Vickie looked at her with surprise, and then realized that the young woman usually wore her hair down, and that—yes, of course—she’d had her several times as a server at the coffee shop.
“Yes, I’m waiting on Alex,” she said.
The girl smiled cheerfully. “He was here last night. I’m sure he’ll be along.”
“There—she’s sure Alex will be along,” Roxanne said.
“He was here last night?” Vickie asked.
“Yes, he’s always in when the Dearborn duo are playing. He loves them,” the waitress said. “I’ll keep my eye out!” she promised as she moved on.
“Thanks,” Vickie said. She’d been with Alex when he’d come to see the Dearborn brother-and-sister performers before. They were talented guitarists and played folk music, ballads and covers of Simon and Garfunkel tunes, John Denver, Carole King and more.
She’d heard that the pair were twins; if so, they were fraternal. He was blond with soft brown eyes; she had extremely dark hair and smoke-gray eyes. They were an attractive pair, and they definitely seemed to have a casual, easy way with a crowd.
“I just wish that he’d answer his phone,” Vickie said.
“Vickie!”
For a moment, her heart jumped. But it wasn’t Alex calling her. She looked through the milling guests in the coffee shop and saw Professor Milton Hanson, one of Alex’s closest associates. He knew Vickie’s father, though was more of an associate than a friend.
Actually, her dad didn’t like him very much.
“Who is that? Cool-looking guy, distinguished...dignified.”
He was “smarmy,” according to her dad. A little too good-looking. A little too close to some of his students.
“Hello, young lady. How are you?” he asked, stopping by the table. He had an attractive woman on his arm; she offered Vickie a big smile.
“Professor Hanson,” she said, introducing him to Roxanne. He, in turn, introduced his lady friend.
“I wanted to come by to check out this café,” Hanson said. “Our mutual friend, Alex Maple, loves this place. But there’s no music.”
“Yes, Alex loves it,” Vickie agreed. “But the music is on Saturday nights.”
Roxanne opened her mouth; she was clearly about to say that they were waiting for Alex.
Vickie kicked her under the table. A little tiny squeak escaped her.
“Saturday night. I’ll have to come then. Well, nice to see you!” Hanson said, and he moved on.
“Hey! That hurt,” Roxanne said.
“Sorry.”
“Why didn’t you tell him we were waiting for Alex now?” Roxanne asked.
“I don’t know.”
“He’s still here somewhere,” Roxanne said. “We could find him.”
“No, I just don’t feel comfortable asking him about Alex.”
“Okay. But Alex isn’t here. So, seriously, maybe something just came up,” Roxanne said. “Let’s face it. Not that I blame you—I mean, you were kidnapped and nearly killed recently—but you’re overly suspicious of the world. I’m overly suspicious, too, since that wasn’t such a great time for me, either. And I’m your basic coward, so that adds to me doubting everything. But honestly—aren’t you getting a little carried away, being so worried just because Alex didn’t show up for dinner? Maybe his sister was sick, or maybe he had to rush his dog to the emergency vet or something. Things do happen.”
“But someone like Alex, Roxanne, he would let me know. You know, maybe I am being ridiculous. I just can’t believe he’d be so rude.”
“I’m sorry, Vickie. I love you—you really are the best friend and most courteous human being—but maybe his emergency was just more important than you.”
“I hope that’s true,” Vickie murmured.
Just as Roxanne spoke, Vickie’s phone rang. It was Griffin.
“Hey! How’s it going? I wish I could have joined you,” Vickie said.
“Dinner didn’t happen. Barnes was dropping me off at the restaurant when someone called in an attack down the street from where we were—we heard it on the scanner. Anyway, to make a long story short, I gave chase, caught the guy—and he took some kind of a suicide pill,” Griffin told her.
“So, he’s dead?”
“Who’s dead?” Roxanne demanded, looking at Vickie with alarm.
“An attacker,” Vickie murmured quickly.
“That’s great!” Roxanne said. “No, I mean, not the dead part. He’s been caught, right? But... Griffin killed him? I mean, we shouldn’t want anyone dead. Except this guy really hurt a lot of people, so—”
“He killed himself,” Vickie said quickly.
“How, what, why?” Roxanne asked.
“I don’t know! Let me listen,” Vickie pleaded. “Griffin? The attacker is dead?”
Griffin didn’t seem to have noted her absence from the conversation to whisper to Roxanne; whatever had happened that evening, it was still consuming his mind.
“Yes. Strange, he was trying for suicide by cop. I told him I wouldn’t shoot him. He took a pill before I could stop him.”
“But it was the man who attacked Alex, right? I mean, was it? You just said that it was an attack. It was the same kind of attack—with the same words written?”
Griffin hesitated on the other end of the phone line.
“A guy is dead. A guy who was seen leaving the same note that was found on Alex and the other two victims. I’m sure Alex will be glad to hear that. Tell him for me, and that I’ll give him details in the morning. Except...”
“Except what?”
Griffin seemed to hesitate a long time.
“What is it?” Vickie persisted.
“I don’t think the man who killed himself tonight is the only one in on this,” Griffin said. “But hey, that’s for later. Anyway, I’m at the station. Devin and Rocky are going to stay at my place tonight. I told them I seldom use it and they kind of figured that. Salem is only forty minutes away—well, forty minutes or two hours, depending on traffic! They were actually taking a little personal time to check on their homes up there, see some family and friends. I’m glad they’re here, though. I can toss around what’s going on with them. You can give Alex the news that we’ve stopped one of them, anyway.”
“I can’t tell Alex anything. He didn’t show,” Vickie said. “We’re still here—we’re having the café’s Sunday night special and hoping that he will make it eventually.”
“He didn’t show? You know him better than I do, but that’s not like Alex, is it?”
“No, it’s not like Alex at all.”
“Did you call him?”
“At least a dozen times. And I’ve left just as many messages,” Vickie said.
Griffin was silent for a minute. “How long have you been trying to reach him?” he asked her.
“Um, let’s see... I started calling him this morning, when you got the call from Devin telling you that she and Rocky were going to be heading up to Salem, and did you want to meet for dinner. So, I’ve called and texted all day.”
“I can come and join you. Well, in a while. A woman was attacked—she’s on her way to the hospital. And a man died. I’ve still got things to do and, you know, paperwork.”
Paperwork.
She’d learned all about police paperwork during the Undertaker case.
“Roxie and I will go ahead and have dinner and then head to my place,” Vickie said. “We’ll wait for you there. In the meantime, I’ll hope that Alex calls me with some kind of an apology!”
“Is his family near?”
“He grew up in Massachusetts, but his folks are living on an island off Georgia now—his dad started getting asthma,” Vickie said. “He has a little sister, but she’s studying in Europe somewhere.”
“I’ll head home,” she said.
“I’ll see you soon.”
She hung up and looked around the room again with frustration, hoping—perhaps ridiculously—that Alex might have appeared. No Alex.
She frowned, though. A young blonde woman was standing at the end of the counter bar, as if waiting for a coffee creation.
But she was staring at Vickie intently, with unusual intensity.
“Why is that woman looking at me like that?” Vickie murmured aloud.
Roxanne turned to look toward the counter, but at that moment, several young men walked by—all of them a fine size to serve as tackles for the Boston Patriots, should they choose.
“There—she was right there. Really pretty blonde. Young, long hair—white summer halter dress with a flowy white wrap...”
“I don’t see her.”
“She’s gone. She was staring at me, weirdly.”
“Maybe she got a bad shot of coffee, Vickie. Hey, not trying to be insulting or anything here, but it’s not always about you, Vick!” Roxanne said lightly.
Vickie laughed. “Yeah, yeah, honestly, I know!”
“So! Back to earth here. Griffin is on his way?” Roxanne asked.
“In a roundabout way,” Vickie said. “We’ll just have dinner and go to my place.”
“You’ll go to your place,” Roxanne said. She shivered. “I want to stay a mile away from whatever it is you have going on!”
Vickie didn’t blame her friend; Roxanne had gotten a concussion when she’d been dragged into the investigation during the Undertaker case. She might have been killed.
“Oh! What I said—it sounded absolutely horrible!” Roxanne said, wide-eyed. “I mean, I’d like to think that I’m a good friend, that I’d be with you through thick and thin, but—”
“It’s okay!” Vickie assured her.
“You two will want to talk. Do you think that Griffin caught the person who attacked Alex? Do you think that Alex is safe now?”
“I don’t know. Griffin seems to think that there’s more than one person involved.”
“Oh! Then...maybe Alex isn’t just rude, or forgetful, or having an emergency with his dog,” Roxanne said.
“He doesn’t have a dog, Roxanne, and I am getting more and more worried.”
Vickie managed a smile for her friend. “It’s okay. Go home. I do understand. And Griffin will be tired and we will need to talk. So, we’ll finish dinner...and hope that Alex is okay. That he’s just being rude—and the danger facing him is going to be from me!” Vickie said. She tried to speak lightly.
She just didn’t believe that Alex was rude. He was too good a guy.
And that meant...
She tried to keep her worry at bay as they ordered and made small talk as they waited. She didn’t do so very well. She picked at her food. And finally, Roxanne said, “Hey, let’s go. I have to wrap up my latest painting to bring to a gallery at Copley Square tomorrow. And you’re not enjoying your time with me. And I’m enjoyable. So let’s just cut it short. I know you’re worried.”
They left the restaurant, walking together as far as they could to their apartments, and then warning each other to keep their eyes out for trouble.
Both women carried whistles and mace—something Griffin had insisted on after all the trouble during the Undertaker situation.
But Vickie reached her apartment with no one doing anything other than giving her a nod in acknowledgment as they passed—that was Boston’s method of a smile, she thought. A nod!
Entering her apartment, she called Griffin’s name, but she didn’t believe that he’d returned yet, and he hadn’t.
Her apartment, however, wasn’t exactly empty.
It appeared that a young couple was seated on her sofa.
They were both just teenagers, and attractive. He had been a high school football hero, well-built, charming, quick to smile. She had been a light-haired, light-eyed beauty, incredibly sweet, tragically naive. They were really adorable—completely absorbed with one another...
And dead.
Of all things, they seemed to be watching a marathon showing of The Walking Dead on Netflix.
The boy was Dylan Ballantine. He’d saved Vickie’s life when she’d been a teenager—and he’d haunted her ever since. A good thing, since he’d helped incredibly in the recent Undertaker situation. His family had been involved, and Dylan dearly loved his family.
The young lady...
She was newer at being a ghost.
Tragically, she’d been a victim of the Undertaker.
Vickie saw the remote on the coffee table and picked it up to turn the volume down.
“Hey,” she said to the two.
“Hey, Vickie! We didn’t expect you back yet!” Dylan jumped up, looking as guilty as a teen caught petting in the back seat of an old Chevy. “We thought you’d be late, that you and Alex would go on forever and ever over all you’d dug up!” Dylan added. “We aren’t really TV hogs, you know.”
“It’s okay. You know you’re welcome to the television. I’m happy that you guys are enjoying your...”
She almost said “lives”!
“Enjoying each other, being together. Enjoying...”
“The Walking Dead?” Dylan asked, amused.
“You’re ghosts, not zombies,” she reminded him. Dylan did have a wicked sense of humor—he’d spent years totally enjoying tormenting her, trying to make her speak to him in public and, in short, look entirely crazy.
Years ago, Vickie had been babysitting when an escaped serial killer had targeted her. Her charge—Noah Ballantine—had been born after the death of his older brother, Dylan, who’d been struck by a drunk driver at seventeen. And when the psycho had been in the house, Dylan had materialized before Vickie, warning her to grab Noah and get the hell out.
Terrified, she had done so. At that time, Griffin Pryce had been a cop and was out on the street, and he’d been the one to bring down the man who had been about to kill her and Noah.
While she’d felt an instant connection to Griffin, she hadn’t seen him again until he had returned to Boston as an FBI agent, looking into the Undertaker kidnappings and killings.
But while the ghost of Dylan Ballantine spent much of his time in his parents’ home, which wasn’t far from Vickie’s, he’d apparently made it his vocation in death to haunt Vickie, down in New York City when she had been at the university, and again here, in Massachusetts, since she had moved back. He’d actually become an amazing friend—although one who still liked to taunt her in public and make her appear to be insane when she forgot herself and responded to him.
And now, Dylan had a friend of his own—a ghost friend.
Darlene Dutton was a couple years older than Dylan, but she was equally sweet and innocent. She had been the first victim of the Undertaker murders. And while she had seen justice done, it appeared that she liked learning about the spirit-world-on-earth—and being with Dylan. So it seemed she was sticking around.
Dylan was now an experienced ghost. He was quite capable of manipulating items, like moving a can of pop a few inches or using a remote control. And he had no problem making himself seen to those with the special gift of seeing the dead. Vickie had noticed that while most of the population didn’t see Dylan or Darlene, they did often stop and frown when the ghosts passed, or shiver, as if aware that they’d been brushed by someone or something that they hadn’t seen.
“Alex didn’t show,” Vickie told them.
Dylan immediately looked perplexed. Alex co
uldn’t see Dylan—he didn’t see ghosts. But Dylan had tagged along with Vickie to a couple meetings with Alex.
He liked the nerdy historian. And he admired him.
“Alex didn’t show? I think he lives for his time with you and other friends with whom he can actually talk a lot of history. I don’t mean that in a bad way, but... It’s weird he flaked.”
“I’ve told Griffin that Alex didn’t show up. We’ll figure out something when he gets here. By the way—since I doubt you guys watched the news at any point—Griffin stopped one of the attackers tonight. A head-smasher, just like Alex’s assault. And the guy killed himself rather than be taken.”
“Wow, heavy,” Dylan said, very serious despite his words.
“That’s extremely scary,” Darlene agreed. She hopped up off the sofa. “Vickie is worried, and Griffin is headed home. Let’s go, Dylan. We need to leave them with some privacy. We’ll go see how Noah and your folks are doing.”
“Sure, yeah, sure, we should get out of here,” Dylan said. He looked worried, though. “Darlene is right. Griffin is going to be wrecked after a night like that. He’ll want to talk.”
“He’ll want to be alone,” Darlene said softly.
“That’s fine,” Vickie said.
“No, you’re in a relationship now. Can’t let it grow ho-hum,” Dylan said, grinning at Vickie.
“Thank you. I’ll remember that!” Vickie said.
“Dylan, really,” Darlene murmured.
“It’s fine. Dylan has enjoyed tormenting me for years, Darlene. And I’m sure it will all be okay.”
“No, none of it sounds okay,” Dylan said. “Alex is a cool guy—it won’t be okay until you know that he’s all right. Don’t forget, we’re always here when you need us.”
“But you don’t need us tonight,” Darlene said firmly.
“Not to worry, Vick—we always come back to haunt you!” Dylan told her, trying for a light grin.
“Haunt me—and help out,” she reminded him. “Remember, I’m quite accustomed to you and that we both—Griffin and I—appreciate the two of you very much.”
“I just wish my parents watched The Walking Dead,” Dylan said, shaking his head in puzzlement that anyone wouldn’t want to watch the series from beginning to end. “And Noah, well, he’s great, he’ll put on anything we want, but...he’s only nine.”
Dark Rites--A Paranormal Romance Novel Page 3