by Etta Faire
She un-paused the memory. The beer filled quickly into the glass, and she looked around to make sure no one was coming yet.
Taking all ten sleeping pills Flo had given her out of her pocket, she slipped five into each drink then snuck off to the kitchen.
“Things are gonna change, that’s for sure,” a man’s voice muttered under his breath. Drew knew it was Doc. He was already drunk.
She couldn’t hear what the men were saying in the bar as they drank their sleeping pills.
But when Doc wobbled off to join his girlfriend, she knew it was time. Feldman would be stumbling through his nightly routine of locking up. Just like she thought, he tripped his way over to check the back doors first, mindlessly grabbing a chair to steady himself as he did. She could tell he was already feeling the pills. There wasn’t really a reason to lock the doors anyway, not when they were stuck in a snowstorm.
Flo approached her from the shadows of the hall, carrying the horse and the book. “You can do this,” she whispered.
Drew nodded. She was already holding the thick, woolen pillow case she’d sewn herself to throw over Feldman’s head.
I had just been the victim in this death and here I was, about to be the murderer now too.
Even though every part of me hated Feldman and should have looked forward to this, I couldn’t.
I fast forwarded past the murder, past her hand trembling though it, past Flo nodding to her from the shadows, and over to the voice at the end.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Drew looked up. Her nose was dripping, her eyes stinging from the smell of blood that was everywhere. Richie. He looked from Drew to Flo and back again.
Drew dropped the knife and cried. “Oh Richie.”
“What in the hell,” he said again to both women. “Drewsie. My God, Drusilla, what have you done?”
Drusilla. It hit me.
“You were Richie’s wife? The one who died in the fire?”
“Yes.”
“What the…” I began.
She didn’t let me finish. “Richie helped us, and not just because he saw the knife we used and knew that we’d tried to frame him for the murder.”
While she talked, the memory continued playing around us. Richie directed the women on how to clean everything up. On what they would say to the others, barking out orders left and right. “Feldman killed himself,” he said. “Got it?”
“Nobody’s gonna believe that,” Flo said.
Richie curled his lip at her. “It doesn’t matter. I got dirt on everyone here, including you now, missy. Plus, I’m the police. If they so much as peep a word, they’re goners. I know ways to make people disappear.”
Drew talked to me again. “He made me believe everything would be okay. He told me he wouldn’t let anyone take me away, or arrest me if I married him. He loved me too much to let that happen.” She paused. “At least I found the marrying type.”
I didn’t say anything. I just let her have it out. “I was very confused at what was love at that point. The man who helped me cover my worst mistake or the man who drove me to it. Richie and I married the next year, but Doc refused to give him any cut from the business for protection like he was accustomed to under Feldman. So Richie started blackmailing Flo for extra money. And you don’t blackmail Flo.”
“She arranged for the raid on the crooked cops.”
“Yep. And she never spoke to me again either. She blamed me for my husband’s actions. Richie was always the con. I’m pretty sure it’s how I died in a fire. He was behind it, from jail, I think. For the insurance money because we had nothing then. We were broke.”
“He wouldn’t have started a fire with you and his own mother in the house. I’m sure he loved you both.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be home. I was supposed to be down in Illinois to see his mother for Christmas at the time. I was an orphan. I never had a mother, so it was kind of nice, actually, to visit her. She wasn’t the sweetest person in the world, but it was still good. A couple days before I was supposed to leave, she was on my doorstep, saying she wanted to surprise Richie in jail…”
“So, he didn’t know.”
“I was supposed to be gone.”
I thought about Eliza’s sparrow warning to the men at the meeting not to go down the crooked path. And about how they were all being cursed. Richie was one of those men. Feldman too.
“Maybe it’s not too late for you and Feldman,” I said. “He wants to haunt at the speakeasy.” I paused. “But then, you know that.”
She didn’t say anything.
And just like that, I decided I was done. I opened my eyes to the basement of Chez Louie’s once again. I was lying on the floor. Not inside a wall like I was a little bit worried I might be.
The cold hardwood smelled like must, but I could smell it perfectly. I no longer smelled sulphur, which was good and weird because the smell of sulphur usually dissipates in a lingering kind of way.
Rosalie knelt over me, fanning my face with something she held in both hands. My eyes tried to focus on her and the room.
“What in the world happened?” I asked.
“You mean aside from you drooling and mumbling to yourself?” Mr. Peters said, rolling up the sleeves on his good work shirt.
Rosalie stopped fanning and playfully smacked his arm with the book in her hand. “You also farted a lot too,” she added.
The room was quiet. The hole in the wall was gone. Just bricks. I got a sense Drew was still here. But now, she wasn’t angry anymore.
Rosalie handed me the small, golden book. “The gates of hell closed up so suddenly I never even saw it happening. This was left on the floor in front of the wall. Probably meant for you.”
“I wonder if I can get it autographed posthumously,” I said, taking the hardback copy of Golden Promises, hoping a small part of Jeremy Mortimer still believed in the crap he wrote about. He and Drew could still be there for each other.
Chapter 31
Golden Promises
“Now, remember,” Mr. Peters said excitedly as he headed down the stairs to the basement with Rosalie at his heels. “The work has just begun. The speakeasy won’t officially be open for another month or two. But I’m really surprised by how much progress we’ve made already.”
I looked at my cell phone, thankful I had a valid excuse not to be at the task force meeting currently being held along the perimeters of death.
It was bad enough I’d already walked into what could have been the gates to the hosts of evil the other day. I didn’t need to test something else deadly.
Justin squeezed my hand as we made our way down the cold concrete staircase, and I leaned into the warmth of his jacket. Even though neither of us would admit it, we were both here to make sure the other wasn’t at the Dead Forest. Me, as a member of the search party, and him, getting bear sprayed or shot by members of the search party.
It was good to have trust in a relationship.
A gust of wind went down the stairwell, sending the smells of garlic and bread through the air from the restaurant’s kitchen that was, once again, in full swing for Saturday’s lunch. A much nicer smell than the last time I was here.
Mr. Peters paused at the door, little beads of sweat pooling along his receding hairline. He was a nervous man even when there was no reason to be nervous. “I’m doing most of the restoration process myself, basing it off of the photo from the Winehouse’s scrapbook that you made a copy of for me, Carly. Thank you for that.”
I nodded. Justin, Rosalie, and I were all crammed by the small opening around the basement door. I shuffled my weight from foot to foot, hoping he would get the hint to open things up already.
His hand hovered over the knob. “The bar and the couches were all really well preserved, believe it or not.” He paused to chuckle. “An astounding feat considering how many bad winters we’ve had since…”
Rosalie put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get on with it, huh, Louis? We’
re all dying to see the haunted speakeasy, but we don’t actually want to die waiting.”
He opened the door. “Well, it’s only haunted by the two ghosts. You can let me know if they’re happy with the renovations.”
I looked around, and I was instantly brought back to the channeling. The bar was largely in tact, no glasses had been hung along it decoratively yet, but the wood and the black leather stools around the edges looked the same.
The sitting area off to the rear with white tufted couches and tables was also perfect.
Drew appeared first, sitting on one of the couches, legs crossed in a stylish black dress. “Please tell the man in charge we’re very pleased.”
Feldman faded into view, his pinstripe suit was gray. I could tell that now. His long face accentuated by his silver-blonde hair. “Very happy.”
I turned to Mr. Peters. “They are here and they want you to know they love it.”
“Good. Good,” he said. I searched his face for whether or not he really believed me.
Justin rolled his eyes by my side. “I don’t know about ghosts, but I have to admit. This is nicer than I thought it’d be.”
“I almost forgot,” Mr. Peters said, snapping his fingers. “I brought wine for the occasion.” He ducked behind the bar and pulled out a bottle and some glasses from a cabinet. “Don’t worry. All from the restaurant.”
He handed each of us a glass.
“We hardly ever served wine,” Feldman chimed in from the couch. “That was a little too fancy for this place.”
I ignored him. Not everything could be authentic.
“Here’s to closing the gates of hell,” Rosalie said, raising her glass. I could tell Justin wasn’t impressed with the toast. And neither were our ghost guests.
“Can’t a ghost get angry without it being blown completely out of proportion?” Drew said. “The gates of hell. Really.”
Jackson appeared in almost full color on the stool in front of me, right by the horse bank at the bar. It was good to have him back at Gate House. He was almost his normal self again.
“Oh my. What a charming toy bank that I’m sure children loved playing with back in its day,” he said. “And, of course, by children I mean Satan.”
I smiled at him without saying a word. Even though everyone here already knew I talked to ghosts, I didn’t want them to know just how thrilled I was to have my ex back.
Justin pulled his phone from his pocket. It vibrated in his hand and he answered it.
“Hey Christine,” he said, raising the one-minute finger at me. He moved to the back of the room for privacy, which was something he wasn’t going to get. I moved back there too. Since Christine ran the front office of the police department, I had a feeling this call meant I was going to need to get a ride home with Rosalie.
Justin tried to keep his voice low. “What do you mean they went inside the forest? Is everyone okay? They should really have let us know.”
When he clicked off, I grabbed his arm. “Okay, what happened?”
“Something with the task force again. This time they’ve gone too far.”
“Because bringing out a gun wasn’t too far last time,” I joked.
He put his phone back in his pocket. “Apparently, old George passed out in the forest during the search party this afternoon. He’s fine. He didn’t even want to go to the hospital.”
“Thank Goodness,” I said. “But what do you mean in the forest? I was there at the last task force meeting and they specifically said no one was supposed to go in the forest.”
“Well, they went in this time.” He ran a hand through his thick hair. “They’re all adults and this is a free country,” he muttered over and over, more like he was reminding himself.
He bent down so he was closer to me. His breath smelled like the green tic-tacs he loved. “George pointed to something in the distance just before he passed out. No one knows what it was.”
My mouth fell open. “No one saw it?”
He shook his head. “Like I said, he’s fine. And yes, he’s being forced to go to the hospital.” He added before I could ask. “But it took five people just to lift him up and get him out of there. That seems like a lot.”
I thought about how easily I was able to pull George up the hill at the last task force meeting. Dolls had more resistance than that petite man.”
Justin went on. “And when they did pick him up, they found something underneath him.” He whispered in my ear. “Bobby’s wallet, right where George had passed out.”
I gasped. “What? I’m glad George is okay, but poor Shelby. Please say there wasn’t money in that wallet.”
He nodded. “A lot.”
“Crap,” I said. I was so worried about Shelby I completely forgot to be happy that my boyfriend was finally sharing secrets with me. “So, I take it that means you’ll be headed into the Dead Forest soon to check on this.”
“That seems to be the case.”
I looked into his dark eyes, surprised to see he was worried. The man could hold in a lot, but by doing so, he gave away a lot as well. Was he worried about Bobby or about going into the Dead Forest or both?
“I’m going in with you,” I said then quickly kicked myself for saying that. Where in the hell did that even come from?
“Very funny,” he replied. “Not that I believe in the old rumors. But, this is an investigation now. This is no longer the amateur task force hour.”
“Well, that has to be the funniest part, officer,” I snapped. “Because if it weren’t for the amateurs, the professionals wouldn’t even know they had a case.”
He looked back at Rosalie and Mr. Peters, who were still busy making love-sick faces at each other, and he lowered his voice. “We talked about this, Carly. This has gotten serious.”
I didn’t answer him. Of course, we both knew he was right. This had gotten serious, which was why we also both knew I was headed into that Dead Forest too, with or without him.
The End
Hi. If you’d like to know when the next book is coming out, just sign up for my list. (You’ll also get the Christmas novella in The Ghosts of Landover Mystery series free when you sign up.) Read on to the next chapter for a sneak peek at the fifth book in the series called Inside the Executive’s Pocket.
And please, if you have the time, I would really appreciate it if you could review this book. You can do that by clicking here. Indie authors, like me, need every review we can get. Thank you!
From the back of the upcoming book:
History books say Landover’s Dead Forest got its name because almost nothing grows there.
The locals know the truth.
Carly doesn’t want anything to do with the Dead Forest, the stretch of trees that separates Landover County from the rest of civilization. She’s heard the rumors that people go into the Dead Forest and do not come out.
According to legend, it happened twice: Once to a group of ranchers in the 1800s and then again in the 1970s to a group of young executives just outside the drive-in, the reason the drive-in closed.
Now, Carly’s going in to find out what happened to Shelby’s fiancé. But first, she meets her next client, one of the victims of the drive-in incident.
Through channeling, she is taken straight to the night in 1978 to see what happened, observe the clues, and figure out the real story behind what locals call “the Dead Forest incident.” But while channeling memories from the 1970s, Carly gets more than just a dose of Disco Fever. She finds clues to her missing case today. And it changes everything.
Inside the Executive’s Pocket
Chapter One: When The Dead Forest calls
I’ll never forget the first time I heard the rumor about the Dead Forest. I didn’t grow up in Landover, so I had no clue something so weird could exist in life. Locals know all too well weird exists here.
I had just met Shelby. We were both around twenty and heading off to one of her makeup parties that I was only going to so it’d look like there were m
ore people. I was in no position in life to purchase twenty-dollar lip liner.
It was dark, and the road we were on was the old one nobody went down anymore. Long, bony-looking trees on both sides made it feel like we were driving through a horror movie. She suddenly pointed toward a dirt path up ahead and to our left, her voice taking on a weird, ominous tone.
“The old drive-in’s over there,” she said. “It shut down in the 70’s after the incident.”
A chill went up my spine. “What are you talking about? You’re trying to scare me. It’s not working.”
It was totally working.
She suddenly veered the car down the path, and I held in my scream. Her Cadillac bumped and bounced, hitting potholes and crevices. I remember staring at her in the light of the full moon, wondering if I was about to get slaughtered by my seemingly sweet new friend, who I really didn’t know very well and was certainly exhibiting erratic behavior.
I was about to tell her all about the mountain of lip liners I was going to buy from her as soon as we made it safely to that makeup party, when she pointed all around at the forest.
“It’s called the Dead Forest,” she said. “Wikipedia’ll tell you the Dead Forest got its name because the farmers and ranchers who founded Landover couldn’t grow anything on this part of the land.”
She barely looked at the road as she talked, and it was almost pitch black, despite the full moon. Still, I didn’t tell the possibly crazy person by my side to slow down or pay attention even though she clearly needed to.
She continued. “But the locals know the truth. It got its name because strange things happen to people when they go inside it.”
