Pecan Pies and Dead Guys

by Angie Fox

  He glided away, and I sank back against the wall, trying to make myself as unobtrusive as possible. It wasn’t as hard as I’d imagined. I was the only live person in here, and as a matter of habit, ghosts tended to overlook the living. It wasn’t as though most people could see them, after all, so usually the ignorance was mutual.

  I had to admit, a part of me felt a bit jealous. I had never been to a party like this in my entire life. The ritz, the glamour, the bawdy fun of it all—it was all Greek to me, literally. The closest I’d ever come to such a big, extravagant event would have been my wedding reception if I’d gone through with it.

  I wasn’t sorry I hadn’t. I’d never be sorry for that, not when I was with Ellis now. But I had to admit seeing the ladies in special dresses and heirloom jewelry, their hair done up and holding fancy drinks, I’d like to try that sometime. Although I could do without the men in togas and the tittering wood nymphs.

  “You’re going to make a go for it, aren’t you?” Marjorie appeared next to me, scaring me half to death. “Yikes. Babe.” She held a hand up, her drink sloshing, her heart earrings swaying. “I thought you were used to seeing ghosts by now.”

  I was. “I am.” I cleared my throat. “I just wasn’t expecting you.”

  She flattened her back on the wall next to me. “You’re going to get a bigger shock once you get past that landing,” she said, looking out over the party.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “I hear things,” she mused.

  I hoped she wasn’t the dominant ghost. It was too late to hide my plan to investigate upstairs. She already knew.

  She sipped her drink and took her time swallowing. “Okay,” she said, as if coming to terms with something in her mind. “When you get up to the top landing, take a right. Go down until you see an alcove with a stone statue of a sphinx. It’s enormous, and it’s real—a gift from a big-time archaeologist named Treadwell. You might have heard of the guy.”

  “Yes.” I’d met him.

  “It’s on the left after that,” she said, her brows rising as the diamond dealer caught her eye from across the room. “See ya,” she said, pushing off the wall. “Shaney!” she crowed, dodging a gathering of sirens and a band of harpies to join him.

  “I can do this,” I reminded myself.

  Unless Marjorie was leading me into a trap.

  Or, if Shane Jordan was the dominant ghost, maybe she was giving me a distraction.

  But why? She had no reason to help me. At least none that I knew of.

  The staircase grew dark and shadowed near the top. Ghosts crowded the lower landing, but it seemed nobody would go farther. Except for me.

  Lucky me.

  “Ha-ha!” Frankie’s laugh floated over the crowded foyer.

  I looked up just in time to see him sweep an arrangement of rose vines and poppies from one of the stone columns near the door and jump up to take its place. The gangster held a lighter in one hand and a bucket of what appeared to be bottle rockets in the other. He’d lost his Panama hat and replaced it with a hastily made crown of grape leaves and parsley that, if I wasn’t mistaken, had recently garnished the buffet table. He’d also tied a tablecloth around his shoulders like a cape.

  “You think Zeus is the only guy who can shoot lightning from his hands?” Frankie called, working the crowd like a carnival barker. “Think again!” He brandished the lighter high and grabbed one of the bottle rockets. “Ladies and gents, may I present the indoor light show!”

  Graham stood at the front door, his eyes wide, jaw dropping. “We’ve never done that before.”

  “It’s not like he can burn the place down,” Marjorie countered.

  “King of the gods, baby!” Frankie roared, getting a little too into his role. He lit the bottle rocket. It shot straight toward the ceiling, tangled in the chandelier, and a moment later—

  Boom! The sound echoed in the closed space. Sparks shot off the crystal. Guests gasped and shrieked as hot embers showered them. Some partygoers dove for the door. Others—the more inebriated ones, from the look of things—laughed and shouted for more.

  And Frankie had a lot more.

  His eyes met mine from across the room.

  Go! His voice sounded in my ear.

  Right.

  I turned and began climbing the staircase, past the gawking guests, ignoring the fffzzzt as another rocket shot from Frankie’s hand.

  Bang.

  I felt the reverberation down to my toes.

  Faster. His voice sounded again in my ear.

  Dang, he was pushy. I stuck close to the wall and avoided eye contact with any of the ghosts. I was up near the top in less than half a minute. I could do this. I could make it. Then I stepped on the landing, and my entire foot sank down into the carpet.

  “Holy smokes!” I dodged backward to the step below, my heart catching as the ground fell out from beneath me and I tripped.

  I went down to my knees, hitting hard, but I managed to stop myself from tumbling down the staircase. As I knelt, staring up into the darkness on the landing, I realized I might need more than Frankie’s fireworks to make this work.

  At the bottom, the gangster waved another rocket while Mr. Adair yanked his cape off and Mrs. Adair tried to talk him down. Marcus stepped inside, drink in hand, looking horrified. He didn’t even notice when Marjorie took his hand.

  Shane Jordan merely laughed.

  Nobody cared about me.

  I looked back up to the landing. The threadbare carpet lumped over uneven floorboards in my world. It appeared Hollywood perfect on the ghostly side.

  Gripping the top stair, I reached my other hand up and over and felt it sink. It wasn’t a ghostly illusion. This was a loose board in the real world, probably rotting away underfoot.

  Great.

  So now I had to worry about the integrity of the second floor. Worse, there was no mistaking the dark, heavy presence of something lurking beyond the landing.

  Go, Frankie urged, sounding more panicked this time.

  He wasn’t going to be able to keep it up much longer, even if the Adairs had to drag him out of there kicking and screaming.

  Now or never. I forced myself to stand. To take the next step, to walk up and onto the landing.

  Maybe the foreboding presence was merely a ghostly illusion. Maybe there was nothing to fear.

  And maybe it was a trap

  Either way, I was committed. I stepped up onto the landing.

  It felt like stepping into another world.

  I’d entered a soundless place, bathed in shadows. At the top of the stairs stood a pedestal with a white marble statue of a weeping woman. She seemed to be staring directly at me.

  I could barely hear the party downstairs, and that scared me most of all.

  I ventured past the weeping woman into the upstairs hall. The shadowy passageway stretched out far in either direction. I watched it pulse.

  Oh, heck no.

  The hallway appeared to bulge and shrink at the same time, the walls threatening to split open on one side of the hall while on the other side, they pulled back so fast and so tight that I felt like I’d be drawn toward them if I kept watching. Couple that with the feeling of wet, sucking sand underfoot, and it was almost like being on the world’s worst cruise ship during a terrible storm. With every wave, the landing around me threatened to spill me right back down the stairs where I belonged.

  The dominant ghost definitely didn’t want anyone up here, and I certainly didn’t want to be here. Even though I knew to go to the right, it was going to feel like an awfully long walk to find the creepy sphinx stolen from a tomb in Egypt. At least I knew the sphinx was harmless. I’d solved the case involving the Treadwell curse.

  You can do this, I thought hard to myself. You have to do this. I might not get another shot. I groped for the wall, which quivered like a living thing under my hand.

  I yanked my hand back. Wiped it on my dress.

  As if that would help.


  Bang-bang-bang!

  A fresh infusion of fireworks stilled the walls.

  “Thank you, Frankie.” He’d distracted the dominant ghost enough to give me a bit of peace. Ha. As if anything could make a darkened hallway possessed by a murderous entity a bit more peaceful.

  Still, I was glad to see the floor firm up to something only slightly sticky, and it became light enough that I could see more than five feet in front of me. I didn’t have any time to waste if I wanted to get into Greasy Larry’s room—and make it back out.

  I hurried down the corridor.

  The hallway was long, which shouldn’t have surprised me. It was a big house. But it felt like the farther I stepped, the more distant the rooms became. More tricks. I gritted my teeth and pressed ahead. I would make it. Just ten more steps. Ten more little steps, I could do that.

  I waded forward against the clinging darkness, thick one moment and nearly gone the next as a distant bang sounded.

  There. To my right, a sphinx statue rose out of the shadows of an alcove. The sculpture had the sleek body of a lion with a face like the Mona Lisa. It sat tall on a pedestal, its eyes on a level with my head as I approached. It didn’t speak any riddles, but those eyes glowed menacingly, and I was sure I saw its claws scratch at the marble beneath it.

  It had better not be getting ready to jump me.

  I’d never seen a statue attack, but then again, I’d never seen a ghost snake until last night.

  I braced myself and hurried past. Glancing back at the statue, I found it had turned its head to watch me.

  I was shaking by the time I reached the first room past the sphinx, but at least I’d made it.

  I took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “Oh my lord!” A hairy man dressed as cupid had found a stray siren and—

  I slammed the door. Apparently, not all ghosts were scared off of this floor.

  How could they stand it up here? Unless they weren’t real.

  Maybe they were memories, remnants from the past. Or perhaps they were nothing more than images the dominant ghost wanted me to see.

  I glanced back toward the sphinx, thankfully still on its perch. Marjorie had said the first room past the sphinx, and this was it. I pressed my ear to the door and heard no sound.

  Bracing myself, I opened the door once more.

  There were no frolicking ghosts this time.

  The ornate bedroom was breathtaking. I took in the wide window with the night sky twinkling beyond, and a heavy, expensive dresser and wardrobe. A canopy with a pleated fabric top and tousled bedding. The mound of sheets stirred, and I stifled a whimper as a huge feline head shook itself free of the blankets and twisted my way.

  Ahhh…hah. There was a lion in the room now.

  Not a slender mountain lion, either. This was a full-on African lion, complete with a bushy mane, long, twitching tail, and paws that were bigger than both my hands put together. It yawned, displaying huge razor-sharp teeth.

  I froze.

  The lion might not even be real, but I wasn’t about to take a chance. A ghost lion could still cut me to ribbons.

  It hopped down from the bed, and I realized that I was still standing in the open doorway, too shocked to do the smart thing and close the heavy door before the lion made a meal out of me.

  And if the way its tongue swiped across its enormous lips was any indication, it was ready for a taste.

  Shut the door. Shut the door. The lion took two more long steps, close enough that I could see my own reflection in its huge hunter’s eyes. Holy wow. I slammed the door closed.

  Wham! Ghostly paws connected with the other side, rattling the hinges.

  I sincerely hoped Marjorie had been right about Larry’s room, that she had been looking out for me and trying to help. Because the dominant ghost clearly knew I was up here, and I didn’t want to open that door again.

  A riotous boom sounded from downstairs, and I knew I didn’t have a choice. Praying that Frankie had just distracted the dominant ghost, I whipped open the door.

  Silence greeted me.

  No lion. No lovers.

  The room before me appeared ordinary. For now.

  A rumpled bed stood near the left wall, but at least this one appeared empty. It was flanked by a pair of bedside tables strewn with jewelry, half-full cocktail glasses, and, oh my—a ghostly revolver. Perhaps Larry knew someone was after him.

  Opposite the bed stood a wooden wardrobe and a vanity with a big mirror and a lacy, ruffled stool. A tube of lipstick, a pair of earrings, and tangled silk stockings littered the top.

  I stepped inside the room and felt the air whoosh out of my lungs so fast it was like being stuck inside a vacuum chamber. I couldn’t breathe, I realized, panicking. Stars floated in front of my eyes. The air pressed in on me, thick and smothering like a poisonous fog.

  Eyes shut, arms flailing, I threw myself forward as hard as I could. The air pressed closer, tighter, and then—

  Pop. The smothering sensation burst, and I staggered into the room.

  Sweet heaven!

  I rested my hands on my knees and gasped for a few seconds, struggling to catch my breath. The dominant ghost really didn’t want me in here. At least that confirmed that I’d found the right room.

  I made my way to the bedside table.

  The ghostly door banged open behind me. I turned and let out an inadvertent shout, ready for—I didn’t know what.

  Frankie burst through the opening.

  I wanted to both strangle him and hug him. “What are you doing here?” He needed to be downstairs keeping the distraction going.

  “Bad news,” he said, staggering into the room. He’d lost his hat and his crown of leaves. Wisps of smoke trailed from his hair. “The dominant ghost is onto me.”

  “Yes, well, the ghost is onto me, too.” I’d just gotten in here. “I need more time.”

  “There ain’t none.” Frankie stiffened as a low groan sounded from the hall. “Yikes,” he said to himself, then to me, “Look, I used up all the fireworks. Not to mention the number I did on the ceiling down there. Graham is ready to gut me. It’s time to go.”

  No. I couldn’t get this far and then give up before I got to see anything. “You need to distract the ghost again.”

  He looked at me like I’d told him to dance the cha-cha backwards. In heels.

  “Frankie,” I pleaded.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph… all right.” He zipped away.

  I hurried to the vanity table. Not much to see here: lipstick, a half-pack of Lucky Strikes, and a letter opener under the nylons. I took a closer look at the earrings and realized I was seeing a set of cufflinks instead. They were square, solid silver, and engraved with the initials LK.

  All right.

  Larry had definitely been staying in here. Now to search for any evidence that might explain his untimely death.

  Through the open wardrobe doors, I could see a few dresses hanging up, as well as a man’s dress shirt and tie, along with gray pants and a matching jacket. It wasn’t a party suit, like so many of the gentlemen attending the Adairs’ Red Hot Ritz had worn yesterday, but business attire. Something a judge might wear.

  I hurried to the wardrobe, startling when a sudden chorus of “Ooooooh!” from dozens of voices rose up from the front lawn.

  “Go, Frankie,” I said under my breath.

  I studied the wardrobe, careful not to touch the clothes with my hands. If I handled ghostly objects for too long, they would vanish, and we might need them as evidence. Yet from a cursory inspection, I didn’t see anything unusual about the items in the wardrobe.

  Through the ghostly images from the past, I could see glimpses of the room as it appeared in my time, the bed sagging, one table missing, the other ready to topple. A rusted letter opener lay forgotten under a lurching old vanity.

  “Dang it all.” I stepped back, surveying the room. I thought I’d find something. I didn’t have time to be wrong.

  What else,
what else… Should I be knocking on the walls, listening for hollow spots? Moving pictures to check for hidden safes? That was what they did in the movies, but…no. This wasn’t Larry’s house. Technically, this wasn’t even his room. If he had stashed something here, it would need to be easily accessible.

  I tried to think where that might be.

  I slid open the ghostly drawer in the bedside table, feeling the chill as it creaked open.

  Empty.

  I bent and looked on the floor of the wardrobe, then stood tall and jumped so I could see over the edge of the shelf above the clothes. Nothing.

  Hurry. Frankie’s voice sounded in my ear. I’m running out of material!

  Where else was there to check?

  There had to be something in this room to give me a clue as to the murderer or the motive. If not, well, I might as well join De Clercq on square one.

  I took a deep breath, or tried at least. I wheezed. The air in the room was starting to feel heavy. Noxious.

  My head swam a little.

  Okay, think. There was one more classic hiding place in the room. I hastened to the bed, dug my fingers under the edge of the mattress, and lifted.

  On the far edge of the frame lay an old briefcase bound in scarred leather.

  “Ow!” I gasped as a sudden chilling pain seared my right toe. A wet chill shot through my body as if my bones had iced over. I yanked my foot back to see what I’d touched. What I saw almost made my heart stop.

  Thick black ooze, like a malevolent tide of tar, pooled at my feet. It hadn’t been there a minute ago. It shouldn’t be there at all. It had seeped in from the hallway, under the door. And it had angled straight for me.

  It smelled caustic, acidic. I hadn’t even touched it. It was still six inches away and I’d felt it down to my soul.

  Lord have mercy.

  I could taste the metallic tang of it in the air, feel it in the heaviness in my chest.

  Frankie’s head shot through the floor, barely missing the goo. “Get out!”

  I wanted to. My stars, did I want to. I heaved out a breath. “I found something I think might be important.”