I Was Murdered Last Night (Olivia Brown Mysteries Book 1)

by A. J. Gallant

  The detective sat at a round table in the corner and noticed Billy Joel having spaghetti and meatballs near the entrance to the kitchen, though she pretended not to see him. He was accompanied by a handsome black man that she didn't recognize. Celebrities often dined here. The last time Johnny Depp was eating a cannoli. There were lots of photographs of celebrities on the walls.

  Her cell rang, another murder, but this one on Grove Street. Although it was likely unrelated, she would have a look, and the detective who was handling that case wanted to show her something. Aunt Stella would have to wait. She took the remainder of her cannoli with her as she departed, with one last glance at Billy, who smiled at her.

  The scene turned out to be a serene court in the West Village. There was a little gate with a black sign that read, “PRIVATE COURT, no trespassing.” The entrance led to a small courtyard with 19th-century townhouses, all made of brick. The body had fallen face down into a bed of flowers, his feet protruding over the rock enclosure. Detective Jim Diallo nodded to Olivia. He was a black detective who had been born and raised in Chicago and had dug his way out of gang violence through hard work.

  “Detective Diallo, what have you got?”

  “A single gunshot wound to the head from close range.” Diallo always liked Olivia and had wanted to ask her out when he and his wife had separated for a year, though never had the guts to do it. “I can even tell you the gun that did it.”

  Olivia's eyebrows tightened. “Really?”

  “Shot with a 9mm Kahn CM9, excellent little gun. I've already bagged it. My ex-wife has one.” Diallo pulled the gun out of his right pocket and showed it to her.

  “Maybe we should question your wife?”

  A hearty laugh escaped from Diallo. “If it were me laying there I would say definitely. We have a witness who says it was a tall fellow with something black over his face.”

  Olivia shook her head as there was row after row of windows looking out on the court. “What idiot would shoot someone here with all these windows?”

  “Oh, I wanted you to see this.” He pulled out a bag with a cigarette in it, a Gold Flake cigarette. A cigarette brand from India.

  Now that was interesting. “That is a popular brand in India. Found the same kind in my crime scene.” Detective Brown's eyes widened. Could be a coincidence. Maybe. New York was a diverse place, but still. “No prints or anything else on the other one. Let me know what you find.”

  Olivia was tempted to ask him if he had ever seen a ghost but didn't. Some things were appropriately kept to oneself. That cigarette was instinctively tugging at her.

  Chapter Eight

  OLIVIA ARRIVED AT AUNT STELLA'S at just after eight in the evening. The woman was a night owl and didn't get up until after three or four in the afternoon, and usually entertained readings from eight to the wee hours, though no client was present when Olivia arrived.

  Inside the apartment, crosses of all sizes were hanging everywhere. Most dangled from the ceiling but some from lamps and her brown curtains. Olivia guessed there were probably fifty or more, and she stared at the largest one on the wall, which must have been two feet in length. It looked like it might be an antique. Perhaps it was worth a lot and she didn't know it, though not something she was going to bring up. On the coffee table were a dozen white roses in a clear vase.

  Aunt Stella was sitting comfortably on the La-Z-Boy recliner with her feet up. In her late fifties, her face looked young enough, though her hair was mostly gray. It looked as though her hair hadn't been combed or was that just her style? And as soon as Olivia entered she started to laugh so loudly and so long that the detective thought she had gone completely over the edge, and she felt like turning straight around. But there was a method to her madness. “So you've seen a ghost. I knew you would, sooner or later.”

  Those words had taken Olivia off guard. Why on Earth would she just come out with that? “How do you know?”

  And again she laughed, though not as enthusiastically. “When a mortal sees a ghost their aura changes slightly. Yours was pink, and now it's a ruby red. Still think your Aunt Stella is crazy?”

  “I never thought you were crazy.”

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  Olivia made her way to the sofa and sat, a little annoyed, not sure what to say next. “I think you might need a few more crosses in here.”

  “You can never have enough crosses, especially if they are blessed. Don't you mock me–you'll be mocked soon enough. There are good and evil spirits, just like there are good and bad people. Had one in here and it took two days to get it out, always moving my purse around for some reason. It was a spirit told me that I should get the crosses.”

  Olivia didn't want to spend any more time here than she had to and already had the desire to leave. Creepy is what it was. Was this her future if her life went astray? “Aunt Stella, can you make it so I can't see them anymore?”

  “Of course not. And the more you see them, the more you'll be able to see. When you see something, it cannot be unseen. And hitting the bottle won't help either, believe me, I tried it.” Stella paused as she considered. Might Olivia have more talent for this sort of thing than she did? She had never observed an aura so bright. “You know, I get my messages in pictures and symbols, but I can't hear them usually. Some people can. Can you?”

  If she can make me consider her ramblings, doesn't that put me in the same rubber room? I did hear someone scream from inside the car. Could it have been someone from the sidewalk? “The ghost screamed, and I heard it, almost got me into an accident.” She would play along.

  Stella sat up straight. “I know you've always had a closed mind, like a locked door. You've somehow let your guard down, and I don't know anyone who's ever been able to put it back up. And as I said, you can't unsee what you have seen. Maybe you can get a shrink to hypnotize you into forgetting what you saw if you want to be a big baby about it. I don't know if hypnosis works or not.”

  Wish I'd never gotten this case. Silence as the detective stared at that crooked smile. “I don't suppose you have an amulet that would make them stay away?” What the hell am I saying? I sound an awful lot like a believer for someone that doesn't believe in this nonsense. How do I get rid of these hallucinations without losing my job? I hate the thought of medication.

  “Doesn't work that way. You can try visualizing locking a door to let them know that you don't want to be bothered, especially when you're trying to sleep, but they don't have to listen and may bother you anyway. I can give you a reading for a hundred and maybe I can find out who did the screaming and why. But I promise nothing.”

  “Oh, hell no.” Olivia left and closed the door a little harder than she wanted, with Aunt Stella laughing once again.

  “Your imaginary friend wasn't so imaginary,” Stella muttered.

  Chapter Nine

  ANITA WAS ENCIRCLED BY A ROSE GARDEN that had materialized. She wasn't sure if she had created it or not but she had been thinking about her mother's roses back in Florida. They were also hybrid tea roses, long sturdy stems with high pointed buds. It almost felt like the rebirth of spring as she took in the scent of the garden. Her mother enjoyed the time she spent puttering around in the soil, enjoyed all the positive comments from the neighborhood. Karen talked to her flowers, convinced that it made them happier and grow better, though she was likely ignoring them now. The thought that their lives were forever changed because of some maniac didn't sit well.

  Anita was great physically but emotionally, not so great; she missed her family and her fiancé, though they would all be popping up soon enough. In the scheme of things would she see them? What if they made their way to heaven and Anita was stuck here? No purpose in thinking as such. Her mind continued to be fuzzy of the events that got her here.

  Shelden approached from the south, along a winding brick path, as Anita sat on a small white bench, admiring the flowers. He waved to her and she returned the greeting. Anita wasn't sure if she liked him, getting so
me vibe, but her instincts, like all her emotions, remained muddled. The shock of her death had not worn off, though she supposed the stage of disbelief was diminishing.

  “Hello, Anita, I was wondering if you'd like to come up to the house for another turn around the lake?”

  He sat without permission, and Anita considered that he might be a little on the rough side, and she pondered what he was like when he was alive. “No, I'm just mulling things over, thinking about my family.”

  He smiled. “Would you like me to stay?”

  “I guess you can stay.”

  It sounded to him like she didn't want company now, but everyone was talking about the one that couldn't go into the light and, because of it, Shelden wasn't about to leave. Besides, he couldn't influence her if he didn't get to know her better. “What do you remember about being killed? Might do you good to talk about it?”

  Just as Anita was about to say something, she vanished.

  Shelden shook his head. “Damn it.”

  Anita found herself on a crosswalk on Fulton Street and, as she looked around, discovered she was on the corner of Fulton and Hoyt near a Kay Jeweler. Several people walked through her as they progressed with their lives. And no detective this time, so what was she doing here? There were other spirits, but none appeared to be interested in talking to her, some were shadowing relatives perhaps. An old woman following her granddaughter? And again she thought about free will. How was it free will if someone was pulling her here and there without her permission?

  A man in an expensive-looking black suit with a red tie exited from Kay's, and the odd thing was that he was purple, a mulberry purple at that. Somehow he looked familiar. The man who killed her? And if so what was she supposed to do about it? He bent down to tie his expensive Testoni shoes, and Anita tried to kick him in the butt. Of course, her foot went right through him. Made her laugh in any case. She got in front of him and got a good look and she couldn't quite place him, but he was tugging at her. Might it be an old acquaintance who had faded from memory?

  Anita followed him toward his car and observed as he looked around suspiciously. And then, abruptly, she was back at the rose garden, sitting on the bench, and Shelden was gone.

  Chapter Ten

  THE SOUND OF TIRES ON WET PAVEMENT added to the wipers whooshing across the windshield, and pushing the raindrops aside as more took their place. Moments ago a deluge but now a moderate rain, not easy to see on the narrow country road. Wipers adjusted to a moderate pace. The houses were sparse on the old Virginia road, some more than a mile apart, and trees on both sides seemingly reaching for one another across the road. An old red farm hiding in the shadows was surrounded by tall grass, part of its roof collapsed.

  John Smith, his real name, was bald with multiple scars on his head and face, the result of beatings that he received from his uncle when he was young. He had lived with his uncle while his father was in prison. Smoke rose from his Cuaba Cuban cigar, a hundred and twenty-eight dollars for ten. Henry Fisher sat beside him in the passenger seat, an ugly son-of-a-bitch, both inside and out, his nose too big for his face and blotchy skin. He was wearing too much aftershave, as usual, and both scents combined to make quite a stink inside the vehicle. They were in a white Toyota Corolla, a Hertz car rental acquired with a stolen license and credit card.

  “Are we ever going to see the sun?” said Henry.

  “Doesn't look like it.”

  It was five hours after sunset and John was forced to slam his brakes to avoid hitting a moose that abruptly came out of the forest. He put the car in reverse as he was scared the animal might turn and charge. It had a mouthful of grass as it chewed, not overly concerned about the car. The animal didn't like the looks of these two.

  Henry had never been this close to a moose before. “Just look at the size of that thing, daring us to hit him. Why the fuck is he just standing there? That don't seem like normal moose behavior.”

  John shook his head and snuffed out his cigar as his stomach was a bit iffy. “Normal moose behavior. What the hell are you, a moose whisperer?”

  Henry pressed the button and watched as the window came down, and then he stuck his head out. “Go on! Get going! Get off the road you stupid moose!”

  “I wouldn't piss it off.”

  “If we had the truck we could shoot it.”

  The moose turned and charged. John floored it in reverse, burning rubber, barely managing to get out of the animal's way as it lightly touched the bumper and then stopped, sufficiently satisfied that it had scared the vehicle. It turned and observed them for another minute or two and then vanished into the woods.

  “Fuck that was close. That guy has to be dead by tomorrow. Wouldn't have been fun to walk the next twenty miles or so.” John was happy the incident was behind them. He wasn't big on walking.

  They were brothers in a sense, hitmen in reality. John got Henry into the business more than ten years ago after a chance meeting and after many conversations, realizing they were like-minded. It had been a significant risk divulging his job to Henry, and John had been prepared to kill him if necessary. But it was so much better doing jobs together, and John had enough money to last him two lifetimes. Therefore, he didn't mind sharing the loot. With John it was mostly about the killing, getting paid for snuffing someone was a bonus. And each one that he sent off was a check on the old chalkboard of life, or rather death.

  “I've never tasted moose meat,” said Henry, scratching his head and moving his sparse hair around.

  “Me neither.”

  After about another twelve minutes had passed. You have arrived at your destination.

  Henry looked past the green mailbox 2772. Beyond the box not much more than a forest path seemingly leading into the woods but, of course, the house was down there to the left. They had seen it on Google maps, the roof, in any case. John backed up as he had passed the long rural driveway, turned off the lights, and proceeded down the path as they both put black hoods over their faces. Would he have an alarm system way out here in the boonies? Maybe. What they found was surprising–a mansion with pillars in front–reminded Henry of Graceland. Must have cost a million to build that thing.

  Henry was impressed. Lots of roses on both sides of the front walkway. He liked roses. Bushes that were trimmed to perfection. A wine bottle and grapes weathervane–he had never seen that before. “Somebody has money.”

  It was almost three in the morning and the place was dark. They were deciding on their approach. If he had security John and Henry would have to kill them too, but the good thing was that this place was so far out it would take a while for anyone to arrive from the nearest town, and they might be in another state by then.

  John cleared his throat. “Nice setup. If you didn't know this place existed, you'd never know there was a mansion here. Well, the mailbox does give it away, I suppose, and the driveway. I hope he doesn't have dogs. They're such noisy things, though I don't mind shooting 'em.”

  “Yeah, but not so easy to kill when they're trying to bite your ass.”

  John got out of the car and leaned against it, still quite a ways from the house. He gazed through the Spruce trees. Quiet except for the sound of crickets. “He has to have some wicked security.”

  Henry got out as well, making sure not to slam the door. “Maybe. Or maybe his protection is being so damn far out.”

  They knew that Frederic was a loner, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a girlfriend or someone else inside. One always had to expect the unexpected in this business. John appreciated this time, the minutes before the hit; he always thought dead man walking, though now it might be dead man sleeping.

  Henry yawned. “How are we going to get inside?”

  John shrugged. “We'll try the doors and then the windows. You wouldn't believe how many people just forget their doors open. There's always a way. If this wasn't a rush job we could have staked out the place and got him going out or coming.”

  Henry pulled out his Sig P226 hand
gun from his belt and nonchalantly started for the house as John followed. They had lots of weapons and sometimes it was hard to decide which one to use. Almost all were left at the scene, not wanting to risk getting caught with it in the car because of ballistics. Both froze as a single light came on in the first floor corner window. They quietly went back to the car and watched. John took binoculars and observed. Frederic was in an office with an Italian oak desk facing the window, and a picture of former President Regan hanging on the wall. Frederic sat his large cup of coffee on the desk and then powered up his Dell laptop. Mid-thirties, dark hair and handsome, he had a scar on his forehead from falling off the swing at school.

  John stepped back into the trees and examined the photo of the target. Not wanting the light from the phone to be visible, he stuck it inside his coat. He nodded as it was indeed the target. John opened the trunk and removed his American-made bolt-action M24, effective to about 875 yards, and they were only about two hundred yards away. He looked through the 10x42 Leupold Ultra M3A telescopic sight. He had a perfect shot and he took it, no hesitation, blew the top of Frederic's head off as the blood and brain matter splattered against the white wall and painting behind him.

  Henry put on a white plastic glove and took the Gold Flake unsmoked cigarette and dropped it. He had gotten a carton in India last year and had dropped one at every hit since. John had made him stop but now he was doing it on the sly. Henry thought it gave the law a false lead to occupy them. The previous hit had been in British Columbia, Canada.