Ghost Mysteries & Sassy Witches (Cozy Mystery Multi-Novel Anthology)

by Неизвестный

  Eli would have tossed the phone to Khan, but Khan appeared to be asleep. Eli answered the phone with a hesitant hello.

  “Are you two chuckleheads coming to finish the job you started?”

  “Just one moment, sir.” Eli dropped the phone between his thighs and leaned over to shake Khan by the shoulder to wake him up. “It’s the client from the purple house.”

  “And?”

  “He called us chuckleheads.”

  “Both of us?” Khan scowled.

  “Do you want to talk to him or not?”

  Khan scoffed and sunk down in the passenger seat, resting one boot on the dashboard.

  Eli pulled the phone up to his ear. “Sir, my boss is offended you called us chuckleheads.”

  “I ought to call the police on you is what I should do. You made a mess in the kitchen, a mess upstairs, and what happened to the seedlings?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Eli finally caught a break in the traffic and pulled over to the side to continue to the call safely. “Sir, we’ve had some setbacks with our equipment, plus I’m new at this. Would you like us to come back over today? There’s a whole questionnaire I’d like to go through with you.”

  There was a howling, paranormal sound on the other side of the line. Eli held his breath, eyes wide as he listened. The sound had to be the ghost, tormenting the homeowner.

  “Sir? Are you still there? Hello?”

  Through the howling, Eli could just barely make out the client yelling for them to get over to the house and finish the job.

  The call went quiet. The phone’s screen was blank, the battery suddenly dead. Eli thought of his poor dead laptop back at the apartment and wondered if this was also the work of hackers.

  “So much for bowling,” Khan said. “That sounded urgent. Maybe I should drive.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Eli checked all the lanes and made an illegal, yet relatively safe U-turn.

  He tapped on the steering wheel excitedly.

  As he drove toward the client’s house, he thought about another guy who’d been a delivery driver, like him. After a year, he quit and became an EMT, driving an ambulance. The guy would drop by the depot sometimes to have donuts in the break room and talk to the guys. He’d usually get called away by an accident, and the more horrible the accident sounded, the more excited he’d be.

  Eli had found the guy’s interests macabre then, but not so much now.

  As Eli sped toward the client’s house, adrenaline pumping, he hoped the ghost was doing something truly terrifying.

  Nobody came to the door when they knocked. Khan pressed the buzzer repeatedly, then turned to Eli. “Are you absolutely sure this is the address?”

  “No, but this has to be the address, because if it isn’t, we broke and entered yesterday.”

  “I like your logic.” Khan tried the door handle. It was locked. He squatted down and flipped up the welcome mat. This time, there was no key.

  Khan grumbled, “This is a setup, and I know who’s behind it.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Clearly it’s all a ploy by that bar down the street, Vinnie’s, to sell me sub-par beer that tastes of the soap they use to clean the lines.”

  “Huh? The bar?”

  He straightened up and stretched. “Good idea, Eli. Let’s go get some refreshments so it’s not a wasted trip.”

  Eli heard movement on the other side of the door. He knocked again. “Hello? It’s us. We’re back again.”

  He pressed his ear to the door and heard nothing.

  “Figures,” Khan growled. “Waste of time.”

  “Who would try to waste our time like this? Do you have any enemies?”

  “What do you think?”

  Eli glanced around for signs of surveillance. His eyes widened when he spotted the unmarked van in front of the house. He jumped to a conclusion, then jumped back again once he realized it was actually just his van with the decal scraped off.

  “We need to screen clients better,” Khan said.

  Eli was still jumpy and looking around for surveillance. “Could it be hackers? Like, real ones? I was doing some research last night, and when I tried to look up that Azzure company, something unusual happened to my computer. Now, it’s possible my girlfriend installed something to restrict my access to photos of pin-up girls, but it’s also possible someone’s trying to recruit me for a terrorist organization.”

  Khan pulled off his sunglasses dramatically. “Eli! Why didn’t you mention this sooner? Tell me everything, right now. These pin-up girls, are they wearing garter belts?”

  Eli frowned. “My laptop got really hot, and made an awful noise. I have a bad feeling it’s fried.” He groaned. “And I bet my phone is fried now, too.”

  “Did you print out any of the pin-up photos first?”

  Eli heard more movement behind the door. He held up one hand for silence. “Did you hear that?”

  The sound got louder and more distinct. It wasn’t just movement. It was someone pleading for help, seemingly from inside the house.

  They both jumped into action, banging on the door and yelling to be let in.

  The cries for help got louder. Whatever was happening to the homeowner, from the sound of his desperate cries, he wasn’t able to let them in the door.

  Eli flew down the porch steps.

  Khan yelled, “Good idea! You go that way, I’ll go this way and check the back for another entrance.”

  “Wait!” Eli picked up a rock from the garden and chucked it through the living room window.

  The glass shattered and fell away, leaving a green curtain of plants—the jungle they’d created the day before. Eli jumped up into the window frame and fought his way through the vines, Khan hot on his heels.

  Inside the living room, they both paused to look and listen. There were no visible apparitions, but movement noises were coming from the upper floor.

  Khan removed his sunglasses. “Open the front door and grab the equipment bags, then follow me upstairs.”

  Eli did as he was told, then flew up the stairs, ready for an exciting encounter with a ghost.

  On the second floor, he tore down the hallway. There was nobody in the bathroom, so he moved on to the next room. He nearly ran into Khan, who was standing just inside the door of the owner’s home office.

  Khan had his back to the hallway and his hands in the air. Eli didn’t know what was happening, but he did see the glint of the Ray-gun tucked in the back of Khan’s waistband.

  He grabbed the petite gun, pointed it into the room and yelled for everyone to freeze.

  This was Eli’s moment.

  He yelled again for everyone to freeze, and he used some of the same words Samuel L. Jackson might use in a Quentin Tarantino movie.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In the seconds of silence following his profanity, Eli came to an uncomfortable realization.

  There was a menacing figure in front of Khan, making him hold up his hands, but the figure didn’t have any of the qualities you’d expect in a ghost.

  It looked just like a regular man who’d been woken by someone banging on his front door—like a regular guy who’d quickly pulled on a pair of jeans to check the door. Eli, however, was not born yesterday. Appearances could be deceiving.

  Eli kept aiming the tiny pistol.

  They were in a standoff. Khan was in the middle, weaponless. The bare-chested man stood before them, holding a golf club with both hands, the way a baseball player would hold a bat. He looked ready and willing to club Khan. His arm muscles twitched with readiness.

  Eli steadied his stance, took careful aim, and in his best Samuel L. Jackson voice, Eli said, “Drop the golf club now, you ghostly mother—”

  Khan turned at the waist and punched Eli right between the eyes.

  Eli dropped the Ray-gun. It clattered to the wood floor. Eli’s knees hit the floor next. He’d never been punched between the eyes before. Other parts of the fac
e, sure, but this was a new world of stars and pain.

  He lifted his hands in the air and tried to look helpless, which wasn’t much of a stretch, since he could barely see through his watering eyes, much less do anything heroic.

  The man with the golf club said, “I’ve got some cash in the cookie jar downstairs. Please, just take it. I won’t tell anyone you were here, I swear.” His voice trembled with fear, which seemed very un-ghost-like. “Please, I don’t want any trouble.”

  “This is all a misunderstanding,” Khan said. “Have a look at my partner’s forearm. Do you see something written on there?” He nudged Eli with the toe of his boot. “Hey, genius, show him your forearm, will ya?”

  Eli blinked away some of the stars swimming around his head and turned his arm so the man with the golf club could read the address. The numbers had faded over the last day, but were still visible.

  “That’s my address,” the man said, his voice still quaking. “I don’t understand. What do you want? You came here yesterday and ransacked my kitchen, and now you’re back. Who are you? Terrorists?”

  “We’re gardeners,” Khan explained. “I’m Leroy Fassbender, and this is my brother Eli. I’m afraid Eli suffered a childhood illness that rendered him an idiot. He likes to point his toy gun at people. I apologize on his behalf. He can’t do much, but he’s an excellent gardener.”

  “You’re ga-ga-gardeners?” The man seemed to be on the verge of a meltdown.

  Eli’s eyes were working again, and he took a good look at the man’s bare feet. The toes looked solid, and as real as any person’s. “I’m sorry,” Eli murmured. “Very sorry. I got confused, and I thought you were a gh—”

  Khan flicked him between the eyes with one finger. “Zip it! Bad Eli. I gave you one thing to do. One simple thing. I told you to set up the exterior grow light with the hexapods, and you threw a rock through this nice man’s window.”

  “I did throw a rock, but—”

  Khan flicked him again, which made Eli’s eyes water. He zipped his lips. Khan would deal with the situation the way only he could.

  “He thought he saw a scary ghost inside the house,” Khan said, chuckling. “His favorite show is Scooby Doo. And that’s the whole story about how your front window got broken. Yesterday, we got a call to come here to do some gardening, but now I realize my goober brother must have taken down the wrong address. Now, I’m going to reach for my wallet, so I can pay you for the broken window, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

  “You’re really gardeners? Why are you dressed like commandos?”

  Without hesitation, Khan smoothly replied, “I’m glad you noticed our tight branding. Guerilla Gardening is the name of the operation.” He reached over to ruffle Eli’s hair with one hand. “Guess who showed up in a big hairy gorilla costume the first day. Sweet, simple Eli. It’s a good thing I like him so much.”

  Eli beamed with pride, because he couldn’t help it. Khan’s fingers felt soothing in his hair, and that plus the compliment took away some of the sting from being punched and flicked between the eyes.

  From a nearby room, a child called out, “Daddy?”

  “Just a minute, sweetie,” the barefoot homeowner called out. To the guys, he said, “Please, take the money and leave. I’m a single father, and I don’t need any more trouble. This move has been a nightmare. This neighborhood is not what the real estate agent promised.”

  Khan snorted. “I don’t know why people trust real estate agents. You wouldn’t let a starving pack of hyenas do your grocery shopping, now, would you?”

  The man’s posture eased.

  “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot,” Khan said. “I’m going to reach for my wallet now.” He slowly retrieved his wallet and counted out a handful of bills. It would be more than enough to cover the broken window.

  He offered the bills to the homeowner, who slowly set down the golf club and accepted the cash with a shaking hand.

  Eli got to his feet, keeping his head down and trying to look harmless. He did a visual search of the surrounding area for the Ray-gun, but it wasn’t there. Khan’s hand swished near his cargo pants pocket, so he assumed Khan must have grabbed it.

  The man said, “So, you’re really gardeners? What did you do to my seedlings? I’ve never seen anything grow like that.”

  “Green thumb,” Khan said.

  “Leave me one of your cards. You do have business cards, I assume.”

  A nearby door opened, and a child called out, “Daddy?”

  “Your son?” Khan asked.

  “Daughter. Home sick with the flu. She hasn’t been herself since the move. She decided she doesn’t like purple anymore, even though I bought this house partly because…” He sighed.

  “Kids,” Khan said in a way that implied he had several of his own.

  The child appeared at the doorway, her cheeks pink and feverish. She looked about six years old, and didn’t seem surprised to find two strangers in her father’s home office.

  “I’m thirsty,” she said.

  “These gentlemen are gardeners,” her father explained. “I’m just showing them out, and I’ll get you some juice.”

  “Can we go to Vinnie’s?” she asked sweetly.

  “Is that a friend of yours?” the father asked.

  Khan said, “Actually, it’s the dive bar just a few blocks from here.” He turned to the little girl and knelt down. “They don’t clean the soap properly from their tapped beer lines. You can do a lot better than Vinnie’s.”

  Eli noticed the father’s eyes going to the golf club. “We need to go, boss,” he said, then he grabbed Khan’s arm and hauled him toward the stairs.

  From there, the two made a swift and apologetic retreat. They grabbed the bags of gear and walked out to the van without a word. Khan took the passenger seat and put on his sunglasses.

  Eli checked his face in the rear view mirror. His eyelids were swelling, and he’d have two black eyes by nightfall.

  “Now what?” Eli asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m not in a bowling mood anymore.”

  “Did that little girl seem unusual to you?”

  “Yeah. She wasn’t too annoying for a germ incubator.” He chuckled. “Pretty cool kid.”

  “Why would she ask to go to a bar, though?”

  Khan shrugged. “She’s a kid. She must have seen the neon sign and thought Vinnie’s was like some off-brand Chuck E. Cheese.”

  “That makes sense.” Eli prodded his swelling eyelids. “But now we’re out two days of pay, plus the broken window. Come to think of it, we didn’t get paid for the farmhouse job, either.”

  Khan clapped his hands together suddenly. “That’s it! I’ve got it all figured out.”

  “What? What?”

  “Drive, Eli! U-turn. Go that way. There’s no time to explain!”

  Eli hit the gas. “Of course there’s time. What’s going on?”

  “No time. Just drive. Faster!”

  Eli tapped the brakes. “How about I drive slower so there’s time to explain?”

  “No, there’s no time. Just drive.”

  “I’m slowing down. I’m keeping it safely under the speed limit.”

  “Now there’s less time!” Khan snaked his leg over and stomped his boot on Eli’s foot, pressing the accelerator.

  “Stop it! Tell me what we’re doing!”

  “There’s no time to explain!”

  They drove five more blocks, arguing the whole way over whether or not there really was time to explain. Eli finally parked the van under extreme protest, both of them still yelling over how and when whom should explain their actions.

  Khan jumped out of the van and bolted toward a building. It was Vinnie’s, the neighborhood dive bar with the neon sign and the soapy draft lines.

  Eli realized he’d been had, but followed him in anyway.

  The dimly-lit bar smelled like a basement. Eli looked around at all the day drinkers and felt shame on their behalf. It wasn’t even
lunch time.

  He took a seat at the bar next to Khan and ordered a club soda.

  Khan swiveled his head and gave him a dirty look.

  “I’m not a day drinker,” Eli explained.

  “We’ll see about that.” Khan reached over and grasped Eli’s nose between his thumb and forefinger. When Eli opened his mouth to protest, Khan tossed a shot glass worth of tequila down his throat.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eli Carter could no longer say he wasn’t a day drinker.

  Eli Carter was a day drinker, and he liked it, because day drinking was awesome, and all the cool guys who hung out at Vinnie’s were straight-up excellent dudes who had endless hilarious stories and very practical life advice.

  One of the regular day drinkers knew exactly what kind of girl Brenda was, and offered several helpful tips for managing a woman like her. Most of the tips involved making her too exhausted from childcare to have any energy to dampen a man’s creative energies. Eli was just drunk enough to think these were excellent ideas, but not drunk enough to tell Brenda about them over the phone when he called to let her know he’d be late getting home.

  Dinner time came, and the men in the bar feasted like kings on barbecue chicken wings.

  Eli thought he was going to pass out, but around ten o’clock, he got a second wind. Khan sobered up, and the tables turned.

  “It’s getting late,” Khan said between yawns.

  “You started this,” Eli said. “You can go home if you want.” He turned to the table of guys. “Hey, fellas, what do we do if our friends go home early?”

  In unison, the old men joyfully sang out, “Stay and make new friends!”

  “You enjoy one more drink,” Khan said. “I’m stepping outside for some fresh air. Don’t get into too much trouble without me.”

  Eli raised his beer. “Okay, boss.”

  The guys at the table laughed.

  Everyone thought it was funny when Eli called Khan boss. The standard for humor set by the day drinkers was not very high.

  Another pitcher of beer arrived at the table, and one of the guys said, “Let’s dedicate this round to that miserable old coot.”