In the Air Tonight

by Lori Handeland

  Ten minutes, I promised. If I hadn’t found Stafford’s bones by then they were buried too deeply to be found with a shovel anyway.

  Jenn arrived, scowling. She probably would have bitched at me some, but she was afraid to wake “them” up. If I hadn’t been the same, and in a big hurry, I would have bitched about her evening with Brad.

  I’d been around to pick up the pieces when the two of them had self-destructed the first time. What had she been thinking to allow him into her house, let alone allow him to stay the night? Then again, she’d told me he was ridiculous in bed.

  Another reason I zipped my lip and left the room without a word. My ears still burned from her telling me all about it years ago. Jenn had always had a tendency to overshare.

  I snuck into Mr. J’s office. He was rarely in it, unless he had to retrieve a tool or a cleaning solution. A school of this size kept him hopping. He could probably use part-time help, but I think they’d spent all that money on the metal detector. People had panicked big-time after the last school shooting, and, really, who could blame them?

  I snatched a shovel—Mr. J did all the gardening too—and hurried to the apple tree that swayed at the very edge of the property. Lucky for me it was on the gymnasium side of the school. No windows. Not that I couldn’t have explained away my behavior as a treasure hunt or some other kindergartenesque project. But I’d rather not.

  I contemplated the circle of earth around the tree. Under the apple tree could mean anywhere, and I didn’t have the time.

  “West side.” Henry materialized. He had to duck or get a branch through his brain. I wondered if that would hurt.

  “Here.” He pointed to the foot of the tree.

  I started to dig. “How do you know that?”

  “The property line is…” He sliced his hand across the tree.

  I didn’t bother to ask how he knew where the property line ran. All that mattered was the digging.

  “The boy was buried on school grounds, which is why he’s attached to the place.”

  The first few shovelfuls weren’t easy to remove. The grass was thick and the ground was dry. But after that, things got easier. If you call tiny pieces of bone tumbling from the earth easier.

  “You should probably use your hands now,” Henry said. I glanced up. “You don’t want to break the skull.”

  I dropped the shovel.

  The idea of using my hands, of touching a skull, made me a bit woozy, but I did it. I had to. I couldn’t just leave him there.

  My fingertips met something solid, and I yanked them back.

  “Go on,” Henry urged.

  I brushed away the dirt from the slightly rounded protuberance. If I’d just been digging, for whatever reason I might do such a thing, I’d have thought I’d found a rock. In seconds the skull of a child emerged in the bottom of a hollow; bone fragments littered the overturned dirt. I sat on my heels, rubbed a thumb gently over the crack in the skull.

  “Oh, Stafford,” I whispered.

  “Is that a skull?”

  Chapter 23

  Raye snatched her hand out of the hole. She glanced to the right of the apple tree before lifting her gaze to Bobby’s. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Someone died.”

  “I figured that out for myself.” He went onto his knees at her side, careful not to disturb anything. “That’s a kid-sized skull.”

  It also had a kid-sized fracture. He’d seen enough of them to know.

  “Why did you dig it up?” he asked.

  “Someone had to.”

  “And it was you because…?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “How did you know to dig here?” He remembered what she’d said as he walked up. “Is that Stafford?”

  “Yes.”

  She seemed pretty certain, which made Bobby nervous. How would she know who it was and where it was unless …

  His mind shied away from the rest of that sentence. There had to be another explanation.

  “Did someone confess to you where he was?”

  “Confess?” she repeated.

  “The kid has a skull fracture. Whether it was an accident or on purpose, the fact remains that someone buried him where he shouldn’t be buried.”

  “We have to put him to rest.” She reached for the bones. He grabbed her hands.

  “You shouldn’t touch anything more than you have already.”

  “Right.” She set her hands on her knees, but she remained where she was.

  “I have to call the chief.”

  Raye nodded.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me before I do?”

  She shook her head.

  “Raye, he’s gonna ask how you knew that kid was buried here.”

  “I just—”

  “You didn’t just know. The only person who ‘just knew’ would be the one who put him there.”

  Her forehead furrowed. “You think I did?”

  He scrubbed his fingers through his hair, tempted to yank it out. “I don’t. No.” Anyone who’d seen her with children couldn’t think that. Then again, he’d been hoodwinked before. “But others will.”

  “I was going to bury a prize for a treasure hunt, and I found him.”

  He bit the inside of his lip. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Raye.” He pulled out his cell, dialed Chief Johnson. “Not only do you have no prize to bury, but it doesn’t explain why you think you know who that is.”

  After informing Johnson of what was going on, Bobby did the same with Mrs. Hansen. She handled the news with fewer hysterics than expected. Or at least fewer hysterics than Jenn had showed when she was told she’d have to stay with Raye’s class for the rest of the day.

  “It’s only an hour until school’s out,” Mrs. Hansen said.

  “But they’re awake!” The emphasis Jenn put on the final word carried all the horror of an ingénue in a zombie flick.

  They’re alive!

  Raye sat on the bench where he’d put her, staring into the distance. A few times Bobby could have sworn he heard her speaking, but when he glanced in that direction, she was alone.

  Johnson arrived shortly thereafter with Christiansen in tow. It wasn’t every day they found the bones of a child buried on a playground. Or at least Bobby hoped they didn’t. The two stood at the edge of the hole, staring at what lay on the bottom.

  “Any missing kids in the area?” Bobby asked.

  Johnson didn’t even look up. “No.”

  Bobby eyed the forest. “You’ve gotta lose a few in there.”

  “We might lose ’em, but eventually we find ’em again.”

  “Ever hear the name Stafford?”

  The chief’s head lifted. “My granddaughter used to talk about Stafford.”

  “Yet you don’t have a missing persons report on him?”

  “You think that’s Stafford?” Johnson pointed at the skull. “Not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Stafford is an invisible friend.”

  Bobby laughed.

  The chief didn’t. “Who told you about him?”

  Bobby didn’t answer. Had finding the bones of a child caused Raye’s mind to go slightly awry so she’d applied the name of the classroom’s imaginary playmate to the skeleton? Sadly, he liked that explanation better than any of the alternatives.

  “My niece talked about him too,” Christiansen said. “A lot of the kindergarten kids see Stafford.” At Bobby’s quick glance the doctor shrugged. “I figured it was a harmless delusion. Or maybe…” He frowned into the hole again.

  “Maybe what?”

  “A ghost.” Bobby snorted, and the doctor lifted his eyebrows. “‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio.’”

  “Huh?”

  “Shakespeare. Hamlet. Which, considering the skull, is apropos.”

  “Raye found this?” Johnson asked.

  “She was burying something for a treasure hunt.”

&nbs
p; Johnson grunted. He didn’t sound any more convinced than Bobby was.

  “She thinks this was Stafford?” The chief pointed at the bones, and Bobby nodded. “Maybe you should call the FBI guy and see if they have any missing Staffords on their list.”

  “Really?”

  “There’ve been more times than not when Raye knew things she shouldn’t. And she was right.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Bobby asked.

  “It means you should call the FBI guy,” Chief Johnson said, and walked away.

  *

  “Why’d you do that?” Stafford materialized next to me on the bench.

  “It’s time.”

  “I’ll be good.” A tear ran down his cheek. I felt like a wicked witch.

  “You can’t stay forever.”

  Although … I had found his bones, and the kid was still talking to me. Maybe there was more that needed to be discovered.

  “What happened to you, Stafford?”

  Bobby was on the phone. Suddenly his gaze met mine, and I folded my lips together lest he see me talking to myself. Again.

  “You’ll see.”

  Stafford’s voice was faint and, now, so was he. As Bobby kept talking, the little boy sitting next to me disappeared. The breeze ruffled my hair. I swore it whispered good-bye.

  Bobby ended his call and strode toward me. Before he could question me again, I questioned him. “Who was he?”

  That phone call had revealed the truth or Stafford wouldn’t be gone. Unless the kid was screwing with me.

  Wouldn’t be the first time.

  Bobby sat down. “James Stafford junior. J.J. to his friends.”

  “Where was he from?”

  “Chicago.”

  “What else?”

  “The mother thought the father had taken him. But the guy turned up in St. Paul without the boy. They could never prove he’d run off with the kid, let alone that he’d…” Bobby waved in the direction of the grave.

  “They will now.”

  “They will,” he agreed.

  Silence fell between us. I didn’t know what to say.

  “You didn’t just find him by accident,” Bobby said.

  “No.”

  “You want to tell me how?”

  “No,” I repeated. “But I will.”

  He waited. I couldn’t find the words to start.

  “Raye…” he began.

  “I see dead people,” I blurted.

  That probably wasn’t the best way.

  “Did you see the father bury him? Did one of the children find a bone?”

  “You’re not listening to me. Stafford’s been a thorn in my side since the day I started teaching.”

  “Stafford’s dead.”

  “But not gone. He broke the windows today.”

  “You expect me to believe the child in that hole, who’s been dead for five years, who’s in pieces in a grave, broke the windows.”

  “You wanted to know how I knew, that’s how.”

  “The chief said his granddaughter talked about Stafford.”

  “Some of the kids can see him too.”

  “Kids are suggestible. If their teacher tells them they have an invisible friend who causes mischief, they believe her.”

  “Ask them.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “You mean I’m crazy.” I’d thought that often enough. I knew others thought it too. Why it hurt that Bobby did, I wasn’t sure. He’d told me he didn’t believe in ghosts.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. How do you think I knew about the locker at that hotel?”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Your cold case.”

  He glanced away. “We discussed it.”

  “Not that much.”

  “If not that then what?”

  “Your victim told me.”

  “That’s—” His lips tightened; he still refused to look at me.

  “Crazy. I know. But he did.”

  “Why would he tell you?”

  “Because he could. I saw him. Heard him.”

  At last he met my gaze, his both curious and wary. “Here?”

  I nodded.

  “Why would he be here?”

  “He is—was—attached to you.” At his obvious confusion, I continued. “Some ghosts attach to a person. Some to a place—like Stafford.”

  “Why?”

  “Unfinished business. Either the ghost’s or the person they follow.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Excessive grief or guilt over a death by the living can keep the spirit from moving on.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know an awful lot about ghosts.”

  “Been seeing them all my life.” I still didn’t know as much about them as I should, but I did know more than most.

  His expression closed. The air around him seemed to chill. I could tell he wanted to say Bullshit, but he didn’t.

  “You said was.”

  I lifted my brows.

  “The hotel victim was attached to me.”

  “Once you discovered how he was killed, he went on.”

  “Where?”

  “Wherever ghosts go.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Once they go, they don’t come back and share.”

  “Why would some guy I didn’t know follow me around?”

  “Maybe the same reason they are.” I indicated the man and woman who materialized near Bobby every once in a while. I hadn’t seen them often since that first time at my father’s house, but I had seen them.

  “There are more?”

  “An older woman. African American. Graying Afro.”

  “Hey!” the woman in question exclaimed.

  “Sorry,” I said. It was gray. Always would be. “Beautiful hands. Very tall.”

  “My name is—” the woman began.

  “Geraldine Hervieux,” Bobby murmured.

  “Oui.” Geraldine’s face softened. She set her hand on his shoulder. “He has never given up on finding me.”

  “She disappeared,” he continued. “It was one of my last cases in missing persons before I transferred to homicide. Her daughter still comes in every month to make sure I keep searching.”

  “You would anyway.”

  “Yeah, I would.”

  “I’m in the Honey Island Swamp,” Geraldine said.

  “She’s in the Honey Island Swamp.”

  Bobby closed his eyes. “That’s seventy thousand acres of land and a million alligators. Literally. I’ll never find her.”

  The woman stroked his hair. “He doesn’t need to find me; he needs to let me go.”

  “She wants you to let her go.”

  His eyes opened. “I can’t let go what I don’t have.”

  “He continually thinks about my case, reads the file, dreams about it. I could be at peace if he would be.”

  I told him what she had said.

  “If I just knew who killed her…”

  “No one killed me. I went to gather wild iris for my daughter’s birthday. She loves them. A gator got me.”

  “You didn’t tell anyone you were going there?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “More fool me.”

  “What?” Bobby asked.

  “A gator got her while she was gathering wild iris for her daughter.”

  “I’m supposed to tell her daughter that? I can’t prove it. And the poor woman would—” Bobby made an aggravated sound and stood, paced a few steps away, then came back. “This is ridiculous. You aren’t talking to Geraldine.”

  “How would I know what she looks like if I wasn’t talking to her?”

  “People like you have your ways. It’s easy enough to search the Times Picayune for my cases.”

  He was right. I’d even done so.

  “People like me,” I echoed. “Those liars, thieves, and charlatans? Why do you hate them so?”

  He gave me a wary glance
, then his shoulders dropped on a sigh. “Audrey sold jewelry and drugs. Some of her pals sold lies.”

  “How can someone sell lies?”

  “Fortune-tellers. Psychics. They have all sorts of methods to find out information about people. Once a fool believes they have a connection to the great beyond, he’d give anything, everything, for that connection. For one more second of a loved one’s presence. A single word. For anything that might make the pain—” His voice broke.

  “Oh, Bobby,” I whispered. He shot me a glance that very clearly said drop it. I wasn’t sure I could.

  He might have been duped and lied to by another, but I was who I was. While I’d spent my life trying not to be, I knew now I had little choice. I was a witch born, and a witch I would stay.

  “Leave him be, cher,” Geraldine said. “You can’t make him see. He has to want to.”

  Geraldine took the hand of the man who’d been hovering a few feet back. His eyes were as sad as hers. If Bobby didn’t believe me about Geraldine, he wasn’t going to believe me about that guy either. The two of them would be stuck haunting him until he did. No wonder they appeared so sad.

  Geraldine and the mystery man strolled west, walking right through one of the gawkers—Mrs. Knudson, who must have either closed her yarn shop or just walked away and left it open. She wrapped her arms around herself as if a winter wind had blown past, then Geraldine and her friend disappeared.

  “Ask her—” Bobby began.

  “She’s gone.”

  “Convenient.”

  I tightened my lips so I wouldn’t say fuck you.

  “How did you know about those bones, Raye?”

  “I told you. I see ghosts.”

  “If the kid’s been a thorn in your side for years, why didn’t you…” He waved his hand. “Exorcise him before now?”

  “I didn’t know where he’d been buried. And he was having too much fun to tell me. He didn’t want to leave.”

  “Then why did he?”

  “My—” I bit my lip. Telling him my father was a centuries-old, time-traveling witch-ghost, who’d heard it from Bobby’s dead child, was probably not the way to go. “One of the other spirits shared what Stafford had told her.”

  “Why would a ghost do that? Don’t they have some kind of code?”

  He was never going to believe me. Of course the alternative was letting him think I’d killed a five-year-old and buried him under a tree. Was it better to have the man I loved believe I was a murderer or a kook? I voted for kook.