“Probably not,” Flapjack answered, a gleam in his eyes. “Though, it appears the night’s not over yet.”
“Who said you were invited?”
“How are you planning on stopping me?”
I threw my hands into the air. “Fine. Come along if you want. It’s not anything exciting. I’m just going out for a drive.”
“A drive?” he repeated, strutting across the living room.
Ignoring him, I opened the front door, then stepped through the door that led to the exterior staircase. Another narrower staircase led directly to my shop below, but I usually used the exterior that led directly to the side parking lot where my delivery van was parked.
Flapjack was already in the passenger seat when I climbed behind the wheel. I frowned at him and turned over the engine. The van rumbled to life and I backed out of the reserved space. Beechwood Harbor had a few late-night spots, but none of them were open at this hour. McNally’s Pub closed at midnight during the week, along with the pizza place. A little further outside town, there was a bar that would be open but I didn’t want a drink. Or, more accurately, I didn’t want a drink with the type that would be hanging around a rural bar at 2:30 in the morning.
That left the beach. I pointed the van toward my favorite lookout spot and flicked on the radio. Some pop song filtered through the speakers. I vaguely recognized it and hummed along. Anything to drown out the whirling thoughts. Flapjack stayed quiet, his tail moving in time with the beat. We drove past Beechwood Manor, and I noted an upstairs window was still lit up.
I glanced at Flapjack, wondering if he was the reason someone was still awake.
“It wasn’t me,” he said with a scowl. “I’ve left them alone since you told them about lemons. They’ve started cleaning the wood floors with this awful stuff.” He gagged.
I smiled and kept driving up the hill. A little way away from the manor, there was an informal lookout area that provided spectacular views of the harbor in the day, especially at sunset. However, even at night, I liked to sit and watch the waves rolling along under the moon. There was something grounding about the ocean.
Flapjack glanced at me when I pulled the lever for the parking brake. The engine was still rumbling, sending heat and music swirling around us. “What now?”
“Now, we sit.”
He glided through the air and sat on the dashboard. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Scar. I know you’re beating yourself up right now, but you shouldn’t.”
I shrugged, not ready to let myself off the hook yet.
Flapjack stilled. “How many whack-job ghosts have we come across? Dozens! Now you finally have a way to help. To do something about the spirits that stay here too long and go nuts. This library ghost”—he paused, shifting his words at my glare—“I mean, Loretta, wasn’t going to move on by herself. Right?”
I hesitated, but then finally nodded in agreement. “At least, I don’t think she would have.”
“Then you were doing the right thing. Putting her out of her misery before she could hurt herself or someone else.”
I scoffed. “You make it sound like she was a rabid dog or something.”
“Wasn’t she? In a way?” Flapjack poised the question with a hefty weight. “You add five or ten years and she’d be the next Rosie. And what if you weren’t there to deal with the fallout?”
My lips pressed together. Was he right? He’d been at my side for several nasty fights with ghosts over the years. Ghosts who hung around too long after they were meant to go tended to come unhinged, and depending on the amount of power, the results could be quite devastating. Was I simply heading off the inevitable before it came to pass?
“Maybe this is all a part of your gift. You’ve been twisted up about it since you talked to that voodoo lady in New Orleans. I know you have.”
I smiled gently at the cat. We rarely saw eye to eye, but there was no arguing that he knew me better than anyone. He was the only constant in my life (mostly a constant pain in the butt). He’d watched me grow up, travel the world, and he’d been there when I’d settled down and planted some roots, fallen in love.
“Scar, this power, whatever it’s capable of, would normally scare the bejeebies out of me. But I’m not scared, because I know you. Your only intentions are good and fair and you’ll do the right thing. You’ve just got to decide how deep you want to go with it.”
I bobbed my head as my eyes navigated back toward the ocean.
* * *
On the way back to the flower shop, I drove past the funeral home. Karla, or whomever had been awake on the evening’s earlier visit, had gone home, leaving the funeral home’s interior dark. Yellow light spilled across its façade from the street lights, and two spotlights illuminated the wooden sign posted in the center of the neatly manicured front yard.
“I’m assuming you know about Sabrina too?” I asked Flapjack as I slowed to a crawl before the historic home.
“She’s the murdered ghost?”
I nodded, my foot shifting back to the gas pedal. I picked up speed, still looking up at the funeral home. “I’m worried about her. She’s got a lot of emotions, and as we’ve seen—”
A figure appeared in the headlights. My heart rocketed out of my chest and I slammed my foot on the brakes. The van pulled to the right and stopped right before I hit the woman. Only then did reality catch up with my mind and I realized that it wasn’t a human standing there.
It was a ghost.
Sabrina Hutchins, to be more specific.
And she didn’t look happy.
“Now that I’ve got your attention,” she snapped, cutting through the hood of the van as she surged forward, stopping just short of sticking her head through the windshield.
“Sabrina, I’m sorry about what happened back at my shop. It was your first meeting. There’s a lot to unpack. I’m sure if you come back next week, we can—”
“No! I don’t want to be here next week. I want out!”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t—”
“They said you could!”
“Who?”
“Your friends. The old-timer English guy and the hippie chick.”
I looked at Flapjack. His lip was curled back. “Those morons.”
I closed my eyes, wishing I’d stayed in my bed.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but this isn’t something I can do. I can help you try to figure out what’s tethering you here, but I can’t snap my fingers and send you somewhere else.”
It was technically true, but I winced anyway. I hated lying.
“I was murdered!” Sabrina shrieked. “Everyone says that’s why I’m stuck here. Please, they already took my life away from me. I can’t stay here reliving it over and over.”
The desperation in her eyes plucked at my heart strings, but right along with it, it tugged at the nest of worries over Loretta and the depth of my power.
“I don’t even know if I could do it again,” I sighed. “For all I know, that whole thing was a fluke.”
“So it is true?” Sabrina snapped, calling out my earlier lie.
I hung my head.
“Scar, we don’t have to stay,” Flapjack muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Step on it, we’ll be back home in two minutes.”
“Please,” Sabrina opined. “You’re the only chance I’ve got.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” I told her, holding up one hand to stop her pleading. “I’ll come back tomorrow afternoon. And if you still want to go, I’ll see if I can help. But I want you to take tonight and tomorrow morning to really think about it.”
Sabrina’s eyes lit up and she nodded vigorously. “I will. Thank you!”
“Okay.” I lifted a hand and gestured for her to scoot away from the van. Technically speaking, I couldn’t hurt her, but driving over someone—ghost or not—just seemed wrong.
Flapjack held his peace until we parked outside the flower shop. “Let me handle Gwen and Hayward,” he said in a low, almost menac
ing voice.
“They didn’t mean any harm,” I started.
“It doesn’t matter. You have to guard yourself, Scarlet. You think you have problems now, with ghosts bugging you and pushing your boundaries. If word spreads about your new power, you’re going to have more than just restless spirits to worry about.”
With that, he hopped out of the passenger side door, leaving me alone with the echo of his warning.
Chapter 6
“Unfortunately, we don’t have a lot of leads on the case,” Chief Lincoln said, his expression still holding onto his initial surprise over my random visit to his office at the police station. “We’ve not given up on the case, of course, but right now, we’ve conducted all the interviews, searched the scene, and processed the clues, and we’re working on finding the next step forward.”
I nodded, trying to mask my disappointment.
The pending appointment with Sabrina had overwhelmed my efforts to work, so I’d ducked out early and left Lizzie in charge of the shop. On a whim, I’d driven to the police station to see if maybe there was some new tidbit or promise of information that I could use to coax Sabrina into staying and seeing through the resolution of her murder.
So far, that plan was up in flames, and I didn’t have a backup.
“Who was it you said you spoke with?” Chief Lincoln asked.
Oops. That was my cue.
I’d convinced him to talk about the case based on the premise that Sabrina’s family member asked me to look into it. A paper-thin story, but one the Chief bought—at least, to a point.
Judging by the line between his brows, the façade was crumbling quickly.
“Her mother. She called to thank me for the flowers and asked if I’d heard anything.”
As much as I hated lying, I had to admit, it came a lot more naturally than in the past. A fact that bothered me.
“Hmm. Well, I’ll give her a call if you think I should. Though, like I said, there isn’t much of an update.”
“Oh, no. That’s okay. I wouldn’t bother her. I told her I’d call.”
Chief Lincoln studied me. “Uh huh …”
I popped up from the visitor’s chair across from his desk and snatched my purse off the floor. “Thanks for your time, Chief. I should get going, though. Lots of deliveries to make, you know.”
He waved politely as I turned away to scurry out of his office. My cheeks warmed as I cut through the bullpen. I could feel the officers looking at me, wondering what it was I’d been discussing with the chief. I didn’t suppose they’d believe we’d been talking about his pending boutonnière order.
Back in the van, I exhaled and sagged against the steering wheel. Chief Lincoln had said Sabrina’s neighbor had been the one to find her and call in her murder. I didn’t know where she’d lived, only that it wasn’t inside Beechwood Harbor city limits. Chief Lincoln was helping the force in Pine Shoals, a neighboring town that was even smaller than the harbor. I’d never been to the small town and didn’t have Sabrina’s former address. There weren’t any handholds available for me to even attempt to grab onto.
“Are we on a stakeout?”
I nearly hit the ceiling at Flapjack’s sudden appearance.
He cackled.
“One of these days, you’re going to give me a real bona fide heart attack. Then what will you do?” I growled at him.
He smiled. “I fully intend on haunting you even after you’re dead, Scar. I figured you knew that by now.”
I rolled my eyes. “Wow. I can’t wait.”
He wheezed a purr-slash-laugh. “Admit it, you’re looking forward to it.”
“To what? Being dead? Shockingly, no. I’m pretty good with things as-is.” I shook my head in disbelief. “Honestly, Flapjack, sometimes I think your head got screwed on backward at ghost headquarters.”
“Think of all the snooping you can do when you’re dead,” he continued, undeterred. “It’s like one big stake out.”
“I’m not snooping. And this is not a stake out.” I gestured up at the police station. “I was just in a meeting with Chief Lincoln.”
“Trying to get info on the dead chick?”
I sighed and leaned back. “In the past, when we’ve dealt with murder cases, the soul was able to move on as soon as the murder was solved. It’s likely the same with Sabrina. If she can just be patient long enough to get the truth, it would be enough to set her free. Without my help.”
“Maybe. But there’s no guarantee this thing gets solved.”
“That’s pessimistic.”
He tilted his head. “Not every story gets a happy ending, Scar. You know that.”
I started the van, still weighing my options. Suddenly, an idea sparked and I perked. My gaze slid sideways and landed on the fluff ball in the passenger seat. “I can’t get info, but if I recall, I know someone who’s good at getting info from police stations …”
Flapjack sighed. “What do you want to know?”
Smiling, I turned off the van’s engine. “Sabrina’s neighbor is the one who found her. I’d like to know what else they might know about her. See if you can find their name and address. If not, then just Sabrina’s address will do.”
Flapjack muttered under his breath, something that included the words bad and idea. But he hopped through the side of the van and started up the sloped parking lot that spread out in front of the station.
As he trotted away, I made the mental note to ask where he’d even learned to read. It was one of those questions that came up so infrequently that I always forgot to get around to asking.
Likely because by the time I needed Flapjack to intervene, things were already off the rails and didn’t slow down till the final crash, after which I forgot all about the ghost cat’s unnatural ability.
The digital clock on the van’s dashboard counted off the minutes. Five. Ten. Fifteen. By eighteen, I was ready to drive off without the ghost cat and let him catch up to me later. The only problem was I had no direction. I could head to Pine Shoals, but if Flapjack got distracted or disinterested in the mission—he was a cat after all—I’d be stuck waiting around there too.
Finally, his infuriating little self slipped through the station’s front door. He wove through the incoming postal carrier’s legs before brushing up against her and flashing his teeth in a grin as she shivered.
“Honestly,” I muttered, shaking my head.
He popped into the passenger seat and I glared at him. “What is the matter with you?”
“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. His large eyes went round.
“The Puss in Boots thing doesn’t work on me, remember?”
He scoffed. “I was just having a little fun. It’s not like I can hurt someone by touching them.”
“Thank Hades for that. Or whoever it is that comes up with these rules.” I turned on the van. “All right, where are we going?”
“Before I give you the information, I think a little negotiating is in order.”
My knuckles went white as I gripped the wheel. “Flapjack!”
“Come on, Scar. Sweeten the deal a little.” He grinned.
I squinted at him. “I’ll buy two cans of tuna, open them, and leave them on the back porch for two days.”
“Hmm.” He considered it with a slight tilt of his head. “If you leave it outside, I have to contend with all the street cats.”
I rolled my eyes. “You think you’d have compassion on those in need.”
“In need? Have you seen the size of that black-and-white? His belly drags on the ground. It’s unbecoming of a cat.”
I shrugged. “I kind of like him.”
Flapjack scowled.
The ultimate threat would be adopting a flesh-and-blood feline to reside in the apartment. Flapjack would come unglued. The landlord would slap me with ridiculous fees if I wanted to have a pet, but sometimes I thought it might be worth it just to watch Flapjack squirm.
This was one of those times.
“Fine,�
�� I countered, my tone sharp. “Tuna, in the house, one day. Then it gets put outside and you can enjoy it until the others find it. That’s my best offer!”
The Himalayan mulled it over, his tail sweeping through the air.
“Flapjack … ” I ground my teeth.
It was already four thirty in the afternoon. I didn’t want to show up at some stranger’s door right in the middle of their dinner if I could help it.
“Fine, fine, fine. It’s a deal.”
“Swell.” I reached for my phone and mounted it on the magnetized docking station. “Address?”
He rattled it off and I punched it into my GPS app.
“When will the tuna be available?” he asked once we were moving.
“Tomorrow, all right?”
“Fine.”
As a ghost, Flapjack couldn’t enjoy the taste of fish, but for whatever reason, smelling it was nearly as satiating. He took daily trips to the docks when the catch of the day was brought in, and he still mourned the closure of the town’s small cannery several months before.
Personally, if I couldn’t actually enjoy something, I didn’t want the smell of it to tempt me. It was like trying to avoid sugar, ya know for health and longevity, and all that jazz. If I was sworn off sweets, the last thing I wanted was to walk by a bakery. It was torture! I couldn’t fully imagine myself one day wandering the earth as a literal spirit of wanderlust, but if I ever found myself in the position, maybe I’d take to haunting bakeries.
In my experience, stranger things happened. All the time.
Pine Shoals was a thirty-minute drive outside Beechwood Harbor. I played the radio and cringed at Flapjack’s off-key sing-along. When we arrived at the address, I parked across the street. To anyone looking out their window, they’d assume I was there to deliver flowers to one of their neighbors. The Lily Pond van was the perfect decoy vehicle, as far as I was concerned.
“Is that one Sabrina’s?” I asked Flapjack, gesturing at the house to the left of the neighbor’s. Its flower beds were pristinely kept, but from the looks of things, the grass hadn’t been mowed in a couple of weeks. This time of year, it dumped rain by the buckets, so the grass could go from manicured to jungle in less than a month. Sabrina’s murder had taken place almost two weeks ago.
Big Ghosts Don’t Cry Page 5
