Mr. Grey and the Spirit from the Sky

by A. J. Matthews

  She pursed her lips and weighed him up silently for a couple of seconds. "Well! I guess you have the advantage of me." A humorless smile flickered over her lips and she nodded. "Very well; we'll honor the contract—in full—but you must understand it may take some time to untangle matters."

  "I'm in no hurry, Mrs. Baker." He held up the contract and took a pen from his pocket. "Just to make everything legal, it would be as well if you countersigned and dated this document, with Laurel signing as witness."

  "Indeed!" With a stony expression she did so, handing the pen to Laurel without a word and waiting only long enough to see her sign before departing.

  Laurel exhaled noisily and gave him a rueful look. "Oy veh, Martin! Life's certainly interesting when you're around. I've never seen Ursula run from a battle before."

  "Battle?" He gave her a beatific smile. "That was no battle, Laurel, merely a clear statement of our positions."

  "Whatever you call it, I'm glad I witnessed it." She proffered her hand and he clasped it. "When she gets into her prima donna act in future, I'll just remember this moment. It'll give me a nice inner glow to get me through!"

  He laughed and slipped his hand free of her clasp and went over to the window. "One thing remains, Laurel. Where's Bruce now?"

  "Bruce? Last I heard he was down in Gainesville. After that little scene last night, I think he's keeping out of Ursula and Pete's way."

  "Sensible chap! Pete doesn't strike me as the forgiving sort." He turned to regard Laurel gravely. "I think you'd better come with me and hear what Greg has to say. You'll find it interesting."

  * * * *

  "Oh, Greg!" Laurel looked appalled. "You could have killed someone!"

  Greg hung his head. "I know!"

  They had assembled in Greg and Donna's cabin and the atmosphere was dark. A faint odor of wood-smoke hung in the air, the residue of the previous night's excitement.

  "So you see, Greg, there are even more dangers to be found in conspiring with Bruce than there are in coming clean." Martin laid a kindly hand on the troubled youth's shoulder. "One way or the other, your secret will come out. If you make a clean breast of it now, it'll help you a hell of a lot more than it would if you were found out and arrested."

  "But I'll go to jail!"

  "Perhaps; perhaps not. I'm not sure, but there may be a case for leniency if it's your first offence and you turn States Evidence."

  "Something can be arranged," Laurel said soothingly. "Lawyers tend to be good at plea-bargaining. At the moment, I'd advise you to get yourself one. I’ve got a friend who may help you. As for your job here… well, we'll see."

  Martin went outside, leaving them to talk it over. Claudia joined him and they looked out on the valley, their breath steaming and mingling in the cool air.

  "Poor guy," she murmured, laying her chin on his shoulder.

  "I can't say I feel too much pity for Greg," Martin said in a sour voice. "Arson's one of the nastiest crimes. That silly little sod put lives at risk, Claudia. He's young; he'll have to put it down to experience."

  "That's kind of harsh, isn't it?" she said softly.

  "Perhaps. I'd be a lot harsher if he hadn't been pressured into doing the deed by Bruce bloody Baker."

  "Didn't you make mistakes when you were his age, Marty?"

  "Oh, God, yes! Still do." He put his arm around her and hugged her. "But sometimes I get things right."

  "Aw!" She kissed and hugged him. "You say the nicest things!"

  Laurel emerged from the cabin and gave them a weak smile when she saw them embracing. "Greg's decided. He wants to go to the police."

  At that moment the sound of a violent argument erupted from further along the row of cabins. The three of them looked round in surprise to see Joanne and Bruce emerge in a hurry from Joanne's cabin. "Get away from me!" she screamed. "I've had it with you!"

  "Darling, don't talk to me like that!" he shouted. "I want you to come with me! We can get away from all this! I can get money from someplace else…"

  Joanne rounded on him and delivered a violent slap across his face, making him reel back in stunned surprise. "You creep!" she yelled. "I don't want your filthy money! I don't love you; I've never loved you! You're a fucking crook! Now go away!"

  "Get away from her, you bastard!" Donna screamed, making Martin jump. She and Greg had emerged from the cabin and were glaring at Bruce from the veranda beside the others. "You're gonna pay for what you've done to Greg!"

  When she made as if to run down and tackle him, Greg held her arms. "Leave him for the cops to deal with!" he said, loud enough for Bruce to hear.

  Bruce looked at him aghast, then turned and ran off through the narrow gap between the cabins.

  "I'd better call the police," Laurel said in a tired voice.

  "Yeah, and after that, call that lawyer!" Greg said.

  Joanne stood glaring up the gap for a few moments, as if wishing for Bruce to return so she could slap him again. Donna shook off Greg's hold and went down the steps to her. The two looked at each other for a moment then hugged in a way that showed any rivalry or tension between them was at an end.

  "Don't you just love it when things start coming together?" Claudia said with a smile and hugged him.

  "Oh, absolutely! I've got the feeling we'll soon be finished here. And I'm glad to say that Ursula has counter-signed our contract so we'll be paid in full when this case is over."

  She looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Did you doubt it?"

  "Ursula tackled me over it a while ago. Apparently Bruce's shenanigans extend to a lot more than that property scam you suspected. He's been running a fiddle connected to my expense claims amongst other things, and Ursula was ready to pull the plug on the contract." He smiled. "I persuaded her otherwise."

  "I'm glad you did!" She fumed visibly. "Marty, I know you work these cases out of a sense of duty, but it's nice to get some recompense."

  "Oh, she was just trying it on, love."

  "Huh! I'm not surprised; she wouldn't be a New Yorker if she didn't try some angle or other."

  He laughed and held her close, and stepped back to the wall of the cabin so they would be out of the wind that was blowing down the mountain slope. As he did so something rolled under his shoe. He glanced down. "Hmm! That's odd."

  "What is?" She watched as he stooped and picked up a slender splint of wood. "It's a toothpick. So?"

  "There was a toothpick in Dave's mouth when we found him in the office."

  "You're right, but people do use them, Marty."

  "Maybe so." He held it up and examined it. It seemed to tingle between his fingers. "This one has a trace of spiritual energy! Damn! I never thought to check the one in Dave's mouth."

  She rolled her eyes. "Marty, we had a late night; maybe I'm slow, but I'm missing the point somewhere. Explain to me."

  "Some spiritual phenomena result in objects physically manifesting themselves." He twirled the pick between his fingers. "Permanent objects, like this. They can be a signature, if you like. Sometimes they're flowers, or a leaf; or an insect where no insect should be. There's a theater in England which is famous for a butterfly that appears in the auditorium."

  "Sweet. So this tells us—what?"

  He held the pick, and let his mind follow a trail his instinct had detected. "I'm getting an image of an old movie—a classic. 'Some Like it Hot,' with Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis."

  "Oh, yeah!" She grinned. "That's a great movie!"

  "Isn't it?" Nearly there… "One of the gangsters in that movie was called Toothpick Charlie!"

  "A gangster." Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh shit!"

  "Fuck me!" He stared at the mundane object. "Joe Minotti was here last night!"

  She looked around and shivered. "Why, Marty?"

  He looked around too. Greg and the two young women were moving away down the path, talking earnestly. Laurel had vanished in the direction of the main building.

  "Greg said he was on the verge of giving up the
whole idea of arson and defying Bruce. If I remember rightly, he said 'I was going to refuse, but then something told me I'd no choice.'"

  "Yeah, he did! You think Minotti influenced him? Or possessed him, like Dave?"

  "I think Minotti possessed Dave when he was high on drugs. Maybe he tried again when Dave went into the basement to fix the lights during the party, but fluffed the attempt, thanks to the spirit of Mr. Gottlieb. This time I think Minotti saw the turmoil in Greg's mind and just nudged things along a little."

  Claudia shivered. "That's awful! Could he do that?"

  "Oh yes. It's just a question of finding a susceptible mind. The question that's nagging me is—why would Minotti want Greg to commit arson?"

  "Maybe it was out of general evil; or maybe he was involved in arson attacks in New York when he was alive and wanted to relive old times."

  "Could be. Or maybe he needed a distraction…"

  *

  Claudia gaped as Martin suddenly took to his heels, running full pelt over the gravel and bark-chip path toward the guest cabins. After a second she set off in pursuit, her mind racing equally fast as she wondered what had provoked his flight.

  He was well ahead of her, reminding her of what a fit guy he was, when she rounded the corner. She saw him fumble with the door of their cabin and disappear inside. When she reached it and went in, he was on his knees in front of the bedside cabinet, staring at the empty drawer.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "We've got to get him back!"

  Martin sat on the bed, his head between his hands. "That goes without saying, dear."

  She put her arm around his shoulder and hugged him. "Okay, so I'm stating the blindingly obvious! What I'm really trying to say is; where is Gerry, and how can we get him back?"

  "I'll figure it out."

  She watched as he raised his head, his hands to his cheeks, and stared with unfocused eyes into space. The sense of latent power grew in him, until it seemed to overflow his physical form and cast an aura in the air around him. She blinked, but the aura was still there. One glance at his face told her not to interrupt.

  "I can smell him." Martin's voice came out in barely more than a whisper, but the menace it held made her shiver. "Joe Minotti was here last night. His spoor is very faint; he's a cunning animal, well used to hiding his tracks; but I'll follow him. And when I find him, he'll regret it!"

  "Why was he after Gerry?"

  "Don't you see, love?" He turned a soft smile to her but his eyes glittered as hard as diamonds. "Joe Minotti was a bullying crook. We saw from his file how ruthless he was when alive. Gerry was executed to tie up a loose end. Even though he's dead, he's still a threat to Minotti, because his spirit was leading me to him. Minotti knows when I catch up with him I'll put him out of action for good!"

  "Gerry was tied to the bottle of Scotch. Minotti must have figured that out somehow, which is why he took it when our backs were turned." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "The fire was nothing more than a diversion."

  "Correct."

  "How was it possible for him to take a physical object, like a bottle?"

  "It's like I said earlier, to some spirits moving—or even creating—a physical item presents no real difficulty. I know of one case here in America where a child's doll appeared and disappeared from a sealed room."

  "Ew!" She shivered. "Now that is creepy!"

  "Yes." Martin closed his eyes and lowered his hands until they lay loosely in his lap. "Where did he take you, Gerry?" he said softly. "It couldn't be far; he wouldn't dare use too much power or I'd have spotted him, fire or no." He turned his head, like a hound questing for a scent. "It'll be close." Slowly, his head turned until he faced the outside door. "Out there, certainly. Somewhere he could dispose of a bottle of Scotch unseen and unheard."

  * * * *

  As Martin headed slowly along the hiking trail that led up behind the resort, he let his senses spread and flow evenly over the surrounding terrain. Claudia was behind him, a bright aura showing determination and love for him. He looked back at her and smiled.

  "Aren't you glad you came?" he said.

  "Oh, absolutely!" Her smile was the brightest thing on that cold, overcast morning.

  A rime of frost lay over the ground, coating the rocks like a sugar glaze and the cold burned in his nostrils as he breathed. Away to the south the sky was brightening gradually, promising a quick thaw before noon. Most of the trees here above the resort were deciduous, their roots buried in the steep slope of the mountain. Leaves carpeted the ground and the path in a thick layer that slid underfoot. The sturdy hiking boots they wore were a real boon in the rough going, and he was glad of them.

  The trail led around a ravine in the rock that ran back for a distance of around fifty yards. Martin looked into it and saw how deep it was. He felt glad there was at least twenty feet of ground between the path and the edge.

  "Are you okay?" Claudia asked.

  "Just about!" He shivered convulsively. "I never did have a head for heights."

  "You did okay when we flew with Mack the other day."

  The path broadened so he stopped until she came alongside him. "That was different, love, although I can't quite explain why. I suppose it's because I know I have a good reliable machine around me that's doing what it was intended to do. Standing or walking along an edge, even that distance away…” He gestured at the ravine. "—gives me the willies."

  "'The willies?'" she laughed.

  "British slang; it means to feel nervous or discomforted."

  "Didn't I hear somewhere it's also Brit slang for penis?" she asked with a straight face.

  He raised an eyebrow and looked at her. "Oh, I love it when you talk dirty!"

  Help!

  Claudia was about to respond to his quip but he held up his hand. "Gerry?" he called.

  Here!

  He scanned the area carefully. The light was brighter, the ice melting as the south-facing slope captured the weak rays of the sun as they forced their way through the cloud. There were shadows beneath the trees now, the mossy rocks showing a bright green against the browns and faded orange of the fallen leaves. No, not there. He looked to the other side of the trail, where it gradually sloped for some fifty feet before the steep drop into the ravine. Melt water, trickling off and between the rocks, glittering; ice, lying in shadows cast by rock and hummock, glinting; glass!

  "There!" He pointed. Further down the slope, about ten feet from the drop, shards of glass from the shattered bottle lay strewn around a broad, flat boulder that rose out of the moss and leaf mulch. "Come on, but watch your footing!"

  As they picked their way with care over the uneven ground, a waft of cold air on the slope brought the rich aroma of Scotch to their noses. Martin concentrated, until he could see the pale outline of Gerry lying face-up on the rock.

  The pilot's face turned toward them, and a weak grin spread across it. "It's darn good to see you, fellers!"

  "Stay calm, Gerry. We're here."

  "Damn, it hurts!" Gerry laid his head back on the rock and half-closed his eyes. "It was that little creep Minotti! He got the bounce on me. If'n I'd had enough warning, I'd have slammed him but good!"

  Martin knelt on the mossy soil, and examined the spirit. "You'll get your chance, Gerry. Just hang in there."

  "What can we do to help you?" Claudia asked, squatting to avoid the glass shards.

  Gerry tried to answer but could do no more than wave an arm.

  Martin rubbed his chin and thought hard. "Gerry's tied to the physical form of the bottle. The glass is still here. If…"

  Danger!

  He looked around quickly, his instincts having detected a surge in negative energy—energy beneath them!

  "Oh fuck!"

  "Marty? What's wrong?"

  Then Claudia felt it, a distinct lurch beneath their feet. Twenty feet away, between them and the trail, clumps of leaf-mulch began to move and slide over each other in a ragged line. In moments the lin
e became a depression a hand-span wide running parallel to the ravine. Two trees nearby shivered, a drift of wet leaves shaking loose from the branches to fall on and around them.

  "Claudia, stay very, very still!" he said. "The ground here's unstable. Make a wrong move and it could trigger a landslide!"

  She looked at the long drop and swallowed hard. The gradient was steep, not sheer, but any fall would likely prove fatal.

  "Okay, so we keep still," she managed to say through her constricted throat, "but staying here is not an option, Marty!"

  The ground gave an ominous creak and shuddered. A small boulder shook loose and rolled down the slope. Above them the trees shivered again then stilled.

  "I know, love," he said, his voice calm. He looked back along the trail. "If we can move back about fifty feet, I think we'll be on firm ground again."

  "Can we risk moving?" she asked.

  "Can we risk not moving?" he countered.

  She looked at the pale outline of the pilot, lying helpless like a pinned bug on the rock. "What about Gerry? We can't just leave him!"

  "No, nor will we." Martin pursed his lips. "Okay, what I was going to say…” The ground creaked again; the loose boulder rolled, and pitched over the edge. It seemed an age passed before he heard the clatter as it hit the bottom. He took a deep breath. "What I was going to say before we were so rudely interrupted, was Gerry is tied to the glass itself. The bottle may be smashed but the glass remains. If we collect up the pieces, keep them close together, Gerry should be able to survive in his current form until we come up with a better idea."

  "Oh, good." She looked down the slope, her legs beginning to tremble. "I can't believe what I'm doing, discussing how to save a ghost whilst standing on top of a landslide waiting to happen!"

  His lips twitched. "You've got to admit, you get to see life with me, love!"

  "Life with you, yes, I'd love that." The ground creaked and moved another few inches, and she closed her eyes. "Just now, it looks like death may be the most likely outcome!"