by Angie Fox
“It’s my price,” Frankie said, the corner of his lip twisting into a sly grin. “Take it or leave it.”
He knew how much I needed him.
“We’ll keep it down,” Suds promised, like a kid pleading for a favor. Only he stepped sideways and wobbled a pot of daisies that stood dangerously close to the steps. “Damn it!”
“Suds,” I chastised.
He threw out his hands. “Hey, I get emotional and I cuss!”
I’d been talking about the daisies. When Suds got worked up, he could move things on our plane. It was a rare quality among ghosts and I wasn’t sure I wanted him around practicing it in a gang situation.
He winked at me.
I didn’t see where I had much of a choice.
“If I let this happen,” I began, “if the place I love, my ancestral home becomes the South Town Gang headquarters…”
“I like the sound of that.” Suds nodded to Frankie.
“You’ll stay on the back porch,” I instructed. “Lucy needs a ghost-free home.” And as long as Frankie kept his power to himself while I was inside with her, I’d only see and hear…one obnoxious ghost.
“No way.” Frankie shook his head.
“What’s the deal?” Suds asked. “It’s not like we can feel the weather.”
“That’s not the point,” Frankie said, advancing on me. “She’s tried more than once to stash me out on the porch.”
He loomed over me, as if he thought that would work.
“Porch,” I said simply. “It would make a lovely gang headquarters.” I doubted many gang hideouts had a pair of yellow Adirondack chairs, a swing, and fresh-smelling daisies. “It’s yours if you show me the ghosts at Rock Fall.”
Frankie hesitated, then let out a low groan. “You should be our torture expert.”
“I already have a job,” I said, pleased to be able to say that. “We leave at nine o’clock tomorrow.”
“You see how she treats me?” he asked Suds.
But the other gangster was too busy measuring out a space on the far end of the porch, by my hummingbird feeder. He paced out his steps carefully. “We could fit two poker tables over here.”
“Yeah, but who died with a poker table?” Frankie shot back.
I left them to it and went to fetch Lucy. They could scheme all night if they liked.
The South Town boys might be back in business—two of them at least—but then again, so was I.
Chapter 5
I slept well that night, even though I suspected Suds never left. But Frankie had taken back his power and I snuggled in with my skunk. We both had what we wanted.
Lucy and I woke early, like we always did since I’d sold the curtains. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows and over the modest futon I shared with my skunk. Lucy snuggled deeper into my grandmother’s quilt and was reluctant to get out of bed—until I made her a bowl of blueberries tossed with a Vita-Skunk nutrition mix.
She swished her tail and walked in circles while I set the bowl down.
“This is from Mommy’s new job,” I told her, watching her flick her ears as she ate. It felt good to serve fresh, healthy food that I’d earned through my wits and my willingness to problem solve…and, of course, through my ghost friend’s powers.
I began washing a handful of plump blueberries for myself. “Frankie and I are going to have a busy morning,” I said, “but with any luck, we’ll get to the bottom of that haunting today.”
Lucy snurfled and chewed. I took that as a vote of confidence as I bit into a juicy berry. Heaven.
After we gorged ourselves, I showered upstairs and changed into a cheerful yellow sundress.
It wasn’t the ideal outfit to wear when entering a dusty haunted house, not to mention one that hadn’t seen a visitor in a half century, but it was either that or the fancier white dress with blue hydrangeas.
If I did get paid in real dollars, my first order of business would be to visit the resale shop and find a good ghost-hunting outfit.
Maybe even an old spelunking hard hat with a light above the brim. I could paint it pink.
I felt quite optimistic and content, until Frankie met me at the bottom of the stairs.
“Time to go,” he said, his hat low over his eyes, his expression shifty.
I stood toe-to-toe with the gangster, finding it hard to believe Frankie would be eager to get on the job, especially this one. More likely, he wanted to get me out of the house. My voice went stern. “What did you do?”
He broke into a sly smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nothin’.” He hovered, blocking the hallway to the kitchen, and gestured his head toward the front door. “Let’s go out this way.”
“Let’s not,” I said, slipping past him, heading straight for the back porch.
“Hey now. Verity—”
I burst open the door, pushed past the screen and stood on my perfectly serene, delightfully Southern back porch. Birds tweeted and chirped to each other. Honeybees buzzed over the lilac bushes that reached almost to the daisy pots by the stairs. The empty porch swing swayed gently in the breeze.
If it was indeed the balmy morning air giving it motion.
I turned to the wide-eyed ghost standing in my kitchen. “What are you up to, Frankie?”
He held out his hands, with an innocence that wasn’t fooling anybody. “I have no idea what you could possibly mean,” he said, the words ringing hollow. He even had the nerve to look at me straight as he said it. “I am merely keeping up our deal.”
Which meant gangsters on my porch and any other loophole he could find. “I’m trusting you, Frankie,” I warned.
“That is your choice,” he concluded, gliding through the back wall. “Now we’d better get a move on or you’re going to be late.”
Not for one second did I believe he cared about my schedule. “Now you listen to me—” I began, letting the door bang closed behind me.
The ghost disappeared and then reformed twenty yards away, in the front passenger seat of my car.
So that was the way he was going to play it.
I knew his friends were out here. They had to be. I turned in a circle, keeping a sharp eye out for troublemakers, who were pretty much the only ghosts Frankie knew. “This is my house,” I declared.
A pot of daisies by the steps wobbled. Maybe I could at least make Suds nervous.
“I’m putting Suds in charge,” I added, pointing a finger and hoping it landed on somebody. “He’s responsible for any damage,” I warned. “So you all behave.”
A robin landed on the feeder at the end of the porch, took one look at the space, and then beat wings out of there like the place had caught fire.
Lovely.
I moved both my daisy pots away from the edge of the porch, gave one final mamma bear glare, and left to join Frankie in the car. “I regret this deal already,” I said, sliding into the driver’s seat.
The gangster merely shrugged. “Wait till you get to the Treadwell house.”
* * *
We’d agreed to meet Lee at the mansion. Hopefully, his ghosts would be better behaved than mine. As my ancient car climbed the steep rock path, I said a quick prayer for a simple, open-and-closed case and for enough luck to find something of value in the house.
My stomach tingled as we pulled into the circle drive in front of the mansion. Nerves, no doubt.
I’d hoped the house would appear less intimidating in the light of day, but no such luck. Decaying spiderwebs clung to the skeletons of dead bushes crumbling along the gray stone entryway. Lichens ran in tears from the windows. And a most unnatural, eerie silence draped over this part of the property.
No birds chirped. No insects buzzed. I couldn’t even detect the hint of a breeze.
I cleared my throat. “We’re here,” I said cheerfully, to no one in particular.
I’d wanted this. I’d asked for it.
As if responding to my greeting, a filmy figure appeared in a second-floor window. Her white g
auzy dress curled around her small frame and a pair of pigtails streamed out behind her featureless face.
Frankie let out a low whistle. “She don’t waste any time.”
“It could be the ghost from last night,” I ventured. She’d appeared in a second-story window last night as well, at about the same place in the house. “Either it’s a room across the hall or the same big room.” I’d go up there and see for myself.
Lee walked around from the back of the house and waved.
“Lee!” I called. “Come quick. There’s a figure in the window.” I turned to show him, but she had vanished.
“Tricky bugger,” Frankie muttered.
“She was right there,” I said to Lee, pointing to where I’d seen her.
He let out a half laugh, more overwhelmed than humored. “All these years, it’s been just me.” He buried his hands in his pockets. “It feels good to hear someone else say it.”
“I understand,” I said.
He had no idea how much.
I knew what it felt like to be isolated, to experience great moments of shock or fear, and not be able to talk about them. If I hadn’t had Ellis, I didn’t know what I would have done.
Lee wore a chambray shirt similar to last night’s and tan carpenter pants with mud-stained knees. We stood for a moment together, gathering courage for what we needed to do.
He adjusted the work-worn Sugarland Feed Store ball cap on his head. “You ready for this?”
“Yes.” I turned to the ghost on my other side. “Frankie?” I prodded.
His image flickered. “Remember, you asked for it.”
I stilled as the ghost’s power flowed over me. The gangster did it with an easy hand this time, which I appreciated. The energy prickled over my skin, like tiny needles. I opened myself to it, letting it settle deep into my joints and bones.
Thanks to Frankie, I would be able to see the property as the ghosts did. I was in their world as much as I was in mine.
Curious, I immediately looked to the window where we’d seen the figure. It remained empty.
With any luck, we’d encounter her inside.
I joined Lee as he headed to the front door. We stepped over the sticks and debris littering the once-grand steps, with Frankie gliding next to me. He passed straight through the dead, gnarled bushes to my left.
Lee paused in front of a pair of imposing doors, his fingers shaking as he drew them through his short-clipped hair. “How do you want to go about it?”
I understood his nervousness better than he realized. “Let’s see if we can meet your figure in white first.” I could use an ally. “Then we’ll see what’s in the rest of the house.”
He nodded sharply. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” he said, digging in his pocket for the key while I tried to avoid touching the weeds spilling from a pair of stone planters. He unlocked the door and eyed me before turning the knob.
No one had entered this place since the governess had been found dead. Perhaps we’d see her today, or at least her ghost.
“Let’s do it,” I said.
“This is the last time…” Frankie muttered behind me.
Only it wasn’t. “I gave up my porch and a chunk of my sanity this morning for you. We have a deal.”
Lee, to his credit, pretended all this was normal. He opened the door and gestured for me to go first.
I stepped into the foyer and was immediately hit with the smell of dust and dry rot. An elegantly curved wood bannister greeted me, its spindles laced with cobwebs. The red carpet runner sagged from its tarnished brass stays and had faded to a dull pink. A heavy, banded-iron chandelier loomed overhead.
A dull black stain marred the hardwood.
“What is that?” I asked, my footsteps echoing on the thick-cut planks. I stopped just short of the stain.
“I don’t see it,” Lee said, from behind me.
I bent down to inspect it further. It appeared human, as if a figure had been burned into the wood floor.
“It’s on the ghostly plane,” Frankie said, hovering over my left shoulder. That meant Lee couldn’t see it if he tried. “Looks like a marker. Somebody wanted to remember their death spot. It’s not like it’s haunted.”
I still didn’t want to walk over it.
So I made my way around. Lee followed my steps, which was wise. No sense offending the ghosts here. Although I wouldn’t have minded if he’d given up his ‘gentleman’ bit and stopped letting me go first.
We climbed the stairs, past the medieval-style chandelier dripping with ghostly tendrils of heaven-knew-what. I found it best in these instances to keep climbing.
“It’s strange,” I said, my gaze traveling to the landscape paintings lining the stairwell, their rich, gold frames heavy with dust. “When I’m tuned to the other side, I see places as the ghosts do.” That meant furniture that was no longer there, food that had long-ago rotted, music that no longer played. “But here, in this house, their reality and ours look the same.”
“Is that good or bad?” Lee asked.
My breath went shallow as I reached the top of the stairs. “I don’t know.”
Dirty stained glass cast uneven color over the landing. The art on the window formed a rose. Next to it stood a pair of large windows. This was where we’d seen our ghost last night.
I cleared my throat. “Hello?”
No response.
The floor creaked as Lee drew up behind me. No doubt he recognized where we stood.
The rest of the landing formed a semicircle, with five doors leading off of it: two toward the front of the house, two to the back, and one door open to a narrow staircase leading up.
“The ghost I saw this morning would have been over here,” I said, keeping my voice calm and my steps steady as I approached the door to the front right side of the house.
Perhaps it was her room. Might as well go wherever she felt most comfortable, because let’s face it, I’d be scared no matter where I was.
The knob felt cold as I turned it. Something on the other side gave resistance as I pushed the door in. I stiffened, ready for the worst.
When I peeked around the door, I saw an antique doll lying on the floor. It wore a black satin dress stained purple with age. Blond hair curled down to its shoulders. Its porcelain mouth twisted into a smirk. I turned and saw the entire back wall lined with shelves upon shelves of smiling dolls.
“I’ll wait out here,” Lee stated, abandoning my back.
“I’ll stick with him,” Frankie said, sinking into the floor, not even pretending to follow Lee as the ghost beat a hasty retreat.
“It’s just a little girl’s room,” I said.
A little girl who left decapitated doll heads in fountains, quite possibly the girl who had thrown herself off a cliff.
What had happened in this house?
“May I come inside?” I asked, stepping into the room. Pink silk wallpaper bubbled and hung in dirty shreds from the old plaster walls. A tarnished brass bed stood on the left wall, opposite the windows. I placed the doll on the dusty pillow and arranged her dress just so. “There. Let’s give her a nap,” I suggested, hoping to draw out the child. “Does your pretty doll have a name?” I prodded, straightening her dirty curls.
And what on earth could possess a young child to kill herself?
Goose bumps pricked up my arms. Something had happened to her.
I kept my steps casual, my tone friendly as I strolled toward a bare, dusty dresser between two windows. It struck me as odd. Not the dirt but the general tidiness of this room. Each doll seemed to have a place. The hairbrushes stood in a line on a small dressing table to my left.
Not that I had children, but my friend Lauralee’s boys couldn’t keep a clean room for as long as it took to dig through a toy box.
I stopped in front of the window in the same place the ghost had stood to greet me when I arrived. “I would very much like to meet you,” I said, turning to the empty room.
A weak,
tinkling laugh echoed from the landing outside. It sounded like a child.
I hurried to locate the source and found Lee with his back against the wall and his face pale as a sheet.
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes,” he hissed.
“Stay here,” I ordered. “I’m going to check out the rest of the rooms.”
He nodded.
The next doorway led to a young man’s room, with a desk instead of dolls. Across the hall, I found a suite of rooms overlooking the gardens. It had to have belonged to the master and mistress of the house. In the front was a small guest room. But no ghost.
“Laughter is good,” Lee reasoned, not moving an inch from his spot against the wall. “Maybe she’s a happy ghost. Maybe she doesn’t mind that we’re here.”
“Hold onto that thought,” I told him as my gaze landed on a ghost with a scarred face glaring down at us from the stairs leading to the third floor.
Chapter 6
She wore a black dress that covered her arms and her neck, her black hair slicked into a tight twist at the base of her skull. The entire left side of her face hung in a corded mass of scar tissue, obscuring the eye and causing her mouth to sag at an unnatural angle.
Her skirts rustled and the girl with the pigtails peeked out from behind her, eyes wide.
I did my best to smile as I approached the stairwell. “You must be the governess,” I said, my voice quivering as I attempted to sound friendly and relaxed.
Her mouth curled into a snarl and she hissed, a low wet sound that chilled me to the bone.
“Don’t go up,” Frankie’s voice sounded in my ear.
Wise words, but they wouldn’t get us anywhere.
The governess glowered down at me.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, watching her grip on the bannister tighten. If anything, it was the other way around. “My name is Verity. I live here in Sugarland, too.”
The ghost of the governess stared at me, her image growing stronger and less transparent. The tendons in her neck stood out, her jaw clenched, and the melted half of her face appeared harsh against her protruding cheekbones.
