Shattered Spirits

by L. L. Bartlett

  “It’s up to you,” he said.

  “Then I vote for the sponge bath and slathering myself in deodorant. Because I’m damn tired of being exhausted by what’s supposed to be simple shit.”

  “We can hire—”

  “No! I don’t want that. I’ve had way too many people touching me these last couple of years. If I didn’t connect with others the way I do, I could probably handle it. But you have no idea how creeped out and violated I feel by another’s touch.” Whoa—that came out way more vehemently than I’d intended, but he seemed to get the message.

  Richard’s gaze slid across the floor toward the bathroom floor. Herschel had finished his breakfast and was now licking his front paws. “I think I can identify with you on that.”

  Yeah? Maybe in some ways we were both on the same wavelength.

  “Okay. So, after washing and breakfast, what’s our plan?” he asked.

  “A trip to the cemetery. If I can again find Alice.”

  “And then?” Richard asked, his gaze once again straying to where Herschel sat.

  “We punt.”

  He looked back to me and seemed unhappy with that answer. “Which means?”

  “We sit and talk and decide our next move.”

  He nodded. “That seems reasonable.”

  We looked at each other for long seconds. It seemed like it was me who needed to address the new normal. “So, are you now my designated caregiver?”

  Richard found the floor to be infinitely interesting—sort of. “Brenda is rather overwhelmed by things.”

  I’d known that, but I didn’t blame her for feeling that way.

  “I’m sorry to be such a burden.” This was an old—very old—hurt. “I can’t tell you how grateful—”

  “Shut up.” He didn’t say more.

  I couldn’t, either.

  “So, what’s the sponge bath process?” Richard asked.

  I had to stifle a laugh. As a physician, he’d probably never had to do any basic patient care. Well, it couldn’t hurt for him to be made aware of all the one-on-one attention a nurse had to supply his or her patients. “It all starts with soap and water. And don’t worry, I’m perfectly capable of handling that part on my own.”

  To say he looked relieved, was putting it mildly.

  12

  By the time I got washed, changed, and had breakfast, it was after ten. Everything took so Goddamn much time. But finally Richard got me into his car and mentioned how they were contemplating buying a minivan to replace Brenda’s sedan. The thought was, that it would be easier to transport baby Betsy in the years to come. Yeah, I believed in that and the tooth fairy.

  Richard drove down Main Street and I looked out the passenger window, taking in the sights. During the past two years, I’d pretty much become a homebody. I loved tending the garden in Richard’s yard. I went to work. Maggie and I had good times barbecuing and spending quiet time together. But knowing I was stuck in a room inside Richard’s house for the foreseeable future made me feel claustrophobic. Now that I was confined, I felt the need for wide open spaces.

  No doubt about it, Forest Lawn Cemetery was nothing but wide open spaces, since its denizens were buried beneath the ground.

  We’d been to the cemetery on weekdays, when not many people were around, but on that Sunday there seemed to be a lot of people enjoying the quiet, visiting the graves of their loved ones, and using the place as their running and biking routes—not unlike Dave and me. Richard drove along the asphalt path until we again reached Section H, and I was glad it was as deserted as usual. He stopped the car and cut the engine in front of the bench monument where I’d last encountered Alice.

  “Is there a chance I could meet your friend?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Could you ask?”

  He’d met my psychic mentor, Sophie Levin, but only once. It was because she’d decided to connect with him—not vice versa.

  “I will,” I told him, “but don’t expect much. It may be that she has no choice in the matter.”

  Richard nodded. “I’ll do the same as last time; drive around the cemetery and wait over the hill until you call. But please, don’t go traipsing around and fall again.”

  “That’s the last thing I want to do.”

  Again he nodded, got out of the car, looked all around the area, then came around to the passenger side and helped me out, handing me my crutches. “Be careful.”

  “I’ve got your cell phone on speed dial,” I reminded him and wondered if he really thought there were thugs hanging out in the cemetery, ready to pounce.

  He watched me hobble over to the bench before he got in the car and took off. I watched him disappear.

  Once again, I noticed the near total absence of sound. All I heard were the leaves gently rustling in the trees, while all around me were the graves of more than one hundred and sixty thousand souls. It was a little disquieting. Not so much being surrounded by so many of the dead, but that the only restless spirit I’d encountered was Alice.

  “You’re back.”

  Alice’s soft voice startled me. I turned to my left. “You can give a guy a heart attack by just showing up like that, and I’m not eager to leave this earthly plain.”

  “Neither was I,” she said ironically. She sat down on the bench opposite me, feet flat on the ground, legs pressed together looking prim and proper. “Your face is healing.”

  “Slowly.”

  Her smile was tentative. “I missed you.”

  “Me? Or just the opportunity to have someone to talk to?”

  She shrugged. “A little of both, I guess. Did you find out who killed me?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry. It’s only been a few days. My partner and I have done some research, but all we’ve only come up with are a lot more questions.”

  “You’ve got a partner?” she asked, intrigued. “Are you a gumshoe?”

  I was tempted to answer in my best Bogie slur, but decided against it since I was pretty sure the guy didn’t become a known actor until Alice had been dead at least a decade. “Sort of.”

  She waited for more of an explanation.

  “My brother and I are talking about starting a business to help people like you.”

  “Restless spirits?”

  “Cold cases.” I had to explain what that meant.

  “You mean, nobody’s been looking into what happened to me?” she asked, distressed.

  “Not for a long time,” I admitted.

  Poor Alice looked crestfallen. Everyone she’d ever loved—and probably even knew—was dead. It seemed that I was the only one who knew, cared, or remembered her. It was a sobering thought.

  “Tell me about your partner,” Alice said at last.

  “He’s a doctor. He’s married. He has a little girl who’s just eight months old—”

  “Ohhh,” she cooed.

  “And he’d like to meet you.”

  Alice drew back. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t want to meet him?”

  “I—I don’t think it’s allowed.”

  “Who says?”

  She seemed to squirm.

  “Never mind.”

  “What did you find out about me?” Alice asked.

  “Are you sure you want to hear?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  So I gave her a quick rundown on all that we’d learned. Her frown deepened as she listened. “Is that all?”

  “That’s what we’ve learned so far from public records. Not everything is on the Internet.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s complicated,” I explained. “We haven’t tracked down what happened to your beau yet. He was badly hurt, probably by the person or people who killed you.”

  “Oh, poor Joseph. Did he recover?”

  “I don’t know. We’re hoping to get a look at the police records, but at this point, we don’t even know if they still exist.”

  Her eyes seemed to grow moist a
nd her lower lip trembled.

  “We’re not giving up. In fact, we’ve hardly even started. It could take us a long time—and maybe never—to figure out what happened to you and why. I was hoping you could answer some questions for me.”

  “I’ll try,” she said sincerely.

  “Okay. First of all, what were you doing at a speakeasy the night you died?”

  Alice’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. “Nice girls don’t go to speakeasies,” she said, her voice hushed.

  “But you did.”

  “I am a nice girl,” she reiterated.

  “I’m sure plenty of nice girls went to places like that—just looking for a little fun, right?”

  “My father would not have approved.”

  “There’s not much he can do about it now. And speaking of your father, you said he ran a number of businesses. Can you tell me the names of them?”

  Alice frowned. “Papa didn’t talk about them much. He said a girl like me didn’t need to worry about such things. He told me I needed to concentrate on learning what it took to be a good wife.”

  I had to remind myself that Alice had been born a hundred plus years before. I knew neither Brenda nor Richard would ever want CP to settle for only that. Brenda had put her career on hold while CP was young, but she had plans to return to the workforce at some point. Not that she would ever need the money, but because she found being a nurse and helping people to be a worthy endeavor.

  “Can you tell me anything about his businesses? The names or about what industries they involved?”

  “Papa sometimes talked about imports, but never to Mama and me. Sometimes I would hear him on the telephone talking to the people who worked for him.”

  “Do you remember any of their names?”

  Alice giggled. “One of his foremen was named Shifty Hartz. I always thought that was a funny name. Papa used to mention him a lot, but I don’t know what his job was.”

  The more I heard, the more I began to believe that Alice’s father was involved in something that wasn’t on the up and up. Since she’d died during Prohibition, I kind of got the feeling her father might have been involved in the illicit liquor trade, especially if he was into importing goods. Buffalo was across the river from Canada where alcohol had been totally legal during the thirteen years of Prohibition in the US.

  I was no walking encyclopedia on the era, but I did know that it was the reason organized crime gained a stranglehold on the country that lasted for decades. But if all Alice knew about her father’s business dealings was that it allowed her to buy pretty clothes and shoes when many more had nothing, then she wasn’t going to be able to help Richard and me find her killer.

  It suddenly occurred to me that Alice’s death might have been collateral damage. What if her father had crossed someone? Perhaps not only did he import illegal liquor, but what if he’d owned one of the speakeasies around Pearl Street? Alice’s death might have been a simple hit by Hiram Newcomb’s enemies or competitors.

  I tried another tack. “Did your folks ever serve liquor in their home during Prohibition?”

  “Oh, no. Mama was a member of the Women’s Christian Temperance League. She wouldn’t allow wine or beer in the house. Not ever!”

  “How did you feel about that?”

  Alice looked embarrassed.

  I tried again. “Why did you patronize a speakeasy?”

  “I loved my Mama, but I didn’t want to be her. I wanted to have fun.”

  And who could blame her?

  “Tell me more about your beau.”

  Alice’s smile was radiant. “He’s so wonderful.”

  She spoke about him in the present tense, and I didn’t correct her.

  “He’s got brown hair, brown eyes—like yours—and is so kind and gallant. He always held the door open for me. He always protected me. He—” She stopped.

  “Did he try to protect you the night you died?”

  Alice frowned. “I’m rather confused about that night. I may have had a little too much to drink. There were glasses of gin and….” She didn’t elaborate farther.

  “Do you remember leaving the club?”

  Again, Alice’s expression darkened. “Maybe.”

  “You said you remembered being happy. You enjoyed yourself that night?”

  Her smile returned. “Oh, yes! We danced—we drank. We sat with friends and shared wonderful things to eat.”

  “Friends? Do you remember their names?”

  Alice’s smile grew bigger. “Bessie Armitage and her beau Francis Ogilvy. Sophie Stanley and her gentleman Andrew Cambridge were there.”

  “Where did you met these friends?”

  “I went to school with Bessie and Sophie at Miss Farthingate’s School for Young Ladies—although I’m sure Miss Farthingate would have been scandalized to learn that three of her charges ever darkened The Blue Moon’s door.”

  “That was the name of the speakeasy?”

  Alice nodded. “It was the best of the best here in Buffalo. Although sometimes our gang of six would cross the river and go to Fort Erie. We didn’t have to feel guilty for the booze we drank in Canada.” She looked at me. “Did Prohibition ever end?”

  “Not long after you died,” I assured her.

  “That’s good. What do you drink?”

  “I’m a bourbon man.”

  “I don’t think I ever had that. I wish I could try it.”

  “So do I.”

  We lapsed into a long interlude of silence. I looked over the acres and acres of tombstones, while Alice seemed more introspective. She was the first to speak again. “Have I told you enough to help you find out who killed me?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “What if I learn things you won’t want to hear?”

  “Such as?”

  I thought carefully about what I was about to say. “There’s a reason I can see and talk with you.”

  “I wondered about that.”

  “I have what is called an empathic ability.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means I can feel—understand—what others are going through. Something drew me here to you.”

  “I can’t think what. I didn’t know—or see you—until you were here one day, and I hoped you could help me. I’m so thankful that you arrived.”

  Her words did not comfort me. I had assumed she’d drawn me here to Forest Lawn. That she didn’t think she had made it all the more confusing. Something else had to be going on—but what that was, I had no clue.

  “Can you tell me anything else about the circumstances of your death?”

  Again Alice seemed to shrink into herself. “No. But I will think about it and perhaps when you return I’ll be able to tell you more.”

  “That would be helpful.”

  Alice stood. “I should probably let you go for now. When will you return?”

  “In a few days.” I looked down at my cast. “Right now it’s hard for me to get around.” Or concentrate.

  Alice nodded. “You need to take care of yourself. Do you have anyone to help you?”

  I wish I could say that Maggie was there for me, but the truth was it was Brenda and Richard twenty-four/seven.

  “I’m good,” I told Alice, but there were levels of good and they seemed to shift on any given day.

  She nodded. “Until we meet again.” Alice grew more and more transparent until there was nothing left but the soft rustle of the leaves and just me sitting there.

  I looked around me and suddenly felt terribly alone. Alice had been by herself for decades with no one to talk to, no one to connect with—isolated. I’d always thought of death as the absence of everything. My Catholic upbringing surfaced and I realized Alice’s predicament; she had landed in purgatory—stuck somewhere between the living and the dead.

  I didn’t want to think about it.

  I pulled out my cell phone and hit Richard’s number. “Please come and get me.”

  S
econds later, the Mercedes bounded over the hill and came to a halt in front of me. Richard cut the engine once again and got out of the car. “So—success?” He sounded hopeful.

  “That’s debatable.” I reached for my crutches and wobbled to my feet. “Can we go somewhere for lunch to talk, or do we have to go home?”

  “You don’t want to go back to the house?”

  I shook my head. “I need to hear voices other than the ones in my head. Will Brenda be pissed if we go out without her?”

  “I don’t think so,” he answered quickly. Was it possible he wasn’t yet ready to go home because he didn’t want to face Herschel? “What did you have in mind?”

  “Nothing fancy. Just a chance to get out among people. I’m starting to feel stir crazy.”

  “You’re not the only one.” He helped me back into the car, then crossed to the driver’s side and got in. “There’s a pad and pen in the glove box if you want to write anything down.”

  “Good idea.”

  By the time we reached the restaurant, I’d finished my notes, but I wasn’t sure what any of it was worth or what it could mean.

  * * *

  Brentano’s parking lot was nearly full when Richard pulled up in front of the popular Italian restaurant. All the handicapped parking spots were full. “Do you want to try somewhere else?”

  Jeff shook his head. “I’ll just have to hobble along as best I can.” He sounded depressed.

  The closest spot was too narrow to open the passenger side door wide enough to extricate his brother, so Richard took one at the far end of the lot. Two minutes later, they entered the eatery.

  After being seated, and Jeff’s broken leg was accommodated, Richard ordered drinks, while his brother read over the notes he’d made on the way. “Well?”

  Jeff looked up. “I got the names of some of Alice’s friends, but they’ve probably been dead for decades. They might have children, but it’s not likely they would have known about Alice. She didn’t seem to know just what her father’s business dealings were, but the more I learn, the more I think he may have been a rumrunner.”

  “That’s interesting,” Richard said, just as their drinks arrived.

  “Ready to order?” asked the thin waitress with the bleached blonde ponytail. At least it was blonde on top. The underside was a vivid shade of purple.