by Raven Snow
"Did you hear something?" the first cop asked.
I could almost make out the woman next to him rolling her eyes. "Don't get all jumpy; it was probably just a false alarm. People are pretty scared right now."
Their voices started to get quieter as they went off in the opposite direction we'd been traveling. "I'm not jumpy" was the last foul-tempered statement I heard before silence settled in again.
We were just about to move when I realized the thorns had embedded in half of my clothing, making separating from the tree a noisy and painful endeavor. Oliver wasn't in much better shape and, unlike me, he couldn’t exactly shimmy around to try and free himself.
I tried twisting my body in a pretzel like form one last time, but I ended up bumping against the fence on our other side, prompting the vicious barking of what sounded like a truly gigantic dog. Oliver and I retreated back into the bush, settling down in the least painful spot possible, which was still pretty painful.
"A shovel," Oliver said finally. "Can you imagine?"
And that was how Wyatt found us: cold, with broken bones, a gash to the face, thorn cuts covering our bodies, and hiding in the bushes. He took one look at me, shook his head, and bent down to scratch the fur of a teacup dog. I made a face at it, and it snapped at me, its bark matching the sound that had scared us into staying in the bushes earlier. This night was going to be hell on my pride.
Wyatt radioed in to some uniforms, telling them to bring shears. After a lot of cutting, some not very well disguised snickering, and more shovel comments from Oliver, we were free. I stayed clear of the dog, going to nestle up against Wyatt—the real threat here.
"I suppose you're not going to tell me what you were doing hiding in the bushes three houses away from the scene of a break in."
I said sweetly, "Not without a lawyer present."
An ambulance I hadn't heard arrive took Oliver away to the hospital to fix his head and fingers. I would've gone with him, but the bus had pulled up with a very cute EMT who Oliver had warmed up to right away. I figured I'd just mess with his mojo at that point.
On the way home, I told Wyatt the truth about the attack, not just the BS I'd told the uniforms for the official report. He clenched his teeth through it, not interrupting but certainly not looking happy about any of it.
"Why didn't you tell Serena and James any of this?"
I shrugged. "Lying to the police is really more habit than anything at this point."
Then, I told him about what my grandma had told me about a puppeteer, which, in fairness, wasn't a whole lot. After that, he was silent for awhile, mulling it over. I knew he'd come to the same conclusion I had.
"It's a good thing that's not in the official report," he said quietly. "People are scared, and I don't want to start a witch hunt."
I scratched my head as if it was completely empty. "Huh, hadn't thought of that. Guess that's why I keep you around—for thinking."
"That's why you lied," he said, shooting me an amused glance.
Batting my eyelashes at him, I played with his tie. He let me do it, though I knew he'd have to iron it again. The man had a thing against wrinkles. Personally, I thought they brought a certain element of character to the ensemble.
My flirting was for nothing, though, because when we got home, Wyatt poured me a bath of hydrogen peroxide and dropped me unceremoniously in. The solution bubbled at the wounds that covered my whole body, and I howled like a woman possessed.
"Abuse!" I cried. "Abuse!"
Just as Wyatt was toweling me down, and I was in the middle of pouting, Cooper warily stuck his head around the bathroom corner. His eyes widened when they saw me, cut, bruised, and still shivering through the remnants of the cold, burning bath.
"Let this be a lesson," Wyatt said without turning around to look at his son, "to all those who think they can get around mandatory curfews."
Cooper squeaked and ran off to his room. We respectfully waited until the door shut to start laughing at his expense. It's the most you can ask from parents.
Chapter Nine
The next day, my morning tea was once again interrupted by Fate. She called me halfway through the pot and demanded in a very prissy tone that I meet her at her motel. Being who I am, I hung up without saying anything and went back to the drink the gods sent down for me.
A couple minutes later, a less entitled Fate called me and apologized. She asked politely if we could meet. She was going crazy not knowing anything, and she wondered what would be a good place and time for me. I considered hanging up on her again, but I was getting hungry, so I directed her to the best and only Chinese buffet in town.
The smell of orange chicken hit me a block away. It smelled like what I imagined heaven smelled like. It was almost enough to make me want to end it all now and head for my eternal reward. Then I remember I was almost certainly heading in the other direction, so I shrugged it off and headed for the grub.
Fate met me in line, looking uncomfortable. Her clothes didn't fit right and from the tag still hanging from her elbow, I figured they weren't hers. She must've gotten tired of wearing stuff her ghostly stalker had rummaged through.
"Don't they have Chinese in Tennessee?" I asked, noticing the way she eyed the food.
"I usually eat salad."
Stopping dead in line, the woman behind me almost tripped over me. She flipped me the bird and headed for the lo mein. I had bigger problems to worry about. Could my reputation really handle being seen around town with one of those salad freaks?
We sat down with our backs to the wall so I could see the entire restaurant. I was dining with a woman with a target on her back, after all, and I had been warned. Not that seeing would've done me any good in the current situation. Ghosts are good at sneaking up on people, especially people who are busy with their buffet plate.
"I don't know how this normally works," Fate started out, gesturing between us. "But I need a more active role here."
"I'm not in the market for new partners. The ones I have give me enough trouble." Somewhere, a couple miles away probably, Oliver was gasping at the injustice of that statement.
She leaned forward. "Please. I need to know what's going on here. Suspects? Leads? Anything."
Leaning back in my chair, I prepared myself to do the one thing I hated above all others—share.
I held up one finger. "We don't have much in the way of physical evidence."
"Encouraging."
Raising an eyebrow at her, I said, "You thought a ghost would leave behind DNA? There is the oil and candy you've found in your motel room. The former does point to one suspect we have, and no, before you ask, I'm not going to tell you who."
Her brows furrowed. "Why the hell not?"
"For one, they might be innocent."
I didn't trust Fate to know the difference between suspected and guilty. There wasn't enough evidence against anyone for me to string them up for her. Then again, my cases were usually lacking in evidence. It wasn't my fault I went up against smart people.
"Suspects?" she asked weakly.
"No names," I said firmly. "There's one specific ghost who might be ruling them all. She's shows up a lot, has no small amount of power, and has motive for wanting to torture a couple people in town." Just one, actually.
"And?" she asked, eagerly. "Why don't we go get her?"
I put aside the fact that you couldn't exactly "go get" a ghost. "She has no motive to stalk you. Not that we've found so far anyway."
Fate deflated a bit, and I went onto the next suspect. "Behind door number two is a suspect that fits with the oil and candy, has motive to want to raise ghosts, but probably doesn't even know you exist." I barely paused. "And lastly, our final suspect left a little bit of her trade behind at the scene of one of the hauntings. She benefits from the ghosts but not from stalking you."
There was a bitter curl to Fate's lip. "Seems like you've been doing a great job solving everything that has nothing to do with me."
"I don
't know anything about you Fate," I said as gently as I could, which wasn't very. "You've told me nothing that would lead to personal motive or enemies you might have."
She hesitated. "I...."
"Your confidence and trust is shot from months of being followed around; I get it. Just don't expect progress until you can give me something concrete."
I waited a moment, giving her a chance to tell me anything about herself. When the moment passed, I nodded with just a twinge of disappoint and got up to leave. Fate's arm shot out, gripping my elbow and holding me there.
"Please," she said. "Just tell me the name of one of the suspects. I promise I won't do anything crazy."
Standing there for a moment, I weighed her face and her intentions. If I gave her this information, trusting her, it could go a long way in getting her to open up. On the other hand, she had crazy eyes.
But I really wanted to solve this one.
"Her name's Madam Mystic. She has these robes…what?"
Fate had gone completely pale. Well, paler. She withdrew her hand, her body seeming to fold in on itself.
"What is it, Fate? Do you know her?"
When she looked back up at me, her eyes were glassy and afraid. "She's the woman who told me I was gonna die right before I left Tennessee."
Call me crazy, but that sounded like a lead to me.
Finding Madam Mystic wasn't as easy however. I drove around for two hours, asking everyone I met if they'd seen her, but I came up empty. I decided to enroll Wyatt, who was far better at this ghost hunting thing, but he wouldn't answer his phone. After the forth call, I put my phone in the passenger seat, more than a little worried.
Not even two seconds later, the phone rang again. I almost veered off the road trying to answer it and wished immediately that I hadn't bothered. It wasn't Wyatt.
"Get your ass down here," Officer Kosher, the least pleasant man I knew growled. "Your boyfriend just shot somebody at the church."
Foot to the floorboard, I raced out to the church we'd begun this journey in. A bunch of police cars were surrounding it, and a couple of ambulances were parked nearby. I couldn’t drive past the blockage, so I got out of my car and went on foot.
I passed a couple boys in bed sheets, looking as pale as their garments. One said to another, "He just went crazy, man. Shooting up the place!"
Wyatt was sitting on the steps of the church, slumped over and head hanging. There seemed to be an invisible bubble between him and everyone else, one that no one, not even his fellow cops, were breaching.
When I came into shouting distance of a potbellied man with horrible sideburns, I hissed, "You said he shot someone."
Kosher shrugged. "Shot. Shot at. What's the difference?"
Ignoring him, I slid down next to Wyatt. His skin was cold to the touch, and he barely seemed to register my presence. When he spoke, it was more like he was talking to himself. Or a ghost.
"We got the disturbance call that some ghosts were trashing the church. Didn't know it was a bunch of stupid kids in sheets." He drew in a ragged breath. "When I saw movement, pale movement, I just...."
His body shook, and I wrapped my arms around him, not sure what else to do. I wanted to shoot those teenagers myself and save Wyatt some of the trouble. It was probably best that the government didn't allow me to have a gun.
"It wasn't your fault," I told him fervently. "We're all on edge. This could've happened to anyone."
"But it didn't." When he continued, his voice was steadier. "I'm taking myself off this case."
"That's not the answer, Wyatt."
He shook his head. "I should've done it days ago. I'm compromised."
I realized, then, that people all around us were listening in. I bared my teeth at them, forcing Wyatt to his feet. Ignoring his car in favor of mine, I tossed his keys in the general direction of Kosher. When I heard the thud of metal hitting flesh, a pained cry, and a curse, I smiled despite myself.
Getting Wyatt past the liquor cabinet and to bed proved to be a chore once we got home. My man really wasn't a drinker at all, the liquor cabinet not even existing before I'd come to live here. Today, though, he was ready to drown his sorrows in whiskey.
Only my reminder that Cooper would be home from school soon seemed to snap him out of it. He nodded once and then got himself upstairs. It wasn't said, but I got the feeling I was meant to stay away for a little while. And if I couldn't —wouldn't—give him booze to numb the pain, I could at least respect his wishes for a little alone time.
Protecting Wyatt's alone time, though, was a little trickier than I'd realized. Not five minutes after we got home, his boss called, yelling at me through the line to put Wyatt on the phone. After a few "hell no’s" he finally seemed to realize I wasn't going to do it.
"What was he thinking?" the Chief seethed. "I've got a press nightmare on my hands. Whatever you do, don't let him talk to any reporters."
Next thing I knew, reporters were on my doorstep. Waresville only had about two newspapers, and no one read them, but apparently these parasites thought they could change all that. They banged on the door, peered in through the windows, and called me on my cell.
"The balls of the next person that touches the house," I said coolly to the other person on the line, "will be ornamentation on my wall. Have a nice day."
After that, they left the house alone.
Unfortunately, the biggest challenge of all came when Cooper got home. He rushed into the kitchen, clearly looking for his dad. When his eyes fell on me, he burst into tears.
"Is Dad going to jail?"
I peered up from my paper, trying to look unaffected. "Not unless I drag him down as an accomplice."
Cooper sat down next to me, wiping furiously at his eyes. "The kids at school are saying he shot up a church."
"No fatalities means no jail time," I told him sagely. "No one ever went to jail for shooting one ugly church." Nobody with any style, anyway.
It took a little more assuring than that to put Cooper’s mind at ease. I even had to pull out some of my old war stories about lock-up. By the end, Cooper had a whole new view of my childhood and of the criminal justice system. All in a day’s work.
Chapter Ten
Instead of my alarm, I woke up to a phone call. After glancing at the caller ID, I let out a growl that would've done Biscuit proud.
"Fate, it's too early for this crap."
Her words were a whisper in my ear, like an insect buzzing. "There's a woman spying on my room from across the street."
"That's not my problem until noon."
I hung up on her and tried to go back to sleep. After about two seconds, I punched my pillow and rolled slowly out of bed. I was going to her rescue but I didn't owe her speed.
Wyatt was nowhere to be seen, but as soon as I went downstairs and saw Cooper sitting in front of the TV eating chocolate cereal, I realized it was Saturday.
Plopping down on the couch next to him, I snatched a piece of his breakfast. "Your dad left me to watch you, huh?"
"Yep."
"He does realize you'd be safer in the stingray pit at the zoo than with me, right?"
"Yep."
"Probably he wants to get rid of the first pancake and start fresh now that he's remarrying." I scratched my head. "Want to go on a field trip?"
Cooper insisted on me showering and changing since "I smelled." It put major delays on our leaving, and by the time we got to Fate, she had worked herself into a tizzy.
"What took you so long?" she demanded, opening the door and letting us in. She was dressed in a long, frumpy nightgown that was all black. Her makeup was still on, and I wondered if she slept in it.
I nodded at Cooper. "Princess here had to fix her hair."
"At least I brush mine," he sniffed.
"Touché."
Pulling us over to the window, Fate pointed frantically across the street. Sure as day, there was a woman standing there. She looked plump, elderly, and vaguely familiar. I didn't think I'd seen
her face, just someone who looked like her.
"And watch this," Fate said, her voice croaking from stress.
She moved in front of the windows, pacing. When I glanced back at the woman staring at us, I realized her beady, black eyes followed Fate's every movement.
"I think you've got an admirer," I said, trying to place the woman.
Fate shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. "I can't take much more of this."
Cooper, ever valiant, said, "You have to report this to the police." His chest swelled. "My dad will protect you and put the bad guys away."
A tiny smile graced Fate's face, and it was a grateful one. Hiding a smile myself, I was reminded of the reason I liked to bring Cooper along. Like his father, he was cute and charming, which was kryptonite for most women.
"Coop, stay with Fate," I said, ruffling his hair. "If any one comes in, use extreme sarcasm."
"Where are you going?"
My eyes were still on the ghostly woman. "To collect the cover charge. This show isn't free."
I half expected the woman to disappear as soon as I left the motel. When she didn't, I paused for a moment. When she didn't poof off when I got within touching distance, I paused for a long moment. Shuddering, I thought about how much I really hated ghosts.
Gathering my courage, I stepped in close to the woman. "Has anyone ever told you that you come on too strong?" Her attention didn't even flicker away from the window.
Pursing my lips, I tried again, "Oh, I get it. The goth thing does it for you. Sorry, but I think you're a little old and homely to catch Fate's eye."
Slowly, like one of those demented dolls turning their heads, her attention strayed to me. I swallowed hard, because her eyes weren't just black, they were completely empty. All the same, they followed me without error as I shifted from one foot to the next, ready to run screaming if need be. I'm always ready to run screaming; it's like my signature move.