by Ann Charles
“Correct. I’m going to talk to your boss later tonight when she is usually most active. I’ll expect you here to join me after the sun sets.”
What? No. It was Sunday. “It’s a school night.”
“True. We’ll be learning about your boss’s experiences post mortem.”
“I’m not talking about ghost school, Cornelius. I like to be home on Sunday nights with my kids to get them ready for another week in the classroom.” It was one of the few ordinary tasks left in my life. I wasn’t willing to give it up tonight to chat with a ghost, not even Jane.
“Then we’ll wait for your offspring to retire for the evening. Will ten-oh-seven work? I’ll make sure the mics are still functioning. Your boss likes to play tricks on me.”
“Her name is Jane, remember?” Hold on a second. “Are you talking about EVP mics that pick up electromagnetic activity?”
Natalie’s gaze bounced between us. “Is that like ghost airwaves?”
I nodded. “Or are these microphones you planted able to pick up live human voices?”
“Both.”
My gaze narrowed. “And they are working already?”
He tapped his ear, the wire below it jiggling. “I have been up most of the night making certain of that.”
That explained the earphones. “You’re kidding me.” I exchanged frowns with Natalie. “Have you been listening all morning?”
“More or less. I dozed off a few times in between your monologues.” He stroked his goatee. “Being an Executioner explains the dark clouds I often see swirling in your aura.”
“Dammit, Cornelius!” Now I had to add his name to the list of those who knew the truth about me. I stood and strode over to Jerry’s desk, leaning over him and his bright orange hat. “Those were private conversations.” Especially the one that involved my talking to a ghost about Doc and Slagton—and the Natalie and Cooper song-and-dance. “You better not have recorded anything I said while you were eavesdropping.”
“Nothing was recorded,” he assured me, clasping his hands together on the desktop. “As I said, I was only partially listening while I was awake. Rewiring a condenser microphone requires considerable concentration, you know.”
No, I didn’t. I jabbed my pinkie toward his face. “Promise me you’ll keep your lips sealed about what you heard.”
He looked cross-eyed down at my pinkie, one black brow rising. “Why are you pointing your smallest digit at me?”
I lifted one of his hands and wrapped my pinkie finger around his. “Pinky promise me you’ll keep your lips closed about what you heard.”
His forehead creased. “Is this another mating ritual?”
Natalie laughed.
“It’s called a pinkie promise.”
“The entwined digits represent what?” His cornflower blue eyes met mine. “Will you remove my digit if I speak about what I’ve overheard?”
Jiminy Cricket! Did he seriously believe I would … “Yes,” I said. “If you spill one word, I will chop off your finger and add it to my collection of pickled pinkie fingers.”
He didn’t even crack a smile. “And how will I win your ‘pinkie finger’ in this agreement?”
I sputtered, looking over at Natalie.
“If Violet and I don’t show up here tonight for your recording session,” she said, “Violet will forfeit her pinkie finger.”
I gaped at her. “Really?”
She shrugged in response, a grin shadowing the corners of her lips. “Pinkies are a serious wager.”
“Good.” Cornelius tightened his pinkie around mine. “It’s a deal.”
I pulled my finger free, wondering how Doc was going to feel about talking to Jane tonight. “What exactly did you hear, Cornelius?” Besides the bit about me being an Executioner.
He pulled out a small recording-looking device from his robe pocket, clicking it off. “First, I need to inform you that Jane didn’t respond to you, but I believe reaching out this evening will have more encouraging results with the help of your Tall Oracle.”
Fudge-a-matic. He’d heard my whole conversation with Jane about Slagton, Doc, Mr. Black, and everything in between.
To Natalie, he said, “Second, I may not have a wide range of experience with live humans, but I have learned that you cannot fix people, only yourself. That being said, the detective isn’t broken. He merely becomes cranky when forced to bend.”
And now Cornelius knew about that mess. If Cooper found out that Cornelius was aware of his feelings for Natalie, he was going to drag me out to Slagton, tie me to the porch post next to that dead thing’s carcass, and leave me for the hunters to gut and eat.
“Do you have any other nuggets of wisdom to share?” I asked, sarcasm dripping. We might as well know the full extent of verbal leakage we’d suffered.
Cornelius’s black brows wrinkled, his expression thoughtful. “Yes, I do. I have to agree with Violet.” He stuffed his recorder back in his robe pocket, and then gave Natalie one of his crooked smiles. “When you proposition the detective, try using more traditional methods to elicit a gentlemanly response. It has been proven via several university studies that many male humans, especially those over the age of thirty, enjoy a less vulgar style of flirting before mating.”
I cringed. Were we really having this discussion with Cornelius? “Thank you for your insight, Professor Curion, doctor of love. I propose we change the subject now to something that won’t get me thrown in jail if Cooper finds out we were discussing his sex life.”
Natalie silenced me with her hand. “Give me an example of an old-fashioned proposition, Cornelius.”
“I’ve always found the offer to ‘take a stroll down Petticoat Lane’ with a pretty lady quite titillating. I believe that phrase was used more widely in the early nineteenth century.”
“Coop’s not exactly old fashioned,” Natalie said, her mouth pursed. “What if he doesn’t know what ‘Petticoat Lane’ refers to?”
“I suppose you could then offer to let him play in your Field of Dreams. That expression conjures many romantic notions, incorporating naked flesh and wild flowers.” Cornelius stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for tonight.” He looked at me. “Where do you keep your crowbar?”
Back in Slagton, where I liked to kill hunters from other realms.
“Why do you need a crowbar?” I asked.
“There is a jammed door between me and a particular Hellhole that you and I must explore further.”
Chapter Ten
I was going to throw Cornelius down the Hellhole.
“I’m telling you, this damned door isn’t going to budge unless Jane wants it to,” I said to Natalie, handing her the crowbar.
“Tell him that, not me.” She stepped forward to try her hand at it.
I looked up at the video camera Cornelius had installed in one of the corners of Jerry’s office. “Did you hear what I just said through your fancy microphone?”
My cell phone chirped. I grabbed it from the top of the filing cabinet and frowned at the words on the screen.
“Who’s that?” Natalie asked, wedging the pry end of the crowbar into the jamb next to the doorknob.
“Cornelius.”
She pushed on the bar. “What did he say?”
“That the microphone in this office is a state-of-the-art parabolic unit able to hear voices up to 300 feet away.” My phone chirped again. “And that I need to stop mumbling and speak more clearly when I’m talking to him.”
Natalie chuckled, stretching her neck from side to side.
I walked over to the camera and gave Cornelius a closeup of both middle fingers.
Natalie’s phone pinged. She left the bar jammed in the door crease and pulled her cell phone from her overalls, her grin spreading. “He wants to know if you are offering both of your middle fingers in addition to your pinkie in your deal.”
Grumbling with more clarity, I strode back to where Natalie stood. She grunted and pushed on the bar, trying to pop ope
n the closet door that had somehow sealed shut after that first descent through a hole in the floor leading to the musty cellar.
We’d discovered what Cornelius liked to call a “Hellhole” on that trip. Soon after, he’d recorded a screech that he believed was coming from the grate-covered hole. Next thing I heard, the closet door had somehow become stuck closed, refusing to budge.
“It’s like someone glued it shut,” Natalie said, moving to the other side of the crowbar and tugging on it.
“We need some dynamite or TNT.”
Natalie’s phone pinged.
“And where are you going to find dynamite, Wile E. Coyote?” She wiped her hands on her overalls and pulled out her phone again. “Are you going to order it online from the Acme Corporation?”
“Maybe I will, just to show you up, toots.” I pointed at her phone. “What does Deadwood’s great and powerful Oz have to say?”
She read from her phone: “ ‘Dynamite has a typical maximum shelf life of a year, after which it sweats nitroglycerin and becomes unstable. Trinitrotoluene, aka TNT, has a lower energy density and convenient handling properties.’ “ She lowered her phone. “Cornelius recommends neither.”
Jerry’s office door swung open. I looked over, expecting to see Cornelius in his robe. The sight of Mona in a black knit sweater and a rose-colored cashmere scarf that matched her lips made me do a double take.
Her gaze moved from me to Natalie, who was still trying to jimmy the door. Her auburn eyebrows arched. “Doing a little breaking and entering, are we?”
Shoot! I thought Mona would be gone for another hour or two. I frowned over at Natalie. She cringed.
“We are … uh …” My mind was a desert wasteland, not a lie to be found. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
She crossed her arms, leaning against the jamb. The sweet scent of her favorite jasmine perfume wafted into the room. “You mean you’re not trying to get that door open so you can sneak into the cellar?”
My jaw unhinged. I thought Cornelius and I were the only two who knew about the hole in the closet floor. Well, besides Doc and Nat, and Jerry. And Aunt Zoe. And maybe Cooper. “You know about that?”
“Of course. I’ve worked here long enough to know all about this building’s hidden secrets.”
“What other secrets does it have?” Did she know about the Hellhole?
She smiled. “Besides an interesting history including a murder, a bootlegger, and two suspicious fires, I suppose the ghost who haunts it is worth mentioning.”
“Ghost?” Natalie and I said together.
“Yes, ghost. Isn’t that the reason Cornelius Curion is staying in the upstairs apartment?”
“Oh, yeah.” Jerry had informed all of us early on so we wouldn’t be surprised by Cornelius’s appearance throughout the day. “That ghost.”
She must be thinking of the one that resided in the building when I’d first started working at Calamity Jane Realty. The one that had kept Doc from stepping over the threshold some days in an effort to avoid its ectoplasmic hug. I’d often wondered where that ghost had gone, because ever since Jane had returned to haunt the place, Doc hadn’t sensed it. Had Jane shooed it away, or had she somehow locked it up somewhere? Was that what Cornelius had heard shrieking from the basement that night on his EVP recorder? Was that why Jane had blocked off access to the Hellhole?
Natalie pulled the crowbar free and wedged it into the crease between the door and jamb a few inches further down, closer to the hinge.
“You know,” Mona said to her, “unless you have some C-4 hidden in your overalls, you’re not going to get that door open.”
I looked up at the video camera. “See! We need TNT.” I glanced at Mona. “Do you know anyone on the bomb squad? I don’t think I should put in the request for it given my reputation at the police and fire stations.”
She laughed. “You’re funny.”
I was sort of serious.
“If you two want to go down in the cellar,” Mona continued. “You’re going to need to convince Jane to open the door first.”
Skirrrrchhhh.
Natalie stopped working the crowbar, her brow creeping upward.
Had Mona just referred to Jane?
“Come again,” I said when my brain picked itself up off the floor.
“Jane Grimes, our deceased boss. The one with whom Cornelius is here to make contact.” Her gaze held mine, clear and steady. “Rather, her ghost.”
“You know about Jane’s ghost?”
“Sure.”
“For how long?”
She picked some lint off her sweater sleeve. “I had my suspicions a week or so after her funeral when Jerry set up shop in here. I’d come into the office in the morning and things would be moved around on my desk. The placement reminded me of how Jane preferred our desks be set for client visits.”
That was the same thing that had happened to Jerry, only on a much larger scale. Multiple instances of furniture moving around on its own in his office were what had spurred him to reach out to Cornelius.
“I didn’t think too much of it at first due to our regular ghost. Usually, though, that ghost kept to itself.”
“But Jane’s ghost is more active?” I lowered myself onto the corner of Jerry’s desk, still reeling from the fact that Mona had known about Jane’s ghost all along. What else did she know?
“Much more. Especially since Jerry and I … “ She grimaced, looking at his desk.
“Kissed?” I finished.
Her face reddened, her eyes shifting to Natalie. “It was only a friendly kiss.”
Really? Because it looked more like a back-bending, hot and steamy lip-lock when I caught them in here.
Natalie’s grin had a teasing tilt to it. “Tell me something, Mona. Does Jerry kiss as well as he plays basketball?”
Mona sputtered, her neck turning the same shade as her cheeks.
“I mean,” Natalie continued, her eyes twinkling, “does he slam dunk when he gets in close? Live up to his old ‘Slammer’ nickname? Or does he use more finesse these days when taking it to the hole?”
“Natalie!” Mona chastised, but her smile lit her face for a second before she dimmed it down. “I have no idea to what you’re referring.”
I pshawed her. “We have eyes, Mona. We’ve seen the way you sneak glances at him when you think he’s not looking.”
“Shhh,” she said, pointing at the ceiling.
“Cornelius isn’t up there. He’s over in Doc’s office.” And probably eavesdropping, to boot.
“I mean Jane,” she whispered. “It was after we kissed in here that she really started messing up Jerry’s office.”
I hadn’t put that together before now. “You think she is jealous?”
Mona winced. “I hope not, but the two coincide enough to make me wonder.”
“Is that why you’ve cooled toward Jerry?”
She toyed with the ends of her scarf, lowering her gaze. “Mostly.”
“There’s another reason?” I pressed.
“Yes, but this is not the place to discuss that.”
Did she mean it wasn’t the place because of Jane possibly listening? Or Natalie? Or was there another reason?
Natalie’s phone pinged. She looked down at the screen. “Cornelius wants you to ask Mona to join us tonight.”
I shook my head, pinching my lips tight. Mona didn’t know the truth about me. If she sat in when we tried to talk to Jane, there’d be no hiding my other job.
Or Doc’s.
As it was, I doubted Doc would appreciate my dragging him here tonight with his bruised ribs. Would he think I was using him for his ability to “see” after Mr. Black’s revelation? Was I?
“Join you in doing what?” Mona asked, looking from Natalie to me.
“We’re going to have a little … um … party,” I said, cursing Cornelius for putting me in a tough spot. I didn’t want to lie to Mona, but the truth had a lot of potholes.
“A party in the off
ice?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Not really a party-party. More like a huddle.”
“Round-robin fits even better for it,” Natalie said.
“There will only be a handful of us.”
Mona’s eyebrow arched. “Like who?”
“Nat and me, of course.”
“And Cornelius,” Natalie added.
“What about Doc?” Mona asked.
“Probably.” I tried to play it cool, my expression schooled. “He’ll want to ensure I make it home safely on the snowy roads.”
“Anyone else?” she pressed.
Besides Jane’s ghost? “Probably not.”
Another ping came from Natalie’s phone. “Uh, Vi?”
“Not now, Nat,” I said, figuring Cornelius wanted to argue his case for inviting Mona. Tonight’s list of attendees wasn’t up for discussion.
“I think you might want to read this, though.”
“Tell Cornelius—”
“It’s not Cornelius.” Natalie handed me her phone.
Harvey’s name was at the top of the screen: Tell Sparky we got us a fox in the henhouse.
Where are you? I wrote. Why was he texting Natalie instead of me?
Next door watching you on the boob tube.
I looked up at the camera. What was Harvey doing at Doc’s? And what fox? Was he talking about Cornelius?
“We know about Cornelius,” I told the camera.
The phone in my hand pinged. Do you know about your sister?
My sister? The Bitch from Hell? Red flashed behind my eyes at just the thought of Susan and the many wounds her claws and sharp teeth had caused since we were kids. From burning my favorite teddy bears to seducing my boyfriends, my half-sister had been doing her best for over three decades to steal anything that was mine and stomp on it with her spiky heels.
What about Satan’s bride? I typed.
She’s in town.
Damn it! I’d rather face off with another one of those mutant griffins. I tried to decide if I had any give-a-shit left to deal with Susan right now.
I wrote my reply while snarling: As long as she stays away from me, I couldn’t care less.