by Angie Fox
And now he had.
He stood, with Bailey in his arms. “We should probably move on now.”
“Wait,” I said, climbing to my feet, brushing away the dead grass.
“Oh, yeah,” he said quickly. “Thank you,” he added quite formally. “My mom always taught me to say that.”
“That’s good,” I said. But that wasn’t it. “Your parents still don’t know what happened to you.” Every year, when they held their candlelight vigil, they stressed that they hadn’t given up hope. “Parker, I’ve never done this before, and I’m sure you haven’t either, but it seems right.” I clasped my hands in front of me. “Will you go with me to your parents’ house, just to talk to them and tell them you’re all right?”
He tilted his head. “I’m afraid to go back. My mom will be really mad at me.”
“She loves you,” I said.
He nodded, still appearing lost. “I went back once, looking for Bailey after she died. My parents are really sad.”
“Yes,” I said, drawing closer, “but I think this will make them feel better.”
He thought about that for a moment. “All right,” he said simply.
“You live close?” I asked as he began walking up the hill.
I remembered from the news reports that his home was by the river. Authorities and volunteers had made a thorough search.
“Just up the hill,” he said, moving through the trees above the bank.
I stuck close in case we ran across that escaped prisoner. Frankie couldn’t hold him back forever.
Bailey passed straight through a downed tree trunk, nosing at leaves and sticks as she did. Parker and I stepped over it.
“Are you dead too?” he asked.
“No,” I said casually. “Not yet.”
“Cool,” he replied.
We crested the hill and I saw a tidy green house with a large deck out back. A tree house perched in a tall, old oak. I recognized it from the news reports. Parker smiled when he saw it. Bailey dashed for home.
“Wait up!” Parker hollered, tearing straight up onto the deck and through the back wall after his dog.
At least they were both home. Now came the hard part.
I stood outside the darkened house. It was well past midnight and I wouldn’t blame Parker’s parents if they answered the door with a shotgun, but I went around front and knocked.
It wasn’t the sort of news I knew how to deliver. I hoped I was doing the right thing.
I could hear the river rushing below as I knocked once more.
A yellow porch light clicked on.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. and Mrs. McKenzie,” I called through the closed door. “It’s Verity Long. I have information about your son and—” the door opened and a man in a large T-shirt and pajama pants stood on the other side “—I didn’t think it could wait until morning.”
He wore at least a week’s worth of stubble and his hair skewed in every which direction.
“Who is it?” A blonde woman looked out from behind him, the circles under her eyes evident even in the weak porch light. She straightened when she saw me. “It’s the ghost whisperer.”
“Of a sort,” I said, not quite sure how to explain who I was or what I was about to do. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I met your son’s ghost tonight.”
Kim McKenzie began to cry.
Her husband, Ron, looked at me hard, but he opened the door anyway.
“Thanks,” I said, slipping inside a simple, but welcoming family room. “I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you.”
Parker’s mother stood motionless. “I knew,” she said. “I didn’t want to believe it.” She looked to her husband. “In our hearts, we knew.”
Their son appeared to my right, clutching Bailey, looking scared.
“He’s here,” I told them, “with Bailey. And he has a few things he wants to say to you.”
I moved toward a plaid couch in the center of the room, hoping they’d follow. If Kim didn’t sit, she was going to fall down.
She sat on the edge of the couch next to me and Ron took the seat behind her.
Parker sat on the coffee table in front of us, with Bailey in his lap. He clearly wasn’t thinking, but that was all right. It was a strange night for all of us and I doubted he could scratch the table anymore. Even if he could, his parents probably would have welcomed it.
“Tell Mom I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” he said.
I did. I also told his parents what had happened on that hot August day ten years ago.
“I told him.” His father began to cry. “I told him he could play with the rocks as long as he stayed on the shore.”
“It’s not your fault,” I told him. “Parker knows that.”
“Where is he?” Kim asked, searching as if she could see him.
“Sitting on the coffee table.”
She laughed, and then she cried.
Her husband joined her on the edge of the couch and enveloped her in a hug. “Never could get the kid to stop sitting on the coffee table,” he murmured into her hair.
Parker stood. “Tell them I’m all right,” he insisted. “Tell cousin Joe I’m smarter now and it’s okay if he comes over and plays with my Hot Wheels.” I didn’t mention that cousin Joe was probably old enough now to go to college. “Tell my parents I forgive cousin Jean for breaking the step on my tree house. And that I love them soooo much.”
I did. I repeated it word-for-word. And if I ever had any doubts as to whether I could do good with this power to see ghosts, well, they were gone now.
“He wants you to know he’s not alone,” I told them. “He has Bailey.”
Kim nodded. “Bailey died last week. It about killed us. That dog was all we had left of our son.”
“He was waiting for Bailey to go to heaven with him,” I told her gently.
“I also have a joke for them,” Parker added.
I wasn’t sure this was the time, but, “He wants to tell you a joke.” I listened for it and then couldn’t help but smile. “What do they serve at birthday parties in heaven?” I asked Parker’s parents as he danced in a circle and delivered the punch line.
“Angel food cake!” he squealed.
I couldn’t possibly deliver the line with as much gusto, but his parents got the message.
They both laughed, and cried. “That was his favorite joke,” his dad said, wiping his eyes.
Kim took her husband’s hand. “Parker is going to be all right.”
“Will he come back to visit?” Ron asked.
He’d been afraid before. I didn’t want to say that.
“I’ll be here for your birthday next month,” Parker promised. “I haven’t been to a birthday in ages,” he said, his butt bouncing on the coffee table. “I like it when Uncle Mike plays the piano.” Parker turned to me. “We all sing real loud.” His smile faltered. “But now I’m really ready to go. I’ve been waiting so, so long.”
I stood by while his parents said their not-so-final goodbyes.
“It’s time,” Parker said, gathering the little dog in his arms. Parker looked up and so did his dog. Bailey gave a loud bark.
Kim lifted her head, as if she could almost hear the ghost dog. Ron’s brow furrowed.
I didn’t see what captured their attention. But then the image of the little boy and his dog began to glow a glorious white.
“It’s so pretty,” Parker said. “This is awesome.”
His image glowed brighter until he and his dog were shimmering with it. Parker turned to me and smiled before he and Bailey glimmered away and became one with the light.
I stood in the quiet dark with Parker’s parents, humbled and thankful. Grateful to have found Parker and been privileged enough to help him on his way.
“He’s gone,” I told his parents, “for now.”
Bailey too.
I said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for that dog, and for the bond that withstood time and death to bring them back togeth
er.
They say not all dogs go to heaven, and I think that’s probably true. But if they are loved enough, you can certainly take them with you.
Chapter 6
The next day, Lucy walked in circles in the soft grass of my front yard while Bree attempted to attach her leash.
“Are you sure she’s ready?” I asked, watching Bree fasten the clip.
She grinned while she did it. “It’ll take practice. But let’s just see.”
Lucy glanced up at her trainer before edging a single paw forward. She took one step, then another.
“Good girl!” I clapped.
Frankie shimmered into view next to me, and the skunk sat down.
“Baby steps,” Bree assured me, unclipping Lucy’s leash and harness. “We can try again tomorrow.”
“She’s making incredible progress,” I said to Bree. Lucy appeared pleased as well. She sat on the grass, soaking up the sunshine. “Look,” I said to Frankie. “She’s not running.”
“Yet,” the gangster said.
He needed to open up and show his soft side. Pets were a good place to start. “Did you ever have a dog?”
“Yeah, right.” The gangster huffed. “Shoot-outs and puppy cuddling.”
“Even when you were a little boy?” I prodded, watching Lucy stretch out in the grass. “You weren’t always a gangster, Frankie.”
He grunted under his breath and bent down to hold a finger out toward the skunk.
She perked up, and after a moment’s hesitation, Lucy toddled over to give him a quick sniff on his fingertip. She ducked away quickly and hurried over to Bree, who was at her car, packing up her bag of training equipment.
Frankie tried to keep a stone face, but I saw a hint of a smile.
“That was a start,” I said.
His smile faded.
“Thanks again for last night,” I added. He hadn’t wanted to go anywhere near Convict’s Bend, but he’d done it anyway.
He frowned. “I can’t decide who’s nuttier. Me or that escaped prisoner.”
That guy had been creepy. “How’d you get away?”
“You just gotta know the type,” he said, with a shrug of the shoulder. “In my line of work, you meet all kinds.”
He’d helped Parker just as much as I did, by lending his power, by drawing off the scary ghost. “You made a real difference for Parker and his family. You did good.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
Hearing him admit it warmed my heart. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”
His brow furrowed. “Don’t push it.”
“I won’t.” I smiled. At least not today.
Tomorrow was another matter.
* * *
Note from Angie Fox:
An old neighbor of mine used to walk her cat on a leash. She and Charlie, the cat loved exploring the neighborhood and greeting everyone. I wish the same for Lucy and Verity.
Thanks so much for reading and I’m pleased to report that the next full-length novel in the series, Sweet Tea and Spirits, is available now.
If you'd like an email when each new book releases, sign up for new release updates. The emails go out for new releases only and your information will be kept safe by Lucy and a pack of highly-trained guard skunks.
Also, follow me on BookBub and you’ll always get an email for special sales.
Happy reading,
Angie
Sweet Tea and Spirits
Southern Ghost Hunter mysteries, book #5
By Angie Fox
Southern girl Verity Long is about as high society as her pet skunk. Which is why she’s surprised as anyone when the new head of the Sugarland social set invites her to join the "it" girls. But this is no social call. Verity’s new client needs her to go in undercover and investigate strange happenings at the group’s historic headquarters.
* * *
But while spirits are whispering hints of murder, the socialites are more focused on Verity’s 1978, avocado-green Cadillac. And when Verity stumbles upon a fresh body, she's going to need the long-dead citizens of Sugarland to help her solve the crime. Good thing she has the handsome deputy sheriff Ellis Wydell on hand, as well as her ghostly sidekick Frankie. The bad thing is, the ghosts are now whispering about the end of a certain ghost hunter.
* * *
Enjoy the following excerpt from Sweet Tea and Spirits…
They say you know a ghost is near when bloodhounds howl in the night or when you see a flickering shadow out of the corner of your eye. But as I leaned against the white painted rail of my back porch, I knew a ghost lingered behind me because he couldn’t stop talking about his poker hand.
“Four of a kind, aces,” Frankie crowed, laying his cards out on the table for his three gangster buddies, who would have been green with envy if they hadn’t shimmered in black and white.
The snub-nosed ghost across from Frankie tossed his cards down onto the table. “You’re cheating!” he declared, but he said it halfheartedly. He knew as well as I did that Frankie couldn’t be hiding an ace up his sleeve. Spirits could only own what they’d died with and Frankie hadn’t been holding any cards on that hot summer night back in 1933.
“Lucky at cards, unlucky at love,” I teased, gaining a bemused glance from my boyfriend of several months, the handsome deputy sheriff, Ellis Wydell. I drew close enough to smell his spicy aftershave. “I’m talking about Frankie.”
“I figured,” Ellis said, wrapping an arm around me. “You need to find him a girlfriend.”
“I think that’s beyond my pay grade.” I was still getting used to the fact that I could see spirits and talk to them. And that I occasionally hosted poker night. Ghostly matchmaking was a whole other level of weird.
Ellis and I shared a grin and I was just about to lean up and kiss him when the phone in my pocket vibrated.
“I wonder who that could be,” I said, not recognizing the number. If the call wasn’t from a friend or family member, maybe it was a potential client. I’d been trying to get my ghost-hunting business started. “Oh, Ellis. I think this could be it.” I stepped away from him and answered. “Hello?” I asked, over the croak of bullfrogs and the chirping of crickets.
Static clouded the other end of the line. A woman’s voice crackled in the midst of it. “We need you.” Her words sounded hollow, far away.
“Who is this?” I pulled the phone away to take a second look at the caller ID.
“I recognize that number,” Ellis said. “It’s the main line for the Sugarland Heritage Society.”
The group oversaw historic preservation and resided in one of the town’s most treasured old properties. It shouldn’t be open this late at night, on a Friday no less.
The screen on the phone flickered as I brought it to my ear again. “Sorry. I didn’t catch your name.” When there was no response, I added, “What can I do for you?”
The caller didn’t respond, and for a second, I thought I’d lost her. Then the voice came through. “There’s been a murder.”
Almost simultaneously, the police radio on Ellis’s belt went off.
Break-in at the Sugarland Heritage Society. All available officers report to the scene.
We exchanged a worried glance. Before I could tell him what I’d heard, a harsh click echoed in my ear and the line went dead. “Hello?” I demanded. “Hello?”
“I have to go,” Ellis said, backing up a few steps as he unhooked the radio from his belt.
“Woah! Hey!” the gangsters protested as my non-ghost-seeing boyfriend walked straight through their poker game.
He spoke into the radio. “This is Officer Wydell. I’ll be there in five.” He headed for the porch steps. “Sorry, Verity.”
“I’m going with you,” I said, hurrying after him, making sure to bypass the ghosts.
Ellis stopped at the edge of the porch and planted a quick kiss on top of my head. “Not this time. Break-ins can be dangerous.” He gave my hand a squeeze and then to
ok to the stairs. “Let me do my job.”
“It’s a murder,” I said, following him down. “That’s the call I just got. A woman reported a murder. The call came from inside the house.”
He drew his radio out again and cursed under his breath. “Watch your backs. Verity Long just received a call from inside the Sugarland Heritage Society. Caller reported a murder.”
I gave it ten seconds before that was all over town.
“You see why I’m going with you,” I said, trailing him to his police cruiser. Dang. I needed to get my purse.
“Not yet,” Ellis said, turning to me. “The police will be swarming all over the place.” He dug in his pocket for his keys. “This is the biggest thing since the bank murder.”
“Which I solved,” I pointed out.
“You know I think you’re amazing,” he said, with the kind of pride that made me go a bit melty, “but let the police do their job, mortal methods only. I’ll tell you what we find and bring you in as soon as we can.”
“But a murder?” I protested, unwilling to let it go.
“I’ll check it out,” he assured me.
Yes, well, he couldn’t see everything.
“I’ll call you as soon as I have something to tell you,” he said, opening the door and hitting the lights on the cruiser.
He’d better.
Sweet Tea and Spirits
Available now!
Series Reading Order
Keep track of Angie's new book releases by receiving an email on release day. It's fast and easy to sign up for new release updates.
The following Angie Fox titles are also available in print and audio formats.
* * *
THE SOUTHERN GHOST HUNTER SERIES
Southern Spirits
A Ghostly Gift (short story)
The Skeleton in the Closet
Ghost of a Chance (short story)
The Haunted Heist
Deader Homes & Gardens