Giving Up the Ghost

by Marilyn Levinson

  Curious as she was, Gabbie remained in the kitchen. Her life had been in turmoil the past year and a half, and now she was embarking on a new beginning. She longed for serenity.

  But her need to know finally propelled her back to the den. She hoped he'd be gone. She hoped she'd fallen asleep while preparing for her class and he'd been a part of an unusually vivid dream.

  She hadn't been dreaming. He stood in front of the bookcase. Was it her imagination or was he more transparent? At any rate, he was eager to see her.

  "I'm glad you came back, Gabbie. I need to talk to you."

  "Why? You don't even know me."

  He waved that away. "I know you now. And I can tell you're intelligent and resourceful, as well as a stunning, sexy woman."

  "No personal remarks, or I'm out of here. Don't tell me I'm the only one you've made contact with."

  Cam sighed. "You are. I wasn't about to scare the women from the cleaning service half to death."

  "But you didn't mind scaring me."

  "Only because I desperately need to talk to you." To emphasize his urgency he stepped closer, crowding her. Again she felt that strange chill in the air.

  Gabbie leaped back and upset the table beside the recliner, spilling her tea.

  "Sorry," he said. "I don't mean to frighten you."

  "It's the cold." She hugged herself.

  "I'll try to remember. This is so weird for me."

  "That makes two of us. But what did you need to talk about? Why do you come back to the cottage from wherever you're supposed to be?"

  "I come back to find out who murdered me."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Gabbie hugged herself, gripping her upper arms in an attempt to control her trembling body. Murder was a vicious, life-taking act of deliberation. For months after she'd testified against her husband, she'd lived in fear that he might try to kill her. Now she shook her head, denying what Cam just told her.

  "Are you sure? Darren said you were drinking heavily and fell to your death. They found your body on the beach."

  Cam gave her a knowing grin. "Darren, eh? Where and when did the two of you have this informative conversation?"

  "In the diner," she said. "When I was having lunch."

  "Is that a fact? I see my good buddy lost no time making your acquaintance. I'd beware of the Loving Lawman, if I were you."

  "Let's stick to the subject." Gabbie hoped Cam wouldn't notice her red ears. Though why she should blush because she'd just met Darren Rollins was too ridiculous for words.

  "From what I hear, you're the one with the Don Juan reputation."

  "Trust me, Darren was never a slouch in that department. But he used to be smart enough to separate business from pleasure." Cam's face tightened. "For once our police chief wasn't as thorough as he should have been."

  "What do you mean?" It felt surreal, talking to a ghost about his murder.

  Cam pointed toward the beach. "Darren knows better than anyone how many times I scrambled down that cliff when we were young. Hell, we both did. We had some great contests, which is how one Saturday night in our senior year I broke my leg and he sprained his wrist. Pissed off our coach for keeping our basketball team out of the finals.

  "And that ancient has-been who examined me afterward missed every sign that I was struck down, right here in this room."

  "Darren said they found you down at the beach."

  "Yes, but it happened here. In this room."

  Gabbie opened her mouth to argue, until she remembered the den's piercing coldness the night before when Cam first appeared. Just now, he hadn't followed her into the kitchen because he couldn't. The den was the only room in the cottage where he could appear.

  "I understand," she said, marveling at her use of logic to support what a ghost was telling her about his death. "What isn't clear is, since you know it happened here in this room, why don't you know who did it?"

  "Because," he said slowly, as though he were speaking to an idiot, "I was struck from behind."

  "Oh." Gabbie sank onto the couch to absorb this information. She was vaguely aware that Cam had started pacing. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak.

  "Who do you think did it?"

  Cam scratched his forehead. He looked embarrassed. "It could be any one of a handful of people."

  Gabbie gulped. "A handful? You mean like more than one?"

  He cleared his throat. "More like four. Six on the outside."

  "Six! Six mortal enemies? You must have been a real upstanding citizen."

  "I was what you'd call an entrepreneur."

  Gabbie tossed back her head and let out a guffaw. "A wheeler-dealer, was what I was told."

  "That's a bit harsh."

  "But accurate, I bet. I know your type. I just divorced the king of connivers."

  "And how is he managing without you?" Cam said.

  "He's in jail where he belongs. I helped put him there."

  "Oh."

  Gabbie was pleased to hear a note of respect in his voice when he said, "You're one formidable woman."

  "I certainly hope so," she said, with more confidence than she felt. Paul's arrest, trial, and the subsequent divorce had knocked the stuffing out of her, and she was just beginning to feel like herself again.

  "Jill Leverette's another formidable woman. She was furious with me the last time we were together, but I don't think she'd actually kill me."

  "Was she your lover?"

  His nod blended chagrin and pride. "And married to that idiot Fred, whom she should have divorced years ago. Anyway, I was leaving town, and Jill got it into her head she was going with me. Foolish girl. She was so sure I'd take her with me, she told Fred all about her plans."

  "But you didn't want her along."

  He grimaced. "She nearly had a stroke when I told her I didn't think it was a good idea for her to leave her daughter."

  Gabbie snorted. "Translated, you didn't want her cramping your style."

  Cam gave her a wounded look. "That's not it at all. I had a few business stops to make, and then I was off to the Cote d'Azur, with no definite plans after that. I had no idea where I'd end up. My intention was to get away from CH for while, until things settled down."

  "What things?"

  "Just some fallout from a few business ventures." He tried to look innocent, but didn't succeed.

  "Specifically?"

  He cleared his throat. "There was one deal in particular that gave me grief. Over a year ago, I bought up connecting plots of land from some local guys and sold them to a builder. He got the official okay to put up a housing development. I saw the plans. Real beauties--five-bedroom Victorians with front porches, basements, on acre plots."

  Gabbie tried to follow his logic. "You said you bought the land over a year ago. Why would anyone wait to kill you several months later?"

  "Frankly, it's hard to imagine. But seeing the project get off the ground, with signs advertising the new development all over the place, inflamed their resentment. Made their feeling I'd cheated them fresh in their minds all over again. Reese Walters was pissed something awful. And Don Terranova threatened to shoot me on sight." Cam snorted. "As if he could hit the side of a barn these days."

  Gabbie heard what he was really saying. "So, you bought cheap and sold high. Did the dirty on a bunch of your cronies."

  Cam shrugged. "Cronies, acquaintances, call them what you like. I found the builder. I practically designed the development, for God's sake. And those four lugs know damn well they're twenty-five thousand dollars richer than they would have been if they'd held on to their bits of land."

  "But they didn't make out as well as you did on the deal."

  "Don't worry. I made it up to them. Or would have--" He stopped abruptly as a thought occurred to him.

  She cocked her head. "Go on. What were you about to say?"

  "Nothing for you to be concerned about. I am--I was--a businessman. Believe me, I honored my debts."

  "If that's the case, none
of them would have been angry enough to kill you, would they?"

  "I certainly hope not. Those guys were my friends."

  Interesting how quickly his acquaintances gained the status of friendship. Gabbie shut her mind to Cam's discrepancies for the present and concentrated on the facts. "Getting back to that afternoon, tell me what you remember."

  He furrowed his brow as he thought. "Let's see. I finished packing around four-thirty, and was sitting there in my lounger drinking my favorite gin." He chuckled. "I was kind of fuzzy by then. I went outside to--er 'use the facilities' as they say--then returned to my desk to do some last-minute paperwork. I was trying to make sense of some document when a terrible pain struck the back of my head. I blacked out, came to, and blacked out again. When I woke up, I was dead."

  "I am sorry." Gabbie tried to take in the enormity of what he'd just told her.

  "Which is why I need you to help me, Gabbie."

  "Oh, no!" She raised her palms to ward off his preposterous demand.

  "I can tell you're resourceful, and you're good with people. Precisely the type of woman capable of finding out who did the deed."

  "I can't, Cam. I won't!"

  "Come on, Gabbie. I need you. You're my link to this town. To the world."

  "Look," she said, "I'm terribly sorry that someone killed you, but I've come to Chrissom Harbor to recover from the traumas in my own life. I can't get involved in a murder investigation." She stood, ready to flee.

  "Don't go!"

  She hesitated when she saw the anguish in his face.

  "I hate to be melodramatic, but I'll shriek and carry on until you agree to find out who killed me." He proved his point by letting loose an ear-piercing scream.

  Gabbie clapped her hands over her ears. "Stop it! I get your message, but honestly, there's nothing I can do."

  "Just talk to those people." His words came faster and faster. "They'll know you're staying here at the cottage. It's human nature for you to show an interest in my death. Wonder aloud if I had enemies, if my death wasn't an accident. And if someone acts weird or his story doesn't jive, tell Darren. Only don't let him know I started you off on this. He'll cart you right over to the local nut house."

  "Cam, I really don't--"

  "It's easy enough. All you have to do is go to Logan's Place. It's that log cabin-looking restaurant-bar on the far end of Main Street. Everyone in town goes to Logan's, sometime or other. In fact, Jill often eats there Monday nights with her husband and daughter."

  "No, no, no." Gabbie covered her ears and walked out of the den. He followed her to the doorway, and called after her as she started up the stairs, "Jill works part-time as bookkeeper for Reese Walters, and she does volunteer work, teaching reading to immigrants."

  Both amused and exasperated, Gabbie returned to the hall and shook her head at him. "I'll think about it. It's the best I can offer."

  "All right." He gave her a heartbreaking smile. "I appreciate whatever you're willing to do. Even if it's only to have dinner at Logan's tonight, to hear what people have to say about me." His grin was mischievous. "The food's really good."

  Suddenly she was hungry and not in the mood to prepare dinner, not even an omelet. Going to Logan's wasn't a bad idea. She could meet some of the townsfolk and find out what they were saying about Cam.

  "I might go to Logan's, after all." When that brought on a huge smile, she quickly added, "But that doesn't mean I'm going to play detective. I still have to think that over."

  "When will you let me know?"

  "As soon as I've decided. Please don't nag. I'm here to teach English, remember? I'll be lucky if I keep one chapter ahead of the kids."

  Cam dismissed her concerns with a flick of his wrist. "A piece of cake. I can tell you're a pro."

  Gabbie bit her lip. The anxiety she'd been holding at bay, swept over her like a tsunami.

  "I'm glad you have confidence in me because I'm terrified. I haven't taught in a classroom in years."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Logan's Place resembled the kind of log cabin Abe Lincoln was supposed to have grown up in, except that the restaurant-bar blazed with still-hanging Christmas lights. It stood back from the corner, allowing patrons to park on all four sides of the rectangular-shaped building. Gabbie pulled into one of the few available spots. When she tugged open the rough-hewn wooden door, she was enveloped by the heavenly aroma of shrimp scampi.

  She stood in the tiny vestibule, feeling like Alice in Wonderland as she debated which of the two doors to open next. The one to the bar, Gabbie decided. She opened it a crack and peered in. Several patrons sat on stools or leaned against the long bar. The drone of the six o'clock news from the overhead TV reached her ears.

  Maybe later. She opted for the larger, brighter dining room, where couples and families sat at tables covered with red and white checked tablecloths.

  The doors at the back of the room swung open, and a buxom blonde emerged. "Dinner for one?"

  "Yes," Gabbie said.

  The woman led her to a small table flush with the side wall farthest from the bar. Gabbie sat on a gingham cushioned chair.

  "Tonight we're serving shrimp. Fried shrimp, shrimp diablo, shrimp sautéed, and shrimp scampi. But we always have burgers and salads, if that's your pleasure."

  She sped away and was replaced by a pretty young waitress wearing a name tag "Sarah" over her red-and-white uniform. Sarah repeated the menu.

  Gabbie forgot about the cheeseburger she'd planned on. "I'll go with the scampi."

  "Mashed, french-fried, home fries or rice?"

  "Home fries."

  Sarah grinned. "My favorite. You also get soup and a salad. All for twelve ninety-five."

  Gabbie ordered Manhattan clam chowder and the blue cheese dressing. Certainly not dietetic, but she'd start an exercise routine once she got settled. Sarah returned a minute later with her soup.

  "I made sure it's nice and hot," she told Gabbie.

  "Well, thank you," Gabbie replied, touched by the young woman's thoughtfulness. It had been some time since anyone had bothered to please her. She took a spoonful of soup and sighed. It was scrumptious--plenty of clams and not overly salty.

  Gabbie studied her fellow diners, and felt a pang of disappointment that none fitted Cam's description of the Leverettes. Sarah served her salad and then the main course. The shrimps were huge and succulent, the sauce zesty but not too spicy.

  She ate leisurely, comfortable with her own company, for once not self-conscious about dining alone. The hum of conversation gave her a sense of community without the obligation of joining in.

  She was contemplating dessert when the hostess seated a new party at the next table. They were a couple in their late thirties, early forties and a sullen teenager--a tall, slender girl with long brown hair.

  The woman was pretty and shapely, with wavy blonde hair cascading halfway down her back. Her companion, a bearlike, lumbering man, wore an intelligent though perplexed expression, as if his mind were miles away resolving a difficult problem. They sat in silence until the waitress came to take their orders.

  Full as she was, Gabbie couldn't resist ordering a peach cobbler to go with her coffee. While she was on her second cup, the party of three finished their main course and prepared to leave. They'd hardly spoken a word, except for the few times the mother asked her daughter a question and was rebuffed with a terse one-word answer. Poor woman.

  "Find everything to your satisfaction?" the hostess said when Gabbie went to pay.

  "Everything was delicious. I'll be back soon."

  "I'm Monica. My husband, Mike, and I own Logan's."

  Gabbie put out her hand. "Gabbie Meyerson. Pleased to meet you, Monica."

  "We're the closest you'll get to home cooking in CH. Wednesday night's pasta, Thursday's meat loaf, Friday's fish, and Saturday's a surprise. Sunday and Tuesday nights you have to fend for yourself."

  "Sounds good to me." Gabbie stopped in the vestibule and took a deep breath, as though
she were about to swim under water. Here goes. Miss Marple on the trail. I'll order a beer and finish it, no doubt, before I think of something pertinent to ask the patrons at the bar.

  The door to the bar swung open. The man who was about to come out held it for her, giving her no choice but to enter. In the dim light she could see most of the tables as well as the bar stools were now occupied. The TV was muted, and a dreamy sixties song filled the room.

  "Over here, Gabbie," she heard someone call.

  Reese Walters was waving from the far end of the room. She hesitated before approaching the round table where he sat with two other men. All three smiled at her with expectant expressions.

  "Gabbie Meyerson, meet Terry Lopez and Jack McMahon. Fellas, Gabbie's the new English teacher I told you about. Gabbie, why don't you sit down and have yourself a beer?"

  Startled, she paused, wondering at the ease with which she was achieving her goal. But was that what she wanted, to ask questions on behalf of a ghost? The thought suddenly struck her as hilarious, and she had to cover her mouth to contain her laughter as she headed for the vacant seat between Reese and Terry.

  "Hello, everyone. Reese, thanks for putting in the new appliances so quickly." A pang of guilt prodded her to add, "I'll start using them when I'm settled and find the time to prepare meals."

  "Use them or not, as you please. I'll get to the floor just as soon as I'm able."

  The handsome Latino in his mid-forties turned to her and offered his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Gabbie. I'm Terry, in case you're wondering who is who."

  "And I'm Jack." The Jolly Green Giant in his rumpled flannel shirt smiled, showing the gap between his front teeth. Though he appeared to be about fifty-five, there was something childlike in his expression. Size-wise they looked like Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear, Gabbie thought, but in reverse order of their ages.

  Terry squared his shoulders. "Welcome to CH. And just in case you happen to need a new car, I'll give you a fantastic deal on a new Camry." He lowered his voice in mock modestly. "I was named Chrissom Harbor Motors Best Salesman two years in a row."