Whats a Ghoul to Do

by Victoria Laurie

  "Measure," I supplied.

  "Yes, if you can't measure this thing then it could not exist. All of my education and training says that what you do cannot be done. And yet, you can do it."

  "It's a gift," I said smugly as Steven placed a glass of wine in front of me.

  He looked at me for a long moment, and I could tell the man of science was battling hard with the man of faith. “Tell me about what you said at Tango's. How did you do that?"

  "It's just something I was born with," I said. "It's my firm belief that life continues after we die, but what becomes difficult is communication. So there are people like me who have a heightened sense of awareness, not unlike someone with a musical ear in a world full of people who are tone-deaf."

  "You can hear these dead people?"

  "Absolutely. But the communication isn't always crystal-clear. It's sometimes very muffled, and even on a good day I'm lucky to catch about every third or fourth word."

  "What do they tell you?"

  "Their names, how they died, who they're related to, stuff like that. It's pretty basic."

  "How does this help you bust the ghost?" Steven asked as he tossed some shrimp into a frying pan.

  I smiled. "Ghostbusting is a little different. For years I dealt only with connecting living people with their deceased relatives, or people who knew they were dead. But most ghosts don't realize that their physical bodies have died, and they float between our world and a place that's misty and confusing. Gil and I help these … what we call earthbound spirits face the fact that their physical bodies have stopped, and once they've accepted that they're no longer living, they move on to where they belong quite nicely."

  "And where do they belong?"

  "You might think of it as heaven, but I like the term the other side better."

  Steven was silent for many minutes as he finished cooking our meal. Finally he slid a healthy portion of aromatic shrimp and pasta onto a plate and handed this to me. "Eat," he said, and came around to join me at the counter.

  I tried the dish; it was delicious. "So you can cook," I said.

  "I can do other things, too," Steven said. "Maybe one day I will show you."

  I felt my face flush, and I took a large sip of wine, then got back to the topic at hand. "As I was saying, Gil and I help these confused spirits cross over to the next plane, but sometimes we encounter an energy that is deviant in nature, and that makes the ghostbusting a little trickier."

  "How?"

  "These are people who were really bad in life, and for obvious reasons they don't want to head upstairs to face the Big Guy. Instead, they create a doorway to a lower plane, and travel back and forth between our plane and this lower one. When I come across them I offer them two choices: Head upstairs and meet your maker, or get locked into your portal forever."

  "This is sounding dangerous," Steven said.

  "It can be a little dicey at times," I admitted, thinking back to yesterday morning. "But as long as you keep a level head, you can usually come out on top." Twirling the pasta on my fork I asked him, "Tell me about Miguel and Rita."

  Steven took a long sip of wine before he answered me. "We were ten years old when Miguel drowned in the river near my home in Argentina. We had been playing what you Americans call soccer on the banks of the river when the ball went into the water. It had rained the day before and we didn't realize the … what is the word for fast water?"

  "I think you mean current."

  "Yes, that's the word. We didn't realize the current was so strong. Miguel went in after the ball and disappeared under the water. I ran for help, but when we got back to the bank he was gone. His body was found later that night about a mile down the river. I always felt… er… with guilt?"

  "Responsible," I said.

  "Yes, that. Responsible," he finished quietly.

  In my head I felt something like a vigorous head-shake no. "He says you're not to blame, Steven. He is insisting that it wasn't your fault, and there was nothing you could have done differently. You would have drowned too."

  He nodded and gave a small shrug, then swirled the wine in his glass, taking a moment before he spoke again. "Rita was my mother's aunt. She was a nice enough woman but very … strong with the rules?"

  "Strict."

  "Yes, strict and religious. She lived with us and looked after me while my mother worked, which I hated because Rita insisted we spend long hours praying in front of a large statue of the Madonna."

  "How old were you?"

  "Five," he said. "One day Rita was called to a neighbor's house and I was left alone to pray in front of the statue. In my little-boy mind I thought that if I could hide the Madonna then I would not have to pray so much, so I got a rope and made a … er… like with a loop?"

  "Noose?" I said.

  "Yes, noose, and I tied it around the statue's neck and tried to pull it up to the floor above." My eyes widened. Oh, God, had he really hanged the Virgin Mary?

  "I pulled and I pulled, but my arms grew very tired, so I tied the rope around a …" He paused and pointed to a column in the living room adjacent to the kitchen.

  "You tied it around a column," I said, and felt a giggle in the back of my throat as I visualized Steven as a five-year-old thinking he could hoist a statue of the Virgin Mary out of view.

  "Well," Steven said, "that was when Rita returned. All she saw was the Blessed Virgin swinging by her neck back and forth. She ran screaming from the house."

  I began to laugh. "What did your mother say?" I asked.

  "She told Rita to stop with all the praying. It didn't seem to be working."

  We both laughed, and then I switched topics. "I'm assuming you moved here to settle your grandfather's affairs and claim your inheritance?"

  "That and I was made a very good offer from Boston University medical school. I have always liked America. I only wish I had chosen to come here while my grandfather was still alive."

  "You thought you had more time," I said, feeling the wave of guilt coming off of him.

  "Yes. But it was not to be. Thus, I have made a promise that I will find out what really happened the day my grandfather died."

  "That must have been a shock," I said. "You get here and you go to the lodge and you see your grandfather's ghost."

  Steven nodded. "That is how I knew something very bad had happened to him. His spirit was not at rest. I owe it to him to help him … how did you put it? To help him cross over."

  I smiled. "We'll get him there; not to worry. Where is this hunting lodge?"

  "West of here, very close to the New York border in a small town called Uphamshire."

  "Why were the police so quick to rule it a suicide?" I wondered out loud.

  "There was a note found on the table in the bedroom where he fell."

  I cocked my head slightly. "He left a suicide note?"

  "Either he did, or someone else trying to make it look like a suicide."

  "What did the note say?"

  "It was typed and it had two lines: 'Don't blame yourself. This is what I must do to make things right.'"

  "Cryptic," I said.

  "What is this word?" Steven asked.

  "Cryptic. It means mysterious. The line about making things right suggests he felt guilty about something."

  "This is the line that I struggle with too. What could my grandfather have done?"

  "That's a good question, and one that we'll need to ask him when we find his ghost. By the way, who found him?"

  "His … what was that word you used this morning? … ah, yes, housekeeper, Maria. She came back from the market and found him on the ground."

  "Did she have anything to gain by his death?"

  Steven shook his head. "Just a very small fund which my grandfather had set aside for her old age. Maria had been with my grandfather for almost thirty years."

  "Was there anyone else in the house when he died?"

  "No. Willis, who was the keeper of the grounds for many years, was at his cab
in, which my grandfather recently had built for him and which is somewhere near the main house, but he said he did not see or hear anything unusual that day."

  "Have you decided whether you're going to hire us?" I asked.

  "I would like to, but again, I must insert I come along."

  "Insert?"

  "Yes. You know, to … demand."

  I hid a smile. "You mean insist."

  "That too," Steven said, standing. "We will leave tomorrow. I have already told the hospital that I will be taking some time off this week to tend to my grandfather's affairs."

  "Fine—I agree, and we can start tomorrow. But we'll need to establish some ground rules first."

  "Good idea," Steven said, then grinned as he eyed me and said, "Rule number one: You must wear that dress at all times."

  I laughed and felt my cheeks grow hot. "Nice try. No, ground rule number one is that you must stay out of my way. I need to focus, and I can't have you distracting me by getting in the middle of what I'm doing."

  "Agreed," he said. "What's next?"

  "Ground rule number two is that you will let me be the judge of when to cross your grandfather over to the other side."

  Steven gave me a puzzled expression. "Meaning?"

  "Meaning that if your grandfather is truly the one you heard at the lodge, and he is stuck, then my main obligation is to give him some relief. It's no fun for them, Steven. Grounded spirits are often frustrated, scared, and on the verge of panic. I give you my word that I will attempt to find out if he was alone when he died or if someone else was involved, and the details leading up to his death, but I won't do that if it means delaying giving him some peace. And even if he does remember what happened the day he died, he may not be willing to share those details with me. Again, I'll do my best, but I'm not in this to solve what you believe to be his murder as much as I am to help him get to where he belongs."

  I saw conflict in Steven's features, and I knew he was struggling with that decision. "Fine," he said after a long pause. "Anything else?"

  "No, Gilley will be in touch with you in the morning to work out the rest of the details." I glanced at the clock above the stove. "It's getting late, and we have a long day ahead of us. I should get home."

  Steven walked me to the hallway and helped me into my coat, then held the door for me. As I stepped outside I noticed two things: First, it had stopped raining, and second, the bushes next to me gave a terrific shrug and then a shadowy figure flew out of the end of the row and fled down the street. I was so startled that I jumped straight into Steven, who fell backward to land with a thud on the marble floor with me right on top of him. "There are other ways to let me know you would like to hop my bones," he said playfully.

  I shook my head, both at what had just happened and his comment. "It's jump your bones, and a man just ran out of your bushes!"

  Steven's eyes widened and he got up quickly, helping me to my feet as well. "We will do this jumping later; now I must call the police."

  Before I had a chance to respond he'd gone back into the kitchen to dial 911. The police arrived in a record-breaking three minutes, and I told them what I'd seen, but couldn't give a description other than that a dark shadow at the end of the bushes had darted out and run down the street. They promised to patrol the area and report back to Steven if they found anyone suspicious in the neighborhood.

  After they'd gone, Steven set the house alarm and again motioned me out the door. The police were good to their word, as we saw them making their way down the street with their spotlight on and combing the darker shadows.

  When we got into his car I asked, "Didn't you say your house had been broken into recently?"

  "Yes. About two weeks ago I got a call from the police, who were summoned to my house by the alarm. They found a broken window, but it didn't appear as if the thief had made it inside before being scared away by the alarm."

  "Do you think that was him coming back to try again?"

  "Let's hope not."

  "Might be good to have a house sitter stay at your place while we're upstate," I suggested.

  "Yes." Steven nodded. "I will have one of the interns stay there until we come back."

  We drove the rest of the way mostly in silence back toward Arlington Center, and I pointed to my condo when we drew close. "I'm just up there."

  Steven pulled into my driveway and parked in front of the side door of the building. I turned to wish him good night when his hands cupped my face and he planted a glorious kiss on my lips. His lips were smooth and warm against mine, and the kiss started out light and soft but deepened quickly as his tongue found mine. I felt dizzy. It had been a long time since I'd been kissed so passionately. Steven pulled away and looked at me "What was that?" I whispered.

  "Mother Dell wanted a full report about our date, and good dates always end with a kiss."

  "So, you're just being thorough?"

  "I'm a thorough guy," he said, and kissed me again, this time with a small moan.

  Damn. I love men who moan when they kiss you. It is the sexiest sound in the world. And then he was pulling away and sitting back in his seat with a satisfied smile on his face. "Next time, maybe we can jump the bones," he said.

  I shook my head a little to clear it. "Just so you know, I have a rule about mixing business with pleasure."

  "Ah," Steven replied with a roll of his eyes. "More ground rules."

  "I'm a by-the-book kind of girl."

  "Yeah? Well, that makes one of us," Steven said as he got out of the car and held the door open for me as I exited.

  He walked me to the door and I inserted my key and opened it, then felt an arm snake around my waist and pull back me into his broad chest. A moment later we were kissing again, and I realized I'd just thrown the rule book out the window.

  Chapter 4

  Gilley was sitting on the couch when I entered my condo. "I was wondering when you'd come home," he said, pointedly tapping his watch.

  "It's only eleven. What? You were thinking I'd be back by eight?"

  "Well, after I got out of Mama Dell who your date was with, I figured you'd be back about the time the wine was served."

  I gave him a look and crossed my arms. "I can be diplomatic, you know."

  Gilley snorted and pulled his legs up onto the cushion. Patting the space next to him he said, "Come, sit, and tell me everything!"

  I walked over to him and sat down with a sigh. "There's not a lot to tell," I began.

  "Is that why your lips are all red and swollen?" he asked me, cocking an eyebrow.

  I rubbed them subconsciously. "It's cold outside. They must be chapped."

  "Really?" he said.

  I widened my eyes innocently and changed the subject. "Anyway, Steven and I worked out an agreement. We've been hired to work on his grandfather's hunting lodge."

  "Good girl!" Gilley said, clapping his hands. "When do we start?"

  "Tomorrow."

  "What? Are you kidding me?"

  "What's the big deal?"

  "The big deal, M.J., is that my night-vision camera is still in the shop. And I think my spectrometer is on the fritz and needs a tune-up. The only things that are working with any sort of regularity are the thermometer and the monitors in the van."

  "Why can't you just go to the repair shop in the morning and see if they can hurry it up? Steven has some things to wrap up at the hospital, so we won't be leaving until late afternoon."

  "Fine," Gilley said moodily. "Give me the deposit check so we have some cash and I'll get it out of hock."

  Oops. "Uh … yeah, about that deposit check…"

  Gilley narrowed his eyes. "Please tell me you got a deposit check."

  "I got a deposit check."

  "Really?" he asked, his voice sounding hopeful.

  "No, Gil. I didn't. I forgot, and I'm sorry."

  My partner glared at me. "Maybe if you had your head on business rather than on playing tongue tag I'd have a check right now."

  "I
'll call him in the morning and have him cut one right away, okay?" I said, exasperated.

  "Good for you. Now, how was dinner?"

  "It was good."

  "What'd you eat?"

  "Shrimp scampi over angel hair pasta."

  "Was there wine?"

  "Yes, a really good chardonnay."

  "Did he like your dress?"

  "The way he checked out my cleavage suggested he did."

  "Was there dessert?"

  "Nope. We talked business and I came straight home."

  "How was the kiss?"

  "Really good, he's got great li— Hey!"

  "Gotcha!" Gilley laughed.

  "I'm going to bed," I said, getting to my feet.

  "Good idea," Gilley said, standing up himself. "If we're going on this little excursion I might as well get in some nightlife."

  "You're going out? Now?"

  Gil gave me a winning smile. "A boy's gotta have his fun, sugar."

  "Fine. But I'm going to be in your kitchen expecting you to be ready to roll at nine a.m."

  "Oh, please," Gil said with a flip of his hand. "You'll be in my kitchen expecting coffee and cinnamon rolls."

  "Well, as long as you're baking," I said, smiling, then headed to my bedroom as Gil walked toward the door. Remembering something, I paused and turned back to Gilley. "Listen, can you do me a favor in the morning?"

  "What's that?"

  "Can you do your computer hacking thing and dig up any dirt you can find on Steven and his father? The one person he hasn't mentioned to me is his dad, and how he fits into all of this. See if you can find out anything about their relationship for me."

  "Father and son don't get along?"

  "I'm not sure. The fact that he failed to mention him at any point in our conversation suggests it, and Andrew had to leave the bulk of his estate to someone. It might be that he left more to grandson than to son. Can you also do some digging about how much the old man left to each of them?"

  "Anything else?"

  "Yeah, if you can hack into the Back Bay's police department, I need the scoop on a break-in at Steven's place. He mentioned that there was an attempted burglary there recently, and tonight I saw someone in his bushes."