Giving Up the Ghost

by Marilyn Levinson

  The traffic light turned red, and she screeched to a halt. While she had faith in Darren's interrogating skills, Barrett would be a tough nut to crack. Todd was younger and more vulnerable, but his wealthy parents would see to it he had a lawyer skilled at damage control. At best, the boys would be fined or receive a suspended sentence. At least it would be something.

  As she approached the Long Island Expressway, she made a sudden decision to drive to the mall, fifteen miles away. The snow still wasn't sticking, and mindless window shopping was guaranteed to erase all thoughts of bullies and bomb scares from her mind.

  Her first stop was at a bookstore. She indulged in one of her favorite pastimes, skimming through novels in hopes of adding titles to her must-read list. She also flipped through coffee-table photography books, seeking inspiration for future Photography Club projects. One day she'd have them photograph old houses in Chrissom Harbor. Another afternoon they'd go down to the beach and take shots of the sand, the water, and the sky.

  She suddenly remembered that Barrett and Ross had accosted Charlie and had taken the memory card from his camera. The thought led her back to the bomb scare and to Cam's murder. Gabbie shivered. Chrissom Harbor was a dangerous place.

  Oh, right. It's a jungle out there. Get a grip and cut out the melodrama and negative thoughts. Determined to put action to thought, she marched into the first department store she came to, and lost herself amidst the cosmetics and perfumes she used so sparingly.

  An hour later, as her fingers stroked a cashmere turtleneck she couldn't afford, Gabbie's stomach began to growl. She was famished; it was close to three o'clock. At a café in the food court, she bought a turkey sandwich and a cup of coffee and ate quickly, oblivious to the stream of shoppers passing in both directions.

  "Hey, Ms. Meyerson! How's it going?"

  Startled, Gabbie looked up into Barrett's grinning face. Beside him Todd had a malevolent gleam in his eye, as though he were waiting for something nasty to happen. I won't give them the satisfaction of uttering one word. Though she'd lost all appetite, she raised her coffee cup to her lips, and was furious to see her hand was trembling.

  Barrett nudged Todd. "We heard there were big doings at school today, didn't we, Todd?"

  The smaller boy giggled, his body quivering with pent up energy. "Right-o. Too bad we were absent and missed all the excitement."

  When she made no reply, Barrett nodded, an arrogant smirk on his lips. "At least you got some shopping done. Looks like the bomb threat was a gift to everyone, doesn't it?"

  Gabbie quivered with fury. They were high on their victory. Darren must have questioned them, but had to let them go. Now they were taunting her about it.

  Still, they were children, she told herself. Teenagers who were out of control partly because their wimp of a principal allowed them to ride roughshod over poor kids like Charlie Russell. On the other hand, Barrett was her student. If she backed down now, she'd never be able to discipline him unless she sent him to the office every day.

  She met Barrett's mocking blue eyes. "A bomb threat's no joke, Barrett. I'm surprised the police released you so quickly."

  "They had to since we didn't do anything," Todd said. "Right, Barrett?" They slapped their thighs and laughed.

  The sound grated on her nerves. Impotent rage made her blurt out the first lie that came to mind. "I suppose they had to let you go for now." She forced her lips into a knowing smile as she slowly panned from one to the other. "But they'll bring you in again, soon as they hear all the facts from their secret witness."

  The antics stopped. Todd's face went white. "What witness? Who?"

  Gabbie hid her delight with a shrug. "I've no idea. It's something we heard at school before we left for the day."

  She nibbled at her sandwich, pretending not to notice that Barrett's face had turned grim. His hands closed into fists. "Then somebody's lying."

  "Lots of kids go to the bagel shop," she said. "It's only logical that someone would have seen who made the call."

  Barrett's eyes rolled up as if he were trying to remember who'd been at the bagel shop that morning. He grabbed Todd's arm. "Come on. We gotta go." His eyes, now devoid of all expression, turned on Gabbie. "See you tomorrow, Ms. Meyerson."

  It sounded like a threat.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  As soon as they disappeared from sight, Gabbie disposed of the rest of her lunch and headed for her car, berating herself every step of the way. She was the adult, a member of the high school faculty. Regardless of the provocation, she should have remained calm and collected. Inventing an eye witness to their crime had to be the most pathetic thing she'd done in weeks. Surely Barrett and Todd had checked to see they were alone when they called in the bomb scare.

  Still, they'd gotten upset when she'd mentioned her fictitious witness, which made her wonder if some kid had been in the vicinity when they made the call. Darren and his dim-witted deputy couldn't possibly question every student, one at a time, to find out if anyone had seen them. And a general appeal wouldn't work. Too many kids were frightened of Barrett and Todd.

  She discovered three inches of wet snow had fallen while she'd been inside the mall. As she drove cautiously along the slushy road that led to the Expressway, she spotted a supermarket and decided to stop for groceries for tonight's dinner.

  The place was mobbed with shoppers obviously panicked by the snow. Gabbie put a package of chicken breasts in her wagon for the one decent chicken dish she knew how to prepare, and then went up and down the aisles in search of eggs, breadcrumbs, lemons, salad, and couscous.

  Even the express checkout line was long. Dusk had fallen by the time she placed the grocery bags in the trunk of her car. On impulse, she walked over to a bakery two doors down from the supermarket and bought a small chocolate cake. Back in the Volvo, she turned on the radio and heard the Expressway was at a standstill. She'd have to take local roads home.

  An hour later she was back in Chrissom Harbor. The plow had cleared the main streets, but her road had been ignored, she discovered, when her car skidded into the turn. She inched her way home, wishing she'd remembered to buy kitty litter to sprinkle along the icy, rutted driveway.

  The loud scraping noise coming from the vicinity of the cottage startled her so, she almost swerved into one of the pine trees fronting the property. She straightened the wheel and drove past the driveway entrance. A pick-up truck equipped with a snow plow was clearing her driveway. Gabbie backed up, leaving plenty of room for the driver to maneuver onto the road in case he hadn't seen her.

  When the pickup finished its task, the driver pulled up beside her Volvo.The driver was Jack McMahon. He opened his window, and motioned to her to do the same.

  "Hey, Gabbie. Mary Hanley called, said to be sure to do you first. Looks like I finished just in time." He grinned, showing the space between his two front teeth.

  "Thanks, Jack. I sure appreciate it."

  "I was surprised to find you out this afternoon. I guess a little bit of snow doesn't scare you like it does some folks."

  "The driveway scares me more than the snow," she said. "It's so rutted and icy, I worry I'll skid right into the cottage."

  Jack rubbed his head under the woolen hat. "It sure is in awful condition. Come the spring, Roland ought to have it black-topped. Be sure to tell him so if you run into him."

  Gabbie stared in astonishment. "I thought Roland lived in Atlanta, when he's not off excavating in Africa."

  "He does, but he's coming home to CH, now that Darren's all fired up that Cam's death was no accident." His inky blue eyes seemed to bore into hers. "I wonder who stirred him up with that notion."

  Gabbie discovered her hands were trembling. She clenched them tight in her lap. "I've no idea. Maybe he found something among Cam's things that made him think someone hated Cam enough to kill him."

  "Like what?" Jack demanded.

  Gabbie shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

  He snorted. "Darren didn't say Roland found a
nything like that."

  "Oh? When did you talk to Darren?"

  "This afternoon, soon as he finished giving those rotten kids the third degree." He shook his head in wonder. "I watched them leave the station whooping with joy. Boy, I hope they get what they deserve and real soon."

  "Why did Darren have you come to the station?" Gabbie said, trying to sound as innocent as she could.

  "Same old, same old. Went over where I was the day Cam died. If I'd seen him, which I didn't. A few other things. Told me they're going to exhume the body on Friday." Jack gave a mirthless laugh. "What's left of it."

  Gabbie shuddered. Poor Cam. He must be waiting to speak to her this very minute. "Well, thanks for clearing the driveway, Jack. What do I owe you?"

  "Not one cent. Roland pays. See ya around." He drove off.

  Gabbie pulled into the driveway and gathered up the cake and two bags of groceries. The phone was ringing as she unlocked the front door. She dashed into the kitchen and picked it up, smiling when she heard Darren on the other end.

  "I've been trying to reach you all afternoon," he said by way of a greeting. "Where have you been?"

  "And hello to you, too," she said.

  "You really have to get a cell phone," he said.

  "I will. When I get my first paycheck."

  "I'll lend you the money. Hell, I'll treat you to a cell phone. There's a murderer on the loose."

  Gabbie felt her irritation rising. "Darren, please! I'll be careful. I promise."

  "Sorry," he said, picking up on her tone. "I know you don't want me to play bodyguard. It used to drive my wife crazy. But I get this way when I'm stressed out. It's been that kind of day."

  She set everything down on the counter. "I can imagine, dealing with a bomb threat and investigating a murder."

  He gave a mirthless chuckle. "And getting nowhere fast."

  "Jack was clearing off my driveway when I came home. He said you'd been asking him questions."

  "Along with several other people. A waste of time. But the autopsy will give us definitive answers. And maybe we'll get lucky, and one of the items I brought to the lab will turn out to be the murder weapon."

  "Things are moving along, Darren."

  "Are we still on for dinner?"

  "We certainly are. Seven o'clock all right?"

  "Fine. I'll bring the wine. Red or white?"

  "White," she said, and hung up.

  She put away the groceries, then dashed upstairs for a quick shower. When she came downstairs, Cam called to her from the den.

  "I can only talk for a minute." She leaned against the door jamb.

  "What's happening with the investigation?"

  "Nothing yet, though your brother's coming here, and..."

  "And?" Cam prodded.

  "They're exhuming the--er--your body to examine it for cause of death."

  "Oh." Cam looked squeamish, as if he'd just eaten a mouse.

  "Gotta go and start cooking," Gabbie said. "Darren's coming for dinner. I'll let you know if he has any news."

  "Don't worry, I'm fading fast. I have enough smarts to know when I'm not wanted."

  When Darren arrived at five after seven, the table was set, the salad and couscous were made, and the chicken breasts were warming in the oven. He planted a kiss on her cheek and followed her into the kitchen.

  "Roses!" she exclaimed with delight when she saw what he'd been hiding behind his back.

  "White wine, red roses." He handed both to her.

  "I'll take care of them. Go on into the den. I've put out some appetizers."

  Darren's eyebrows shot up. "Will I be having company?"

  "Nope. Cam promised to keep away."

  "That's good." He lowered his voice. "I hate to say it, but it feels creepy talking to him. I mean, I know he's dead, and then suddenly he's there in ghost form, acting the same as always. I can't decide if I should tell Roland."

  "When's he arriving?"

  "Early Thursday morning. He has meetings tomorrow and Wednesday he can't miss. I told him Thursday's soon enough. He's damn glad I'm reopening the case. He claims the thought of Cam falling to his death stuck in his craw from day one. But since I'd done the investigating, and old Doc Bradley checked it out, he let it go."

  "Don't be hard on yourself." She gave him a little push. "Go on. I'll join you in two minutes."

  Gabbie found a vase for the flowers and opened the wine. She filled two wine glasses and carried them into the den. Darren was standing before the bookcase, riffling through pages of a book.

  "I hope you don't mind, but a team of county investigators are coming out tomorrow to examine the cottage," he said. "I'll seal off this room when I leave, more for appearance's sake than any practical purpose."

  "Sure." She handed him a glass and moved to the couch. "I'll give you a key."

  He sat down beside her. "I doubt they'll find anything, after so many people have trampled through this place. And the ground out back is covered over with snow."

  "Don't be negative," she chided. "You're doing everything you can."

  "Eight months too late," he grumbled. "I could kick myself every time I remember how I should have given the murder angle more consideration."

  "You saw no sign of a struggle. No drag marks. And Cam was drunk."

  He nodded. "Pissed to the gills. Still, he'd riled lots of people in town. I should have insisted that the ME do an autopsy. I hate to think I was negligent because I didn't want Cam to have been murdered."

  "Is that what you thought at the time?" Gabbie said.

  "No. From the looks of things, I really thought he'd fallen to his death."

  "Then stop second-guessing and find out who murdered him."

  They clinked glasses and sipped. Gabbie spread crabmeat dip on a cracker and offered it to Darren.

  He downed the hors d'oeuvre and grinned. "Mmm, delicious."

  "Have another." She smiled as he polished that one off, too. "What's Roland like?"

  "Well, growing up, we always called him Rolly because he's round, with the chubbiest cheeks you've ever seen. When he turned eighteen, he asked--no, ordered us--to call him by his proper name, Roland."

  "And you did?"

  Darren chewed on his lower lip as he considered her question. "The interesting thing is, Cam and I called him Roland after that--can't tell you exactly why. He looks like a pushover, but underneath his padding, Roland's tough as nails. The complete opposite of Cam. He goes excavating in Africa, then comes back and handles himself like a political pro at the press conferences that always follow."

  "Oh," Gabbie said. "I'm impressed."

  "You should be. Roland's experienced in raising funds for his trips and dealing with the public. Today he raised holy hell with the powers-that-be and got them to agree to have the body exhumed ASAP."

  "Has he found anything among Cam's papers?"

  "Not a clue."

  "And you got nothing from Jack, Reese, Terry, or Don?"

  "They all denied being in on a deal with Cam, and swore they hadn't seen him the day he died." He shook his head. "They stuck to their stories, even when I spouted details about the cigarette deal and when they were supposed to pick up their money."

  He shook his head in admiration. "Dammit, they're good liars, every one of them."

  "Did they account for where they were that afternoon?"

  "Terry and Reese were at work, but neither has a witness to attest that he stayed at work past five o'clock. Don and Jack were out and about. Don says he drove to a warehouse in Riverhead for beauty salon supplies. Jack was making deliveries for the furniture store where he occasionally works." Darren let out a snort of dissatisfaction. "None of them has what you'd call an air-tight alibi."

  "So," Gabbie said slowly, "any one or combination of the four could have done it. That would account for your not seeing drag marks on the lawn."

  "And I have nothing concrete that proves they all had a reason to come here that day." He slapped his thigh in disgust.
"I can't very well bring a ghost's sworn statement into a court of law."

  They stared glumly at each other. Gabbie regretted having brought up the subject.

  She touched Darren's arm, felt the muscle respond to her. It gave her an amazing sense of power. "Let's go and eat. Everything's ready."

  "It's the best offer I've had all day."

  Gabbie served their dinner, and was pleased that everything had turned out well. It was almost a year since she'd taken the trouble to prepare a meal for anyone beside herself.

  "You're a great cook," Darren said, and ate his last forkful of chicken.

  "It's coming back to me," Gabbie quipped. "But I suppose cooking's something you never forget how to do. Like riding a bicycle."

  "And making love," Darren added.

  Gabbie bowed her head so he wouldn't see the blush coloring her face and ears. But he obviously knew she felt uncomfortable, because he changed the subject.

  "How did you spend the afternoon?"

  "I went to the mall, and had the misfortune of running into Barrett Connelly and Todd Ross. They were cocky enough to taunt me by making allusions to the bomb scare."

  "They were gloating for getting off scot free. We questioned each of them separately in the presence of his lawyer. They had their story down pat. Yes, they'd been to the bagel shop earlier, but then they went to Ross's house. No, they couldn't prove it since no one was home then."

  "There must have been someone at the bagel shop who saw them. What about the owners?"

  "Business was slow just then, so the husband went into the back room while the wife ran an errand. The public phone's in the vestibule entrance, not visible from the back room. Clever of them to call from there instead of from one of their cell phones."

  Gabbie was about to tell him of the boys' reaction to her lie that someone had seen them, when Darren's cell phone rang. He gave her an apologetic smile and answered it.

  "Oh, no! Christ, is he all right?"

  He listened another minute. "Okay. Smart thinking. Did you call Pete?"