Another One Bites the Dust

by Chris Marie Green

  “Let me guess—no action.”

  “Now you’re cookin’.”

  I smiled. “Thanks for watching over the Edgetts like this.”

  “Piece of cake. I’m charged and ready to go.”

  He wasn’t the only one.

  I brought up a travel tunnel, waved ’bye to him, and plunged into its pink swirling artery, zipping over the electric currents in the air and rolling to a landing at Amanda Lee’s house.

  There were fewer than usual lookiloos here today, and that was encouraging. Word must’ve been traveling that some guardian ghosts were surrounding Amanda Lee, and lookilooing just wasn’t worth the trouble, anymore.

  I herded off the stubborn few who remained, then slipped through the crack in the door to my casita, where Amanda Lee was chatting with Cassie, who’d taken over possession of my car battery.

  “Our little ray of sunshine has arrived!” Twyla said when she saw me.

  Cassie smiled. When she’d been alive, she’d had her kids early in life, and I could tell she’d been one of those moms who’d felt that she’d missed out on her single years. She and her husband had been to some swinging parties, but they hadn’t filled her up in the way she’d been looking for. Death hadn’t even satisfied that empty space she’d always had.

  “How’re you feeling?” I asked.

  “Better. Amanda Lee’s taking care of me.”

  “My pleasure,” Amanda Lee said. Cassie was one of the ghosts she could hear crystal clear. “Jensen, Cassie was telling me all about the dark spirit.”

  Twyla butted in. “Totally. We went all Conan on that thing, didn’t we?”

  Cassie stayed quiet, concentrating on laying her hand on that battery.

  I spoke before Twyla could take the conversation over. “I wanted to check Brittany Kirkland Stokley’s address before I went over there. Then I should go to Louis at Tim’s house. He did make it there, didn’t he?”

  “After Twyla came back and relieved him.”

  Twyla got defensive. “Well, excu-o-o-se me for riding off to the, like, rescue at Wendy’s and taking Louis’ place. I didn’t think seniority mattered right then.”

  Time to do some ego stroking. “Twyla, you were fantastic. Very Conan the Barbarian. I’m glad you came.”

  Cassie agreed. “You could’ve taken my dark spirit out, too.”

  “Hey,” I said softly, “you fought it off.”

  “Fighting’s not my thing. Then again, neither was keeping a household, being in the PTA, or carpooling, according to my husband. I know his second wife was good at everything, however.”

  Twyla went over to Cassie, kneeling and looking up at her with a reassuring smile. She seemed like a daughter to her as the older ghost smiled back.

  At the risk of shattering this special moment, I went over to Amanda Lee, whispering. “I made contact with Wendy and Gavin. They still have a ways to go in accepting us, but we’re getting there. Wendy’s studying online to be a cleaner with that Eileen.”

  “So I heard.”

  “And Gavin . . .” Be still my beating heart. “I materialized to him. We needed to talk about that dark spirit. I told him he should tell Wendy who it might be.”

  “How did that go over?”

  “As well as can be expected. He didn’t try to stick an iron poker in me or anything, but I think he knows what he has to do.”

  I left out the part about Gavin trying to touch me. I didn’t even want to think about it myself. Too confusing. Too . . . sad.

  “So then,” Amanda Lee said. “It’s off to Brittany Kirkman Stokley to see if she knows more about the old Elfin Forest party and the bracelets than she let on to Ruben. I’d like to come with you, if you don’t mind. Ruben tells me that she spends most mornings at the Oceanside Country Club. That’s where he previously met her for an interview, so why don’t I call her and see if I can arrange a time to get together there today?”

  That worked for me. Amanda Lee could put Brittany’s mind on the subjects I needed for her to be thinking about for empathy—especially when it came to those bracelets I’d been wearing.

  Twyla had heard Amanda Lee. “Oh, can we go, too? Please please please?”

  I didn’t think there was any stopping her. “If you goof off, I will kill you all over again.”

  “And I’ll make like Conan the Barbarian and kill you back.”

  Cassie reclined on the table. “If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here for a while.”

  “Are you sure, Cass?” Twyla asked. “It’ll be fun.”

  “I’m sure.” She arranged a smile on her mouth, but it didn’t ring true.

  She was spirit shy, I thought. She was afraid the dark blob was still out there, waiting.

  “Cass-ieeeee,” Twyla said. “I really want you there.”

  “But . . .”

  Twyla batted her eyelashes. It probably wouldn’t have worked on most living or dead things, but Cassie’s soft spot responded, and she pushed off the battery.

  “All right,” she said.

  Twyla squealed, skip-floating to the door, where I was already headed. “It’s off to Brittany we go!”

  And hopefully on to the identity of who’d killed me.

  11

  When I first saw Brittany Kirkland Stokley climbing out of a golf cart and shaking hands with a silver-haired man on the green, she didn’t come off like someone who could’ve possibly murdered me and taken my bracelets as a trophy. She was more like a total modern-day Dinah Shore: pink pleated skort, white polo, trendy baseball cap, and all.

  Twyla, who was hanging outside next to Cassie near the wide windows of the country club’s restaurant, couldn’t help herself.

  “Check it out, Jen-Jen. Unlike you, your friend didn’t have to be a ghost to look thirty years younger.”

  Cassie float-leaned near the window and gave me a maternal grin. “Jensen’s much prettier and fresher. You watch—the closer Brittany gets, the more you’ll see that she’s got a Phyllis Diller face-lift.”

  “Ooo,” Twyla said. “Catty. So glad you came with us, Cass.”

  Amanda Lee was tuned out of Twyla’s convo, seated at a table, drinking a glass of iced tea, and tracking Brittany with her gaze as my old party buddy strutted off the green in our direction. For the interview, Amanda Lee had put on brighter colors—an artistically scalloped long blouse over a layered yellow Native American skirt. She’d even gotten out the turquoise necklaces again, letting her red hair spread over her shoulders in layers with those white streaks in front.

  Yup, she looked optimistic enough, maybe because Brittany had agreed to see Amanda Lee after she’d knocked around some balls on the course, doing business with an associate from the mergers and acquisitions company where she worked.

  Just think—my fellow pizza joint waitress, a titan of industry. What would I have ended up as? I mean, Brittany partied hard back then, too, so maybe there’d been hope for me.

  As Brittany’s golf date drove off in his cart behind her, she strolled past the restaurant.

  Amanda Lee stood, waving at her. “Excuse me. Brittany Stokley?”

  Brittany was stripping off a golf glove, giving Amanda Lee a warm smile. “That would be me.”

  “Interview alert!” Twyla said, peering over Amanda Lee’s shoulder.

  Cassie shrugged sweetly as we waited for Brittany to tuck her glove into her back pocket and come to us. It was good to see Cassie in a better mood, and just as long as she kept Twyla in check, life would be grand.

  As Brittany approached the table, I marveled at the time-warp effect again. Same old Brittany, right in front of me, but different. She did look very well preserved, in a “Mom, my ponytails are too tight!” way. Cassie had gotten the face-lift right. But Brittany had been born to get cosmetic surgery—she’d been one of those girls who was always too tan, was always wearing too much makeup, and was always a clothes horse.

  And look at that, she was clothes-horsing now, slyly inspecting Amanda Lee’s wardrobe. She d
welled on the turquoise necklaces, smiling as she probably wondered how much Amanda Lee had paid for the bunch.

  When her smile dimmed, I realized that Brittany had priced the jewelry as “quality vintage, but oh-so gauche.”

  Amanda Lee reached out to shake her hand and introduce herself.

  As Brittany greeted her, she said, “You said you and your PI associate have a new lead about Jensen Murphy.”

  “Yes, and I’m grateful you could take time for some questions about her. I know you’re busy.”

  This was it—the stage was set for some empathy, and I slowly moved forward so as not to disturb the atmosphere.

  But just before I got to Brittany, Twyla gave me a sarcastic grin and cut me off, reaching out and making contact with my old friend’s skin.

  “Hey!” Had that really just happened?

  “Oh, my,” Cassie said under her breath. “This won’t turn out well.”

  Amanda Lee was just disengaging from Brittany’s handshake. The medium in her saw that I wasn’t empathizing yet, and since she couldn’t detect Twyla, she lifted her brow. Then she carried on with Brittany, making small talk about Ruben for a moment.

  “Twyla, you’re dead meat,” I muttered. But the narbo was already engaged with reading Brittany’s thoughts, giving me a view into what a ghost looked like while empathizing. Color was rolling through Twyla in waves as she stared straight ahead, her eyes an airport-light blue, her mouth open and emanating the same color.

  Gross. Was that what I looked like when I read thoughts, too?

  Goose bumps had spiked Brittany’s arms as she shivered a little, then sat, with Twyla still attached to her like a fricking leech.

  Cassie leaned over to me and whispered, “Don’t take it personally. She only wants in on the action.”

  “I’ll give her some action,” I said. But what was I going to do? Start a catfight with Twyla? Classy.

  Instead, I glanced at another couple who’d entered the patio. I wanted to see if they were sensitive to ghosts and had spotted us. Nope.

  As Amanda Lee gracefully took a seat across from Brittany while the woman ordered an early martini from a waiter, you’d never know she was somewhat of a recluse. She was smiley and open as Brittany laughed.

  “Somewhere in the world,” she said, “it’s happy hour.” She hesitated until the waiter left, then added, “So what can I help you with specifically, Ms. Minter? Is there anything I can answer that I didn’t before with Ruben?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, there is.” Amanda Lee had taken out a pad of paper. “And I’m hoping to get in touch with Lisa Levine and Andy Grant to follow up, as well.”

  While Brittany sat back in her chair, one long, tanned leg crossed over the other, I knew her mind was on Lisa and Andy, my fellow partygoers.

  And that meant Twyla was probably getting the 411 on them.

  Brittany slid off her feminine baseball cap and placed it on her lap, revealing bottle-blond hair. “I know Patrick would’ve helped you with Jensen, too, if he were only alive.”

  I hoped that Twyla got a read on where Patrick had died so I could visit his death spot.

  During all this, Cassie had meandered off to a different table, her hand over her side, where the dark spirit had ripped something out of her. She seemed pained, and when I sent her an enquiring look, she shook her head, smiling, brushing me off.

  Too bad Cassie had left just when Amanda Lee was getting to the meat of the matter. “The night Jensen disappeared,” she said to Brittany, her pen over the paper, “she was wearing those black, rubbery bracelets that Madonna made popular. Suzanne Field told us that you had them on when she saw you a couple years ago.”

  “Oh, everyone had those,” Brittany said, laughing again. She was as embarrassed about acknowledging them as I was.

  “But you told Suzanne that they were Jensen’s, and that you were wearing them for the anniversary of her disappearance that particular day.”

  “I see.” She wrinkled her brow. “Yes, that’s right. This was the day I went to brunch with a client. He’d read in a guidebook about the cheese hash browns and roasted tomatoes at Flaherty’s, so I accommodated him with a brunch near his hotel. An Irish breakfast, isn’t that charming? Unfortunately, the food was rather bland for my tastes.”

  “What else do you remember about the meeting with Suzanne?”

  “I remember Suze was waiting tables, and I barely recognized her. Three decades is a very long time to not see someone, and”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“I hate to say it, but she hasn’t really kept up.” She gestured to her face, just to get the point across.

  I hated to say it, but at least Suze didn’t look like someone had laminated her.

  “Go on,” Amanda Lee said, totally neutral. She had to see me getting all offended for Suze’s sake on my side of the table, though.

  “I never knew Suze well, anyway,” Brittany said. “She didn’t like Lisa, Patrick, Andy, and me very much. She thought she was above us because she had some kind of professional job where she wore Charlotte Russe suits to work.”

  “And the bracelets?” Amanda Lee asked.

  Brittany tapped a long, shiny French-manicured fingernail against her lips, thinking. From behind her, Twyla had a reaction—her color stopped rolling through her essence for a second, then started up again. Did that mean she was getting something from the empathy because of the question Amanda Lee had asked?

  “I recall the details now,” Brittany said. “I haven’t worn those bracelets since that day a couple years ago, so it’s been buried in my head. The reason I was wearing them was that I’d seen a newspaper article about Elfin Forest a month or two before Jensen’s anniversary. It was one of those color pieces they publish in the local section, and it reminded me of her, so I clipped it out. It put me in a sentimental mood, so I went through my old memory boxes for pictures of us when we worked together. That’s where I found those bracelets. I told myself I would remember her on her anniversary, and I did it by wearing the . . . jewelry. Otherwise I wouldn’t be caught d—”

  She stopped herself before she said dead. Then she frowned. “Are you about to tell me they found her remains or . . . ?”

  “No,” Amanda Lee said.

  Then Brittany blew out a breath, recovering. “In any case, those bracelets are not my type of accessory, and I wouldn’t have much occasion to wear them at any other time. It was only pure coincidence that I ended up in Suze’s pub for her to see me in them.”

  Again, Twyla’s running color paused, then started up again, maybe getting another significant reading.

  Even without empathy, I was receiving my own strong feeling that Brittany might be lying. Was Amanda Lee vibing this off her, too, from across the table? Her face was so composed that I couldn’t be sure.

  Brittany didn’t say anything as the waiter brought her cocktail. When he was gone, she waved a careless hand in front of her. “I, of course, mentioned to Suze that the bracelets I was wearing were Jensen’s. Looking back, I shouldn’t have.” Her gaze had a distance to it. “Suze teared up, and another server came to wait on us.”

  She’d laid her hands on top of her lap, spreading her long fingers over her hat like she was exerting some kind of control over herself. Her voice came out thick, and I realized that she was sad. Or acting like it.

  “Jensen Murphy,” Brittany said. “I still can’t believe it. Gone, just like that. I try not to think about it too hard, because I do feel responsible. Who wouldn’t? I’m sure the four of us had to be close to wherever she disappeared from in the forest that night, and we should have heard something, seen something. But we had music playing from a boom box, so if she was screaming while someone took her, we never heard it. And the last thing we were doing was paying attention. Lisa and I were doing a lot of dancing, and the boys . . . ? They didn’t mind that a bit.”

  Dammit, right now, Twyla might be seeing a whole reel of empathic images in Brittany. Could she tell whether she or anyone e
lse at the party had left the group for long enough to kill me?

  Twyla just kept reading our interviewee, her gaze blanked, her mouth gaped, both of them still an eerie blue.

  Amanda Lee even joined in when Brittany reached for her martini glass to take a drink. Our psychic rested her hand on Brittany’s, supposedly comforting her, but actually getting vibes.

  “You shouldn’t feel badly,” Amanda Lee said.

  Brittany swallowed, raising her chin. “If you don’t mind my asking, why are the bracelets important?”

  Amanda Lee smiled. How could she tell Brittany that we were trying to track a murderer without tipping her off that she might be a suspect?

  “We’d like to gather everything that Jensen had with her that night, just in case there are some clues we’re missing.”

  “Even if the bracelets were in the car and not in the woods?”

  I’d left them in the car?

  Amanda Lee cocked her head. “Yes, even if you found them there.”

  Brittney said, “When I saw Jensen’s bracelets there after we’d been looking for her all night, I didn’t realize they were very important. You see, I was sure she’d taken them off before we went into the woods because Lisa had been making fun of Madonna during the ride there. Jensen was like that at the time—thin-skinned, emotional—because of her parents’ deaths. She was taking a long time to get over their drownings. But she was in a great mood that night, very spirited, dishing out banter just as well as she was taking it. I’m not sure why she took those bracelets off.”

  This was crazy. Why didn’t I even remember putting them there? But a bigger question was why I couldn’t recall anything but the mask and the ax and the running and screaming. Yeah, I know—I’d been in shock, traumatized, whatever, and that’s what’d sent me into the time loop. But there had to be more answers.

  “One more question.” From what I could see of Amanda Lee’s arm below her pushed-up sleeve, she had maxi goose bumps while touching Brittany. Twyla’s energy must’ve been giving them to her.