by TM Simmons
~
“I’ll stay on the phone,” I promised Katy as my gaze met Granny’s in a sharing of misery.
“It’s true, huh?” she whispered. “Somebody dead?”
I nodded, and she motioned with her drink hand. “Go get packed.”
Carrying the portable phone receiver, I hurried down the hallway to my bedroom, explaining to Katy that I needed to pack some things. “Will you be all right if I lay the phone down for a few minutes? I won’t hang up, I promise.”
“Just don’t leave me.”
“Is Sir Gary still there?”
“Uh-huh. He’s — oh, thank you." Through the phone, ice tinkled in a glass, and Katy said, “He fixed me another drink. That was nice of him, don’t you think?”
The vagueness in Katy’s tone foretold shock, but I couldn’t do a thing about that. Hopefully the alcohol would stave it off until Jack arrived.
“Drink your drink." I bent to retrieve my suitcase from under the bed. “I’m laying the phone down." I tossed it on the bedspread and crawled beneath the bed for the recalcitrant suitcase, which had worked itself nearly to the middle of the king-sized frame. I snared the handle and yanked the suitcase to freedom, hefted it toward the mattress — and nearly threw it straight at Howard, who sat on the bed. It wouldn’t do any good, except to express my irritation. The suitcase would pass right through Howard and mar the cherrywood headboard.
“Damn it, Howard!" I tossed the suitcase on the bed for good measure. “You could at least knock. And I don’t have time to chat with you right now.”
Howard just shrugged as I grabbed the phone receiver again. “Katy?”
“I — I’m here,” she replied. “Go ahead and pack.”
Satisfied, I dropped the phone and hurried over to the dresser, yanking out drawers as I tossed over my shoulder at Howard, “There’s been a murder at Esprit d’Chene.”
His reflection in the mirror nodded, and I whirled. “If you’ve been listening in, why the hell didn’t you do something about that damned ghost in my study tonight?”
“Whoever it was didn’t ask for my approval first,” Howard grumped. Well, mentally grumped, since our relationship has evolved to the point where telepathy works. Evidently my visitor’s powers exceeded Howard’s. “And ladies don’t swear.”
“Ladies in your time,” I reminded him as I snatched a handful of panties. If ghosts could blush, Howard would have. Ladies in his time — the mid-1800s — didn’t scandalize men with a rainbow handful of Victoria’s Secrets, even in front of a doctor like Howard. His misty aura turned pinkish.
“Think I’ll go visit Wilma,” he muttered.
“Wait a minute." I grabbed bras from the next drawer, hiding them in my caftan skirt in deference to Howard until I slipped them in the suitcase and closed the lid. “Do you know who was here?" Despite the urgent need to get to Esprit d’Chene, I felt extremely uneasy about leaving my home with a strange ghost prowling. Who better to question about a ghost than another ghost?
“Nope." Just “nope,” and still grumpy.
“Did you see the message?”
“Yep." Just “yep." Howard’s a ghost of few words.
“Well?” I prodded.
Howard shrugged. I sighed. “Do I need to perform some chants and put out sea salt?”
Howard considered that. “Don’t think so,” he mused. “She’s already gone.”
“She?”
“Ah ha!" Howard chortled. He loves to catch me in a psychic deduction mistake.
“Did you get a name?” I demanded.
“Nope.”
“A first initial?" Sometimes ghosts let that much through.
“Yep.”
“Well, damn it — ”
“Ladies — ”
“ — don’t swear,” I finished with him. “I’ve told you more than once that I’m not the lady in this family. Katy is.”
“Wasn’t tonight, even on the first call.”
“No,” I agreed. “But I’ve had more experience with ghosts. And look how you drive me to swearing.”
“Isn’t me. You swear when I’m not even in the house.”
Wow! A near two-way conversation with Howard.
“For Pete’s sake, tell me what you picked up. Without me having to drag it out of you! I can’t think straight right now, and — ”
“Letter A.”
“Last name or first?”
Shrug. Then, “Wilma liked her. That’s about it.”
The toilet flushed in the master bath. Wilma loved playing in that darn water. She only had an outhouse on the Kansas farm a hundred years ago.
“Wilma!” I called. “Don’t run up my water bill! And come in here and tell me if you noticed anything about your new friend this evening.”
Howard replied instead, “She doesn’t know any more than me.”
Evidently Wilma decided to continue letting Howard do the talking, because she didn’t show up, no doubt peeved at my order. Remembering Katy, I grabbed the phone. “Katy?”
She responded with a tad of irritation, “Just get here!”
I tossed the phone down and stared around the room, trying to figure out what I’d forgotten. Oh, yeah — jeans and T-shirts.
“How long will you be gone?” Howard demanded, meaning, “How long will I have to ride herd on the kids?" Rick and Shannon, four and five when they died of yellow fever, hang around despite Howard’s insistence they should cross through the light to their mom and dad. Howard values his peace and quiet while he browses the Zane Grey paperbacks in my library, but he doesn’t push the kids. He often reads to them in the library, one curled on each side.
“I have no idea,” I told Howard. “There’s a dead body in Katy’s pool.”
Howard eyed me steadily. “You said it was a murder. Katy didn’t say that.”
I froze, T-shirts drifting into the suitcase in a tangled mess. “I did." Had I picked that up with psychic senses?
“Could be,” Howard mused when he read my unspoken thought.
I grabbed a stack of jeans and jammed them in with the T-shirts. “I’ve got a book due next week,” I reminded both Howard and myself as I stuffed the small traveling case stocked with personal items in and zipped the suitcase. “I can’t ask my editor for an extension. Can’t you just hear her if I say, ‘By the way, I need more time. My cousin has a ghost problem. Oh, and there’s been a murder.’”
Howard nodded and dissolved. I grabbed the phone again. “Katy?”
“Jack drove up the back lane a minute ago, Alice,” she said in an unemotional voice, indicating her shock was escalating despite the alcohol. “Oh, here he is.”
Jack’s grim voice came on before my demand that Katy give him the phone left my brain. “I’m here now, Chère.”
“The...pool?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Sheriff’s on his way. I’ll take care of Katy. Drive careful.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I promised, then hung up. At least a live person was there for Katy. Of course, Jack wouldn’t even realize Sir Gary shared the space. Katy wouldn’t let on, since she knew Jack’s views on ghosts. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if Sir Gary had any information about the corpse, especially with my inkling about murder. Jack sure as hell wouldn’t question a ghost — or even believe Sir Gary might be any help. Jack would deny Sir Gary’s presence to all and sundry. He didn’t believe in ghosts.
