by Неизвестный
“You sure you’re okay?” Jack pressed.
“I’m fine,” she said, putting her hand in his. She nodded to Kyle to reassure him, too. Whatever she had just seen might not come to pass for years yet, or it might have been an event from the past, perhaps the death that happened here yesterday, or hey… it might have been caused by low blood sugar. She had skipped breakfast this morning, after all.
But what could it mean, the house tilting precariously like that? Maybe it was just metaphorical, letting her know that things here were off kilter.
They made their way up to the house, watched like a hawk by the young officer in his blue police uniform. He had a rather pinched face for someone who was probably ten years younger than Miranda. Like he’d already grown jaded to the world around him.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Miranda and Jack, even though he didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “Can’t let you inside. Come back later.”
“It’s all right,” Jack told him. “I’m a police officer. I know the drill.”
He showed the man—Constable Simpson, according to his nameplate—the badge he carried in his wallet. Simpson studied it, raising one eyebrow. “Good to know you, Detective Travis, but we’re not in Moonlight Bay. That badge means you’re a good guy, maybe, but it doesn’t get you access to a crime scene. Not in Raven’s Falls.”
Miranda saw Jack nod, and put the badge away in his back pocket. She honestly thought he was about to leave without trying any harder but then a man came walking out of the house, escorted by another officer.
“I’ve got everything I needed, Constable Simpson,” the man said. He was tall, and muscular, and considering his shirt was two sizes too small, he obviously liked showing off his body. “Thanks for letting me get a few things.”
“Our pleasure, Mister Crowe,” Simpson told him. “We’ll let you know when you can move back in permanently. Probably later today after we wrap up.”
Crowe? Miranda studied the man closer, from his short-cropped brown hair to his expensive shoes. This must be Thomas Crowe, the current boyfriend of Anya Westfield. Jack had been right, then. This was Crowe’s house. He’d been the one who could afford all this. Not Anya.
She saw Thomas’s eyes go wide as he looked past the officers, to them. “Well, well, well. Jack Travis. You’re just about the last person I thought would show up here today.”
Jack narrowed his eyes. “I’m pretty sure we’ve never met, Thomas.”
“True, but Anya told me about you. She still had some pictures.”
That news affected Jack. Miranda saw the way the lines around his eyes tightened. His lips pressed into a thin line, holding back whatever retort he’d been about to give.
“She would have liked this, you know,” Thomas said to Jack. “Having you here for her birthday. Did you bring her a present?”
“That’s not funny,” Miranda told him. “She’s dead.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Thomas growled. “I’m the one in pain here, and you two just show up on my doorstep like this? I’m the one who had to find her dead like that. I’m the one who will have to fill the hole in my heart.”
His gaze very purposefully turned to Miranda. “Looks to me, Jack, like you already found something to let you forget our Anya.”
Miranda and Jack both started to say something in response to that but Constable Simpson held his hand up instead. “All right, all of you. This is a crime scene, and I really don’t feel like arresting any of you. There’s been enough tragedy here. So. Move it along.”
Thomas stared at him, and then stared at Jack. “You really want to know what happened, since you’re such a crackerjack cop?” he asked, his tone less than complimentary.
Miranda expected Jack to just walk away at that point, but instead, he nodded. Once.
“Then come on,” Thomas said as he stepped down off the porch. “You can follow me. I know the perfect little coffee shop where we can talk.”
Chapter 4
“And had the party started when she… when it happened?” Miranda asked as she took a sip of her coffee.
She had to admit, it was a very good blend. The Cup of Joy coffee shop was just as good as Thomas had promised despite its goofy name and tacky interior. Inside, on shelves that lined almost every wall, were ceramic coffee cups with different sayings printed on each of them. Most of them were not family friendly.
They had found a quiet table at the back and the three of them—no, the four of them, including Kyle—were talking over the events surrounding Anya’s death. Odd that someone would die at their own birthday party, maybe, but Miranda knew all too well that Death kept its own schedule.
“Yes,” Thomas said, staring down into his cup and finally showing his emotions over Anya’s death. “It was me who found her. The guests had all arrived, and then I couldn’t find Anya, and when I went to look for her… there she was. Lying on her side, not moving. I just couldn’t believe it. So, I just pulled her out of the way and hid her.”
“Hid her?” Jack demanded, nearly choking on the words. “You hid her? She was dead, and you just shoved her aside?”
“Heartless,” Kyle agreed, folding his arms over his chest, his blue hazy aura becoming momentarily sharper with his emotions. “I’ll bet he killed her.”
But Thomas seemed unfazed by Jack’s outburst. “I found her in the kitchen. She was just lying there, kind of curled up like a baby. It took me a few moments to even believe she was actually dead.”
“You bastard,” Jack hissed. “Why in God’s name would you hide her body? Why wouldn’t you call for help?”
For all that he had just admitted to messing up what could have been a crime scene, Thomas only shrugged. “I didn’t want anyone to know I had found her, and I didn’t want anyone else to discover her. I wanted it to stay quiet until I managed to get the police there. I didn’t want anyone to run away before they showed up. I just pulled her into the utility room, and put on a smile, and dialed 000.”
“But why move her?” Miranda said.
“Because as far as I know nobody came into the house. She was dead, and if she didn’t die of natural causes, then whoever killed her was already there, in the house with us, at the party.”
Jack tapped a finger on the table. “I agree.”
For a moment, he just stared at Thomas. Thomas stared back at him.
Was Kyle right, Miranda wondered? Was Thomas a suspect? Then she answered her own question. Yes. Of course he was. “So, who else was there?” she asked, knowing they couldn’t just blame Thomas because he was the current boyfriend. Or, because Jack didn’t like him.
“Well,” Thomas said, “there was Millie Poole, our caterer. And then there was Barbara Graham. She’s just a friend of ours. A little bit older than us. Retired, you know? Oh, and Marvin. Marvin Locke.”
“He was there celebrating Anya’s birthday?” Jack was just as surprised by that as Miranda felt.
“No. Well, yes he was there but it wasn’t for the party. He said he came around to talk to Anya. I didn’t want to spoil the mood by tossing him out on his ear so I let him in and he stayed when he knew the party was on. He was there when I found Anya, out talking to the others. I can’t help thinking maybe he did this.”
“You’re not a fan of Marvin Locke?” Jack asked.
“No, I’m not. Of any of Anya’s ex-boyfriends, mind you,” he added, looking directly into Jack’s eyes. “Well. He had no place in our house but for Anya’s sake I let him in. I think it was a mistake on my part.”
“I see,” Jack said, and nodded slowly. “Thomas, I don’t think you and I are ever going to be friends, but we have a common goal here. We both want to know what happened to Anya, and if anyone hurt her we want them to pay for it. For you, because you were dating her and let’s face it, you need to make sure no one thinks you did this to her. For me, because I’m such a crackerjack cop, as you put it, that I want to see the right thing done. So. How about you let me help you?”
Thomas shook his head. “There’s already police investigating this. They can handle it.”
“Maybe,” Jack agreed, “but maybe not. Why not let me try?”
Throwing his hands up in the air, Thomas relented. “Fine. You’re here, might as well make yourself useful. The thing is you won’t be able to get into my house so I can show you where Anya’s body was until at least this afternoon. The police are still taking photographs or whatever it is they do.”
“We do a little bit more than take photos,” Jack said flatly. “Fine. We’ll meet you back at your house at four o’clock. That all right with you?”
“Dandy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to be anywhere but right here.”
He stood up, and put a few bills down on the table. “Coffee’s on me.”
“Pleasant man,” Miranda said with a smirk as Thomas was leaving. “I can’t imagine what Anya saw in him.”
“Money, I’m guessing.” Jack shrugged. “I really don’t care. I just want to make sure justice is done here.”
Miranda laid a hand across his on the table. “That’s my guy.”
“Yes,” he said to her. “Yes, I am. How about we see if this little town has a motel we can get a room at for the day? We’ll want to call Sapphire and have her take care of Butter, too. We might not be back until late at this rate. Or tomorrow, even.”
“That’s a good idea,” Miranda told him, “only Sapphire prefers to call him Gypsy.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because,” Kyle offered, “Sapphire is insane.”
“Shh,” Miranda told him. Then she looked at Jack, and realized she’d slipped. He’d just heard her talking to thin air.
“Psychic thing?” he asked her, in that accepting way that made her like him even more.
“Yeah…” She looked at Kyle, and he shrugged. This was the part of her life that she hadn’t told Jack yet. Now that she knew his deepest, darkest secret it didn’t seem fair that she was keeping one of her own. He’d been so good with her about everything else. He wouldn’t freak about this.
Right?
“It’s your call,” Kyle told her, “but from where I’m standing I’d rather not be a third wheel.”
“Miranda?” Jack said.
“Uh, yeah,” she said, realizing she’d been quiet for a very long time. “Listen. Here’s the thing. We’re not… alone.”
Jack looked all around the coffee house, at the few other customers and the waitresses. “Yes, I can see that.”
“No, I mean… oh, man, this is hard. Listen, you know I can see ghosts, right?”
He lowered his voice to match hers, so that no one could hear anything they were saying. “Sure. It’s okay, Miranda. I like you for who you are. There’s nothing you can say that would—”
“My best friend is a ghost and he’s standing right here,” she said in a rush, before she could lose her nerve.
He blinked at her. Then he looked around them again, and this time he wasn’t looking at the living people. “Well. That’s certainly not what I expected you to say.”
She sat for a moment, watching him, until a little smile crept over her face.
“What?” he asked, when he noticed her expression.
“You haven’t run away.”
“Nope. You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”
“Oh, Miranda,” Kyle said. “This guy’s a keeper.”
“Yes, he is,” she said, glad that she had found a man that wouldn’t make her hide any part of her true self. “Jack, allow me to introduce you to my friend. This is Kyle Hunter.”
“Er, hi…” Jack said, waving over Miranda’s left shoulder.
“I’m over here,” Kyle complained, pointing to himself on the opposite side of the table.
Miranda reached over to move Jack’s gaze in the right direction.
Jack’s face contorted into a frown as he turned back toward her. “Kyle? I thought you said Kyle was just a friend of yours who was back in Melbourne. He supposedly helped us out when we were investigating Lea Maroney’s murder.”
“Well… technically he did help out. It’s just that he was there that day and not in Melbourne like I said.” Miranda chewed on her bottom lip, worried how he would take that news.
Jack shook his head. “You know I wondered… why didn’t you tell me about him before this?” He put a hand up to stop Miranda’s response. “No, it doesn’t matter.” He smiled at her then and his face lit up. “It doesn’t change a thing for me.”
They got back to Thomas Crowe’s house just before four o’clock. The one and only motel in Raven’s Falls had given them a room, and they’d spent a couple of hours flipping through television channels and talking about what it was like to have a ghost for a friend.
Kyle had loved being the topic of conversation. He’d had lots of helpful things to add, insisting that Miranda tell Jack all about this or that, and what he could do, and how he could float through walls and move small objects.
For the fun of it, he’d stood the pen on the motel room’s desk on end, spinning it like a top.
Jack had watched in awe, and the asked Kyle to do it again.
“Still can’t believe there’s a ghost with us,” he said now, shaking his head as they went up the walk to Thomas’s front door. “Is he there all the time?”
“Not all the time,” Miranda explained. “He comes and goes as he pleases.”
“Too right, I do,” Kyle smiled. “I’m a free spirit. Ha! Woohoo…”
“Okay,” Jack said in response to what Miranda had said. “I get that. He comes. He goes. But is he around us… all the time?”
Finally, Miranda got it. He was worried Kyle had a looky-loo whenever they were, um, getting comfortable on the couch.
“Oh, for the love of God,” Kyle said. “Tell him to stop worrying so much. I’ve got no reason to watch you two making out. I’ll go wait on the roof the next time you two want to canoodle, or I’ll take a walk, or something.”
Miranda smiled at Jack. “He says not to worry. He’ll respect our privacy.”
Kyle grimaced. “Not exactly what I said, but sure.”
“Guess I’ll have to trust you,” Jack said. “Not like I’ll ever know if he’s watching, right?”
“I’ll be sure to spin a pencil,” Kyle snarked.
Just as Jack was about to knock on the front door, it opened. Thomas was standing there, with a beer bottle in one hand. “Well. I guess the wondercop is here to save the day.”
He turned and walked back into the house, leaving the door open for them.
Jack shrugged, and they followed Thomas inside. They already knew they weren’t going to become best friends.
A long hallway had doors leading off to both sides. Miranda saw a huge living room and then a smaller sitting room with shelves holding books and knick-knacks. The house was all tastefully done. It didn’t seem like a man’s touch. It felt like a woman had put her vision on every part of the home. That would be Anya, no doubt. Had she finally found a man that she could stay with forever, instead of just for the here and now like she had with Jack, and then Marvin?
Miranda suddenly heard an ear-splitting scream. Seeing that neither Thomas nor Jack reacted to the noise, Miranda knew what she was hearing. This was a scream from beyond the grave. A dead woman’s scream.
Anya Westfield.
Kyle floated off down the hall. “I’ll go take a look.”
Miranda thought about letting Kyle handle this, but she wanted to get to the bottom of things quickly and playing telephone with Kyle was never quick. Or easy.
“Thomas, is there a restroom I can use?” Miranda asked, trying to give herself a reason to follow her friend.
“Yes,” Thomas said idly, pointing off in the direction Kyle had gone, using the hand that was holding his bottle. “There’s a guest bathroom just down the hall, that way. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” she turned to Jack quickly, hoping that she was able to convey in a single
glance what her plan was. “Do you think you could start without me?”
“Sure thing,” he said quickly. “You can catch up… after. Thomas, why don’t you show me the kitchen where you found Anya?”
“Yeah, okay. This way,” Thomas grumbled.
They started walking off in one direction, while Miranda hurried in the other.
As Miranda made her way along the hallway toward the restroom, she could hear Kyle talking with someone, both voices having that fuzzy and slightly distorted quality the voices of the dead always seemed to have.
She found the door to the room that the voices were coming from. When she gently pushed it open, she found herself in a cramped space decorated in dark shades of red and brown, with chairs set here and there in no apparent pattern. The room didn’t seem to fit any particular function as far as Miranda could tell. The house was so big, it had more rooms than anyone knew what to do with.
Kyle was indeed there, as was a rather pretty redheaded woman maybe just a few years younger than Miranda. Well, a pretty redheaded ghost to be precise, emitting the blue hazy aura that always surrounded the dead in Miranda’s eyes.
No doubt this was Anya Westfield.
“Marvin and Thomas. Marvin and Thomas,” the woman repeated over and over again, pacing back and forth, her fists pounding the air in front of her with each step. “Marvin and Thomas…!”
Finally, she stood stock still.
“Why couldn’t either of you have been more like him?” she said.
It was obvious that Anya’s ghost was completely disconnected from reality. She was talking to Marvin, and Thomas, who weren’t even here. And, more like him? That could only mean Jack.
Miranda had dealt with dispossessed, crazy, even malicious spirits before. Sometimes they were so dangerous the only recourse was to force them out of the space they were inhabiting. It was hard, and both physically and mentally exhausting, and there was always a few echoes of the ghost left when she was done.
Miranda seriously hoped she didn’t have to do this here. The last time it had taken her three months to recover.