Once Upon A Ghost: Murder By Design (Book 3)

by Erin McCarthy

  “That’s a shame, because that would be ideal. I could still communicate with him through you and be involved in his life and your relationship.”

  I envisioned Cezar sitting on my sofa night after night with me and his nameless son. No thanks. There was no reason to give a response, and Cezar had lapsed into silence. A glance over showed him looking morose. His death seemed to have finally sunk in and he probably was realizing everything he was going to miss. I felt bad for him. Sexist or not, he hadn’t deserved a bullet in the heart. At least I didn’t think he had.

  After a few minutes, I broached the subject. “So why did someone, um, shoot you?” There was no delicate way to ask that question so I just threw it out there.

  “The money. Or the fact that I was supposed to testify against Sammy in his upcoming court case. I had to take the deal. That’s the way it goes. Sammy would have done the same to me. But with me gone, the prosecutor’s case sucks. But Sammy would have only gotten three years, max, so I think it was more because of the money.”

  “The three million dollars?”

  “That and a few assets. I have investment property all over, under various business names.”

  “Where did the three million come from?”

  Cezar shot me a sly glance. “Why do you care?”

  Because I was curious. I couldn’t help it. The ingenuity and daring of white-collar criminals fascinated me. I was a person who felt tremendous guilt when I accidentally left the store without paying for the twelve pack of Diet Coke on the bottom of my grocery cart. I couldn’t imagine having the cojones to just steal millions in cold hard cash. “I don’t. But I don’t want you following me around. I have a dinner date and you are not welcome. So give me a starting place and I’ll look into it.”

  “Follow the money, find the body. Or find the body, and there will be the money. That’s obvious.”

  “That’s it? That’s what I’m supposed to go on?”

  “You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.”

  Then Cezar was gone. I breathed a huge sigh of relief and finished my drive home singing along to the Backstreet Boys, a guilty pleasure that brought to mind awkward middle school dances where I had been sporting braces, a denim mini-skirt and Uggs. I hadn’t been a seductress then either.

  Find the body? Whatever. I couldn’t even find a parking spot most days.

  * * *

  Which proved one hundred percent accurate when I went downtown for Nick Pitrello’s hearing. I circled around the courthouse twice before begrudgingly parking in a lot that was at the bottom of the steepest hill east of San Francisco. Given that it was an unseasonably warm day, by the time I reached the security checkpoint, I was huffing and puffing and feeling more than a little dewy.

  Marner met me there and I felt less than confident in my appeal as a woman. Granted, my outfit was still adorable, but my hair was corkscrewing and the majority of my makeup had melted off. Given Cezar’s ego-denting comments, I half-expected Marner to take one look at me and decide he’d been on drugs for the last two months. But as usual, he seemed unaware of my neuroses.

  “Hey,” he said after I made it through the metal detector. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  No. “I’m going to have to face him eventually.” The kidnapping charges against Nick were the strongest ones the prosecution had. The murder charges were largely circumstantial, based on proximity and opportunity. There had been no DNA that connected Nick to Phil’s body. But there was evidence I had been drugged and handcuffed. My fear was they would try to say it was a consensual BDSM relationship, and the prosecutor had warned me that would be the defense’s tactic. But there was no explaining away the date rape drugs in my system. Or that I had gone missing, skipping set appointments with my mother and a client.

  I still wasn’t prepared to see Nick in court. As he stood there and pleaded not guilty I sat in the back of the courtroom with Marner, palms sweating, stomach tight. Being involved in a high-profile crime was something you could never be prepared for, and I wasn’t exactly known for having nerves of steel or a strong stomach. Which was why I had quit my job as an evidence tech. So when Nick turned on his way out, clad in his orange jumpsuit, and gave me a smirk, I was horrified. Spots danced in front of my eyes and I could hear my breathing, shallow and anxious.

  Marner’s hand snaked over my leg and took mine into his strong grip. He leaned over and murmured, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

  I nodded, but I didn’t have any words. I kind of really wasn’t okay. But I didn’t want to admit that. Because if I admitted it, I might crack like I had after Ryan’s death. Shatter like a windshield after a rock flies into it.

  Oddly, the one positive that had come from Ryan’s death was the confirmation that the spirit world was real. Whatever the other side was, it did exist. It was hugely comforting, especially after I had faced my own mortality at the hands of a madman. If my number was up, at least there wasn’t a void. But I didn’t want to think about it. I wanted Nick Pitrello to go away, tossed in a cell, so I could avoid the concept of death for another forty years or so.

  Except I had a dead guy who wanted me to find his body and his money, not necessarily in that order.

  Cezar Wozniak could be a distraction from dealing with my own emotions. That was a positive. Because creative avoidance is a specialty of mine. I blame my mother, as anyone does.

  So while Marner went to finish up a few things on his desk, I waited for him in the lobby, and I looked up the Schvitz. I got nothing. There was no club or restaurant called that. There was one obscure reference to it in an old online article, but it didn’t give an address. It just said it was members only and was continuing old world traditions in modern Cleveland. Old world presumably meaning Eastern European, since there was a huge influx of immigrants from that area all throughout Cleveland’s history, including today. You couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting an orthodox church or Bosnian men playing dominos in a coffee shop.

  Then I googled the word “schvitz” itself and discovered it was Hebrew for “to sweat.”

  So even the name was literal and no-frills.

  Meat sweats. I shuddered.

  Chapter Three

  “Do you want a drink?” Marner asked as we strolled along East 4th Street, a mecca of restaurants, bars, and comedy and music venues. He had peeled off his suit jacket in the seventy-degree temperatures and loosened his tie. I had noticed a few women glance at him in appreciation, and I admit I had a feminine smugness that he was mine, ladies, all mine.

  Aside from my pride, I liked the solidity of Marner. Even though we weren’t talking about the arraignment, his very presence, during and after, was reassuring. My stomach was still tight from seeing Nick the Prick (that would be his mob name, no doubt) and I wasn’t ready for dinner yet. “A drink would be great.”

  “How about here?” He gestured to a lounge-like bar that boasted signature cocktails and jazz on the weekends. This was where Marner wasn’t like Ryan at all. He wasn’t just a beer and ballgames guy. He had layers. He also liked expensive bourbon, which had surprised me. I liked that no matter the crowd or the circumstance, Marner was always on sure footing. He could blend in at a dive bar, and manage to maneuver his way through a cocktail party. He was the guy that both your friends and your parents liked.

  “Sure.” We went into the hushed interior with its dark wood bar and cushy furniture. It had a forties vibe to it, and after staring bewildered at the cocktail menu for ten minutes I let Marner talk me into a gin drink that was heavy on the floral notes. “Do you think I’m going to like this?” I asked, dubious.

  “You’re very floral,” he told me, confident.

  I couldn’t really argue that. At that very moment I was placing my floral Kate Spade mini handbag onto the bar top. It was the Jardin pattern, which was of course French for garden. Why was everything so much sexier in French?

  “In my fashion choices, sure, but my beverages? I don’t know. We shall s
ee.”

  If I was waiting for him to wax on about my beauty, it wasn’t going to happen. Marner wasn’t going to compare my face to a rose or something. But I was pretty sure if I ever dated a man who actually did that, I’d be so mortified and embarrassed I would run away. It just wasn’t the way I was raised. If my father had ever recited poetry to my mother she would have told him to cut the crap.

  So Marner’s response didn’t bother me. He said, “Drink it. I’m just trying to get in your pants anyway.” He was half-joking, half-serious.

  “I’m wearing a dress.”

  “Even better. Easy access.” He grinned at me.

  I couldn’t argue that, so I rolled my eyes at him. We hadn’t actually taken that final step, to our mutual frustration. But I had been panicked that Ryan would pop up at an extremely inappropriate moment. Then things seemed to cool between Marner and me anyways for the last few weeks, so I was glad we hadn’t, because then I would think that I sucked in bed and I didn’t need that weighing on top of my other worries.

  Now though Ryan seemed to be MIA and Marner seemed to be over the whole ghost thing. Maybe there was hope for my love life yet. “Nothing this good should be easy,” I told him with a smirk. He wasn’t the only one who could be smug.

  He laughed, caught off-guard. “I’ll drink to that.” He picked up his glass and held it toward me. “To a good woman,” he said.

  I lifted my own drink and lightly touched his. “Cheers.” Dang, Marner was looking hot today. My cheeks felt warm and I glanced away, unwilling to let him see what was in my eyes.

  I eyed the cocktail, which was an amber color, and took a tentative sip. It was surprisingly smooth. “You were right. I stand corrected.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Taking another sip, I decided to brooch the subject that was currently on my mind. “Random question—is there still mob activity in Cleveland?”

  His eyebrows went up. “That is a random question. Why, are you writing another book?”

  “Haha.” He was never going to let me live it down that I had pretended to be writing a crime novel. “No, I have this staging client and after some things he said, I feel like he’s shady.” I failed to mention that I had seen Cezar’s ghost, because as of now, presumably no one knew he was dead.

  “Shady, how?” Marner looked only mildly curious. He tended to think I overreacted in general.

  I had to figure out how to play this so that it wasn’t unbelievable. “I heard him talking about three million dollars and needing some key or something to a locker at the Schvitz. Do you know what that is?”

  He nodded. “Sure. Everyone knows about the Schvitz. I’m actually going this weekend. My buddies and I go every October and February.”

  So apparently men liked meat and sweating. Go figure. “So then it’s not like a mob den? I mean, if it was, they wouldn’t let you in since you’re a cop.”

  He nodded. “It’s not a mob den. It’s just a thing we do.”

  That told me absolutely nothing. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Because it’s men only?”

  “Trust me,” I told him wryly. “No women want to go there. Ever. We’ll stick to the actual spa where there are trained professionals.”

  “What do they need to be trained for at the Schvitz?” Marner asked, shrugging his shoulders. “They’re not doing anything other than cooking dinner, and trust me, it’s a kickass steak.”

  “So you’re going this weekend?” If I was going to be stupid enough to attempt to sneak in, which I might, if Cezar kept harassing me, I would have to make sure I was there when Marner wasn’t. He would not be happy with me for creeping around a sweat bath. But at least he was reassuring in that the place didn’t sound dangerous.

  “Yeah.” He took another sip. “As far as the mob goes, if your guy was really involved in shady business, he wouldn’t be talking about it where you could overhear. Criminals aren’t that dumb. Well, some of them are. But not guys who are shifting money around. You can’t pull off racketeering and illegal gambling and be a total idiot.”

  “True.” I couldn’t confess that Cezar was telling me stuff directly because he wanted his homicide solved.

  Marner pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced down at it. “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He made a face. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Body found in a warehouse. Suspicious circumstances.”

  That was definitely deflating. I had been anticipating a long and enjoyable evening. But I wasn’t going to pout. His job was important and he was good at it. “That sucks.” I never knew what to say when he talked about murder. I figured our interrupted dinner was no big deal compared to the fact that someone was never getting dinner again.

  “I feel really bitter right now,” he said. “Why do I have to take this one?” He put his phone down and gave me a long stare. “I was really looking forward to tonight.”

  My insides warmed up. “Me too, but I’ll take a raincheck.”

  Marner gave a groan of frustration. “Damn it, don’t look at me like that. Do you want to stay and finish your drink or do you want me to walk you to your car?” He was already flagging the bartender down to pay the check.

  “I’ll just stay for a minute. I’ll check some email and enjoy my floral booze. No sense in wasting it.”

  “That’s my girl.” He took a swallow of his bourbon and laid down cash to pay for our drinks. “I’ll call you later.” He stood up and touched my cheek before giving me a quick kiss.

  “Bye, be careful.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” He gave me a wave and left.

  I decided to text my best friend Alyssa. Now that I was out, I didn’t want to just return home, and being alone had images of Nick popping into my head. Fortunately Alyssa was always up for an excuse to have a dinner she didn’t cook and a drink or two, so I only had to wait by myself thirty minutes before she arrived. I had nursed my way slowly through my cocktail and ordered a cheese board to nibble on. Alyssa strode in, looking like she’d been born to sing sexy blues, sprawled across a piano. She had a retro polka dot dress on, with yellow T-strap pumps, and her signature red lips.

  “Why have I never been here before?” she asked, sitting on the stool next to me. “I love this vibe.”

  “I have no idea. It’s definitely perfect for you.” I popped a grape into my mouth. “Have some cheese. We can have a drink here then go for dinner.”

  “Awesome. So what happened to Jake?”

  “A body was found in a warehouse. Suspected homicide, so he had to go.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Exactly what I said.”

  “Like how gross is that? Come to work and check out this corpse. No thank you.” She made a face and went for the cheese. “I prefer my mindless data.”

  Alyssa was a math genius who did data analysis, plus a bit of staging on the side for me. She had a great eye for color. “I prefer fresh flowers and chevron-patterned throw rugs myself.” I wished like hell I could tell her about seeing Cezar Wozniak’s ghost, but Alyssa, for all her quirks and open-mindedness, was not a big believer in the spiritual world. Too bad, because she would be a great ally. She wasn’t as much of a rule follower as I was. She would be more daring in creating plans to sneak into places I wasn’t technically supposed to be.

  “But somebody has to do it, so there’s that. Just glad it’s other people.” Alyssa studied the cocktail menu. “Holy crap, there are seventy-two drinks on here. I never knew there were so many combinations of alcohol and vermouth.”

  “How’s Michael, by the way?” I asked, spreading brie on a cracker. “I know you went out with him again, so don’t even deny it. I saw the picture on your Instagram.”

  “I don’t do anything that I have to deny,” she said with faux dignity. “Yes, I went out with Michael. Yes, it was fun. Yes, I’m being stupid to date a guy who was a jerkface to me in high school. No, I’m not going to fall in love with him.”

  Tha
t made me grin. “Well, that covers that.” Alyssa had started out revenge dating Michael, but clearly she had found there was something to be said for the former bully turned businessman. “Next subject.”

  “Boom. Exactly. Let me order this drinkie-poo and then I will tell you all about the gossip Michael told me about Cara Parker from high school. Remember her? Most Likely to Succeed? Hardly, unless you call seducing your fourteen-year-old student a success.”

  “What? Oh geez, that’s horrible.” I remembered Cara, of course. She was an “It Girl” back in the day. She was popular, well-dressed, a great student. And allegedly involved in a sexting scandal, but it died on the vine without any formal charges or consequences, so those of us on the fringe had assumed it was nothing. Just some photos exchanged between her and her boyfriend. But to hear that a decade-plus later she was still trolling the hallways of a high school for “dates” was crazy.

  Alyssa launched into all the sordid details as I tucked into my second cocktail, grateful for the distraction from my bizarre day.

  Cheese wasn’t sufficient as a dinner, and as ten minutes turned into ninety, I realized I was slightly (okay, possibly more than a little) buzzed from the gin, and I suggested we get dinner pronto. It was as we were prying our numb butts off our barstools that Marner called me. Hopeful he might be able to join us for dinner I answered.

  “Hey, mister, what’s up?” I was feeling warm and fuzzy and happy to hear from him.

  “Do you know a guy named Cezar Wozniak?” was his greeting.

  That was not the voice of a man who found me delightful.

  “He’s a new client. I’m staging his lake house out in Ashtabula.”

  “Some delivery guy found his body in a warehouse on the east bank of the Flats. He has a bullet in his chest.”

  One, I had found Cezar’s body without even trying, so yay. Two, Marner was pissed off, so boo. My mind wasn’t quite as sharp as it should be, thanks to the gin. “Oh, that’s horrible,” I said, because that’s what you say. It was horrible. Somewhere Cezar’s single sons would be informed their father was deceased, and that was something no one should have to go through.