by Mary Behre
“Coming right up,” Jules said with a grin.
Heading to the refrigeration case, Jules glanced at Diana. The girl narrowed her eyes and stalked over. Okay, to the customers in the shop she probably appeared to simply walk, but they couldn’t see what Jules could. Diana’s eyes narrowed to slits and glaring poison-tipped arrows.
Diana reached Jules’s side, and while pulling out a preordered arrangement of carnations, she hissed between clenched teeth, “I’m not in high school. I’m homeschooled. And I saw him first.”
With that, she whirled away. A bright smile on her face, she carried the arrangement to the customer she’d been helping. Jules returned to selecting the roses for her customer.
Even if Jules had been interested in Dev, he was much too young for her. What was he, twenty-four? Now Seth . . . He was a man any woman would want to nibble on.
Grabbing the rest of the roses, she gently bundled them, tying a purple satin ribbon around them, and then froze.
No more thinking about Seth’s hotness! She refused to allow her foolish and seriously-lacking-self-preservation heart to lead her again. She needed to take care of business. First the store, then the ghost, and then find her sisters, in that order.
Love, lust, and sex were off her to-do list.
• • •
THE REST OF the day flew by with the steady stream of Sunday customers. By five in the evening, Jules’s stomach rumbled. She regretted skipping out before eating any of the lunch Seth had ordered. The pizza at Philomena’s had smelled delicious but she’d needed to put space between her and Seth.
She’d seen a side of him that made him not only human, but yummy. Just thinking about him, her heart sped up like she’d just run a marathon. That so wasn’t good for her state of mind.
He embodied the perfect male. Loyal to his family, a loving father and devoted son, handsome, charming, sexy, and funny, Seth would have been perfect if he hadn’t been a cop.
Dang! Why couldn’t he be a plumber?
This attraction was wholly inappropriate. Still, she couldn’t deny that seeing the tuft of dark chest hair peeking out of the top of his green shirt made her insides quiver. The man was sexy with a capital X. Even the dash of gray in his hair at his temples was a turn-on.
“I’ve cashed out and locked up the back.” Diana handed over the cash bag and the daily receipts. She’d washed her face and changed back into the pink skirt and white blouse from earlier. Despite changing her clothes, her mood hadn’t improved. She’d glared at Jules all afternoon.
“Diana, I really didn’t mean what I said earlier. Not the way it sounded.” Jules accepted the cash bag, laying it next to the register. She turned to Diana and inhaled a hopeful breath. “Detective Jones is too old for you.”
“You’re not my mother.” Diana emitted a sound of disgust then nodded toward the door. “Do you want me to do anything else? If so, you’d better hurry. My mom’s outside waiting.”
Through the glass, Jules could make out the parked blue Mazda SUV.
She gave up on trying to make the girl see reason. “No, thank you. We’re all finished. I’m heading out as soon as I go over these.” Jules waved to the bag of receipts. “Have a good night, Diana. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Oh, did April ask you about helping me do inventory on Tuesday?”
“I’ll be here.” Diana glared, as she had every other time they’d made eye contact since Dev’s visit. When she wanted to, the girl could deliver death rays with her eyes that would have made a super villain proud.
Diana shrugged then stomped toward the door, calling out over her shoulder, “Math’s my best subject. You won’t find a mistake.”
She was right, Jules discovered after she’d counted the cash, credit card receipts, and checks. Diana was both a creative wiz and a math one too. She hadn’t made a single error.
Stuffing the money and receipts into a plastic bank baggie, she signed her name across the seal. She shoved the plastic bag into a locking canvas one, then placed the bags in the safe in April’s office before returning to the counter to collect her belongings.
Jules untied her apron and shoved it under the counter. She pulled out her purse and examined it.
“You must give it to him.” A cold chill went down Jules’s spine at the ghostly words drifting through her mind.
She glanced around the room. The ghost floated in a seated position above the pirate chest full of stuffed animals and Halloween decorations. This time the girl wore a pair of knee-length beachcomber khaki pants and a dark blue tank top. Her aura pulsed a dark, murky red and her eyes shone as if she held back tears.
“He won’t stop. Won’t stop,” the specter whispered, desperation drawing out every syllable. Each word tumbled over the previous one, creating a cavernous echo. “He’ll kill anyone . . . kill anyone . . . to get what . . . what he wants . . . he wants. I should have seen it sooner . . . seen it sooner. I shouldn’t have . . . shouldn’t have done it. But I tried to fix it . . . fix it. Now he’ll kill—”
The doorbell chimed as the door opened. Diana stuck her head inside. “I forgot my mom wants to go on some lame field trip with the home school group Tuesday, so I can’t come in to do inventory. But I can stay late on Wednesday.”
The spirit evaporated.
“Whoa! You all right?” Diana stepped through the door, the scowl she’d worn all afternoon replaced with an expression of concern. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Jules grinned wryly. “I’m fine, just a long day. Wednesday is fine. Have a good night.”
“You too.” Diana smiled, then pursed her lips as if she suddenly realized she was supposed to be annoyed. She spun around and left.
Hmmm . . . Diana can’t hold a grudge for more than a few hours. Relieved at the thought, Jules set the alarm and exited the shop.
The waning afternoon sunshine cast long shadows of the buildings across the parking lot, making the area seem both inviting and a little magical. A gentle, cool breeze blew, lifting her hair. The scent of roses and sea air mixed together and soothed nerves she hadn’t realized were exposed.
Jules hurried down side streets; paying little attention to the world around her, she focused on trying to communicate with the ghost again. Perhaps, this time the ghost might be more forthcoming about what she really wanted.
“Are you there?” Jules sent out a mental push.
Chirping birds were her only answer.
Clutching the purse more firmly in the crook of her underarm, she tried again. “Ghost-girl, are you there?”
Damning her persnickety crift, Jules grimaced and silently repeated the question. Perhaps, her attempt to multitask inhibited her newfound ability. She’d been standing still in the store when she discovered she could wing her thoughts out to the ghost.
Maybe if she just stopped, got off the road and out of sight, then she could concentrate.
Spying an alley that appeared deserted, she headed toward it. She’d barely neared it when she heard a voice, calling out.
“Hello. Can you hear me?” The feminine voice was gentle and melodic. Ethereal and ghostlike, but not the spirit Jules had been trying to reach.
Dang! Am I going to channel every specter in the tri-city area?
Jules should just walk past and ignore the ghostly call. Normally she would have, but for reasons even she couldn’t explain, she didn’t. Instead, she stepped into the unknown alley.
The stench of rotting garbage combined with urine burned her nostrils. Clapping a hand to her face, she choked and glanced at unfamiliar buildings that surrounded her on three sides.
Shafts of sunlight splintered on cracked windows. Dented doors dangled precariously by their hinges. Graffiti and smoke damage marred the walls, giving the buildings an abandoned feel. Three dingy green Dumpsters were shoved into a corner. Crumpled cardboard boxes, broken bottles, and filthy clothing littered the tiny alley.
“Hello?” Jules called out, then wished she hadn’t.
Somethi
ng was wrong. The air around her crackled like static electricity. Despite being outside, a claustrophobic feeling swamped her. Whipping her head from side to side, she half expected to see the crumbling walls close in around her.
“Do not fear, child,” the disembodied voice spoke again. Her gentle, melodic tone made the words comforting. “You are safe here.”
“Where are you?” Jules searched the dank alleyway. Moving slowly through the grimy dead-end street, she glanced around again. “Show yourself. I’d feel a lot better if I could see you.”
Nothing answered her.
She looked up when she should have looked down. Jules tripped over a broken bottle and stumbled against a small mountain of old dirty clothes. A black cat had been sleeping on the ratty laundry. It popped its head up and bellowed a loud meow at her.
Jules’s stomach leapfrogged with her heart into her throat and she squelched the urge to cry out, then chuckled at herself.
“Seen any ghosts down here?” Jules asked the green-eyed cat, then shook her head. “Great! I’m losing my mind. I’m talking to Garfield now.”
The cat hissed at her as if insulted by her reference to the cartoon feline, jumped down from the clump of clothing, flicked its tail at her, and then bounded down the alley out to the street.
Jules straightened , pressing her hand against the mountain of torn, smelly clothes for support.
The clothing pile moaned and shifted.
Jules yanked back her hand. A panicked scream caught in her throat.
A man with a matted beard and equally tangled hair rose up from the pile of old clothes. A waterfall of tattered, stained jackets and shirts flowed to the ground, pooling at his feet.
An icy finger brushed beneath the collar of Jules’s shirt. Her stomach clenched and she turned around. Only the wall faced her. “Do not be afraid.”
Yeah, right. Jules sent out another mental push. “Show yourself, and I won’t be.”
Again, the ghost didn’t appear. “I will . . . soon.”
The rational part of her brain told her to run but her danged legs wouldn’t listen. Instead of bolting away, her feet moved as if encased in invisible cement. Heavy and slow, she plodded down the alley. She’d barely made it to the middle when all light was sucked into a black vortex.
Although she remained on her feet, the world around her shifted. Another icy digit touched her, this time behind her ear. She spun around to see the homeless man had given her his back and huddled in a corner near the Dumpster.
Dread ripped down Jules’s spine, igniting the instinct to struggle. The impulse to run, to escape, warred with the single logical cell working in her brain. Fighting wouldn’t work; if she wanted this to end, she needed to hold still and let the specter have her say.
At least, she hoped that would work.
Jules forced her body to relax and accept what was happening. She focused her mind, clearing it of any stray thoughts, then waited for the whispering to resume.
The physical world withdrew. Birds stopped chirping. Noisy traffic from the street beyond the alley’s mouth faded. Everything auditory melted into a vast void. For a nanosecond she found peace in the sublime silence.
“Do not fear. He would never harm you. You are safe here.” The melodic, gentle voice spoke again. Her words were soothing, hypnotic. “I only need you to deliver a message. One he desperately needs to hear.”
“I’m listening,” Jules said into the still alley.
“Go to him. It’s been so long since he’s had kindness. Please.”
Despite her uncertainty, Jules obeyed. She moved slowly until she kneeled beside the cowering man. She stretched out a tentative hand and rested it on his stiff, dirty sleeve as she spoke. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”
His weathered skin was thin and wrinkly. His unkempt rust-colored hair hung past his shoulders. Still, he smiled, then gently patted her hand with his.
At his touch, a lifetime flashed through her mind like a rapid-fire slideshow. It moved so fast, she shouldn’t have been able to see it all, but she comprehended it just the same. It was his lifetime. Complete with a millennium’s worth of pain squeezed into forty-nine years.
A burning-hot desert on the other side of the world. A chaplain and his commander walking toward the mess tent. Unbearable news. His wife and only daughter died in an apartment fire, hours before he woke.
He crumpled to his knees. Hours and days blurred past in a haze of pain.
Two coffins: one large, one small. A funeral attended by hundreds but he stood apart.
Alone.
Years slipped by with no one to hate but himself. His single thought, he should have been there . . . to save them.
The slideshow changed. Now the bitter memories interwove themselves with his fondest. His wedding day. His daughter’s birth. A family trip to Disney World.
And each sacred moment fed the self-loathing.
When the heartbreaking moments of his life finished playing through her mind, Jules stretched out her arms and wrapped them around him in a gentle hug.
Then the melodic voice whispered, “His name is Samuel.”
Jules glanced up to find a beautiful woman in a white summer dress.
Whole but transparent, the spirit shimmered in and out of sight, like sunlight shining between leaves on an elm tree. She hovered a few inches above the ground. An aura of silver white light surrounded her and made the ends of her chestnut hair sparkle.
A pervading sense of peace filled Jules and she couldn’t help smiling.
“Thank you for heeding my call.”
“He’s a wonderful person. I’m sorry for his pain. And yours.” Jules sent out the mental push to the ghost, who smiled in return.
What was Jules doing talking to a ghost? She knew better than to engage the paranormal world. And yet, she couldn’t resist the need to help these two people. The ghost in front of her wasn’t the phantom who’d been haunting her.
No, this one was Samuel’s wife and she radiated peace. How could Jules deny this gentle spirit anything?
The wife moved her hand, as if caressing Samuel’s cheek. He froze, seeming to sense her presence. He cocked his head slightly and closed his eyes as if to heighten the sensation.
A pained expression crossed the ghost’s face, and she withdrew her hand then turned her attention to Jules. “I’m sorry to send you so many visions at once but, I needed you to see my husband as we knew him. Before we died . . . and after. He wasn’t always like this. Samuel is a military hero. Our hero. He should be honored. Not ignored. And not forgotten. He has a higher purpose than this.”
The wife spread her arms wide, gesturing to the alleyway.
“Momma?” called a sweet, childlike voice.
The ghost-wife’s form shimmered brighter, and for the first time, Jules noticed a second smaller form beside her. A child, no older than five, with straight blonde hair and piercing blue eyes—her father’s eyes—took her mother’s hand in hers. With a hopeful expression on her innocent face, she asked in a small voice, “Will he come home now?”
“Not yet,” the mother replied to her daughter, as if Jules couldn’t hear them. “He has something very important to do. But we can take him home soon.”
“Then he’ll be free?”
“Yes, Penny, then he’ll be free.” She turned a gimlet stare to Jules. “My name is Moira. Can you please deliver my message? He needs to know . . .”
Jules listened carefully to Moira’s speech. She’d nearly memorized it when Samuel pulled away from her without warning.
What the heck? Jules had barely hatched the thought when her physical senses burst through the haze of serenity with a deafening clamor.
Jules dropped her purse and clapped her hands to her ears at the cacophony of noises. Then her olfactory senses kicked in. Fetid air filled her lungs and she gagged.
Wow, how could she have forgotten about the rotting garbage in the alley?
A gentle hand touched her at the base of her
spine. Jules turned to see Seth staring into her face with concern. Despite the sounds still beating a tattoo against her eardrums, she lowered her hands.
His touch seemed to lessen the aftershocks of her crift, as if by caressing her skin, Seth drove back the harsh return of her physical senses. The sounds around her dulled to normal. The stench of the alley no longer overwhelmed her sense of smell. Even her gag reflex settled instantly.
She didn’t have time to wonder how this was possible because he asked, “What are you doing out here with him?”
Turning around, Jules saw the homeless man no longer huddled near the discarded clothes. He watched them with a wary expression on his dirt-coated face.
Despite his grimy appearance, he exuded an air of defiance. And fear. His back ramrod straight and his arms crossed over his chest, he clutched both elbows. He hunched his shoulders, but his feet were spread wide as if he could spring into action at any moment. But it was the rapid shifting of his eyes that was the most telling.
He darted his gaze repeatedly between Jules, Seth, and the mouth of the alley.
Cautiously, Jules move closer to him, two steps at a time, until they stood three feet apart. She couldn’t miss the sound of his stomach rumbling. Her stomach ached in sympathy.
The bravado in his stance dissolved and he shuffled backward until his back pressed against the wall. Slowly, he sunk to a seated position, drew his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around himself.
“Juliana, did you hear me?” Seth caressed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Are you okay, precious?” he asked in a low tone. His breath feathered across her ear.
With a quick glance at Samuel, she nodded. “I’m fine. Just delivering an old message.”
Knowing he couldn’t possibly understand—heck, she barely comprehended it herself—she sidled out of Seth’s touch and headed toward Samuel.
Two days ago, she’d sworn off helping any ghost, and today she was a walking cell phone for the dead.
She took both of Samuel’s trembling hands into hers. He kept his gaze lowered to the worn hole in the top of the brown leather shoe on his right foot. Her chest tightened with sympathy. She pushed herself to speak Moira’s words in a way that wouldn’t necessarily make Seth or Samuel believe she was completely insane.
