by Lotta Smith
“Hmm, so far, her story checks out with her assistants’,” I commented, relaying her words to Rick.
“After dropping off Beverly, where did you go?” he asks.
“That’s a good question.” Eve crossed her arms and looked around. “So, where did I go? Considering I was killed here, I guess I tried to come home. Well, I remember feeling very sleepy. I’d rarely slept during the final three days, and I was drowsy. Of course, I made sure to take a two-hour nap every day, at least. Oh, bummer… I’m getting so old. Look, when I was about twenty-one, I was able to pull off three consecutive all-nighters and I was fine. I really hate getting old!”
“Um, okay.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. A part of me was compelled to point out that she wasn’t getting any older, mostly because she was dead, but I didn’t. “So, why did you hit the bar and nightclub in a condition best described as something like a stupor?”
“Are you kidding?” she exclaimed. “Drinking and partying after a series of hard nights is what most assistants working for graphic novelists crave. Without after-work parties, no one bothers with assisting you.”
“Oh really?” I muttered. According to my wishful thinking, if someone had strongly suggested late-night parties, that person might have been the one involved in the killing, but assuming from her story, she seemed like the one most enthusiastic about the party on the night of her murder.
“Eve, do you remember dropping by a bakery called Sugar and Spice?” I said.
“Sugar and Spice? Oh, the one open till late with the café corner? Yes. They serve killer coffee.” She nodded. “Oh, I need a cup of coffee. One with really strong caffeine and, hopefully, spiked with brandy or something. Nothing works as a better medicine than a few drops of brandy to cope with a hangover. Yeah, I want a coffee bad.”
I rolled my eyes, prompting Rick to ask, “What did she say?”
“She remembers visiting Sugar and Spice, and she wants coffee with brandy.”
“You omitted the part about me wanting a caffeine fix really badly,” Eve pointed out.
“So, do you remember purchasing a pastry at Sugar and Spice bakery?” Rick said, not knowing the dead graphic novelist’s complaints. “A brown bag with the pastry was found by your side.”
“Well… if you say I shopped at the place, I guess I could have indeed. Then again, my memory happens to be a bit hazy. Are you sure the bag was mine?” Eve tilted her head to the side.
“Your fingerprints were found on the bag. Also, the camera in the shop recorded you ordering a cappuccino and drinking it in the café space. And when you were finished, you purchased an éclair to go,” I informed her.
“In that case, I must have dropped by the bakery and shopped and had a cappuccino.”
According to the video footage, Eve stayed at the bakery between 11:57 p.m. and 12:22 a.m. She didn’t seem to have had a conversation with anyone while at the bakery. As she waited for her beverage to come and while she drank it, she fumbled with her phone.
“Were you texting someone?” Rick asked her.
“I don’t remember.” Eve shrugged. “Look, I have really fast thumbs, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I were texting like laser beams just before my death. Hey, why don’t you check my phone to see what I was doing? It’s embarrassing, but I can give you the password to unlock it.”
“No can do.” Rick shook his head as I relayed her offer. “When you were found lying here, you were a Jane Doe without a wallet or an ID. It was almost like pure luck that you were ID’d so promptly. You could have spent days in the morgue as an unidentified corpse.”
“Ouch. That’s terrible.” Eve grimaced, but a corner of her lips was quirked up into a grin as if she was enjoying the situation. Chuckling, she said, “Perhaps I should have laid off the vodka.”
CHAPTER 3
“Okay.” I offered a vague smile as Eve chuckled. I suspected she hadn’t yet fully grasped her situation, but compared to dealing with an angry and violent ghost, a tipsy and giggling one should have been better. Except there was something about her that made me slightly uneasy—as if she had a huge amount of energy stashed somewhere that she could release at any time, wreaking total havoc.
“So, how was I murdered?” she asked abruptly.
“Well….” I stumbled over the words. It wasn’t common to encounter a dead person who talked about her own death as if she was eager to milk every bit of trivial information about some truly juicy gossip of the century.
“Come on, you read the case file, didn’t you?” she pried.
“What?” Rick eyed me questioningly.
I pulled him aside and told him about Eve’s excessive eagerness to know the details about her own death.
“Eve, are you sure you want to hear everything?” Rick asked midair where the ghost stood. “Some information is shocking, and you might wish you didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. I won’t shoot the messenger,” she assured. “I’m ready to accept everything, no matter how shocking it will be. Also, did I mention I specialize in the fusion of suspense and horror?”
“Oh really,” I muttered before relaying her words to Rick.
She wasn’t like any ghosts I’d previously encountered. Most ghosts who’d just learned about their death tended to be more upset and agitated, especially when they realized they were murdered. They cried, shrieked, and threw whatever objects they could move. In the past, I had almost had my head smashed with a huge vase.
As for Eve, she seemed shocked in the beginning, but just a few minutes from learning of her death, she appeared to be excited and even enjoying the situation. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that she was a storyteller, but I wasn’t quite sure if such a reaction was healthy, or something I needed to be worried about.
“Okay, so let me walk you through the case,” Rick started. “According to the case file, you were stabbed from behind by the killer while walking down this pathway. It was deserted as it was in the middle of the night. According to the residents in this neighborhood, this pathway gets even quieter late at night. Whether the killer had been hiding in the darkness, awaiting you to come across, or if the killer had been stalking you and waited till you came inside a deserted pathway isn’t yet clear. It’s assumed that the killer took your purse and ran away.”
“Are you kidding me? Did you just say that the robber came from behind me?” Eve interjected. “If I remember correctly, robbers and muggers tend to confront you face-to-face and threaten you to ‘Give me your purse, or else,’ right? So, my mugger came from behind. Holy crap, what a coward!”
“Maybe you tried to get away and the mugger stabbed you in the back while coming to get you from behind,” I said. “You have four large wounds in the back, and the cause of your death was loss of blood.”
“Four wounds?” Eve’s eyes widened. Indeed, if she had wounds in the face, I’d have worried that her eyeballs would pop out of the sockets and start rolling on the pavement. Back wounds weren’t something pleasant to look at, but compared to gruesome injuries to the face—like a slashed face or something devoured by large animals such as a bear or a huge dog—the ghost of Eve was easy on the eyes.
“Yes.” I nodded. “Four wounds.”
“Let me see…” She reached back for her lumbar vertebrae that was playing peekaboo with the slashed skin and muscles. “Oh, you’re right. I can feel four wounds. Oh my God, am I touching my spine?”
“I’m afraid so,” I admitted, averting my gaze from the whitish bone between red stuff.
“Hmm… but this one itself isn’t that deep. I don’t think this one reached my vital organs like the lungs or liver,” she commented, sticking her fingers into the wounds. “So, the fatal one might be this one slightly on the side, I guess. Is this my gut? I thought guts were softer.”
“That’s your right kidney,” I said.
“Oh, my kidney?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Okay, this is my fatal wound.”
Rick cleared his throat. “Talk
ing about medicine?”
“Talking about anatomy would be more appropriate.” I rolled my eyes. “She’s feeling for her wounds and doing a thorough analysis of them,” I informed him as the ghost assumed the length of her cuts just by touching them. Surprisingly, she was mostly correct about the sizes.
“Are they knife wounds?” Eve asked.
“It seems so. Hey, I’m so impressed with your calmness,” I said, and I meant it. “Does it hurt?”
“No. Not at all.” She shook her head. “I don’t feel pain. I guess it’s one of the perks of being dead.”
“Hmm, she seems to be a woman with a happy-go-lucky attitude,” Rick commented after hearing her words. “For your information, the weapon wasn’t found at the crime scene, and it’s believed to have been taken by the killer. According to the ME’s report, the weapon is presumed to be a sharp object like a small knife. So, did you see the killer’s face?”
“The killer’s face? Well… I’m not sure.” Eve frowned. “I have no memory of the time when I got stabbed.”
“Can you recall any sounds you heard as you passed out? Or any smell?” Rick attempted to dig deeper.
“Okay, let me think about that night. If I try harder, I might be able to come up with more details. Look, like I said, I specialized in horror and suspense, and I’d drawn a smorgasbord of dead bodies in my stories.” She closed her eyes. “I was walking in this pathway, heading home—not that I have such a vivid memory of walking the route I’ve walked over and over, but my destination should have been home. Otherwise, I’d be somewhere else.” Then her forehead started to wrinkle. “I might have felt a terrible pain in my back at some point, but I’m not sure if that’s something I actually experienced, or something my head is making up. Other than what I’ve already said, I can’t recall anything. I’m sorry.” She shook her head.
“It’s okay,” I assured her as she looked sad and tormented for the first time. “Most people have a hard time recalling the moment of their deaths. Being killed would be traumatic.”
“Thanks for being kind to me after my failed attempts to grope your husband,” she said apologetically. “Oh my God… what was I thinking? Just because I’m invisible doesn’t mean I’m entitled to touch someone’s private parts without their permission. I’m so sorry. I really am. Oh crap, I really want to blame my drunkenness, but obviously I’ve had plenty of time to sober up and I can’t use that. But… oh my God, I’m so embarrassed!”
She covered her face with her hands, and despite being a ghost, her complexion turned pink from ghastly bluish paleness.
“It’s okay, he didn’t feel you, so—” I paused and searched for the right words. “—so vividly.”
Rick rolled his eyes. “Should I say thank you?”
Instead of an answer, I patted his arm.
“Do you have any witnesses of my murder?” Eve said abruptly.
“Unfortunately, no.” I shook my head. “It was late at night, and it was raining. In addition, February isn’t a time of the year when people keep their windows open for fresh air, and no one in this neighborhood noticed anything. You might have screamed, but the rain was strong enough to mask your voice, and no one was paying much attention to the outside world. At 12:47 a.m., a musician was walking on his way home and found you, but at that point, the killer was nowhere to be seen.”
The musician, a lead vocalist of a heavy metal band, screamed at the top of his lungs when he found a woman laid out cold in a total bloodbath, waking the residents in the neighborhood. Noise complaints flooded the 911 call center, and the musician himself called in to report the body. When the ambulance arrived at 12:59 a.m., the paramedics noticed she was still warm, albeit bleeding heavily. Even though they had done everything they could to resuscitate the Jane Doe, her condition had deteriorated on the way to the hospital. When she was rushed to Mount Sinai, her heart stopped beating and the pulse didn’t return. At 1:30 a.m., she was pronounced dead by the doctor who was assigned to her.
On the other hand, the police didn’t get there as fast as the ambulance. When they arrived at the scene at one forty-four in the morning, the neighborhood was packed with spectators. And no thanks to the mob of the people walking around, leaving footprints and fragments of fibers and everything, in addition to the rain, no trace of the killer was recognizable—assuming the killer had left traces in the first place—and the police couldn’t even determine which direction the killer had gone after stabbing Eve.
At first, Eve was just a Jane Doe without ID, and no missing person report that matched her was submitted. Under normal circumstances, it could have taken days, if not weeks, to be identified. Luckily, the brown bag of Sugar and Spice was found by her, and the bakery had a copy of the credit card receipt.
At three o’clock that morning, her body was identified as Eve Wellington by her older sister, Holly.
“So, it takes approximately three to four minutes to get from Sugar and Spice to here on foot, meaning the murder happened sometime between 12:26 and 12:47,” Eve said thoughtfully.
“Exactly.” I nodded. “So, can you recall anyone who might have had a grudge against you?”
“Grudge? Against me?” She placed her palms on her cheeks a la The Scream by Edvardo Munch, which could have been cute if only her palms weren’t bloodied and the tone of her voice was gentler. “Why do you have to ask that? I thought the killer was some mugger trying to rob me. Wasn’t I just a victim of coincidence, like wrong place at the wrong time?”
“It’s just a routine question,” I said, taking a step back. “Also, it’s customary to consider every possibility regarding a case, right?” I turned to Rick.
“That’s right,” he said. “We appreciate your cooperation, Eve.”
“Okay then.” Eve nodded, as if she was finally convinced about the situation, but then she said breathlessly, “Wait a minute! Why do I have not just one but four wounds? A mugger wouldn’t stab me repeatedly, would he?”
“Oh… that’s a good question.” I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, but I wasn’t sure if I sounded nervous. Actually, the NYPD detectives were seriously considering the possibility that the killer was someone who knew the victim, and the reason for taking her purse was an attempt to make it look like a robbery gone bad.
“Some amateur robbers can get excessively aggressive,” Rick interjected. “So rest assured. It’s not like your case has been ruled as a murder motivated by hatred.”
But the creative ghost wasn’t listening to him. “The determination to kill me no matter what is almost palpable. Rick, Mandy, it’s a premediated murder!”
Her brown eyes sparkled in the darkness. Somehow they looked almost red, spooking me big-time.
CHAPTER 4
“Eve, why don’t you relax a little?” I suggested, but she was on a roll.
She put her blood-soaked hands up in the air, prompting a strong gust of wind to blow violently. Trees shook and her pink hair stood up in the air as if she was channeling Medusa. In the middle of what could be best described as a little tornado, chopped leaves, fragments of garbage, and pebbles started dancing in the air.
“Someone… someone hated me sooo much…,” Eve muttered.
“What the hell…?” Rick opened his lips but didn’t finish the sentence. Whispering, he took me in his arms protectively. “Are you all right?”
“I’m okay,” I whispered back, then raised my voice at Eve. “Eve, you really need to chill! It’s not clear that the killer knew you. Robbers and muggers tend to get excessively rough when they’re beginners! Look, your purse is still missing!”
“Oh, that’s right.” Eve sucked in air as if she’d had a lightbulb moment. “You’re right. Whoever killed me took my purse with my wallet and everything. The mugger could have been looking for money, or he or she was trying to steal my identity, as I had my driver’s license in my purse. Okay then…. Look, I tend to get too excited whenever something shocking happens,” she said apologetically and let out a littl
e giggle.
As the storming wind stopped, the leaves and pebbles fell to the pavement.
I let out a sigh of relief.
“Has she calmed down?” Rick asked, still clutching on to me like an oversized teddy bear. To be honest, I really, really liked the feeling of his muscular arms tightly wrapped around me.
“Yes, we’re all good,” I informed him. He removed his arms from me and rolled his shoulders, but a part of me wanted to stay in his arms.
“Where is she?” he asked, and I pointed in her direction. The ghost we were dealing with happened to be pretty unstable, and my hand was slightly shaking as I indicated where she floated. Turning to her, he said, “Okay then. So, Eve, let’s get back to the topic of possible suspects. Can you think of anyone who might have hated you, or someone who wasn’t on friendly terms or you had trouble with?”
“That’s tricky.” Eve furrowed her eyebrows. “To be honest, I have so many people who must have wanted to kill me, and I don’t know where to begin.”
“I beg your pardon?” I said, not believing my ears.
Looking at me as if she were talking to a three-year-old, she went on. “I said I have way too many enemies, and I’m talking about people who not just could or would have wanted to kill me, but who definitely, absolutely wanted to kill me.” Balling her hands into fists and biting her lips, her shoulders shuddered sadly. “When you previously asked me that question, I was in a denial mode, but in retrospect, I think I had the bull’s-eye on my back. I can almost picture them googling ways to put an evil hex on me, and indeed practicing it.”
“Oh really?” I muttered, almost questioningly to myself.
“What did she say?” Rick wanted to know.
“She said she had too many enemies who absolutely wanted to kill her,” I informed him. “Also, she can almost visualize them putting an evil hex on her.”
“Okay.” He rolled his eyes. “So, Eve, let’s start with the prime suspect. Who would you name?”