The Haunted Heist

by Angie Fox

  The porch light shone, a bright spot in the rapidly darkening neighborhood.

  “Ovis thinks that gangster could go on a murder spree,” my friend scoffed as she got out of my car. “I worry it’ll give some nutcase an excuse.”

  I walked with her to the front porch. “Let’s just worry about what we can control.”

  The small green house stood dark inside, which didn’t sit well with me. Lauralee and I exchanged a glance as she rapped on the black front door. “Em? We’re here,” she said. “Yay!” she added, with forced merriment that was more depressing than helpful.

  “Maybe we should go somewhere that has wine,” I suggested. A tart, strong bottle of Pinot could go a long way to soothing all of our nerves.

  “Ha,” my friend said, trying not to fidget.

  Em still hadn’t answered the door. I rang the bell again. “Maybe she needs extra time to get ready.” It wouldn’t be at all surprising if Reggie’s daughter were the high-maintenance type.

  Lauralee pulled out her phone and checked the messages. “She didn’t call.” She dialed a number and waited. “It’s going to voice mail.” Lauralee peered in the window closest to us. “What if she’s hurt?”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I said. “Maybe she’s listening to music through her earbuds and she can’t hear the bell. Let’s try the door. Maybe we can just peek inside.”

  It was locked.

  “You’re right. We need to go in,” my friend said, hopping off the porch.

  “Not if she didn’t leave her door open.” Most everyone in Sugarland did, but Em definitely clung to her big-city ways.

  But Lauralee wasn’t listening. She’d landed in the yard and had begun rooting under a prickly grouping of holly bushes. “Voila,” she said, producing a plastic rock. “Reggie showed me this.” She opened a compartment on the underside and slid a key out.

  “I suppose if we’re desperate.” I glanced at the door, afraid we’d scare a city girl like Em if we just waltzed inside. She might still be in the shower. I rang the bell again. The bing-bong echoed throughout the house.

  But still no answer.

  Lauralee’s fingers shook as she inserted the key into the lock and pushed the door open.

  The front room stood dark.

  Lauralee walked in while I found the lights. “EmmaJane?” she called.

  “She wants to be called Em,” I reminded her, closing the door.

  She chewed her lip. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  So did I.

  I didn’t want to find Em hiding or hurt…or worse.

  The house had an open floor plan, with a kitchen straight past the front room. “Em?” Lauralee asked, walking past the empty dining area to the darkened hallway on the left.

  She flipped on the lights. “It’s us, Em. We’re here for dinner.”

  The house remained eerily silent.

  I stuck close to my friend. “How about we stop giving away our location,” I murmured.

  “What?” she asked, not understanding.

  She hadn’t been hunting any killers lately.

  “This is her bedroom,” Lauralee said, approaching a darkened room on the left. I touched her hand to keep her from turning on the lights as I stepped into the doorway. A thin stream of moonlight poured in from the window. I caught a glimpse of my reflection and gasped.

  “What is it?” Lauralee turned on the lights and we saw a long mirrored dresser.

  “Heavens to Betsy.” I clutched my chest, feigning a heart attack even though it may not have been that far from the truth.

  Lauralee giggled. “You said I was a nervous wreck.”

  I’d venture to guess no one shot at her last night.

  “Let’s just take this one step at a time,” I said, entering the room.

  The decorations reflected old Hollywood, with an elegant white faux fur throw over a sleek gray silk bedspread. Vases of pink roses graced the dresser and nightstand. I crossed the room and found Em’s tiny bathroom dark. “Maybe she’s using the master,” I suggested, with the sick realization that if Em were here and able to speak, she’d have found us by now. “Be cautious,” I said, crossing the hall to the only other bedroom in the house.

  Looking away, I flipped on the lights.

  “It’s empty,” Lauralee said over my shoulder.

  At this point, I truly hoped it was.

  It soon became clear Em had taken over the larger room after her father’s death. Green and brown bedding lay in a heap in the corner next to the dresser while fresh pink sheets and another faux fur throw rumpled the unmade bed. I smelled expensive perfume and something earthy underneath.

  “I don’t know if you want to go in here,” I said, bracing myself as I advanced toward the master bath. I didn’t want to proceed, but I’d seen tragedy before, and I barely knew Em. This was Lauralee’s cousin, her blood kin. If the killer had murdered Reggie’s daughter in that bathroom, I should be the one to walk in and see it first. If I could do anything for my friend, it would be to protect her from that.

  Now or never. I hit the lights, turned the corner, and saw chaos—but no body. I braced a hand on the door jamb and blew out a breath. “She’s not in here.” Thank God.

  Cream blush bled out all over the counter and a mass of towels exploded all over the floor. I drew closer to the tub, where a black silk shirt soaked in muddy water.

  Muddy black jeans lay crumpled outside the tub. I could smell the tang of minerals and dirt. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but Em doesn’t strike me as an outdoor girl.”

  “She won’t even touch Ambrose when he has Oreo hands,” Lauralee said, staring at the mess on the floor. “I don’t know what she could have been doing.”

  Whatever it was, I doubted she wanted anyone to see her.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said softly.

  Lauralee let out a frustrated sigh. “We’re only trying to help. She knew we were coming.”

  Not for this. “Come on,” I said, ushering my friend out of the room.

  “What could she have gotten into?” Lauralee continued as I hurried her down the hall.

  I didn’t even care. “When we see her,” I started, “if we see her, don’t mention this.” She wouldn’t tell us the truth anyway.

  My friend’s eyes widened. “She might have run back to Chicago.”

  “Without burying her dad?” That seemed cold even for her. “No.” I had a feeling she was up to something else.

  “I was afraid she might get overwhelmed and bolt,” Lauralee said, her nose going red as tears threatened to form.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  We exchanged a glance.

  I motioned Lauralee forward and we walked silently to the door.

  The knock sounded again, impatient this time. Lauralee stood next to me as I opened the door.

  Carla stood on the porch, and she seemed equally shocked to see us.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, forgetting my manners.

  She held her shoulders back and gripped the strap of her purse with both hands. “I could ask the same thing of you.”

  Not really. Lauralee was family.

  “Come in,” my friend said, with all the sweetness she could muster.

  That made Carla appear even more uncomfortable. She kept her eyes forward as she walked into the house like a prisoner returning to her cell. “I would like to speak with EmmaJane privately,” she said, making it sound more like an order than a request.

  “Then you’ll have to get in line because we don’t know where she is,” I said.

  Carla’s eyes widened slightly, with surprise or fear, I couldn’t tell. “When did you see her last?”

  Lauralee crossed her arms over her chest. “When did you?”

  Carla glanced toward the darkened front window as if she wished to make an escape. Her lips quivered and turned up into what I was sure Reggie’s protégé meant to be an appeasing smile. “When we made our appointment.”
>
  Lauralee eyed her. “That doesn’t answer our question.”

  The front doorknob rattled and Em walked in. She dropped her purse by the front door and stared at us like we were out of our minds. “What are you doing in my house?” she demanded.

  “You’re okay!” Lauralee gushed, rushing to hug her cousin, who ducked away from the embrace and tried to keep walking as if Lauralee were an overly enthusiastic Labrador.

  “We had plans tonight,” I reminded her.

  She checked her watch. “I was only ten minutes late,” she snapped. “And you barged into my house?”

  Guilt washed over me.

  Lauralee cringed. “Welcome to Sugarland.”

  Em stared at her. “You people are unbelievable.”

  “Okay,” Lauralee said, trying to rally. “Why don’t we head out to dinner?” She gestured to an equally surprised Carla. “You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

  “She’s leaving,” Em stated, holding the door open for Reggie’s assistant. She turned to us. “You are, too.”

  “But what about dinner?” my friend asked as Carla brushed out the door.

  “Oh, you think now is the time for Sugarland hospitality?” Em demanded. “Not on your life. People say Chicago is so dangerous and Sugarland is so safe, but when I was in Chicago, nobody killed my father or broke into my home,” she shouted.

  She had a point.

  Lauralee sighed. “Oh, Em. I never meant to make you feel—”

  “You don’t know how I feel. You and my dad have been shoving this town down my throat since the second I got off the plane. Newsflash: I’m glad I can go back to living a normal life, that I won’t have everyone watching my every move. You can psycho stalk me all you want, but it doesn’t make me your friend.”

  “I’m your only family,” Lauralee pressed, more understanding than I would have been.

  Em huffed, almost amused. “And you think that’s what I need.” Her expression hardened, and she pointed at the door. “Get out. Leave. Now.”

  Lauralee stared at her, rooted to the spot.

  “Sorry to blow your little minds,” Em said briskly, “but if I did this the Sugarland way, we’d be here all night.”

  We filed out the front door and stood dumbly on the porch as Em closed the door and locked it behind us.

  “Oh my gosh,” Lauralee fretted, tears springing to her eyes. “I really messed up this time.”

  I wrapped an arm around her. “It’ll be okay,” I said, hoping I was right.

  We watched Carla stride down the walkway ahead of us and slip into the Jaguar parked in the driveway.

  There was something bigger going on, and I was going to uncover it if it was the last thing I did.

  Chapter 18

  When I got home to pick up Frankie and take him to the cemetery, I found him sitting in the same spot, still staring at the trash can.

  I turned the lights on. “How are you holding up?”

  He shrugged. “Suds came to visit.”

  “That’s great,” I said, making my way to my unfriendly ghost. “How is your friend?”

  Frankie shrugged a shoulder. “He’s right next to me,” he said, indignant, as if I should be able to see the deceased mobster. “Now that he knows he’s a ghost, he’s too depressed to rob the bank.”

  “I hardly think he should give up his goals,” I said, worried. “Unless he’d like to help us look for Handsome Henry.” We could use all the help we could get.

  Frankie stood and addressed the empty spot next to him. “You should run by the speakeasy, have a few laughs.” He listened for a moment. “Yeah, ask about Henry, too.”

  “Thank you,” I said to both of them as I slipped Frankie’s urn into my bag. “Suds can let himself out,” I said, whether it be through the door or a wall.

  Frankie was strangely quiet as I started up my car and headed out. He remained a small, flickering light in my passenger seat as we drove through downtown Sugarland, toward the town’s original graveyard.

  I substituted a granola bar for dinner and tried not to worry.

  It just wasn’t right. I’d seen him that way before, usually when he was overtired or recovering from an evening of ghost hunting. But this time I hadn’t overtaxed his powers. His current situation had to be wearing him down.

  He wouldn’t want me pushing or sticking my nose in, but it didn’t feel right to ignore him either. I sighed.

  “It’s a pretty night,” I said, making conversation as we turned left past Pearlman’s Gas Station and Auto Repair. “Although the temperature’s dropped, so we might get some fog.”

  I found myself slightly amused by the idea of visiting a dark, foggy cemetery with my ghost friend. Even stranger, I was looking forward to it.

  Life could change on a dime—for worse, but also for better. I held onto the better part. Frankie and I were due for something good to happen.

  “Ellis is meeting us right after he gets off shift,” I said to the ghost. “It’ll be nice to have him along because I think it’s illegal to be in a cemetery after dark.”

  Perhaps breaking the law would cheer Frankie up.

  The flicker snapped and disappeared.

  Maybe not.

  We passed Fitzer’s Memorial Monuments and Engraving, and I made a mental note to see if they were in the market for new signage. They’d kept the same black and white look since Gerald Fitzer passed away in the late ’90s. He’d probably had it done in the ’60s. It would be a nice project because Fitzer’s had the only gravestone-carving place in town. Everybody would have to go there eventually, and they’d see my work when they did.

  I pulled up to Holy Oak Cemetery, glad to see Ellis had beaten us here. His squad car stood on the street near the main gates. I parked behind him and retrieved my bag with Frankie’s urn from the floor of the passenger side. I’d placed a white paper-wrapped bouquet of yellow roses on the passenger seat and retrieved those as well. They’d cost more than I could afford, but roses seemed like a classic choice, and yellow signified new beginnings. I hoped that wouldn’t be lost on Handsome Henry.

  A sharp wind hit me the minute I opened my car door and I sincerely wished I’d gone ahead and worn my ugly monstrosity of a coat. It would be toasty and readily visible. Instead, I wore two sweaters, the freshly washed pink one over the white one Ellis had seen last night.

  “Hey,” he said, greeting me with a warm hug. “How’s Frankie?”

  “Upset,” I told him truthfully.

  “You?” he prodded, opening the back of his trunk and retrieving a Maglite. He handed it to me.

  I smiled. “I’m glad to have a hot date tonight.”

  He grinned and slammed the trunk. “Those better not be for me,” he said, eyeing the flowers.

  “No, they’re for Henry,” I said, smelling them. They really were beautiful. “I have to tell you, I just had a strange encounter with Em and Carla.” I related the story as we walked to the tall iron entry gates. I also filled him in on the article that connected Reggie’s family to Handsome Henry. “I don’t know what to make of it.” There was obviously more going on than I could learn from real, live people.

  Ellis buried his hands in his pockets. “That’s not the only new development. I probably shouldn’t mention this, but one of my buddies at work said Jeb opened up a big bank account out of town last week.”

  Yikes. “That doesn’t look good.”

  “It doesn’t,” Ellis agreed. “Maybe Henry will have some answers for us.”

  We needed to visit the Thompson family vault. “I can show you where to go.” It stood in an older section on the left side of the sprawling memorial park.

  “Lead the way,” he said.

  A tall stone wall surrounded the entire cemetery. Neatly trimmed bushes clung to the base. Holy Oak Cemetery closed at dusk, the sign said. The gates stood shut and locked.

  Ellis would have to boost me over the wall. Or perhaps we could scale one of the old oaks that had given the land its
name.

  Instead, he pulled a key out of his pocket.

  “Where did you get that?” I asked, impressed as he inserted the key into the gate’s padlock.

  “I talked to Steve, the manager.” He swung the heavy gate open. “What did you expect us to do? Break in?”

  “Well…”

  He laughed at my expression. “You did.”

  “It would be more like trespassing,” I said, heading back toward his car so he couldn’t see the pink on my cheeks. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t bent the rules for me before.

  “I refuse to be corrupted,” Ellis joked, settling in next to me, “at least not tonight.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” I said as we drove through the gates. “I don’t have time right now anyway,” I added, unable to resist flirting with the man.

  Fog blanketed the ground. We passed the caretaker’s cottage and the landscaping shed at the entrance. I could have sworn I saw the fog take shape among the tombstones just beyond.

  Don’t look for trouble.

  We glided down Resurrection Avenue and through the oldest section of the cemetery, dating back to the early 1800s. Worn grave markers thrust from the ground at odd angles.

  A low moan sounded from behind me, sending my heart skittering. “Frankie?”

  I sincerely hoped it was him.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Left,” I said to Ellis as we reached a fork in the road.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said gently, uneasy. Century-old crypts clustered in the foggy night.

  “Did you hear it, too?”

  “I think so,” he murmured, eyes on the road. Our headlights cut through the fog and shone upon the older vaults in this section of the cemetery. “At least we’re moving away from it.”

  I stopped just short of telling him the truth: it didn’t matter which way we went within the cemetery; we were on their turf now.

  “Just a little farther down,” I said as we passed under a pair of old oak trees on either side of the road. Their branches leaned toward each other and had grown into a canopy that spanned the pathway.