"What are you doing here? Why are you scaring me? And who are you?" I sit up and cross my arms over my chest. Partly because I want to look tough and mostly because this white tank top is kinda see-through, and I don't want to give the ghost a peep show.
"Serena's missing."
"What do you mean she's missing?"
"They released her from the hospital, and she's not at my place or Zoe's. I don't know where else she could be."
A hotel and park bench come to mind, but as pressing as this may be, it's not as important as who he is. "I'm sure she's fine. So who are you?"
He frowns and looks at me as if I'm the crazy one. "It's me, Thomas Sterling."
"Yeah, no. The real Thomas Sterling is in Europe with his wife. Who are you really?"
He stares at me for a second. Then poof, he's gone.
How rude.
I quickly dress in leggings, combat boots, a black tank, and a super soft red-and-black plaid, oversized shirt and pick up Izzie. On the ride over the bridge, onto the main part of Long Island, she rambles about clothes while I think of everything I know so far.
Thomas the Ghost isn't Thomas Sterling. Serena doesn't want me to figure out what happened to Fake Thomas. And Freezer Dude is playing musical bodies. Welcome to my crazy world.
"Hey, are you listening to me?" Izzie asks as I pull my Kia into the mall's parking lot.
"Yes, you're fretting over clothes with a stretch waistband and a few extra pounds caused by the pregnancy of your beautiful, future child." I stare straight into her brown eyes. "Is that about right?"
First she narrows her gaze. Then she rolls her eyes. "Fine. I'm a horrible mother because I'm thinking about my wardrobe and figure. You know, guilt and shame are only supposed to work for mothers."
I inwardly grin and think of Ma. "I learned from the best."
After several hours of sulking, pouting (me), and spending way too much time in dressings rooms (Izzie), we finally drive back to town. Instead of going to her house, I pull into Grande on West Park Street. It's quaint, Mexican, and I'm starved.
We are seated by the front windows and order virgin strawberry daiquiris, fish tacos for me, and beef burritos for her. Then we dive face-first into the bowl of chips and salsa and don't come up to breathe until they're empty, and the server brings us replacements.
I sip my drink. "That blue-and-white striped dress is cute."
She nods. "They really did have adorable maternity clothes. I don't know why I was being such a boob."
I glance down to her chest. "Maybe because yours have almost doubled in size."
She smirks at my lameness. It's about time for her to be more than just grouchy. I can't wait until her hormones get back to normal.
"So how's the fam?" I ask.
She cocks her brow at me. "You really want to talk about Paulie and Alice, or do you want to discuss Ma's cold shoulder Sunday?"
I open my mouth wide and scoff. "Right? She didn't say a word at work yesterday either."
Izzie shakes her head continuously, as if she has a nervous tick. "I don't get it. I mean I can't stand Carly either but…"
She stops talking and stares out the window. What's wrong with her? I follow her gaze and see a blue Ferrari. A blonde woman has just gotten out of the passenger side and is shutting the door. She waves to the driver, who speeds off, then turns toward us.
That's when I realize why Izzie is speechless. It's Carly. Our gazes catch, and I wave at her. She freezes for a moment and looks dumbstruck. Then she glances to the side, and I realize she's looking at her car. I hadn't even noticed it when we pulled in. Then Carly turns back to us.
"What is she doing?" Izzie whispers.
"Contemplating running off without saying hi." It's my first thought, and I'm not very proud of how cynical it sounds, especially since I've been Carly's biggest supporter thus far.
But Izzie laughs, obviously enjoying my wicked side. "So you finally see who she is too?"
"I didn't say that. It's just obvious that she wants to leave."
Carly gives us a half-smile and decides to come inside. When she gets to our table, I notice a flash of gold beneath her mid-calf-length trench coat. Izzie must notice it too because she grabs the hem and pulls it aside, revealing the bottom inch of a gold, sequined, minidress.
"Wow, you're dressed up," Izzie says. "Where have you been?"
Carly may think that smile on Izzie's face is friendliness, but I see the evil glint in her eye.
I start to say she doesn't have to answer that. Obviously Izzie's in a mood, but not only does my curiosity get the better of me so does my sisterly protectiveness. It's almost noon, and she's dressed like she spent the night dancing. Was she out with girlfriends, or is she seeing someone beside Enzo?
"Some friends and I were out late last night. I crashed at Ella's, and she just dropped me off."
"Here and not at home?" Izzie asks.
Carly points to her car parked on the other side of the lot. "We met up and had dinner here and then went out dancing. We went to D'Angelo's."
Izzie quirks her brows.
"Carly and I went there the other night. And guess who I ran into? Although technically he ran into me."
Izzie shakes her head.
"Kevin."
She widens her eyes then looks back to Carly. "Do you want to join us?"
"Oh, no. I need a shower and caffeine. Plus something for my headache. I'll see you guys later."
We say our good-byes and watch her get in her car and pull out.
"Dude, I barely got an acknowledgement from you about Kevin," I say and pick up another chip. By time the food gets here, I'll have eaten my weight in fried corn tortilla goodness.
"She's stepping out on Enzo," Izzie says.
That's when I realize my lunch is now ruined, and I'll be lucky if we spend more than five minutes not talking about Carly and Enzo.
And I was right. While the lunch wasn't completely ruined because my tacos were out of this world, like interplanetary delicious, Izzie rambled about our brother and his bad taste in women the entire time. The only reprieve was when she asked for the check. Come to find out Enzo dated less women than I dated guys. I'm slightly disturbed because I'm two years younger than him.
After I drop Izzie and her new wardrobe home, I spin by the real Thomas's house, but there are no cars in the driveway, and no one answers when I knock. I even go around back and peek through the kitchen window. There's no movement. It's empty. So where is Serena?
It's not that her supposed disappearance isn't important. I just assume she's fine. But I think to the night she almost overdosed, and panic starts to set in. The problem is that I haven't a clue where Serena would go, and I don't know her cell number.
Note to self: get cell numbers from every person you meet that's involved with a ghost from now on.
I spend the afternoon driving around town and pacing my living room. There has to be a better way to contact a ghost. All of my calling, screaming, and pleading doesn't make Fake Thomas appear. He's deliberately ignoring me. I can feel it.
I quickly change the top half of my body, put on a royal-blue tunic, and drive over to Sparks for my 4:30 meeting with Natalia Kane. I park in the side lot and enter through the back doors. Instead of heading up to the front though, I ask one of the cooks where Natalia's office is located.
He's young, probably early twenties, with a head full of dark, thick hair. His smile is mischievous, and he has a slight Puerto Rican accent. He points to the corridor that leads to the front of the joint and says, "Third door."
I thank him and walk off. For some reason I glance back and find he's still smiling at me. Or my butt.
As I reach Natalia's door, I spot Zoe coming toward me. I smile way bigger than I intend. It just feels great to actually know someone here, although "know" is a strong word.
"Hey," she says. "I hear you got the position. Good for you."
"Thanks. So do you make good tips here?" It's none of my bus
iness, but I figure it's better to ease my way in to the more personal questions. Starting with, do you know who wanted to kill Serena isn't the best option.
"Weekends are amazing. The rest of the nights are decent. Do you also wait tables?"
"I did a bit of it a while ago. I can't say it's something I love." It was during my time living in Connecticut with my cousin. The hours on your feet were long, and it paid a barely livable wage, but the people were great. And there were no dead bodies.
"I originally planned to apply for that job."
"It's a good thing you have a great voice then. I'm sure singing pays better than serving."
That would be a total bonus.
"I need to get ready for my shift," Zoe says. "Good luck, or break a leg."
"Thanks."
I knock on the office door, and Natalia's sultry voice says, "Come in."
I step inside an immaculate room that consists of a long, glass-topped desk, shiny, black filing cabinets, as well as a few matching side tables, a black loveseat off to the side, and a couple of white chairs across from the desk. The walls are painted stark white, and with a couple of plants and bright lighting, this room feels very different from the front, dim dining room.
"Gianna," she says with a half-smile. "Please have a seat."
I sit across from her desk and get a good look at her.
She has jet-black hair, cut into a chin-length bob with thick, full bangs. A natural tan and chiseled cheekbones makes her look regal and stylish. She could easily pass for a fashion designer in black trousers and a sand-colored blouse.
She opens a manila folder and hands me several sheets of paper and a pen from an acrylic holder beside her computer screen. "I just need you to fill these out."
I complete the standard forms for employment and tax purposes. It's all straightforward. When I'm done, I lay down the pen and am given another moment to watch her as she types on her keyboard. She keeps her nails moderately long and has on a nude polish.
There's something very attractive about this woman but not in a beautiful way. On second glance, her facial features are harsh. But I think it's the way she holds herself. She's certainly confident, and that's incredibly appealing.
She finishes what she's doing, takes my paperwork, and looks over the pages. Then she offers a slight smile and meets my gaze. "Everything looks to be in order. How about you come in Friday afternoon for your first practice? I will have to approve song choices, so why don't you return with some suggestions, and we'll take it from there?"
Still surprised and giddy about the idea that my singing was good enough to land this job, I smile and feel like giggling. That won't happen again though. "Thank you. That sounds great."
Instead of leaving through the kitchen, I head up front in hopes of catching Zoe alone. I'm hoping she knows where Serena is. The dining room is brightly lit and empty except for a bartender placing glasses into a rack and Zoe and Serena setting salt and pepper shakers on tables. Jackpot!
"Hi." I approach.
Zoe smiles, but Serena looks surprised to see me. The feeling is mutual.
"What are you doing here?" she asks.
"She works here now," Zoe says. "Nat just hired her."
Serena's look of confusion changes to suspicion. Her eyes narrow, and she cocks her head ever so slightly. "I thought you were an assistant."
"Yeah, well, there's no job there anymore. Besides, come to find out he wasn't who he said he was, right?" I carefully watch her expression for a telltale sign that she knew Fake Thomas wasn't a Sterling.
But it seems like I've caught her off guard because a frown forms. "What are you talking about?"
She doesn't know. How could she not? I mean, I guess it's possible, depending on when she met Fake Thomas. I assumed it was longer than the past five or six months, however long the real Thomas has been in Europe, but maybe not. The more I think about it, the more I realize how little I know about any of them. I've gone mostly on assumptions. And if I remember back to Thomas Sterling's place, there wasn't one photo in his living room or bedroom that was personal.
I stare into Serena's eyes. Since I haven't been able to reach her today, it's likely the cops haven't as well, which means, assuming she's telling the truth and doesn't know about Fake Thomas, she's more clueless than me. I decide to not be the bearer of bad news. At least not yet. Time for an abrupt subject change. "Are you back to working here?"
Natalia walks into the dining room. "Zoe, Serena, I need to speak with you. Zoe, first."
Zoe walks over, but she seems hesitant in leaving our conversation. I don't know how much she knows about Serena's life, but I gather it's not as much as she'd like.
Serena remains tight-lipped until Zoe's out of earshot, and then she says, "Yeah, I need to find a new place to live, and I need to find a way to survive. Alone."
"Where are you staying in the meantime?" I try to sound like I'm asking 'cause I care, which I do, but I also need to know where to find her in the future.
"At Zoe's. It's small, but she has a pull-out sofa."
That's definitely more than what I have.
"Look, I don't want Mrs. Sterling finding out that I'm working here," she says.
Now I'm confused. "Why not?"
She swallows hard, and tears gather in her eyes. "She doesn't want me at the funeral."
I suck in a gasp. How awful. What kind of a witch is she? Wait a minute. This must have something to do with Fake Thomas not being a Sterling, right? Mrs. Sterling has to know her son is married and living in Europe, so who was the woman I met?
"She's pushing me away."
That makes sense if Fake Mother doesn't want Serena discovering the truth about them.
"I'm so sorry." Regardless of who Fake Thomas and Fake Mother really are, it doesn't change the fact that Serena loved him, and he tragically died. This does, however, alter suspects. Is it possible the killer was after Fake Thomas?
Gosh, I need some actual names because I am starting to confuse myself.
"What does that have to do with this job?" I ask.
"I don't want to give her any extra ammunition for contesting Thomas's will."
If I were a cat, my ears would be visibly perked. "Excuse me?"
Zoe reentered the dining room. "Natalia wants to see you now, Serena."
Serena nods to her friend and says to me, "Thomas left me a lot of money, and his mother is fighting it. She says that the will shouldn't be legal because Thomas meant to leave me that money after we were married. He wasn't planning on dying. But it's there on paper, so it must be legal, right? I gotta run."
Before I can question her further, she takes off and heads to Natalia's office.
What does all of this will talk mean? Clearly Fake Thomas and Fake Mother aren't wealthy. Fake Mother isn't really concerned that her daughter-in-law to-be might inherit their family wealth. It can't be. If they were rich, why pretend to be someone you're not and break into their home to do it?
But Serena believes them, and that's what I can't shake as I walk to my car. Just how much money does she think she's getting, and is it enough that she'd kill for it?
I decide the best place for answers is Enzo's, and it's about that time of evening when he should be home. When I get there, his car is parked out front. I knock on his door, but he doesn't answer. I don't see Carly's car, so he can't be too busy. Maybe he's in the bathroom or changing. I try the knob, and it turns. He's getting very careless about locking up. He knows better. If Ma learns of this, she'll be livid. You always lock your doors behind you on Long Island.
I step inside. It's quiet. I consider hiding in a closet, but that feels too boring. The living room is empty. The TV off. That's unlike my brother. He likes background noise. I start to go back to his bedroom, but the last thing I want is to get an eyeful of a naked Enzo.
"Yo, brother, it's your sister."
When he doesn't answer, I listen. I don't hear the shower running.
I turn into the kitchen
and realize the light's on. I step over the threshold and see him lying on the floor. My heart jumps into my throat, and I run to his side. There's a knife sticking out of his arm. Blood is covering the wound and has seeped to the floor.
Oh, my God. No, no, no, not my brother!
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Enzo," I cry out, get to my knees, grab the front of his shirt, and shake him. I know that's stupid to do. It's not like he's napping. How can shaking an unconscious person help? But I'm doing it anyway.
What the heck happened? Did someone break in? A random person off the street or was this related to some criminal he apprehended? My mind races with thoughts. My fingers go to his wrist to find a pulse, but I was never good at that, so I can't tell if he's dead or not.
"Oh, gosh, Enzo. Hold on. I'm calling for help." I reach into my purse, which I dropped beside me. I push the side button to bring the phone to life, and I catch movement.
I look down, and Enzo is convulsing. Merda! What am I supposed to do? I think I need a wooden spoon so his tongue…
The corners of Enzo's mouth creep up, and I realize the seizure is actually laughter. The rat bastard is faking it.
I slap him in the gut. "Are you kidding me? This is a prank."
He opens his eyes and lets out a rumble of laughter. Then he raises his arm, and I see that the knife was only positioned in his armpit.
I get to my feet and softly kick him in the shin. "I hate you. You know that, right? Why are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
He gets to his feet and grabs the roll of paper towels. "I saw you coming and figured I'd have some fun."
"Yeah, I'm in hysterics This is the best time of my life."
He wipes the fake blood off his shirt and then the floor. "You owe me a bottle of ketchup."
"You give me a near fatal stroke, and I owe you?" I grab my purse and storm to the front door.
"Wait," he says and runs after me. "Why did you stop by?"
"I wanted to talk about the case, but I'm still having trouble breathing."
He giggles and then tries to make a straight face, but he sucks at it. Truth is, it's an awesome gag, and had he done it on someone else, I would be in stitches. But he seriously had me scared to death, and I can't fully forgive him just yet.
Two Ghosts & a Love Song (Dead by the Numbers Mysteries Book 2) Page 12
