Ghost Walking (A Maggie York Paranormal Mystery Book 1)

by Ally Shields

  Harry rolled his eyes and frowned. “I’m not that stupid. I told her I was Harold Willowby, formerly of Seattle, Washington.”

  “OK, so you flirted with her. What did you say that you’re so worried about?”

  “Nothing, honestly. I talked about safe stuff. New Orleans mostly. Restaurants, pubs. Mom’s condition was mentioned in passing, but that’s all.”

  “So why the early morning call?” Brandt finished his eggs and pushed the plate aside.

  “When I got here this morning, the receptionist on the day shift asked if our family friend had made contact last night.”

  Brandt stiffened. “This woman had been here earlier in the day claiming to know our family? Did she ask about you?”

  “I’m not sure,” Harry said. “But she’d asked about Mom. From the description, I’m positive it was the same girl.”

  Damn. This sounded like trouble. Setting down his empty coffee mug, Brandt gathered his empty containers and stood. “Is the receptionist still on duty?”

  “She was when I came down.”

  “Let’s talk with her again. I’d like to hear the exact conversation before we push the panic button.” But his eyes were already checking out every person in the room. The drug bosses in Boston could easily arrange a hit in New Orleans if they knew Harry was there.

  The young receptionist immediately went on the defensive. Her cooperation increased but so did her apprehension at the sight of Brandt’s badge. “I-I don’t think I told her anything,” she stammered. “It’s not allowed. Has something bad happened?”

  Brandt wiped the frown from his face and smiled reassuringly. “It’s the woman we’re concerned about, not you. If you could tell us what she wanted to know, it would be a big help.”

  “Oh, OK.” The woman gave a relieved sigh. “I wouldn’t want to lose my job.”

  “That’s not our goal,” Brandt said with another smile. But he would be talking with management about the leak of information. “Had you seen the woman before yesterday?”

  “No. She was checking out places for her grandmother and mostly asked about the facility. How many beds, that sort of thing.”

  “Did she ask about Barbara Brandt?”

  The woman chewed on the end of her pen. “She may have mentioned her.” She frowned as if trying to remember the conversation. “She asked about you,” she said, looking at Brandt. “Yes, that was it. She knew your mother was here and wondered if you visited often. She wanted to ask if you were satisfied with the level of care.”

  “And what did you tell her?”

  She looked worried again. “I, um, probably mentioned you and your cousin both visit regularly. She seemed surprised. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her that?”

  Brandt noticed his brother stiffen at the word cousin—his thinly veiled disguise—but he kept an encouraging look on his face. “Did she use my name?”

  “No, I don’t think so. She just said son, but that’s you, isn’t it?”

  “Go over her description again. Did she show you an ID?”

  The receptionist flushed this time. “Sorry, no ID. If she gave me her name, I don’t remember it. She was about my height—five feet three—with brown hair. Real friendly.”

  “Her first name was Annie,” Harry interrupted.

  Brandt started and lifted a brow. “Chestnut curls, pixie face?”

  Harry spun his head toward his brother and brightened. “Yeah, that’s right. Do you know her?”

  “Maybe.” Brandt thanked the receptionist and walked away. What the hell? Maggie’s nosey reporter friend. But Maggie had promised to lay off the investigation of his Boston charges. Besides, what did that have to do with his mother?

  “Who is she?” Harry kept step with him. “I can’t tell from the way you’re acting if this is good or bad news. Has my identity been compromised?”

  “Hell, Harry. I’m not sure. But I’ll let you know as soon as I do. Lay low, and don’t be taken in by the next pretty face.” Brandt strode out the door. The office would have to wait. This couldn’t.

  * * *

  When the pounding on her door became insistent, Maggie peered through the peephole. She jerked her head back, an automatic frown darkening her face. Josh Brandt. What the hell was wrong now? And how did he get in the building without buzzing her? He was the last person she wanted to see this morning, especially in her pajamas. She hesitated, tempted to ignore him. But he’d have her neighbors out in the hall soon. She didn’t need the uproar.

  She unfastened the bolt and chain and opened the door. “You’ve got a lot of gall showing up—”

  He stormed in, pushing the door out of his way. “What’s your reporter friend doing at my mother’s care facility?”

  “Annie was where?” Maggie stepped out of the way. “I haven’t talked to her this morning.”

  “But you knew what she was doing.”

  He moved toward her, a glint of danger in his steely eyes. Instead of making her wary, Maggie stared at him, drawn to his blatant, masculine energy. Warmth raced along her arms; her stomach fluttered.

  “You have no business digging around in my personal life. You promised you wouldn’t.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Maggie still didn’t back away. “I said I wouldn’t ask you about the charges again.”

  He locked eyes with her, backing her against the wall, and planted his hands on either side, trapping her with his body.

  “You should leave, Brandt. This isn’t smart for either of us.” Even to her own ears, she didn’t sound very convincing.

  She made a half-hearted attempt to duck under his arm. He caught the back of her head with one hand and drew her face close to his. “If you wanted to know about me so badly, you should have come to the source. I’m happy to oblige.”

  His lips moved toward hers, and he brushed her bottom lip, making it tingle. Maggie closed her eyes and stepped forward completing the kiss. It was gentle at first, then more demanding, and he deepened it until they were both breathless. When they broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers, still holding her firmly in place. “That’s been coming since the first day I saw you.”

  She met and held his gaze. “Satisfied now?”

  His brief chuckle held a wicked edge. “Not nearly, but the rest will have to wait.”

  “There won’t be any rest.” She regained enough composure to put a hand against his chest and push him away. “This”—she searched for the right word—”thing between us is too complicated. Sexual attraction won’t smooth away the jagged edges.”

  “Oh, I disagree,” he said, allowing her to step away without protest. “I’ll prove it to you, but regretfully not now. I’m pushed for time, and I have to know how much trouble my brother is in. What’s Annie doing with the information she charmed from Harry?”

  “Your brother?”

  He frowned. “You really didn’t know? She talked with him last night.”

  “If you recall, I was kind of busy last night.” Her voice lashed out. She was angry at herself for participating in that foolish kiss. It would make everything harder. She moved toward the kitchen, putting distance between them. “I haven’t talked to Annie since yesterday morning. I doubt if she’s up. I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”

  She reached for the pot she’d started fifteen minutes ago and poured a cup. “Would you like some?” She turned and discovered he’d followed her. Why did he have that smile on his lips? Nothing about this was funny.

  As if in answer to her question, he dropped his gaze to look her over. “No, thanks. I can’t stay long. Nice pj’s.”

  Maggie looked down. Oh-oh. She’d forgotten, but at least she was covered. The pajamas had been a gift from Annie, shirt top and baggy bottoms. Unfortunately they were covered with playful kittens. “This is what you get when you drop by without calling.”

  “I’m not complaining.” His amusement faded. “Except about Annie. I need you to call and make sure she doesn’t talk to anyone about last nigh
t. My brother’s life could be in danger.”

  “Are you going to tell me why?”

  “I don’t want to,” he said frankly. She watched him struggle with some inner dilemma. “But I can’t risk Annie exposing him. So I’ll tell you this much. He was given a new name and relocated by Witness Protection due to a contract on his life. He bailed from the program because of our mother’s illness.” Josh ran a hand through his hair. “I worry every day his past will find him.”

  Her lingering irritation faded in a rush of concern. “Oh, Josh. How awful. Of course, Annie won’t repeat anything. I’ll call her right away. This has something to do with your drug charges, doesn’t it?”

  He gave her a swift, black look, and she raised her hands. “OK, you’re right. I promised.”

  “I have to get to work. Call Annie.” He walked toward the door. “I’ll be back.”

  The door closed behind him, and she picked up her coffee mug, not drinking, just thinking about the last few minutes. It put a different spin on everything. She’d already been on overload…thanks to his suspicious mind…and she’d wanted to stay mad at him, nurse her anger for a while. But now…

  Maggie lifted a finger to touch her lips. He’d be back, huh? The part of her that had gotten past the anger hoped he meant to continue where they’d left off.

  She set her mug down and called Annie.

  “Where’ve you been?” her friend demanded. “I left three messages last night, but you didn’t call me back.”

  “Oh, did you?” Maggie looked at her phone screen, checking for missed calls. Sure enough. Three from Annie, one from Coridan. “Sorry, it was a hell of a night.”

  “Oh, not again. Another attack? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Physically anyway. Someone else was murdered, and the police thought…think I did it. I was questioned for several hours. But that isn’t—”

  “Oh my God. What’s the matter with them? Oh, Maggie, you can’t be serious. How could they…you wait right there. I’m coming over.” The line went dead.

  For someone who’d hoped to have a quiet morning to put yesterday into perspective, she sure was having a lot of company. High-energy company. Maggie went to the bedroom, showered, and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. By the time Annie arrived, she was warming her cold coffee.

  Annie immediately threw her arms around her and hugged hard. “How could they be so stupid? Was Mr. Dark Intensity part of this?”

  Maggie finally extricated herself. “He was the cop who interrogated me, and he pushed hard, but I honestly don’t know what he thought. I wanted to strangle him last night. This morning…I realized I might have pursued it the same way. But believe me, it wasn’t pleasant.”

  “I bet not.” Annie shuddered, plopped on the couch, and drew her legs up under her. “OK. Start at the beginning. What made anyone think you’d done something so awful?”

  Maggie went through last night’s events, including Hurst leading her to the car. “I understand why Brandt thinks I’m hiding something. But I can’t tell him my confidential informant is a ghost.”

  “The old spot between a rock and a hard place,” Annie said puckering her lips. “Still, he should have believed you.”

  “Maybe, but any ideas how I get out of this one?”

  Annie shrugged. “Ask your cousin Dalia to magically wipe their memories?”

  “Not helpful.” Maggie frowned, but she wished it was that easy. “I never want to go through anything like last night again, but it wasn’t why I called you.”

  Annie straightened. “What could be more important than you getting arrested?”

  Maggie scowled this time. “I wasn’t arrested. Don’t make it worse than it was. And don’t distract me. I want to talk about your visit to Mrs. Brandt’s care facility last night.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Brandt was here this morning.”

  Annie looked appalled, placing her fingers over her lips. “Uh-oh. Was he mad?”

  “His reaction was…intense.” Maggie could almost feel her lips burn, and she stifled the urge to smile. “You’ve stumbled into the middle of the Federal Witness Protection Program.”

  Annie’s eyes widened. “Ooh. Am I in trouble?”

  “I don’t think so, as long as you don’t tell anyone else.”

  But Annie wasn’t really listening anymore. “So that’s why his brother pretended to be Harry Willowby. He tried to tell me he was a cousin and helping out while his aunt was so ill. But I didn’t buy it. He looked too much like your cop. Younger, more carefree, but the resemblance is striking. So what’s the story?”

  Maggie told her as much as she knew. She would trust Annie with her own life, so filling her in on Henry “Harry” Brandt, or Willowby was a no brainer.

  “I won’t do anything to place him at risk. But does that mean I can’t go back? He’s cute, and funny. I was thinking up an excuse to visit again.”

  “Really?” Maggie focused on her friend’s face. “You don’t usually fall for a guy this fast.”

  “And neither do you. I’d say the Brandt brothers have something special going for them.”

  “I haven’t fallen for him,” Maggie objected.

  “Well, neither have I.”

  They stared at one another. Annie finally grinned. “OK, then.” She got off the couch. “Some man-bait is in order. Get your credit cards. We need a day of shopping therapy.”

  * * *

  Brandt was late getting to the squad room, and three cops were waiting for him, sprawled around his desk, drinking coffee.

  “About time,” Eddie Bishop grumbled. Brandt’s fifty-four year old partner had buzzed his once dark brown, graying hair to make the bald spot less obvious, but the style suited him. “I leave you for four weeks and what happens? You take on a stack of new cases to plague my last days.” Bishop finally gave him a twisted grin. “Trying to make me appreciate retirement?”

  “Nice to see you too, Eddie. Welcome back.” Brandt gave him a light slap on the shoulder. Despite their frequent casework differences, including Bishop’s waning interest in meticulous police work, Brandt was glad to see him. He could use the help. Likewise the two detectives with him, Ross perched on the edge of Brandt’s desk, Barclay lounging back with his feet up.

  He explained his late arrival with a vague excuse of something had come up, and they settled into work, going over the linked cases, bringing Bishop up to speed. Brandt deflected any questions on the recent interrogation of York and concentrated on other aspects, primarily his suspicions regarding the Otley case. “Call it cop instinct, but I think it’s the key. Something that happened or didn’t happen. Eddie, I’d like you to put fresh eyes on it. Go over the file with a fine-toothed comb. I know I’ve missed something, and I’m counting on you to find it.”

  He turned to the other two detectives. “Can you pick up the Hurst case? And interview Coridan again. He may remember something that didn’t make it into his report.”

  “Aren’t the Hurst case and Maggie’s basically closed with Pardson’s death?”

  “Maybe. It’s pretty clear he shot York, but the MO’s so different it’s not clear on Hurst and his girlfriend. Besides, I want the guy behind it. The cases are linked, but I’m not yet ready to go beyond that.”

  “Fair enough,” Ross said. “What about Detective York? Can we interview her too?”

  Brandt hesitated, but it was a reasonable request. “Whatever you need to do, but you might give her a little space after last night. The PD’s not high on her list of favorites right now. Let me know before you make that call.”

  Ross nodded, his face carefully blank.

  Brandt wondered what Ross was thinking. Disapproval over Maggie’s questioning, or had someone picked up on the personal undercurrent? He wasn’t about to ask and open a door that should remain closed.

  After agreeing to meet in the morning and compare notes, the detectives scattered to their separate tasks. Brandt set out to view the Pardson crime
scene, looking for anything to point him toward someone other than Maggie, and then to meet with the ME for the autopsy results.

  Brandt scanned the cracks and corners as he climbed the back stairs to Pardson’s second floor apartment. The tiniest evidence could break a case. No matter how good the techs were, he double-checked out of habit. He emerged into the hallway. Since the sniper had been killed in the corridor instead of a room, crime scene tape blocked off much of the floor. The manager and at least two tenants from affected apartments would soon be badgering the PD to release the scene. All in good time.

  He ducked under the tape. The victim’s blood had spread out into the thin carpet, then dried to a shade nearly black, but the original pool was obvious. An arterial spray had also hit the wall. Messy for the killer. Blood on his knife hand, arm, maybe the face and hair. Certainly the shirt or jacket and shoes. There was one scuffled, partial shoe print that hadn’t yet been identified. Maybe a boot heel. Why only one? Maggie said she’d been careful, but her sneakers had left four identifiable impressions. Had the killer worn plastic covers over his shoes? A pro might. A hired killer to eliminate a hired killer?

  Maggie’s suspicions might not be so far off. Bullet Castile would have the money and the chutzpah to order a string of cold-blooded killings, including his own killer, in order to hide the original crime. But even he needed a reason for so much bloodshed. If Brandt could discover that, it would all unravel.

  At his next stop, the ME confirmed his prior estimated time of death and reported the direction of the wound suggested a right-handed killer. Great. That left eighty to ninety percent of the world’s population in their suspect pool.

  Returning to District 13, Brandt passed the lab, spotted the manager, Cory Devane, and stopped for an update on their evidence testing.

  “All the blood in the hallway was the Pardson’s.” The late-thirties African American snapped off an evidence glove and scratched his nose. “And the only shoeprint that didn’t match York’s sneakers was that partial boot heel. But that’s all I can tell you. Not enough to size it, and they vary so much it could be either a man’s or woman’s.