Dead Man Talking

by TM Simmons

  Chapter 31

  Afterwards I found out that Sir Gary had let Jack into the passageway. The ghost lost track of Bucky somehow, came to see what we were up to, and ended up in the attic with Jack. At first he’d stayed back in the shadows, watching Jack’s ineffective tirade and enjoying the show. When he heard my scream, he stuck his head inside the Hollow Room to see if we were in danger. Rapt in our horror, we didn’t notice. Sir Gary visualized in the attic and led Jack back to the Peach Room, where he opened the fireplace.

  None of us wanted to touch that head. We hadn’t thought that far in advance — decided what to do if we actually found it. Granny did toddle over and bend down to shine her flashlight under the shelf. But she just said “huh” and straightened.

  So we were all still standing there when Jack pounded up the stairs. Think what you want, but sometimes even liberated women appreciate having a strong man take charge. Each one of us heaved a sigh of relief as Jack and Trucker burst into the room.

  He didn’t have to ask. Twila and Granny each lifted a hand and pointed at the same spot my finger was still frozen on. Trucker sniffed and growled low in his throat.

  “No,” I whimpered, but it was Twila who grabbed the dog’s collar and halted him.

  Jack squatted and picked up my flashlight. I scooted along the wall to put more distance between myself and the grisly resting place of the conclusion of our hunt. I’d seen enough. Now we had to decide who was brave enough to tote that head to its rightful owner.

  “You ladies ready to go on downstairs?” Jack asked in a far-too-calm voice. He didn’t have to repeat himself. Three heads bobbed in unison, and I scurried onto the landing. Granny thump-limped out after me, but when I looked back, I saw Twila having a time with Trucker. The dog planted his feet, nose pointed at those shelves, not about to move.

  “Trucker, come!” I ordered. He ignored me.

  Granny thumped her walking stick. “Dog! Get over here!" He ignored her, too. “Well, I’ll be,” she said with a huff.

  “Can we leave Tru — ” I began.

  “No!” Jack broke in. “Everyone out of here!" He grabbed the dog’s collar. I started to warn Jack that Rottweilers have large necks, so collars slip off easily, but I didn’t have to. Trucker lunged backward against Jack’s hold, leaving him with the empty collar dangling.

  He headed straight for the head.

  Jack bounded after him and grabbed Trucker by the scruff of his neck. But not before Trucker got a paw under the shelves and batted that head across the room like a football.

  Twila, Granny, and I — Jack, too — froze, our eyes following it. I don’t know about Twila and Granny, but I couldn’t have screamed again if I wanted to. And damned if I didn’t want to. But my breath was caught somewhere inside, far removed from my vocal cords. The head rolled straight to the baby doll and rested at the neck.

  That did it. That horrible picture settled in my mind with a sharp click that would haunt me forever. The lacy dress, a pair of tiny ballet slippers on the feet poking out from under the hem, a tiny toe from the slipper hole. And the ghastly head resting there as though it were the missing part of the body, albeit an incongruous one.

  I grabbed Granny and practically carried her down the first few steps. Somehow Twila slipped around us. She swept Granny up and rushed through the fireplace into the room, me right behind them. It took every ounce of fortitude I could muster not to hit the floor on my belly and crawl under that bed with Miss Molly.

  Instinctively, I swung around to shove the fireplace closed, barely stopping. Jack wouldn’t appreciate being locked inside the passageway. I held onto the side of the marble, breathing deeply, fingers clenched so tightly my knuckles pained and my wound throbbed. The mattress springs squeaked, and I forced my grip loose, turning as Twila sat Granny on the bed. Beneath it, Miss Molly hissed and meowed, but didn’t appear.

  Sir Gary did, though, in the Peach Room doorway.

  “Good,” Twila said with a relieved sigh. “I’d much rather deal with a ghost than dead body parts.”

  “I assume your search ended successfully,” Sir Gary said.

  “Yeah,” I managed. “But now we’ve got to get the head to Bucky.”

  Jack’s heavy footsteps descended. Huffing and puffing from exertion, he stepped onto the landing and dropped Trucker inside the room. “Stay!”

  Trucker stayed, on his rump, ears pricked, gazing past Jack as though waiting for an opportunity. Jack tossed the collar to me, and I slipped it on Trucker’s neck. Tugging the way I’d learned wouldn’t dislodge the collar, I got the reluctant dog over by the wardrobe, opened the door, and grabbed his harness and leash from a clothes hook.

  By the time I secured the dog, Jack had a small bamboo wastebasket. He removed the plastic liner. It was empty; I hadn’t been in the room long enough to throw away any trash. Then Jack grabbed one of the pillows, jerked the case free, and tossed the pillow on the bed. He turned back to the passageway without a word of explanation.

  He didn’t need to. The plastic liner and pillowcase were to carry the head down the stairs with. Trucker took a tentative step after Jack, but I yanked on the leash to remind him who was in charge here. Well, in charge of him, at least.

  Silence ruled. Even Sir Gary just stood in the doorway, waiting. Jack’s footsteps returned, and he re-entered, cell phone to his ear, pillowcase dangling from his other hand. Twila edged to the far side of the bed, but Granny sat there, legs dangling, watching Jack with bright-eyed interest. I swallowed and backed away, but the wardrobe left me no room to distance myself farther. The case swung back and forth, the head dragging down one corner, and I searched for signs of seeping blood.

  None, of course. The head had been dead and the blood dried for a while.

  I hadn’t been paying any attention to what Jack was saying. He disconnected the phone and stuck it in a pocket. “So, that’s that,” he said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “He’s taking that head to the funeral home,” Granny said. “Didn’t you hear him?”

  “You can’t! We need to reconnect it to Bucky’s soul!”

  Jack rolled his eyes and shook his connected head. He shut the fireplace firmly behind him. “That’s a crime scene now, like I said. I don’t want anyone disturbing it until I can get some techs out here in the morning.”

  “I don’t think you have a thing to worry about along that line,” I said.

  “I hope not." He carried the pillowcase to the door, and Sir Gary moved hurriedly out of his way. The ghost evidently wasn’t any more enthused than the living about being in close proximity to the cargo inside that case.

  Jack disappeared down the hallway. The rest of us heaved sighs mixed with relief and frustration, even the ghost.

  “Now what are we going to do?” Twila asked.

  “Go get the head back, of course,” Granny said.