Ghost Haste

by ReGina Welling

  “You know,” Neena said, turning to me, “she’s going to give Peanut a complex if she keeps using that baby as an excuse to get her own way.”

  Jacy threw Neena a saucy grin. “Peanut will not be denied. Now, go and bring me back news. I’m languishing for the lack of scandal.”

  “How did we get from there’s a new business in town, and we should check it out to scandal?”

  “Did you see the muscles on that guy? A man that fine just automatically comes with scandal.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE she talked us into this.” Neena kept her head carefully turned away from the shop window where Jacy was, without a doubt, peering at us through binoculars to keep from missing anything.

  “Most of Jacy’s ideas should come with a kicky little soundtrack playing in the background. The kind that indicates shenanigans are afoot. If I had a nickel for every time she talked me into doing something questionable … well, I’d have many dollars in my pocket, but I’d have missed out on some youthful indiscretions that were fun at the time.”

  “I’ll want to hear more about that later.” Reluctantly, Neena pulled open the door and pitched her voice loud enough to be heard. “Hello! It’s just your friendly neighbors from across the street.”

  Without waiting for an invitation, I followed her into the over-heated room filled with the scent of fresh paint.

  The half-naked man and new business owner, presumably, stood on a plank that spanned the distance between two metal stepladders and was in the middle of masking off the upper molding.

  “Hey, save me a trip, and pass me a fresh roll of painter’s tape.” There was humor and warmth in the baritone of his voice as it drifted over his shoulder. “In the bag on the floor by the door.”

  Since I was closest, I did the honors.

  “Here.” I stepped nearer the ladder and held the tape up to him. He still hadn’t introduced himself, though neither had we, and from below, I couldn’t get a good look at his face.

  “Thanks. Much appreciated.”

  Moving back to stand with Neena, I watched the play of muscles across his back while he tossed the empty roll across the room into the trash can. Scored himself a nice two-pointer, then finished applying the last two feet of tape.

  “Perfect. Now,” the man said, turning to us, “did you say you were neighbors?” He grabbed the tee shirt hanging on the top rung of one of the stepladders, shrugged it on, then lightly jumped the three feet down to the floor.

  Unable to help myself, I studied his face because it seemed so familiar to me, though I didn’t think we’d ever met. I’d have remembered eyes that blue, and the feeling of safety that washed over me when he smiled.

  “I’m Neena Montayne, I own Curated Collections—or half of it anyway.” She waved a hand in the direction of the shop and then waited for his response.

  “Drew,” He poked a thumb toward his chest. “Andrew Parker.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Neena shook hands with him, leaving me with no other option but to do the same.

  So many experiences bring with them a sense of anticipation, the weightless moment on a high dive just before you slice into the water, or when your horse gathers her muscles to gallop. Or when a certain man holds out his hand for yours.

  I didn’t want to feel this way. Not now—not ever, and certainly not about a virtual stranger. I didn’t believe in love at first sight. I still don’t, but I couldn’t deny that something sprang up between us, probably lust if I really wanted to put a name to it.

  “Everly Dupree.” My face felt hot as I struggled to drag my name up from memory.

  “It is a pleasure.” His voice was a warm blanket on a cold night.

  “Yes, well.” I pulled my hand from his and cleared my throat, which had gone dry as dust. “We came by to welcome you to town.”

  “And, to be nosy. If you don’t mind me askin’, what’s this going to be when you’re finished?” Neena’s voice echoed off the bare walls.

  Drew turned his attention to her, but reluctantly. “I’m opening a gym.” With a body like that, what else could it have been? “Or I guess you could call it more of a fitness center. My cousin Riley’s going in on it with me. She’ll offer yoga sessions. The hot kind, as you can probably tell by the temperature in here. I’m testing the heating system.”

  “I’ve heard of that,” Neena said. “It’s basically doing yoga in a sauna, right?”

  “Close enough.” He grinned. “And during the day when we’re keeping the place at normal temperatures, I’ll be offering classes in self-defense and martial arts.” He pointed toward the offset hallway leading to more space in the back. “We’ll have fitness machines in the empty room to the left, lockers are already installed on the right. And that’s basically the grand tour.” His smile included both of us. “I’ve got a schedule in the back. Let me get one for you.”

  As soon as he was out of sight, Neena waggled her eyebrows at me and nodded.

  I shook my head. She smirked and nodded again.

  It was the wordless equivalent of her singing the Everly and Drew sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G song with me uttering a silent protest. It lasted until we heard him coming back.

  “Here.” He handed us each a sheet of paper with a neatly-typed list of classes. “There’s something for everyone. Don’t tell Riley I said so, but her yoga classes for couples are going to be a big hit.”

  Neena must have sensed the subtle question because she answered for both of us. “That’s one we’ll have to miss since neither one of us is part of a couple right now.”

  Thank you for providing too much information.

  “Then you really should take my self-defense class. Just the thing for single women.”

  Before Neena could confirm our intention to attend, I dragged her out of there and back to the shop where Jacy was not sitting on the love seat as promised but had been watching the show with her binoculars.

  “Get in here and tell me everything. I suck at reading lips,” she said.

  Neena took off her coat and served herself a cup of coffee from the pot she kept going in case customers wanted some. “His name is Andrew Parker. He’s opening a gym with his cousin Riley, and if I read the signs right, he’d like to engage in a little hand-to-hand training in the hope it leads to a lot of body-to-body contact with Everly.”

  My face flushed hot. “He does not.”

  “Oh, I think he does. There was a definite vibe.”

  “Andrew Parker.” Jacy frowned and repeated his name a couple of times. “Sounds familiar.”

  “He goes by Drew if that makes a difference,” I said.

  Apparently, it did. Jacy snapped her fingers. “Drew Parker.” Then she frowned again, and, grabbing the binoculars, took another look across the street. “Turn around so I can see your face,” she muttered.

  “You know he can’t hear you, right?”

  Jacy shushed me and kept watching. “Hah,” she finally put the binoculars down. “I do know him. You should, too, since he spent a couple of weeks up at the lake one summer and hung out at our camp with my brother the entire time.”

  “I thought he looked familiar, but I don’t remember ever meeting him. Are you sure we were there at the same time?”

  Neena pointed her coffee cup toward Jacy. “She gets salty if you question her memory,” she warned.

  “And still, you do it.” Jacy wrinkled her nose. “It would have been …”—she stared at the ceiling while she tried to remember— “Fourth grade. The first week in July. I remember because my uncle tossed a handful of firecrackers in the campfire, and my mother said a word you never hear her say. Daddy told her not to cuss in front of Drew, and Drew said his father used that word a lot.”

  None of it rang a bell with me. “I wouldn’t have been there, anyway. We always spent Independence Day with Grammie Dupree. Well, except for the year we went to Vermont. I think I was in—”

  “Fourth grade,” Jacy said it with me. “T
hat explains it.”

  “I suppose we might have crossed paths for an hour or two, but I truly can’t remember.”

  “So the man has family ties to town, then? That explains why he decided to open up shop here. Who else is he related to? The name Riley doesn’t ring a bell.”

  That was where Jacy’s memory went hazy. “I’ll call Momma Wade later. She’ll know. But I bet there’s a story there. No one ups and moves to Mooselick River on a whim. We’re not that kind of town.”

  I didn’t bother to point out the number of transplants we’d had over the years—Neena included. At least the speculation about Drew’s origins had taken the focus off his response to me, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  Finally, with the salacious, man-ogling part of the day behind us, Jacy asked about Winston, and I had to tell the whole story of finding his body.

  “At the risk of sounding like a horrible person, I’ll be honest and say I’m not sure how I feel about his death. I liked him well enough the few times we met while I was married to Paul, but he wasn’t a huge fixture in our lives.” Saying so sparked the memory of Reva touting Winston as one of Paul’s closest friends. Things must have changed since our divorce. “I’ve had it in my head Winston was a horrible person because of the way he treated me the day everything blew up. Looking back, I might have been transferring some of my anger with Paul to him.”

  “Well, he must have done something to somebody to get himself killed like that.” As always, Jacy cut right through to the heart of things.

  Still, I knew I’d turned some kind of corner, and if there was a way to help find Winston’s killer, I’d give it a shot. Even big fat jerks deserved justice.

  That thought followed me home.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “GET THAT TENNIS ball.” I stood on the back porch, my laughter forming frosty plumes while Molly hopped, pounced, and stuck her head down into the snow. “You silly thing, you’re just pushing it deeper into the snow.”

  Molly didn’t care, and I didn’t even mind the cold since she needed the romp almost as much as I needed to laugh. We were five days into the new year, and my hopes for making a fresh start hinged on putting an end to the final chapter of my old one. That probably meant helping Winston, but I hadn’t the first clue where to start.

  And he wouldn’t be any help even if he ever showed up again.

  With no plan in my head, I played with Molly until she tired herself out and went back inside to reheat a bowl of stew for lunch. I’d just put my dishes into the dishwasher when I got a call from a barely coherent Alicia.

  “It’s dad. He’s—”

  It sounded bad, and I didn’t hesitate. “Just hang on, I’m on my way.”

  I found Alicia standing in front of the vending machines in an alcove down the hall from her father’s room.

  “I’m so glad you came.” Alicia introduced me to her aunt, a rangy woman named Denise with the same kind smile and warm brown eyes as her brother.

  “It’s good to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances,” I said, and let my gaze travel past the two women toward room number 315. “Is it good or bad news?”

  With shaking fingers, Alicia stabbed the buttons for her choice of snack.

  “Three doctors are in with him now, but we’re not allowed to know what’s happening.”

  “Is he—?” My face must have spoken for me because Alicia shook her head.

  “No. It’s not bad news. I don’t think.”

  “He’s awake,” Denise explained. “They’re testing his cognitive functions to determine the extent of possible recovery. That’s how they termed it. Possible recovery.”

  I didn’t know what else to say, so I settled in to stay and wait with them. “What can I do to help?”

  “Just stay.” Alicia grabbed my hand, and I pressed my warm fingers against her chilled ones while she told me the police might have new information about his attacker.

  Maybe Denise was always quiet, or it was just the tension, but while Alicia chattered, she said little.

  “There’s a police officer named Jody Basset who checks in every few days. She’s really nice. Our neighbors and some other friends came together to put up some money so we could offer a reward for any information that leads to an arrest. Now that he’s awake, finding who hurt him matters more, you know?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have pitched in.”

  “I didn’t even know until it was already done, but it worked. Someone came forward with a video taken about a half a block away at the time when the police think the attack occurred. There’s a guy running from the right direction, and because of the timing, Officer Basset says they’re calling it a credible lead.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “It is.” Denise took a sip of vending machine coffee, wrinkled her nose at the cup, and got up to toss it in the trash. “The images were blurred, but they got enough to post a photo on all the news sites and ask for information that would help determine the identity of the possible assailant. It’s just a matter of time before they can bring him in for questioning, we hope.” Her eyes flicked toward Albert’s room every few seconds.

  “The guy they’re looking for is a white male, between twenty-five and thirty, between five-nine and six feet tall, blue eyes and short blond hair,” Alicia recited as though she’d memorized the list.

  Just based on her description, the man who’d attacked Albert sounded a lot like my ex-husband.

  “I hope they catch the guy, but right now, I just hope the doctors come out soon.”

  Thankfully, the wait was a short one, and after stopping just outside Albert’s door for a brief conversation with his colleagues, Dr. Maron joined us.

  “We’ve notified the police,” he told Alicia. “As requested, once he regained consciousness. They’ve requested no visitors until they’ve had a chance to speak to him.”

  “Good. Fine.” She flapped an impatient hand. “Move on to the important stuff. How is he?”

  Nobody gives a good blank face like a doctor.

  “He has some short-term memory loss, and he’s not fully oriented to time and place. You need to be prepared for the process to take some time, but for now, I'm encouraged by what I’ve seen. Given the severity of the head injury, he’s doing far better than I’d expected.”

  “Does he remember me?” Clenched in her lap, Alicia’s fist bore the white-knuckled evidence of her fear. “Will he recognize me when I see him?” Denise slid over and wrapped an arm around her niece for support.

  “He was asking for you.”

  Her throat worked, and she only nodded.

  “You’ll need to wait just a bit longer, I’m afraid. As I said, the police want to speak to him first, and I’ve agreed, but only under my supervision. After that, you’re free to go back in. Try not to tire him out, and don’t push his memory too hard. Let things happen gradually.”

  With that, Dr. Maron put a hand on Alicia’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

  Joy suffused her face with a smile through tears. “Okay.” She wobbled over to the chairs and sat down. “Okay,” Alicia repeated. “I can breathe again.”

  “I’ll just come back another time.” I hugged Alicia and Denise as well before I left them. For once, the hospital smells didn’t bring a sense of foreboding, but meeting the detective from Winston’s death and Officer Bassett coming the other direction did. I nodded and hoped to slide right past them, but it was not to be.

  “Ms. Dupree. If I could have a word,” said detective Whatshisname, who wore no name tag or visible badge to offer a useful reminder.

  “Sure.” I let him direct me toward a bench near the window at the end of the hall where patients could sit and look out at a beautiful view of the river. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can give us your whereabouts between nine p.m. and midnight on the thirty-first of December.”

  “Easy, I was here from seven or so until a little after eight. Then I went
home and played board games with several of my closest friends. My attorney, Patrea Heard, was with me the entire time.”

  That widened the detective’s eyes slightly.

  “You were here on the night in question? May I ask why?”

  Jacy would kill me if I mentioned her unfortunate intestinal issue. “One of my guests for the evening experienced a minor medical emergency. While I was here, I ran into Alicia Runyon, and since she was here alone, and scared, and I’d worked with her father, she asked me to stay. Her father had begun to show signs of regaining consciousness, and she needed someone with her while the staff assessed his condition. You can ask Dr. Maron if you like. He saw me here.”

  The detective said he would do just that, and then handed me copies of the video stills of the suspect in Albert’s attack.

  “Do you recognize this man?” Jody Bassett watched me with hawk-like attention as I leafed through the images. “Is it Paul Hastings?”

  Did I want to be him? Maybe a little, but not enough to lie or even to let my imagination run riot over my common sense. So I went through the series of images once, twice, three times to make sure.

  Dressed in dark, shapeless clothing, a ball cap pulled low enough to cover all but the curve of one cheek and the suggestion of the shape of the chin, I couldn’t be sure if I was looking at Paul or not.

  “Alicia says you’re looking for a man with light hair and blue eyes. I can’t see his hair or his eyes in these.” I picked one of the photos from out of the group, looked at it more closely. Even slanted it so more light from the windows fell over it.

  “Are you saying you can’t identify this man from these images?” Bassett and the detective exchanged a look. I knew what it meant.

  “Hey, I like Albert much better than my ex-husband, so if I could say for sure this was Paul, I would do it in a heartbeat. I’m not interested in protecting him. Not at all. Not after everything he’s done to me. I’d tap dance in the middle of the street if he got some of what’s coming to him, but I also don’t hate him enough to say this is him if it isn’t.”