The Haunted Heist

by Angie Fox

  “Here.” I motioned for Ellis to pull over next to a white marble obelisk with a weeping angel at its base. Dark shadows cloaked what lay beyond. “We’ve got the Ward vault and then the Thompsons,” I murmured. Maybe if I kept talking, I could distract myself from the unease that prickled up my spine.

  Our Maglites cut through the black of the night, sending a small animal skittering away through the dead grass. We stepped beyond the obelisk to a lichen-encrusted stone vault with the name Ward carved across the top.

  The muddy ground felt slick under my tennis shoes. Old stone tombs rose up all around us, and I felt very much like an unwanted tourist in the city of the dead.

  “This one,” Ellis said, his beam coming to rest on a bleeding green bronze plaque that read Thompson. I knew it well. Lauralee and I had been here many times over the years to visit and leave flowers for her grandparents. We’d also stood graveside for the funeral of Em’s mother.

  “Hi, Henry,” I said, placing the roses in a built-in bronze flower holder, making sure he understood these were for him. Four generations of the Thompson family rested inside.

  An iron door with crisscrossed bars covered the sealed entrance to the tomb.

  This was where Reggie would be buried as well, assuming Em didn’t go through with her threat to cremate him.

  “Frankie?” I asked, not wanting to pressure the ghost, but needing to see all the same.

  He sighed and shimmered into view next to the entrance to the vault. “Nobody ever leaves flowers for me.”

  My heart squeezed a bit. “I’m sorry. But you’re not buried in a cemetery,” I reminded him. His remains rested in my purse…and in my kitchen. “You do have an entire rosebush,” I added.

  “It’s not the same,” he grumbled.

  It wasn’t, and I vowed to do something about it as his power settled over me.

  It felt pricklier than before. I winced as it hit my skin like a thousand tiny needles. “You mind easing up?” I asked. The sharp, bristly feeling reached down into my bones.

  Frankie wasn’t playing. He really was upset.

  Ellis drew close to me.

  “I don’t know if it worked,” I murmured to him, taking a step back. The aged vault appeared as it had before. A sharp wind whipped around the corner and I shivered. “Henry?”

  The doorway remained dark and abandoned.

  “Don’t blame me,” Frankie said. “He’s got no reason to answer the door. He don’t know you.”

  True. “You’re his friend, though,” I reasoned.

  Frankie shrugged. “Nah. He don’t like me after I hit on his mother.”

  “Frankie,” I said, shocked.

  “What?” He pulled out his cigarette case. “I was single at the time and she was a total Sheba.” He selected a smoke and perched it on his bottom lip. “You oughta thank me. The way to get to Henry is to piss him off. Bringing me with you was your best chance to get his attention.”

  Oh sure. Anger the man who murdered for a living, and quite possibly for fun. “Well, he’s not answering. What do you suggest I do?”

  Frankie lit up. “Disrespect his grave,” he said around his smoke.

  “That’s a truly awful idea,” and one I’d never consider.

  I turned back to the looming, dark vault.

  Frankie took a long drag and exhaled through his nose. “You have got to learn to be more ruthless.” He held the cigarette in his mouth and studied the vault. “The door looks too solid to bash in, but you could probably remove these screws here… hell, do you have some dynamite?”

  “No.” But I had a plan of my own. Dime Store Bobby had said Henry liked flowers. What would the hit man think if I took the roses back? I’d neglected to take the paper off anyway.

  Frankie measured the gap between the iron gate and the stone base with his fingers. “You could fit at least two sticks of explosives in here…”

  I reached down and tucked the bouquet of roses into my bag.

  A howling wind descended over the grave, scattering dead leaves and brush. “Leave ’em alone!” ordered a booming voice.

  “Henry?” I asked.

  He shimmered into view. I recognized him from the photo in the library, with his wide face and the uneven red scar that marred the left side of his face, from eyebrow to chin. “Handsome Henry,” I whispered. He stood in front of me in his underwear.

  Sakes alive. I tried to keep my eyes off his threadbare gray boxer shorts and focused on his scarred chest with one, two, three…four bullet holes and a tattoo of a pinup girl wearing a short dress and thigh-high stockings.

  He glared at me with murder in his eyes, and I had no problem believing this man killed people for fun.

  I quickly replaced the flowers. “My apologies.” I’d always heard that it helped to picture an intimidating person in their underwear, but in this case it might have made things worse. Henry was the scariest man I’d ever seen, even in his skivvies. “I did get them for you,” I added, glad that my voice didn’t shake too badly. “I didn’t want them to go to waste if you weren’t…er…home.”

  “You looking at my underwear?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

  There was no good answer for that. “Erm,” I turned to Frankie for help, and the hit man eyed him as well.

  “Not everybody gets shot while wearing their best suit,” he said of my friend.

  Frankie lifted his smoke in a respectful salute. “How’s it going, killer?”

  He looked ready to tear Frankie apart. “I ought to pop you,” he said, a pistol materializing in his hand.

  Frankie smiled and drew his own gun.

  No. There was too much riding on this conversation to let a firefight break out. “That’s it. Nobody’s shooting anybody,” I ordered, fully aware I was speaking to two men who could gun me down, one of whom would probably enjoy it. “We came here to talk.”

  The corner of Henry’s mouth lifted. “I ain’t shootin’ at you, dollface. You’re a cute one.” He frowned toward Frankie. “You with this rat?”

  “No,” I said quickly as Frankie said, “Yes.”

  “The thing is,” I interjected, determined to skate over the unpleasantness, “I’m a friend of your distant cousin.” At least, that was how I thought it went. “She’s concerned about some property of yours.” I cringed inwardly. I hadn’t meant to bring up the watch, but I was making this up on the fly. I just hadn’t expected him to be angry or mostly naked or an old rival of Frankie’s. “An engraved pocket watch of yours was found on the body of a bank president who was killed a few days ago. We were hoping you might be able to tell us something about it.”

  “My watch?” he demanded, getting scary again. “Who stole my watch? Wasn’t I buried with it?”

  “I don’t know,” I told him. He slammed back into his grave and I directed a frightened glance at Ellis, who stood at the ready. “I don’t think he knew his watch was missing.”

  “Well, nobody broke into the crypt,” Ellis said, “at least not recently. I got a look at the vault door through the iron gate. The seal on the door appears to be intact, although it looks like somebody tried.”

  Henry’s head thrust through the stone. “It’s not in there!” He stormed outside. “First I can’t die with the damned thing, and now I can’t take it to my grave!”

  Poor ghost. He hadn’t known. Even if it had been in his coffin, he couldn’t have used it. Every ghost spent eternity with the things they had on them when they died.

  “The watch is gone,” I told Ellis. “When was the last time this vault could have been opened?”

  Ellis eyed me. “When they buried Reggie’s wife.”

  “Did he open it?” Henry demanded, pointing his pistol at Ellis’s head.

  “Stop!” This was getting out of hand.

  Henry turned and pointed the gun at me.

  “What’s the matter?” Ellis demanded.

  “Boys, boys!” An elegant ghost shimmered into view wearing a pearl bracelet and a short silk ted
dy. Her perfectly curled and coiffed blond flapper hair was styled with a silver art deco comb encrusted with emerald-cut gems. She played with the long string of pearls draped between her breasts, knowing that was where both Henry’s and Frankie’s eyes immediately went. She really could have used a bra, but I wasn’t going to tell her that when she might have just saved my life. “What seems to be the trouble here?”

  She twisted her hips like the sex kitten she was while she looked me up and down, clearly judging. “I know you’re not fighting over her,” she added, apparently taking issue with either my double sweater look or my simple ponytail. “No offense, doll.”

  “None taken.” She’d given the mobsters something to focus on besides their guns. And she bore a striking resemblance to the woman in the photos from the library—Rosie.

  Henry rubbed at the back of his thick, gray neck. “Somebody nabbed my pocket watch,” he grumbled, “then planted it on some dead banker.”

  “I thought he should know,” I said to them both. “Even if it is bad news.”

  She nodded to me, as if my efforts meant I deserved a bit more respect, or at least consideration. “Come on over to my place,” she said. “We’ll discuss this in a more civilized manner.”

  I didn’t miss Frankie’s wolfish smile. Neither did she.

  She turned and began gliding deeper into the cemetery. A trio of raw bullet holes raced across her spine, in stark contrast to her white teddy.

  “We’re not going,” I said to Frankie. Our business was with Henry.

  She stopped near a broken Celtic cross and glanced over her shoulder. “Do what you like, but you’re coming with me if you want answers.”

  She must have done well with the gangsters. She could certainly read a situation. “Excuse me, are you Miss Rosalind Baker?” I asked, needing to be sure.

  Her cupid’s bow mouth curved. “Call me Rosie.”

  “This way,” I said to Ellis.

  He joined me without a word as we wound deeper into the cemetery, on the trail of Rosie’s ghost. Henry glided beside her, an arm absently wrapped around her neck, while Frankie trailed back with us.

  “She’s the only one who can calm him down lately,” Frankie said as the pair disappeared into a decrepit vault under a weeping willow tree.

  “Lately?” I asked.

  “Since ’29,” Frankie clarified.

  “All righty then.” I stumbled over roots that had broken the path and glanced at Ellis in surprise when I saw the iron door gaping open.

  “Families are responsible for maintaining the individual crypts,” he murmured as his flashlight traced over the worn, dirty stone and a broken angel. “Looks like her line died out.”

  I didn’t know of any Bakers in town, which said it all.

  “Come on in,” she said, passing through the half-opened crypt door.

  Oh, boy. I didn’t like the idea of visiting anybody’s grave from the inside.

  “We’ve been invited in,” I said to Ellis, as if this were a normal social call.

  “Very kind,” he murmured as I slipped in ahead of him. Ladies first.

  The heavy door squeaked as I pushed past it. I shone a light inside, over the stone casket that rested in the middle. Opposite it, high up, grime caked a stained-glass window set over the far wall. The stone walls on either side contained no other burials. Dirt and refuse littered the floor. A spiderweb caught my hair and I tore it out, rubbing the sticky goo on my pants.

  “My apologies, doll.” Rosie shimmered into view behind a ghostly bar cart in the back. “The maid’s dead.” She mixed a cocktail like we stood at a party.

  I stepped inside. “Where’s Henry?” I didn’t see him or Frankie.

  This better not be a trap.

  “He’s outside, making sure the coast is clear. Someone followed us,” she said, wary.

  No good. “A ghost or a mortal?”

  She reached for a glass on the bottom. “Mortal.”

  “Ellis?” He stood by the door, looking out. “We might have been followed. Somebody living. Can you check it out?” He seemed reluctant to leave me in the crypt. “I’ll be fine.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be right back. You yell if there’s trouble.”

  I had no problem doing that.

  Rosie eyed me as she poured the bourbon. “He’s a cute one.”

  “Hands off,” I teased.

  She fought a grin. “When Henry gets back, best way to settle him down will be with an old-fashioned, heavy on the bitters. Luckily I died while holding onto the bar cart.”

  “You’ve been together for a while?” I asked, trying to think back to the article.

  “A while.” She plunked two ice cubes from a silver bucket. “So how did they find Henry’s watch?”

  “The president of the First Sugarland Bank was murdered in the bank vault. He had Henry’s watch in his pocket.”

  “So he was a thief,” she concluded, pouring a scotch and taking a sip from it straight.

  “We don’t know that.”

  She lowered her glass. “I’ve been around a long time, babe, and I’ll tell you one thing. Greedy thieves always get caught because they’re too greedy. Sooner or later, somebody always evens the score.”

  “Reggie didn’t steal it. Some people have suggested Henry left it behind after a hit—” I began.

  “He didn’t.” She placed her glass down.

  Just then, I felt a pricking on the back of my neck. I turned my head to see that Handsome Henry loomed behind me.

  I stepped aside, and Rosie crossed the room quickly, handing him his drink. “Remember, hon? Your watch broke on the McKinley job.”

  Henry perked up. “That’s right. Old man McKinley busted the chain while begging for his life,” he said, relieved.

  “I got it fixed for you, but it was still on my dresser when I died. My sister put everything in my safety-deposit box. Whoever stole it must have taken it from there.” She sipped her drink. “What do you want to bet it was the banker?”

  “It couldn’t have been,” I protested, standing up to Henry’s cold stare. I knew Reggie. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Somebody followed us,” Frankie said, in the uncomfortable silence that followed.

  “I sent Ellis,” I said.

  “Not Ellis,” Frankie muttered, replacing his pistol in his coat. “This one got away.”

  “So you found my watch and now you think I’m back in business,” Henry concluded, like the stone-cold killer he was.

  Oh boy. I really wished he wasn’t standing between me and the door. “The person who killed Reggie used your signature style—a shot to the heart and an X slashed across the cheek. I saw it myself. I was there when they found the body.”

  “What?” Henry demanded, growing so large he took up the entire doorway. “Somebody’s posing like me? There’s only one Handsome Henry. Me!”

  “So, it’s safe to say you didn’t—” I began.

  “I’ll kill ’em. Slow and painful,” he snarled. He began glowing red at the edges. Oh, shoot. He’d better not be going poltergeist.

  The air crackled around us.

  When a ghost got angry enough and emotional enough, it could manifest startling amounts of violent power.

  Henry turned and crashed out of the doorway, shooting across the cemetery in a blaze of silver light.

  Ellis stood just outside the crypt, shocked as if he’d witnessed the ghost pass. “You feel that?” he asked, patting himself down.

  “Where’d he go?” I asked Frankie, who shrugged.

  Rosie strolled to the doorway to join me, drink in hand. “I’d say he went to check it out for himself.”

  Chapter 19

  We dashed to Ellis’s squad car. I wanted to be at the bank when Henry uncovered the truth behind the haunting there.

  “How long do you think it’ll take him to make it across town?” I asked, buckling my seat belt.

  “He’s a ghost,” Frankie barked from the backseat. “He’s already
there.”

  I figured.

  Ellis pulled out and sped as fast as he could through the cemetery. We passed a wisp of a woman, her lower half missing, weeping over a lichen-encrusted headstone. Near the canopy of oaks, I saw a ghostly family enjoying a picnic in the grass.

  A light mist had begun to fall and the windshield wipers swept it away.

  “Please keep me plugged in,” I said to Frankie. It would avoid the power whiplash and I’d need to see once we reached the bank.

  He folded his arms—what was left of them—over his chest and sulked in the backseat. “This is what happens when I get lax on the rules,” he groused.

  “Your arms…” They misted out below the elbows. “I hoped finding your gun would make you stronger.” Or at least more able to resist the power drain.

  Frankie stared out the window, glum. “I don’t need more energy. I just need to be able to leave.” To zip away, like Henry. Poor ghost.

  “Hey,” I said, trying to cheer him up, “you might see Suds at the bank.”

  “Great. In the meantime, I get to hang out in the back of a squad car. At least it feels familiar.”

  “That’s the spirit,” I told him.

  When we’d exited the cemetery, Ellis started up the blue and red lights on top of the cruiser and I got a bit of a thrill speeding through town.

  We arrived at the bank only minutes later. Ellis parked in front and I quickly gathered Frankie’s urn and stuffed the Maglite in my bag.

  The lobby lights glowed inside the bank and all appeared well from where we stood. Of course, we all knew looks could be deceiving.

  “Let’s go down to the lower entrance,” Ellis said, keeping an eye out. The misty rain and late hour left the sidewalk out front deserted.

  We had only the buzz of a nearby streetlight for company.

  “Stick with us, Frankie,” I said as we navigated the concrete steps in the dark. Security lights shone yellow over the lower entrance, but did nothing for the shadows at the top.

  “Look,” Ellis said, pointing out movement just inside the door. He edged out in front of me, one of his hands hovering over the curve of his back. In typical Ellis fashion, it appeared he had a gun holstered there.