Nearly Departed (Spring Cleaning Mysteries)

by J. B. Lynn

Silence.

  "Mom?" I felt lower than I had the first time I'd brought home a "C" on my report card. Her unspoken disappointment in me was practically palpable, and now, like it had then, it made me want to curl up and cry.

  "This is difficult for all of us, Vicky. We'll see you tonight, sweetheart." With that she hung up.

  Tossing my phone onto the passenger seat, I ground the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. What a day this was shaping up to be. Trying to calm down, I took a deep breath and counted to ten before exhaling slowly. Feeling marginally better, I repeated the process.

  A sharp rap against the driver's side window startled me. The last thing I needed right now was Smoke Barclay asking me if I was okay.

  Dropping my hands from my eyes, I turned to glare at him and came face-to-face with a corpse.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Okay, he wasn't really a corpse, technically he was a ghost. You say tomato, I say tomahto…well, no, actually I say tomato.

  Anyway, there he was right outside my window. Not the same dead guy as the one I'd bumped into in the house. That one had been missing the top part of his skull. This one had a bloody, gaping hole where his lower face had been.

  I stared hard at him, wondering if he had been the one who'd killed his friends. I could have kicked myself for not following the news stories about the case more closely. If I had, I'd know if I was facing a killer or a victim.

  He was gesturing wildly for me to follow him.

  "I'm on my lunch break," I told him, hedging my bets. Not that I thought he could hurt me. None of the other ghosts I'd encountered in the past three years had harmed me in any way, and just this morning I'd seen the ghost in the gold dress fall through a living man's chest.

  He tapped his ear with the index finger of his right hand.

  I cracked open the door to the van so that he'd be able to hear me. "I said I'm on my lunch break."

  Shaking his head, he again waved at me to follow him.

  Sighing, I grudgingly climbed out, knowing full well I wouldn't know a moment's peace until I did what he wanted. I hadn't wanted that pizza anyway.

  The chin-challenged ghost, convinced that I was following him, entered the house by disappearing through the door. I on the other hand had to use the key and the doorknob. I skipped putting on protective gear, which was pretty stupid considering I could be exposed to tuberculosis, hepatitis, or HIV. Then again, I sometimes excel at doing stupid things.

  Smoke's temperature fix seemed to have been temporary. Shivering, I stood in the entryway, unsure of where to go since the ghost was nowhere in sight.

  "Hey!" I called.

  He rematerialized inches from my nose, holding up a finger in front of his face.

  "One what?"

  He waggled the finger forward and back.

  "This game of charades is going to get old fast," I told him.

  He pressed his palm over my mouth. It was icy and slimy and not of this world. I deal with blood, and guts, and vomit on a daily basis, but this was by far the grossest thing I'd ever experienced.

  I screamed my revulsion.

  And because his hand had no actual physical form, there was nothing to stifle the sound. My piercing shriek echoed through the empty house, ringing in my ears. It was quickly followed by a thump in the dining room.

  "What the hell?"

  I made a hard left, charging toward the sound.

  The slimy ghost leapt in front of me, putting up his hands to stop me, but I plowed right through him. The cold, slimy sensation passed through my entire body. I stumbled. My stomach roiled traitorously, and I was glad I had only eaten a mouthful of pizza.

  Regaining control of my motor function, I pushed through to the dining room in search of whatever had crashed. The controlled chaos looked undisturbed, but I knew I'd heard something, so I walked through to the kitchen.

  My world is so warped that when I set eyes on the figure in black, I automatically assumed it was another disembodied spirit.

  But then whoever it was punched me.

  Hard.

  With a fist.

  A physical, corporeal, definitely earthly, fist.

  The flesh and bone, muscle and knuckles blow bounced off my right cheekbone. The force sent me staggering backward. The pain, radiating from my cheekbone through my eye socket, blinded me.

  Instinctively I raised my hands in front of my face to ward off any further assault as I backed away unsteadily, desperate to get away. Something hard smacked against my ankle. I fought to maintain my balance, but my feet flew into the air and I fell backward.

  The back of my head cracked against the tiled floor like an egg on the side of a frying pan, and I slipped into black oblivion.

  * * *

  They lied.

  The ghosts, I mean.

  There is a big, bright light.

  I squinted into it.

  A large, shadow moved into my line vision. I blinked, but it remained fuzzy. I couldn't make out what it was.

  "IK ORRR EEE AHHHH" the shape roared.

  My heartbeat skipped into overdrive. Maybe I wasn't dead after all. Maybe I'd been abducted by aliens!

  Maybe I was lying on some sort of examination table. The surface my back was pressed into was really hard, and it did seem awfully cold, just like the operating room had been when I'd had my tonsils removed a couple of years before.

  "IK ORR EEE AHHH."

  Maybe the aliens were preparing to probe me!

  But then I spotted the chinless-ghost bobbing behind the egg-headed alien so I asked him, "Am I dead?"

  He shook his head.

  "Not yet," the alien muttered, shifting position, and blocking out the majority of the light.

  Its features came into focus. Bald head, blue eyes, a stern frown. Smoke!

  I closed my eyes and tried to figure out what the hell was going on. He wasn't an alien, and he'd said I wasn't dead. I really needed to stop watching cheesy sci-fi flicks when my insomnia got the best of me. Maybe I should watch infomercials like Delia did. She was always telling me how great all those "magic" products were even though she'd never tried any.

  I opened my eyes and looked around. I wasn't on an alien ship. I was on a kitchen floor, and the bright light was an overhead fixture, not the gateway to another realm.

  "Victoria?" There was no mistaking the concern in Smoke's tone.

  "My head hurts," I groaned. Specifically, it throbbed. A pounding ache echoed in my skull, trying to drown out my ability to think.

  "I'm calling an ambulance for you." Smoke leaned away.

  Clawing at his arm, I tried to sit up. Dark spots shimmered in front of my eyes.

  "Try not to move," he said gently, patting my hand.

  "I don't need an ambulance," I ground out through gritted teeth.

  "You hit your head. You could be hurt."

  "I have crappy insurance. I don't need an ambulance." I hauled myself into a sitting position as a kaleidoscope of colors exploded behind my eyeballs. I swayed unsteadily and probably would have hit the floor again, but Smoke grabbed my shoulder, his grip firm, but reassuring.

  "Do you know who I am, Victoria?"

  "I keep telling you not to call me that!"

  Some of tension lining his face eased a bit. "The meanest guy I ever knew was named Vic, so I'm not going to call you that. Maybe I'll just call you 'boss.' Would you like that?"

  I tried to shake my head, but the movement was too painful. "I'm not the boss."

  "Do you know where you are?" He sounded worried again. "Where are we?"

  "Frat boys' house." How could I forget, what with Chinless Boy peering over Smoke's shoulder, hanging on our every word?

  "Do you know what happened?"

  Remembering the attack, I stiffened. "It all happened so fast…" Out of the corner of my eye I watched the ghost pantomime a right cross.

  "What did?"

  "He hit me."

  "Who?"

  "The guy." I raised my hand and gently trac
ed my cheek. "He punched me."

  Smoke's brows knitted together as he examined my face. "Somebody broke in and attacked you?"

  I had to think about that for a second. I could deal with blood and guts, not to mention headless and faceless ghosts, but the idea that someone had tried to hurt me was unnerving. I shivered violently.

  Smoke scooted around so that he could wrap an arm around my shoulders. I wasn't sure whether he did it to keep me warm or to keep me from keeling over again, but I was grateful for the gesture.

  "It'll be alright," he said softly. "You're going to be okay."

  "I haven't been okay in a very long time," I muttered.

  "What?'

  "Nothing," I said hurriedly, mortified I'd said the sad truth aloud. I stole a quick look in his direction and found him studying me. I looked away before he learned too much.

  I cleared my throat. "We should get back to work."

  "We should call the police now."

  "What for?"

  "Tell them you were attacked."

  "And what are they going to do about it? It's not like he's here anymore."

  "They could investigate. You don't want him coming back do you?'

  I bit the inside of my lower lip. He did have a point there.

  "It's your choice, boss. I call either the cops or an ambulance."

  "Don't call me that."

  "If the shoe fits…"

  I shook my head. "Jerry's the boss. I'm a worker bee. Just a stand-in for him…" I trailed off. I had been going to say "until he comes back," but that would have sounded foolish. Only my parents really believed that.

  "Which will it be?" Smoke pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and me out of my wayward thoughts. "And I swear that if you say 'neither' I'm calling them both."

  I really, really hated hospitals. "Fine. Call Detective Reed."

  "I'll call dispatch. But first, we're getting you off this cold floor. It's freezing in here." Slipping his phone back into a pocket, he jumped to his feet and stood in front of me, holding out his hands. "C'mon."

  Obediently I put my palms in his. His felt warm, and I was suddenly aware that I was half-frozen.

  "On three," he coached with an easy smile. "One, two, three."

  He hauled me to my feet in one smooth move.

  Everything went gray and fuzzy for a second. Unstable, I stumbled.

  "Easy." His voice was low and soothing, and very close to my ear. "I've got you."

  It took me a second to realize that I'd rested my forehead against his chest as I'd fought for balance. This close I could hear the rhythmic beat of his heart and smell the last remnants of his aftershave. It took me another moment to realize he'd placed his hands on my hips to steady me.

  I knew that I should pull away, but instead I leaned in closer, wanting desperately to absorb his warmth, his scent, his strength.

  "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

  I believed him.

  And it scared the hell out of me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Even though I was still shaky, I stepped back, pulling free of the strange hold on me.

  "You okay now?"

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  "Do you want to sit in the dining room or the van?"

  "The dining room." I was too unsteady to make it outside on my own, and I wanted to keep as much distance between us as possible. Before he could offer to help, I lurched away like a drunken sailor.

  Once he'd watched me settle into a chair at the dining room table, he took out his phone. "I don't have a signal in here. I have to go outside, but I'll be right back."

  "I'm not going anywhere."

  "Yell if you need me," Smoke said just before he walked outside.

  I counted to ten and then turned to the ghost hovering nervously in the corner by the window. "What the hell was that about? Were you trying to get me killed?"

  He shook his head.

  "But you wanted me to see that the intruder was here?"

  The ghost gave me a thumbs-up. I noticed that he had a dark stain on the tip of his fingers.

  "Why?"

  "Why what?" Smoke asked from the entryway of the house.

  I swallowed hard, wondering if he'd heard anything else. "That was quick." I waved off the ghost who was holding up three fingers at me.

  "I've got a direct number." Smoked walked in and crouched down so that he could look up into my face. "How are you doing?"

  "My head feels better."

  His eyes narrowed as though he knew I was lying, but all he said was, "How do you want me to introduce you?"

  "Introduce me?"

  He straightened and examined a beaker on the table. It had a powdery white residue on the bottom. "You obviously don't like being referred to as Victoria, and I don't like calling you Vic, so how do you want me to introduce you to the officer who arrives to take your statement?"

  "Vicky's fine."

  He glanced back at me. "You don't look like a Vicky."

  "And what do you think a Vicky should look like?"

  "Cute. Bubbly."

  I winced and looked away. I certainly didn't fit that description. Turning had been a mistake though, because now the ghost was holding up seven fingers. I scowled at him before spinning back to face Smoke.

  "I didn't…" He raked his palm over his head signaling his irritation. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I don't want you to think…" He trailed off, unsure or unwilling to complete the thought.

  "Someone cute and bubbly isn't going to be cleaning up the remains of the dead," I said tiredly.

  Smoke frowned. "I wasn't saying—"

  "Knock, knock, partner!" a woman's voice called from the front door.

  Something in his expression flickered, but then Smoke's frown quickly morphed into a forced smile. "We're in here."

  A blur of movement sped across the room and launched itself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and pressing her lips to his cheek.

  I looked away.

  "And here I'd been thinking you were never going to call, big guy." The woman pouted.

  "I called dispatch." Smoke's voice was carefully devoid of emotion. "I didn't ask for you."

  Intrigued by his detached greeting, I looked back at them. If I hadn't already been feeling supremely unattractive, maybe I wouldn't have felt so…troll-like. But even on my best of days, this woman would have made me feel inadequate. She was stunning, like super-model stunning. Lean and leggy, she had a face lovingly chiseled by a sculptor, and flowing golden locks that belonged in a shampoo commercial.

  I hated her on sight.

  "Detective Lacey Halperin, I'd like you to meet…Ms. Spring," Smoke said, with that same strangely emotionless tone.

  She regarded me curiously. "Hello."

  I waved weakly at the woman.

  Detective Halperin unpeeled herself from Smoke and stepped toward me, offering a smile and a handshake. "What can I do for you, Ms. Spring?"

  I shook her hand automatically. Under other circumstances, she would not have passed my handshake test. "It wasn't my idea to call you."

  I shot Smoke my dirtiest look.

  Ignoring me, he turned his attention on the beautiful blonde. "Sorry to bother you with this, Lacey, but someone attacked her."

  "Did you see the perp?" Blondie was suddenly all business.

  "No. I came back from my lunch break and found her on the floor in the kitchen. I'd thought she'd slipped or passed out, but she said he hit her."

  Detective Halperin sat down in the seat beside me. "Did you get a good look at your attacker, Ms. Spring?"

  I shook my head and winced from the pain. My brain felt like it was sloshing around in my skull. "It all happened so fast." Not to mention I'd been grossed out from running through a ghost. "He was dressed all in black. I didn't see his face."

  "Old? Young?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "White? Black?"

  "I didn't see his face. I'm sorry I
can't be of more help. This is a colossal waste of your time." I favored Smoke with another dirty look.

  Arms folded across his chest, he didn't seem perturbed by my condemnation.

  "It's not a waste of time. Calling me was the right thing to do. I'll have patrol cars keep an eye out for suspicious activity in the area." The detective smiled encouragingly. Even her teeth were perfect. "What about his hands? Did you see them? Any scars, or tattoos or jewelry?"

  I closed my eyes, trying to remember the fist coming at me, but all I could recall was black. "I think he was wearing gloves." I opened my eyes just in time to see a flash of something, disappointment maybe, in hers.

  "Was he carrying anything?"

  "No."

  "Do you think he took anything?"

  I glanced around the controlled chaos of the room. "I don't know. Look at this place. Even before it became a crime scene, it was a disaster zone."

  "What about you? Do you have any enemies?"

  I thought for a moment about the threats I'd received while doing my volunteer work with battered women, but I decided not to mention them since so much of the success of what we did depended on confidentiality.

  Then I remembered the guy who'd harassed Carla. "I got into a…disagreement with someone behind the Athens Diner this morning."

  "Who?" Smoke and the detective asked simultaneously.

  "I don't know. Some guy. He was threatening one of the waitresses, and I intervened."

  "So you exchanged words with some stranger. Did it go any further than that?" Detective Barbie clarified.

  I shook my head.

  "Then I'm sure it's nothing,"

  "She drives around in a van with her last name and business telephone plastered all over it," Smoke said. "It wouldn't be difficult to figure out who she is."

  I swallowed hard. I hadn't thought of that.

  "Who was the waitress?" the detective asked.

  "Carla."

  "I'll have a talk with her to see if I can find out who the guy is."

  I nodded.

  "Okay. If you think of anything else, Smoke has my number." The detective smiled at him as she stood.

  He didn't smile back. "Thanks for coming by."

  "Anything for you, you know that." She made a show of kissing his cheek again. "We should have dinner soon."