The First Ghost

by Marguerite Butler

  Fierro put down his beer. “Not getting attention? Excuse me, but I spent all yesterday morning working on her case. I knocked on doors and talked to every single neighbor. I’d have kept at it, but I got called away when you tripped over the dead girl.”

  “I didn’t trip. And you don’t have to justify yourself to me.” I turned to Starla. “Corinne crossed over.”

  She made a sound like sucking in air. “When?”

  “Last night. I promised her I’d see her case through.”

  “What about me?”

  “You could cross over too.”

  “Maybe I ain’t ready.”

  “So how’s the haunting business?” I turned to Fierro. “Starla is haunting Joby and Wanda.”

  “Interesting,” he said. “Learn anything new?”

  Starla gave a nasty grin. “I learned that Joby can’t keep his pencil dick up anymore. Some flickering lights and a few pictures tipped over, and he wilts like week old celery.” She cackled.

  “No, she hasn’t,” I said. “She’s indulging in parlor tricks.”

  “I ain’t got no parlor. And these ain’t just tricks.”

  “Know that people do care,” Fierro said.

  “Yeah, you’re real noble that way,” she snarled. My fork flew off the table and landed near my foot.

  “Cut it out,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Make me.” Starla’s hands were balled into angry fists.

  “Fine. Be demon food. I don’t know why I bother.”

  Customers clutched their sweaters and jackets. Drinks on the counter tipped over in the sudden gust that blew out about half the candles. Starla sure knew how to make an exit.

  “Darn wind,” groused a waitress. “Don’t worry, hon. We’ll take care of this.”

  Fierro looked around with interest. “Is she gone? That was bizarre. I’ve never seen anyone argue with a ghost before.”

  I retrieved my fork and set it back on the table. “Somebody is turning into a nasty poltergeist.”

  “That’s one word for it.”

  “The worst part is I don’t think Starla was that way before.”

  “Before what?” He leaned back to allow the waitress to relight the candle.

  “Need anything?” she asked.

  “More cheese sticks. I’m a growing boy.”

  “You’re an eating machine,” I said. “Nothing else for me.”

  “That’s ’cause you’ll eat half my cheese sticks and you know it.”

  I waited until the waitress was gone. “I meant that right after Starla died she was angry.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Sure, but she didn’t seem so malicious. She isn’t getting nicer. She’s getting angrier and crueler. I don’t think staying here has been good for her. She needs to cross over before she goes truly evil.”

  “That’s a cheery thought.”

  “Come to think of it, Corinne changed too, but not in this way. She sort of came to terms with things. I don’t think Starla is.”

  “Mmmmm. Cheese sticks,” Fierro said.

  * * * *

  I called Ellie after her PTO meeting and begged her to meet me. She wasn’t thrilled but finally agreed. Ellie didn’t want to come into the city and I didn’t want to drive out to Addison, so we compromised on a coffeehouse in between. It barely touched suburbia, which made it neutral territory.

  I wasn’t looking forward to a reading in public with Eleanor the drama queen, but I was determined to see this through.

  First came the curious looks when I parked the hearse, which were followed by the whispers as people recognized Ellie. We chose a booth way in the back corner by the restrooms.

  “Coffee and a cheese Danish,” I told the waitress.

  “Nothing for me.” Ellie stowed her jacket on the seat next to her.

  “She’ll have coffee and a Danish too, with half-and-half, please.”

  Ellie glared as the waitress walked away. “I didn’t want that.”

  “So don’t eat it.”

  “And I certainly don’t drink coffee at this time of the night.”

  “Did you want her to spit in my coffee? You don’t take up space in a booth without ordering. Take the damn cup of coffee and tip the lady.”

  She folded her hands primly. “You have something for me?”

  I carefully placed the little pug statue on the table.

  “How sweet. Now don’t tell me anything. You know I like to go in cold.” Her eyes blazed with excitement. She reached out with one finger and touched the statue.

  “Anything?”

  “Patience is a virtue, Portia.” She picked the figurine up, turning it around in her hand. “This belonged to a woman.”

  An obvious guess. How many men had little doggy figurines sitting out? I shifted impatiently in my seat.

  Ellie sighed. “Are you ready?”

  The waitress delivered our coffees and pastries. “Anything else?”

  When she left, Ellie closed her left palm around the statue. The effect was instantaneous. Her right hand slid down to her side and her head lolled backward against the padding. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Her lips worked silently for a moment before she spoke.

  “Woman...she loves him...loves...her dog...not fair...not fair at all... Fat girl...called me fat girl... Hate her...not fair...pain.” Her voice sharpened. “Pain...my heart pounding...shouldn’t...shouldn’t have done it...greedy...greedy. I always knew food would kill me.” A tear slid down her cheek. “Fat girl.”

  Her eyes sprang open, and she wiped the tear away. I had forgotten how disconcerting it was when Ellie switched from reading impressions of the object to channeling the persons last living moments.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” she said. “Just a little sad. She was a very unhappy person. Was it helpful?”

  “Not really. Try one of these.” I placed Ruth’s lipstick and charm bracelet on the table. Ellie studied them a minute before choosing the charm bracelet.

  “The more personal the item, the more intense the impressions,” she said, jingling the little silver charms. I hadn’t bothered to study them before. A horse head. A tennis racket. A music note. A high-heeled shoe. A teddy bear. I wondered what they meant to Ruth. I was going to have to return something this personal. The charms were probably gifts.

  Ellie’s hand closed around the bracelet and she again slumped back in her seat. “A man...she steals...she steals for him...money...but love...guilty...I feel guilty.” Her breath came faster. “He gave me this...he gave me...wasn’t my idea... I’m so sorry... Didn’t mean... Done with me? Just like that? But I did it for him... I stole for him... I killed for him.”

  Her voice was rising. She swatted the air as if at a fly. “Get away. I didn’t tell them anything. You’re so paranoid.” She swatted the air again, fighting off a phantom attacker. “Stop it. Stop it. Aaagh! Aaagh!” Her hands flailed. “Aaagh!”

  I grabbed both Ellie’s hands to stop her from screaming. Ellie bolted upright, eyes wild. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” she gasped. “Those girls were both murder victims.” She rubbed her face with shaky hands.

  “You said you wanted to go in cold.”

  “Please tell me that one was useful. That was not fun.”

  “That one was very useful. It confirmed what Fierro and I were thinking. Ruth killed Corinne for her partner.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “Working closely with the detective, are we?”

  “It isn’t like that.”

  “Why not?” She smoothed her bob as if a hair were out of place. “You’re both single people.”

  “I’m seeing someone.”

  “Ooh, dish.”

  I gave her the PG-rated version of my relationship with Ethan Feller.

  “A doctor? Nice. You should marry him.”

  “You haven’t even met him yet, Ellie.”

  “What’s there to know? A handsome, single doctor who digs you? Don’t let him get away.”

&nb
sp; “I already have a mother, thank you. Oh, speaking of, we have a new ghost and he’s wearing Mother to a frazzle. Remember Old Man Biddle?”

  “That creepy guy down the street? Ugh. Who could forget him? I thought he died years ago. Remember all those rumors?”

  “About the house being haunted?”

  “Not that kid stuff. I mean about his wives.”

  “I don’t remember a woman living there.”

  “You never heard? I guess we were kids, but you never paid attention to the adult conversation,” Ellie said.

  “I still don’t. What happened to his wife?”

  “There isn’t much to tell. She just vanished one day. He went around telling everyone that she up and went home to her mother, but no one ever saw her again.”

  “That’s it? That’s the big rumor?” It was uncomfortably close to Starla’s story, but not all missing wives were dead.

  “That was his first wife. He had a second one, a Russian mail-order bride. I remember her. She was young and kind of pretty. Well, he told everyone she left him too and went back to Russia. Didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Some of her friends raised a big stink for a while because they never heard from her, but nothing ever came of it.”

  “Two wives who vanished? What do you think he did with them?”

  She sat back. “I didn’t say I thought he did anything to them. Don’t go putting words in my mouth. If you were married to Old Man Biddle, wouldn’t you run as far and as fast as you could?” She sipped the coffee she hadn’t wanted. “Anyway, my mother always said that he hit them, that they probably were in hiding from him. That’s what she always thought, anyway.”

  I shivered. “He won’t cross over. He’s sure he’s going to hell and figures that they’ll have to come and get him.”

  “Good riddance.”

  “But if he’s hanging out at the funeral home, he’s pretty safe. It’s built on sacred ground. I don’t think they can go there.”

  “Are you sure? I know demons that can’t go onto sacred ground, but I think Reclaimers can go anywhere they please.”

  “There’s a lot to learn about this gig. I wish there was some kind of manual out there.”

  “Can’t you ask your mother?”

  I gave her a look. “Of course. What was I thinking?”

  * * * *

  Duncan grumbled about my coming in late, but he could hardly complain about my delivering Corinne’s aunt to the airport without appearing churlish. Sure, I was playing loose with my new gig, but worst case was that they fired me. I wasn’t sure I was staying anyway.

  Susie Simpson was as glad to get on a plane as anyone I’d ever seen. Her stay had simply confirmed what she knew about Dallas. It was a big city full of dangerous criminals just waiting to murder you in your own home. Fierro promised to have Corinne’s property shipped to her as soon as it was released. He was footing the bill personally, but I wasn’t allowed to tell Susie that. He wanted to do it.

  I had a parting gift for Aunt Susie. As she was ready to make her escape from the hearse, I instructed her to hold out her hand.

  “Where did you get this?” She turned the pug figurine over in her hand. “This looks just like...” Her voice choked off.

  “It is.”

  “But how? When?”

  “Don’t ask.” Because I palmed it while you were finding a dead body. “It isn’t important. But it’s Corinne’s.”

  She threw her arms around me for a parting hug.

  Chapter 17

  As I walked into the office, I could feel eyes on me. There was something about the mood, some shift of tension in the air. Nobody looked up as I walked past their desks. There were no hellos. Beth finally looked up, gave me an icy stare and then looked away.

  I sat down and tried to work. It was no good. I couldn’t concentrate, so I marched myself into Duncan’s office.

  He was busy at his desk and didn’t look up. I stood there with crossed arms. “I’m getting a weird vibe.”

  Sighing, he took off his reading glasses. “Close the door.” I did. “You don’t read the paper.”

  “No,” I said. “It’s depressing.”

  “Plenty of other people do. Something you want to tell me about Ruth’s murder?”

  A knot of tension formed in my shoulder. “Like what?”

  “Like you stumbling over Ruth’s body? And that photo of you being all chummy with the detective who searched us? What the hell is going on?” He lowered his voice. “Are you under cover? You could tell me, you know. I know the agency didn’t send you to that job interview. I called Stephanie and she’d never heard of you, but when I checked your references, they were good. So who are you?”

  In my experience, secretaries are the worst gossips God created, but I needed Duncan on my side. “I’m not police, but I am helping the detective.”

  Duncan raised his sandy eyebrows. “Go on.”

  “Listen, Fierro, that’s the detective, is going to ask you some questions, but I have a few of my own.”

  Duncan sat back and picked up a pink message slip. “Detective Fierro? As a matter of fact, he called earlier.”

  “Who did Ruth usually type notes for?”

  “She worked for me.”

  I shook my head. “She typed notes. I’ve seen her do it.”

  “The girls aren’t assigned to anyone in particular.”

  “The scientists all have their pets. So who did she usually type notes for?”

  He steepled his fingers and stared for a moment before reaching a decision. “I suppose anyone could tell you. Tamaguchi usually gives his notes to Ruth. She’s the only one who can read his writing. Seleman gave his work to Corinne. Ball and Harrison do their own.” He ticked off the rest of the scientists and secretaries on his fingers. He still spoke of Ruth as if she was alive.

  Ruth typed for Tamaguchi? I could have slapped my forehead. In my mind I had Ruth stealing secrets from Seleman’s research and attempting to poison him so no one would discover. I had imagined her sleeping with the buyer, who then had Ruth whacked once she was no longer useful. But Ruth didn’t type for Seleman. Had she been selling Tamaguchi’s notes? I considered the possibility of in-house espionage. Maybe Tamaguchi had a reason to get rid of Seleman and Ruth. They could have been stealing from him.

  “What type of research do they do?”

  Duncan arched his eyebrows again. I needed to learn that trick. “Hybridization. New strains of textile producing plants. More drought-resistant. More prolific. More disease-resistant. It’s the new frontier in agriculture.”

  “And there’s money in making new types of plants?”

  “Big money. Billions. It’s intensely competitive. Even within Woll Ag they compete against one another.”

  “You mean they don’t work together?”

  “Not at all. Each one works independently. That’s why they get funny about who types what. Ball is so paranoid, she writes everything in code. She won’t use the secretarial pool for a letter to her dentist. Don’t let the false bonhomie fool you. No one is a friend in this business.”

  “Knock knock,” said an overly cultured voice with a hint of a British accent. I wasn’t surprised it belonged to Ken Tamaguchi, who looked like an ad for Upscale Tennis Today. He was wearing whites and carried a racquet. As he got closer, I noticed that the racquet seemed different.

  “Do you play tennis?” I asked.

  He looked surprised, like a bug had spoken to him. “Squash,” he said before turning away. “Do you have a moment, Duncan? I have an issue to discuss.”

  “Not now, Ken.” Duncan stood.

  “This won’t wait.” They both turned to look at me. I know when I’m being dismissed.

  * * * *

  Morning was a miracle: cold, but bright and sunny. After weeks of gray skies, it drew everyone outside. I felt like I had too many balls in the air, so I called in sick. Let them fire me. I wasn’t in the mood for Woll Ag. I gassed up the hearse and returned it to Mother.
/>   Mother was with a client. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Finklestein.”

  Mrs. Finklestein was dead. She was also very angry. “How dare he? My poor Levi should not have to put up with such nonsense.”

  “I am so sorry. He isn’t usually here. Hopefully, he’ll be gone after his funeral. I assure you, it won’t happen again. Rest assured that your Levi will be allowed to grieve properly.”

  I jingled the keys. Mother looked up at me, perilously close to tears. “Excuse me, Mrs. Finklestein.”

  From down the hall came the thunderous strains of Beethoven’s Fifth being butchered on the organ. Boris played like a fiend at a breakneck pace.

  “I’ve got a migraine coming on.” Mother put a shaky hand to her forehead. “I’m so glad you’re here. I need help.”

  “What’s going on?”

  From the other side of the wall came the sound of a crash followed by maniacal laughter. “Dear God, I hope that wasn’t Mr. Potter’s ashes,” Mother said. “I agreed to bury Bartholomew Biddle. He still won’t cross over. I’m hoping that after tomorrow he’ll move on somewhere else.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I hate to get you involved.”

  “But?”

  “But his niece brought over a key. I need you to go down to his house and pick out an outfit. I was going to have Harry do it, but he’s tied up and we have to bury Mrs. Finklestein today. Walter is at the airport picking up a body that was shipped. The sisters are as busy as can be. I can’t leave. Lady Hildegard won’t come out of hiding. Boris won’t play anything other than Beethoven. I never thought I would long to hear Roll Out the Barrel.”

  “I’ll go,” I said. “I don’t mind.”

  Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you. Thank you, Portia.”

  I pocketed the key to Biddle’s house and got back in the hearse. Biddle must have been listening in because he was waiting in the passenger seat. I resolved to ignore him.

  He leaned over the seat and leered at me. “I’d love to give you a personal tour of my house. You were too afraid to come and visit me before.”

  I kept my hands on the wheels and my eyes straight ahead as if I couldn’t see him. He got closer.