The Haunted Heist

by Angie Fox

  “Thanks,” I said, heading past the row of closed doors. Everybody else was still inside.

  More police had arrived. They lingered in the lobby.

  I could have left. I probably should have. But something told me it wouldn’t hurt to stop by the ladies’ room on the way out.

  Chapter 6

  The door to the ladies’ room squeaked as I opened it. Tall and made from polished wood, it had to be original. A short, green-carpeted hallway led me to a lounge area as big as most modern restrooms.

  It smelled old, with a hint of…spearmint.

  Strange.

  It was also unnaturally quiet, as if the thick walls and pipes insulated it from the commotion of the downstairs lobby.

  An empty built-in phone booth stood next to a marble vanity counter that ran the length of the room to the right. At the back, a pair of worn yet comfortable-looking, pink velvet chaise lounges turned inward, toward each other, with a small glass-topped table in the middle. Gossip magazines sprawled over the table and the nearest chaise, fighting for space with wadded-up gum wrappers. Empty Evian bottles littered the floor alongside a black makeup case with a purple sleep mask flung over it.

  Dollars to donuts Em had been camping out here to avoid work.

  Certainly not the best way to get started on her new way of life, or at least the path Reggie had planned for her.

  I looked through the magazines and the wrappers and found travel brochures, to Ecuador of all places. Beside them I found several pairs of used, disposable foam earplugs and a bag of Skinny Pop. I also learned that two of my favorite movie stars broke up. Darn. I dropped the US Magazine back onto the chaise.

  Okay, so if Em had been hiding out in here in the commotion after the killer shot Reggie, she could have conceivably had her ears plugged and her eyes glued to how the Stars Are Just Like Us.

  I sat on the soft, welcoming chaise—the one without the slew of magazines.

  This could also be the perfect setup for a murder. She could hide out in here and wait until Reggie was alone. It wasn’t as if Jeb had his eye on the ladies’ room. Then, when he was out smoking, she could have killed her father and rushed back in here. If anyone asked, she could say she was reading magazines with her earplugs in.

  We’d certainly believe it of her, especially if she’d been down here a lot. And it seemed like she had.

  If I was right—and I sincerely hoped I wasn’t—that meant the gun could still be in the bathroom.

  But, surely, the officers would have looked into every nook and cranny.

  Unless they hadn’t had a chance yet. They were still getting her side of the story.

  I stood quickly.

  Where would I hide a gun in here?

  Certainly not with personal possessions. But maybe…

  I scurried into the bathroom beyond the lounge. Weak sconces on the walls threw more shadows than they eliminated.

  I opened the door of the stall nearest the door and checked the toilet tank. I felt a bit silly doing it, but still, this is where I would have stashed a gun. It contained nothing strange. I mustered up my courage and checked the next stall. That tank was clear as well.

  The ceiling of the room appeared solid. The lone pedestal sink left nowhere to hide.

  Surely, Em wouldn’t have hidden anything of importance by the chairs.

  I checked under the first pink chaise and found a stash of crumpled gum wrappers. Its twin yielded the same, along with a fair amount of dust. I stood, brushing off my hands. Em needed to learn to clean up after herself. I checked the makeup case and found a mishmash of lipsticks, eyeliners, and powders—all high end.

  I was trying to think of where else to look when a face popped through the wall behind me.

  I leapt back in surprise.

  “Hey, Suds!?” Frankie barked, looking both ways, as if his buddy and I were having a little party without him.

  I held a hand over my beating heart. “Frankie, you just took ten years off my life.”

  His brows drew together. “That’s not funny. Besides, I wasn’t even talking to you. What are you doing here?” he added, as if I were a crazy woman.

  “Well, this is the ladies’ room.” In case he couldn’t guess.

  “Yeesh,” he said, ready to pull back. Then curiosity got the best of him and he floated right in. “Somebody liked pink,” he commented, checking the place out. “I’m glad you decided to stick around for a minute. I did some asking. Word has it Suds haunts downstairs only.” Frankie perked up. “You hear that?”

  “No,” I said, straining.

  The gangster crossed the lounge room and stuck his head through the wall over the makeup counter. “Suds!?” I heard him ask, his voice muffled through the wall. “Hey, you old trigger bum!” Frankie drew back, excited. “He just popped out of the floor in the men’s john. Come on”—he waved me over—“you gotta meet him.” Frankie walked straight through the wall.

  I hesitated. Truth be told, I’d rather not venture into the men’s bathroom. And I’d need Frankie’s energy to see Suds anyway.

  Frankie solved the second problem by blasting me with a hit of power that made my toes curl. I braced myself on the pink chaise as his energy cascaded over me in a tingling shower of otherworldly awareness that would no doubt have me seeing Suds, the spirits upstairs, and every other ghost in Sugarland.

  “Frankie,” I gasped. He could stand to ease up a bit.

  My head felt light, my muscles and bones ached, and I gripped the tufted pink fabric. I needed to sit. I slowly lowered myself, trying to absorb everything, when Frankie’s face popped out of the wall again and I nearly fell.

  “This is no time to be shy,” Frankie snorted.

  “I understand you’re eager,” I said, drawing a shaking hand to my brow. I’d heard plenty about Suds. He was Frankie’s best friend, his partner in crime, the guy who painted the god-awful ugly dancing scene on the side of Frankie’s urn. But I felt compelled to point out an important detail. “I can’t just poke my head through the wall.”

  Sometimes, I think Frankie forgot.

  “Come around,” he said.

  Sure. To the men’s room.

  It would be lovely for the police to catch me in there.

  “It’s not like I ask you to meet people all the time,” Frankie pointed out. “With you, I get Melody, and Ellis, and half the ghosts in the county.”

  “Fine,” I said quickly. This was Frankie’s friend and it was important to him. More than that, there was a chance that Suds could fill us in on the whereabouts of Em this morning. And Stan, and Carla. Even Reggie himself.

  Not to mention Handsome Henry.

  Now that I had Frankie’s power, I could question Suds directly.

  It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

  “I’ll meet you over there,” I told him.

  I’d have to figure out a way to sneak into the men’s room without anyone thinking it too suspicious—or strange.

  Good luck with that.

  I shoved myself to my feet, ignoring the weak feeling in my legs.

  Be casual. I eased out of the ladies’ room, quite aware that I looked worse coming out than I had going in. More police than before stood outside, talking in groups. The static from their radios echoed in the lobby.

  Ellis didn’t appear to be among them. As I made certain of that, I also took care to notice if anyone was watching me as I paused in front of the old brass drinking fountain before continuing across the alcove to the large polished wood door of the men’s room.

  I paused at the door. This was so mortifying. I’d better not get caught. It would be exceedingly difficult to explain to Detective Marshall.

  I screwed up my courage and knocked gently. “Anybody in there?” I asked, in a harsh whisper.

  The police hadn’t noticed me. Yet.

  Gah. I hesitated, not sure if I were willing to risk it. Knowing every second I debated was a chance I could be seen.

  Frankie had been try
ing to get me to break in somewhere since I’d met him. This felt like a slippery slope.

  Courage.

  Frankie had been so eager for me to meet his friend. Very few things excited the gangster, besides guns and stealing and booze. It was nice to see him happy for once.

  As long as I didn’t get caught in here and go from witness to suspect.

  I braced myself and pushed inside.

  The layout mirrored the ladies’ room. The lounge stood empty, save for two outdated blue leather chairs crowding a metal and glass table. I stepped forward and tripped over a brass door stopper. It made a horrific rattle as it skidded across the tile floor. I chased it down and silenced it. The last thing I needed was to draw people in here.

  Heck, these were the only downstairs bathrooms. I was on borrowed time as it was.

  I turned the corner and saw Frankie standing over the cowering ghost of a man. Dirt and grime streaked his tan pleated pants and chambray shirt, and a spiderweb dangled from his bowler hat. His body shook. His snub-nosed face shone with sweat and he lifted a shaking finger to point at his old, dead friend. “It’s a ghost!”

  “It’s me, Frankie!” my buddy said, taking off his hat as if that were the issue.

  “No.” Suds’s gray image flickered as he clawed the wall at his back.

  “You’re scaring him,” I said to my friend.

  Suds’s wild eyes trained on me. “You can see him too?” Suds tried to grab my arm and I skillfully avoided his touch. “Right there.” He pointed again at Frankie. His voice lowered to a croak. “He’s hideous. He has a bullet hole right through his head.”

  Frankie drew his Panama hat low over his eyes, shooting a glare my way. “You said it was starting to become less noticeable.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe I’m just getting used to it.”

  “My friend is dead,” Suds stage-whispered to me, wide-eyed. He frantically pointed a finger at his cheek. “He got shot in the face.”

  “Well, more like the forehead,” Frankie countered.

  Suds reached for me again. “We gotta get out of here.”

  “Hold up a minute,” I said, scooting away. I hated to point out the obvious, but, “You’re dead too,” I added, keeping my tone as gentle as I could.

  Was it possible he forgot?

  “No…no…” Suds said, holding up a hand to shield himself from me of all people. “Please don’t kill me. Or haunt me. Or—”

  “Oh, wait,” I said. He’d misunderstood. “When I said you were dead, that wasn’t a threat, it was an observation.”

  “He came right up outa the floor,” Frankie accused. “But he don’t think he’s a ghost.”

  “Patience.” This was new to Suds. “I think we need to say it better.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Frankie huffed. “Embroider it on a pillow?”

  This was ridiculous. I worked my way between Frankie and his friend. “Don’t loom,” I said to the gangster. “He’s seriously scared of you.”

  Frankie backed off a bit. “I’m not looming.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  He tried to see around me. “I’m just trying to have a conversation.”

  Suds brought a hand to his face. “Please,” he implored, wincing through his splayed fingers as if Frankie were about to strike him down. “I’m doing everything I can to avenge you.”

  “Frankie doesn’t want vengeance,” I explained to the frightened ghost.

  “She don’t speak for me,” my jerk of a friend pointed out. He motioned for Suds to continue. “Let’s hear more about this revenge you got cooking.”

  He yanked off his hat, crushing it in his hands. “You didn’t die in vain,” he said, a trickle of sweat running down his cheek. “Sure, the Chicago boys have been on our backs for the payments we shorted ’em last month, but this heist will set things right before your brother and the rest get to town. We’re gonna have their money.”

  “My brother is dead,” Frankie said, betraying no emotion.

  Suds shook his head. “That don’t mean the rest of the Chicago boys won’t be gunning for us.” He swallowed hard. “I’m almost done breaking into the vault. I’m being as quiet as I can, but it ain’t easy to bust through lead sheeting and a marble floor.”

  “Wait. Is that you making noise in the vault?” I asked.

  Frankie snapped his fingers. “If he was going to tunnel in, it’d have to be through the floor,” he reasoned. “The rest of the vault is lined with iron walls a foot thick.”

  “How do you know this?” I pressed.

  “I was on the planning committee,” Frankie said proudly.

  Suds straightened, as if he realized his friend hadn’t changed at all, even if he was transparent and sporting a permanent bullet hole. “I’ve been digging alone since yesterday,” he said. “No word from the guys. No help. I got the dynamite all set up. Now I’m making the hole bigger, waiting for Lou to give the okay to blast through. He’s late.”

  Most likely because he was dead. If Suds had been at it for as long as I thought he had, he’d spent his entire afterlife waiting for the guys to show. He had no idea that time had moved on without him.

  “What date did you start?” I pressed.

  “Tuesday,” he answered earnestly.

  “What year?”

  He snorted, as if it were a silly question. “Nineteen thirty-three.”

  “That week started out so good,” Frankie said.

  “I came up for your funeral,” Suds insisted. “I stayed awake two nights straight to decorate your urn.”

  “It’s a sharp piece of work,” Frankie agreed, eyeing my bag. He turned his attention back toward his friend. “Suds, I think you bit it in the tunnel.”

  Suds shook his head, refusing to believe it. “Of all the rotten things to say to a guy.” At least he’d calmed down a touch. “I wouldn’t tell you that you were dead unless I knew for sure,” Suds explained, as if he spoke to a child, “and you are. You’re really, really dead.”

  Frankie started to speak.

  “Let it go,” I told him.

  “I’m almost through,” Suds continued. “The lead sheeting is thick, but I work day and night. I could use some help.” He wet his lips. “I know you’re expired, Frankie, but maybe your girl here can help out.”

  “She does owe me one,” Frankie mused.

  “No.” I probably couldn’t get to the tunnel, if there still was one. It could have caved in by now. And even if I somehow found a decrepit tunnel underground, “I’m not helping you break into the First Sugarland Bank. I came here for a job, remember? A legal job.”

  Frankie looked at me as if I’d stolen his prized pony. “Oh, so I help your friends, but you don’t help mine.”

  “I’m not getting roped in by your criminal logic,” I told him. “There’s a difference between helping people and assisting a criminal in a bank robbery.”

  “That was harsh,” Suds said to Frankie.

  He inched closer to his friend. “You don’t know half of what I put up with.”

  We didn’t have time for this. “Look, Suds. A man was murdered this morning in the vault. Did you see anything?”

  “How could I?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “I can’t go in until I get through the metal sheeting.”

  “You’re standing on the ground level right now,” I pointed out, losing patience. “You could walk out of here and stroll right into the vault. Nobody would even see you.”

  Suds looked down at the floor, then back at me, confused.

  “Don’t mess with his head,” Frankie chastised me. “If Suds died trying to tunnel in from the outside and he don’t think he’s made it into the vault yet, then he can’t go in there. It’s a mental block. It happens to the best of us.”

  Only Suds appeared to be getting ideas. “Honestly,” he said, sounding anything but as he rose up from the floor and gave me the once-over, “I think your wild imagination and my friend’s ghostly powers are better used trying to break thr
ough the last of that lead sheeting.”

  I liked him better when he was scared.

  “It would be fun.” Frankie grinned.

  “You always were a natural,” Suds prodded.

  “No,” I said, turning to leave. I didn’t want any part of it. With luck, we’d find another, saner way to figure out what was really happening in this place.

  “You’re just gonna walk away,” Frankie accused, trailing me.

  I didn’t know what else he expected me to do. “I can’t let a bunch of police officers find me standing in the men’s room, talking to a couple of ghosts with grand delusions. I’ve got to get out of here.”

  “He’s been digging for more than eighty years,” Frankie pressed. “Constantly. And you can’t help him snag his dream.”

  That was rich. “If that dream is scoring on the First Sugarland Bank, then no.”

  Frankie rose up and towered over me, padding his height by at least two feet. “Funny words for a dame who needed me to save her house.”

  “And in the process, you nearly got me killed,” I pointed out.

  Frankie flickered with rage. “Don’t change the subject!”

  “Angry ghost!” Suds launched himself off the wall and dashed straight past us and out through the closed restroom door.

  I turned to my gangster buddy. “Way to go. You scared him away.”

  The gangster had the nerve to look offended. “Are you saying that’s my fault?” he asked, moving toward the door.

  “You didn’t need to get so heavy handed,” I pointed out, joining him.

  “It feels kind of good to be frightening,” Frankie mused.

  “We need to catch him.” I paused at the door. Once Suds calmed down, I wanted to talk to him more about the noises in the bank and what he might have seen shortly before Reggie’s death. “Make sure the coast is clear.”

  Frankie sighed, as if I were the problem, before he poked his head through the door. “They’re busy with Carla,” he said from the other side of the door.

  Good. I pushed the door open and slipped out.

  Chapter 7