by Janni Nell
“How about it, honey?” I teased Casper. “Wanna get married?”
He froze on his way to the fitting room, cleared his throat and shuffled uncomfortably. I winked at Marian. “It’s for an awards dinner.”
She brightened at the prospect of another sale, “Do you need a gown?”
“Nominees only,” I said, “but I want to make sure he looks good.”
“Of course. You can go into the fitting room with him if you like.”
Oh, the temptation. I resisted for about half a second and then tiptoed toward the fitting room. Looked like Christmas was coming early this year. My hand was on the curtain, my mind already imagining a semi-naked Casper, when he called, “Don’t come in, Allegra. I can manage alone.”
I guess there weren’t going to be angel buns on my menu today. Bugger, as Dad used to say.
As I backed away, I tripped on a damaged section of carpet. My handbag flew open and everything—wallet, tissues, tampons, an old stick of gum, a silver bullet (don’t ask), car keys, a magic charm (gift from my witch friend, Wanda) and a lipstick I had used once in six months tumbled onto the floor. I scrabbled around trying to collect everything before Marian got curious about the silver bullet. My wallet had slid under the curtain and into Casper’s fitting room. I couldn’t very well leave it there.
Reaching under the curtain, I walked my fingers across the floor until I got hold of my wallet. As I pulled it out, my head accidentally slipped beneath the curtain then I accidentally glanced up. Casper was wearing nothing but a pair of black jocks. Oh my.
Of course, I couldn’t get away with it. He noticed I was there and moved the tux jacket in front of him, covering all the good bits. “I told you not to come in, Allegra.”
“My wallet,” I said, holding it up to show I wasn’t fibbing. “Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you. I swear I didn’t see anything.” I was so lying. I’d seen enough to keep me happy for a very long time. Clutching my wallet, I crawled out of the changing room.
Within half an hour, Casper had chosen his and a shiny black pair of shoes. As we headed back to the parking lot, he proudly toting his Bigger & Better Bargains bags, I asked, “Do you want a manicure or facial or liposuction?”
He gave me a look that I interpreted as Do I need them? Well, no, he was almost perfect. Aside from a few battle scars, which in my opinion only made him sexier.
“All I need is a place to change right before the angels start arriving on the sky-blue carpet.”
“Gosh, do you get interviewed by the fashion police?”
“There are no fashion police up there. They go to the other place.”
“Right.” I laughed. “Now you need somewhere to change clothes. How about my bedroom in Mayflower Avenue? So long as I get to watch.”
“The Powers-That-Be wouldn’t approve of that.”
“I was kidding,” I said, fingers crossed behind my back. “Speaking of getting changed,” I went on, “where did you get those black jocks? I didn’t buy anything for you to wear under the kilt.”
“I thought you said you didn’t see anything.”
Oops. “Well, nothing important. Where did you get them?”
“From Mrs. Ferguson.” A nonagenarian we’d met in Scotland. “When I walked with her beside the loch, it was windy. My kilt blew up. She suggested underwear.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about someone else buying Casper’s underwear. Not that Mrs. Ferguson was interested in him in an erotic way, but still. I felt a bit, well, jealous.
“You’re very quiet,” said Casper. “Penny for them.”
No way would I tell him the truth. But he’d given me the perfect opportunity to fish for information. “Glad you asked. I’ve been thinking about the crone at The Hollows—” Casper groaned. Officially he wasn’t allowed to help with a case, but sometimes he did. Accidentally, of course. I said, “As you know, ghosts are one thing or another. The misty ones can’t suddenly become solid and vice versa. But the crone was both. She switched from old and solid to young and misty then back again. So is she a ghost? Is she two ghosts? Or something else?”
“I’ll plead the Fifth,” he answered. “I know what you’re trying to do, Allegra, and it won’t work. I can’t help with the case.”
Oh well it was worth a try. “So,” I asked, “what’ve you been doing since Scotland?”
“You mean in the last three days?”
“It seems longer.”
“Not to me. I was on holiday when I had to rescue you at The Hollows.”
“Hope you didn’t have to leave anywhere too nice.”
“Hawaii.”
Images of beaches, sunsets and piña coladas rippled across my mind. “Gee, I really am sorry. Will you go back there now?”
“Not until after the awards ceremony.”
We reached Mom’s car and I stowed Casper’s bags in the trunk. He got into the passenger seat beside me. “Mind if I ride with you for a while?”
“So long as you don’t puke in Mom’s car.”
“Just drive,” he said, holding on tight as I zoomed out of the lot. “By the way, how’s your friend, Wanda?” He’d never shown much interest in her before, and I couldn’t understand why he mentioned her now when he was obviously struggling not to throw up.
“Wanda’s fine,” I said. “I spoke to her yesterday. Hey, listen, maybe you should get out and fly. You don’t look so good and Mom will kill me if you puke in her car.”
He didn’t argue. Through pale lips, he mumbled, “I’ll meet you at your mom’s place.”
“No need. I’m not going to be in any danger tonight. I’ll just be hanging around at Mom’s, trying to work out this case and eating a home-cooked dinner.”
The mention of food gave his pale skin a greenish tinge but thankfully he disappeared before he puked. I expected he’d head back home to Cloud 9 but when I pulled into Mom’s driveway, he sauntered up to the car. The glow of my headlights revealed that his skin had returned to its normal healthy color.
“What’re you doing here?” I asked.
“I heard your mom is a great cook,” he grinned. “Care to invite me in for dinner?”
Well, he had saved me from a dark cold death at The Hollows, I supposed I’d better feed him. “But don’t expect too much from Mom at the moment,” I cautioned. “She was barely able to make coffee when I arrived.”
“Just so long as you’re not cooking,” he said.
I wasn’t offended. I freely admit I’m not a great cook. I only hoped Mom wouldn’t have a meltdown at the prospect of a guest.
I went in ahead of Casper and asked her if it was okay to invite a friend to dinner. When she found out my friend was a guy, she said, “Of course, he’s welcome,” and glanced pointedly at my wedding finger.
“He’s not my boyfriend. You’ve met him before at—”
Casper walked in before I had a chance to finish. Mom beamed like they were old friends and shook his hand. It’s always amazed me how good she is at playing the perfect politician’s wife. Even when her personal life is in crisis.
“Did Allegra meet you in Scotland?” she asked, noticing his kilt. Then, realizing she’d made an uncharacteristic blunder, she blushed and went on, “No wait, we’ve met before, haven’t we? At…”
“Your wedding to Steven Hampton. I was Allegra’s date.” Okay, date wasn’t quite true. He’d been protecting me from a particularly nasty goblin who’d been masquerading as one of Steven’s political colleagues. The goblin had wanted to rule the world—as they do—but I’d defeated tcreature by spearing it with a rusty metal pole. Let’s face it, the only way to defeat a political goblin is with a bad pole.
“Oh yes, Allegra’s date,” said Mom. “Of course, I remember you. Did Allegra bring back your outfit from Scotland?”
I left them chatting while I checked on Steven. He was watching cricket now. I’m not even sure he knew the rules of the game but it hardly mattered, since his eyes were glazed and bloodshot. More empty beer c
ans lay at his feet and the ashtray overflowed with butts.
“You okay, Steve?” I said, using the abbreviation of his name, which he hated. No reaction. No haughty, I prefer Steven.
I gave up trying to provoke a reaction and asked again, “You okay?” He barely nodded in my direction. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell sideways onto the sofa and started to snore.
Deciding it was best to leave him, I headed for the dining room where Mom had optimistically set four places.
“We’ll only need three,” I said gently. “Steven won’t be joining us.” When Mom cast me a frightened glance, I added, “He’s sleeping.”
She nodded but didn’t lose the worried expression. “He needs to rest.”
Casper made small talk throughout the meal, praising Mom on her quickly whipped-up stir fry and rice, and pronouncing the thawed out chocolate cake to die for. Slowly she lost the frown and a little color came into her cheeks. Despite her concern over Steven, I knew she’d manage to give me the Casper’s-a-keeper talk later that night, but it was worth it to see the improvement in her mood. We had moved on to coffee when Steven screamed.
Mom shot to her feet. Her chair wobbled and crashed backwards. She dashed toward the sound of the scream with me hard on her heels.
Steven’s tower of beer cans had fallen. They rolled around on the floor like the first stage of an obstacle course. His ashtray had spilled onto the sofa, leaving a dirty patch that Mom failed to notice. She clutched my arm as her eyes searched the empty room.
“Where is he?” she whispered.
“Steven?” I called.
A whimper came from behind the chair in the corner. I got there in a few strides and peeped over the top.
Steven’s body was curled into the fetal position. His arms were folded over his head as though he was expecting a blow. Every inch of him trembled like fairy wings in a high wind. I knelt but didn’t touch him.
“Steven,” I said gently. “You’re safe now. She’s gone.”
I was shoved aside as Mom pulled out the chair, fell to her knees and threw her arms around him. “I’m here, darling.”
To give her space, I got to my feet, wriggling my itching toe. The atmosphere was heavy and oppressive, thick with emotions like rage and hatred.
Mom crooned to Steven. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” She pressed his head against her shoulder like a child’s. “I love you, love you, love you.”
Soft and faint came the sound of wheezing laughter. There was no misty ghost in the room, but outside the French doors looking in at us was the young woman I’d seen at The Hollows. I wrenched open the door and charged after her. She moved fast, gliding around the house and onto the sidewalk. I heard footsteps behind me and knew Casper was following. Did he think I was in danger? The misty ghost glanced over her shoulder to make sure I was following and took off again. The wheezing laughter hurt my ears. Stop, bitch!
She slowed a little but when I got closer she sped up again, enjoying her macabre game of tag. I was so focused on her I was unaware of my surroundings. Vaguely I realized we’d left Mayflower Avenue behind and turned onto Plymouth Street. Then the houses and trees became a blur and all I could see was her pale body, long skirts flying out behind her. I had to catch her. Had to. Had to.
A big hand clamped on my shoulder. When I tried to shrug it off, strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind. I struggled to free myself—to follow the misty ghost. It took me a moment to realize that I was being restrained by Casper.
“What the heck are you doing? Let me go.” The sound of speeding cars drowned out the wheezing laughter. Right in front of me was a busy road. The ghost had dashed into the traffic but her misty body had already thinned and was rapidly disappearing into the night.
I blinked. “How did I get here?”
“You chased her.”
“I know, but—” How had I come so far without realizing it? I’d almost run into the traffic. This was just like Steven’s sleepwalking, except I hadn’t been asleep. Had the misty ghost hypnotized me into following her? I’d never encountered a ghost who could do that before. And I didn’t like the idea at all.
Casper turned me away from the road and pointed me in the direction of Mayflower Avenue. “We’re needed at your mom’s.”
It was a bit of an exaggeration, since Mom had hardly realized we were gone. She was still kneeling beside Steven, trying to convince him to move from the corner. When I asked whether she wanted help, she said, “Make him tea, Allegra. Properly, with loose leaves. And plenty of sugar.”
Casper followed me into the kitchen. As I shoveled leaves into a teapot, I said, “You’re sticking very close to me. Is the misty ghost still hanging around? No, she can’t be. My toe isn’t itching.”
He didn’t answer. Instead he asked the same random question he’d asked earlier, “How’s your friend, Wanda?”
“I’ve already told you she’s fine,” I said, concentrating on brewing the tea to Mom’s exacting standards. When it was ready, I held the mug to Steven’s lips. He managed to take a sip without dribbling and soon his eyes had lost their glassy stare. After a second cup, he came out of the corner and sat in the chair he’d been hiding behind.
He looked at me and said, “I dreamt about the woman again.”
“Yeah, I saw her.”
“So it wasn’t a dream. She was trying to drain the life out of me. I think she almost succeeded.”
I rested my hand on his forearm. “It’s not possible for a misty ghost to kill someone.” Then, remembering how she’d almost led me onto the busy road, I said, “At least, not by draining the life from someone with a kiss.”
“I feel so weak. I’m going to be sick.” He rushed to the downstairs bathroom.
Mom pulled at her earlobe, almost dislodging the pearl earring. “Why is this happening to Steven? What’s going on, Allegra?”
I wished I could explain, but I truthfully had no idea. The best I could do was try to reassure her. But my attempt was cut short when the landline rang.
She picked up immediately. “Yes, it’s Sondra speaking…oh Martin, it’s been a long time…slow down, I can’t understand…” Mom put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “It’s the boyfriend of Steven’s cousin, Donna—well, second cousin really—I think he’s crying.”
Suddenly she became very still. Any color left in her face leeched away. Her neck corded with the iron control it her took to continue the conversation. “I see…I’m sorry to hear that…how did it happen?…Thank you for calling, Martin.” The phone fell from her hand. “This is awful. Just awful. Donna’s dead. Only forty-two. She fell out the window of their apartment and broke her neck.”
I was murmuring sympathy for a relative I hardly knew when Mom gripped my wrist tight enough to bruise. “The accident happened while she was sleepwalking.”
Chapter Four
Martin Crain was thin, serious and devastated by the loss of his live-in girlfriend, Donna Hampton. They had lived in a plush apartment close to the office block where he and Donna had met ten years ago. It hadn’t taken them long to move in together and open their own IT business. Living and working together would’ve destroyed a lot of relationships but Martin and Donna had thrived. Now he sat on their white leather lounge, stroking a tortoiseshell cat while tears trickled unchecked down his cheeks.
“She’d never sleepwalked before last summer. Not in all the years I’d known her. She even joked about it, but I was worried. Gut feeling, you know? I reviewed every aspect of our lives. Our relationship was great. The business was booming. What else was there? I guess I got a bit fixated on her childhood—thought she might have remembered some traumatic event. She told me I was being ridiculous. I went behind her back and spoke to her mother.”
Pen poised, I looked up from my writing pad. “I thought her mother died in an accident.”
“That’s right. It happened not long after I’d spoken to her about Donna’s sleepwalking. Car accident. Her husband
, Donna’s father, lost control of the car. The authorities think he fell asleep at the wheel. They were killed instantly.” He choked on a sob. “I envy them. They died together.” Two more cats, one ginger and one black, sprang onto the white leather sofa and curled up beside him.
My first thought was that Donna’s father, Lyle Hampton, had been sleepwalking or at least sleep-driving when the accident occurred. “Is there a amily history of sleepwalking?”
“That’s exactly what I asked Donna’s mother, but she denied it. Said Donna had never sleepwalked and that there was no buried childhood trauma either.”
“What about Lyle Hampton? Any history of sleepwalking there?” I wasn’t surprised when Martin shook his head. I mean, would you get into a car with your husband if he was sleepwalking? It was possible their deaths weren’t even related to Donna’s, but my gut was telling me otherwise.
I tapped the end of my pen on my writing pad. “So how long had Donna been sleepwalking?”
“Couple of months. One night she wandered out of the apartment. Got right down to the sidewalk before I caught her. She almost walked onto the road.”
Just like I had last night. Although I hadn’t been sleepwalking, it was an interesting coincidence.
After scribbling that in my notebook, I asked, “Have you ever sleepwalked, Martin?”
“Me? No, never.”
“Okay, now I know this is difficult but I need to ask you about the night Donna died.”
He continued to stroke the cat, focusing on her rather than me. “We went to bed about ten o’clock but we didn’t get to sleep until after eleven because we were—I’ve already told the police all this—”
“I’m not exactly a police investigator. Please go on. I need to know what happened.”
“After we’d made love, we went to sleep. I woke about one in the morning. Donna was tossing and turning, moaning like she was in pain. I asked what was wrong but she wouldn’t answer—wouldn’t wake up. I got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and when I got back the bed was empty. I raced into the living room. The apartment door was open. I dashed into the hall outside. Ran downstairs. There was no sign of her on the sidewalk so I came back up. As I got to our floor, I heard something crash in our apartment.