by Etta Faire
She waddled over to the microfilm cabinet, brought out a small box, and got everything set up for me like usual.
I thanked her. “Why do you think the Donovans are so interested in finding Bobby all of the sudden?” I asked before she walked away.
She shrugged. “You could go to one of the task force meetings to find out. Task force. Honestly.”
“We could go together,” I said. “You want to go with me?”
She chuckled without answering. Her matching blue polyester outfit made a swishing sound as she strutted away.
I looked at Feldman Winehouse’s birth announcement first. It was obvious why his mother had taken it out. She was sure selling it to her rich parents.
Feldman Theodore Winehouse was born to Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Winehouse at Landover Hospital on May 3, 1882. Mrs. Winehouse is the youngest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. J. Mortimer Feldman III of Feldman Investment Banking and Trust, one of the most prestigious firms in Landover, Wisconsin.
His mother had probably spent money she hadn’t had to take out that birth announcement in the local paper, all to try to gain favor with her family. You gamble. You lose.
“Things could actually have been worse,” I whispered to the ghost I knew wasn’t around. “The name Feldman’s at least better than Mortimer.”
I moved onto the next microfilm reel and the other article Mrs. Nebitt had found for me. This one was from 1925. Two years after Feldman sold his part of the Bear Bird to Doc.
Corruption Hits Landover County
Sheriff Richard Mulch was among the arrested today, charged with conspiracy to sell and transport liquor, as well as attempted extortion and bribery.
Federal Prohibition Officers made the arrests after being tipped by anonymous sources.
“Makes no difference who you are in life. If you do the crime, you will do the time,” Mayor Donovan said.
Jackson appeared by my side as I read, and I was never happier to see my ex before in my life. I reached to hug him, but stopped myself. How was I going to hug a ghost anyway?
“Aww, I always knew you cared.” His voice was weak, so was his coloring. I could barely see him. He was more like a foggy version of himself at best.
“I don’t. I mean, I do care a little, but…” I lowered my voice so Mrs. Nebitt wouldn’t know for sure that I was crazy. “I thought you were being rooted out of our house, or some silly crap like that,” I said. “But you’re not. You’re here. So all is well.”
“Not exactly,” he admitted. His voice seemed strained, like even small words took extra effort. “I’m very weak. Every time I tried to materialize at Gate House, something happened. I was never able to do it, and I got weaker.” He stretched his thin, faded arms out. “I tried a lot. But I was able to leave with you this morning.”
“Rosalie was right,” I yelled, completely prepared for the shushing from my librarian friend. She barely looked over. I smoothed out my skinny jeans and pulled a couple of pieces of fluff from my cardigan in a sad attempt to look normal just in case she looked up.
“I suppose even a fruitcake is right every once in a while,” Jackson replied in his hushed tone. “Does she know what to do about it?”
I shrugged. “I’ll ask the fruitcake. But I think our best bet is to finish the job with Feldman and figure out his murder so he can move on.”
I thought I saw my ex rolling his eyes but he was too faded for me to know any expressions for sure.
“Helping the wannabe demon might be our only chance to rid ourselves of it,” I added, wondering if Jackson could tell I wanted to channel with the demon again.
“How close are you,” he said. His voice was coming out in cut-out bursts of whispers. “What have you got so far?”
“Not much. Pretty interesting, though, in that everyone seems guilty.”
He stared at me sadly. Not what he wanted to hear.
I recapped the case for him. “So, you already know the sheriff was there that night, the night when no one reported Feldman’s murder until they’d had time to clean up and get away. You also know a Donovan was there that night too. Flo Donovan. Then, two years later, our corrupt sheriff is being arrested for conspiracy to sell alcohol, extortion, and bribery. And you’ll never guess who was quoted in the article, being very happy about it too.”
I pointed to the screen.
“A Donovan. So, how is that related to Feldman’s murder?”
“Not sure. But there’s also that cast iron horse bank I need to somehow figure out. The one the killer sent to Feldman, and tormented him with all night, then slipped a little message into the coin slot just before he was killed.”
“So you saw the bank in the channeling? What did it look like?”
I thought about it. “Dark brown paint for its body. Cold, dead black eyes,” I said. “Oh, it was also wearing a thin blanket-looking thing around its neck made of red circles.”
“Probably supposed to be roses. Sounds like the Kentucky Derby, not that I’m sure it matters.”
“They did mention the last time they went to the races was the Kentucky Derby, so that checks out. Something must’ve happened that day. I’ll try to find out more about it. I saw the postmark. It came from New York.” I thought about that one. “Which brings me to another weird thing. Feldman was absolutely sure the horse bank couldn’t have come from his writer friend in New York, and he seemed oddly defensive about it. Jeremy Somebody. I need to find out more about him. He wasn’t there that night, but I could tell Feldman is still pretty angry with the guy. And where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
Even the way my ex hovered along the library floor seemed off. He was shaky and unstable, jittery almost.
I swallowed hard. This was all my fault. “Sorry about channeling with the ghost you tried to tell me was questionable.”
He didn’t look at me. He stared down, where his feet would’ve been if he had those anymore.
“You were right,” I added.
“Normally, that would be enough to cheer me up,” he said. “I don’t hear that often enough, true as it so often is.” His voice trailed off, depressed.
“We’ll get you back. Hang tight,” I said, unsure why I wanted to get the dramatic ghost back so badly anyway, but I did.
“Just stop forgetting you’re the one in control,” he said as his already wispy form faded into the book stacks around me, leaving me to wonder just what in the hell that meant.
I bit my lip, hardly able to believe I was about to fight to get my ex-husband back in my house. But since I was apparently in a crazed moment of helping out people I couldn’t stand, I grabbed a couple of fliers about Bobby on my way by the front counter.
I had no idea what a task force meeting was, but I was about to find out.
Chapter 18
Watchers
When it comes to my mediumship, there’s pretty much only one thing I never want my boyfriend to ever see me doing, and that is channeling. I am not a graceful channeler.
Channeling, on my end, is me living a memory through a spirit in real time, and it seems very natural and not at all weird.
What I look like to others is a different story. Apparently, I mumble out the parts while using different strange voices. And sometimes I even drool. I probably even fart. So there was nothing about channeling I wanted my boyfriend to see.
But I was desperate. I needed someone there in the room to wake me out of the channeling because I no longer trusted the entity I was channeling with. And Rosalie flat out refused to “be a part of my crack addiction.”
I decided to spring it on Justin after dinner a couple nights later. I even cooked.
Justin smiled at me from across my dining room table. “This is frozen pizza? I would’ve guessed you made it.”
“I did make it,” I said, pointing toward my kitchen. “I didn’t see anyone else preheating that oven.”
He nodded and leaned into me, kissing me lightly on the lips. I could tell the places he was expecting our eveni
ng to go probably didn’t include watching me drool and fart on the couch.
I decided I needed to blurt it out. Admitting your weirdness is best done like ripping off a bandaid. You have to do it fast before you chicken out.
“I need you to watch me channel with a spirit tonight,” I said, as matter-of-factly as I could, mouth half-full of pizza to make it seem that much more casual.
“I have no idea what that means. You want to have a seance or something?”
I took a deep breath. Justin knew I spoke to ghosts, lived with ghosts, and even helped them solve an occasional murder or two. But channeling with them was the weirdest part. It was also the part he didn’t really know too much about yet.
I think I muttered “band-aid” under my breath before going on. “Remember when I told you I sometimes solve ghosts’ murder cases?”
“Of course. You really helped solve the one with the partiers last month.” He adjusted the dark gray sweater I loved him in, his voice slower than normal, strained. I could tell he was nervous about where this was heading.
I went on anyway. “Well, I mostly do this in a particular way. It’s called channeling.”
He stared at me like ghosts weren’t real and like I was crazy. I could hardly believe I was receiving such skepticism from a shapeshifter, of all people.
“Channeling is when a ghost enters me. We combine energy, and I live out their memories step by step. I need you to watch me do it tonight.” There. Band-aid off. “Without recording me, of course, because I’ll probably mumble, fart, and drool. It’s not sexy or graceful at all.”
He took another bite of pizza and laughed. “You’re not serious.”
I explained about how I didn’t trust the ghost I was channeling with, but that I still needed to do it, and Rosalie wouldn’t watch me. “I only need to channel for half-an-hour, tops.”
Justin nodded, reluctantly. I’m pretty sure he only agreed because it was one of those “If she is serious, I need to see this” moments in life.
I also realized I could lose my relationship when he did see it.
“So I just watch you?”
“You don’t have to watch me. In fact, I would actually prefer if you didn’t. Maybe just get a book or play on your phone or something. But when the half an hour is up, and this is the important part, you need to shake my shoulders until I wake up.”
“After half an hour, shake your shoulders until you wake up. Got it,” he said. “Not exactly how I pictured us spending our Friday night.”
I studied his face a second for any traces that he thought this was a joke. He seemed serious enough.
I sat down on the couch and Justin sat next to me, already staring at my face.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, taking his phone out from his back pocket. I knew he was mostly talking to himself.
I nodded and tried to let my mind go blank. A really hard thing to do when your boyfriend is about three feet from your face, staring at you with his phone already out like he’s waiting for you to say “go” or something, even though you just told him to get a book.
I knew Feldman was here, lurking around, probably relishing the fact I had to wait on him.
There were so many things I wanted to confront that ghost about, but I couldn’t do it in front my boyfriend. I’d need to wait to confront him in the channeling about Jackson and what I suspected was a rooting problem.
“Timer’s all set,” Justin said tapping on his phone. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I took a deep breath and managed a strained smile. “Thanks. I’ve got to concentrate. So I won’t be able to tell you when to start the timer. Just do it when I start to look weird and out of it.”
His confused look was not making me feel confident about this. “All right, Feldman. Let’s get this show on the road.”
The ghost appeared beside me, his horse face right next to my cheek, teeth yellow and crooked. I almost jumped when I opened my eyes and saw him. He was becoming very lifelike.
“You look especially pale today,” he said. “Feeling up for this? Feeling weaker, maybe?”
I decided not to talk to the ghost until the channeling. That way, I could keep my weirdness with my boyfriend to one area tonight. I was just sad it was going to be a farting, drooling area.
“Let’s pick up right where we left off. I think we’ve just about got this solved,” I said, with what I hoped sounded like a positive, full-of-energy lilt.
“Brought your boyfriend, huh? You’re not the first to do that. Most ladies can’t trust themselves around me.”
I ignored him and stared at the ceiling, giving Justin the thumbs-up to start the timer.
“You don’t seem out of it,” Justin said.
“Just start it now,” I replied.
Feldman mumbled something that sounded like “Time for the fun and games to begin,” then hovered next to me, waiting for the moment when he could enter.
I had no idea what he meant by fun and games. He was probably upset I was taking control by having Justin here. A human. There was no way I was channeling longer than necessary this time.
Game on.
Chapter 19
Game On
The bright lights of my living room faded into the dim lighting of the bar. The smell of smoke and booze filled the air, along with the smell of lingering burnt chicken.
It sounded like the whole gang was chatting and clinking glasses. The pain in my ankle was back as Feldman walked down the narrow closet-like staircase, more like stormed down them.
When I was sure I was in the channeling, I talked to Feldman in my head. “Look, If you want my help figuring out your murder, I demand you stop rooting and let my husband back into Gate House, or this is my last channeling with you.”
“Husband? Ex-husband, you mean. And no offense, it doesn’t at all seem like you are in the position to be making demands.” He chuckled in his head, which somehow took on a weird echo. “Especially not in my channeling. I have all the power here.”
“Then we’re done,” I replied, like that meant something. But I refused to be intimidated by him.
Feldman turned the radio down. The jazz song playing in the background abruptly ended and everyone turned to face him.
“Who thought this was funny? Putting this horse in the stairway? I almost broke my neck.”
The room went silent until Terry laughed. Flo looked at him and giggled then the whole room laughed too.
I didn’t feel sorry for Feldman anymore. Not even knowing that one of these people laughing at him right now was going to cut his throat later. Like the rest of these people, I felt like he probably had it coming.
Drew rushed over and stroked our face, kissing his cheek lightly so she could whisper in his ear. “Someone’s just having fun with you, Feld. Let it go. You know how your friends are. You said so yourself.”
I felt Feldman’s jaw relax, his shoulders soften.
He spoke to me. “She knew tempers ran hot in my family,” he said, making me think of Mr. Winehouse, the most even-tempered man in Potter Grove. I could hardly believe that family was somehow related to this man.
I wasn’t about to talk to Feldman, though. I told him I was done, and I meant it. A silent observer. A person trapped in this channeling, in this murder mystery. I would solve it, but I was done trying to be civil about it.
Doc grabbed the bank from Feldman. “We were just talking about this. Remember the last time we all went to the races? Drew made Pam a hat just for the occasion. She still adores that thing. She predicted then you’d have your own shop by now.”
“That’s what we’re saving for,” Drew said, holding up crossed fingers. “Someday.”
“I tell you, my wife would buy everything in the shop,” Doc added.
“Pam’s the best,” Drew replied.
Blanche scowled.
“Pam’s the best wife,” Drew said, touching Blanche’s arm. “You’re the best girlfriend. Tell Pam to come on by the sho
p. I’d love to make her a new hat. The style is thinner now, smaller. She’ll love it. It’ll be the bee’s.”
“I’d like my wife to look like bees.”
Blanche’s scowl deepened, but Doc didn’t seem to catch on that he probably shouldn’t be talking about his wife with his girlfriend around.
“I lost a bundle that weekend,” Richie grumbled to the side. “Unlucky hat, if you ask me.”
“Everybody lost that weekend,” Feldman said. “Except Terry.”
“Probably why we don’t go back,” Richie chimed in. “Nobody likes it when Terry wins. That boy gets too much in life as it is.”
“Said the man on the take,” Feldman replied under his breath.
“This reunion’s all nice and chummy and all…” Everyone turned toward the deep, gruff voice coming from the back of the room. It was Chance. “But we playing cards or are we gonna fancy dance and reminisce all night?”
“Depends on if you brought your money,” Doc said.
“Come on, Felds. Let’s get the table,” Richie said as he went down the hall with Feldman following. Was I really about to sit through a half an hour of card playing? I almost wanted to slit my own throat.
It didn’t take long to get the table set up, which was a heavy extra one from the kitchen, long enough for the seven of them to sit around: Feldman, Doc, Terry, Richie, Boyd, Flo, and Chance. Blanche and Drew sat off to Feldman’s right at the bar.
I had a great location, actually. I could hear pretty much all the conversations around me, if I concentrated on them hard enough. I’ve done enough channelings to know that even though my energy was meshed with the spirit’s, I could still separate my observations from theirs, hear and see things they might have missed.
“I’m in,” Terry said. The bet went to his girlfriend, who was sitting by his side.
