So, what now? She determined she needed to talk with Smith about it, but she wanted to continue to look into Brandon’s building. She wasn’t sure if there was any way she could contact anyone on the inside of the investigation. She wanted to know what they had come up with regarding Brandon’s death. Had it been a random act of violence? Had it been a personal vendetta? Was there a secret motive for the death? She hadn’t known Brandon well at all, but she also would never had expected him to be a target for such a crime. And now?
She dialed Smith’s number, knowing he would already be up and likely getting ready for work.
“Yeah,” Smith’s voice was distracted.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Yeah,” Smith said again. “What’s up?”
“I’m trying to figure out what to do today,” she answered sincerely. “I feel like we still owe Brandon some work, but I don’t know where to go from here.”
Smith sighed heavily over the phone. “I know what you mean.”
“Do you want to go back to his office?” The idea popped into her mind, and she settled on it as a possible first step.
“And do what? The place is still a crime scene. We won’t be able to get in.”
“I don’t know. Maybe we could poke around the neighborhood. See if anyone knows about the history of the building. Ask questions.”
“Won’t the cops be pissed if we are butting in?”
“I’m not talking about investigating Brandon’s death.” It still felt strange to say it aloud. “I mean asking about the building, the ghost. If we happen to accidently learn something about Brandon, then it would be a coincidence.”
Smith huffed out another sigh. “Fine. I’ll meet you by our office?”
“Ok, I’ll see you there,” she replied.
Smith was parked out front, but hadn’t budged from his car, apparently waiting for Cilla and not planning to go inside. She pulled up next to him. She had chosen to drive rather than walk just in case the weather changed as the forecasters were predicting, and they got rain. As she climbed out of her car, she noticed that Smith’s head was down, and he was looking intently at his cell phone screen. She closed the door quietly. As she looked through the glass of the side window, she grinned. Smith still was absorbed in the cell phone, and she could see the trailing wires of earbuds tracing down his neck and perceived he presumably was unaware of her.
Using her knuckle, she rapped on the window and watched him jump. Yep, he had been immersed in whatever it was he was studying.
He grimaced at her as she pulled open the door and slipped into the car.
“What are you so involved in?” Cilla asked, sliding into the passenger seat.
Smith tapped an icon on the screen and pulled one of the earbuds out, cocking his head in her direction.
“Huh?”
“What are you watching?”
“The news,” he responded darkly.
“Oh?”
“I wanted to see what they were saying about the, um, murder.” He looked away, but she could see the stiffening of his expression.
“Oh.” She clicked her seat belt in place. “And?”
“Nothing. They are saying murder, but not much else. I’m wondering if Melissa’s friend on the force might know a little more.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Cilla responded. She knew Melissa had gotten the go ahead to get into the house while it was still owned by the bank, and she also had heard Melissa say she had spoken to one officer a few times. When Smith had flared with a hint of jealousy, Melissa had just grinned, telling Cilla on the side that Officer Talbot was potbellied and old enough to be her father. Cilla hadn’t shared the news with Smith. It was fun to watch him fume just a bit.
“You know, I thought of him a lot last night,” Smith muttered.
“I did too,” Cilla admitted. “It was the first time I had a spirit come to me so soon after the death.” She stared blindly out the window. “It was crazy.”
“Yeah,” Smith glance at Cilla and then looked back out the windshield as he drove. “I can’t get it out of my mind. I mean, I don’t see how it could be related to our investigation, but what if it was?”
“How could it be?” Cilla didn’t like to hear her thoughts stated out loud by someone else.
“I don’t know,” Smith grunted in frustration. “I’m going to look into it, though. I met the guy. He was nice. He didn’t deserve to be left like that.”
“I know. And I agree. If there is a chance that his death was related to him buying the building, or his new business, this might be a bigger deal than we first thought.”
Smith nodded. “A ghost and a murder. Wouldn’t be the first time they were related.”
Cilla hummed her agreement. “But what if the spirit caused the murder?”
Smith’s eyes shifted in her direction. “You mean the ghost killed him?”
“No,” Cilla countered. “But I still would like to know what the motive was for his death. And have you thought about this? If we felt Brandon’s spirit leave, does that mean he died while we were there? While we were in the building?”
“Oh,” Smith sounded sick. He muttered an expletive under his breath. “Well I hadn’t thought of that. We might have come face to face with a murderer.”
Chapter Seven
The office building looked much the way it had the day before apart from the yellow police tape which crisscrossed the door, forbidding people to pass. Cilla didn’t have any idea how long it took a crime scene to be cleared, but this one was abandoned. She wondered what the penalty would be if she got caught trespassing but decided it wouldn’t be worth it. Orange wasn’t her color.
She had Smith park down the street from the building, and they left the car in search of some local places they might be able to hang around and drum up a conversation with the locals. As with many such roads in the metropolitan section, the office was flanked by commercial establishments, a clothing store which sold an eclectic mix of tee shirts and lace, and an antique dealer on the other side. Two doors down was a lunch spot with hummus and bean sprouts. They chose to try the clothing store first and make their way down, and past, Brandon’s building.
“When we get back, we’ll have to run a check on the history of this area,” Cilla said in an undertone as they opened the first glass door, hearing a bell chiming a cheerful welcome.
“No problem,” Smith replied. Cilla knew he was as good as his word. If there was one thing Smith was excellent at, it was getting into files he shouldn’t be looking at.
The interior of the shop smelled of moth balls and cedar. Cilla instinctively liked it. She eased between a few racks, Smith at her heels. Farther back in the store were round racks sectioned into a rainbow of fabrics, one holding shirts, another slacks, another dresses, and still another, shorts in all sizes and shapes.
Some vintage clothing was hung along the wall, and before Smith could complain, Cilla headed in that direction and began flipping through the offerings. The price tags dangled by white strings, but they weren’t asking an exorbitant amount, and before Smith could comment, Cilla had chosen a few garments to try on.
“I thought we were doing some background investigation,” Smith hissed.
“We are.” Cilla slanted him a glance. “This is part of our cover.”
“It’s part of your evil plot to get me in a place like this,” he growled back.
Cilla just smirked and approached the counter where a twenty something girl with a nose piercing and triple studs in her ears was paging through a magazine. She angled her heavy lined eyes up when Cilla approached.
“I’d like to try these on,” Cilla stated, waiting patiently.
“Kay,” the girl replied, supremely uninterested. “Let me get the key.” She stepped out from behind the short counter and grabbed at a ring of keys hung on the wall. Cilla followed her obediently back to the rear of the store and waited as the girl jangled the set of keys until she had fished out the right one. She
jammed it into the lock, and as soon as the door swung open, she headed back to the front without a word.
“Thanks,” Cilla called to her back. The girl didn’t respond. Apparently, she wasn’t working on commission.
“I’m going to stroll around outside while you do this,” Smith declared before Cilla could close the door to the dressing room.
“Sure, fine.” Cilla gave him a mischievous look. “I’ll fill you in about anything I learn from Ms. Personality up there.”
He made a muffled snort as he left, and Cilla ducked into the little room to try on the treasures she had sorted out.
Thirty minutes later, she had a bag with two adorable lacy shirts and one long skirt to add to her wardrobe. Smith was pacing out front of the shop, and his scowl led her to believe that his sleuthing had been as unsuccessful as hers. She had tried. But it appeared the girl was incapable of saying anything that was longer than a single syllable.
They walked together past the dull façade of the office, empty and abandoned looking, and decided that lunch might be a good way to kick off the next part of the research. The diner was charming, with vintage round tables and scuffed chairs, menus printed on card stock with Victorian lettering, and lots and lots of tattered lace and chipped paint for the comfortable cottage feel.
The food wasn’t half bad. Cilla chose a chicken salad sandwich while Smith went for ham and cheese, but he ate hardily and seemed in a better mood when he was mopping up crumbs from his plate. A full stomach always worked wonders for him.
Unfortunately for their interviews, their waitress was another twenty-something who was interested more in the handsome young guy sweeping the floors out front and less in pleasing her paying customers.
Cilla wasn’t much older than she, but at times like this, she felt like some middle-aged matron shaking her head at ‘kids these days’. As they were finishing up their meal, another woman came to top off their drinks, and Cilla was able to ask a few questions.
“What’s going on next door?” she inquired as the woman took her glass.
The waitress was ten years older and ten pounds lighter than their earlier server, a raw-boned woman with skin which had seen better days, a sun worshiper for sure. Her eyes were dark and intelligent, and she looked at Cilla speculatively.
“You mean the police tape?”
“Yes,” Cilla agreed. “I heard the guy who bought the place was killed.” She thought about admitting they had found the body; that would loosen the other woman’s lips, but she didn’t want to appear to be too ghoulish coming back to the scene of the crime.
The woman shrugged, but she didn’t move off. “Yeah, that’s what I heard.”
Cilla glanced out the glass window, watching the sun shimmer off the cars outside. It was much busier now than it had been when they had arranged to meet Brandon.
“That’s terrible? Have they caught who did it?”
The waitress glanced out the window as well. “Not that I know of,” she declared rather dismissively, “but they don’t tell us everything. If we had a maniac walking the streets, you’d think they would do the decent thing and at least tell us about it.”
“Well, yeah,” Cilla agreed. “What if the character was just an indiscriminate killer? And here you are, just two doors down.” She frowned. “Have there been more cops out here? Are they watching the place?”
“You know, I thought they should too,” the woman retorted, evidently warming up to Cilla’s concerned words. “They should at least have a car come through every once in a while. Make sure we are doing alright over here.”
“Definitely,” Cilla agreed. “I wonder what happened to the poor guy,” she said in a softer voice.
“Heard he was stabbed. Bled out all over the floor. And he was a nice young man, you know.”
Cilla looked at her. “You knew him?”
“Yeah, his name was Brandon. He was over here for lunch a couple of times, and he talked to us. Real nice. He was nervous about buying the property, and once he got it, he seemed even more on edge. Wouldn’t say why exactly.”
Cilla was pretty sure she knew why. Brandon had invested in a piece of haunted real estate, and if the project went south, he would be left holding the bag.
“Then the building had been empty for a long time? It looks pretty abandoned now,” Cilla went on.
“No one has used that place in years. I don’t know why. The neighborhood around here ain’t bad.” The waitress raised one eyebrow. “You wouldn’t be interested in renting it, would you?” She sounded almost hopeful.
“We have a place,” Cilla responded. “But I agree. The street is nice. I even got some shopping done,” she pointed to the bag next to her on the floor.
“We’ve been going through a revival,” the waitress agreed. “Good to see some new blood in the area.”
“Do most people feel that way? Are they glad to have more businesses moving in?” The question occurred to Cilla as she considered different motives for Brandon’s death. Assuming it hadn’t been a random act of violence, there had to be a reason someone had killed the man. If they didn’t like the idea of the building being inhabited, it could provide one possibility for the root of the violence.
“Oh, yes. Getting these buildings full of new offices, new customers and business people, that will bring in more diners, more money. You know, this area used to be one of the growing sections of town in its heyday.”
Cilla nodded. She glanced toward Smith who had been largely silent during the exchange, but his attention was on their conversation, and Cilla suspected he was filing the information away to consider later.
“Well, can I get you folks anything else?”
“No, no thank you. It was great,” Cilla answered, and smiled toward the other woman. She had learned a little bit about the area which was more than she expected after striking out at the other store.
“Okay, I’ll have your check for you in a minute,” the waitress replied, and strolled off, alert for any new patrons.
After they settled their bill, Cilla and Smith wandered back toward the office building. Cilla felt a compelling urge to go back in, but in the bright light of day, she suspected their invasion of a crime scene might be frowned upon. Not that it sounded like the local cops were keeping a close eye on the place. The murder would be investigated, Cilla was sure, but the wheels of the justice system might be turning slowly in this particular case.
“Let’s go into the antique shop,” Cilla told Smith, ignoring his reluctant grimace. Considering their business, he didn’t like old things; old furniture, old pictures, old clothing. Cilla didn’t know if it was because of their ghost hunting, or merely his personal preference to want things shiny and new.
“Okay, but don’t buy anything for the office. That lamp you brought in last month still gives me the heebie geebies.”
Cilla grinned. She had discovered a magnificent floor lamp with a tasseled shade at an antique mall, and after some scrubbing, her uncle had fixed the wiring, and she had brought it in. She admired the quirky look of it, but Smith was not as enthusiastic. She hoped if his relationship with Melissa progressed, he would get used to old things. After all, she was living in a historic house filled with antiques, and as it turned out, unsettled spirits.
“I won’t,” she answered.
This door didn’t have a bell to chime as they entered, but it didn’t need one. There was a furious barking sound that erupted from a tufted pillow on the floor as soon as the door opened, and a mop of a dog came leaping off its seat. It was white with round dark eyes and a tiny pink tongue that immediately started licking at her hand as soon as Cilla bent to pet the little creature.
“Dabney, settle,” a high reedy voice proceeded the rather round figure of the owner of the shop, her white hair pulled in a smooth bun on the crown of her head. She scuttled toward them, giving them a welcome smile that lit up her rosy features. “I’m sorry about my silly Dabney,” she said smiling apologetically. “He likes to let e
veryone know he’s here, but then he greets everyone like they are his best friend.”
“Quite a guard dog,” Cilla agreed. The little creature had gone on to Smith and was busy sniffing at his pants leg.
“He barks, and that’s all I ask. No one’s going to sneak up on me.” Her face seemed to cloud with a concern, and Cilla could practically read her thoughts.
“Not like poor Brandon,” she commiserated.
“Brandon? Did you know him?”
“We only met him once,” Cilla confessed. “We were going to do some work for him. For his new business.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. They were going to help with his business. It might not have been what the older woman was thinking of, but it had been a necessary task for Brandon’s business to be a success. After all, he couldn’t have kept up a normal appearance if spirits kept disturbing him. “It was so shocking when we heard what happened to him.”
“Such a nice young man,” the other woman agreed.
“Did you know him well?”
“We spoke a few times.” She seemed to remember where she was and shook her head. “I’m Susan Corning.” She smiled at both of them. “I’ve forgotten my manners. My mother would be so upset with me.”
“It’s my fault,” Cilla disagreed. “I started the conversation.”
“It’s fine,” Ms. Corning said, bending down and scooping up the little dog as he rushed toward her. “I’ve just been so upset about what happened to Brandon. I was delighted when I discovered someone had taken over the place. I thought we might finally have a business there. It’s been deserted for years.”
“I wonder why it was just left empty that way,” Cilla murmured, hoping Ms. Corning might take the hint and tell her a little more.
“You know, I’ve never heard. I did know the place had been used for manufacturing. It was built at the turn of the century, I believe, and this whole area was thriving and expanding. Then the ’37 flood came, and many businesses didn’t recover.”
Spirit Taken Page 7