by Angie Fox
“As best as I can,” I said, reluctant to let her go.
Ellis stood slightly behind me. She stepped back and eyed him as if she could determine what we’d been doing together. Certainly not that. “Is Ellis helping you with the case?”
“You realize I’m the police officer,” he said.
I focused on my sister. “We have a question for one of the library ghosts. Can we visit the stacks?”
She debated in her head and winced when she came to her conclusion. “We have a tour group going through the back. Ellen Haines is leading them. She never misses a beat, but I think I can sneak you down.” She motioned us into the main reading room. “Come with me.” Melody led us past the rows of reading desks. “After you come back up, we can talk about Henry Hagar. I still need to double-check a few facts, but I think I might have something.”
Good. She was working on it. “What have you found so far?”
“Some newspaper clippings and several original photographs.” The entrance to the stacks was located in the hall behind the circulation desk. She opened the pass-through on the desk to let us through. “Handsome Henry was a ruthless guy.” Melody glanced to the main customer desk. “I have a line,” she said. “The door is open. Can you make it from here?”
“Yes.” I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks.”
“Don’t bring any ghosts back up with you,” she added, only half teasing.
There were a lot more ghosts right here than there’d ever be in the basement. The library had been a field hospital during the Civil War, and I’d met a multitude of spooks on my last adventure. They crowded the main floor of the library; she just couldn’t see them. Neither could I without Frankie.
Ellis and I slipped past the door marked Employees Only behind the desk and entered the stark corridor in the back. Straight across stood the old oak door that led to the stacks.
It had once been the old coal room, back when the library had needed mounds of it to heat the three-story building. Now when I opened the door wide, cold air streamed from the narrow staircase.
According to Melody, the librarians avoided this place when they could. They were a smart bunch.
“This feels strange,” Ellis murmured. He pulled on the string above the dark staircase and lit a single bulb.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I could have sworn something menacing stood directly behind us. I turned, but no one was there.
Courage.
We peered down into the semidarkness. A warning niggled in the back of my brain, the distinct feeling that we were not welcome here.
“To be honest, I’d hoped for a friendlier greeting,” I murmured. Matthew could be quite dangerous when he was in a dark mood. “If that’s even Matthew down there.”
Ellis cleared his throat. “Is there any way to tell?”
“No,” I said quietly. “Not without seeking him out.”
“All right,” Ellis said, taking the first step down.
I had to give him props for bravery.
With each step, the air grew chillier. Goose bumps pricked up my arms.
Ahead of me, Ellis slowly trailed a hand over the rough-cut gray stone wall, taking in every detail. I wondered if he felt the intense loneliness of the place, the utter emptiness and despair.
He reached for the next light-bulb string, his breath puffing out in front of him. It was getting colder than any indoor space should be. “I thought you were on good terms with this ghost.”
“I haven’t talked to him in several months,” I admitted. “He may have moved out to be with his girl.” Matthew had found love with a ghost from our last adventure, and I sincerely hoped they were still together.
A low moan echoed from beyond, sending goose bumps skittering up my arms. We pressed forward—foolish or brave, I didn’t know which—until Ellis ground to a halt in a pool of weak light at the bottom of the stairs.
Blue emergency lights cast an uneven glow over the first few rows of bookshelves. Beyond that, we saw only darkness.
“Matthew?” I called, hoping it was indeed him down here. My throat felt tight and I couldn’t keep from shivering. “It’s Verity, and a friend.” An icy chill settled over us. I ignored it and kept my voice even. “May we come visit?”
I didn’t dare speak again as I stepped into the shadows. I didn’t have a choice. Matthew was our best bet to get our questions answered about Handsome Henry and what he was capable of.
“Keep it slow,” Ellis murmured as we advanced down the first narrow row. “You don’t want to spook him…or it.”
I think I was frightened enough for all three of us. My fingers trailed along the shelved and forgotten books on either side of me. Matthew wouldn’t hurt me on purpose, but when I’d first met him, he’d been half-wild with madness. I didn’t know if he could revert back to that state. He should be happy. I’d helped him meet a nice girl and reunited him with his family.
The books under my fingers began to crackle and shudder. I yanked my hands back like they were on fire. The books grew still once more.
“What the hell was that?” Ellis hissed.
“No clue,” I said, moving forward once more. The books on the high shelves began to twitch, and I realized we were surrounded by potential projectiles. “Maybe we should turn back.”
A low, shuddering groan sounded from deep in the stacks.
I stopped and Ellis nearly ran into me. He caught me at the waist and I found a moment of comfort in his strong, steady presence. “I got you,” he said against my ear.
We saw a flicker of movement ahead.
Ellis clicked on his flashlight and shone it on that very spot.
We saw nothing. Just an empty concrete floor, then…a dusty hardback book, and another. And another. Ellis’s light crept up a stack of books that stood taller than either of us, directly in front of us, blocking our way.
“That’s it, we should leave,” I said, turning around to see that another stack of books blocked our only exit. It stood dark against the weak glow of the security lights. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”
Ellis placed a shaking hand on my shoulder. “Relax. Think.”
“I think we’re trapped,” I whispered, fighting the urge to panic.
“Maybe someone wants to talk to you,” Ellis murmured.
Matthew didn’t need to corner me to talk.
“Matthew,” I said low, but loud enough for the ghost to hear. If he was here, in his right mind, he could help us escape from…whoever had us. “Matthew!” If he’d gone off the deep end or if another ghost had taken over this space, then we could be in real trouble. “Matthew,” I gasped when a ghost shot out from the bookshelf to my right.
The face appeared more skeletal than human. It hissed, its teeth bared, its yellow eyes boring into me as it charged straight for us.
Chapter 12
“Sweet Jesus!” Ellis tugged me against him, shielding me with his body as the entity advanced on us. We needed help. Now.
“Matthew!” I hollered.
“Verity?” Matthew’s voice crackled with energy. It sounded so far away.
A skeletal hand reached for us, its sharp talons closing in for the grip. Ellis wrapped an arm around my torso and I clung to it.
“Matthew!” He was a powerful enough spirit to drive this angry ghost back out. Did he see how much trouble we were in? Why wasn’t he swooping in to help?
The ghost halted and bent at the waist as if offering a bow, and a stark realization hit me. I’d seen that move. Only one ghost had ever given me a courtly Southern gentleman’s greeting.
“You’re Matthew!” I said, praying he realized it, too.
He examined his outstretched skeletal hand as if seeing himself for the first time. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” he said, as if he’d been caught answering the door in his pajamas. “This will not do.” His voice still sounded farther away than he was. I didn’t understand it. “If you’ll give me a moment,” he said, with a hint of a Southern drawl. �
��I’ll attempt to right myself.”
I clung to Ellis, dizzy with the urge to flee, as the spirit turned its back to us.
A blast of cold air set my teeth to rattling as flesh took shape over the ghost’s bony arms and hands. As his torso shimmered into focus, I could see his simple white shirt, along with plain dark pants and a set of suspenders.
The spirit turned toward us, and I was relieved to see Matthew’s high cheekbones, wary expression, and weak chin. “I apologize if my appearance startled you,” he said, producing a Union officer’s cap out of thin air. He placed it on his head, somewhat embarrassed. “I’ve been in a difficult state.”
“Apology accepted,” Ellis murmured, his body stiff with shock.
I took Ellis’s hand—not willing to let go completely—and stepped forward to find out what was going on. “What’s the matter?” I asked Matthew. This wasn’t like him. He was supposed to be happily engaged to a ghostly friend of mine. “Where’s Josephine?”
His features softened at the mention of his fiancée. I’d first met Jilted Josephine while exploring the old Hatcher homestead. The truth of Josephine’s existence was very different from the stories I’d grown up with. It seemed town rumor had painted us both in a bad light. Josephine had a tough time at love, and so had Matthew. When they’d met in the haunted woods, it had been pure magic.
The ghost buried his hands in his pockets, the outline of his fists clearly visible under the thin fabric. “My love is staying with her cousin in the country. She says it’s bad luck to see the bride right before the wedding.”
“So it’s coming up soon.” It would have been lovely to be invited, but I wasn’t one to press. Truth be told, I hadn’t expected these old-fashioned ghosts to wait long. And it certainly didn’t explain why he was so upset. “When is the big day?”
He began to pace. “Today, tomorrow…never.” He clutched his head. “The Confederate chaplain won’t marry her to a Yankee, and I can’t find our local preacher. I think he went to the light.”
“Oh my.” I hadn’t anticipated the difficulty of finding a proper minister on the ghostly plane.
“She probably thinks I’ve gotten cold feet, and of course I haven’t. But I don’t want to go see her until I have a solution, and so far I can’t find anyone to marry us.” His eyes began to glow and his skin grew thinner and I could see the bones starting to protrude again.
“Stop. I’ll help,” I said before I could think on it too much.
The poor ghost brightened. “You will? Of course you will. I should have known you would.” He sat up a bit straighter and turned to Ellis. “Verity’s a good girl.”
“Crazy girl,” he said, drawing a shaky breath.
I let that one go. We were both under a bit of stress.
Matthew paced the narrow aisle between the bookshelves. “I search the churchyards day and night. I go to wakes. When I’m too sad to wander far, I stack books, I unstack books,” he said listlessly as an old green hardback flew off the shelf and into his hand. He held it out to me. “I found this one for you last week. It’s on some of the old Sugarland estates. Your family home is listed.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking it. Considering I’d lost my best chance at a job, I would most likely have plenty of reading time coming up. I clutched the book to my chest. “I came to see you this afternoon because we had a murder across the street at the bank.” He frowned, but I pressed forward anyway. “We have three live people who could have done it, but we’re also looking at a dead one.”
“Focus on the flesh and blood suspects,” he said. “Most ghosts do not actively seek to interfere with your world.”
That would be easier to believe if a ghost hadn’t tried to kill me a few months ago.
And if I didn’t have another ghost who insisted on keeping a rosebush in my house.
Ellis tried a different angle. “The man was shot with a real bullet, which we’re assuming was fired from a real gun,” he said, “but Frankie thinks it looks like the work of a hit man he knows. Have you ever met Handsome Henry Hagar?”
Matthew snorted. “I try to avoid that lot. I don’t even like unhandsome Frankie.” He shook his head. “I realize the gangster is your friend, Verity, but Frankie has no idea what he’s suggesting.”
“Probably not,” I admitted. My ghostly houseguest didn’t think beyond what was expedient at the moment. But that didn’t change what we’d come to learn. “But we both know it’s possible for a ghost to manipulate an object in the mortal world.” I lifted the book Matthew had just floated over to me, as if there were any doubt.
He stopped to think about it, and I found it eerie the way the weak rays of the security lighting shone clear through his head. “I can think of only one reason why a ghost might try to kill a living person, and that is if his land and his peace were being invaded. But even then I don’t know why he’d choose such a difficult way to go about it.” He sighed. “It makes no sense. He’d have to be extremely angry and gain energy from that rage.”
“That sounds like a poltergeist,” I said.
“So we may have a powerful, murderous poltergeist,” Ellis said to himself, clearly working out a way to arrest the entity.
“I don’t approve of you going after a murderer, whether the person is dead or alive,” Matthew said, using his hand to float a book off the shelf next to me. He guided it through thin air and placed it on the stack behind us.
“But you do know Henry,” I pressed. Matthew hadn’t denied it, and he’d done his best to redirect me. Too bad for him I’d been through the maze of Southern society talk more times than I could count. “You can help me, or I can stir up a lot of ghosts and make a lot of noise looking for him.”
“Don’t.” He turned quickly, knocking over his stack of books, not even reacting as they crashed straight through him. “You must not go near Henry Hagar. He’s evil, conniving, ruthless.” Matthew advanced on us. “He’s sick in the head and completely unpredictable. He’s the type to haunt you for the fun of it.”
“Oh boy,” I muttered.
Ellis cleared his throat. “Is this what it’s like for you every time?”
“Pretty much,” I said, regretting that I’d ever walked into the bank yesterday morning.
But Lauralee needed me, Em had lost her dad, and I was here to do what I could.
“I absolutely refuse to help you find him,” Matthew said, as if that were the end of it.
“All right,” I said. Maybe I wouldn’t have to find Handsome Henry. Right now, at this very moment, the police could be breaking the case wide open. Perhaps the only help I’d need to give my friend would be a friendly ear and a shoulder to lean on.
I exchanged a glance with Ellis. We could hope.
We left Matthew underground, restacking his books. I had to find a preacher for him and Josephine. Soon. Both ghosts had been prone to depression in the past, and I wouldn’t let them get down in the dumps over something that I could fix.
Ellis and I climbed the steps to the main floor of the library.
“Maybe Henry Hagar isn’t attached to the crime,” he reasoned. “The only evidence we have is Frankie’s word that it appears to be a Handsome Henry-style murder.”
“That and the pocket watch,” I pointed out.
“Which is the kind of thing someone would leave if they wanted to pin it on Henry,” he countered.
I followed him out the door. “All right. Which of our three potential killers would have known enough about Henry to pin it on him, and how would one of them get his watch?”
“That’s what the police have been trying to discover.” Ellis closed the door behind us. “I’m sorry I involved you in this.”
“I was in this before you were.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want you going after that guy.”
Ah, so Matthew had succeeded in scaring at least one of us. “Do you have any other evidence yet?”
He snorted.
“Like it or not, you need me,”
I pointed out.
He rested a hand on his gun belt. “As of this morning we’re stuck,” he admitted, “and we will be until the murder weapon turns up. That’s not common knowledge, so—”
He didn’t have to finish. “Of course I won’t tell anyone.”
I pushed out the door that led to the main part of the library. Melody stood behind the reference desk, going over paperwork.
“How did it go?” she asked, hurrying over.
“We learned a little.” We knew the hit man could do it, but whether or not he did? That was the million-dollar question.
“Come with me,” she said. “I have some things set up for you in research room two.” She led us toward one of the spaces just off the main reading room. The library had four research rooms in total, all with thick wooden doors and old-fashioned windows that looked out over the courtyard below.
She closed the door after we entered, which wasn’t a good sign.
On a heavy dining-room-sized table at the center, she’d laid out several newspaper articles dated from the late 1920s and early ’30s. The headlines shouted Handsome Henry Hits Again! and South Town Strikes Back.
“The man wasn’t exactly trying to hide his crimes,” Melody said.
Ellis studied an illustration of a victim with a deep, exaggerated X slashed into his right cheek and a bleeding bullet wound to the heart. “He killed a certain way so everyone would know he did it.”
I scooted around a chair and picked up the nearest black-and-white photograph. It showed a couple posing in front of a Model T. The man dressed well, in a suit and tie, but his forehead, nose, and chin all stretched too wide. A jagged scar cut down the left side of his face, from his eyebrow to his chin. He reminded me of Frankenstein’s monster. “Is this Handsome Henry?”
“With his girlfriend, Miss Rosie Baker, infamous in her own right as a bootlegger,” Melody said, picking up another photograph. “They carried on as lovers for quite some time according to what I’ve found.” This time, they sat at a table in a club. He appeared stern in both while the pretty blonde smiled.
