“Good Gawd.” Nelda held her hand over her chest. “I almost caught a heart attack.” She shook the box of salt at Holly. “I thought you was that ghost.”
“Oh, Nelda. You’re back.” Holly rushed to her. When she squeezed Nelda in a hug, the strong scent of garlic pushed Holly back.
Two strings of garlic swayed around Nelda’s neck and tangled around a large silver cross. Her lips broke into an ear-to-ear grin. “Told you I’d be back.” She glanced around the room. “I fixed up the kitchen with some voodoo to keep that ghost out, too.”
Holly pointed to Nelda’s necklaces. “Garlic and a cross? Isn’t that for vampires?”
“If it keeps away them bloodsuckers”—her brow flattened, and she set her jaw—“probably works on ghosts, too.”
Rhett lapped water from the bowl in the middle of the kitchen floor.
“Acht,” Nelda shouted, shooing Rhett away. “That’s my holy water, and I don’t got none to spare.”
Rhett slunk over to the floor-to-ceiling window near the table and sat.
“Holy water?” Holly asked.
“It was the best Father Martinez could do. He said the bishop couldn’t do the exorcism for months.” She shuffled to the stove and flipped the bacon over. “You know, Catholics don’t do nothin’ in a hurry.” Nelda pointed the spatula at Holly. “You remember when your mama tried to get that annulment? Humph.” She turned back to the bacon. “She died waiting on it. God rest her soul.”
Holly’s throat tightened at the mention of her mother. “I remember.” The aroma of the bacon settled into Holly’s senses and somehow made her feel everything was going to be better now that Nelda was back.
“Anyway, this holy water ought to hold back the ghost,” Nelda said.
“Did you do all this to the kitchen by yourself?”
Nelda laid the strips of bacon on a paper towel. “Sure did. The voodoo priestess, she called it cleansing rites. That ghost can have the rest of the house”—she thumbed her chest—“but the kitchen is mine.”
Holly snatched a piece of bacon and scanned the room. “I could hug you again, garlic and all. You think it’ll work?” She’d never believed in hocus-pocus things, but she’d never believed in ghosts, either.
“Sure do. I got a cousin in New Orleans. That’s where I was. My cousin, Della, works in a voodoo shop and hooked me up with the priestess. She knew just what to do.” Nelda put her hands on her generous hips and nodded with approval at her handiwork. “I ain’t seen hide nor hair of Burl’s ghost since I voodooed up the kitchen.”
Nelda pointed her spatula at the collection of six-inch iron skillets on the wall. “I gotta cook here to win the big skillet. Ain’t no ghost gonna come between me and first prize this year.”
“And I thought you came back because of me,” Holly said, beaming at Nelda.
A hint of a smile curled Nelda’s lips, but she quickly hid it by turning to poke at the bacon sizzling in the skillet. “That too.”
“I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Nelda slipped a garlic necklace over her head, then draped it around Holly’s neck. “I made one for you, too.”
The strong odor would, no doubt, keep away humans. But if it’d send Burl to another dimension, Holly was willing to reek. “Thanks.”
Nelda nodded, then turned back to tending the bacon.
“Well, well, well. My favorite housekeeper is back.” Burl strolled across the room.
Speak of the devil. So much for voodoo magic. Burl needed a bell or something, so she’d know he was popping in. Holly dared not acknowledge him in front of Nelda.
He fingered a candle on the counter. “She thinks this voodoo smoodo will keep me away?”
Holly ran a finger across her throat, signaling Burl to cut it out. Instead, he leaned forward and blew. All four candles sputtered out like magic.
Jeez. He’s getting better at haunting.
Nelda froze with the spatula in midair. “You see that?” She turned and faced Holly.
Holly grimaced and nodded.
Nelda bolted toward the back door, but Holly caught her by the arm and dug her heels in the floor. Nelda outweighed her by at least fifty pounds, but she wasn’t getting out the door, even if Holly had to tackle her.
“Wait,” Holly pleaded.
Nelda’s eyes bugged as her stare darted around the room. “Where is he?” She lifted her cross and held it like a shield.
“I’m here on higher power,” Burl said as he hunkered over the bowl of holy water.
“Um, Burl says he can’t touch you,” Holly said to Nelda, then shot a “Shut up” stare at Burl.
“She can’t hear me,” he grumbled.
“He’s talkin’, ain’t he?”
“Don’t worry about Burl. He’s all talk,” Holly said.
“Let me show you my new trick, Blondie.” Burl stirred the holy water with his finger until it swirled like water going down a drain. “I may not be able to touch her, but I can give her hell.” He winked at Holly. “And I will.”
“Why?” Holly snapped.
Nelda pointed the cross in the direction Holly spoke. “What’s he doin’ now?”
“Nothing. I think the voodoo is working.”
“You told me to haunt, didn’t you?” He blew at the tip of his finger as if it were a smoking gun. “I’m going pro, Blondie.”
Nelda fingered the garlic around her neck. “You sure he can’t touch me?”
“He says your magic keeps you safe.”
“Good one, Blondie.”
The whites of Nelda’s eyes widened, and she pointed to the bowl of holy water. “Look at my holy water.”
Holly cut her eyes at Burl. “It must be working against the evil spirit.”
Nelda slapped her hands together. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” She strutted around the bowl of holy water and right through Burl.
Burl shivered and jumped back. “I never wanted to be that close to Nelda.”
“Look at my holy water workin’ it.” Nelda slapped her hands together again. “Praise God.”
“Come on. Give me a little credit,” Burl said, lifting his arms in disbelief.
Holly folded her arms over her chest and smiled at Nelda. “Gotta give credit where credit is due.”
Burl stomped around the room. “What do women want? You want me to haunt. I haunt. Now you’re pissed, and I don’t get any credit.”
A grin sliced across Nelda’s face like the sun breaking through a storm cloud. She grabbed Holly by the hands and danced her around the kitchen floor. Laughter Holly almost didn’t recognize as her own bubbled through the room until it forced happy tears from her eyes. How long had it been since she’d laughed so hard?
“No sorry ghost gonna hold us back,” Nelda said, then let loose a deep cackle.
“Y’all, don’t mind me. I’ll just make myself comfortable here,” Burl said, inspecting his nails. “Forever.”
Holly stopped dancing.
“What’s wrong?” Nelda asked. “That ghost opening his big mouth again?”
“If I don’t get him to heaven by Halloween, he’s stuck here with us forever.”
Nelda fingered her garlic necklace. “I ain’t wearing garlic forever. How you gonna get that cheat into heaven?”
“Cheat?” Holly let go of Nelda’s hands. “You knew?”
“Everybody knew, girl.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“By the time I found out, he’d gone and killed himself in that plane. No use trashing the dead.” She shook her head. “That’s how everybody felt.”
“This town is too freaking nosy.” Burl shook a transparent finger at Nelda. “And I didn’t kill myself. I’m an ace pilot.”
“No, you’re an ace screwup, Burl. You screwed up my life, and you even screwed up dying.” Holly turned to Nelda. “He has unfinished business here, and I’ve got to finish it, or I’m stuck with him for life.”
“Le
t’s finish it and get him outta here,” Nelda said, giving Holly’s shoulder a quick squeeze.
As grateful as she was, Holly couldn’t chance involving Nelda in the drug-smuggling thing. “It’s not that simple.”
Burl groaned. “It’d be simple, Blondie, if you did what I told you to.”
“It’d be simpler if you’d stayed dead,” Holly snapped.
Burl looked over Holly’s shoulder. “What’s that redneck doing here? Don’t tell him anything.”
“Ahem,” came a man’s voice from behind her, and she wheeled around.
Sheriff Walker stood at the screen door with the Gazette, whacking it across his palm like a baseball player fidgeting before he goes on deck.
Holly’s legs melted under her weight. The picture Jake had painted last night of the Gazette’s front page headline being about drugs found at Holly Grove came into focus in her imagination. She stared at the newspaper in the sheriff’s hand.
Could Jake have called her bluff and printed the story?
CHAPTER 15
Sheriff Walker opened the screen door and walked in the kitchen. “I see y’all made the Gazette.”
Holly opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Had Jake followed through on his threat to put everything in the Gazette? How could she explain it to Sheriff Walker? Point at Burl and say he did it?
She rushed across the kitchen to meet the sheriff at the door. “I can explain everything, I swear. It’s not what you think.”
Sheriff Walker cut his eyes around the room. “What you do in your own place isn’t police business unless you break the law.” He pulled his hat off and scratched his head. “I saw something like this last fall in a pasture. Y’all ain’t planning on killing any cows, are you?”
Tension melted away as she realized the sheriff hadn’t come about the drugs. “Um, cows. No.”
Nelda piped up. “This ain’t no devil worship. It’s a voodoo cleansing. We got a ghost up in here.”
Holly cringed. She had to get the sheriff out of her kitchen and quick. He already thought she was nuts after the fire extinguisher incident.
“I heard about that.” The sheriff handed the Gazette and a few pieces of mail to Holly. “Page three.” He looked over his belly at the red dust.
“That’s brick dust,” Nelda said as she poured a cup of dark roast coffee. “Ain’t no ghost can walk over that. But you can, Sheriff. Want some coffee? It’s fresh,” Nelda said, as though the kitchen didn’t look like a scene from an occult movie.
“I don’t like the SOB,” Burl said.
Holly glanced from Burl to the sheriff. What was Burl’s problem? She’d known the sheriff her entire life, and Delta Ridge had voted him in for the past twenty years. Of course, she wasn’t a drug smuggler.
Nelda handed Sheriff Walker the cup of coffee. “You take anything in your coffee?”
“Cream, if you’ve got it.”
Holly’s fingers stumbled as she pulled the pages of the Gazette apart. “Oh, my God. I forgot one of the Deltas wrote the senior column.”
“Best column Miss Cora Beth ever wrote.” Sheriff Walker nodded. “Got the whole town talking.”
“Let me see,” Nelda said, peeking over Holly’s shoulder.
Burl read over the other shoulder. “Man, oh, man, I’m good. You’ve got a bona fide ghost, according to this rag. I’m doing my part, Blondie. It’s up to you now.”
“And look here.” Nelda pointed to the bottom of the page. “Jake put the ad in, just like he said he would.”
You are cordially invited
to
the Holly Grove Plantation Home
for
the Haunted Pilgrimage Tour
October 1 through 31
Hayrides, cane-field maze, historical tours,
pumpkin patch, and possible ghost sightings.
Sample Nelda’s famous gumbo
and
Vote for the best gumbo
on the Haunted Pilgrimage.
Nelda read the ad aloud, then tapped the page and grinned. “That’s my name in the paper.”
“I may have to taste that gumbo,” the sheriff said.
“You just get yourself back here at lunch and taste it.” Nelda pointed a finger at Sheriff Walker. “Then vote.”
“The sheriff can’t be driving all the way out here for lunch. I’m sure he has important police business to take care of, Nelda,” Holly said.
“As a matter of fact, that’s why I’m here.”
Holly’s brain skittered over his words before they made sense. “Police business?”
“Yep. Jake here?”
Oh, crapola. Jake did call the sheriff. “I’ll get him.” Holly pushed through the swinging door to the entrance hall and ran into one hundred eighty pounds of man.
* * *
“What’s your hurry?” Jake said, holding her where she’d landed, in his arms. He sniffed the air. “And what’s that smell?”
Her eyes sparked as she fisted his shirt. “You said I could trust you,” she whispered.
“You can.”
“Sheriff Walker is here to see you. He said it’s police business.” She tightened her grip on his shirt. “I thought we had an agreement.”
“I didn’t call him.” Jake peeled her hands off his shirt, then led her into the kitchen. He took in the voodoo in the tricked-out room. “What’s going on in here?” He fanned the air. “And what’s that smell?”
“That’s me.” Holly lifted her garlic necklace. “Did you notice Nelda was back?” Holly said in what sounded like a fake cheery voice. She waved her hand through the air. “This is a voodoo cleansing rite. She did it herself.”
“I see.” Nonplussed, Jake tromped over the pentagram. “You wanted to see me, Sheriff?” His tone was more abrupt than he’d intended. He had noticed the sheriff at Dottie’s but hadn’t wasted his breath to speak to the old codger, and the feeling was probably mutual.
The sheriff extended his hand. “It’s been a long time, Jake.”
Not long enough. Jake gave a passing glance at the man’s hand but didn’t take it. The last time Jake had spoken to Sheriff Walker was when he’d collected his belongings from the parish jail. “About fifteen years.”
“Staying out of trouble, I hear,” Sheriff Walker said, awkwardly rubbing the hand he’d offered across his hip.
“Valid driver’s license and no arrests, if that’s what you mean.” The sheriff had been hell-bent to arrest one of them that night. Jake had taken the wheel at thirteen because Mackie had been too drunk to drive them home from Jake’s football game. That arrest and a few other skirmishes had likely cost Jake a football scholarship. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s about your dad.”
“What about him?” Jake said, seeing no need to keep the edge off his voice.
“The widow women in Delta Ridge have been calling the jail, offering to bail out Mackie.”
“Drunk and disorderly?” Jake asked, but not surprised Mackie would turn up in jail.
“Nope. He’s not in jail.” The sheriff settled at the planter’s table, across from Nelda. “This morning I was having breakfast at Dot’s, and Doc Stratton told me you’d brought in Mackie’s dog to get him patched up. I thought you might know where he was.”
“Did you check his trailer?”
“Yep.”
“Under his trailer?”
The sheriff grinned. “Not there this time. I gotta tell these widow women something.” He slurped his coffee. “They’re wearing on my deputy’s nerves.”
“Tell them he’s on a drunk. They’ll understand,” Jake said.
“You don’t know these women.” He set his empty coffee cup on the table. “Since you’re next of kin and all, I thought you’d fill out a missing person’s report. That way, I can circulate it to the nearby parishes.”
Jake crossed the room to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. “He’ll come back when he sobers up.”
“Can I file the re
port?” Holly said.
Jake gave her a hard look, but it couldn’t match her hard head. When was she going to get it? He couldn’t fix Mackie, and neither could she.
Holly stood in the middle of the pentagram, arms folded over her chest, and matched his stare.
Sheriff Walker pushed his hat back on his head and eyed Holly. “Well, I don’t guess it has to be family.” He looked at Jake. “But it usually is.”
“Then you don’t need me.” Jake had sworn he’d never pull Mackie out of another one of his drunk-induced jams, and by God, he wouldn’t.
He stormed out of the kitchen and let the screen door flap behind him.
* * *
Jake had left before he said anything he’d regret. He stood on the back porch and sipped his coffee alone. A blue jay dive-bombed a squirrel as it hauled butt across the lawn. The squirrel scratched its way up a massive oak in a spiral path, then barked from a fork in the gnarled limbs. The blue jay circled overhead in wait.
Pecking order. There was a pecking order to everything, and in small-town life, it started with your daddy, which put Jake just above pond scum in Delta Ridge.
Aren’t you Mackie’s boy? He’d heard that too many times since he came back to town. Just like the blue jays, someone in Delta Ridge was always ready to peck him on the head to remind him his daddy was the town drunk.
Mackie had Jake’s cell number and instructions to call him anytime. Sober. He hadn’t called in fifteen years. If Holly thought she could guilt Jake into looking for someone who didn’t want to be found, she had another thought coming.
He pitched the coffee over the porch rail, then headed to the Gazette before he could change his mind and start looking for Mackie.
* * *
“I don’t think you scored any points with your old beau,” Nelda said as she slid two plates of scrambled eggs, grits, bacon, and hot buttered biscuits onto the planter’s table.
Rhett took his begging position at the end of the table.
The bench scraped the floor as Nelda pulled it out and sat across from Holly, then gave her the eye. That look meant Nelda expected a response, even though she hadn’t asked a question.
Better Dead Page 11
