He grunted something and walked away.
Jack smirked. “They do stink, don’t they?”
“To high heaven, as my momma used to say.” The flash of that small memory pinched my heart, but I held it together. I’d learned not to show those emotions to people because it always made them uncomfortable. No one knew how to handle other people’s grief, especially the grief of people who’d lost such important people so close together. Grief was painful enough without the added awkwardness of those who’d yet to experience it.
Jack’s smile softened. “I’m really sorry about your parents. They were good people.”
“Thank you.”
“Listen, I know you’ve been going through some things, and I’m sure it’s all been tough on Austin, too.”
Anxiety was my immediate response to the unknown, and I immediately wanted to cut and run. If given the chance to fight or fly lately, I chose fly. I’d done enough fighting over the past year to last a life time, and I just didn’t have it in me any longer. I tapped my foot to tame the urge. “Is something going on? Did he say something to you?”
“Oh, no, no. He hasn’t said a thing. I just figured it’s been hard on him. But if he, you know, needs someone to talk to, other than you, I mean, I’m here. I just wanted to let you know.”
I let out a breath I’d been holding in. “I appreciate that, Coach, thank you. He could use a good male figure in his life. He and my ex aren’t on the best of terms at the moment.”
He nodded. “I understand. If you’d like, I’ll mention that I’m here for him at practice tomorrow. You never know what might happen.”
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
“And Chantilly, we grew up together. You don’t have to call me Coach, you know that, right?”
I smiled. “Of course, Coach, I mean Jack. I know that.”
Yes, we’d grown up together, but our friendship was years ago, and with the time I’d been gone added to that, Jack felt like a stranger to me.
As I walked to my car, I glanced behind me and saw Coach, or Jack, shake his head and walk away with Lonna trailing behind him. I had a feeling she was giving him a lecture about me, and I couldn’t help but smile.
__________
LIVING IN MY CHILDHOOD home as an adult gave me a unique perspective on the home itself. My parents renovated the early 1900s ranch several times, at one point even adding a second story for the master bedroom. Years later they added a wall for a bathroom addition because my mother tired of going down the stairs three times a night to go to the bathroom. At my age I was just starting to understand how much of an annoyance that could have been.
Momma loved antiques and had a knack for choosing timeless pieces that easily intermixed with any décor, so I’d kept many of their belongings. I wanted to purge everything having anything to do with my marriage to Scott–except my son, of course—when we moved, but the life change wasn’t just mine, and to make things easier on and more familiar for Austin, I brought a lot of it with us.
The old house was quiet at night, sometimes so quiet I could almost hear the memories whisper through the rooms. After Austin went to bed, I tidied up, finished washing his lacrosse clothing and sprayed Lysol into his lacrosse bag before setting it on the back porch. I refused to leave that sickly sweet smelling mass in the house. I didn’t want the smell permeating the walls. If it rained, it had a place in the garage of course, but I figured it was a good wild animal repellent out on the porch. Castleberry had a coyote and bob cat issue, though I hadn’t seen either myself yet, and I swore that was because of the wretched stench of the bag.
I brought Bobby’s architect plans upstairs and laid them out on my bed. My Burmese cat jumped up and stretched out on top of the rolled out papers. “Cooper, seriously? I’m reading those.”
Not surprisingly, he completely ignored me. I gently pushed him off but he scooched right back into the same spot. Before I had a chance to pick him up again, something on the opposite side of the room caught his eye. He crouched into his hunting cat position and darted off the papers toward the edge of my bed. He whipped his head back and forth, and I watched with a careful eye. “Coopie, whatcha see?” I patted his back but he paid no attention. “Coopie?”
He kept his eyes focused across the room. Knowing my cat, it could have been a speckle of dust caught in the reflection of the moon shining through my blinds. He stretched his left leg out toward the window, meowed, and then as cats so often did, lost interest, turned around and splayed back out over Bobby’s redesign plans.
I swooped him up under my arm and carried him down to Austin’s room. “Okay, that’s it. You can go stretch across Austin for now.”
He meowed as I closed the door behind me. I didn’t feel bad. He preferred Austin over me anyway and had made that perfectly clear time and time again.
As I walked back toward the stairs, a voice came from in the kitchen. I froze. I knew Austin was in bed. I just laid eyes on him. No one else was inside. I certainly would have heard them come in, unless of course they were there before we got home, and they’d been hiding. Sure, it was unlikely, but it wasn’t impossible. I tiptoed as lightly as possible toward the kitchen and listened intently.
There is was again. A soft laugh with a high-pitched squeak at the end. A laugh I knew better than any other. “Momma?” I nixed the tiptoeing and bolted to the kitchen. I flipped on the overhead light but there was no one there. I scolded myself for thinking and wishing, for hoping Momma would be standing at the counter sipping a cup of coffee and laughing at something Daddy said.
They were dead. I knew they were dead, and I had grown to accept being an adult orphan, but every once in a while, my mind played tricks on me. Sometimes I just wanted the last year to be a terrible nightmare–the divorce, my parents’ death, all of it. Okay, maybe not the divorce because Scott’s true character hit me like a brick, and I wouldn’t take him back knowing what I knew no matter what, but the rest, yes, that I wished was a terrible nightmare.
I gave myself a pep talk as I climbed back up the stairs. Of course I’d think I could hear my parents. It was their home. Their lives, their memories, their souls were imprinted into the walls, the floors, the very heart of the home. It was filled with their energy. That gave me peace of mind and helped to heal my broken heart most of the time. Sometimes though, it made me sad and yearn for something I’d never have again.
I sulked up the stairs and got to work. I reviewed Bobby’s architectural plans and noted some suggestions then rolled up the papers and stuffed them back into the tube. Even though he’d been rude, I still had a job to do, and I intended to do it. His requested changes weren’t too much to ask, and I didn’t think they would be a problem for the historic committee to approve, at least not with some minor revisions.
__________
I DROPPED AUSTIN OFF at school and stopped at Community Café for a large coffee to bring to work. Del apologized again for Bobby’s behavior.
“Delphina, you do not have to apologize. I know you feel an obligation to his mother, but he’s a grown man, and if he doesn’t get it by now, there’s nothing you can do to change that. He’s just going to have to figure it out himself. Or not. Either way, you don’t owe me any apology.”
She smiled as she shrugged. “You’re right, but I feel like I’m breaking my promise if I don’t help the boy.”
“He’s not a boy. He’s a forty-five-year-old man, and I doubt his momma would be defending him as much as you have. She’d probably whip his butt with a switch.”
She laughed. “She probably would.”
“Well, there you go.”
We both laughed. I added cream to my coffee and headed to the office.
Just before nine o’clock I called Bobby’s restaurant and left a message on voicemail that I’d be there shortly with the suggested changes to his plan. I really felt if he and the architect could agree, the committee would vote to approve the changes, and he could get started on the reno. I just hoped he saw it the s
ame way.
I typed up a summary of the suggestions, enclosed them in an envelope, and locked up as I left. Olivia would arrive in a little under thirty minutes, but I never left the museum unlocked when it was empty. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust people, it was just a practice I’d grown accustomed to in Birmingham.
I smiled at Maybelle Parker as she headed toward me on the sidewalk. From the determination in her gait and the swing of her arms, I knew she was upset.
“Is everything okay, Maybelle? I’m headed to Hamilton House to drop these plans off with Bobby. Shouldn’t you be heading that way, too?”
Her nostrils flared. “Have fun with that. I don’t plan to go there ever again.”
Bobby’s temper must have struck again. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. Did something happen?”
She crossed her arms and stomped her foot. “That jerk fired me.”
“No. I can’t believe that. You’re too valuable to him.”
She nodded. “After all these years of doing the best I could for that good for nothing jerk, he ups and fires me because I’m trying to make something of myself.”
“What did he say?”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s just mad because I entered the barbecue competition yesterday and he found out. Said it’s unethical to compete against your boss because I have an edge, what with knowing his barbecue recipe and all.” She shook her head. “As if I’d ever use his recipe. Mine is ten times better than his, and he knows it. That’s why he fired me. He’s scared I’ll beat him like those food truck people did last year.”
I used a soft voice to try and calm her. “Maybelle, I’m so sorry. I know you’re upset, but you know how Bobby is. He gets bent out of shape, pitches a fit, and then he’s fine. Give him a few hours. I’m sure he’ll be begging you to come back.”
Her voice shook. “I don’t care. I’m done working for that snake in the grass. He can drop dead for all I care.”
I picked a bad time to bring him the plans, but then again, I wasn’t sure there was ever really a good time where Bobby Pruitt was concerned.
Her hands whipped and swung all kinds of directions as she spoke. “If I was you, I’d turn around and march right back to the museum and rip up those papers. He don’t deserve any kind of acceptance. He ought to just sell the place and settle somewhere else.”
I wasn’t quite sure if I should respond to that. I didn’t want to upset her further, but I had a job to do. It didn’t matter. She took a breath and then kept on venting.
“I got to go. I’m going straight to the bank and taking out a loan to open my own restaurant. A friend and me, we’ve been tossing the idea around for months now. I’m finally doing it. I don’t have a thing to lose now, do I?” She marched off so I figured she didn’t actually want an answer to her question, not that I had an answer anyway.
I stood there for a moment debating if it was the right time to bring the plans over to Bobby. He was probably boiling hot, and I was likely one of the last people he’d want to see, but I still had a job to do. It wasn’t personal, and I had to handle it that way, too.
The front door was unlocked even though it was too early for lunch. I stepped inside and my shoes echoed on the old wood floor. I glanced up at the rafters as I always did. I thought I did it to honor Agnes, but a part of me wanted to catch a glimpse of her like so many others claimed to.
A cold breeze swished by me and sent a tingling chill up my back. I rubbed my bare arms and moved quickly toward the kitchen.
Two cooks were scrambling around, and I knew they were feeling Maybelle’s loss. “Is Bobby here?” I asked.
Neither of them looked up from their stations, but one did say, “Try his office upstairs.”
I headed up there, sneaking another peek at the rafter as I did. Agnes was nowhere to be found. Maybe yesterday was my imagination after all? Lord knows I’d thought about her enough in that short time to imagine her as she died. Maybe that’s what everyone did, imagined her there and thought for sure she was real.
Bobby’s office door was closed, so I knocked softly. “Bobby, it’s Chantilly Adair. I have your plans, and they look pretty good. I just have a few things I’d like you to think about and we can submit them for review.”
He didn’t respond.
I tapped on the door again. “Bobby?”
When I got no answer again, I tried the handle. It twisted, so I took a chance and opened the door.
Bobby was there all right, but there was a reason he wasn’t answering. He couldn’t. He sat slumped in his chair behind his desk with a black handled knife protruding from his back.
“Bobby?” I rushed over to him and checked his pulse. “Oh, no. Bobby.” I quickly hollered for help and grabbed the phone on his desk, dialing nine-five-five twice before my fingers finally got the number right.
The operator said she’d stay on the line, but I told her it wasn’t necessary. She argued and suggested I leave the room, but I just couldn’t leave poor Bobby like that. I stood and waited for the police to arrive, my heart racing and my head pounding, and my phone stuffed in my back pocket.
The small bedroom/office walls closed in on me. I struggled to breathe, and my temples throbbed. The room spun, and I felt faint.
Someone dressed in black barged in. I heard voices. They sounded mad, but I couldn’t make out any words. A white cloud circled around me, and a woman screamed and cried off in the distance.
Frozen in place, my body heavy and cold, all I wanted to do was move, to run, but I couldn’t. My feet were stuck to the ground, held by invisible weights so heavy I couldn’t move. I blinked over and over, trying desperately to focus, but the room was too dark, too blurry, and I couldn’t make out anything but shadowy images.
A white cloud.
A person dressed in black.
A rope.
A knife.
A letter dropping to the ground.
A deep guttural scream.
And then darkness.
“Chantilly? Chantilly wake up.” Strong hands gripped my shoulders and shook me, making my head throb more. “Wake up.”
I opened my eyes slowly. “What’s going on?” The fog cleared, and I stared Jack Levitt in the eyes. “There you are.” He let go of my shoulders and helped me up. “You okay?”
I was a bit shaky, but I was fine, and I told him that. “What happened?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. You called 911 and said Bobby Pruitt was dead. When we got here, you were passed out on the floor.”
I rubbed the bump on the back of my head. It still hurt. “I passed out? Like fell on my face passed out?”
He shook his head. “More like the fetal position.” He walked me out of the room and hollered to a police officer a few feet away. “Carter, take her to the paramedics and have her checked out okay?” He smiled at me, a deep sincerity settling in his eyes. “Let them take care of you. I’ll be out in a bit, okay?”
I nodded, and the officer helped me down the stairs.
The paramedics checked my vitals, though I assured them I was fine. They offered me a blanket and a bottled water, but I refused, eager to get back inside and see what was going on.
I stood outside of the historic building and waited for Jack to come out. It took him a good thirty minutes, and in that time a crowd had gathered. They hounded the two officers blocking the entrance.
“What’s goin’ on in there?”
“Was it a fire? I swore I heard a loud boom last night. Has to be a fire.”
There wasn’t even a smidgen of smoke rising from the building.
“Anyone hurt?”
I kept quiet. Jack came out and spoke briefly to the crowd as I stood by the ambulance watching.
He kindly suggested they leave, saying their presence was a hinderance to the investigation, and most of the crowd dispersed but for few stragglers sticking around, hoping to get their eyes on the action.
Jack nodded toward me as he walked up to the paramedics. “I’m going to nee
d y’all to remove the deceased from the back side of the building. I’d like to give Bobby a little privacy.”
“Yes, sir,” both paramedics said.
“We’ll give you the go ahead in a bit.”
They nodded.
He leaned up against the ambulance. “How’re you feeling?”
“A little shaky, but I’m okay.”
“Tell me what happened.”
I reiterated the events leading up to finding Bobby stabbed in his chair.
“Was anyone else in the office?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you remember how you ended up on the floor?”
Beads of sweat formed on my temples as I searched for an answer. “I don’t know. It was really odd. One minute I’m on the phone with the emergency operator, and the next the room started spinning, and the person in black came in, and then you shook me awake.”
“A person in black came in?”
I nodded.
“Did you get a look at them?”
“No, I...not really. It’s all kind of a blur. I heard screaming, maybe arguing.” I paused. “Definitely arguing, and someone crying—a woman, I think—oh, did you get the paper? What did it say?”
“What do you mean, paper?”
“I mean, like a letter or something. It fell to the ground, but that’s all I remember. It just kind of appeared and fell.” I rubbed my temples again. My head really hurt. “It was all blurry and foggy, and a white smoky haze filled the room.”
His eyes fixed on mine, and he held up two fingers. “How many fingers do you see?”
“Four, five counting your thumb.”
“Really?”
“Do you want to know how many you held up? If so, it was two.”
“Austin told me you fell down the stairs at work the other day. Maybe you have a concussion. You need to see Doc.”
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice stern and determined. “I don’t have a concussion.” My legs ached, but that usually happened when I went through something intense. My body responded to stress in unusual ways. I breathed in deeply letting the air fill my lungs and sit a moment before releasing it. “Did the cooks see anything? Did they see the person dressed in black?”
Get Up and Ghost Page 4