Southern Curses (Max Porter Mysteries Book 6)

by Stuart Jaffe

  “Where then?”

  He went back toward the lobby but drifted across the glass wall of the convention hall. He came up to the door and noticed it had a push bar. Sandra stood on the other side.

  Wincing as he reached forward, he pushed against the bar. But his hand slipped right through. He tried again.

  “Max,” Sandra said, the worry in her voice palpable. She looked toward the lobby, and Max didn’t have to see to know — the Pale Man was coming.

  He stared at the push bar and tried again. He slipped through once more. Stop trying so hard, he reminded himself. Floating, going through walls, all the movement he had done so far had been easy enough when he simply did it without thinking. The harder he attempted to do something, the harder it became to do.

  He glanced up at Sandra. She looked back, her eyes unblinking. I just want to let my wife join me. That’s all. She’s on the other side of a door, and I just have to open it.

  He pushed the bar, and it depressed. A smile rose on his mouth for a fraction of a second. Then his hand started to burn as if touching a hot stove. He pulled back and the pain disappeared. But he had opened the door enough.

  Sandra yanked to door fully open, dashed in, and brought it closed behind her. As she bolted blindly down the convention hall lobby, Max saw the Pale Man rattling the door. It wouldn’t stop him for long.

  The lobby had a few upholstered chairs on a carpeted side and a long stretch of stone tiles on the other side. On the tiled side, the title VOLUNTEER HALL hung above wood double doors. At the far end, Sandra whipped open a door that led to an off-white hall of offices. She rushed on down with Max close behind. She turned right at one corner, left at another.

  Max noticed an open door with a keypad up ahead. “There,” he said.

  They jumped in, pulling the door shut behind. Sandra bent over with her hands on her knees and coughed. As she caught her breath, Max checked out where they were — part of a kitchen, apparently.

  Two enormous walk-in freezers took up one wall. Standard industrial kitchen shelving was everywhere, gleaming metal and stacked with coffee urns, serving trays, plates and bowls, and lots of flatware.

  “You gotta keep moving,” Max said.

  “Go check.”

  Max passed through the wall and back up the way they had come. The Pale Man had managed to break into the convention area and was wandering the office halls. Max shot back to Sandra.

  “He’s coming.”

  She nodded and started deeper into the kitchen. They went out a back door which led to a long stretch of loading docks — all closed for the night. Thick pipes travelled overhead while empty wooden pallets had been stacked in neat piles on a smooth, concrete floor. At one point, they found an upright piano against a wall. Max stopped to look at it, confused by its appearance.

  Sandra kept walking. Over her shoulder, she said, “Yeah, honey, it’s weird. Let’s stay focused.”

  Max came up beside her. From the loading docks, they entered another off-white hall. A sign read ENVIRONMENTAL SERVICES. “What’s that mean?”

  “I think it’s janitors and such.”

  Down one hall, up another, right turns, left turns. The underbelly of the hospital proved to be a confusing maze. As they entered a section which turned out to be the real kitchen — the previous kitchen proved to be more of staging area for the conventions — Max wondered how anybody got fed at all. Those serving food to patients could take a wrong turn and never been seen again.

  Room after room of the kitchen looked like an industrial shop — thin walls with notice boards, brown-tiled floors, massive ovens, and metal refrigerators everywhere. Rooms storing boxes of food from floor to ceiling matched rooms filled with rolling carts for tray upon tray of meals. As Sandra hurried steadily along, she saw nobody working — it was three in the morning, after all.

  A commotion from behind echoed toward them. “Keep going,” Max said as he zipped back toward the noise. The Pale Man worked his way towards them, stopping to check every door and peer around each corner. Moving through the kitchen, Max spotted only two staff working. Somebody in charge would be coming along any moment, but the Pale Man showed no fear of that.

  He paused as something caught his attention. A voice — “You ain’t supposed to be back here. You lost?” Somebody talking to Sandra. As the Pale Man pulled out his hunting knife and jogged towards the voice, Max soared back to his wife.

  “Hide,” he said.

  Sandra dashed off, moving faster through the endless kitchen.

  “Hey!” The kitchen worker shook his head as he went to a phone. “I’m calling security on you.”

  Max knew Sandra wanted to run, but speeding through a kitchen with hot food and wet floors was asking for a twisted ankle or a broken bone or worse. Max flew through walls, checking out every side room. Lots of storage for produce and canned goods, but each of these rooms had no escape route, and with the Pale Man closing in and, presumably, security on its way soon, she had to find an escape.

  Turning a corner, she passed four large vats for soup. Steam came out of two of them, but one was cold and empty.

  “In there,” Max said.

  Sandra hesitated.

  “Everywhere I look is a dead end or too open to hide.”

  The sound of running feet changed her mind. With her jaw shivering from a cocktail equal parts adrenaline and fear, she winced as she swung a leg over the lip of the vat. She lowered down and closed the top.

  “Don’t worry,” Max said — not for Sandra’s sake, but his own.

  The Pale Man entered the soup room. He jogged right by into the next section. Seconds later he returned. Holding his knife at the ready, he scanned the room. He crouched low and searched for signs of Sandra hiding behind a counter.

  “He’s here,” Max told Sandra. “Keep still.”

  The Pale Man narrowed his eyes upon the soup vats. He glanced at the two hot vats first as he walked toward the cold ones. The one Sandra had not jumped in still had its top open. Max swore — he should have thought about that.

  Wetting his lips, the Pale Man leaned over the closed vat. With the hilt of his knife, he banged on the top. “Mrs. Porter,” he said with a gentle Carolina accent, “I know you’re in there. Come on out, now. I just have a few questions is all. Nothing to be so scared about.”

  Nothing. Not a sound.

  The Pale Man put his ear to the vat. “Mrs. Porter? You in there?”

  Max suspected what Sandra planned and he knew exactly how to help. “Now, honey!”

  Sandra shoved the lid open, smashing the Pale Man’s jaw and cheek while throwing him backward. As she climbed out of the vat, the man tried to stand firm, but he stumbled and fell to one knee. Blood dribbled down his cheek.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” he said. Groaning, he dug his fingers into his mouth and yanked out a tooth. “Not nice at all.”

  He stood in Sandra’s way. Max cheered as she punched the Pale Man and dashed by him. But despite his injuries, the man moved quickly.

  His hand snapped out and grabbed Sandra’s arm. He spun her in and pressed his knife against her throat. “Now, you’re going to answer me one simple question. You answer honestly, you live. Stall or lie or anything, and I slit your throat. Understand?”

  Sandra nodded, though her eyes were on Max. He tried to comprehend her look — more than simple fear, she seemed to be trying to communicate something to him.

  “Good,” the Pale Man said. “My employer simply wants to know if Max Porter is a ghost. I’m assuming you understand whatever that means. Doesn’t really matter to me. But that’s the question I want answered — is Max Porter a ghost?”

  “He is,” she said. “And he can do all the things a ghost can do.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Max understood. He flew in close and thrust his hand into the Pale Man’s head. The pain of touching a living being hit as if Max’s skin were made of glass and somebody had thrown a rock right through, shatterin
g him into pieces. He screamed right along with the Pale Man.

  Sandra had no trouble extricating herself from the man’s shivering body. “I’m free,” she said, and Max released his victim. The Pale Man crumpled to the floor, panting hard and convulsing in short bursts.

  “In here,” the kitchen worker called out from nearby.

  Sandra turned to Max. “I’ve got to get moving. Meet me in your room.” She paused long enough to give Max a shudder — he knew her looks so well, and to see the one he loved most, the one that said they were always for each other, thrilled him.

  “Go,” he said, holding his hand close to his chest. “I’ll be up once the pain stops blinding me.”

  Sandra looked as if she might try to kiss him, but the jangle of a police belt woke her back to her situation. She walked off in the opposite direction. Moments later, a security officer entered the room with one of the kitchen staff leading the way. The officer moved quickly to disarm the Pale Man — not too difficult considering the rough shape he was in — and slapped cuffs on him before the man could utter a sound.

  Max waited a few minutes until he knew for sure that the Pale Man wouldn’t get loose and come after Sandra. Once two other security officers entered the kitchen and talked of how long they’d have to wait until the police showed up, Max thought he could safely leave. He floated up through the floors and down the halls until he reached his room.

  When he entered, he found Sandra sitting next to the bed, clutching his body’s hand. Across the room sat a man dressed in a white-and-gray striped suit and holding a porkpie hat in his hand. Seeing Max, he jumped to his feet and walked over with his hand extended.

  “Ah, Mr. Porter, delighted to meet you.”

  Max shook the ghost’s hand even as he looked at Sandra for some explanation. She shrugged, and the strain of the night played out in her trembling shoulders.

  “Who are you?” Max asked.

  “Oh, yes, forgive me. My name is Corenlius Pendingworth. I’m an attorney for Mr. Tucker Hull.”

  Chapter 7

  “Well, Mr. Pendingworth, we’ve had a long, difficult day and an even longer, more difficult night. There’s nothing you have to say that can’t wait a few hours. So, you best leave right now and allow my wife some rest.”

  Mr. Pendingworth rolled his fingers along the rim of his hat. “I’m sorry, truly am, but I cannot do that. Mr. Hull left specific instructions, and well, I know you both are well aware of what it is like to deal with the Hull family and their instructions.”

  Though her fingers shook, Sandra gestured to the chair. “Get it over with, please.”

  “Yes. Certainly. Well, you see, Mr. Hull wants me to inform you that it has come to his attention that you are possibly working for a woman who goes by the name of Mother Hope. Now, while it is true that you are no longer under the employment of the Hull family, it is equally true that Mr. Hull would not want you being employed by a group sworn to undermine anything he attempts to accomplish. So, with that laid out and in mind, my client wants you to cease and desist all actions taken on the part of the Magi Group and/or Mother Hope. Failure to comply will be met with swift justice.”

  Max rubbed the bridge of his nose. “When are you from?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re not an idiot. When are you from?”

  Mr. Pendingworth glanced about the room as if searching for a hidden film crew. “I was born in 1802 and died in 1827.”

  “How’d you die?”

  “That’s rather personal.”

  “Fine. Then go tell Mr. Hull that I don’t take you seriously.”

  “Of course you do. I can see on your face that you are frightened of my every word. I, on the other hand, am utterly calm.”

  Drummond appeared standing next to the attorney. “Perhaps I can change that.”

  The attorney’s face fell. “Oh. Mr. Drummond. I didn’t realize you were, well, that is to say, I was uninformed regarding the relationship these people had with you, and —”

  “Just answer his question. How’d you die?”

  “Something spooked my horse. It threw me off, and before I knew what had happened it stomped me. Broke a few ribs. I thought that was all, but in the end, the bones had done far worse damage inside my body. I died slowly and in a lot of pain.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  Drummond grabbed the ghost and threw him against the wall. “And you best finish the story and get the hell out of here. I’ve had long day and a longer night, and I’m sick of dealing with ghosts that won’t talk with me.”

  Max smiled at Drummond’s choice of words. Mr. Pendingworth sputtered. “Well, I simply meant to say that later, after my death, I found I was unable to move on. My death was no accident. Mr. Hull wanted to have representation in the ghost realm, so he had my demise arranged. Shall I go now?”

  “Don’t come back.”

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” Mr. Pendingworth scuttled off through a wall.

  Max chuckled. “Thanks.”

  Drummond took off his hat. “We’re partners. We look out for each other.”

  “Could’ve used your help a little bit ago,” Sandra said. Her voice sounded sturdy and the tremors in her hands had gone. She quickly told Drummond about her unintended exploration of the hospital kitchens.

  “That doesn’t make much sense. Why would Mother Hope send this guy after you twice? Especially when she succeeded in her goal the first time. She got Max vulnerable enough to curse. So why come after you?”

  “Haven’t a clue.”

  Max said, “Hon, I wasn’t lying when I told that lawyer you needed to sleep. Shove my body aside and get some rest. This was only the first full day of this case.”

  “Not really a case,” Drummond said.

  “Whatever it is, it’s been an exhausting day for us. If I wasn’t a ghost, I’d be half asleep already.”

  “There aren’t many benefits to being dead, but I suppose that’s one of them.”

  “Yeah. I tried that touching humans thing. Not a benefit by far.”

  Drummond’s eyebrows lifted high. “I’m impressed. That’s a tough thing to endure.”

  “Didn’t really have a choice.” Max stopped. A soft snoring rustled the air as Sandra’s head had drooped over Max’s body. “That doesn’t look comfortable.”

  “I’m sure you can wake her, and she’ll shift over to something better.”

  “Let her sleep. She’s had enough interruptions. Besides, both of us can stand guard. Don’t have to worry about another hitman coming in.”

  Drummond scratched his chin and set his hat back on at an angle. “You sure that was a hitman?”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “If we accept Mother Hope’s version of it, then she hired this man to send you to the hospital, not the morgue. In fact, it sounded to me like she was a bit miffed about the job he did. She seemed to think he went too far. He nearly did kill you, after all.”

  Max gazed upon his slumbering body. “Then they send the same guy again?”

  “That’s my point. If this guy was good at his job — I mean good for a group like the Magi — then he wouldn’t dream of doing anything but exactly what he was ordered to do. Everything I’m hearing about him suggests he’s a freelancer. So, either Mother Hope is lying — and in this case, I don’t see the advantage for her to do that — or somebody else hired him.”

  Max folded his arms. “It was Tucker.”

  “Don’t go assuming. We know Tucker sent the lawyer, but —”

  “It was Tucker. I didn’t think about it before, but at one point the hitman said my employer. Just like Mr. Modesto.”

  “Except why would Tucker Hull send a hitman after Sandra to ask if you were a ghost when he’s got a ghost lawyer who can affirm that fact right now?”

  “Well, who else could it be? Who needs to know if I’m part-ghost?”

  “I’m not sure, but I don’t like it.”

  Max che
cked the clock — 5:21 am. He hoped Sandra would be allowed to sleep until noon because the more he learned, the more he thought things were going to get much worse. She would need to be in top form as soon as possible.

  “We’ve got a lot of time to wait here, and I don’t think we’ll find an answer to the hitman question soon,” Max said, positioning himself so that he had a clear view of the door. “So, what did you find out in the Other? Any leads on Dr. Connor?”

  “Oh, I found her.”

  Max jolted upright. “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Ease back, pal. Your hitman situation took priority.”

  “Like hell. I can’t get out of this mess without Dr. Connor.”

  “Which is why you won’t like what I have to say. So, trust your partner and relax. There’s nothing to do this very second.”

  “But where is she? I don’t see her.”

  “She’s not here. I got Leed watching her.”

  “Leed? What can a blob of light do?”

  “Do you want to hear this or should I go for a walk?”

  Rolling his head back, Max dropped his arms. “Just tell me what happened.”

  “Thank you. Now, when I started out, I thought it was going to be a tough grind, but I’ve taught you the importance of building a network of contacts and informants. Turns out, they had the answers for me right away. Apparently, Dr. Connor is something of a celebrity, a real sight-seeing stop for ghosts.”

  “For my own sanity, I’ll ignore the idea of ghosts on vacation, but why is she a celebrity?”

  Drummond pointed at Max and winked. “You keep getting better and better at the detective racket. You’re really starting to zero in on the key questions.”

  “Thanks. What’s the answer?”

  “I’m coming to that, and brace yourself because you are not going to like this.”

  “I already don’t like it.”

  “Good, then you’ll be prepared. Dr. Connor has a rare and unique curse on her.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Nope. Looks like there’s a lot of it going around.”

  Max checked his body, then the door. “So, what is it? Can’t be what they did to me. We saw her body. She was definitely dead.”