something and I let you think I was going to do it just to shut you up?”

  Charley considered that, his forehead wrinkling. Before he could respond, Kimball’s Cadillac rounded the corner.

  Amanda shoved her helmet onto her head and her hands into her gloves. The bike roared to life, and she took off after Kimball.

  He drove slowly, twisting and turning through the streets of Silver Creek, residential as well as downtown. Trying to be sure they weren’t followed?

  It was a pleasant night, but Amanda failed to enjoy the leisurely ride. She wanted to get to wherever they were going, wanted to confront this evil man, wanted to get this over with. She was tired of living in fear, checking her bike every morning before she dared to ride it, looking over her shoulder and out her bedroom window for prying eyes. Much as she liked staying with the Randolphs, she wanted to be able to go home without worrying about being arrested. And she wanted to know that Irene and Herbert weren’t in danger from dirt bag Kimball.

  After driving in circles for fifteen minutes, Kimball turned into the woods surrounding the lake. Ice crystals stabbed Amanda’s heart as she followed the black Cadillac along a single lane dirt road. Judging from the amount of grass and weeds growing in the middle, few people came that way.

  The car stopped.

  No cabin. Nothing around them except trees.

  Amanda braked to a halt several feet from the Cadillac. When she turned off her bike, the headlight went out. The darkness was complete. She could barely see the outline of the black car. Her burgundy red bike was black, the chrome dull with no light to reflect from it. Silence reigned. No creature of the night rustled through the leaves or called from the trees. She was alone with a killer.

  “Wonder why he brought us out here.” Charley’s voice was loud in the silence. “This is kind of creepy.”

  “I’m sure he brought us here so we can have a nice, quiet, uninterrupted talk,” she said. “Or a nice, quiet, uninterrupted murder.”

  The driver’s side door of the Cadillac opened, spilling bright light into the darkness, illuminating the interior of the car, silhouetting the man inside. Kimball, wearing black slacks and a black knit shirt, slid out, stood and closed the door behind him, returning the world to darkness.

  He smiled, his thin lips pressed together tightly as he came toward her. His dark eyes were empty holes in his shadowed face. Amanda pressed her hands against her jacket, feeling the reassuring outlines of the hammer and gun.

  “We walk from here.” Kimball turned away from her and started through the trees.

  Amanda put down her bike’s kickstand. When she removed her helmet and gloves, the night air on her skin reminded her of how vulnerable and exposed she was.

  “Charley?” she whispered.

  “Right here, Babe. I got your back.”

  “You’ll pass right through my back,” she muttered. Nevertheless, having him there was irrationally reassuring.

  Forcing her feet to move, one in front of the other, she followed a few yards behind Kimball. Only when she had taken several steps through the underbrush did she realize they were on an overgrown path that had not seen much use in a lot of years.

  “I don’t think this is the way to a rich man’s hunting cabin,” Charley said, echoing Amanda’s fears. “Surely he’d have had a better road to get there.”

  “Where are we going?” Amanda asked.

  “Some place private.”

  “Really? I thought maybe you were taking me to a five-star restaurant where I’d get to meet all your friends.”

  Charley laughed.

  Kimball didn’t.

  For several minutes they walked in silence, the only sound the crunching of leaves under their feet and the rapid pounding of Amanda’s heart. At one point when Kimball went round a twist in the path and disappeared, Amanda pulled her cell phone from her pocket. No signal. That explained why Kimball hadn’t checked to be sure she’d turned off her phone. He’d known they were going somewhere it would be useless.

  But he hadn’t counted on all those apps Dawson had downloaded to her new smart phone, those apps she’d insisted she’d never have occasion to use. She set the phone to record and put it back in her pocket. She could only hope they got wherever they were going and had a meaningful conversation before her battery died or her memory card filled up.

  Finally they reached a clearing with the remains of what had once been a small, badly-constructed cabin. Large cracks separated the rough-hewn boards that looked as if they’d never seen paint. One small window gaped wide with its wooden cover hanging askew beneath the opening. Glass had never been a part of the structure. What remained of the roof was flat. It looked like an attempt by someone with limited funds and no experience in construction to create a rudimentary shelter.

  Even in its heyday, Amanda couldn’t imagine Catherine Montgomery Kimball’s grandfather hanging out there. Certainly he wouldn’t have brought his friends to this place for a weekend of drinking and shooting.

  Kimball continued to the front door, grasped the short rope attached to one side, and pulled on it. One hinge was broken, and the door sagged when opened.

  “Who does this place belong to?” Amanda asked.

  “I have no idea, but I don’t think the owner is going to complain,” Kimball said. “I’d say he doesn’t use it often.”

  So her meticulous recitation of the legal description of the Montgomery family property to Detective Daggett had been to no avail. If Kimball killed her here, Daggett would never find her body.

  Only one solution to that. She wasn’t going to let Kimball kill her.

  She followed him inside, stepping on the rotting boards, around the holes in the floor. A spider darted across a web hanging directly in front of Amanda’s face. She gasped and turned her head away in time to see a mouse skitter through a hole in the wall.

  “Nice place,” she said. “Come here often?”

  Kimball crossed the room, picked up an ancient kerosene lantern and lit it. That told her he’d been there recently enough to keep the lantern fueled.

  The small flame cast flickering, ominous shadows over his face as he turned to her.

  “I believe you have something you want to give me.”

  Amanda unzipped her jacket halfway, reached into her pocket and pulled out the gun, holding it t
ightly in both hands lest he try to take it from her by force. “If you mean the gun you used to kill Dianne Carter, yes, I have it right here.”

  He said nothing, merely extended his hand.

  “Why’d you kill her?”

  “Who?”

  “Dianne. The woman you shot with this gun Charley rescued from the garbage bin where you dumped it. You and she dated. You cared about her at one time. Why kill her?”

  Kimball took a step closer, and Amanda took a step backward. “I didn’t come here to talk.” His voice was rough, the smooth oil gone. “Give me the gun.”

  Amanda held the weapon behind her back.

  “You killed my husband, you’ve put me through hell, I may even be arrested for murder. I deserve to know what started all this.”

  “Deserve? You deserve nothing. Give me the gun. Now.”

  She was doing this all wrong. Suddenly she remembered her reply when Irene had asked how she intended to get Kimball to confess. Amanda had replied that she’d appeal to his arrogance.

  “You wanted her back, didn’t you? She dumped you in college, and with all your money and power and country club membership, you couldn’t get her back. She loved her husband, a man who couldn’t even get into the country club. That made you really mad, didn’t it?”

  Dark fires flamed in Kimball’s eyes. It was probably just a reflection of the lantern flames. Or maybe not. Whatever the cause, it was freaky. Amanda had to force herself to remain in place, not back away. She was getting to him. Soon he’d be pouring out his guts to her cell phone.

  “Take off your jacket,” he ordered.

  “Don’t do it!” Charley said. “Don’t let him get hold of your phone!”

  “You sick pervert,” Amanda said. “I’m not taking off anything for you. Dianne didn’t either, did she?”

  Kimball’s thin lips stretched into a semblance of a smile. “You don’t know anything about Dianne. She wasn’t the saint everybody in town thought she was.”

  “Ask him if Dianne enjoyed killing the homeless man,” Charley directed.

  That was taking a chance. They had no positive proof that had happened. But she had to bow to Charley’s superior knowledge of this sort of situation.