Dead Man Talking

by TM Simmons

  Chapter 15

  Bucky stumbled around the library in all his undead glory, waving his arms, shirt and bib overalls soaked with blood. He couldn’t see where he was going, of course. Being headless will do that to a person. He staggered against a bookshelf, and it surprised me when a few volumes thumped to the floor. He shouldn’t have been solid enough to do that, but perhaps the books were ready to fall anyway. I suppose he didn’t hear the noise, with no ears, since he ignored it and rambled over to the desk.

  Another sound penetrated my senses, although I still couldn’t move. It was the pitter-patter of bare feet racing down the stairwell. Katy dashed up beside me in her nightgown. “Sir Gary said — ohmigod!”

  I broke my frozen state to clap a hand over her mouth, but she jerked away. “Sir Gary said there was another ghost down here and it might hurt you! I’ll get Jack.”

  She started to rush away, and I grabbed her, nearly tearing her gown off her shoulders. “No,” I whispered furiously. “You know Jack doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

  Bucky ambled through the desk, straight at us, and I changed my mind. Especially when Katy shrieked and tore out of my grasp. She raced toward the kitchen, shouting Jack’s name. I dodged the ghost and frantically pawed through my pockets until I found the asafetida and removed the plastic. Now what? I wasn’t about to approach that thing as close as I did Sir Gary.

  Bucky stopped at the doorway, then turned and stumbled toward me. Once again my feet failed me. But not my arm. I screamed and threw the asafetida at him. It went through his chest. He didn’t make even a slight noise. Hell, he didn’t have a mouth to say anything with. He just cringed and shuddered — at least that’s the impression I got from his headless body. Then he flew out through the front windows just as Jack raced into the room, gun drawn.

  “What the hell’s going on, Alice?”

  Katy peeked out from behind Jack’s broad shoulders. “I told you, Jack. It was a ghost! The headless man from the pool! Bucky!”

  Jack stared around the now-empty room before he reholstered his gun and turned to Katy. He left me standing there shaking, which I sure as hell didn’t appreciate.

  “Now, look, Katy." He clasped Katy’s arms gently. “A lot’s happened here today. Why don’t you have Alice take you on up and tuck you in bed?”

  Katy knocked Jack’s hands away and screamed, “It was a ghost! I saw the damn thing, damn it!”

  “Katy — ”

  “Oh, hell. Let Alice explain it to you." She whirled and pitter-patted back up the stairwell, her filmy negligee flying behind her like a bride’s veil.

  “You still messin’ with that blasted ghosthunting?” Jack snarled. “Look what you’ve got Katy believin’ now.”

  “For your information — ” I snarled straight back. Then shut my mouth and stalked across the room to grab the asafetida bag. Then back to the desk, where I gathered my files, disks, and cell phone and jammed them in my briefcase.

  “Talk to me, Alice,” Jack demanded.

  Ignoring him, I unplugged the laptop and left the power cord dangling. I picked up the laptop and briefcase, and silently walked out of the library, toward the stairwell.

  “You coming back?” Jack asked in an exasperated voice. “I’ve got eggs frying.”

  “Smells to me like they’re burning,” I tossed over my shoulder. And it did. The smell wafted out of the kitchen door.

  Jack raced down the hallway, and I continued on up the stairwell. At Katy’s bedroom door, I hesitated and shifted my load to try the doorknob. As I expected, she’d locked the door. The hell with it. Let Sir Gary protect her!

  In the Peach Room, just Trucker’s butt stuck out from under the bed. I shoved the briefcase and laptop into the wardrobe, then squatted beside him.

  “Come on out, boy. I ran Bucky off.”

  Trucker whined and scooted deeper under the bed. “Shit.”

  I wanted my cat up here, too, and I’d left her in the kitchen. I tied the asafetida bag on a belt loop, thinking I’d pin it on my nightgown next and sleep with it there. Then changed my mind as I walked back into the hallway amidst the smell. Maybe I’d just hang it from the bedpost and put a pillow over my head. At the top of the stairwell, I smelled air freshener mixed with burned eggs, even over the spoiled garlic odor filtering from my chest. Satisfaction stabbed me at the burned-egg aroma.

  “Kitty, kitty! Here, Miss Molly!" Within seconds, she bounded up the stairwell, and I reached for her when she skidded to a stop by my feet. Her claws came out, and she hissed. I hoped it was just at the asafetida, not me — or someone unseen. She raced past me, down the hallway, into the Peach Room. I carefully scanned the shadowy hallway. For damned sure, tomorrow I’d bring my own flashlight in out of my Jeep. I followed Miss Molly, hand securely on the asafetida bag. Bucky could be anywhere by now.

  In my bedroom, I slid the bolt on the door in place, not that that would keep Bucky out. But at least it would secure Trucker and Miss Molly in here. I didn’t see the cat, and assumed she was under the bed with Trucker. Yep. I could see them when I crouched down. Then I glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

  Three a.m. Damn, it felt like a week had passed since this morning, rather than less than a day. Well, it was yesterday morning now. My eyes were grainy from lack of sleep, my stomach grumbling in disgruntled annoyance. But I could stand to lose a few pounds. Lack of sleep, though, would catch up to me sooner or later. I sometimes slept on and off for two days once I finished a deadline hell marathon and Fed Ex picked up my manuscript, only waking long enough to feed and water the animals and let them in or out of the house.

  I didn’t need to be groggy and inattentive right now. A few hours of sleep were a dire necessity to have the stamina to start what could be a new round of bizarre activities again in the morning, if things kept on like they were. I had no doubt they would. Damn, I wished Twila were already here.

  The Peach Room had its own bathroom. Nothing nearly as fancy as the one off the Master Suite, but it was well stocked with fluffy towels, scented soaps, and shampoos. I noticed a white candle on the sink and murmured in a semi-chant, “White candles are for protection against evil spirits,” as I searched for matches and found them in a vanity drawer. Candle lit, a pleasant magnolia smell filled the bathroom, nearly, but not quite, overpowering the asafetida.

  I hung the asafetida on a shower curtain clasp and stripped. Longing for a soothing bubble bath, I settled for a brief shower, the asafetida bag protecting me from any prying eyes. I did wash my hair, since it tends to hang in oily lanks if I miss that chore more than every other day. After toweling, combing my hair out, and leaving it to dry naturally, I wrapped in another fluffy towel as I went into the bedroom.

  The silence in the room was more eerie than soothing tonight. As I took a nightgown out of a drawer — nothing filmy like Katy’s, just practical cotton — Trucker and Miss Molly inched out from under the bed. I dropped the towel and slithered into the gown before I stood silently and took a deep breath, held it, and released it, blowing through my mouth. Continued the stress-relieving action several more times. Tension eased, maybe I could sleep.

  I had thought I was too tense to close my eyes, but that was an automatic response to the exercise to relax both my mind and muscles. When I opened my eyes, Miss Molly was curled on the bed, Trucker lying quietly at my feet. I squatted and stroked him. Even scratched his belly when he rolled over and offered it. Probably not as good as Granny, but Trucker enjoyed it.

  I tossed the throw pillows to one side and pulled back the bedspread and sheets. A faint floral scent of a sachet Sue Ann must have used in the linen closet greeted me. Crisp, ironed sheets, also. Obviously, Sue Ann put the ironing board in the laundry room to use. The sheets beckoned, and I stepped onto the stool. Then someone — or something — knocked, and a roar erupted from Trucker. He lunged across the room, growling and snarling, and hit the door with enough force to shake it on its hinges. My foot slid from the stool, and I grabbed for the matt
ress. But bedspread and sheet slid smoothly off, floating and tangling around me as my ass hit the floor.