by Ann Charles
I did. Whatever was inside was heavy, like glass. I opened it and peeked down in it. “What is this?”
“Careful,” she said when I reached inside. “It’s broken in a couple of spots and has some sharp edges.”
I grabbed something cold and hard and smooth, slowly pulling it from the sack. I turned it right side up and froze, heart and breath and all … except my brain, which fired up the nightmare furnace.
In my hands was the top of the clown cookie jar that had been in Wolfgang Hessler’s kitchen. The tip of its yellowing pointy hat was broken off, and one piece of the ruffle circling its neck had taken a hit. Otherwise, the thick red sad lips, the black + signs covering the grayed out eye sockets, and the little button nose were still there. Only now, the lid was cracked and singed from the fire that had taken the rest of the house.
“No no no no,” I suddenly realized I was saying it aloud.
“Vi? Are you okay?” Natalie reached out toward me.
The world around me tunneled as I stared down at the clown’s ghoulish frown. All sound faded, replaced by a cackling laugh that made me want to find a closet in which to hide. Then the laugh died out, and I heard two words. They were breathed more than spoken: Kill … her.
A screech flew from my throat, and I let go of the lid.
Chapter Twenty-One
Natalie caught the clown cookie jar lid before it hit the ground, her years of playing catcher on the school softball team still evident by her quick reflexes.
“Dang it, Vi. Don’t drop it.” She took the paper sack from me and slid the lid inside.
“Where did you get that thing?” I wiped my hands off on my coat, wishing I could as easily wipe away the memories that flashed back at the sight of it.
“I went to the Hessler house last night—well, what’s left of it.” She rolled the top of the sack closed.
“You went there at night?”
“I had to, otherwise someone would’ve seen me.”
“Why in the world did you go there?”
“To sift through the piles of debris and ashes,” she said, as if it should’ve been obvious.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Is this what you do for fun at night now that you’re not having sex?”
She grinned. “Well, I have to get my kicks somehow.”
“What’s next? Grave digging? Necrophilia?”
“You know what they say about necrophilia?”
I nodded. “It puts the ‘fun’ back in funeral?”
“And the ‘rot’ back in erotica.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You’re sick.”
“But not as twisted as you.” She held up the paper sack. “Anyway, I was reading one of Terri Reid’s books and had an idea for our séance.”
“Does Terri have a séance how-to guide in her books?”
“No. The heroine doesn’t actually do séances because the ghosts come to her on their own, but in one of the books she’s given a personal item by a ghost as a reward.”
“So you want to reward me?”
“No, smarty-tart. I want to give you something personal from Wilda. Maybe it will help draw her ghost to you.”
I didn’t like the sound of this one bit, but I let her finish.
“But since Wilda’s been gone a long time, I had to settle for second best—a familiar object from her home.”
Familiar? More like bone chilling. “That’s probably a bad idea.”
“Not according to Cornelius.”
“When did you talk to him?”
She broke eye contact. “I ran into him.”
“Where?”
“In his suite.”
“You went to Cornelius’s suite?”
Her gaze returned to mine. “I thought it would be helpful if I knew the lay of the land before we meet there for the séance. In another one of Terri’s books—”
I didn’t let her finish. “Nat, aren’t those books about fictitious characters?”
“Yes, but I’m sure Terri did lots of research on the paranormal.”
“But still, we’re talking fiction.” I pointed at the sack. “This shit is for real. I’m for real. You need to understand the difference.”
“Trust me, after what I saw out at Harvey’s place, I get the difference. But you need to be open minded. There are others who might be able to help you be more successful when you screw around in the past. Besides, this ghost business isn’t even your line of work. Cornelius and Doc are the experts, and if Cornelius is on board with me bringing the piece from the Hessler house, you should be, too.”
I frowned down at that sack as if it held a venomous snake.
“I’m only trying to help you, spaz.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that house really creeped me out. Seeing the lid to that spooky clown cookie jar brought those feelings back in full force.”
The door creaked open behind me. “Violet,” Jerry said, “they’re heading out.”
“Okay. I’ll be there after I make a quick call to a client.” I needed to let Katrina King know that whoever was in charge of the Sugarloaf Building had gotten back with Mona finally—the building was NOT for sale. I wondered if that decision had come from Dominick Masterson himself, wherever he was hiding, or one of his minions who was running his business in his absence.
After the door closed, Natalie asked, “You sure it’s a good idea to go back up to that building so soon? Your aunt gave me the short version of last night’s fun and games while the kids were rounding up their school stuff this morning.”
“Hell no, but I need to be there with the film crew in case something goes south with that thing up there.”
She leaned in and hugged me “Be safe, babe.”
“That’s rich, coming from a girl who touched the end of an electric cattle prod.”
“That was your brother’s handiwork. There’s not much I won’t do on a twenty-dollar bet.” With a wink she left.
I went back inside and made the call to Katrina King, leaving the no-deal message on her voicemail. Then I grabbed my stuff.
“Here we go again,” I muttered and headed out to my SUV to lead the way up to the Sugarloaf Building … and whatever awaited us there.
* * *
Not much awaited us there except a lot of clomping around overhead. It was the same sort of song and dance I’d heard from the first floor last night. Since nobody else on the Paranormal Realty crew seemed to hear it, I was able to make it through several hours of filming without more than a few cringes at the heavy thudding moving back and forth across the ceiling, which almost sounded like pacing at times.
I had little doubt that the lidérc knew I was downstairs. At one point, it sounded like it was jumping up and down right over my head. But as long as it was locked up in its cage and nobody sneaked upstairs to explore its lair, I wasn’t too worried about things going haywire.
Reid had made doubly sure no sneaky visitors would check in on the creature by installing an additional padlock on the second floor door. He’d also posted his official fire department DO NOT ENTER signs in a couple of key locations—the entrance to the outside stairway and the door at the top of the stairs. A piece of wood had been nailed over the hole in the downstairs’ door that I’d made with my war hammer.
We were wrapping up and getting ready to head back down to Deadwood later that afternoon when my cell phone rang. I looked at the number not recognizing it, and stepped away from where Rosy and Rad were packing up their equipment to take the call in private.
“Hello?”
For a moment all I heard was breathing, mine and the caller’s. A light went on in my head. Before the voice on the other end started to speak, I knew what was going to be said and a flair of irritation burned white-hot in my chest.
“We want what be—”
“Fine!” I was tired of this prank calling bullshit. I refused to let the game be played by someone else’s rules. “You want the damned book, Caly? Come and get it, you spiky bitch. Tom
orrow night at ten-forty-seven at the Sugarloaf Building.” I took a chapter from Cornelius’s book on down-to-the-minute rendezvous times to throw her a curveball. “Don’t be late!”
I hung up on her, muted my phone, and returned to helping Rosy and Rad load up their stuff. I’d call Cooper later and let him know what I’d done, which I doubted would elicit any praise from him. He’d want to be the one to make the game rules, but I was not his pawn.
For the rest of the afternoon, I focused on showing a few houses to an older, soon-to-retire couple who’d stopped by on my return from the Sugarloaf Building.
Natalie joined Aunt Zoe, the kids, Doc, and me for supper. After Addy and Layne headed to their rooms to finish their homework, the four of us adults sat around the kitchen table, talking about the weather, work, my kids—normal stuff for once. The break from the insanity that was my current life warmed my soul, making me feel normal again.
Doc’s fingers caressing the back of my neck reminded me that killer or not, I was still very much a girl who wanted someone to curl up next to every night. Someone without feathers or a beak who didn’t leave non-golden eggs hidden throughout my room in the morning.
I thought about telling the three of them about the phone call from Caly and my response but kept quiet, wanting to enjoy this happy moment a bit longer.
“Where’s Harvey?” Natalie grabbed a beer from the fridge.
“Another date,” Aunt Zoe answered, opening the lid to her Betty Boop cookie jar. She pulled out a snickerdoodle and offered it to Doc, who shook his head. I on the other hand took it. I was not one to turn down sugar, especially when it was in the form of a cookie.
The cookie jar reminded me of another—one with a clown head on it that was in Natalie’s possession. I turned to Doc. “Last night when we were in the Sugarloaf Building, you mentioned something about precognition.”
He nodded once.
“Is that the same thing as someone using an object that was associated with a person when he or she was alive to lure their ghost after they are dead?”
“That would be more along the lines of a retrocognitor.”
“A what?” Natalie asked.
“Precognition is used to determine a possible future. Retrocognition, on the other hand, is based on acquiring information from past lives. Some believe it can be used to prompt for events that happened between physical lives when the consciousness existed in a different dimension.”
I let that soak in for a moment. “But not just any medium can use retrocognition?”
“Correct.” His fingers stopped caressing. “What’s with these questions?”
I looked over at Natalie, who’d returned to the table. She’d conferred with Cornelius about the lid, but I was curious how Doc would feel about her plan.
“Go for it,” she said and took a swallow of beer.
“Nat talked to Cornelius about using an object from the Hessler haunt to help lure Wilda back during our séance on Thanksgiving night.”
“What object?” Aunt Zoe asked.
“The burned and broken lid to a clown cookie jar that she found in the debris pile. My question for you is,” I said to Doc, “as an experienced medium, do you think it’s a good idea?”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, hands clasped. “I don’t know.” He looked at Natalie. “Cornelius approved?”
She nodded. “He said that items from the deceased are often used during séances.”
“That’s true.”
“We used an old gun and the blonde babe sitting next to you to reach Harvey’s Grandpappy. That seemed to work.”
“But he wasn’t a psychotic, snot-nosed brat,” I said.
“What’s your problem with this clown head?” Natalie asked, peeling the label from her beer. “It’s not going to come to life and bite you.”
“We don’t know that.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve seen too many scary movies.”
Yes I had. My imagination was plenty fertile thanks to that.
“If Cornelius thinks it will help,” Doc interrupted our back and forth, “then we can give it a try.”
“You don’t foresee any potential problems?” Aunt Zoe asked.
“There are several potential problems with exorcising a ghost from a living person, including some with fatal results.” His gaze drifted around the table, landing on me. “But my answer to whether or not this object being present will have an impact on the success of the séance is still, ‘I don’t know.’ I’m not as experienced in séances as Cornelius is.” He looked back at Aunt Zoe. “I worked alone until I met Violet. My psychometry skills are pretty rusty.”
“Psycho-what?” Natalie asked.
“A psychometrist is someone who can gather information from the energy of an object.”
Layne ran into the room with his science book held open. “Doc, can you help me?”
Without waiting for Doc’s answer, he set the book on the table between us and started asking about neutrons and protons, ending our discussion about clown head offerings and dead girls.
Aunt Zoe excused herself and headed back out to her workshop. I left Layne and Doc at the table and went upstairs to put on my warmest leggings and a flannel shirt. It was dark and cold outside, and the idea of sitting next to Doc on the couch while watching a movie with Natalie and the kids sounded like the perfect way to end our happy family night.
A few hours later the kids were in bed, Natalie was snoring in the recliner, and I was getting handsy with Doc under the covers on the couch. He was getting mouthy back, his lips on mine, heating me inside and out.
“Let’s go up to my room,” I whispered, moving over him, showing him why with my hand.
He groaned against my mouth. “We can’t.”
“Yes, we can.”
“The kids.”
“They’re asleep.”
“They could wake.”
I stilled, frowning down at him. “They know you’re my boyfriend, Doc.”
He stared up at me, suddenly serious. “When’s the last time they saw a man in your bed?”
That was an odd question to field while my hand was in his pants. “They’ve never seen a man in my bed.”
“Never?”
I shook my head. “Since they came along, my dating life sort of dried up with sporadic squalls passing through over the years. I wasn’t going to bring a man into their lives who might not stick around.”
He stared up at me, watching me with an inscrutable expression.
“I mean a man who I didn’t really want to stick around.” I grimaced slightly. “Not that I expect you to stick around forever or anything like that.”
His silence continued along with his stare.
“I’m not saying you’re not the kind of guy who wouldn’t stick around.” Wait, did I use a double negative there?
“What are you trying to say, Violet?”
That I wanted him to spend the rest of his life with me. That’s all.
The sound of a vehicle pulling into the drive made us both look over at the window where headlights lit the curtains for a moment before going dark.
“What time is it?” I asked.
He looked over my head. “Almost midnight.”
“Harvey?” Nobody else would show up this late on a weeknight.
“That doesn’t sound like his truck.” He slid out from under me and stood, buttoning his jeans as he moved over to the window. “More like …”
There was a knock on the door.
“Cooper’s car,” Doc finished, stepping back from the window. “Are you decent?”
I tugged my camisole back into place and collected my flannel shirt from the mess of covers. “I will be by the time you let him inside.”
He walked over to the door and after a glance to make sure I was ready, opened it for Cooper.
I nudged Natalie awake. She woke up with a start, popping out of the chair like a hot toaster pastry.
“Hey, Coop,”
Doc said quietly as the detective closed the door behind him. “Everything okay?”
“No. I need to talk to Parker.”
I joined the two of them in the dining room. Glancing up the stairs to make sure neither of my kids were standing there sleepy eyed and curious, I waved for them to follow me into the kitchen. Natalie trailed after us, rubbing the sandman’s leavings from her eyes.
“We have a problem,” Cooper told me, his face emphasizing the situation with its deep furrows. “I need you to grab your coat and take a ride with me.”
“If you’ve found another dead body, I didn’t do it,” I joked.
His granite mask didn’t soften even one pebble’s worth as he stared at me.
“Oh, shit.” I pulled out a kitchen chair and fell into it, my blood pressure spiking. “Who?” Please don’t let it be someone that’s going to make my heart hurt.
“Katrina King.”
A breath of relief gushed from my lungs.
“What does Katrina King’s death have to do with Violet?” Natalie asked, pouring herself a cup of cold coffee.
Cooper pulled out his little flip notepad that he often scribbled in during his interrogations. I was the protagonist on many of the pages in that damned pad of paper.
“Parker, did you leave Ms. King a message earlier today regarding the Sugarloaf Building?”
I nodded. “She was interested in purchasing the building, but I told her we’d heard back from the owner’s representative that the building was not for sale.”
“Did you tell her to meet you there tonight for any reason?”
I shook my head and then remembered the phone call I’d received earlier and my eyes widened.
“I know that look, Parker.” Cooper pulled out the chair next to me, lowering himself into it, leaning forward until we were face to face. “Unless you want to spend the night in jail, you had better fess up.”
I got the feeling he wasn’t trying to intimidate me for once, just get closer to the truth.
So I gave it to him. “I got a phone call this afternoon while we were packing up after filming at the Sugarloaf Building. The caller started with that crap about wanting what belonged to them.” I stopped to glance at Doc, who was watching me with a drawn brow. I should have told him about this before now. Focusing back on Cooper, I continued, “Before she could finish, I assumed it was Caly and told her to meet me at the Sugarloaf Building tomorrow night if she wanted the damned book.”