“Mel, the last time we did something like that, you almost got hurt,” said Jackie.
“I agree,” said Detective Shorts. “Under no circumstance are you to set up a trap with yourself as bait.”
“Fine,” I said.
“I mean it, Miss Summers,” said the detective.
“I promise not to use myself as bait,” I said.
“Excuse me,” said a middle-aged woman in a nurse’s outfit, “but I’m going to have to ask you two to leave. One of my nurses is screaming about ghosts and…”
“I did it!” Rachel appeared in the middle of the room, screaming at the top of her lungs.
The head nurse looked at her, her eyes growing wide, and fainted.
“I think she’s been working too hard,” said Rachel.
“We need to go,” I told her.
“Be careful, Miss Summers,” Detective Shorts called after me.
“Hey, don’t worry,” said Rachel. “She’s got me!”
Chapter 10
“So where to now?” asked Jackie as we left the hospital.
“We need some information,” I said.
“Jack?” asked Jackie.
“Jack,” I replied.
Jackie frowned. I understood why. The last time we had gone to see Jack, he was not too pleased to see us. In fact, he had said maybe five words and did not bother to look up from his computer screen, treating us as though we were more of an annoyance than friends. Though, I’m not sure if Jack ever considered us friends. He was Greg’s cousin and we usually used him more for his ability to get information than anything else, something that we might want to think about changing.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Greg.
“Mel?”
“Hey,” I said. “We need to go to Jack and have him look up some leads for us. Is there any way you can meet us there?”
“I get off in about an hour,” said Greg. “I’ll see you then.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“So?” asked Jackie.
“He’ll meet us down there in an hour.”
“Good. Then, we still have time to get some lunch.”
While we waited for Greg to get off work, Jackie and I went to a local diner for lunch. The small restaurant had one of those long counters that stretched around the kitchen in a u-shape bend with small, red chairs, that twisted and turned, surrounding it. The compact dining space did not detract from its popularity. We managed to squeeze in and find two seats at the counter. We ran to them, plopping our behinds on the cushions before two construction workers, who had the same idea, could.
“Hey!” said one. “Ouch!” He rubbed the back of his head where a salt shaker, thrown by—you guessed it—Rachel had hit him.
“Find your own seats!” she yelled at them.
They walked off, thinking that some other customer had shouted at them.
Jackie and I took our seats and two menus floated across the counter into our hands. We seized them before anyone could see the menus hovering in midair.
“I’m thinking of the grilled cheese,” said Jackie.
“No, that’s fattening,” commented Rachel. “All that cheese.”
“Then there’s the tomato soup,” mused Jackie.
“I think it just comes from a can,” Rachel said. “It’s going to have that metallic taste.”
“Hey,” I said, pointing at the menu, “this hamburger sounds good.”
“But it doesn’t have any bacon,” Rachel continued to voice her opinion on our food choices. “I’m sure it costs extra.”
“Rachel,” I said to her, “please.”
“Sorry,” said Rachel. “It’s not often I get to be in an eatery. Besides, you two should really eat more salads.”
“I thought you wanted her to eat bacon,” Jackie said to Rachel, while trying to look as though she talked to me. “That’s not exactly healthy.”
“Bacon is healthy no matter what time of day it is. And it is an essential part of any well-rounded diet. It’s bacon. Bacon means delicious!” Rachel sang that last word, garnering a few odd glances.
“Are you ready to order?” asked the waitress.
Jackie ordered the grilled cheese sandwich, despite Rachel making gag-faces at her and pretending to throw up, and I requested the hamburger with fries.
“I told you,” said Rachel when the waitress left, “you need to eat more salad.”
“It’s a diner,” I whispered to her. “I don’t think they even have the makings for a salad.”
“Sure they do,” said Rachel. “I’ll prove it to you.” She vanished.
While she was gone, our food arrived and both Jackie and I tore into our meals, acting as though we hadn’t eaten in days, even though it had only been since that morning. I had just finished the last bite of my burger when I heard a familiar voice.”
“Mellow, isn’t it?”
I turned. Detective Henderson had walked into the diner with her partner and both looked at Jackie and me, me with my ketchup and mustard stained face while Jackie sported a mixture of cheese and bread crumbs on hers. We both snatched out napkins and wiped our mouths.
“Can I help you, detective?” I asked. Was she following me? Something told me that this accidental meeting had not been coincidental.
The detective took a seat next to me. “It has come to my attention that your name is on the list of approved visitors to Hildegarde Heights, put there by a Beverly Waverly.”
Well I’ll be. Beverly did put me on her visitors’ list. “We”—I pointed at Jackie and myself—“saw her this morning.”
“Oh. Have you known her long?” asked the detective.
Nope. This meeting definitely was not a coincidence. “Only since this morning,” I said.
“Interesting,” said Detective Henderson.
“What is this all about?” I asked.
“I tried to speak with her today, but she clammed up. It seems that she is not fond of the police, especially the local police.”
“And you want me to talk to her.”
“I am asking for your help,” said the detective. “I just want to know more about this Roger Croukman and a case that happened 20 years ago. I believe that it might have something to do with why someone made an attempt on Detective Shorts’ life.”
“I’m not sure she’ll talk to me about it,” I said.
“Just be her friend and if the conversation should get steered toward what happened 20 years ago, just listen and…”
“I’m not wearing a wire,” I said.
“Fine. Just let me know if she says anything pertinent to yesterday’s shooting.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
“Do that.”
“Hey!” All eyes turned in the direction of Rachel’s voice; she stood in the doorway to the kitchen, the doors swinging back and forth making fwap-fwap sounds, holding up a head of iceberg lettuce and a tomato. “They do have the fixings for a salad!”
The bustling noise of clanging pans, clinking forks, and lively conversation ceased; it was so silent that even a pin failed to make the slightest noise. Rachel eyed the crowd before her, realizing that she had been louder than she had planned, and watched the blank stares from people who had stopped eating just to gawk at her. A man next to us held his fork in front of him; the piece of pie on it fell to the mosaic tile of the counter, decorating it’s white color with a splash of cinnamon and sugar.
Taking our cue to leave, Jackie and I stood up, dumped some cash on the counter to pay our check, and walked out of the swinging glass doors. No one bothered to stop us, their eyes still glued to the hovering head of lettuce and tomato.
Rachel walked over to Detective Henderson—all the customers saw was two floating vegetables that had fixated on one individual—while those near her hurried away as though touching the lettuce and tomato meant certain death. The detective said nothing, and managed to keep a straight face, as the floating lettuce and tomato settled in her hands.
“H
ere,” said Rachel, “you look like you could use these.”
Detective Henderson’s eyes widened, but she remained calm.
Once outside, we all piled into my car and drove to the police station to meet up with Greg as the hour we had needed to kill was up.
I pulled into the parking lot—boy was it crowded!—at the police department, winding my way through the narrow rows and the parked cars that formed a lopsided line with bumps and uneven, reflective edges. A space opened up. Not caring who I would have to cut off to get it, I sped up and pulled in just as another car thought he could do the same. Maddening honks and a string of cuss words filled the air as the driver made his displeasure known.
“Oh, no he didn’t,” said Rachel when the man referred to me as something that came out of the back end of an elephant. She vanished from the back seat, appeared in front of his car, and slammed her fists on the rusty hood, screaming, “We were here first! Get your own space!”
Rachel disappeared before the man’s eyes. As we got out of the car and walked over to the lobby entrance, the man sat frozen, rooted to his car seat, unable to move. In response, Rachel materialized next to his car window. “Hey,” she said to him, jerking him back to reality, “you’re blocking traffic.”
When she vanished again, only to show up by my side, the man gunned his engine, tires squealing, as he tore out of the parking lot and hurried far away from us, with Rachel chortling.
“That was so much fun!” she said.
I kept my mouth shut. There was no point in raining on her parade, and the man did bring it upon himself, though maybe I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to get a parking space.
Greg waited for us by the glass doors as we walked up; Rachel skipped like a schoolgirl, pleased with herself and her antics at the diner, as well as the parking lot. “We don’t have much time,” said Greg, opening the door and ushering us inside. Rachel had disappeared again.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Jack is under a lot of pressure right now. The new detective that transferred here somehow got wind that he has been helping us, or digging into files without permission. Though he is not officially under investigation, she is keeping a close eye on him.”
“Maybe we should go,” I said.
“No.” Greg led us down the stairs and into the basement where Jack’s office was. “He’s already promised to look into the old case files concerning that 20-year-old murder you told me about, but we need to be quick.”
Doing our best to not attract attention, we hurried down the stairwell and through the hallway that led to Jack’s office, piling in there and shutting the door.
“It’s about time,” said Jack. “That Detective Henderson just phoned me, asking me questions about you.”
“Really?” asked Greg.
“Well, not directly, but she seems to know something and I don’t want to get into trouble.”
I guess this explained why he had been rude to Jackie and me when we stopped by the day before.
“So never again after this,” said Jack.
Greg said nothing, but got one of those all-knowing looks on his face that said he didn’t believe Jack’s stance. I knew Greg. He always had a way to get his cousin to do things.
“I just need to know about a murder that took place 20 years ago. The man convicted was named Roger Croukman.”
Jack turned toward his computer and punched the keys at lightning speed, bringing up screen after screen until…
“Here,” he said. “I remember this one. It was one of the most publicized cases in this area, garnering a lot of attention. Some people are still upset about it, thinking that the guy should have gotten the chair.”
“Can you print it off?” I asked.
“Some of the case files are locked and have been redacted, but I can get you a few photos that were used in the trial.”
“What happened, anyway?” asked Jackie.
I looked around for Rachel, wondering where she had gone off to. She could be so unpredictable.
Jack leaned closer to the screen so he could read the small print. “Back in 1995 there was a huge murder trial, well, huge for this area, that took place. Roger Croukman and his fiancé were about to get married. They were essentially the couple of the century in this city and their marriage was a huge affair. The night before their wedding, they had a huge party—the pre-wedding dinner. Just about everyone was invited, but it seems that not everything was going well.
“Roger’s fiancé, Brianna, was last seen going into the gazebo with him. They talked and witnesses said that it got a little heated. Roger was last seen leaving the gazebo and re-joined the party, though no one saw him the rest of the night. About an hour later, Brianna was found dead.
“Since no one could find Roger at first, the police feared that he might have been a victim as well, but when they found him unharmed in his room, their theory changed. Soon after, the evidence against him piled up. Eyewitnesses said he was the last to see Brianna alive. No one else was seen entering or leaving the gazebo. Photos place him there, and they are time stamped, making it difficult to argue against it.”
“All of this is circumstantial,” I said. “Just because no one saw another person enter the gazebo, doesn’t mean that there wasn’t one.”
“True,” replied Jack, “but there is no proof to back it up. Roger always maintained his innocence, even while in prison. He said that the photographer could prove he didn’t do; the only problem is, the guy is dead.”
I frowned, remembering that Detective Shorts had said that the photographer died that night from being struck by lightning.
“Them’s the breaks, huh?” said Jackie. “To have the only person who can prove your innocence die. Talk about cruel.”
“That’s assuming he is innocent,” said Greg.
“So how does this play into the break-ins?” asked Jackie.
The printer hummed and printed off several photos that had been used in the trial. I grabbed them and flipped through them, stopping on one in particular.
“I think I know.” I handed the photograph to Jackie. “Doesn’t he look familiar?”
She took the picture and gasped. In it was the image of the man we had seen at various times since we started working at the Candle Shoppe. He held his camera, taking pictures of the guests, but in this instance, the people stood in front of a mirror and his reflection showed up.
“Him?” asked Jackie.
I shook my head, not believing that I never realized he was a spirit still wandering this earth, though, he had never made any indication that he was one.
“What?” asked Greg, taking the picture.
“We’ve seen him before,” I said. “He’s been one of our regulars at the Candle Shoppe, always coming in and leaving. Though, we never did see him come in through the front door.”
“Or leave,” said Jackie. “And when we did see him, it was usually during a time when we had a lot of customers.”
“I know where we’re headed next,” Greg said.
“Yeah, well,” interrupted Jack, “you might want to head over to Beverly Waverly’s place.”
“Why?” asked Greg.
“According to the trial transcripts,” answered Jack, “she was the only person who believed Roger’s story and even testified that she didn’t think he had done it.”
Well, that explained why Detective Henderson wanted me to speak with Mrs. Waverly. She also thought that the two incidents were connected (the break-ins and Roger’s conviction) and probably believed that since Mrs. Waverly had put me on her guest list, I would be in a perfect position to talk with her. The thing was, I needed to talk to her now.
“I guess we’ll need Rachel to find the photographer’s spirit,” said Jackie. “Where is she anyway?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t seen her since the parking lot.” The fact that Rachel had disappeared like that didn’t bode well and I had a feeling that she was up to something.
Hurried steps sounded outside the door, growing louder until they passed and faded.
“We should go,” said Greg.
“About that other matter,” said Jack, making us stop.
I glanced around for any sign that Rachel had shown up, but found none.
“What other matter?” asked Jackie.
That’s right! I had forgotten to tell her. “Tell you later,” I whispered.
Jack yanked open a drawer in his desk and pulled out an envelope, handing it to me. “This everything I could find on that guy you and Greg had me look up. I’m sorry, but there was nothing else I could find.”
“Thanks,” I told him.
We left Jack’s office, peeking around the door to make sure that a certain detective was not watching and made our way outside.
“Now,” said Jackie when we got out into the cold air. “What’s this all about.”
I pulled her close and leaned in just in case Rachel showed up. “I asked Greg to have Jack look up the information for Tom’s current whereabouts, Rachel’s fiancé.”
“What?”
“She was feeling down during my engagement party and I remembered that she had been engaged when she was murdered. I just thought that maybe I could help her get a little bit of closure.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Jackie.
“I… uh… forgot.”
Jackie glared at me with a “how could you” look, which made me feel even worse, but before I had a chance to apologize to her, Jillian showed up. What was it with this woman? Was she stalking me? Everywhere I went, she appeared.
“Well,” she said in a snide tone, “if it isn’t the Apple Dumpling Gang.”
“Jillian,” Jackie returned her snide tone and fake smile, “how unpleasant it is to see you.”
Jillian smirked, unimpressed by Jackie’s retort. “So what is a psychic doing here at the police station? Don’t tell me they arrested you for fraud.”
“Don’t you wish,” spat Jackie.
“What do you want?” I said, holding Jackie back.
“Nothing,” replied Jillian.
Greg snorted in disbelief. “You’re a reporter. I doubt that you are up to just nothing. Leave my fiancé alone.”
Double, Double, Nothing But Trouble (A Mellow Summers Paranormal Mystery Book 10) Page 8