by Nina Bruhns
Ry stroked her back. “We will get this guy.”
She nodded. She wouldn’t be afraid. Well, she was, but she wasn’t going to let it show. “Ry, there is confidentiality between private detective and client, isn’t there?” Giselle asked hesitantly.
“Yeah, sugar, tell me anything.” His green eyes darkened with concern as they stared into hers.
“No. I mean, you’re not going to tell anyone the details about tonight’s incident.”
“What? Death by swirly?”
The jerk.
“Never mind. I suppose it’s just too good to resist. Could you at least not use the word ‘swirly’ when you describe it?”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Ry said with a quirk to his edible lips. “I made another call I think you’ll like. I’ve arranged for us to talk to the foremost authority on the paranormal happenings in the city.” His tone was serious.
Then he got a silly look on his face and spoke with a bad French accent. “Or we could ave zee sex.” He patted the bed and leered suggestively. “Zee sex, it get my vote.”
Giselle giggled. “Oooh, you smooth talker. You make it so tempting, but no. I vote for ghosts.”
“Okay. Let’s go talk to Ghost Guy.”
It was 10:24 p.m.
* * *
They arrived as scheduled to meet the ghost guy at the entrance to the Colonial Park Cemetery. The cemetery, laid out in a long rectangular shape, had its entrance at the northwest corner. It was surrounded by six-foot-high walls made of old Savannah gray brick. A large, statuary rendering of an eagle about to take flight sat perched in a marble archway atop the wrought iron gate that served as the entry door.
The foggy night creepily shrouded much of the cemetery from view behind the locked gate. However, pale white tombstones, interspersed with brick, pyramid-shaped, above-ground structures, could be seen in the light of a nearby streetlamp close to the entrance. Giselle assumed that the indistinct silhouettes beyond the reach of the streetlights represented more of the same.
Giselle didn’t see Ghost Guy approach them from either the sidewalk along the Oglethorpe Street side of the cemetery or the Abercorn Street side. He just seemed to suddenly appear out of the darkness, dressed in an ensemble that was topped with a black cape. Ghost Guy had long fangs. Blood dripped from the teeth onto his chin and coated his mouth.
At Giselle’s look of horror, Ghost Guy reached up, pulled the fangs from his mouth and wiped at the blood. “Sorry about that. I’m not really a vampire. I just play one in a movie. We were just wrapping up filming for the day when Ry called. I didn’t have time to get out of makeup.” He took a few swipes at his cheeks and the white pancake wiped off, leaving a more natural complexion to the skin illuminated by the overhead streetlight.
“That’s a relief. I’ve had enough of vampires today, I’m afraid.” Giselle smiled wanly.
“They can get on your nerves.” Ghost Guy put the fake fangs in his pocket. “Two just moved to town and they are especially irritating. All they seem to want to talk about is the discrimination they are subjected to by the government. They want to rally the paranormal community into some kind of protest. But no one seems very interested.”
“Yeah, I think we know the two you’re talking about,” Ry commented.
The best word to describe Ghost Guy was “intense”. Although medium height with medium-length brown hair, his unblinking eyes pinned Giselle with penetrating power. “You have had two attempts on your life today. The second one was particularly shocking.”
“That’s amazing,” Giselle said. Was he psychic? “Did you see the attacks in a vision, or did you see them in my mind?”
Ghost Guy grinned. “Neither, Ry told me about them on the phone. Death by swirly. That’s really cruel. You almost met the Limoges Lord in the sky.”
Ry piped in, “Yeah, she almost flushed the big one. Although, I really think she just fell in and doesn’t want to admit it.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” Giselle said with disgust. “I’m so glad my near death is such a source of mirth for all, but can we please get on topic? I believe the subject of this meeting is a ghost. We don’t need to discuss the incident anymore.”
“You mean, the terror by toilet bowl?” Ry twisted the figurative knife.
“Shush it.” Giselle turned to Ghost Guy. “Ry says you’re the one to talk to in Savannah about all things paranormal. What about this supposed ghost who answers the door of an abandoned mansion? Is there any truth to that story?”
Giselle saw Ghost Guy glance at a scowling Ry.
“I have heard that story,” he said after a few moments’ hesitation.
“Is it true that the ghost answers the door if there is a knock at midnight?”
Ghost Guy seemed to respond very carefully. “I’m told that if the summoner is a strong psychic medium, it doesn’t have to be midnight.”
“That whole story is completely preposterous,” Ry interrupted in a testy tone.
“Well? Is the story true?” Giselle asked, facing Ghost Guy.
She watched for a glance from him in Ry’s direction but he remained stoic, his vivid blue eyes never straying from hers.
“I’d listen to Ry on this one,” he finally said. “Why don’t you go on one of the ghost tours?”
“Done that, and definitely didn’t buy the t-shirt. The tour guide was some kind of floozy who just told one whopper after another.”
“Oh, yeah, the cheerleader.” Ghost Guy nodded. “She’s something.” Ghost Guy went silent for a moment then continued. “I do have a lead for you. I’ve heard that there’s going to be a séance conducted later tonight by Armand Kopeleski. Kopeleski claims to be a wizard and master of the occult.”
“Is he?” Giselle asked.
“I don’t know. But he’s odd. I’m told the séance will take place at his house where the participants hope to summon the spirit of a Revolutionary War hero who’s buried in this cemetery. It’s said that on occasion this spirit tends to wander around Savannah and can be seen returning to his grave here before dawn. Kopeleski reportedly plans to summon the spirit and then follow it to the cemetery to document the story as true.”
Ghost Guy turned to Ry and clapped him on the shoulder. “Kopeleski lives just three doors to the east of you.”
Ry nodded.
“Perhaps if you go there he might be persuaded to allow you to participate.”
“That sounds fantastic,” Giselle said with excitement. “Revolutionary War hero, séance and cemetery. I could write a fabulous article with those elements. And I bet I could get some fantastic photos of the cemetery to go with the article.”
She had a brief fantasy vision of Willie giving her a raise.
“Whoa,” Ry interjected, popping her fantasy bubble. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We still have to approach this Kopeleski to see if he’ll allow us to participate,” Ry said. “Even if he does, I don’t think it’s a sure thing that he will be able to summon this war hero. And follow him here? Seems more than farfetched to me.”
Giselle stuck out her tongue in Ry’s pooh-poohing direction.
“I have a warning for you,” Ghost Guy said in an ominously serious monotone. “Don’t look into his windows as you approach the house.”
“Why? Does he have some sort of spell operating on the house that turns a person into a pillar of salt if they look inside?” Giselle asked.
“Close,” Ghost Guy said with a laugh. “Kopeleski’s an author on the occult. He likes to write his books at a table that sits near his front window with the curtains wide open.”
Ry and Giselle stared quizzically at Ghost Guy in confused silence.
“He always writes in the nude. I mean totally buck-naked nude. And it’s not a pretty sight. I mean really. Not!” Ghost Guy’s cheeks expanded and he brought one finger to puckered lips as if stifling nausea.
“I get what you mean.” Ry thrust out his arm and the two men clasped hands in a hearty handshake. “Thanks for the inf
ormation.”
“Anytime. Don’t be such a stranger, Ry.”
Ghost Guy turned to Giselle and winked. “And you. Don’t stick your head in any more toilets.”
“Yeah, thanks for the tip.”
* * *
The wizard Armand Kopeleski’s brick row house was located three doors from Ry’s home, just as Ghost Guy had said. Not much architectural detail on the three-story structure was visible in the darkness as she and Ry approached.
Giselle did notice that the windows of the parlor level, one floor up from the street, were without curtains and brightly lit. Trying to heed Ghost Guy’s warning, she jerked her gaze away and looked at Ry instead. She was still queasy from the toilet water. She didn’t need any more stomach-turning sights tonight.
Ry and Giselle reached the bottom of the stairs that led up to Kopeleski’s front door. They hesitated. Something in Giselle warned her not to go up there. It seemed Ry had the same instinct. An odd edginess filled the air.
“We could just go back to your hotel and have zee sex,” Ry joked in an unsuccessful attempt to break the strange tension.
Giselle gave it serious consideration. And not just for the usual reason—Ry was hot, after all—but she wouldn’t give up on her mission. Not yet anyway.
“No.” She shook her head. “We’ve got to do it.”
They trudged up the steps as if going to the guillotine. Wow, the farther up the stairs they got, the heavier the atmosphere. Maybe this guy had put some sort of spell on the house.
A bear’s head knocker, with a large open mouth, greeted them at the front door. Giselle glanced at Ry and saw him staring right back at her. He seemed, just as inexplicably, reluctant to put his hand inside the mouth of the bear to knock on the door as she was. Giselle opted for a fist-on-wood knock instead.
Almost instantaneously, the door swung open and there stood Armand Kopeleski. At least Giselle assumed the man—almost seven feet tall, standing stark naked before them in the open doorway—was Kopeleski. If there were two wizened old men exhibiting their nudeness around Savannah she didn’t want to see the other one. In fact, she wished she hadn’t seen this one.
“Help me out,” Giselle hissed at Ry. “I’m going blind here.”
“I wish I was,” he hissed back.
Giselle had a glimpse of wiry gray hair flying wildly around a face that had seen at least seventy years, judging by the wrinkles. Black eyes, almost obsidian with an unusual light in them, blazed out of a gaunt face.
Giselle didn’t know where to look. Look up? She couldn’t stare at his porch light all night. Look down? No, bad idea. Extremely bad idea. Eye contact. That was the ticket. Uuukkkk. No. Peripheral vision was a bitch.
“Ah, Ms. Hunter and Mr. Leland, I have been expecting you,” Kopeleski’s booming voice announced.
“You have? How do you know who I am?” She glanced toward Kopeleski’s face in surprise. Eeeewwww. Bad. Pesky peripheral vision again.
Kopeleski didn’t answer the question. “I cannot say that it is a pleasure to see you here.”
The lack of pleasure was completely mutual. The pleasure was lacking so much, it was off the scale in the anti-pleasure direction. Minus infinity on the scale, in fact. Giselle decided to stare at the spot above his head and squint.
“Did someone tell you we were coming here?” Ry asked.
Giselle could see him trying the squinting technique also.
“No. I have seen it. I have seen you arrive in Savannah, Ms. Hunter. I have seen your antics. I have seen your misguided efforts.”
“You’ve been watching me, following me around.” Giselle’s eyes zeroed in on Kopeleski’s face as outrage filled. Grrrrkkkkkk. Outrage took too much eye contact. She glanced right before going on. “That’s despicable. And it’s illegal.”
She turned to whisper to Ry, “Isn’t it?”
He shrugged.
Back to Kopeleski.
“Anyway it’s despicable,” she said while keeping her eyes on the wizard’s feet.
“No, no, you moronic little girl, I have seen with my third eye.” Kopeleski said, stamping one foot.
Surprised, she ignored the insult. “You have a third eye?” She had to risk a look at his face for this one. Nope, no third eye visible on his face.
“No, Ms. Hunter, my psychic eye, my sixth sense.”
“Oh, yes, I see.” Unfortunately she could see again. Major yuck. Maybe looking at his left ear would work. Ah good. Not enough peripheral vision here. Oops, he moved. Ewwww. Dammit.
“I don’t want to be a prude, and I know this is your home and all, and you’ve been so hospitable so far, but could you please put on some clothing. It’s very hard to carry on a conversation with you…your… It’s just hard. I mean not hard. Not that it’s soft. I mean it’s difficult…” Giselle gave up trying to make it better.
“Good job. No insult detectible there,” Ry whispered in her ear.
Kopeleski huffed. “Oh, the Anglo-Saxon, Christian puritanical mores that control the minds of the brainless masses in this country. The human body is natural. I am one with nature in this state. I am better able to contact and control the elements. It is ridiculous that little girls scream when they see the male form…”
Giselle could well imagine that his male form would elicit a scream. She’d come close to screaming at least twice since she’d arrived.
“Come in. Come in if you must.” Kopeleski stomped off, presumably to find something to put on. He walked right into her line of vision. The back view offered nothing better. Gravity had not been kind to the man.
Giselle and Ry stepped inside the house. The hall, open to a parlor, was like a theater set. Perhaps a gothic novel’s location. Intimidating stone gargoyles had been set into the pedestal of the columns supporting the archway into the room.
As they wandered into the parlor, Giselle registered the décor of reds and purples, with heavy brocades and velvet on the soft furnishings. The walls had been painted a deep magenta that had an almost-black appearance without the benefit of the daylight to bring out the true color. An imposing dark-mahogany mantel, with carved faces and figures, dominated the center of the room. A desk stood at the window. An ominous sideboard, seven feet tall and at least five feet wide, had been placed along one wall. Bookshelves stood on either side of the hearth. The room seemed crammed with every accoutrement of the magical and the metaphysical. Giselle looked around her, unable to take it all in. A skull, crystals, candles, Ouija board, tarot…the list went on.
Candles and chalk lay on a large round table positioned in the middle of the room with high-back, Sheridan-style, chairs encircling it. A dagger was positioned to the side of the tabletop, along with a one-inch-square metallic item and a ragged scrap of faded white cotton cloth.
Giselle went closer to take a look at the items. She picked up the scrap of cloth. It consisted of a square approximately six inches in width. It looked as if it had something resembling dried blood on a small part of the corner. She replaced it on the table. Giselle picked up the small metal item. It appeared to be some kind of military medal.
Seriously creeped out, she edged toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. This guy is freaky. You were right. We never should have come in here when we had that strange feeling outside. Let’s go back to my hotel.”
“Yeah, but not for ‘zee sex’. I may never have sex again.”
“I’m witcha on that one.”
Before they could leave, Kopeleski returned, sweeping into the room. Relief. Giselle saw that he had on a floor-length, red silk robe. Hallelujah, it was tied.
“Ms. Hunter, I have seen your antics in Denver and New Orleans and now in Savannah.”
“Seen, seen. Or seen, seen.”
Kopeleski glared at her.
“Okay, third eye thing again.”
“You disrupt metaphysical fields with your presence.”
“I do not!” No idea really.
“You cause chaos and destruction everywher
e you go,” droned Kopeleski.
“Gotta give him that one,” Ry whispered to her.
“Shush it.”
“I am a true ghost hunter,” he ranted. “You pretend abilities that you do not have. By your pretense you attempt to rival my mission. You pollute my efforts. You are an insult. You come here for an invitation that I include you in the ceremony we will conduct tonight? I laugh at your presumption. Ha. Ha.” He said it just that way. Ha. Ha. “I spit on you.” Kopeleski spat in her direction and Giselle moved to avoid the droplets of saliva flying her way.
Ugh. This guy had a way of grossing her out whether clothed or unclothed.
“You are a parasite,” he continued to rant. “It is no wonder that someone has attempted to kill you.”
“Hey, wait a minute. What do you know about that?” Giselle clenched her right hand into a fist and realized that she still held the metal object.
“And you,” Kopeleski turned on Ry. “You are nothing but a coward. You are to be pitied and despised.”
Ry bristled. “We’ll take that as a ‘no’ to the invitation. Let’s go, Giselle.”
Giselle panicked. Should she hand the metal piece back to Kopeleski? If she left with it in her hand she would be stealing it. “Don’t be so hasty, Ry. I’m sure the nice man didn’t mean to be impolite.”
“You contaminate my home. Get out,” Kopeleski shouted.
Dammit. No question about that one.
Ry grabbed Giselle’s fisted right hand. “Come on, Giselle. Let’s go.” He pulled her out of the parlor, through the hall and out the front door.
It was Saturday, 11:28 p.m. And, omigod, she was a thief.
A Girl, a Guy and a Ghost: Chapter Six
“Why didn’t you drop it on the floor before we left his house?” Ry continued to fume about the medal as he had done nonstop since they’d left Kopeleski’s. They sat on Ry’s front stoop. They’d been there for at least five minutes and he had not yet exhausted the subject.