Since it was all I could do, I shot him a disgusted look. “It’s a lot of car.”
“It’s yours now, right? You bought the house and the contents, so if it runs, you’ve got yourself a car.” Dad cut to the heart of the situation. “A classic car.” There was reverence in his voice.
“Look at that interior.” Dad tested the driver’s door and looked crestfallen when it didn’t open. “It’s locked.”
“In this house, if it had a key, she locked it,” I said, turning to go back inside. “Wait here. I know where the keys are. Let me get them.” As I’d hoped he would, Hudson ignored the order to wait.
“You have got to stop popping up like that. You know I can’t talk to you with other people around,” I hissed at him on my way back inside.
“Well, I had to do something to get your attention. Why are you fooling around here? You should be out there trying to find my killer.”
“I have a life, you know.” As I heard myself say it, I realized the statement was incredibly insensitive. “What do you want me to do? The police are investigating, and I’m the last person you should be asking for help. I can barely keep up with my own problems at the moment. What makes you think I can deal with yours? Why don’t you go haunt someone else?”
As he floated along beside me, his tone turned snotty. “The high and mighty Everly Dupree thinks I chose her out of all the people in the world.”
I gave him a sideways look. “Who are you talking to? Are there other ghosts here?”
"You,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But you're the only person who can hear me, so I guess you're either going to help me or I'll just stick around and haunt you for the rest of your life."
As threats went, I supposed his was a credible one. "Fine,” I snapped, scowling. “I'll help. But you need to leave me alone right now. Come back when I'm not surrounded by people, and we'll talk. There are going to be rules, Hudson. And you're going to follow them, or I'll find a way to tune you out, and you'll be stuck here forever. Or maybe I can find a priest and exorcize you, or whatever it is they do to get rid of unwanted spirits. This is a two-way street.”
I knew my threat was as hollow as a blown out eggshell at Easter, but it was all I had.
“You promise you’ll help?” he said, floating along beside me.
"I said I would." Not that I had the first clue what to do for him. "But not now. Give me a day or two to settle in here, and then we'll talk."
As I went through the door, he faded away, but not without leaving a new load of doubt and worry behind. How was I supposed to find a killer? And if I didn’t, would I end up stuck with him for the rest of my life?
CHAPTER 18
Pushing my worries to the back of my mind, I handed the car keys to my dad and watched him flit off to his happy place. Having a project—any project, whether working with wood, repairing something, or setting up his curriculum for the school year—put my dad exactly where he functioned best. At the heart of him, he was a problem solver.
While I was gone, he opened up the garage door to let in more light, and when I came back, I found him lying on the floor inspecting the undercarriage.
“Here are the keys,” I said, and he popped back up to take them from me.
“She’s clean, Ev. Not a speck of rust anywhere. The underside looks like it did when it rolled off the assembly line.”
There’s this odd thing that happens when my dad gets excited. His hair goes all…poofy. It's a weird, physiological response and probably where the term hair-raising comes from. In his case, it happens whether he's happy or scared.
When he’s happy, like he was at that moment, the poofy hair flopping over delighted eyes, along with his broad smile, made my heart melt. I forgot all about Hudson and my ghost problem and let my dad's excitement infect me.
"That's great, dad." A car this old, even if it were in excellent condition, probably wouldn't get me much on a trade-in, but maybe I could drive it for the rest of the summer and save up some money.
Unlocking the door, he glanced back at me, and said, “Battery’s probably shot, and it might not even run unless she came out and started it every so often.”
I couldn’t tell him she’d paid Hudson to take care of it once a week. “Maybe she did. I wouldn’t be surprised. From what I’ve seen so far, Catherine Willowby was a meticulous woman.” The more I’d seen of her house, the stronger the niggling doubt over why the town would let such a gem go for next to no money became. The numbers didn’t add up.
“Fingers crossed.” He popped the hood. “Battery’s disconnected.”
We spent a couple of minutes tracking down a wrench. His fingers made short work of tightening the connection, and he crowed when the single bulb mounted on the underside of the hood flared to life. “Looks like she’s got some juice.”
Then he went to muttering about fluids and levels, and something about the possibility of varnish in the gas tank. He pulled out a couple of dipsticks and then checked underneath the car a second time. “The floor is immaculate. No sign of a leak anywhere. Jump in and pump the gas once to set the choke, then let off and turn the key.”
I did as he instructed and the engine flared to life.
“Listen to that. She’s purring like a kitten after all this time. They don’t make them like this anymore, Ev. She’s a beauty.” Jumping in the passenger’s seat, he instructed, “Take her for a spin around the block.”
"I can't, Dad. It's not registered, and the inspection ran out months ago." The way my luck had been running, I'd get a ticket before I made it to the end of the block.
“You’ll be fine. The police have bigger things to think about right now than someone taking an old car for a test spin. Go ahead now, let’s see how she handles.”
We cruised—and believe me, cruise is the appropriate term for driving a land yacht—through town, took a right to cross the river, and made the loop back toward the Bide A Way.
“Turn left here. Take her down the lake road where we can open her up a little. Blow some of the cobwebs out of the motor.”
I don’t mind admitting I enjoyed the speed when I crammed on the gas and the old car wound up to seventy in no time.
“Feels smooth,” Dad said, excitement laced through his voice, “and did you see she’s only got thirty-six thousand miles on her? I bet she’s worth close to five figures in this condition. You really scored.”
There it was again. The notion that poor old Mrs. Willowby’s death had been to my benefit. I pulled off on an unused road to turn around and slid the shifter into park.
I frowned and glanced over at dad. "Don't you think it's weird how this all happened? I mean, nobody buys a house this cheap and not only is the house in great shape, but there's also a vintage car worth far more than I paid, all by itself? It feels criminal to get so much for so little. Then there's the timing. It just happened to be available right when I walked into the town office. I'm beginning to think there's something wrong like it's going to turn into a money pit, or it really is haunted, and Mrs. Tipton railroaded me into taking it off the town's hands."
With all the swinging back and forth I’d done on the topic, my head was starting to spin.
When confronted with a dilemma, dad always went into thinking mode, and this time was no different. There was a long pause before he asked to trade places with me, and he still didn’t speak until we were back in town.
“Look around.” He slowed to a crawl and directed my attention down one after another of the short side streets. “How many for sale signs do you see?”
More than I’d bothered to notice before. “Quite a few. Why is that? Jacy said things were picking up around here because of the revitalization project up at Hackinaw.”
The tour over, we turned back down Lilac Street. “Tourism is great for certain types of businesses, but it doesn’t do much to shore up the underlying infrastructure of a town like ours. Sure, we’ve seen some growth in local commerce, but without a corresponding increase
in the business sector, we don’t have enough jobs to grow our tax base.”
“So, why aren’t people opening more shops to attract tourists?” Seemed like an easy solution to me.
He backed the car into the garage and twisted the key to kill the engine, but didn’t make a move to exit the vehicle. “I expect some will, but in the meantime, we have a dwindling population and an increasing number of tax foreclosures on the books.”
Understanding washed over me, followed by a tremendous sense of relief. “That makes more sense, then. Mrs. Tipton wasn’t trying to railroad me—she was playing both sides against the middle by getting me a place to live so I’d become a tax-paying citizen and take a dud property off the town’s hands. Doesn’t explain away the car and all the furniture, though.”
At that, Dad shot me his famous grin. “That was plain laziness. Catherine Willowby passed her final days in hospice care, so the house had already been closed up before it went back to the town. I’d put money on the fact no one ever bothered to check what was in here when they picked up the keys from the nursing home.”
“So you’re telling me I scored big on the deal because nobody bothered to take ten minutes to check the place out?” My grin matched his.
“It’s a good day when everyone wins.” Holding out his hand, he dropped the keys in my palm and his gaze gentled. “Are you okay? You’ve had a rough week.”
I lifted a shoulder and nodded, blowing out an exhausted breath. “It feels more like a month. Daddy, do you know anything about why Hudson got into trouble at work?” The elementary school was a mile away from the high school, but I assumed people still talked.
Solemn, he chose his words carefully. “There was an incident, but it was nothing anyone would have killed him over.” He paused. “The boy made a few mistakes. He spoke without thinking more often than not, and he got himself mixed up with the wrong crowd before he got married and settled down.”
“You mean after I dumped him and he ran his mouth about me all over town?” There was no heat in my wry tone. I didn’t blame Hudson for being upset at the way I handled things, and I couldn’t tell my father I was going to have to pay penance for my actions by helping track down his murderer. “Anyone in that crowd a killer, do you think? Was he into anything dangerous?”
"I'd have said no, but circumstances being what they are, I might have misjudged. Just before the first Christmas after you left, Hudson showed up on the doorstep asking to borrow a hundred dollars to buy his mother a present. I loaned it to him, and he paid it right back on time, but later he admitted he'd lost the money in a high stakes—or what would be considered such in these parts—poker game run by Scooter Lowell."
I spent some time trying to pry more information out of him, but when my father decides to keep something secret, it goes in the vault never again to see the light of day.
He hit the button to close the garage door and couldn’t help running a hand over the car’s fender one last time before we headed outside and toward the house.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to drag your mother away from cleaning and take her out for pizza. Tomorrow’s the annual teacher’s picnic, and I’m running the bingo game, so I’ll send David over on Monday to inspect the attic.”
The grin fell off my face. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure David has other things he’d rather be doing.”
He used dad logic on me. “You wouldn’t want your old man to lose sleep worrying about the state of things here, would you?”
Sigh. “No, I suppose not.”
But I’d rather eat paste with a dirty spoon than have David skulking around in my attic.
“Fine, it’s settled, then,” Dad said, a victorious grin on his face. “I’m glad to have you home, but I’m sorry for how it happened. Love you, baby.”
My emotional roller coaster stopped on the top of the hill when he folded his arms around me, and swayed a moment. “Love you, too, Daddy,” I said, my reply muffled against the solid chest that had given solace from everything from skinned knees to moments of teenage angst, and now a failed marriage.
Taking my hand, he started up the steps. “Want me to go find that jerk and rough him up?”
Not in my wildest imagination could I dredge up a mental image of my peace-loving father putting a beat-down on Paul. My mother … yeah, that one came easy, but Dad wasn’t the type.
“No, but thank you for the offer.”
Late afternoon found Jacy slumped on one end of the sofa, and me on the other with our feet propped up on the coffee table.
“I’m starving,” she announced.
I rolled my head to the left to give her a look. “I’m sweaty and dusty, and since dad mentioned pizza, I can’t stop craving pepperoni.”
With as minimal effort as she could manage, Jacy kicked off her shoes, then wiggled her toes and sighed with relief. “With peppers and onions, but no—”
“Mushrooms,” we said in unison and exchanged a smile. “In a minute, I’ll work up the energy to find my phone and call Hoppies.” Our nickname for House of Pizza.
“Mine’s closer. Okay with you if I call Bertino’s instead? New place—well, they opened three years ago. They have this special sauce, it’s ah-mazing. Spicy but sweet. I don’t know what they put in it, but it has this sort of smoky flavor. Costs extra and you have to know about it to ask for it because it's not on the regular menu. You’re going to love it.”
Heaving my body off the sofa with an effort, I snagged Jacy’s phone from the mantel and tossed it to her. “Sounds good to me. I’m going to go wash off a few layers of dirt. “
“Leave some hot water for me.” Jacy had already punched in the number and had her phone to her ear.
Halfway through my shower, I took the first deep breath in days that didn’t seem squashed by pain and anxiety. Moving forward, carving out the beginnings of a life for myself had begun to form a skin over the raw places left by cutting Paul out of my life. Or by him cutting me out of his. Though it came down to the same thing, I was determined to triumph, and not for the sake of proving anything to him. I would do this for me. I would make a home here, and it would be full of color and pattern and attitude.
With distance, I was coming to realize Paul could only shine if the things around him were too sterile and drab to compete, and I’d worked hard to blend in. But that was over. No more.
Never again.
CHAPTER 19
The chiming of a doorbell had never been so welcome. The delivery guy was the same one I’d seen at the gas station near the motel—Ray something or other. Had a kid who pitched for the baseball team.
My mouth watered at the smell wafting from the box, but I did the polite thing and refrained from snatching it out of his hand like some kind of animal.
“You Everly Dupree?” he asked.
“I am,” I said, taking the box he’d removed from the insulated bag.
“Just need you to sign the slip.”
I did as he asked and added a generous tip because the special sauce smelled better, if possible than the regular stuff I'd tried from the gas station already.
Like everyone else had for the past week, he looked at me with avid curiosity. “You're the one who found that poor fella at the motel. Damn shame."
I didn’t want to talk about it, so I sidestepped that land mine and, proud of myself for remembering, asked about his son.
The change of topic brought a big grin to his face. “Tony’s going to bring home the pennant for his team. Playoffs start tonight. I’m headed over to the field right now.” He tucked the credit slip away and took his leave.
Riding my second, or maybe third, wind of the day, I popped the top on the Bertino’s box. The first bite proved Jacy right. Hoppies had been outclassed.
"Until yesterday, I hadn't had pizza in almost two years," I confided and watched Jacy’s eyes bug out.
“What? Are you kidding me?”
I shook my head, then picked a piece of pepperoni off
my slice, watched the strings of cheese stretch long. “Paul refused to eat anything he deemed peasant food.”
His weird eating rules hadn’t really bothered me that much. I’d told myself I wasn't a picky eater, so whatever he’d wanted was fine with me. Except now that I didn't have to deal with him anymore, I realized it hadn't been fine.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jacy said, waving her slice in my direction, “but you don’t seem devastated by the break-up. Or are you putting on a brave face?”
If anyone else had asked me, I might have been able to skirt the question, but that never worked with Jacy. She knew me well enough to see through to the truth.
“Pieces of me still miss being married to the man I thought he was, but I’m coming to realize this divorce might be a lucky break for me.” I took a swig of my drink. “But I don’t want to think about him right now. Do you know anything about Scooter Lovell and a high-stakes poker game?
“I’ve heard rumors, but nothing more substantial. Why?”
“You didn’t hear this from me, but I have it on good authority that Hudson lost some money to Scooter awhile back. Could be important.”
Considering, Jacy slid another slice out of the box. “Do you think that’s why someone killed him? Seems sorta like a lousy motive to me.”
"It might be if the murder was premeditated, but I heard Ernie talking to one of the other officers that day, and they were saying it looked like a crime of opportunity. Maybe someone came for their money, and when he didn't have it, they argued, and it got heated, and then bonk. Ice bucket to the head."
“Ew,” she said, scrunching her nose. “I’m trying to eat, you know.”
But I was on a roll and couldn’t stop. “It couldn’t have been a woman, right? I mean Hudson used to play football, and he was still in pretty good shape." When Jacy cocked a brow at me, I said, “It’s just a general observation. Seems like killing him would have taken a bit of strength.”
“Or a solid wind up. Kind of like swinging a baseball bat. Or maybe they hid behind the door and took him by surprise.”
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