by J. B. Lynn
I sighed. "I'm trying. I'm just not really good at it."
"Could you do something for me?"
"I can try. Can I ask you something first?"
"Sure." He took tiny faltering steps in the direction of my voice as we spoke.
"Did Martin kill you?"
That stopped him in his tracks. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"
"It's what the police think. Do you know who killed you?"
He shook his head slowly. "I've been trying to remember, but I can't."
"What's the last thing you remember doing?"
"I was watching The Princess Bride."
I nodded to encourage him, forgetting that he couldn't see me. "Did anything unusual happen? Was there someone else in the house?"
"No. It was just the two of us."
"Two of you?"
"Me and Donny."
"Okay, go on," Maybe Martin had come home and killed his two roommates after all.
"Donny made popcorn."
I'd found some of that, soaked with blood, in one of the bedrooms.
"We had popcorn and Lucky Beer and watched the movie. That's it. That's all I remember."
"Were you watching upstairs or down?"
"In Donny's room. He has a bigger screen than me."
"And that's all you remember?"
He nodded.
"Okay, what's the thing you wanted me to do for you?"
He bowed his head and shuffled his feet. "It's kind of embarrassing."
I bit my tongue to keep from telling him I'd already sifted through the porn collection he had hidden under his dresser when I'd cleaned his bedroom.
"I need this girl…Lily Adams…"
"I really don't think I can bring you a girl, Buck," I said gently.
"No, no. I need Lily, this girl from school, to know that she…that she should get tested. For herpes. My test came back positive."
I'd never seen a ghost blush before, but Buck's shimmering aura turned a subtle shade of pink as he spoke.
"Now that I can handle."
"Cool."
There was a knock at the front door that distracted me, and I looked away from Buck for a moment. When I looked back at the spot where he'd stood, he was gone. I wondered if he'd just fallen through the floor when the knocking startled him or if he'd passed on.
I answered the door with a feeling of trepidation, unsure who I'd face.
"You haven't taken a lunch break," Smoke admonished. He stood on the stoop, ears red, eyes guarded.
"How do you know that?"
"Because I've been sitting out here waiting for you for the whole time."
So he hadn't left me here all alone after all. "Why?"
"I didn't think I should come back inside to apologize to you for losing my cool earlier."
I tilted my head to the side to get a different view of him. "Because apologies delivered outdoors are more meaningful?"
"Because I scared you. I didn't want to come back in here and have you feel trapped."
"And that's why we're having this conversation now? In a doorway?"
He shrugged. "I got worried when you didn't come out for hours."
"Come inside." I stepped back and waved him in.
"You're sure?"
"I wasn't afraid earlier, I was exercising caution. There's a difference."
He stepped inside, and I closed the door firmly behind him.
"I—" we started simultaneously.
We stopped talking at the same time too.
"Normally I'd say 'ladies first,' but I've got to get this off my chest," Smoke said in an uncharacteristic rush. "You don't have to be afraid of me. I—"
"I already told you I wasn't," I interrupted.
He offered me a weak half smile. "Yeah, but I've been rehearsing this in my head for a couple of hours now, and you're messing with my rhythm."
"Sorry." I pantomimed zipping my lips closed.
"I shouldn't have blown my top like that. I was out of line, and I hope you'll accept my apology."
I waited to make sure he was done talking. "I'll accept it on one condition."
"What's that?" he asked cautiously.
"That you accept mine. I should have never pushed you to do something you're uncomfortable with, and I shouldn't have poked around in your private business the way I did. See? You're not the only one who's been waiting to say they're sorry. Please accept my apology."
"Done." He extended his hand.
I shook it. "You're freezing."
"'Cold hands, warm heart,' my grandmother used to say."
"No, seriously. You shouldn't have let yourself get chilled like this." I felt a twinge of guilt. If I'd gone outside and looked for him, or even just called him to apologize, he wouldn't be as cold as a marble statue. I grabbed his hand between both of mine and rubbed to warm it.
"You don't have to—"
"Shut up."
"Yes, boss."
I tilted my head back to tell him to stop calling me that, but my words froze on my tongue. He was looking down at where our hands met with concentration. As though he sensed me watching him, he raised his eyes to meet mine. He shuttered his gaze almost immediately, but not before I glimpsed an intensity I couldn't name. Whatever it was, it made my heartbeat speed up and my stomach flip-flop nervously. I hadn't been scared of him earlier, but I was frightened by my reaction to him now.
"You're a constant surprise, Ms. Spring."
"Ha!" I said, dropping his hand and stepping away. I needed to put some space between us because in the moment he'd gotten closer to me than anyone in a long time. "Come on. We'll go to Soup for Nuts. That'll get you warmed up.
"Soup for Nuts?"
"It's a great place. All they serve is soup and crackers…or soup in bread bowls, but their soup is incredible."
"Okay, but how 'bout we take my Jeep. It's a little less conspicuous to park than the van."
Our time at Soup For Nuts passed quickly. Somehow we managed to talk about Halley, who worked as a bagger at a supermarket and lived in an independent living residence home, and our mutual dislike of all things Elvis Presley.
Sure enough, the soup warmed Smoke right up. He was mopping up the remains of his navy bean and actually laughing at my story about the first job I did at a no-tell motel when I'd been scared half to death by a giant blow-up doll. However, just as I finished my story, he suddenly froze. Any vestige of amusement was wiped from Smoke's face as he followed the progress of someone on the opposite side of the café.
I turned in my seat to see who he was tracking with such intensity. The only people in his line of vision was a family. The parents were trailed by a sullen teenage son as they followed the hostess to a table at the far side of the room. A shoeless young woman, wearing a torn gold dress, drifted after them.
I gasped.
"What?" Smoke asked distractedly.
"That's the guy from the diner," I whispered.
As though he sensed we were watching him, the greasy-haired jerk tore his gaze away from the hips of the hostess who was seating him and looked over in our direction.
My chest tightened as he regarded us with undisguised hostility. The man said something to his wife, turned on his heel, and swaggered toward us. The ghost followed.
Instinctively, I curled my fingers around my soup spoon, arming myself for the battle I sensed brewing.
Smoke covered my hand with his. "Easy. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You have good instincts about people, but lousy sense about weapons," he murmured, never taking his eyes off the approaching man. "Let me handle this."
"Haven't seen you around, Barclay." The man loomed over our table, hands on his hips. He'd have looked more menacing if his hair didn't shine from the amount of product he'd glopped into it. "Thought you'd left town."
Smoke didn't reply. His gaze was steady on the man before him.
Hair Products for Men looked away and focused on me. "You should be careful who you spend time with.
The world's a dangerous place."
The ghost jumped in front of him and started screaming, "Leave her alone! Leave her alone!"
At the same time Smoke got to his feet. "Are you threatening her, Cusak?"
Cusak shot me an insincere smile. "Of course not. You've really got to get that paranoia of yours under control, Barclay."
"Murderer!" the ghost shrieked.
I swallowed hard. I had to figure out a way to let the poor ghost know that I could see and hear her, but it wasn't like I could come right out and say it. Smoke already seemed to think I was unbalanced. I cleared my throat trying to get her attention. "Are you an actor?"
Cusak and Smoke both looked at me like I was off my rocker. Since they were looking at me, the ghost turned to look at me too.
"Did I see you in an episode of The Ghost Whisperer?"
"What?" Cusak asked.
"She could see ghosts," I continued in a rush. "She could hear them and talk to them. So…say she met one who'd been murdered, she could help make sure the guilty party was brought to justice."
"You're a piece of work, lady," Cusak muttered.
"He's not an actor. He's what passes for a cop in this town," Smoke muttered.
Cusak grinned. "Which is more than you can say, Barclay."
I ignored the two men, concentrating my attention on a spot just to Cusak's left. I stared at the ghost, willing her to realize I was looking right at her.
I saw understanding dawning in the ghost's eyes. "You can see me?" she asked.
I nodded. "Yes."
"What the hell does 'yes' mean?" Cusak demanded.
I tore my gaze from the ghost to the living man. "Yes, I can see you're not the actor I thought you were. You have less hair."
Cusak's eyes narrowed to snake-like slits.
The ghost chuckled. "Tell him he's short."
"And you're shorter than him," I added, egged on by the devilish specter.
An angry flush spread up his neck. Realizing I'd gone too far, I backtracked quickly. "But you know what they say about the camera…it adds ten inches."
"Pounds," Smoke corrected mildly. "It adds ten pounds."
"I have to go to the ladies room," I blurted out, pushing my chair back with a scraping sound so loud that half the patrons of Soup for Nuts looked over. I jumped out of my chair and made a beeline for the restroom, leaving Smoke and Cusak to continue their macho games.
I jerked my head to the side, indicating the ghost should follow me.
"Are you okay?" a waitress asked, no doubt concerned by the crazy lady who appeared to be having some sort of seizure.
"I'm fine. I'm fine," I muttered distractedly. Confident that the ghost was on my heels, I pushed open the door to the ladies room.
I crouched down and peered under the three stalls, making sure we had the room to ourselves. All I needed now was for someone to hear me "talking to myself," and my life would get infinitely more complicated than it already was.
"You can really see me?" she asked, hovering in front of the paper towel dispenser.
"Yes." I offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "My name is Vicky. What's yours?"
"Juliet. Juliet Rota."
"Nice to meet you, Juliet. Do you mind me asking how long you've been…like that?"
"Dead? Almost two years."
"And have you been following him, that man Cusak, the entire time?"
She nodded.
"Do you mind me asking why?" I was pretty sure I already knew the answer, but I'd found that in dealing with ghosts, it was better not to make assumptions. Come to think of it, that's pretty good advice to apply to the living too.
"He killed me."
I nodded. I'd guessed that. "And what unfinished business do you have?"
"You mean, besides living my whole life?"
The hairs on my arms stood at attention as her highly charged emotions filled the small, enclosed space. "I understand you're upset…" I trailed off, deciding that spouting platitudes was probably not the best way to help this murder victim. I took a new tact. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"
She crossed her arms over her chest. "I want him to pay."
I inwardly groaned. I was already trying to figure out who'd killed the frat boys. I didn't feel equipped to take on this murder investigation too. "I'm not—"
"My big sister cries herself to sleep every night, not knowing where she went wrong." The ghost's eyes filled with tears. She leaned toward me and whispered, as though afraid someone might overhear her. "She thinks I'd become a prostitute and was killed by one of my customers."
"But you weren't?" To be honest, the short, gold dress had me wondering about Juliet's career choice.
"No! I had a date, which is why I was dressed up like this." She plucked distastefully at the material. "But my car broke down, and I never made it."
"And you blame Cusak?"
"I'd gotten my cell phone out to call someone for help when this car pulled up behind me. He got out…and…and…that's all I remember."
"That's not uncommon," I murmured. "Lots of times people don't remember their deaths if they were traumatic."
"So you've met lots of ghosts like me? People who were murdered?"
"Just a few," I said, thinking of Martin, Donny, and Buck. "But I met one once who'd been dead a long time, and she told me that lots of ghosts don't remember how they died."
"So what am I supposed to do?" Juliet asked. "Follow him around for the rest of his life?"
"No. You've got to figure out what your unfinished business is and wrap that up."
"He has to pay."
Her vehemence sent a chill down my spine.
"You have to help me."
"I'm not really—"
"You're the only one who knows the truth. You have to tell someone."
I shook my head slowly. "Not a good idea. Without proof, they'll just think I'm delusional. That won't help you."
"Then what—"
Three sharp raps on the restroom door startled us both. I yelped. Juliet dissipated into nothingness.
The waitress who'd asked if I was okay pushed the door open and stuck her head in. "You okay, hon?"
I nodded.
"That good-looking guy you're with asked me to come check on you."
"That's very kind of you." I made a show of turning on the sink water to wash my hands. "I'll be right out."
"I'll let him know." The door swung shut.
I took my time washing and drying my hands, but Juliet didn't reappear. On my return trip to the table, I saw that she was once again shadowing Cusak, who was now sitting with his wife and son.
Smoke watched my progress as I crossed the room. A furrow had settled between his eyes, signaling his concern.
I summoned up my brightest smile as I slid into my seat. "So what did you think of the soup?"
He cocked his head to the side. "You didn't have to go hide out in the bathroom. Cusak is a blowhard and a bully, but he's harmless."
"I'm not so sure about that," I muttered.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
A familiar voice trilling from the doorway saved me from having to answer.
"Vicky!" Mom called. "Smoke!"
Ignoring the hostess trying to corral them like wayward cattle, my parents cut across Soup for Nuts.
"Sorry about this," I apologized to Smoke, while secretly glad for the reprieve their arrival offered.
"Hiya, Sweetheart." Dad planted a kiss on my cheek. "What are you doing here?"
"Having lunch."
Dad cocked his head to the side quizzically. "But you hate soup."
Smoke raised his eyebrows as though he was asking me why I'd suggested coming here if I didn't like the food.
"It's cold," I said quickly.
Dad stared at me like I'd suddenly started spouting Martian. "But you really hate soup."
Mom delivered a none-too-subtle elbow to Dad's solar plexus. "Hush, Honey. Can't you see we're interrupting them?"
"We have to get back to work," I said hurriedly, before Dad could pull up the chair he was reaching for. Dad was obviously in one of his Twenty Questions moods, and I really didn't want to be interrogated in front of my employee.
"You work too hard." Dad placed a chair beside mine and indicated Mom should have a seat.
Mom shrugged an apology at me as she sat down.
"Tell us what kind of job you're working on." Dad swung another chair up to the table.
Trapped, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "You've seen the stories about the three college kids that were murdered?"
Dad nodded.
"That."
"The poor parents of those boys," Mom clucked sympathetically. "Losing a child must be terrible."
I turned away when Smoke shot me an inquiring look. I knew he was thinking that Mom must be delusional if she didn't believe Jerry was dead.
"And then to lose their only child…" Mom continued. "It's just heartbreaking."
"Only child?"
"Yes. The poor mother was absolutely heartbroken on television."
"Which of them was it?" I asked.
Mom shrugged. "You know me and names."
Dad continued with his questions. "That happened a while ago, didn't it?"
When I didn't respond because I was puzzling over the "only child" bit, Smoke answered him. "First the police and crime scene technicians had to finish their work in the place, Mr. Spring. Then your daughter got the job, but it's slow going, since it was a pretty violent scene."
"I guess it's lucky she hired you when she did," Mom interjected.
"I was lucky she decided to take me on," my loyal employee said.
"Speaking of which, it's time for us to get back to work. The New England Clam Chowder is good today," I said, getting to my feet.
"I love New England!" My father rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation.
"You can't have all that cream," Mom nagged. "How many times has the doctor told you to watch your cholesterol?"
"But—" Dad argued weakly.
"And don't you go encouraging his bad habits." Mom fixed me with the same glare she'd given me when I was fifteen and announced that I wanted to get a tattoo like Venus had.
I knew better than to get into another discussion about my father's heart healthy diet, so instead of responding, I pressed a kiss first to her cheek and then to Dad's. I walked away with a wave and without saying another word. I made sure not to glance in Cusak's direction.
