Midnight Investigation

by Sheryl Lynn

  “OH, SWEETIE, what is wrong?” Gwen opened her arms and Desi walked into them. She rested her forehead against Gwen’s shoulder. She was as close to crying as she’d ever been. Snow pelted her head and wind battered her back. It howled against the old brick building and made the metal staircase landing sway. Gwen grabbed Desi’s suitcase and urged her inside, out of the storm.

  Desi looked at the private parking lot behind the building. It had been a harrowing hour-long drive from the motel to here, creeping through snowdrifts while the wind tried to push her off the road and snow clotted on the windshield wipers, making it nearly impossible to see. Behind the building where Gwen lived Buck had driven into the alley first, breaking a trail with the Jeep’s big tires so she could follow in her smaller vehicle. Now Buck flashed his headlights and eased away down the alley.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and entered her sister’s apartment. Her shoulders ached from the tension of driving through the storm. Her stomach was so upset she feared she might throw up. She shoved the door closed against the wind and rested her head against the wood. Melting snow trickled down her face and the back of her neck.

  “What happened?” Gwen clucked around Desi, helping her out of her wet coat and hat, and struggling to get Desi’s boots off her feet. “You look terrible.”

  Desi managed a wan smile. “Thanks a lot.” She followed her sister into the bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment and the antique store below it was cluttered and overdone, a kaleidoscope of colors and textures. It was like being back in Grandma’s house. A sense of safety washed over Desi, a feeling of being grounded and almost back in control.

  Spike hopped onto the bed and stomped over the mounds of soft blankets and the quilted velvet and silk duvet. He made squeaky noises and purred as Desi hugged him.

  Sighing and shaking her head, Gwen ordered Desi to change out of her wet clothing. Desi changed into her pajamas and wrapped an afghan around her shoulders against the chill. She sat on the bed and snuggled the cat until he had enough and struggled for her put him down. When Gwen returned with a steaming mug, Desi smelled alcohol. She looked up in question.

  “Hot cocoa with a little extra.” Gwen shrugged. “You look like you need it. Now tell me what’s going on.”

  This was so strange. Desi felt as if she were outside herself, as if she watched from the sidelines. She was the strong one. She’d always taken care of Gwen. After their parents died she’d held her sister through the sad, endless nights and made sure she ate and washed and brushed her hair. After Grandma died, Desi had taken care of Gwen again, shielding her from having to deal with probating the estate and cleaning out Grandma’s house to ready it for sale. Now she felt helpless and lost, unable to untangle her thoughts or see a course of action.

  “Is it Buck?” Gwen asked her. “Did you guys have a fight?”

  Aching for him tore her apart. Desi sighed. “I can’t talk about it right now. I just can’t. Can we talk in the morning?”

  Gwen sat beside her and smoothed hair off Desi’s forehead. “Tomorrow? When you’re back to your old bossy self and I’m just a dumb kid too fragile for bad news? That tomorrow?”

  Desi cringed.

  “Why don’t you let me take care of you for once? Honest to God, I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

  Their earlier argument had been merely delayed, not finished. Weariness weighted Desi. Even the effort it took to hold the cup of cocoa seemed like too much. “All right, you want to help me. Then help.” She looked around the bedroom with its frills and froufrou. The shadows looked normal. That, she knew, could change in a heartbeat. “Let me sleep in here, with you. With the light on. If you hear me doing anything weird in my sleep, even talking or snoring too loud, you wake me up. Dump a bucket of water on me if you have to. Just wake me up.”

  DESI FLIPPED A RECEIPT over and keyed in the figures from the next receipt into the spreadsheet. She still couldn’t believe she’d slept. With Gwen snuggled against her back, as if they were kids again, and Spike pinning her feet, Desi had not only fallen asleep, she’d stayed asleep, a deep and dreamless sleep. She’d awakened alone in the bed. Gwen had been up for hours, and the store was open for business.

  Desi felt rested, repaired and utterly miserable.

  Desi had helped Gwen shovel and sweep snow from the sidewalk in front of the store. The storm had passed, leaving behind a brilliant blue sky and a brilliant white landscape. The entire city was blanketed and the road crews were out in full force, beginning with the main arteries and working their way through other streets. The busiest streets would be cleared first. Neighborhoods and back roads would have to wait. The sisters shoved snow around in the back parking lot, where snowdrifts reached up to eight feet against the building. They uncovered their cars. Not a trace of Desi’s or Buck’s passage remained from the night before. Gwen assured Desi that before too long one of her neighbors with a snowblower would clear the alley and give them access to the street. By the time they finished both had shed their coats and hats, and were so hot and sweaty that walking indoors felt like entering a sauna.

  Bolstered with Gwen’s excellent coffee Desi flew through her work with an energy she hadn’t felt in ages.

  She yearned for Buck. She wanted him to hold her. She wanted to finish what she’d started before the ghostly attack. She wanted to know he was okay.

  Gwen entered the back room. She had a funny look on her face as she waved a scrap of paper. “I just got the strangest phone call.”

  Desi’s heart skipped. Please don’t let Skillihorn start calling here. As soon as she thought it, she knew it was silly. The ghost blew up phones. He didn’t talk on them.

  “Strange how?”

  Gwen held up a finger indicating Desi should wait. She wiggled her shoulders, planted her feet and cleared her throat as though she were about to present Hamlet’s soliloquy on stage. She read from the paper. ‘All well here. Hope same for you. M. H. says go. Miss you.’ She handed the paper to Desi. “Word for word, just like I was told. Who’s M. H.?”

  Desi’s heart skipped another beat, this time in longing and fear of the coming confrontation. M. H. stood for Mary Hollyhock. Grandma says go. That could only mean the cemetery, which could only mean that Grandma had appeared to Buck. Desi felt relieved. Grandma disappeared when Skillihorn was around, so that meant Buck was safe. No worries about the ghost grabbing Buck and forcing him to crash his car into a gasoline tanker.

  With a jingle of jewelry, Gwen pushed back her hair. “If you think I’ve forgotten we’re supposed to talk, you’re wrong.” She pulled up a chair and sat, facing Desi. “Now what’s going on?”

  “Tell me who called with this.”

  “Will. He was very mysterious. He said I had to write the message word for word and give it to you. He also said the police are pulling extra shifts, so everyone is working overtime. I’m supposed to call him if you have any messages.”

  Resentment burned over a ghost forcing her to play a juvenile game of Telephone. She really resented that Buck had evolved into He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. The only thing preventing her from going into a rant was the cryptic “Miss you” on the note. Unless Gwen the hopeless romantic had added it just to stir the pot.

  Buck would be so easy to fall in love with; she wasn’t certain she was. Desirable, yes; sexy, apparently; but lovable? There her confidence died.

  “How is Will?” Desi asked. “Have you gone out with him?”

  “You’re trying to distract me. Won’t work.”

  “Have you?”

  “Actually Will and Amber have a thing going. It’s looking pretty serious, too. Now talk.”

  Desi balked. Who knew how long it would be before Alec could come down from Wyoming. She had no idea what was involved in “cleansing” and “purifying,” or how long it would take. Even if Buck stayed away from her there was no way she could return to a motel or sleep by herself. The mere idea of awakening to find the ghost on top of her without even a cat to break
its killer hold gave her a bad case of the willies. Gwen needed to know. Desi needed to know how Gwen would react if she did know. If Gwen resumed her insane obsession with the paranormal, Desi would never forgive herself.

  Desi asked, “Did you dream about Grandma again?”

  Gwen leaned back. She toyed with the chains and beads around her neck. “You said dreams are neurotic brains.”

  “It’s neurons firing in the brain,” she corrected. “Now did you see Grandma?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What did she say?”

  Gwen wagged an admonishing finger. “You aren’t that smart, girlie. I’m not giving you the chance to start making fun of me. You just want to change the subject.”

  “What did she say, Gwen, please?”

  “‘Trust me.’ That’s what she said. ‘Trust me.’” Gwen frowned and her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Do you have a head injury you’re not telling me about? I’m the wackadoo in this family, not you.”

  Desi couldn’t do it. Couldn’t take the chance. She said, “I have a stalker.”

  Gwen gasped.

  “See! This is why I don’t want to tell you. Now you’re scared.”

  “I’m not scared. I’m horrified. What has he done? Who is he?”

  Desi didn’t have to fib too much. “A guy named Charles, we think, but we’re not certain. He’s been in my house. He follows me. He wants to hurt—” She stopped before saying Buck’s name, unwilling to disturb what little psychic peace she’d found. “—anyone I’m dating.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because now you’re all upset. I didn’t take it seriously at first. Now the police are handling it. I have to lie low for a few days.”

  Gwen pointed her chin at the mysterious message. “He hacked into your phone?”

  “I guess. It seems that way. Can’t take chances.” Desi swiveled the chair. The back of her neck burned. She was good at concealing the truth, but telling an outright lie made her stomach quiver. The very air surrounding her felt thick with disapproval. “The police are handling it. I’m safe for now.”

  “Should I close the store? Lock the door and set the alarm?”

  “Don’t do that. I’m fine, really. Um, the cops are setting up a sting operation. They’ll catch him. Everything will be okay.” A nudge on the shoulder startled her. She whipped her head about.

  “Do you hear something?” Gwen whispered, her eyes round and fearful.

  Desi touched the spot where she’d been touched. Empty your head, she thought frantically. No thinking, no fear to give him power. Nobody had touched her. She was safe here.

  “I’m just jumpy. It’s okay.” She faced the computer. “I’m so sorry to get you involved in this. I’m nervous enough for both of us. I hate upsetting you.”

  Gwen stood and flung back her glorious head. “I am not upset! I am royally pissed off. Nobody messes with the Hollyhock girls and gets away with it.”

  Desi snickered, suddenly loving her sister more than ever.

  “Don’t laugh at me.” Gwen karate-chopped the air. “I have a few dirty tricks up my sleeve.” She waggled a foot toward Desi. Her boots had three-inch heels. “See these stilettos? Lethal.”

  “Lethal to you if you fall off of them.” Her giggle turned into a laugh. “Thank you, Gwen. I mean that. Thanks for making me talk.”

  “Do you have a message to send?”

  I miss you so much my insides are crumbling. And I really, really, really want to see you naked! That’s what she wanted to say. Instead, she said, “Yeah.” She printed on a sticky note, “All okay here. Name time and place.” She handed it to Gwen, who wrinkled her nose.

  “This is for Buck? Nothing else?”

  “That’s it. Call Will and ask him to pass it on.” Gwen left the back room, and Desi’s bad feelings returned. She should not have lied. Gwen was a grown-up, a business owner, and no longer a broken-hearted girl with too much money and a burning obsession to find her lost loves.

  A clatter startled her. She snapped her attention to a narrow shelf mounted on the wall above the desk. It was covered with old perfume bottles of various shapes and sizes. Desi stood and noticed a picture frame facedown on the shelf. She picked it up. It was a photo of her grandmother wearing a snowsuit, her blonde hair blowing in the wind. Desi remembered taking this photo during a ski trip in Breckenridge.

  “Grandma?” she whispered. “Is that you? Did you touch me?” She turned a slow circle, looking up and down and in every corner. She set the photograph back on the shelf.

  Five minutes later Gwen breezed back in with a slip of paper. Buck’s reply said: “Really?”

  “This is it? Really what?”

  Gwen caught her lower lip in her teeth and raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Well…”

  “What did you do?” Desi rose, glaring at her sister. “Gwendolyn.”

  “Your message was so blah. I just, you know—” she lifted a shoulder “—told him how you feel.”

  “How I feel? Gwen! What did you say to him?”

  “I didn’t say anything. You said it. I just told him you loved him.” Gwen scooted out of the back room, leaving Desi with her mouth hanging open and wondering if Buck’s “Really?” was a good thing or a bad thing.

  She stomped to the door and yelled, “When this is all over, Gwen, I’m going to kill you!”

  Gwen’s laughter filled the store. “Trust me, sweetie. You’ll thank me.”

  DESPITE THE WEATHER, or because of it, Hollyhock Antiques and Oddities enjoyed brisk business. From the back room Desi listened to would-be buyers haggling with Gwen. People had braved the icy, slushy, slippery streets in the hopes of beating out people who refused to venture outside. To Desi it seemed Gwen was off her game. She let a few good offers slip through her hands, and she sold some items for far less than they were worth. Gwen wasn’t flirting outrageously, either. Desi felt badly about it, knowing it was her fault.

  She’d backed herself into a tight corner with the lame story about a stalker. Either she’d have to keep her imaginary stalker hanging around the rest of her life or eventually try to explain the lack of details about his arrest, trial and imprisonment. Whenever she worked up the nerve to tell Gwen the truth, her imagination filled with what-ifs. What if Gwen started holding séances again? What if she trapped Grandma on this plane of existence? What if she tried to contact their parents or her fiancé? What if she hooked up with a phony medium and lost what little money she had left? What if she pestered Buck about ghosts, calling him day and night, until Buck forgot all about Desi and fell in love with Gwen?

  Desi threw herself into her work. She caught up all the previous month’s bookkeeping, e-mailed end-of-year reports and spent hours on the phone, double-checking figures with clients and their CPAs. She even paid her bills and balanced her checking accounts.

  Numbers, always faithful numbers, saved her from worrying about what Skillihorn’s next nasty trick might be.

  Gwen popped into the back room. “Guess what? I sold both those barrister bookcases! The Fell & Rogers. Full price.”

  Desi breathed, “Wow.”

  “Now who’s the queen of the deal?” Giggling, she returned to the front of the store.

  Desi remembered her head nearly exploding when Gwen dropped two grand apiece for the mahogany bookcases, at a time when Gwen had barely two hundred bucks in the store’s business account. They’d been on display close to six months, with $5,200 price tags on each one, and Desi figured Gwen would still own them when she was a little old lady.

  A nudge on her shoulder almost made her scream. She swiveled the chair so fast she nearly lost her balance. “Stop it,” she whispered, searching corners for any sign of a ghostly presence. Her heart hammered. “If that’s you, Grandma, you have to stop. My nerves are shot.”

  Her phone trilled and she did jump. She spun around so fast she stumbled and had to grab a filing cabinet to keep from falling.

  She picked up the phone, half expect
ed to see “Afterlife” on the caller ID. It was her neighbor, Annaliese.

  She forced a bright tone. “Well, hi, Annaliese, how are you?”

  “The question is, how are you? I have not seen you in many days and you did not clear the snow from your walk. I knocked on your door and rang the bell. You are not home. Never home now. I worry you are sick or in hospital.”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” Desi said. She should have known her uncleared porch and walk would alarm Annaliese. The woman tolerated no snowflakes, fallen leaves or blown dirt on her walkway. Her tiny front yard and window boxes were always pristine. Her front door and windows always sparkled. If Desi slacked, Annaliese looked askance. “Just taking a little vacation. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “That is a relief.” She chuckled. “A vacation with that handsome man? He is what you girls call a hottie, right?”

  Desi grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” She bit her lower lip to keep from asking Annaliese to check her house. She didn’t want her neighbor to catch Skillihorn napping on her bed, or something worse.

  “You be careful,” Annaliese said. “Sometimes a man is too handsome, you know? My Jeffrey was too handsome and look what happened to me!”

  Desi laughed. Annaliese’s handsome husband had taken her all over the world, given her four children and a lifetime of memories.

  “When will you be home? Would you like me to use my key and make sure all is right inside? I should check the pipes for freezing.”

  The question offered some comfort. If Skillihorn were tearing up the house or turning the television or radio off and on, Annaliese would know. “That’s okay. I’ll be home in a few days.”

  She hoped.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Buck entered his apartment. Thirty hours on shift and he was so tired he couldn’t feel his legs and feet. He dropped his coat on the couch and arched his back until his spine popped. His eyes burned with fatigue and he yawned for the fifth time in a row.