The First Ghost

by Nicole Dennis

  “Come back. There’s more. I told them it was murder. Detective Fierro is going to look into it. You were poisoned with a heart medicine called Rymeced. You do know who takes Rymeced, right? I think Dr. Seleman poisoned you.”

  She stared at me in horror. “Jon Seleman? He’s my boss. He’s got a bad heart. He keeps medicine in his office.”

  “Corinne, don’t take this the wrong way, but were you in the habit of eating other people’s food?”

  Her pudgy face convulsed with anger. “How dare you?”

  “If someone knew you hadn’t eaten and that you would eat the burrito, you might have been the intended target all along. Would Dr. Seleman have a reason to kill you? You weren’t having an affair with him or anything like that, were you?”

  “Of course not! Dr. Seleman wouldn’t do something like that to me. He isn’t like most of the researchers there. He’s nice to the staff. Someone must have taken his medicine.” She seemed truly distressed, but if I believed her, there went my one and only theory. I wasn’t very good at the detective thing.

  “If it isn’t Dr. Seleman, it has to be one of your co-workers. I can’t imagine anyone else having access to the medicine and to the burrito.”

  “But now he knows, right? The detective is going to treat it like a homicide?”

  I hesitated. “He said he would look into it.”

  Starla snorted. “He ain’t gonna do shit. Don’t nobody care about people like us, Corinne.”

  I glared at Starla, but she was studying her nails, which had been painted hot pink roughly three or four weeks ago, judging by the chipped polish.

  “That’s not true. I wouldn’t have gotten involved if I didn’t care.” And if you weren’t both haunting me. “I do care.”

  “Yeah, but you’re one of us,” Starla said. “Just a working nobody.”

  “I beg your pardon, but I’ve got skills. I type seventy words a minute and I’m proficient in spreadsheets and accounting software.”

  “Hah. You’re a secretary. They care more about your legs than taking a letter.”

  “My last boss was a woman.”

  “That don’t mean she wasn’t looking at your ass.” Starla snapped her fingers.

  “Don’t snap at me,” I said.

  “I’ll snap if I want to.” She snapped again.

  “One of my co-workers,” Corinne said. Starla and I turned to look at her. “You need a job.”

  “Yes,” I said slowly.

  Corinne’s smile grew. “I know a secretarial job that’s vacant. I’ll bet you’re qualified. I’ll bet you could give answers that would knock my boss’s socks off, especially if you had inside information.”

  My eyes widened. “I am not taking a job at your office to play detective. No way. No how.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said happily. “I’ll coach you.”

  * * * *

  By morning, I was eager to get rid of Starla. I wasn’t so eager to make the phone call she wanted.

  “I don’t think Detective Fierro wants to hear from me. We didn’t part on the best terms.”

  “A phone call is perfect. That way he knows you ain’t stealing any files. Just tell him that Joby killed me and buried my body. But if this don’t work out, you can go down there and, you know, do whatever you gotta. I could tell you where Joby is. I’ll bet he’s shacking up with Wanda right now. He’s lucky I can’t get at him.”

  “I told you. I’ll pass the info along, but that’s it. I am not the enforcer. Got that?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Detective Fierro was less than enthusiastic about my call. “I told you I would look into the Corinne Simpson case.”

  “That’s not why I’m calling. I need to talk to you about a different woman. Ellie has gotten some vibes.” Good thing I knew so much about the spirit world, because Ellie was going to kill me.

  “Really. Ellie.”

  “Yes, about a woman named Starla Mueller.” I spelled it for him.

  “Be right back.”

  He was gone for a long time.

  She hovered by my ear. “What did he say?”

  “Patience, Starla. He’s getting the file.”

  “I wanna listen in.”

  “I don’t have a speakerphone. Just get close.”

  She was practically on top of me.

  “Took me a while,” Fierro said. “I was looking in homicide, but there isn’t one. What I’ve got is a missing persons report on a Starla Kaye Mueller.”

  “Missing persons?”

  “Filed by her boss when she didn’t show up for work.”

  “Good ol’ Dean,” Starla said.

  “What about her husband?”

  Papers rustled. “He claims she left him for a guy named Willerby.”

  “What?” Starla was outraged. “That’s Dean’s cousin. That’s crazy.”

  “That’s not possible,” I said. “That’s her boss’s cousin. Wouldn’t the boss know if she ran off with his cousin?”

  Fierro paused. “That’s right,” he said. “Willerby is his cousin. What did you say your interest in this was?”

  “Starla isn’t missing,” I said. “I...Ellie says she’s dead.”

  “Really. Dead. What else does Ellie say?”

  I glanced over at Starla. “Starla was murdered by her husband, Joby. She’s sure of it.”

  “Show me some evidence. Joby Mueller says Starla she left him, and she’s certainly entitled to do so.”

  “He would say that. He killed her.”

  “He choked me.” Starla's eyes were red and angry again, the crooked pink line set grimly. “Bastard,” she muttered.

  “She...um...Ellie says the husband strangled her and he...” I looked at the notes I had written on the back of an envelope. “He killed her in a car and then put her in the trunk. He drove north on Thirty-Five up to the campgrounds and buried her behind his family’s cabin on Lake Texoma. She’s under the firewood.”

  “You’re sure of this?”

  “Ellie was very specific.”

  “I’ll say. We’ll talk to the husband again.”

  “You’ll look under the woodpile? You’ll get Starla’s body? She should be buried with her family.”

  He sighed. “Do you have any evidence? Anything other than vibes?”

  “What do you mean, evidence? Go dig up her body. What other evidence do you need?”

  “We can’t go tromping around someone’s property digging holes. We have to have a good reason.”

  “I just gave you one. A dead body isn’t a good reason?”

  “We don’t know it’s up there.”

  “I’m telling you it is.”

  “I’m talking about a warrant, Ms. Mahaffey. We need a search warrant to do what you’re suggesting. No offense, but there isn’t a judge alive who would give us a warrant based on this. Texoma isn’t in my jurisdiction, you know. I can’t call up some agency and ask a detective to get a warrant based on a phone call from a psychic.”

  Starla zoomed up to the ceiling and careened around, cursing like a drunken sailor.

  “So what do you need?”

  “Real evidence. Something more than a vibe. You bring me something we can take to a judge that gives us a reason to think the husband killed her and buried her up there and I can get that warrant.”

  It wasn’t satisfying, but it was an answer. Corinne sulked in the kitchen because I wasn’t interested in her former job, and Starla was still zooming and cussing. I now had two pissed-off ghosts living with me.

  “Things ain’t going so well. Are they, doll?”

  I flopped on the couch next to Hephzibah. “Gee, what makes you say that?”

  “The mark on Starla is almost gone. Same for Corinne. We’re about out of time,” she said very softly.

  My shoulders slumped in defeat. “You want me to go to Corinne’s office?”

  “You have a better idea?”

  I didn’t. I was fresh out of ideas other than shopping, which sounded ni
ce, but my bank account was dwindling and I was going to be evicted. Ever try to sign a lease without a steady job? I did the only thing I could think of.

  I called Harry and told him I needed a ride.

  * * * *

  I dressed in my most professional clothes and tamed my hair into a neat chignon. It takes a lot of spray to hold it there and a few stray curls escaped, but it was the best I could do.

  I was armed with my résumé and loads of information from Corinne. I suspected some of Corinne’s excitement had to do with the idea of seeing former co-workers. Her job paid surprisingly well. If the people were okay, I might even stay.

  I took the red train north so I would be much closer for Harry to pick up. I was a little nervous having Corinne with me, but I didn’t see or smell the demon. For a moment, I thought I caught sight of a hat and a bushy mustache, but I blinked and then wasn’t sure if it was wishful thinking. Was Lester Jacobsen still riding the rails or had he become demon food?

  After a breathtaking Harry-ride out past the suburbs--where I mostly had my eyes closed and prayed not to die-- my brother dropped me off at a gleaming white building near the edge of a commercial area. The exterior gave no clue to what happened inside. It could be anything from meat processing to accounting.

  Inside were more gleaming white and security cameras. A guard at a console had his eyes trained on a nine-inch black and white. As I drew closer I could see it wasn’t a security feed that had captured his attention, but a soap opera.

  “Help you?” he said without his eyes leaving the screen.

  “I’m here to apply for a job.”

  He glanced up. “The agency sent you? I thought they were done interviewing.”

  “It’s for the secretarial position,” I said.

  “Oh. Okay. I’ll let Duncan know you’re here.” He made a call and then frowned. “Duncan doesn’t know anything about you. You sure you’ve got the right place?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly. “I’m here about the opening in the secretarial pool. My understanding is it hasn’t been filled. I’m here to apply.” I waved my résumé. Corinne whispered in my ear. “Are you Carl?”

  He blinked. “That’s right.”

  “I was told to ask for you. I’m supposed to report to Duncan Werner. Stephanie sent me.”

  It was like saying open sesame. “She must have forgot to call. Go on up. I’ll tell Duncan you’re coming.” He waved me over to an elevator bank. “You know where to go?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Once inside the elevator, I relaxed. The security wasn’t that tight. He’d never bothered to ask for ID. “You want to take the fourth floor and turn right,” Corinne whispered.

  “You don’t need to whisper,” I whispered back. “I’m the only one who can hear you.”

  Duncan Werner was exactly as Corinne had described him, a fussy man dressed in a trendy, plum-colored suit with a bald head and neat goatee. He eyed me head to toe.

  “I can’t believe Stephanie didn’t call. I hope you’re more suitable than the last candidate. This way.” With the flick of his wrist, he indicated I should follow him. He led me to yet another sterile room. The whole place was so clean, I felt grimy in comparison.

  He spent a moment eyeing my résumé. “We do happen to have an opening for someone with your skills.” He tapped the page. “Tell me about your credentials.” Thanks to Corinne’s coaching, I knew all his favorite buzzwords and was able to sell Duncan on my “dedication to teamwork and a proactive approach to people-oriented problem-solving.” He nodded along, quite pleased with my answers. I walked out with a job starting in two days.

  * * * *

  Walter picked me up in the blue and maize Mahaffey-Ringold van, but the transportation came with a price: dinner at my mother’s house.

  He was appropriately pleased I had a job. Then he started with the stepfatherly concern, which I guess after twenty-three years he’s entitled to. “So how’s life in the city? Any new friends?”

  I had lots of new dead friends, but that probably wasn’t what he was looking for. “Actually, I have met someone.”

  “Really?” He perked up. “You met a man? That’s wonderful. What does he do?” In Walter’s eyes this is the measure of a man. He jerked the wheel to miss a pothole.

  “He’s a doctor. I met him when I bumped my head.”

  Walter nearly drove off the road. He was like a little kid bursting at the seams. As soon as we walked in the door he announced, “Imogene! Imogene, guess what. Our girl is dating a doctor. A doctor, Imogene.”

  Mother appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on an apron she’d picked up at last year’s Christmas bazaar that said Kiss me, I’m Catholic. “A doctor? Oh, honey!” She clasped her hands.

  I dropped my coat on the couch. “I don’t know I’d say we’re dating. Walter asked if I’d met someone.”

  “You aren’t going out?” Mother’s face fell.

  “We have gone out, but only once.”

  “Then you are dating. Kissed him yet?”

  “Mother!”

  Harry was in the background, already seated at the table. “Good for you. You can buy a house in the ’burbs near Ellie and procreate.”

  “It’s a little soon to pick out the china pattern.”

  “Can we meet him?” Walter asked.

  “How about I get to know him first, okay? Then you guys can scare him off.”

  It was hard to blame them. My last couple of boyfriends weren’t exactly husband material: a bartender, a telemarketer, and a drummer. I think the drummer scared them the most, but he was the most fun. Too bad the concept of faithfulness was lost on him.

  Harry wasn’t in a chatty mood. He pouted at the table, knife and fork in hand. Mother frowned his direction as she set the serving platter down. Harry was in the doghouse for something.

  Mother isn’t much of a cook. Tonight’s menu was dry pot roast, watery mashed potatoes and mushy veggies. But there was cheesecake and it was fabulous. Walter and I had picked it up from Perulli’s on the way home.

  Walter carved generous slabs of roast for everyone, which meant fewer leftovers for him to choke down.

  “So,” Mother said brightly, “other than dating a doctor...” She looked over at Harry, who blushed up the back of his neck and hunkered down over his plate. “...how is everything?

  Some hint of twin solidarity made me blurt out, “I’m being evicted. Pass the potatoes.”

  Harry made a snorking sound suspiciously like Billy’s. Walter paused, mouth open, his fork in midair.

  “You’re moving home?” Mother asked.

  “No, I’ll find a new place.”

  “But why?” Mother asked. “You love your little place. Aren’t you paying your bills?”

  “Hah! I bet it’s the dog,” Harry said. “I don’t know why you got the darn thing.”

  Mother and I made eye contact. “I have to keep the dog for now. Then Ellie wants him for her kids.”

  Mother put her fork down. “You’ve been to see Ellie?” I hadn’t meant to go there. I kept my head down and stuffed my face with creamed corn still tinny from a can.

  “It’s no big deal. It was about the dog.”

  I shot Mother a glare, daring her to have the conversation in front of Harry and Walter. She stabbed her roast. “We can talk about Ellie later.”

  Harry looked much more cheerful now that I had been knocked off my perfect-child pedestal. As soon as the meal was over, he announced that he was taking me home, which was cool with me. I needed to take Billy out to piddle, assuming he hadn’t already peed all over the bathroom, and if I stayed, Mother was sure to rake me over the coals about Ellie.

  I felt a headache coming on and wasn’t in the mood to confess my plan to Mother, but I wasn’t crazy about the idea of lying to her about my involvement with Ellie, either. Avoidance really was the best solution.

  Harry slammed the door to his Chevy Nova and rocketed down the drive, barely tapping his brakes at the s
top sign before careening toward the outlet for the cul-de-sac. “I’m ready to move out,” he announced.

  “Since when?” I gripped the armrest and closed my eyes.

  “Since now.”

  “I thought you liked having Mother cook and clean for you. It’s like your own personal maid service, but it’s free.”

  “So why don’t you still live at home?”

  “Because it’s pathetic to still live at home.”

  “Then that’s why I want to move out, too.”

  I grinned. “You’re in the doghouse.”

  “I want to do what I want, when I want, and have whomever I want over.”

  “Hah! Mother caught you with a girl, didn’t she?”

  Harry scowled and merged onto the freeway at ninety miles an hour, swerving across three lanes of traffic, oblivious to indignant horns and fingers. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I knew it. She busted you with one of your little girlfriends. Were you making too much noise?”

  “She and Walter were supposed to be gone, okay? They missed their movie and came back. Walter probably got the time wrong.” He changed lanes on a whim, without apparent reason or logic.

  “Walked in on you? Wait. You aren’t saying she came into your room?” Harry’s room above the garage was sacrosanct. Mother never set foot in there if she could help it.

  “I said I didn’t want to talk about it,” he said through clenched teeth.

  My eyes narrowed. “You weren’t in your room, were you?” This detective stuff was fun. “You were on the couch. Please say you weren’t actually boinking this girl on Mother’s couch.”

  “Hah, hah, hah. Glad my life is so hilarious. I most certainly was boinking Angelique and having a damn good time if you must know. Geez, you would think no one ever had sex before the way she carried on. I guess it’s not as fine as boinking a doctor. Are you done making fun of me?”

  “For now.”

  “Good. ’Cause your getting evicted is perfect timing.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We should get a place together. Roommates. I could afford a way better place with a roommate. So could you. The problem is, most people piss you off.”

  “You piss me off, too.”

  “But we can live together. This is a proven fact.”

  It was a proven fact. Harry and I could live together without bloodshed. We had done so in the past. “Did you have a place in mind?”