Easter, the Krewe and Another Large White Rabbit

by Heather Graham

  She wasn’t even sure if she was looking for the living or the dead.

  She kept moving.

  And then she went still again.

  Night was coming on too fast. There was someone ahead of them. She walked carefully, watching out for sticks and branches on the forest floor.

  And then . . .

  She burst upon him.

  A man. He was sitting on a large fallen log, looking tired and dejected.

  He was a big man, broad-shouldered, and looked like one imagined a mountain man of old might have looked. Strong, and determined, a grizzly-bear of a man.

  She drew her weapon slowly before calling out, “FBI! Identify yourself!”

  He stood and looked at her and stumbled and then, huge fellow that he was, he let out a horrified scream. And she wasn’t sure why, but his scream caused a ricochet—everyone around her was screaming.

  She might have let out a yelp herself.

  Her new ghost friends gathered around her. The man stared at them all, shaking, in shock and disbelief.

  He frowned and looked at Edgar, Gregory, Taron, Levi, Darby, and Beauregard, one by one.

  Then he stared at Angela.

  He pointed at the others. “They’re dead!”

  “Yes, we are,” Edgar said. “Hey, the chap is observant.”

  “And you—you’re alive!” he told Angela.

  “Yes, and hoping to stay this way a while. Who are you? Why are you bringing baskets to Eliza Andrews?” she demanded.

  He shook his head at her.

  “Angela,” Edgar said softly.

  “I’m not bringing baskets anywhere,” he told her.

  “Why are you skulking in the forest?” she demanded.

  “Angela!” Edgar repeated.

  “Why am I skulking in the forest?” the man asked, shaking his head.

  “Angela, you can holster your gun,” Edgar said.

  “I don’t know what the hell else to do—where to go! I mean, hanging around where they chopped me all up at autopsy? Too depressing! The graveyard—I’m not buried there! I’m not buried anywhere. I’m just trying to figure it all out—I—I—I’ve had trouble admitting to myself that I’m dead!”

  “Hey!” Taron said. He walked forward. “Trust me, we all understand. It takes getting used to. But we’ll all introduce ourselves, we’ll get to know one another. I guess we’re all hanging around for some purpose. And it’s okay. I’m Taron. That’s Beau, there. Darby, Levi, Greg, and Edgar. We had titles once, but they don’t rightly matter much anymore. Buddy, let us help you.”

  Angela stared at the man.

  He fit the image.

  His face . . . bearded, his look . . . as if he had come from another century.

  And . . .

  He was a new ghost.

  “Oh, my God!” she murmured softly.

  They all looked at her. She looked at the man.

  “You’re the man they found by the stream. You’re the . . . victim!”

  *

  Jackson found the car. It was parked in a public lot.

  He looked around, wishing he had a search warrant. He’d have the car and the trunk open, and he’d be looking for an Easter bunny costume.

  He didn’t have a search warrant.

  The town itself looked like a ghost town. All but essential businesses were closed.

  But down the street, he saw there was a coffee shop with a sign.

  “Take-out Window Open.”

  People were doing the right thing. It had been hard to see there was a short line at first because people in the town were really standing six feet apart.

  He started in that direction staying on the opposite sidewalk, and he observed all those who were waiting for a chance to reach the glass window where they might order food and drinks to take away.

  Three men; three women.

  He was certain that the owner of the car was among them.

  It had to be a man. A big man.

  And there was one; he was second in line.

  Tall, well-built, maybe thirty-five or forty years old, short-clipped blond hair, medium build.

  Yes, he could be the right size for an Easter bunny, but then again, anyone of any size could don the right costume.

  He decided not to confront the man in the street.

  He walked back along the sidewalk, watching to make sure the man would place his order, collect it, and go back to his car.

  Certain that was the man’s intent, he headed back to the car himself.

  Sure enough, within five minutes, the man came around the corner building, walking into the parking lot.

  There were so few cars.

  Naturally, he noted Jackson right away.

  He looked scared.

  He dropped his coffee and his bag, and he turned starting to run.

  “No, no, no!” Jackson muttered aloud. “Don’t make me chase you!”

  But if he wanted the guy, he was going to have to give chase.

  He did.

  The fellow must have been one hell of a runner. They passed empty shops, many with sightless mannequins staring out at the street.

  They passed a bank, an accounting firm, a real estate office, more clothing shops . . .

  Block after block until they were running past scattered houses and trees and coming near the forest . . .

  And finally, Jackson was almost on the man.

  The man tripped; Jackson almost ran over him. He backed up instead, staring down at him, gasping for breath.

  “I didn’t do anything; I didn’t do anything!” the man cried, putting his hands up defensively.

  “Then why the hell are you running?” Jackson demanded.

  “Why the hell are you after me?”

  “Are you dressing up like the Easter bunny?” Jackson demanded. “Delivering goods to Eliza Andrews and peering into her windows?”

  “No, good lord, no! I would never peer into anyone’s windows!” he said.

  Jackson stared at him hard.

  “I’m not a peeping Tom!” the man cried. “I haven’t done anything wrong! I—I—yes! I’ve had an Easter bunny costume for years. I just thought it was fun.”

  “And you have been delivering baskets to her?”

  “I—yes. But, I swear, I don’t look in windows!”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s wrong to look in windows!”

  “No—why are you delivering baskets?”

  “Oh. Um. May I, um, get off the ground?”

  “Yes. And I’d offer you a hand, but even a gloved hand these days . . .”

  “It’s cool. I can get up.”

  He did so. He let out a sigh.

  “I’ll explain.”

  Chapter 6

  “You were murdered,” Angela said softly.

  “Murdered?”

  “Your body was found in or by a stream. I haven’t really talked to the sheriff yet; Jackson might have.”

  “Jackson?” the man said.

  “My husband. We’re both FBI agents,” Angela explained.

  “She’s cool,” Taron told the dead man.

  Angela lowered her head and smiled. Taron had already taken the man beneath his wing.

  “But—I wasn’t murdered.”

  “Your body was found; the sheriff—”

  “No, no, I was just at the stream, and it was beautiful. I felt the buzzing in my head . . . well, I’ll start at the beginning. Wally Milford—that’s my name. I came here from Southern California, starting out on a slow drive. I—I had an aneurysm and the doctors had told me . . . well, I didn’t have long. They couldn’t operate. So, I was on a bucket list trip. Hey, I couldn’t have hurt anyone. I knew that any dangerous times started with a headache, dizziness . . . I would have pulled off. But I was just traveling when this all started. This was where I intended to end. My family . . . well, I only existed because of Edgar Andrews. The legend came down through my family. Andrews kept my great-great-grandfather from being shot down,
and this was where it all happened.”

  “But most states have been on lockdown,” Angela said.

  “Yes, I know. When I started out, there were still places open. Bit by bit . . . well, you know. It was okay. I slept in my car.”

  “You—you’ve been looking in Eliza’s windows. Since you were . . . since you . . . fell into the stream?”

  “And I am so sorry to have distressed anyone!” he said.

  He was sorry; Angela could tell.

  “Could you not do it anymore?” Angela asked.

  “He won’t need to do it anymore; we’ll be looking after him,” Edgar said.

  “Oh, my God! You’re—you’re the Edgar!” Wally said.

  Edgar nodded gravely.

  “Thank you!” Wally said.

  Edgar shrugged and smiled. “So, see, Angela? He won’t scare Eliza anymore.”

  “Thank you all,” Angela said in turn. “Wally, how do I get your remains home?”

  “I want to be buried here.”

  “But you must have family—”

  “Yes, but they’ll come when they can. You can find my car—it’s pulled off into the woods about two miles south of the stream. It was beautiful that day. I was at peace with myself . . . with the fact that I was dying. My identification is in the car. My wife is gone; my kids knew what I was doing, and they respected my final wishes.”

  “Thank you,” Angela said again. She saw her phone was ringing. It was Jackson.

  She excused herself to answer it.

  “Hey!” she said.

  “I’ve found the Easter bunny,” he told her.

  She smiled.

  “And I’ve found the face in the window,” she told him.

  “Meet back at Eliza’s place.”

  “Let’s see, you, me, Corby, Eliza, and . . . the Easter bunny? I guess that’s just five. Wait—has the Easter bunny been careful?”

  “He has more hand sanitizer and sprays than a giant store,” Jackson assured her. “And your friends—they are friends?”

  She looked around. “They are friends,” she said. “But . . . well, they won’t be needing the hand sanitizer.”

  *

  Jackson had worried about Eliza. He wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to understand everything Angela knew with Eliza there.

  Corby, of course, would see all who came to the house.

  But Angela was outside in the driveway, surrounded by seven ghosts, when he arrived. They went through introductions, and he noted the way Edgar looked at his old home, pride and happiness in his eyes.

  He’d left behind a beautiful legacy.

  She looked curiously at the man he’d brought with him.

  “Please tell Angela about yourself—and these fine gentlemen as well,” Jackson said.

  “Okay, yes, sir. Ma’am! I heard Eliza Andrews was a widow. She never took her husband’s name, you know. He was Reggie Calhoun. Reggie Calhoun worked with my dad and my dad loved him. And he thought it was so cool he was married to Eliza Andrews. You see, my dad’s name was Arthur Dixon. He named me Reginald, after my great, great, great—whatever. You see, his great-great-grandfather was Nathaniel Dixon who was one of the men who lived that day at the end of the Civil War. I was worried about Eliza. I still live in a small town just north of here. I wanted to make sure Eliza had food and supplies, and I thought . . . I couldn’t just come to the door. I knew she’d be a very proud woman, and I didn’t want her to think the gifts were charity, and I thought it would be fun . . .”

  “And he couldn’t have known I was drawn to the house and Eliza, too. And that I ached to tell her I was grateful, and I could feel the warmth in that house,” Wally said.

  Reggie shuddered. “Is someone else here?” he asked.

  “A bunch of dead folks—gentlemen, great men, all of them,” Jackson said.

  “I . . . oh!” Reggie said, standing dead still, pale and trembling slightly. “I mean, it’s famous for being a haunted place.”

  Wally grimaced as he looked at Jackson. “I just wanted whatever it is that’s so beautiful about that house or, maybe, about the people who have lived there. Like Edgar, and like Eliza. I didn’t think she could see me.”

  “Angela? Jackson? Oh!”

  Eliza stepped from the house along with Corby.

  “Wow!” Corby breathed.

  “Who—who is that?” Eliza asked, pointing at Reggie Dixon.

  “The Easter Bunny,” Jackson said.

  “He’s not my peeping Tom,” Eliza said. “But . . . oh!” She stared at Angela hard. “There are other people here, too. The . . . people you see, and I can’t!” she added with a whisper.

  “Uh, yeah,” Angela said. “It’s going to be a bit of a long explanation.”

  “Not to worry,” Corby said cheerfully. “I’ll help!”

  “Shall we all go in?” Eliza asked. “And I do mean all of us. Hand sanitizer at the door—do not come in without using it. Oh, unless . . . well, you know. If you have flesh and blood hands, you will use the hand sanitizer! After all,” she added, looking at Reggie. “The Easter bunny has seen to it that I have plenty.”

  Jackson looked at Angela and they both smiled. Strange times. Good times. Well, for Levi, it was Passover season. For them it was Easter season.

  For all, it was a time when hope and belief mattered.

  And there was no better time for the world to find hope.

  *

  Easter dawned. Angela awoke in her husband’s arms, so very grateful for the morning, for the beauty of the day, for the man she loved. She’d learned something important from Wally—every day was a gift and this day seemed to be an extra special gift.

  First off, they gathered in the family room and watched Easter service online.

  Then they set to helping Eliza with dinner.

  She was preparing the ham so graciously brought to her by the Easter bunny.

  And while all her guests couldn’t dine with them, the extensions had been added to the table and there was a seat for everyone.

  Corby kept Eliza up on the conversation and Reggie Dixon, too.

  Eliza and Dixon could sense their guests, but not hear their words. Still, they were completely accepting.

  She was amazed and grateful that so many—the living and the dead—had gathered in honor of Edgar Andrews. And as they sat down to eat, she rose to make a toast to his memory.

  Reggie loved he was meeting another person who remembered the day when killing had happened, but others had been saved.

  Edgar kept looking around, amazed, grateful.

  Angela felt Jackson take her hand beneath the table and she smiled at him.

  “This . . . is amazing,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “We don’t always get to realize, but . . . all this. Because one man took a stand for peace and for life. It’s—”

  “It’s a wonderful lesson,” she said softly. “One person, one act of kindness, and so very much can come of it!”

  “Yes,” Jackson said.

  “Hey!” Corby said suddenly. He jumped up.

  “Corby—” Eliza said.

  “Excuse me, sorry, excuse me, just a second!”

  He headed to the mantle, and Angela saw her son had collected the palm crosses he had made with Eliza. He set one at every place, one for each of the living, and one for each of the dead.

  “Happy Easter! Peace, hope, and love!” he said.

  The ghosts at the table rose in unison.

  “Happy Easter—and Passover!” Edgar said. “Peace, hope, and love.”

  And then something extraordinary happened, even for Angela.

  The sun streaked hard through the house.

  And the ghosts, smiling, embracing, one and all . . .

  Disappeared into the light.

  Into beauty, peace, hope, and love.

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