Night of the Loving Dead

by Casey Daniels

  “The guy buried in that mausoleum was Gus Scarpetti,” I explained. “You’ve probably never heard of him here in Chicago, but in Cleveland, he’s a legend. He was a mobster back in the 1970s, and after I hit my head on his tomb . . . well . . . I’ve seen Gus Scarpetti,” I told the doctor. “I’ve talked to him. Plenty of times. And after he went away—”

  “He disappeared? Just like that?”

  Of course it wasn’t that easy, but I didn’t think this was the time to go into details. I got down to business, leaving out the part about how Gus didn’t disappear until after I’d solved his murder. “The same thing happened with Didi Bowman. You may have heard of her. Her sister took credit for writing a famous book, but Didi really wrote it.”

  “And you talked to this Didi, too?”

  “Sure.” I dismissed this information as inconsequential. “And Damon Curtis, too.”

  “The rock star.” Doctor Gerard made a note of this on the legal pad that sat out on his desk. “It’s interesting, isn’t it, that you’ve only seen and talked to famous people. What do you suppose it means?”

  I didn’t suppose anything. I knew what it meant: famous wasn’t what mattered; victim, on the other hand, was. All three of them—Gus and Didi and Damon—had been murdered, and they couldn’t rest in peace until someone brought their killers to justice. Since I’m the only one with this Gift mojo, the burden naturally falls on me. Did I want to get into this with Doctor Gerard? No way. He didn’t need to know that I was a private investigator. All I wanted to do was make him believe I was crazy.

  “I wish I knew what it meant.” I tried to sound thoughtful, like it was something I spent a whole lot of time wondering about. “All I know is that I’d really like it to stop. That researcher, he says I’ve got issues.”

  “And do you?”

  “Have issues?” I had to laugh. “Well, there’s my father. He’s in prison for Medicare fraud. And my mother. She took off for Florida to get away from all the bad publicity about my father. There’s my ex-fiancé who’s moved on with his life. He’s getting married. And then of course . . .”

  The of course part was all about Quinn and Dan—who did I want, who didn’t I want, and why. I might not always be in touch with my logical self, but when it comes to the subject of my love life, I know even a seasoned mental health professional isn’t qualified to deal. And I wasn’t ready to talk about it. My sigh was genuine. “Do you know anyone who doesn’t have issues?”

  “I don’t know many people who openly admit to seeing and talking to people no one else can see or hear. It takes a lot of courage to do what you’re doing.”

  If he only knew!

  On my way over to the clinic, I’d peered into the rear-view mirror of the taxi while I practiced the trembling lower lip I hoped to use to gain the doctor’s trust. I used it now and watched him melt. He was either a compassionate man or a sucker for vulnerable women.

  “It isn’t courage,” I said. “It’s desperation. Things have gotten worse since I came here to Chicago. When I heard about this place . . . When I heard about you and all the wonderful work you’re doing . . .” I hiccuped over a sob that sounded like the real thing. “I knew you were the only one who could help me.”

  Doctor Gerard tipped his head and studied me. “So you’re seeing and hearing people here, too? Tell me, did this happen right away, as soon as you arrived in town? Or maybe . . .” He eased off the desk and edged closer. I stepped back. “Or did it happen after you’d visited someplace special. A church, for instance? Or a hospital? A cemetery?”

  Like this never would have occurred to me without him pointing it out, I let my mouth drop open. “A cemetery! How did you know? I mean, you’ve just met me and you already have that much of my psyche figured out. That’s amazing. Really. Everything he said about you is true. And here I thought that Dan Callahan was—”

  One blush gets a guy’s attention. The second one reels him in. Anxious to gauge his reaction and while Doctor Gerard was still hooked, I stammered, “I guess I’ve let the cat out of the bag, huh? Do you . . . Have you ever heard of a researcher named Dan Callahan?”

  He pretended to consider my question, but I knew a stall when I saw one. Doctor Gerard knew Dan Callahan, all right. This wasn’t news, and I didn’t need him to confirm or deny it. What was interesting, though, was the spark of anger that flashed in the doctor’s eyes. He was pissed, and maybe this whole being psychic thing was beginning to sink in, because I knew exactly why. I’d witnessed a meeting between Dan and the doctor there in Chicago. It looked as if Pepper Martin’s aberrant behavior had never been on the agenda. Otherwise Doctor Gerard wouldn’t have been so miffed at finding out that Dan and I shared a connection.

  The only question I had left was why he cared so much.

  Still wondering what was up, I watched Doctor Gerard nod, chuckle, and play it cool. “Scruffy kid with bad taste in clothes? So, you’ve run into the famous Dan Callahan. I should have known as soon as you mentioned brain scans. As it turns out, I know Dan well. He was a student of mine at one time, and we’ve just gotten in touch again. He’s helping me conduct some research here at the clinic. Dan is a brilliant man, but he believes that science—and only science—can find the answers to life’s mysteries. That’s too bad. He has yet to learn that he has to trust his gut, not his instruments. He tries to rely on science when he should rely on instinct.” Doctor Gerard paused for a moment, thinking. “What did Dan tell you after he conducted those brain scan tests?” he finally asked. “About the voices you hear? And the people you see?”

  “Well, that’s the thing about Dan, isn’t it? He pretty much doesn’t tell anybody anything.” This was one of the few true things I’d said since I walked in; my courage bolstered by it, I went on. “Dan’s always lurking and watching and saying weird things that don’t make any sense.”

  “Things about your aberrant behavior?”

  I think Doctor Gerard was going for funny. I was so not in the mood. “Things about how dangerous the unknown is,” I said. “Things about how I need to be careful and watch my back. It doesn’t make any sense, and it worries me, Doctor. I’m scared.” For effect, I wrapped my arms around myself. “Maybe Dan saw more on those brain scans than he’s willing to tell me. Do you think . . .” I swallowed hard. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

  My question spurred the doctor into action. He headed for the door, and on his way past, he patted my arm. “I don’t know what to think. And I can’t know what to think. Neither can you. Not until we do some tests of our own.”

  “But you said science doesn’t have the answers. You said we can’t rely on tests and—”

  His hand on the office door, Doctor Gerard paused. “I said my old friend, Dan Callahan, relies too heavily on tests. That doesn’t mean there aren’t some tests that are legitimate. And appropriate. With your permission, I’ll run some brain scans of my own. The data we collect will give us a good idea of where you are, and a baseline to work from. You wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  He stepped into the hallway, and when the door snapped closed behind him, I let go of the breath I was holding. It caught again in a gasp of surprise when I heard a voice right behind me.

  “That’s your idea of acting crazy enough to get accepted into Hilton’s study?”

  I didn’t have to turn around to know that I’d been joined by the aforementioned Madeline Tremayne, but since I didn’t like the tone of her voice, I spun to face her anyway. Except for the whole tripping over her spirit in a cemetery thing and getting talked into taking on this case because she’d convinced me that Dan was in trouble, Madeline and I hardly knew each other. That was close enough for me.

  Madeline was one of those stiff-assed academic types, and like brainiacs everywhere, she thought she was better—and smarter—than everyone else. Most particularly, me. Apparently, she also thought she knew more about investigating than I did.

  I stepped back, my weight on one foot and my hands on my hips. �
�News flash, girlfriend. I’m the detective here. I know what I’m doing. Besides, it worked, didn’t it?”

  “Hilton’s a sucker.” With a little no-holds-barred fashion analysis and an afternoon spent with the latest issue of Cosmo and the determination to follow through on the beauty advice found in its pages, Madeline might actually have been pretty. She had filmy blue eyes and a cloud of blond hair that framed the face of an angel. Her nose was tiny and upturned, her chin was well shaped without being too masculine, and her lips bowed just enough to make her look pouty but not petulant. Too bad the effect was spoiled by her choice of clothing. That afternoon Madeline was dressed—as she had been every time I’d seen her—in a shapeless black skirt that skimmed the tops of her black loafers, a utilitarian cotton blouse, and a white lab coat that made her skin look as pale as death.

  Pun intended.

  Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun (a style that added years to the thirty she’d lived here on earth), and her reading glasses hung around her neck on a black cord.

  She strolled over and sat on the arm of the chair I’d just gotten out of. “Just because he’s going to do some scans doesn’t mean Hilton believes you. You can’t trust your luck on this, Pepper. You’ve got to find some concrete evidence against him before he gets back.”

  The angel face and nicely curved body may have been enough for her to get her own way when she was alive, but I wasn’t about to be pushed around. Not by a dead woman who needed my help to begin with.

  “It’s too soon to panic,” I told her. “Everything’s going to be all right. You heard him. He’s already interested in what I had to say. You said—”

  “I said I thought Hilton was singling out certain patients and I think whatever he’s doing with them, it’s nothing good. You should have played up the whole fact that you’re crazy. You should have tried to get him to talk about Dan some more.”

  “Number one, I’m not crazy. So there really was no reason for me to play that up. As for Dan . . .” I heard a noise out in the hallway and looked over my shoulder toward the door, but whoever it was, the person passed by. “I’m being subtle.”

  “You’re wasting a perfectly good opportunity.” She glanced toward the door, too, and outside in the hallway, I heard Doctor Gerard instruct his receptionist to tell the folks in the waiting room that he would be busy for at least thirty more minutes. “He’s got to get all the equipment ready,” Madeline said. “You’ve got a couple minutes to look through his things.”

  I shot her a look that pretty much told her what I thought of this idea.

  “Come on, Pepper.” If she could have, she would have dragged me closer to Doctor Gerard’s desk. As it is, ghosts are incorporeal and can’t touch anyone or anything of this world. That’s why so many of them need my help. Because they can’t touch or feel or move things, they need someone who’s alive to accomplish all that for them. This, of course, includes solving murders and explains how I got mixed up in the whole investigating-for-the-dead sideline in the first place. “There’s a safe in his credenza. That’s where he keeps his research results. I know the combination. Come on, before he gets back.”

  Just in case Madeline got the crazy idea to reach out a hand and grab me, I backed away. When a ghost comes in contact with a living person, that person gets chilled to the bone.

  “Listen up,” I told her. “I’m in charge of this investigation. And I’m not about to blow it by doing something stupid. If he walks in here and finds me looking through his stuff, Doctor Gerard will know I’m up to something.”

  “If he walks in here and tests you and finds out you’re lying, he’s going to know you’re up to something anyway.”

  “Except that I’m not lying.” I shouldn’t have had to point out the obvious. “Since I’m talking to you, that pretty much proves I talk to people no one else sees, doesn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t prove you know what you’re doing. I could—”

  “What?” I didn’t usually taunt the dead. It’s bad form. But this was one dead chick who had spent the last couple days getting on my nerves. “What are you going to do if I don’t cooperate, Madeline? Open the safe yourself?”

  She flinched as if I’d slapped her. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

  “Or maybe I do, because you seem to keep forgetting that without me, you’re nowhere. Literally.” I heard footsteps and the squeaking sounds of a rolling cart out in the hallway. I lowered my voice. “I’m going to handle this my own way. You’ll see. He’ll believe me. He’ll ask me to be in his study. Then I can take a closer look around and talk to his other subjects. I can find out what happened to Ernie and I can see how deep Dan is into this whole thing.”

  Madeline crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t believe you’ve got the brains to pull this off.”

  I was about to point out that I had brains to spare, and most importantly, I had the corporeal body she no longer owned, when the door opened and Doctor Gerard walked in. He pushed a rolling cart ahead of him. There was a piece of medical equipment on it that looked like one of those lie detectors on the TV crime shows.

  “Sit down, Pepper.” Of course, he couldn’t see Madeline roosting on the arm of the chair. He waved me toward it. “We’ll get some electrodes hooked up, and in a couple minutes, we’ll know a lot more about that occipital lobe of yours.”

  I motioned to Madeline to get lost and strode over to the chair. Once I was settled, Doctor Gerard stuck electrodes on my forehead. When he was done, he had me place my arms on the arms of the chair. I remembered the day Dan had done the brain scan test on me, and I knew that next, Doctor Gerard would hook up electrodes on my wrists.

  Which explains why I was surprised when instead of electrodes, he pulled a leather strap out of his back pocket and tied my arm to the chair.

  “Hey!” I squirmed, but with one arm already immobile, it was hard to keep him from tying my other arm, too. “What are you doing? I don’t remember this from when I had my first scans done.”

  “I think we’re going to be able to dispense with the scans.” Doctor Gerard opened the drawer on the side of the rolling cart. He pulled out a syringe as long as a banana. The needle pricked my skin, and the next second, a sensation like fire rushed into my arm and spread up into my chest and down my spine. My breath caught. My head throbbed. My tongue felt huge and heavy. I couldn’t close my eyes.

  “Doctor—” My voice was thick. My words were slow. “What . . . are . . . you . . .”

  Behind Doctor Gerard, I saw Madeline click her tongue and shake her head. “I knew you were too stupid to handle this,” she said.

  “Not . . . stupid.” The voice was mine, but it sounded like it came from a million miles away. “Told you . . . told you he’d believe me. I told you he’d . . . put me in his . . . study.”

  So how did I get into this mess?

  It was exactly what I was asking myself as I watched Doctor Gerard give me a satisfied smile, then turn to leave the room. Trouble is, try as I might, I couldn’t answer my own question. My head spun, and when I saw tight-lipped, sneering Madeline fade and wink out, I wasn’t sure if it was for real or if I was hallucinating. I knew for certain that my stomach flipped, because there was a sour taste in my mouth. I tried to swallow it down, but it was a losing cause. My mouth was parched, my tongue felt as if it had been blown up with a tire pump, and my limbs were as numb as if I’d taken a dip in the icy waters of Lake Michigan.

  Which explains why I couldn’t say a word when the doctor came back with a wheelchair. Or why I didn’t even try to fight when he untied my arms, lifted me, and dumped me into it. My head rolled back, and I had the horrifying realization that I actually might be drooling. It was so not pretty, and rather than consider it, I let my mind wander.

  Was it any surprise that when it did, it landed right back in Cleveland on the day all this started?

  2

  Quinn Harrison had a small, fan-shaped scar on his left shoulder blade. He said he got it
when he made the mistake of turning his back on a bad guy who grabbed a tire iron and swung hard, but I wasn’t so sure I believed him. To me, it looked more like the mark of a woman’s stiletto heel.

  Not that I was going to get picky.

  For one thing, Quinn is not the type of guy to get picky with. I mean, because of the whole macho, I’m-a-cop thing. And the fact that he’s just about as gorgeous a hunk as any I’d ever met. It’s those green eyes of his, and the way they’re shot through with amber and flecked with blue. It makes him look a little standoffish. Like he’s better than everyone else.

  I guess after a lifetime of seeing his own reflection looking back at him from the mirror, he’s pretty much come to believe it.