Midlife Ghost Hunter: A Paranormal Women's Fiction (The Forty Proof Series Book 4)

by Shannon Mayer

  Dinner was fast approaching before I finally gave up on the day. I was tired, hot, hungry, smelled vaguely of B.O., and just wanted someone to shove me in the right direction.

  Why did the shows on TV make being a private investigator look so damn easy? Admittedly, I’d had an easier time of hunting people down in Savannah. There, I was on my home turf and everything just . . .worked. Here, I was a fish out of water. I had no grounding here, and it was taking the stuffing out of me.

  My feet and back aching from walking on concrete all damn day, I gave up and flagged down a cabbie to take me back to Penny’s safe house. Robert crumpled into a single bone as the taxi rolled up, and I tucked him into my bag. Alan didn’t so much as flinch, though I could clearly see him.

  “Where to, miss?” The driver barely glanced at me in the rearview mirror. His eyes looked about as tired as I felt.

  “Well, I guess back to my place. Unless you know a Homer Underwood who works at a morgue?” I laughed with that last bit and the cabbie laughed with me.

  “Well shit, I play poker with Homer on Saturday nights. Cheats like a bugger, but he’s not too bad otherwise.” He grinned. “You want me to take you to him?”

  I leaned forward, putting my hands on the back of his seat. “I’m sorry, but you really do know Homer Underwood?”

  He grunted. “Didn’t I just say so? His place is across town. More fare for me if you want to go.”

  I could hardly believe my luck. “Yes. Take me to Homer.”

  The drive took fifteen minutes, which gave me time to think about what little I’d learned. I knew where my family had been killed, and how, even though I couldn’t figure out how Alan played into it. Louis was up to something, and . . . well, I’d learned precious little else. I hoped Kinkly was okay. I prayed that Charlotte wasn’t scared, that she was being treated all right.

  I found myself circling back to Alan. His death didn’t make sense. If he’d been killed by the tonton macoutes, did that mean he had been at the mansion looking for the angel feathers too? But that made no sense.

  I wondered if and how this Homer Underwood could help me.

  The cabbie pulled over cutting through my musings. I paid him. “Will you wait for me? Fifteen minutes?”

  “Then all the way back to that other address you first gave me?” he asked with a grin, flashing a couple of gaps up the side of his smile. “You bet. Going to cost you though.”

  I gave him two thumbs up. At that point, I was too tired and out of ducks to care. This Homer Underwood had better turn out to be one of the good guys.

  It was only then that I took a good look at the house. Or maybe houses was a better description. In classic NOLA style, the building in front of me was a row of multi-tiered houses with balconies overlooking the road. How the hell was I supposed to know which one was Homer’s?

  I looked back at the cabbie. “Which one?”

  “Number thirteen near the end there.” He pointed at the section that was painted deep green with garish orange trim. I grimaced.

  What a terrible color combination. I wished Kinkly were there—she’d have known if those colors meant anything, or if I was getting into trouble.

  I walked down to the door of number thirteen and stood in front of it for a moment, listening to the sound of raised voices inside.

  I heard a man’s voice first. “I told you I ain’t got anything to do with any other women! Marge, it’s not like that!”

  “Bullshit, Homer! There is no way that you are going to the cemetery for work! That’s a bullshit lie!” Marge—I assumed—said.

  Did they even realize their names belonged to cartoons? I could only hope that Homer was brighter than his counterpart.

  “Please, Marge, can I have my underwear back?”

  And with that, I just knew I was at the right place. Because there was no way that Eammon would have sent me to some powerhouse.

  Nope, he’d sent me to a man who couldn’t get his own underwear back from a woman.

  18

  I shook my head at Eammon’s idea of help, and rapped my knuckles on the garish orange door. Might as well catch Homer Underwood off guard, and a man begging for his underwear was definitely already off his game.

  Of course, he wasn’t the one who answered my knock.

  The door whipped open, and I found myself looking straight at an enormous set of breasts that gravity had taken its toll on. I looked up, way up, to see a rather angry Marge, who appeared to be in her early fifties, glaring down at me. She had to be close to seven feet tall even without a massive blue beehive, and I couldn’t for the life of me think of one smart thing to say.

  “Jaysus, you are a tall woman,” I spluttered. The thought that she could hunt geese with a rake crossed my mind, but I suspected that was a line from a show I’d seen once.

  Her bright green eyes narrowed and her hand tightened on the edge of the door, the crease in her fingers turning blue. Blue? “You one of his women? If so, I’m going to have a chat with you. You ain’t gonna like that chat, girlie.”

  I held both hands up and took a step back, just out of range. I hoped. “I am here to ask his professional advice, assuming he is the Homer Underwood that Eammon told me to talk to.”

  Her eyes narrowed further. “Eammon is a little shit disturber.”

  I sighed and put a hand on one hip, knowing I had to play this smooth or I wasn’t going to get through this behemoth of a woman to speak to Homer, no matter how mad she was at him. “Tell me about it. You know he flat out lied to me on two occasions to get his way? He and my boyfriend don’t get along much, makes my life hard.” Yup, imaginary boyfriend for the win.

  Marge’s eyes softened a little. “Men, they are nothing but trouble.”

  I nodded. “Agreed. You are welcome to take part in the conversation, it’s not private. I just need a little direction, seeing as I don’t know NOLA well. And I can pay for his time, of course.”

  She pursed her lips, and I found myself staring hard at her face as it slid from human to something . . .not quite human. But quick as a flash, it was back to normal.

  “Homer, put your ginch on. You got someone asking about you. Come on in.” She stepped back and waved for me to come forward.

  “Maybe I should wait, if he isn’t dressed—” I said.

  “Ah, he ain’t shy, and you and I have both seen enough twigs and berries that they all look the same, am I right, or am I right?” She gave a toothy grin and then laughed at her own joke.

  A slightly nervous laugh escaped me. “Yup, you are right. All the same.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure about that. Alan didn’t hold a damn match to Crash in that department.

  I swallowed my trepidation and made my feet cross the threshold of the house. The interior was about as gloomy as the sky outside, with only a couple of lights on to illuminate the room. Knickknacks of all sorts were scattered about the room, all about the same size, and . . . I blinked and peered closer at one of them.

  “That’s a voodoo doll,” I said as I jerked my head up to look at Marge. She grinned at me.

  “That’s what we do, darling. We make voodoo dolls and we have plenty in stock. The tourists love them. Shall I give Eammon’s a poke for you?” She bent and scooped up a smaller than the average doll and showed it to me.

  Yup, it had the distinct look of Eammon, complete with a lock of his hair that had been stitched into the top of the head. There were no current pins in him that I could see.

  I held a hand up. “No, thanks. I’ll pass. For today. Who knows if I’ll want to kick him in the balls tomorrow?”

  She chuckled. “Girl, I feel that all the way to my toes. Homer, where the hell are you?”

  There was a narrow opening across the room, presumably the entrance to a hallway, and a man who would’ve made Louis look robust emerged from it. He slid along the wall, moving for all intents and purposes like a lizard, an analogy that fit him right down to his bugging eyeballs and the widespread spindly fingers he
kept flattened against the unpainted drywall.

  “Who are you?” he asked, and there was a slight flick of a tongue. Yes, he was definitely something lizard-like.

  “Eammon said I should talk to you. I need a little help tracking down some people,” I said.

  He grinned, flashing some sharper-than-human teeth and a few gaps where teeth had been. “Talking takes time and time is money.”

  “How much for ten minutes? Surely that’s enough time?” I asked dryly, then flicked a glance at Marge.

  Her eyes widened, and she snorted a laugh. “Two at best, honey.”

  Homer frowned. “What are you two going on about?”

  “Ten minutes,” I repeated, “How much?”

  “Fifty bucks,” he grumbled.

  I dug around in my bag and Alan took that moment to spill out, stretching out beside me. “Where in the fiery pits of hell are we now? Where did you bring me?”

  Marge grumbled, “Ghost, you better behave, or I’ll stuff you in a dummy.”

  I looked at her as I pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. “You can see him?”

  “I work black magic, girl. I can see that murdered son of a bitch.” She narrowed her eyes at him and then looked at me. “You do it?”

  “Nope. But he’s my ex, so he’s stuck to me. For now. I’m hoping to find a way to unstick him at some point.” I handed the bill over to Homer who took it and licked it before he folded it in half and stuffed it into a pocket. I turned my full attention to the lizard guy and did my best to ignore Alan, who was now strutting around the room touching things. Or trying to touch things.

  I took a deep breath and plunged in. “Homer, I’m looking for a necromancer who has a lot of power. He wears a black robe and he made a statue come to life under me. Any idea where I could find him? He’s stolen a spirit from me, and I think a living little girl too. I’m not sure what he’d want with her, but he’s connected somehow.”

  Marge grunted at Alan, who immediately yelped, stumbled back, and dropped to the ground next to me. I ignored him.

  Homer stared at me. “I work in the cemeteries every day. And I see the necros come and go. Most are weak, or middling at best. I’d have noticed a powerhouse. None in the Big Easy right now.” He shrugged and his eyes slid sideways. Very lizardly.

  “I saw him just this morning, which means he’s here now,” I persisted. “I get that you don’t know where he is, but maybe you can give me an idea of a place to start? A necro who might help?”

  Marge stepped into view. “What about Eammon’s employee? Lewis or something?”

  I sighed. “Louis is weak at best, and while he happens to be in town, he doesn’t like me much. I called him out on how weak he is.”

  Homer grimaced. “Yeah, necros are a funny bunch, all ego and thinking they’re at the top of the heap. They ain’t, but you can’t tell them that.”

  “Who is? At the top of the heap that is?” I found myself asking the question even though I didn’t need the answer.

  “Well, the blood suckers, of course,” Homer looked at me like I was stupid. “They always rule the roost.”

  “Yeah, but there aren’t any . . .” I trailed off as I stared at Homer’s face, seeing how his eyebrows winged up. “No. No, there aren’t any vampires out there. Are there?”

  Gawd almighty, this was not the direction I’d thought this conversation would go.

  “There have always been blood suckers, kid,” Marge said softly, almost like she was trying to ease me into the idea. “The old ones are still out there, hiding. They are not stupid. When they’re young, they are foolish and dangerous to everyone, running around like sharks in the sea. But the old ones? More dangerous and smarter than your average crocodile.”

  I just stared at them. It was Alan who cut in with an unsolicited opinion.

  “Vampires are not real. This is ridiculous, Bree. We need to go.”

  I smacked him upside the back of the head and grabbed his ear. “Shut your mouth, Alan. I’m working here, and you are distracting me.” Damn it, they hadn’t known my name before that moment. And now they knew his too! Gawd, what a mess!

  Marge grinned. “We need more than just your name to make a voodoo doll of you, darling. So far I like you, so you’re all good.”

  My time was almost up in this stranger than strange house, so I kept my hand clamped on Alan and asked, “Homer, a place to start looking?” I paused and added, “Please.”

  Homer sighed. “I don’t know if I should. You play with a necro who’s that powerful—assuming this person you’ve seen is the real deal—and you’re going to get killed. Eammon won’t thank me if I get you turned up dead.”

  Which said that he did know of a powerful necromancer in town.

  My jaw tightened as I thought of Gran and my parents. “I know the dangers. Which is why I’m not playing.”

  Marge let out low whistle. “Oh, Homer, she’s got some spine in her. Let’s see what she can do with a little nudge. Go to the abandoned amusement park. Been empty since Katrina tried to wipe us off the map. Start there, follow the breadcrumbs, and I think you’ll find your little girl at least. That’s where the kids are always taken first. The necro wouldn’t want her, but I’d bet she was close to where your gran was when she went missing?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  She grinned. “Whoever is working for the necro would have seen the kid, and they may have taken the easy snatch and grab. Opportunistic feeders, if you will. And when you’re ready and can afford it, come on back to me. I’ll unstitch you from that ex of yours.”

  I nodded again. “Thank you, I’ll do that,” and backed out of the house, making sure not to touch anything, all while trying not to think about just how many kids were being taken if there was a single place they “always” ended up.

  Outside once more, I let go of Alan, who stood and dusted himself off dramatically, as if it were even possible for him to get dirty. I looked closely at him and noted that the wounds of his death were pretty much gone now. He looked pretty normal for a dead guy.

  “Why did you have to touch the things? Why did you use my name?” I snapped at him as I broke into a brisk walk toward the cabbie, who waved at me.

  “Did you see it? Voodoo dolls everywhere! People who think that works are just—”

  “Alan,” I cut him off, “you are a dead man walking around as a ghost, and after all the things you’ve seen, a voodoo doll is going to throw you off? Come on. Pull your head out of your ass. They could have trapped you!”

  A chuckling sound came from my bag, and I flipped the leather cover open. A pair of tiny eyes looked up at me. I frowned. “Kinkly?”

  “Guess again,” said a scratchy, familiar voice.

  “Jinx, what the hell?” I didn’t dare scoop her out. “You were with Sarge the last I saw you.”

  “He is gay. Did you know that?” She shook a tiny spider leg at me. “And you always have something interesting happening, so I decided to stay here. Crawled into your bag last night. Been sleeping most of the day.”

  I got to the cab and let myself in. The cabbie tried to talk to me, but my mind was racing with all the things I needed to do.

  Get food. Sleep. Figure out where the abandoned amusement park was, find Charlotte.

  Find Gran.

  Find the angel wings. Maybe Crash would end up doing that last for me. That would be a help.

  The fatigue was well and truly getting to me, and I leaned my head back as the cabbie drove. “That the Homer you were looking for?” he asked.

  “Remarkably, he was the Homer I was looking for,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Ah, was nothing. But don’t thank me. Ain’t good to thank a fae, you know.”

  My eyes flew open, and I sat forward. “Pardon?”

  He grinned. “Crash said you might need a ride. He needed to call Kinkly to him for some spy work, so he asked me to help you if you asked for anything. Personal favor to him. Let him know that I was indeed helpful, would you?”r />
  I could have gotten all huffy and upset that Crash had overstepped . . . except he’d left the choice in my corner. If I hadn’t asked the cabbie for help, it wouldn’t have been given.

  “What name do you go by?” I asked. “So I can tell him.”

  “Nemeth will do for now,” he said. “And here we are. Safe and sound. Though I don’t see a house.”

  I looked up and saw the safe house clearly looming under the cloud-filled sky. Lights were on in the lower levels. I handed Nemeth the money for the ride and stepped out. “Might need a ride or two tomorrow. You got a number I could call?”

  He flicked out a business card and handed it to me through the rolled down window. “There you go. Call me any time, day or night, for a safe ride.” And then he winked as he pulled away, and I was almost sure he was flirting with me.

  I shook my head and slowly made my way toward the house.

  I leaned on the door for a moment before entering, not listening, just steeling myself for whatever I was going to be up against in there. Maybe Crash would flip out at me?

  The last thing I expected was good news.

  Then again, the shadow world did enjoy surprising me.

  19

  I pushed the door open, prepared for whatever horrors I might find within, only to be engulfed in the smell of Eric’s famous eclairs. The bigfoot poked his head out of the kitchen, his face covered with flour on one side, his bow tie firmly in place. “You’re back! I was making your favorites!”

  “Eric!” I flung my arms around him, surprising us both, I think. I wanted to cry. Shit, I was crying.

  He patted my back with one big mitt covered in an oven mitt. “Yeah, lots going on. Let me pull these out of the oven and then we can talk.”

  I looked around and realized no one else was there. “Did Suzy come with you?”

  “Of course. The thing is . . .well, Corb gave you information that wasn’t quite right.” He pulled the pan of puff pastry out of the oven and set it on a couple of cooling mats.