Grave Wrong (Lost Souls Society Book 1)

by Kate Allenton

Chapter 25

  Logan Bane

  Logan’s office had a view of the downtown sidewalk and street. His business name and emblem were etched on the big window.

  After being kicked off the force, he’d gotten a sweet deal on the office space. Of course, it might have had to do with the scents of coffee and hot dogs that drifted up through the vents, making it a hard sell.

  The quick mart store below had the worst coffee in town, but it was convenient.

  As a detective, he’d been off duty and getting a coffee when a robbery occurred in the store below. He’d saved the owner’s life that night and put a dangerous criminal behind bars. There were times he missed working the street. He missed the camaraderie with his coworkers whom he’d considered friends. He’d been naïve to think those days would last. Naïve to think his brothers in blue would have his back.

  One case gone bad where a killer had planted evidence was all it took for Crews to turn on him, but he wasn’t the last. The breaking point came from overhearing his best friend and partner agree he could have done the deeds, and the next day Crew’s had been the one to arrest him for murder.

  What a joke.

  They took two years to find the real killer and bring him to court. Two years before, the judge apologized and released Bane to walk the streets. Not even the settlement from his lawsuit made things right again. The damage to his reputation was done; it was over when the judge rapped his gavel.

  Being behind bars brought him a perspective he might have never seen. Contacts he might have never made. He’d learned to survive.

  Logan had his feet propped up on the desk with the phone pressed to his ear when Ryley St. James came strolling in with a manilla envelope and what looked to be today’s newspaper clutched to her chest.

  “Yeah, I’m still here,” he said into the phone, listening to the man drone on and on about catching kids vandalizing his property. “Listen, I’ve got to run, but I’ll get on it.”

  He hung up the phone and rested his clasped fingers behind his head. “You’ve changed something since yesterday. New hair color?”

  She grinned. “Nope.”

  He dropped his feet to the floor. “Where did the cuts come from, and who do I need to visit to return the favor?”

  “No one you can fight.” She plopped down in one of the leather seats in front of his desk.

  “A ghost did that?”

  “More or less. Caught me off guard and I went down hard. Didn’t help that I was surrounded by bottles of liquor.”

  She’d been caught off guard by a ghost. “I don’t know if I should be scared for you or impressed that you’re still alive.”

  “Neither.” She said, leaning forward. “But what you can do to return the favor of not being arrested for murder is tell me everything you know about these pictures, including who paid for what.”

  She slid the file across the desk, and Logan opened it and pulled every single candid picture out, laying them across the desk surface.

  He knew the files well, even though the pictures had been taken months ago. It wasn’t every day your childhood best friend’s mom was caught in an affair.

  He met her gaze. She’d been watching him.

  “I remember these, specifically Mrs. Crews,” he said, grabbing the keys to the filing cabinet from his desk and rising to his feet. His cell phone rang, and he glanced at the caller ID. “I’ve got to take this.” He handed her the key. “The files are locked in the cabinet out there.” He gestured to the outer office to an empty receptionist's desk.

  She took the keys and stepped out as he answered.

  “Bane,” he said into the phone.

  “Logan, honey.”

  His gut had warned him not to answer the phone. He should have listened “Marissa, I can’t do this right now. I have a client.”

  “Who is she?” Marissa asked.

  Logan sighed and dropped his gaze. “None of your business. My life no longer concerns you.”

  “It will always concern me, Logan, darling.”

  “I’ve got to go.” He hung up on her for the second time in one day. He re-pocketed his phone and hurried to the receptionist’s area.

  Ryley had the two files out on the desk and was looking through a third.

  “What are you looking at?” He leaned against the door frame.

  She turned to face him. Her brows pulled down in a frown. “Tell me this is a sick joke.”

  He closed the distance between them and knew from the picture sitting on top he wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of this one. “I can explain.”

  “It was my brother, wasn’t it?” She growled and returned her gaze to the file, flipping through it.

  “Ryley. He was worried about you.”

  She got to his findings on the last page, and he watched as the air was sucked from her lungs. She collapsed into the receptionist's chair.

  She lifted her gaze to his. He rested a comforting hand on her arm. “Three days ago, he fell off the grid after buying a bus ticket to town, and I’ve got contacts on the street trying to track him down. We’ll find him, Ryley.”

  “Oh, God. This means he could have seen today’s paper.”

  Chapter 26

  Ryley

  Words escaped her. Her brother had shared their past with a private eye. Why would he do that and not tell her?

  The temperature in the office dropped, creating goosebumps on her arms. Stretch materialized and was reading over her shoulder. “Someone is in trouble.”

  She couldn’t answer, not that she had to. Tucker had broken the sibling bond by keeping this from her. Something they’d promised years ago to never do.

  Logan grabbed the files and held out his hand. “Why don’t we go back into my office, and I can tell you what I found out about the Lynches.”

  She shook the confusion and anger aside and rose to her feet. Slipping her keys out of her pocket, she headed for the door. “You can tell me about the files while I drive.”

  Logan raised a questioning brow. “And exactly where are we going?”

  “To say goodbye to Mr. Smith.”

  “Who?” He asked. Grabbing his keys, he locked the door behind them. She was already halfway down the stairs when he caught up to her. “Who’s Mr. Smith?”

  She shrugged. “Beats me, but seeing how you owe me for keeping you from a life behind bars, you can help me today since you’re familiar with the files.”

  “Is this retribution for me trying to track down your dad?”

  “Well, yes,” she answered glancing over her shoulder at him before pushing out the door and onto the sidewalk where she’d parked. He slipped into the passenger side, having to adjust the seat. “I’m guessing Crews has never been in your car?”

  She scrunched her nose and glanced at him. “Why would he?”

  “Never mind,” he said and hooked his seatbelt. “So, where can we find this ominous Mr. Smith?”

  “Glendale Cemetery,” she said, pulling out into traffic.

  “Don’t tell me the guy sells caskets and plots for a living.”

  “Nope. Well, not that I know of. Never mind him. Tell me about the Lynch file and their affairs.”

  He spent the next ten minutes explaining how at one point in time, Christopher Lynch had hired him to follow Kitty, and it turned out she was having an affair. And two months ago, it had been a shock when Kitty walked in the door and asked him to follow her husband. It paid the rent and was nothing more than a job. He’d explained turn-about was fair play.

  Ryley had remained quiet until she turned into the cemetery and parked in the crowded parking lot. Men and women dressed in black were in various stages of greeting. Women hugging and squeezing hands in a show of sympathy, men shaking hands.

  “Uh, Ryley. I’m not dressed for a funeral,” Logan said, glancing in her direction.

  “It’s fine. Neither am I, and we won’t be long. I’ll be lucky if they don’t run me out with a pitchfork,” she said, grabbing a rose wrapped
in green paper with baby’s breath. She pulled the long stem free and tossed the wrapper behind his seat. She opened the door to get out. When he wasn’t quick to follow, she leaned back into the car. “Come on and let me give you a glimpse of what it is I do.”

  He got out of the car and met her strides. He leaned in and whispered. “Do you know these people?”

  “No.” She reached the doors, where a priest was shaking hands with mourners as they arrived.

  He clutched Ryley’s hand and smiled. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Ryley. I wasn’t sure you’d make an appearance today after the paper spread those lies.”

  “I’m sure we’ll get it all situated. Father James, I’d like you to meet Logan Bane.”

  Father James’s face lit up, and he smiled and held out his hand. “Any friend of Ryley’s is a friend of mine.”

  “We can’t stay long. I just wanted to quickly pay my respects.”

  “Of course.” He nodded and gestured inside the door.

  Ryley ignored the questioning stares as they passed. Women dressed in head-to-toe black looked her over before turning their backs on her improper attire of jeans and tee-shirt.

  Ryley was used to ignoring the building questions. She’d once been asked if she’d been the mistress. Like so many times in the past, she made this icy walk in front of people she didn’t know to the closed casket of a man she’d never met.

  Logan followed her to the casket dominating the front of the room. A picture was on an easel. Mr. Smith looked to be a man in his seventies with white wavy hair and stubble on his cheeks that emphasized his huge smile. The wrinkles around his mouth and eyes were probably from smiles just like those.

  Ryley closed her eyes and said a quiet prayer beneath her breath. When finished, she opened her eyes and entwined her fingers with Logan’s, not explaining what she was about to do.

  He didn’t question why or pull away. He stood there like they’d done it a million times before. His calloused hand was large and warm beneath her touch. She smiled at him and put the rose on the coffin and rested their linked hands, pressing his palms to the coffin, resting hers over the top.

  Electricity rose straight through his hand and into her palm. No way he hadn’t felt it race through his body. “Looks like we’ve got a runner.” She pulled her fingers free and rubbed them together before meeting his gaze. “Did you feel that?”

  He nodded and glanced at the mourners taking their seats. Logan wrapped his hand around her arm and guided her toward the exit in the back and whispered, “What the hell was that?”

  They left when the priest started his prayer.

  “I’ve only done that once before. Tell me what you felt.”

  “Like you shocked me,” he said, pulling her to a stop then folding his arms over his chest.

  “It works like this for me. I feel that electricity when a ghost doesn’t go into the light. So, I try and catch them after death and talk them over by helping with whatever unfinished business they might have. The longer they stay earthbound, the harder they are to move on, and they become unstable.”

  “And what if you can’t talk them over?” Logan asked.

  Ryley started walking into the cemetery, leaving Logan to follow her. “It’s never pretty. I try to get them at the funeral or shortly after.” She glanced up at him. “I don’t like to force them to cross, but I have on occasion.”

  He shook his head, trying to make sense of what she was telling him. “You sound like a mythical creature. A reaper bent on collecting souls.”

  “I don’t collect them. That would be the black shadow creepy crawlies.” She shivered.

  “What the hell are creepy crawlies?” He gawked.

  “You really don’t want to know. But I’ve been called worse things than a reaper. I don’t send spirits into the light unless there’s no other choice or unless I need to see what happened.”

  She stopped walking and took a seat on a bench in front of three plots. To her right, a spirit hovered a couple inches off the ground, a tense look on his translucent face. Ryley shivered again, but this time due to the presence of the ghost. Although the creepy crawlies couldn’t be far behind. They always were.

  Logan sat beside her and clasped his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees. “Is that what you did to Curtis? Did you send him into the light?”

  “Yes.” She was quick to answer. “And he wasn’t very happy with me, but Detective Crews was. He didn’t seem to care where the answers came from as long as I provided the evidence to back them.”

  From the corner of her eye, Ryley noted the slithering black shapes creeping forward. Time to go. She rose and glanced around the area, before calling out to the ghost she’d come here for, “Adam, I have to leave, but I’ll be back.”

  Logan frowned up at her and clenched his fists.

  She had to look like a nut job. There was no disputing that. She was talking to ghosts in a cemetery.

  She started walking back toward the parking lot, and he followed her. “Where to now?”

  “We’re going to go talk to Kitty’s lover.”

  He climbed into the car and grabbed the seatbelt. “Listen, this little field trip has been fun and all, but I have other cases to work on.”

  She turned the engine. “You’d have four walls in a cell if it wasn’t for me, but I’ll take you back.”

  Logan narrowed his eyes. “Blackmail doesn’t become you.”

  She grinned. “Just like jailbird orange and bars don’t look good on you.”

  Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the caller ID before dropping her phone into the center console.

  “You aren’t going to answer that?”

  “Nope. Not yet.”

  “Okay, as long as it’s not your boyfriend wondering why you’re dragging another man around in your car.”

  “If I had one, he’d understand. Or we wouldn’t be dating.” She chuckled and turned out onto the major road.

  Chapter 27

  Ryley

  “So, you do have a boyfriend?” Logan asked.

  “No.”

  Ryley couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a real date. Her love life had been hit or miss, since she couldn’t get real and raw with anyone while ghosts hung out all around her. When she was dating, she resisted any close intimacy, afraid one of the ghosts would pop in at the most inopportune moment. Even the easy questions in the start of a new relationship were tricky. Where are you from? What do your parents do? What hobbies do you have? Thanks to years spent dodging her father, all three of those were either lies or off limits except to a select few.

  That list of people had grown tenfold just in the last few days. Oscar had done a family tree. Crews knew she could see and talk to ghosts, and now Logan knew she could zap them into the light if the need arose. Her life was getting more complicated by the minute.

  Her priority had to be moving Kitty into the light. The accident in the bar last night proved that.

  “During all that time you were following Kitty, did she ever seem violent?”

  Logan snapped his gaze toward her. “Was it she who caused the damage to your face?”

  Ryley shrugged. “I didn’t see which one was responsible for that, but I was the only one in the basement, and I was pushed from behind, so yeah and considering that’s not the first time, I’d lay money on her being the one.”

  “Then why are we going to find her lover? Are you trying to piss her off?”

  Ryley sighed. “It’s not that simple.” She put on the blinker and turned onto another street. “Rosalind Crews was my therapist, and she needs my help.”

  “Damn,” Logan muttered under his breath. “I was hoping you weren’t friends with them.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just say, I avoid that family for a reason,” Logan said. “Do you have any idea where you’re going?”

  “No. Am I going in the right direction?”

  Logan chuckled. “You just missed the r
oad for the non-profit, if you want to talk to lover boy.”

  Heat claimed her cheeks as she did a three point-turn to head back the right direction. Driving around aimlessly wasn’t normal for her, although when talking to Logan, she was much more relaxed and following her gut.

  They were similar in so many ways, jagged and broken.

  He didn’t even have to explain. She could read it in his eyes. He just hadn’t figured out that she was a magnet for the damaged souls in need of repair. It wasn’t by choice; he was drawn to her. It was his unconscious necessity to fill the void. Just once she’d like to meet someone more…normal. Many of the living people she met were just as needy as the ghosts.

  Logan pointed to the road to turn on, and she followed it toward the more desolate part of town where businesses were boarded up and the homeless seemed to congregate. She parked in front of a homeless shelter and killed the ignition.

  “She worked here?” Ryley asked.

  “Every Tuesday and Wednesday, she helped cook and serve meals.”

  “Kitty Lynch? The woman that tried to crush me with alcohol, worked here?” It was almost too much to process. Had her volunteer hours been ordered by the court? Had she been a kind person and turned angry over her death?

  “Kitty Lynch was quite the charity worker. She actually donated more than her money. She donated her time to various organizations like this one as well as teaching art for underprivileged children, and she did it all the while co-owning and running her art gallery.”

  Could he really be talking about the same woman? This wasn’t adding up. Ryley’s experience with dangerous spirits was because the personality carried over in death. Had she somehow turned hateful and hard before her passing?

  They stepped inside the homeless shelter. Fluorescent lights shone down on long rows of tables and plastic chairs filled with men, women, and children. A serving station that reminded Ryley of a lunchroom cafeteria was in the back of the room. Workers behind the metal serving area portioned the food onto the plastic trays as people shuffled past. Volunteers wore hair nets and gloves, and Ryley could see sweat beaded their brows. But they greeted each person in the line with kind words and warm smiles.