Two Ghosts & a Love Song (Dead by the Numbers Mysteries Book 2)

by Jennifer Fischetto

  I leave and head over to Enzo's. I pull up behind his car and park. The journey to his front door is torture. I should be home on the couch with a pint of ice cream and a pizza, but I'm so sick of the people on my television. I curl my fist and knock, but it's light and wimpy, and I doubt Enzo heard it. I try again, but even my joints hurt from that darn sponge, so I just lean my head against the door and send telepathic waves.

  My body decides it's time to allow gravity to win and slump against the door. I grab the doorknob to right myself, and as I stand back upright fully, the knob twists under my weight. It's unlocked? How very foolish of not only the cop in my brother but the brother in my brother. If this isn't the time for a scare, I don't know when is. Achy joints be damned.

  I turn the knob slowly and use my shoulder to push open the door. Of course, if he's standing on the other side waiting, this will all be for nothing. But if he's not…

  The door opens, and I step inside an empty foyer. Yes. The living room is to the right and the dining area, which is rarely used, to the left. Both are dark and empty. There's a light coming from the kitchen, but it's dim. It may be the one above the stove. It's definitely not the overhead. Is he in his room?

  I tiptoe toward the back of the house and hear it. The shower is running. The bathroom door is open just a smidgen, and light peeks through. That means I can slip into the bathroom without him hearing the click from opening the door.

  Suddenly my muscles no longer feel like they're atrophying, and my mind steps into scare mode. I bite my tongue to keep from giggling and set my purse on the floor beside the door. Scare rule number one: you don't want any distractions or anything that can make noise. I'm grateful my soles are rubber and not hard.

  I place my hand on the door and gently push it forward. Steam greets me, which is extra delicious. It means he won't see me approaching either. I make it to the center of the room—his bathroom is three times the size of mine, so there is a center—and decide the best scare would be to throw back the curtain. He'll scream at me being here and him being naked. I definitely don't want to see his junk, but it'll freak him out even more. I debate going back into the hall to get my cell to record this. I won't actually upload it anywhere, but just knowing I have it will drive him crazy.

  It's all in love.

  Yes, filming it would be ideal, so I turn and spot Enzo standing in the doorway.

  My heart skips a thousand beats, and I scream.

  A scream echoes behind my head from the shower, and I scream again.

  Enzo just stands there with his arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face. "Hey, sis. Whatcha doing?"

  I turn to the shower. Who the…? Oh my God, he has a girl in there? I'm about to fly out, when the curtain parts and a soapy, squinty, familiar face emerges. "Enzo," she says. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. My sister just thinks she's smart."

  "Carly Walton?" I say with a chuckle. I haven't seen her in almost eleven years.

  She wipes the soap or shampoo from her eyes. "Gianna? Oh, my God, you look so good."

  Carly was Enzo's high school sweetheart. They dated from freshman through senior year. Everyone thought they'd get married and have kids. But one day Enzo said it was over. It was a month before they graduated. I never got the nitty-gritty of it all, but I got the sense that they broke it off because she was going away to school, and neither wanted a long-distance relationship.

  "Why don't we let her finish?" Enzo says.

  "Oh, yeah. Sorry." I rush out, shut the door behind me, and grab my purse. I walk back to the front door, knowing I should probably leave so they can do whatever they were going to do, but I want to see her too. My fondest memories of Carly are the times she brought over some of her dolls for me to play with. Yes, I was in junior high, but she had the most expansive and coolest collection of dolls, from porcelain to baby and everything in between.

  "It's not what you think," Enzo says.

  I face him. He's changed into jeans and a tee, his usual off-work attire. "What do you mean?"

  "Carly in the shower. I wasn't about to join her."

  Wow, he'd make a great detective.

  "Then why is she in there? And since when have you kept in touch with her?"

  He runs a hand through his short, brown hair. "I haven't seen her since we broke up. Then today I'm about to leave the precinct, and I see her talking to a cop. Turns out she was mugged and filing a report."

  Oh my gosh, that's horrible and so scary. "Is she okay?"

  "Yeah, just shaken up and a bit dirty. She didn't let go of her purse right away, and the mugger yanked on it, knocking her into some mud. I didn't want to just leave her at the station."

  "So you offered to take her home and give her a bath." Yeah, that makes perfect sense. I snort.

  He rolls his eyes.

  The bathroom door opens, and Carly steps out in one of Enzo's tees and a loose pair of sweats. She's rubbing her shoulder-length, dark blonde hair dry with a towel. "How long until my clothes are ready?" she asks my brother.

  "They're in the dryer now." He looks to me. "I washed them."

  Of course you did. I nod and smile. "So, Carly, how have you been?"

  "Good. What about you? I didn't know you were back in town."

  I raise a brow to Enzo. Didn't he just say he hadn't seen her since high school? "I didn't know you knew I wasn't."

  "Yeah, a few years ago I ran into that old friend of yours. Hilary something. She told me you moved to Massachusetts."

  Oh, gag. Hilary Porter, now Burton, was my best friend growing up. Then she one day confided in my crush about my ghostly abilities, and he stayed far away from me. It wasn't so much about him but that she squealed simply because she wanted him and didn't want him to want me. Then in college she started dating my arch-nemesis, Kevin Burton, and I just found out they got married the day I moved back to town.

  "It was Connecticut, and I wouldn't believe anything Hilary has to say about me. We no longer speak."

  Carly's brows pucker. "Oh, sorry."

  I wave my hand like I'm pushing her words away. "It's nothing." Except it's still very much something.

  "Well, this has been great," Enzo says, obviously anxious for me to leave so he can get back to…washing her clothes.

  I can take a hint. "It's great seeing you. I'd love to catch up some time." Of all the girls Enzo's dated, and there have been only a handful, Carly was always my favorite.

  She smiles wide. "That would be great. Enzo has my number."

  I bet he does. Bow chicka bow wow. I jab a finger into my brother's shoulder. "Walk me to my car?"

  Outside, I turn on him and squeal. "So you and she…?"

  He shakes his head, but a smile teases the corner of his mouth. "We're just friends."

  "Okay." I won't push it. For now. "So before I go spend the night alone, did you find out anything about that woman?"

  His expression becomes gravely serious. "Yes. Stay away from there."

  Goose bumps break out onto my arms. Oooh, this has to be good. "Why?"

  "She's Deborah Young."

  I frown. "Is that supposed to impress me? I'm clueless."

  "Her father was Mitchell Young."

  Still feeling un-wowed.

  "He was a criminal. He robbed a string of banks back in the seventies. He died in prison years ago."

  Now that's interesting.

  * * *

  As soon as I step inside my apartment, I drop my purse on the floor and reach for my laptop. I make coffee while the slow piece of crap loads, and the coffeemaker drips its last drop when Google finally opens. I key in Mitchell Young and grab a beloved cup of joe.

  Settling on the sofa, I click the first link and Freezer Dude's face pops up. Holy creepiness!

  The picture is much younger than I know him, but those piercing blue eyes are unmistakable.

  Mitchell Young had quite the career. Similar to Clyde, just without a Bonnie. He was arrested for eight counts of armed robbe
ry and the murder of a security guard at his last bank heist. He got sentenced for life without parole. When he went to prison, he had a wife and infant daughter. Deborah. He was in prison for ten years when a cellmate killed him.

  He'd been shanked to death? No wonder he's so pissy and desperate to get out.

  So what's his plan? To catch up with his daughter? He had to know she can't see or hear him.

  I stare at his face on my screen. Even as a young man, he was scary looking.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Next day I get up early, shower, dress in a lime-green sweater, jeans, and boots, and head over to Izzie's. Ma and Pop opened the deli today, and I have just enough time for a quick breakfast with my sister before I have to go in and slave away over the oil and vinegar salads and the never ending aroma of cured meats.

  Izzie opens her door on my second knock. She's dressed in her thick yellow bathrobe. It's untied at the waist. The belt long gone, probably in the same space as all the missing socks. Beneath it she has on a pair of blue-and-gray plaid pajama pants and a dingy white tee with a torn hem by the collar. Her hair is in a low, side ponytail. Or was. Most of it is loose and frames her face in a crazy halo effect.

  "What are you doing here?" she asks.

  "Good morning to you too, Sis. Can I come in?"

  As soon as I step over the threshold, my niece Alice charges toward the door. Her blonde hair whips around her face when she stops short. "Hi, Aunt Gianna. Bye, Aunt Gianna. Bye, Mom." Then she's out the door.

  "She's running late," Izzie says and walks to the kitchen.

  The bus stop is three blocks north. The junior high is in the East End, not far from the high school. Izzie's house is more in the center of town.

  I follow Izzie through the living room and into the kitchen, where I stop short and mouth "whoa." It looks like a food bomb went off. The counters are littered with bread, mayo, a head of lettuce, deli meat packages, butter knives, a cereal bowl, mug, a couple of plates, and various other breakfast-slash-lunch making items. Izzie is usually immaculate, just like Ma. Which totally drove me crazy growing up. So I'm a bit surprised, but I won't say anything. Maybe it's a pregnancy symptom.

  She grabs the dishes and places them in the sink. "We woke up late. It's been a last-minute morning."

  I sit at their round, oak table and pull a banana off its bunch. I peel the top half and bite off a chunk. "How are you feeling?"

  Izzie grimaces at me. "Like I shouldn't watch you talk with mushed banana in your mouth."

  I swallow hard. "Oops, sorry."

  She puts away the lunch items. "And why are you here?" She directs a raised eyebrow my way. "Don't you normally sleep until about now? Is something going on?"

  I wait until I fully chew and swallow my next bite before speaking. "With you feeling queasy, I've been a bit bored."

  She smirks. "You need more than me as a friend."

  Tell me about it.

  She picks up a dishrag and wipes down the counter. "Do you want coffee? I'm on decaf, so that's all I can offer."

  Oh, it suddenly makes perfect sense. I thought the morning sickness was the only reason for her extra grumpiness, but it's also the lack of caffeine. I totally understand too. I once tried kicking the habit. I lasted fifty-two hours before I ran to Dunkin' Donuts. Uphill. In the snow. It wasn't pretty. I'm pretty sure the guy behind the counter thought I was a junkie looking for a fix—in which case, I was—or about to hold up the store. Maybe both.

  "Yeah, sure, I'll take a cup." And if the shakes start later, I'll grab some espresso to make up for this.

  She grabs two clean mugs, pours coffee into each, and carries them over with milk, sugar, and a couple of spoons.

  I dump two teaspoons into my cup, a dollop of milk, and stir. "So, guess who I saw last night?"

  She takes a sip and sets her cup down with a shrug. "Julian. Pop. Lady Gaga."

  "Ha, you're funny. No. Carly."

  Izzie gets up, grabs the dishrag, and returns to the table. She scrubs at a reddish stain. "Who's that?"

  I scoff. "Come on. Carly Walton. Dark blonde, green eyes, about yay tall." I hold my arm up as far as it'll go in my seated position. "A certain brother's ex."

  Izzie stopped scrubbing when I said Walton. "Where did you see her?"

  "At Enzo's. She was in his shower." I wiggle my brows as best as I can, but it's not as easy to do as one might think.

  She turns and flings the rag across the room. Whoa. It whips through the air and whacks the wall above the sink, falling an inch shy of its spot. "They're back together?"

  Dang. Why is she so angry? I'm now scared to answer. "Um, well, no, I don't think so. I don't know."

  She puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes. "What do you know?"

  Wow. She impersonates Ma perfectly with the arched brows, the cock of her head, and that tone.

  I fill her in on what I saw and what Enzo told me last night. "So, it could all be innocent."

  Izzie takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Then she sits back in her chair and sips her coffee. "Okay. That's good. Enzo's too smart to get involved again. I hope."

  It takes me almost a full minute to get up the nerve to ask why my sister went all El Diablo on me a second ago.

  She cocks her head toward me, and I grip the edge of my chair. "Don't you remember how much she hurt him when she dumped him?"

  No. I shake my head. "I thought it was a mutual breakup."

  "Oh, no." She gets up, goes to the cabinet beside the fridge, and takes down a box of Entenmann's Chocolate Frosted Donuts. Yum.

  I pull a napkin from the pile in the center of the table.

  "I guess you were too young to remember. Carly wanted more." She sets the box between us and lifts a donut out.

  I grab one and set it on my napkin. As much as I want to sink my teeth into the chocolaty-vanilla goodness, this conversation is way more delicious. "More? They were high-schoolers."

  "That was the problem. Enzo planned on going to college and then joining the police academy, and Carly wanted something more exciting. She wanted them to get married and travel around Europe or some such fantasy." Izzie rips off a third of the donut in one bite.

  "But Enzo wanted to be a cop since he was a kid. She had to know this."

  She nods and swallows. "Exactly, so it shouldn't have been a surprise. But she acted like a brat. He suggested he get through college, and then he'd be willing to put the academy on hold for a few months for them to gallivant around Europe, but that wasn't good enough for her. She wanted it all right after graduation. And when he refused to change his life plans to accommodate her dreams—'cause really, how could a couple of barely adults afford her lavish trip—she dumped him. He was beside himself. He tried to not let it show, but you could see it all over his face and demeanor. And I once heard him crying in the bathroom."

  Oh, poor Enzo. How dare she.

  I stare at my donut and finally take a bite. Part of me instantly wants to kick Carly for how she treated my brother. But they were kids, and kids do stupid things. So do adults. I have not grown above stupidity yet, and I have a sneaking feeling I may never.

  "Well, Enzo can take care of himself," I say not wanting to dump all over Carly either. My memories of her are fun and full of laughter. She didn't treat me like a kid sibling.

  "I hope so, but I don't like it."

  I raise one corner of my mouth. "Right now you don't like anything."

  "True. But in my opinion, he needs to stay far away from her."

  * * *

  I leave Izzie's, go home, grab a bowl of sugary Cap'n Crunch's Peanut Butter Crunch to go with the sugary donut and coffee, so they can all be sweet friends in my belly, and then head downstairs to my shift at the deli. The morning is especially busy. Maybe because we were closed yesterday, but I don't mind. It makes the time go by faster, which means I don't notice how bad my feet hurt from hours and hours of standing. Not until I go home and sit down.

  In the middle of my day
, shortly before Ma goes home and after Pop arrives, there's a small line in the store. A woman stares at the menu on the wall behind us, a young man in a suit waits for roast beef and Swiss on rye, and there's an older man who comes in every other day for a cup of tortellini salad. You'd think he'd buy a pound and come in less frequently. I think he has a crush on Ma.

  Pop is slicing the roast beef, and I'm spooning the salad into a cup, when Ma goes into the kitchen to grab a tray of sausage, onions, and peppers. She returns and is humming "Do-Re-Mi" from The Sound of Music.

  It immediately gets stuck in my head, and I start singing the words. "Doe, a deer, a female…"

  Before long, Ma has joined in, and Pop is humming it. Roast beef guy belts out a couple of lines, and soon everyone in the joint is singing the chorus loudly and clearly.

  Ma bumps hips with me. Pop grabs her hand and spins her before getting back to the sandwich. After our final note, which we hold extra long, we stare at one another and start laughing.

  Pop hands over the man's sandwich.

  "Thanks," the man says. "This is a great place. I'll be back."

  Ma nudges me with her elbow. "Maybe we should add a karaoke machine for business."

  I chuckle, assuming she's kidding, but when she doesn't laugh with me, I'm concerned. "I don't think that's a good idea. This isn't a bar, Ma. We don't want people lingering. Plus, there's no room." Not to mention it's completely bizarre.

  She nods. "That's true."

  The older man walks out with his tortellini and doesn't pay Ma any extra attention. I guess he isn't in lust. The woman orders a pound of the sausage, onions, and peppers. Ah, the persuasion of scent. If TV cooking shows had the ability to transmit scent, I firmly believe most people wouldn't leave their couches.

  Ma pulls off her apron. "How is my son?" she asks me.

  I eye a large shrimp in the tortellini salad that's calling my name. If I reach in and pop it into my mouth though, Ma will slap my hand, lecture me for the rest of my life, and keep an eye on me forever. Totally not worth it. "What do you mean?"