by Ann Charles
“Well,” I started, lacing my fingers together. “Some entities don’t realize that they are no longer alive. There is a chance that this particular ghost had an alcohol addiction back when he was still alive with a bad habit of robbing banks.”
Hawke was staring down at the label on the bottle, so he didn’t see Cooper roll his eyes at me. But I did.
What? I mouthed. I knew that was pretty lame, but it was after midnight and I’d had a hell of a day. If he could think of a better explanation for his detective buddy, I was all ears.
Doc pulled another bottle of the stuff from the shelf, holding it toward Cooper. “I want to buy this. Can I leave the money with you to hand over to the store manager?”
Cooper nodded. “But I was told that he might be showing up soon, so you can pay him direct.”
“If that were even remotely possible,” Hawke said, returning to our conversation about ghosts, “how in the hell can a ghost carry a real bottle and make the mess we saw over in the bank?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I were to explain,” I said, trying to sidestep his question.
“Why not?”
“Because I would have to use really big words.”
Hawke’s gaze hardened into a glare. “Try me, medium. I’m not an imbecile.”
I was more worried about me using the right “big” paranormal words than Hawke’s intelligence at the moment. I glanced at Doc, imploring him to help. He shook his head once and looked down at his hands, his expression almost pained. He probably figured my explanation would hurt his ears. I had no doubt it would damage my reputation.
Fine, I would bumble through this on my own, but it was late and my brain spit and sputtered when it came to paranormal terminology even on a wide-awake day after several cups of coffee.
“Some entities are stronger than others,” I said, returning to my earlier conversation with Cornelius.
Hawke scoffed.
I crossed my arms. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
With a caveman-like grunt, he waved for me to continue.
“As I was saying, there are ghosts who have more electromagnetic-based force that they can utilize for whatever reason. Maybe they have unfinished work that drives them to push harder,” I said, thinking of Jane. “Or maybe they’re pissed about being dead.” Like Prudence and all of her tooth-pulling fury. “No matter the reason, different ghosts have various levels of power.” I pointed in the direction of the bank. “The one that was here tonight was able to use telekinesis to move a bottle of mead and some papers around.”
“Telekinesis.” The disbelief on Hawke’s face said plenty. But while he might not be swallowing my little ghost lecture, he bought that I believed in what I was saying, and that was all that mattered. I had fooled the cops with my medium charade again.
“Yes, telekinesis,” I reiterated. “As in using mind control from the grave.” Without wasting further breath on the subject, I headed toward the main doors. Detective Hawke followed, scoffing and huffing behind me. His doubts in my abilities couldn’t be clearer.
I stopped outside of the bank’s doors. “I think if you check the glass shards from the shattered bottle and compare them to the bottle of mead in your hand, you will find they are the same product.”
“Why mead?” Hawke asked, holding up the bottle. “Why not some random wine or beer or whatever?”
That was the same question I had, especially since mead was what I’d found in that crate the night George Mudder was killed in the Mudder Brothers basement. On a side note, it was also what Harvey and I had found stuffed into the chicken coop out on his ranch.
Unfortunately, there was only one other person who I could ask for more answers about that Mudder Brothers shipment, and that was Ray Underhill. But he and I weren’t on speaking terms since he got fired by Jerry for trying to sabotage my job. We’d have better luck doing a séance at the funeral parlor and trying to get George Mudder on the line than going to Ray.
“I don’t know why it chose the mead,” I told Hawke the truth. “Maybe it has a taste for honey.”
Doc and Cooper joined us at the door, each of them holding a bottle of the stuff now.
“A taste for honey?” Hawke rolled his eyes. “That’s just stupid, Parker.”
“No, you are stupid, Detective,” I spoke through gritted teeth. “My hypothesis is just too novel for your thick skull.”
“Parker,” Cooper chastised. “I know you’re tired, but keep in mind that cops like Detective Hawke and I aren’t used to dealing with things we can’t see or touch or shoot.”
I blew out a heavy breath. “Fine. Detective Hawke, certain entities are drawn to things that remind them of their pasts.” I’d learned that when we had a séance out at Harvey’s ranch with me sitting in the center hot seat yet again, calling on Harvey’s great-grandfather who loved hooch, blondes, and a certain old shotgun. “From what I can sense about this particular ghost using retrocognesis—”
“I believe you mean retrocognition,” Doc corrected, grimacing. “Which is the parent form of the word you were using,” he lied, helping to cover up my screwup.
“Right, retrocognition. Oh dear, it’s so late. My mind feels fuzzy.” I faked a yawn.
“Hurry up with your answer, Parker,” Hawke snapped.
“Okay. There is a strong possibility that this ghost might have been a beekeeper at one time. You could start by asking around to see if there were any bank-robbing beekeepers here in the past. Deadwood and Lead do have notorious reputations for attracting lawless scoundrels.” There, that should keep Hawke busy and off of my ass for a few days.
Hawke straight up laughed in my face.
I couldn’t blame him. I would have, too, if I weren’t struggling to get untangled from this mess so that I could head home with Doc and try to figure out what the hell was going on here with the mead.
While Hawke acted like a regular old laugh factory, my stomach tightened and then flopped, growing queasy. I touched it with my hand, grimacing, wondering if I shouldn’t have mixed a greasy meat pizza with tequila and lemons.
“Hello, Violet,” a familiar, whiskey-smooth voice said from behind me right as a wave of nausea made me reach for Doc’s arm. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
Smoked hell on rye! That explained my need to upchuck all of a sudden. I turned around and took a couple of steps backward, smiling through the physical revulsion that I experienced whenever Dominick Masterson stood too close to me.
Well, wasn’t this just fan-freaking-tastic. Masterson was just the asshole I wanted to see after almost getting killed by his devious Hungarian devil tonight.
Chapter Sixteen
Dominick Masterson never seemed to have a single black hair out of place, even on a windy night like this one. He looked like he’d walked straight off the set of a James Bond film, all suave and debonair with his dark eyes and classic good looks, ready to catch international criminals with one hand and woo beautiful babes with the other.
Fortunately for me, I was genetically predisposed to feel nothing when up close and personal with Dominick beyond nausea and a good dose of revulsion. I blamed Rex for the revulsion part. The bastard taught me long ago not to trust handsome men who wore more expensive shoes than I did—and coats, like the pricey black one with the tan, buttery-looking collar Dominick was wearing tonight. Was that sheepskin? I was tempted to reach out and touch it, but I knew better than to get too close to him. I had managed not to vomit on anyone since that calamitous accident with Cooper and his skull tie, and I wanted to keep it that way.
Whatever Dominick’s coat was made of, it probably cost more money than what was in my last commission check. It was no wonder my ex was buddying up to him. I bet Dominick didn’t even need to brainwash Rex with what I liked to call the slick devil’s “charm shine,” which he used to turn women and men into infatuated zombies who were fervent for his smile. Hell, my piece-of-shit ex was probably dazzled alone by Dominick’s fancy
Italian this and his expensive leather that.
Masterson’s looks and money aside, what in the hell was he doing here at Piggly Wiggly after midnight?
“Good evening, Dominick. It’s a surprise to see you here as well.” I kept things formal since Hawke was with us.
For now, I resisted the urge to tackle the rich son of a bitch and pummel the silver dollars out of him for keeping a devious lidérc as a pet.
“What happened to your face?” he asked, pointing at his own eye as if I’d forgotten about the Rocky Balboa look I was sporting.
I waved him off. “I ran into something. So, what brings you out tonight?”
“That’s not your business,” Hawke butted in.
“I don’t remember yanking on your chain, law dog,” I snapped back.
Cooper cleared his throat, his eyes at half-squint.
“Easy, Tiger,” Doc said just loud enough for me to hear.
Masterson stuffed his hands in his deep pockets, his smile wide, but not “shining” yet. “I heard the sirens, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to take a walk.”
Seriously? “So, you decided to go walking after midnight?” Him and the late, great Patsy Cline. The smartass in my head guffawed and couldn’t resist adding, “Did you stop to see a weeping willow crying on his pillow?” I recited the chorus from Patsy’s best-selling song.
Dominick’s forehead lined. “Why would a willow cry on a pillow?”
As a kid, I’d often wondered that same thing myself when I heard Patsy sing that line.
I shrugged. “Maybe he was crying for me.” I barely got out that next line from the chorus without laughing.
“The skies have certainly turned gloomy,” Doc said, playing along with my game of karaoke.
I smiled up at him. “The night winds are whispering to me.”
Hawke harrumphed. “That sounds like something a witch would say.”
“Crying for you?” Dominick asked, still stuck on those weeping willows. He was clearly unaware that we were repeating song lyrics. Apparently, living as long as he had didn’t mean he knew everything. “Why would that be?”
“Because I’m lonesome—”
“Christ, Parker!” Cooper interrupted.
I looked pointedly at Cooper. “As I can be.”
And that wrapped up my ode to Patsy Cline’s “Walkin’ After Midnight.” I would have bowed, but Dominick was still frowning at me with a glint of suspicion in his eyes.
“You’re lonesome?” Dominick sized up Doc. “I find that hard to believe.”
I winked at Doc. “At least I didn’t fall to pieces on you yet,” I said with an even wider grin, alluding to another one of Patsy’s songs.
Cooper pulled out his Taser and aimed it at me. “Don’t you start again, Parker. I’m too tired for this shit.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Fine.” Fun-killer.
After he put his Taser away, I turned to Dominick. “To be honest, unlike Deputy Barney Fife here and his one bullet,” I said, aiming my thumb at Hawke, “I find your late-night walking habits rather peculiar.”
“I have more than one bullet,” Hawke grated.
Cooper looked at Doc. “You should take her to my rig and lock her in the back.”
Doc chuckled. “And miss this? Are you kidding?”
“Well?” I pressed Dominick.
He smirked, looking like he’d already had his cake and was done eating it, too. “I’m on the bank’s board of directors.”
“Of course you are.” I had a feeling Dominick had his fingers in pretty much every business around this town.
He continued, unruffled by my sarcasm. “I received a call about a possible robbery, so I came to see if our honorable police officers needed any assistance inside of the bank.”
“Of course you did.”
His dark gaze held mine for a couple of clock ticks, challenging me. “And why are you here, Violet?”
I didn’t know if he’d been informed already that I was playing psychic for the cops these days, but I decided he might as well find out now if he hadn’t.
“I’m the medium they called in to see about a possible ghost in the bank.”
“You are a medium?” he said to me and then sent Doc a knowing look. “Well, that is a surprise.”
Point taken. He knew something about Doc’s abilities, but how much? Was he as knowledgeable as Mr. Black about Oracles?
“She thinks she can see ghosts,” Hawke said, sneer firmly in place.
I sighed. “Detective Hawke, even if you were twice as smart, you’d still be stupid.” I turned to Cooper. “You’re probably going to need to explain that math problem to your partner with crayons and construction paper.”
“Keep it up, Parker,” Hawke said, a vein pulsing in the middle of his forehead, “and I’ll arrest you for assaulting a police officer.”
I believed the beady-eyed blowhard. Apparently, so did Doc because he pulled me several feet away from Hawke before focusing on Dominick. “Mr. Masterson, when the detectives here are finished, could I have a word with you?”
“If it’s police business,” Hawke spoke up, “then you two need to share it with me.”
“It’s not,” Doc told him.
Disbelief lined Hawke’s face. “What else would you need to talk to Mr. Masterson about tonight?”
“Money, most likely,” Dominick answered. “Am I correct?”
Doc nodded.
“I’ve heard a lot of high praise around town regarding your foresight when it comes to financial handlings,” he told Doc.
“It’s a numbers game.” Doc shrugged. “I’ve always had a bit of the Midas touch.”
“Midas touch,” Dominick repeated, his focus returning to me. “I find it interesting that some humans are born with insight. It’s almost like clairvoyance, wouldn’t you agree, Violet?”
“Absolutely, Dominick,” I replied, keeping up this game of polite conversation.
Hawke cleared his throat, apparently bored with our teatime chatter. “Parker here doesn’t think it’s a robbery,” he told Dominick, his tone showing how little he thought of my medium abilities, which was ironic because I was full of hot air anyway.
Dominick raised one dark eyebrow. “And what exactly is her explanation?”
“It’s a ghost,” I said, giving him a knowing look. I had a feeling he knew exactly what had been causing a ruckus in the bank tonight since it came from his other-infested building.
“Really?” He rubbed his jaw. “Then how do you explain the damage that occurred?”
“She claims this ghost used telekinesis to make the mess,” Hawke tattled on me some more, rolling his eyes about my explanation. “Frankly, I think she’s full of shit.”
“Keep rolling your eyes like that, Detective,” I shot back, “and maybe you’ll find your brain back there somewhere.”
Doc put his arm around my shoulders, holding tight. He knew me and my temper too well. “I think we’re done here, Detective Cooper. Maybe we will go wait in your cruiser for you to finish with Mr. Masterson and then you can send him our way.”
“Violet is probably right. This building has been rumored to be haunted for years,” Dominick told Hawke. “Did any of the officers here inform you of that?”
“Uh, no,” Hawke lied, ignoring my glare.
“Have there been other instances like this in the store or at the bank?” Doc asked while I was busy contemplating how to get Hawke down into that Hellhole to use as bait for that red-armed creature.
“Actually, this is the first time it’s been inside of the bank. Usually the entity stays in the grocery store and knocks things off the shelves.”
Hawke’s face wilted into a pout. He clearly didn’t like that Masterson was taking my side.
Cooper got flagged by one of the officers outside the store’s glass doors. The cop indicated toward Hawke, too, and then held a pretend phone to his ear.
“Detective Hawke,” Cooper said, “we have a cal
l. Let’s take a walk.” He nudged Hawke in the direction of the doors, leaving Doc and me alone with Dominick—finally!
The slick devil turned to Doc as soon as the two detectives were out of earshot, his smile widening while his eyes darkened. “Would you allow me to have Violet alone for a minute to discuss some real estate ventures with her?”
A wave of nausea made me cringe. Dominick was trying to use his shine on Doc, just like he had on Aunt Zoe last month in Bighorn Billy’s when he’d turned her into his besotted groupie.
“There’s no chance in hell of me leaving her side,” Doc said, clearly not falling under Dominick’s spell. “And you can stop with the head games, Masterson. They’re not going to work on me.”
I gaped up at Doc for a moment. They weren’t? Until now Harvey was the only other one I’d witnessed who hadn’t been affected by Dominick’s so-called charm.
Dominick shrugged. “It was worth a try. I have only heard rumors about your breed before. Tell me, can you smell death on Violet, too?”
My cheeks warmed, feeling like Pepé Le Pew. “Don’t answer that,” I told Doc, stepping away from him in case I did stink of death more than usual at the moment. “What are you really doing here, Dominick?”
He held out his hands. “You don’t believe I have a vested interest in the bank?”
“I think your interest lies more in what caused the crime rather than the crime itself.”
“I see.” He brushed invisible lint from the sleeve of his coat. “You’re right, I have another reason for coming tonight. I stopped at the Sugarloaf Building early this morning after visiting another crime scene across from the Open Cut. That’s when I noticed the broken window upstairs.”
I tried not to cringe visibly.
“It appears someone let my imp loose.” His dark gaze narrowed. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
There was no use lying. “It was an accident.”
“Slipping on ice is an accident, Violet. Freeing an imp is a disaster.”
