The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (Charley's Ghost Book 1)

by Sally Berneathy

  “I can’t believe you said that!” Charley shrieked. “Are you nuts? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “I’m sure that can be arranged.” For a fleeting instant, Amanda thought Kimball was responding to Charley’s question about getting herself killed. Of course he had replied to her comment that she hoped to see him again. Nevertheless, his words chilled her. Perhaps the meaning was the same as if he had replied to Charley.

  Kimball continued to smile. “Good day, Irene, Herbert, Mrs. Randolph.” He turned away, offering condolences to other members of the family.

  “That guy gives me the creeps,” Irene said.

  “Ah, you just don’t like him cause he’s rich,” Herbert drawled.

  “You don’t like him either.”

  “No, I reckon I don’t,” Herbert said.

  “Why?” Amanda asked.

  Herbert shrugged.

  “I won’t gossip at my son’s funeral,” Irene said. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Way to go, Amanda!” Charley exclaimed. “You want rid of me? You’re never gonna get rid of me. I’m supposed to help you, but I can’t help you when you won’t listen to me. You’re gonna die and be with me forever and we’re both going to be stuck here. No white light. No forever after. What were you thinking, egging Kimball on like that, telling him you’re staying here, that you’ll see him again?”

  Amanda wasn’t sure of the answer to that question. Obstinacy, perhaps, thwarting Charley’s orders. A determination to prove that Charley was lying. Or maybe that Charley was telling the truth.

  Somebody had tried to kill her. Now that she’d seen the Kimball character in the flesh, she wasn’t so certain Charley had made up the whole story.

  “Amanda!”

  She whirled at the note of increased stress in Charley’s voice.

  “I…uh…you need to...” He waved a hand vaguely toward the front of the church.

  “Look, Herbert, there’s Sunny and her mother,” Irene said, and Amanda turned again, this time in the direction Irene was pointing.

  Across the room, she met the wide gaze of a tall, slim woman with barely tamed red hair pulled back from a porcelain face. Beside her stood an older, slightly-stooped woman with short white hair who was also looking in Amanda’s direction. The younger woman seemed vaguely familiar, but before Amanda could place her, she averted her gaze, spoke to the older woman, and both turned and walked out the door.

  “That was nice of them to come,” Herbert said.

  “Who is she?” Amanda asked as the woman disappeared into the crowd outside. “The woman with red hair.”

  “Sunny Donovan. She’s a lawyer. Nice lady. Takes care of her mother, helps a lot of people around town. Helped Charley when he got in some trouble a few years ago.”

  Behind her, Charley groaned.

  “What kind of trouble?” she asked, more to make conversation than because she really cared about the answer. She was still trying to remember where she’d seen Sunny Donovan. Irene said the woman was a lawyer, so perhaps they’d met through her father. Or maybe, judging from Charley’s apparent desire that she not see Ms. Donovan, she and Charley had been involved in more than her helping him with legal issues. That wouldn’t be surprising either.

  “Drugs,” Irene said.

  “It was just a little pot.” Charley moved up beside Amanda. “No big deal. Let it go.”

  “He got in with a bad crowd,” Irene continued.

  Her husband snorted. “He started the bad crowd.”

  Charley grinned. “I always was a leader.”

  “Now, Herbert. Everybody does foolish things when they’re young.”

  “Wasn’t any younger than you and I were when we got married.” Herbert’s blue eyes twinkled as he spoke the words.

  “And some would say that was a foolish thing.” Irene took her husband’s arm and gazing up at him fondly.

  Amanda couldn’t imagine her parents teasing each other or her mother gazing at her father with such an open, loving expression.

  A tall man wearing an ill-fitting suit moved out of the crowd and draped a long arm around Irene’s shoulders. Son Hank, the carpenter, a younger version of his father. “We need to leave for the cemetery, Mama,” he said softly.

  Still clutching her husband’s arm, Irene turned to her oldest son and nodded, her features crumbling at the reminder that they would soon be burying one of her children.

  “The cemetery?” Charley exclaimed. “That place is creepy. I’m not going there.”

  Impulsively, Amanda stepped forward and took Irene’s hand. “That’s not Charley in that casket,” she blurted. “He’s still here.” Oh, great, she thought as she realized what she was saying. That’ll comfort her a lot. Tell her Charley’s a ghost and let her think her new-found daughter-in-law is nuts. “I mean...”

  Irene patted her hand. “I know what you mean. Charley will be with us in our hearts as long as we have his memory.”

  “Damn straight,” Charley said. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Certainly not to that cemetery. Hey, what if I suffocate when they put my body under all that dirt? Come on, Amanda. Let’s get out of here.”

  “I believe there’s a tradition,” Amanda said, “that someone close to the deceased drops the first bit of dirt onto the casket after they put it in the grave. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have that honor.”

  “Of course you can.” Irene smiled through her tears. “If Charley’s watching from heaven, I’m sure he’s real proud that you want to do that.”

  “I feel certain he’s watching.”

  “That’s low, Amanda,” Charley said, “really low.”

  Amanda gave him a brief smirk as she joined the rest of the family, heading for the cemetery.

  

  Amanda piled fried chicken, fried okra, fried squash, Crowder peas, fried potatoes with onions, and a slice of smoked ham onto a plate painted with purple flowers. She grabbed a fork with bent tines and a fruit jar filled with iced tea.

  The after-funeral event packed the little house with more people and food than the first evening. They filled the house, the front porch and much of the yard.

  She could get used to this. Perhaps it was a good thing Charley hadn’t introduced her to his family. The thought of losing these wonderful people with their wonderful food would have made it a lot harder to divorce his sorry butt.

  She pushed through the crowd to an unoccupied chair in a corner of the living room and sat down with her plate.

  “Wish I could still eat.” Charley sat cross legged on the floor. One of his knees passed through an elderly woman’s stocking-clad leg.

  “I wish you’d go away.” Amanda bit into a crunchy drumstick, savoring the moist chicken.

  “Mrs. Kemp probably killed that chicken this morning. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Might if that chicken’s ghost was haunting me, but it’s not.” She took a bite of the okra. “Mmmm! This is so good!”

  “You can be a cold woman, Amanda.”

  “I don’t think the okra suffered.”

  “I’m talking about that huge clod of dirt you threw on my coffin. And you threw it with so much force. I’m surprised you didn’t break the coffin.”

  “That was my intention. Break the coffin and throw the dirt in your face. Tell me about Sunny Donovan.”

  Charley’s eyes widened, his face went distinctly pale, even for a ghost, and his gaze slid to the side. All those reactions belied his casual shrug. “Sunny does a lot of free legal work. You heard what my mother said. She got me out of a scrape once. A little pot. No big deal.”

  “You’re lying to me, Charley.”

  His eyes lifted to meet her gaze. “I’m not! I told you I can’t lie.”

  “You told me Kimball was outside my apartment, and it was just some drunk taking a leak. You told me he put poison in my coffee and broke my step.”

  “Okay, sometimes I may be mistaken, but I can’t lie.”
/>   “And I’m supposed to believe that, why?”

  “Ask me a question and I’ll try to lie and you’ll see.”

  Amanda realized Charley’s assertion made absolutely no sense, but it was worth a shot just in case he might burst into flames or be sucked away into a void should he try to lie. “Did you sleep with Sunny Donovan?”

  “No!” he responded indignantly. “I can’t believe you’d even ask me something like that.”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “She’s old.”

  “Did you try to sleep with her?”

  Charley opened his mouth, and his face contorted as if the muscles were battling with each other. “N-n-n-yes.” He drew in a deep breath and glared. “I hope you’re happy now.”

  “There you are.” Irene came up, and Charley moved away. “I’ve been looking for you. I see you got some food. If you haven’t had dessert yet, you have got to have some of Dorothy Crawley’s pecan pie. She’s got a tree in her back yard and shelled the pecans herself this morning.”

  Amanda let Irene lead her across the room though she would have liked to question Charley further about Sunny Donovan. Being rejected by a woman didn’t seem enough to explain the way Charley acted about her. That, added to the fact Amanda was certain she’d met the woman before, aroused her curiosity. Before she left Silver Creek, she was going to find some way to meet Sunny Donovan.

  A shiver darted down her spine as she recalled the other person in Silver Creek she needed to find out about. Mayor Kimball. If half of what Charley said about him was true, if he had stolen the gun that could prove her innocence, she would have to somehow get that gun back. After meeting the man and looking into his eyes, Charley’s stories didn’t seem so ridiculous.

  “He’s outside!” Charley hissed, as if reading her mind. She could only hope that was not one of his special ghost abilities.

  “Are you going to start that again?” Amanda whispered, turning her head toward Charley, away from Irene.

  “I saw him. He’s out there jacking with your motorcycle.”

  While it was unlikely the distinguished mayor of Silver Creek would be outside in the dark, doing something to her motorcycle, it wouldn’t hurt to check.

  “I’m going out for some fresh air,” she said to Irene.

  “You go right ahead. It is getting awful hot and crowded in here.”

  Amanda made her way to the front door and out on the porch. A man stood beside her motorcycle, looking down.

  “I told you,” Charley gloated.

  She ran toward the man. “What are you doing?”

  Kimball lifted his cold gaze to hers and smiled. “Nice bike.”

  She stopped in her tracks, a chill sliding over her in the warm night. It was him. Charley was right. Not some distant cousin admiring her motorcycle, not some vagrant thinking about stealing it or urinating on it. Next to her bike stood the man who, according to Charley, had tried to kill her by sabotaging her other motorcycle.

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s a nice bike. What are you doing to it?”

  He lifted his hands in a gesture of innocence and moved away from the bike, walking toward her. “Just looking at it. I ride a little.”

  She took an involuntary step backward, away from him. “Why are you here?”

  “I came to pay my respects to the grieving family. Why are you here?”

  “I’m a member of that grieving family. I have a right to be here.”

  “Oh? Two weeks ago you’d never met these people and now you’re a family member? That’s why you’re here? That’s the only reason?” He was no longer smiling, and his dark gaze held her as surely as if his hands gripped her. Suddenly the smile returned and he looked past her, over her shoulder. “Hello, Irene.”

  Amanda spun around to see her mother-in-law standing in the open doorway.

  “Hello, Roland. How nice of you to drop by.” Irene was saying the polite words, but she didn’t sound as if she meant them. “Do come in. We have plenty of food and iced tea.”

  Kimball moved past Amanda, up the porch steps and into the house.

  Irene remained on the porch. “Are you okay, Amanda?”

  Amanda drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. “Yes. Fine. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

  But she wasn’t fine. She was freaked out and a little frightened. That’s why you’re here? That’s the only reason? What had he meant by that? Since a normal person would expect her to be at her ex-husband’s funeral, was Kimball asking if she was there to expose him for his crimes?

  She shivered then forced herself to walk over to her Harley. “What did that monster do to my bike?” she asked Charley.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know? You said you saw him doing something.”

  “I saw him standing there. He’d already done it, or maybe he was thinking about doing it.”

  “So you didn’t really see anything?”

  Charley’s amiable features became suddenly serious. “I saw the way he looked at you. I heard what he said to you. He thinks you’re here because of him. He’s scared of you, of what you know, and that makes him dangerous. You need to go back to Dallas tonight.”

  “Go back to Dallas? You think I’ll be safe there? You didn’t think so when you were finding poison in my coffee and attempted murder in my dry rot. Why are you so anxious to get me away from here?”

  Charley looked down, avoiding her eyes. “You need to go back to Dallas. You need to trust me on this one.” With that pronouncement, he disappeared. Into the house, into the dark, wherever he went when he wanted to avoid her.

  Amanda couldn’t inspect her bike properly until daylight. She went back inside. This would be a good opportunity to corner Kimball in the safe environment of so many people. She was going to demand some answers, though she wasn’t sure what the questions were.

  He eluded her all evening, moving through the crowd with a politician’s practiced smoothness, then slipping away into the night.

  Chapter Eleven

  Amanda checked her bike carefully that morning and found no evidence of tampering. Nevertheless, she rode more slowly than usual as she made her way to the downtown area to find Kimball.

  The Silver Creek courthouse dominated the small town square. A venerable old building of red brick and limestone with wide steps and ornate columns of white marble, it was flanked on one side by a large live oak tree and the Silver Creek Police Department and City Jail, and on the other by a large live oak tree and the Silver Creek Fire department. All very symmetrical.

  She passed the government buildings and went on to the end of the square, choosing a parking space in front of the First Baptist Church. She pulled off her helmet but remained astride her bike as she surveyed the quiet morning scene.

  A young man polished a bright red fire truck that sat half in and half out the wide door of the fire department. Two men climbed the steps of the courthouse, one wearing a tailored, immaculate suit and carrying a briefcase, the other wearing a rumpled, ill-fitting suit and looking nervous. Easy to figure out their relationship. Lawyer and client. Probably guilty client.

  Across the street from the Courthouse, Paw Paw’s Cafe offered daytime fare while Billy Earl’s Roadhouse promised evening entertainment. Small shops offered ice cream, candy and books. Manikins from the ’50s wearing modern clothing posed in the windows of Hunt’s Department Store. The Methodist Church where they’d attended Charley’s funeral service yesterday sat at the far end of the square.

  Small town serenity. On the surface.

  She took the key from her bike and stood, peeling off her leather jacket in the growing warmth of the early morning sunshine. Helmet tucked under one arm and jacket tossed over her shoulder, she made her way to the white wrought iron bench under a magnolia tree on one side of the First Baptist Church lawn. The position provided her with a good view of the courthouse steps and the empty parking space reserved for the mayor. She’d be able to trac
k Kimball’s comings and goings, though she wasn’t quite certain how that information was going to help her. The man wasn’t likely to emerge, wielding her stolen gun and shouting a confession.

  Hard to imagine the creepy Mayor Kimball inside this building that reeked of tradition and justice.

  She sank onto the bench.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Amanda gasped, startled by the abrupt question. The familiar figure stood beside her, his feet not quite touching the grass.

  “I might ask the same question of you. I thought dead people were supposed to leave this world.” An elderly woman walking down the sidewalk eyed her curiously. “Good morning!” Amanda forced herself to smile. She’d met the woman at Charley’s funeral but couldn’t remember her name.

  “Good morning, Miz Randolph,” the woman replied, her tone and expression sympathetic.

  “The whole town’s going to think I’m nuts, talking to myself,” Amanda muttered when the woman had passed.

  “Grief-stricken over my death.”

  “Grief-stricken over your continued existence. Go away.”

  “You know I can’t. I have to save you, and you’re making it really hard, hanging around here. What are you trying to do? With me and the judge both telling you to go home, why are you still here?” Though she hadn’t seen Charley after his abrupt disappearance last night, obviously he’d been there when she’d called her father before going to bed.

  “Dad told me to come home and you ordered me to go home. But your mother, your father, your sisters and about fifty other relatives asked me to stay at least a week or until our barbeque next week or even until our big Independence Day celebration. I think I’ll go with the majority on this decision. Besides, if I go home now, they may put me in jail for killing you.”

  “You think you’re some kind of a detective? You’re going to prove Kimball murdered me?”

  When Charley said it like that, the whole thing sounded absurd. “If I could just get my gun from him, at least I could prove I didn’t do it. As for proving Kimball’s guilt and seeing that he’s punished for his crimes, who cares? If I find out for sure he murdered you, I’ll give him a reward.”