Audrey Claire - Libby Grace 02 - How to Blackmail a Ghost

by Audrey Claire

  This was news. “But you’re a nurse.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll give it up to run a consignment shop?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She seemed reticent to tell me more, so I took a new tactic. “Is that why you were over near the hardware store?”

  Isabelle stopped walking to face me. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, Libby.”

  I held up my hands. “No, I’m not saying… I just wondered…” I fumbled for words, anything that could lower her suspicion and get her to confide in me. “I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re guilty at all. Please don’t think I mean that. It’s just that Ken said—”

  “What did Ken say?”

  I had no choice but to tell her about his indicating she had a secret. Isabelle’s mouth tightened for a moment. I continued, determined to obtain useful information since there was no turning back now.

  “I saw you the other night near the shop. You were carrying a large bag, and well, you looked around you as if you worried someone might see you. What were you doing?”

  Isabelle said nothing for a good minute, and I waited in silence, hoping to prod her without words. At last, she tilted her head to the side and swatted at me with one hand—a swat but no connection. “Don’t be silly, Libby. Now, if there’s nothing else, I really must be going. I have to pick up a few groceries before I go in for the night, and Clark’s dinner can’t be late, or he’ll be even grumpier than he usually is. Good night.”

  I opened my mouth to ask her to hold on, but she whisked away with a determined step and disappeared around a corner. Rather than run after her, demanding she answer my questions, I let her go. I was not a fool. Isabelle Givens knew more than she let on. I couldn’t say with confidence she had nothing to do with Sadie’s death and my blackmail letters, but if she were just scouting Sadie’s store that night and nothing else, she would have said so. More than ever, I wanted to find out the truth.

  Chapter Eleven

  Monica and I sat at my kitchen table, her drinking coffee as usual, and me with a cup of tea in front of me, more for comfort and a sense of normalcy than anything else. She chattered on about her day and the customers at Gatsky’s. I listened with half an ear, my thoughts on Isabelle. When Monica frowned at me, I snapped out of my reverie and tried to pay attention.

  “How are things with the new girl at the library?” I asked. “Is she catching on?”

  “To how monotonous it is? Yes.”

  “Monica.”

  She shrugged and chuckled. “Well, she’s already figured out she can do her nails and send out several emails via cell phone in the time it takes Jane to return from lunch.”

  “Probably more than that,” I said, commiserating.

  “Depends on her online social life.”

  I made a noise of agreement. “I talked to Isabelle today.”

  “So you did catch up to her?”

  I nodded and shared all that I had learned. Monica listened intently as she drained her cup.

  “I wonder what she thinks she’ll do with that shop, but I don’t blame her for wanting to let go of nursing—except for the money, of course. Customer service can pluck your last nerve, and if they’re sick on top of it, it’s the worse.”

  I shook my head. “Okay, Monica, you don’t want to be a nurse. Got it. Is Isabelle’s job change really the issue here? She’s hiding something. I just know it.”

  “And it has something to do with you.”

  I started, fear closing my throat. “Why would you say that?” My voice came out squeaky. Monica patted my hand and rose to wash both our cups.

  “You said yourself she was over near the shop.”

  “Mine isn’t the only one on Main Street.”

  “She’s got it out for you since you dumped her brother.”

  “I didn’t dump him, and there is no evidence that she ‘has it out’ for me. She didn’t seem angry at all. Distant, yes, but not angry.”

  Monica turned from the sink and leaned on it. “Okay, if Isabelle doesn’t have it out for you, then she’s still got something going on. Ken noticed it. You did too, and she laughed it off. When you saw her, she wasn’t in the same block as Sadie’s consignment shop. The only place open on that street that time of night is the pool hall. Gatsky’s was closed, and she never goes there anyway. Isabelle likes to cook at home for her and the chief.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And what was with that bag?”

  I thought back to it. “Yeah, when I mentioned it, she stiffened like she hoped I wouldn’t press.”

  “Maybe she had a dead body in it.”

  I laughed. “In a bag she had slung over her shoulder? It wasn’t that big.”

  “Cut up?”

  “Monica, you’re being silly.”

  “Okay, well I say follow her some more. She’s a slippery one, but she doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.” My friend winked at me. Only Monica could make my being a ghost an adventure.

  We chatted some more, and then Monica cried out, staring at something behind me. I turned to find Ian standing in the doorway of my kitchen. Monica pressed a hand to her chest, gasping.

  “I didn’t hear you come in. You were so quiet,” she complained. Then she squinted at him. “How did you get in?”

  Ian didn’t hesitate or flinch at the suspicion in Monica’s tone. “The door was unlocked.”

  I knew that was untrue, but I said nothing. In fact, I hadn’t stirred from the moment I laid eyes on his handsome face. I recalled the last time we were together and my realization, both of myself and of him. In a way, Ian had saved me more times than I could remember, and what I felt for him wasn’t gratitude. I knew the difference, just as I knew my affection for Clark—aside from him being a good man—stemmed from guilt.

  Ian had no business barging into my home unannounced, but then I blinked into his home on a regular basis. He had never asked me not to. I vowed at that moment to respect his privacy better.

  As I pondered my relationship with Ian, Monica glanced back and forth between us, and quirked the side of her mouth up. “Oh, I see.”

  Alarm rose in me. “It’s nothing, Monica.”

  A grin exploded over her face, and she turned her back to Ian to wink at me. “I will get out of your way.” I protested, but she leaned over to kiss my cheek and whispered, “I guess the chief never really had a chance, huh?”

  I grumbled, but she giggled and swept from the kitchen, calling out a “good night” as she left. I shook my head, not meeting Ian’s gaze.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He took a step into the kitchen, and I winked out of view. Although he knew where I hovered, I felt safer out of sight. At my change, Ian paused, and I felt his gaze burning into me. “I wanted to tell you what I learned,” he said, and after a beat continued. “I did not think you would come to my house.”

  He was right. I fully intended to avoid him for a while. I should have known Ian wouldn’t let our last visit lie.

  I faced him. “Tell me what?”

  “Sharon Roache is pregnant.”

  “H-How do you know?” I didn’t want to ask the question, but it bubbled up inside me and erupted on its own. “Is it yours?”

  “No. It is not.”

  I waited for more, like him saying Sharon having his child was impossible. I preferred the reason to be he had never had any contact with her. Not that I thought he did since Ian tended to stay to himself, but I knew very little about the man other than his name and that he drank blood. At the least, I expected him to inform me he could not produce children. I knew of several TV movies that broke this rule regarding vampires.

  I made myself visible and drew closer to him. He watched me with the same intensity he had the last time I’d visited him.

  “Ian, how do you know?”

  “I took a walk.”

  That was his way of telling me he went out to feed. He used the terminology to spare my feelings, which I f
ound interesting because he could be blunt. From the beginning, he never apologized for what he was, and he had even said so to me. He didn’t feel a need to explain away his existence or his activities. For him to behave almost gently with me, well, I couldn’t prevent my heart from responding. I should know better and suppress such warmth.

  “You ran into her?” I asked.

  “I did.”

  “And you sensed it?”

  He shifted where he stood, and I concluded it was the extent of Ian showing discomfort with the topic. On my behalf, not his. “I…tasted it.”

  I cringed. I didn’t want to know what a pregnant woman’s blood tasted like. For that matter, I had no interest in anyone else’s. Just the thought made me want to change the subject, but if Sharon was pregnant, what did that mean for the investigation? I forced myself to calm down and think rationally. Was Ian right? He could notice the presence of certain hormones in her blood. Maybe not what they were but that they were.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I am.”

  “Ian, tell me you stopped when you realized. You didn’t drink her blood, did you?”

  He appeared offended. “I do not drink from pregnant women. The taste is not to my preference.”

  “Of course that’s why,” I said with a sarcastic edge to my tone I had stolen from Monica.

  He blinked at me unconcerned, and I began to pace the kitchen. To my knowledge no rumors had spread about Sharon seeing anyone. Dating and the state of marriages were the fastest-spreading gossip in town, so I assumed Sharon hid the details of her private life. I didn’t blame her, but I wanted to know if it had anything at all to do with Sadie’s death. I doubted Sadie ran behind the mayor to inform her of her secretary’s health. Still, one never knew.

  “I’m going to talk to her again,” I announced. My words died away when Ian’s hand brushed my hair. I couldn’t feel it on a physical level, but I knew he touched me, and I turned to face him. His hand slid from my hair to my cheek. He cupped it and then raised my chin. I darted backward out of reach. “Ian, there’s no future for us.”

  “You will find your body. I have said I will help you.”

  “I know, but to tell the truth it feels hopeless. I’ve been thinking lately I should go away. Like you said, I can’t keep using Monica and keeping her life on hold. It’s not fair to her, and if I’m going to pass away, it might be better for Jake to face it now rather than later.”

  None of what I said made sense. I panicked. Ian approached me. I started to back away, but he spoke in a soft yet commanding voice. “Stay. I will not touch you.”

  “Ian.” I swallowed and forced myself to look into his eyes. “It’s not fair to you either. I don’t know much about your kind, but you have emotions. You…l-love.”

  “Our humanity slips over time when we turn. We can try to hold onto as much of it as we like. That is easier when we spend time with humans.”

  “I don’t think I count.”

  “You do.”

  We stood there in silence for a while, neither of us speaking. Then Ian seemed to come to a decision. “I will tell you more about myself. Will you listen?”

  “Yes, definitely.”

  He hesitated. “Another night.”

  I sighed. “Okay, but promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  He raised a hand as if he would touch my face again, but he paused with it inches away from my cheek. Then, one second he stood before me, and the next he was gone. I didn’t know what to expect when we talked, but I both looked forward to it and dreaded learning more about him.

  Chapter Twelve

  In the early evening the next day, I decided to return to the hardware store to do a little inventory. Rather than willing myself there, I had taken the long route and walked on the street. I imagined a cool breeze blew, and I heard night birds tweeting in the trees. Fellow citizens returning home from work or heading out for the evening greeted me, and I offered a bright smile and friendly hello in reply. My experiences up until that point seemed unreal. Here I was a ghost, strolling along as if I lived, and no one was the wiser. At least no one but my blackmailer.

  I feared this person and having them uncover my secret before I decided when I would go away. After Ian left my house, I had thought more on my decision. While I welcomed getting to know him better, I stood firm by my belief that his life too was affected by my presence. He liked solitude and quiet. Yet, I had called upon him to erase memories and investigate alongside me. I stopped walking. For anyone else, what I had asked Ian to do might actually be considered an adventure—well, if they had his glamouring ability of course. If Ian weren’t a recluse, he might have enjoyed himself.

  Continuing my journey to work, I turned my thoughts to Sharon Roache. The secretary might have killed Sadie to keep her secret. I frowned. That seemed extreme though. Many unmarried women got pregnant out of wedlock. Even in the south, it wasn’t the stigma it once was. Sure, some old fogies might look at Sharon funny, Sadie Barnett included while she lived, but who cared? Sharon didn’t strike me as the type of woman who could deal with Olivia Walsh’s icy tongue and cow at Sadie’s.

  As I turned onto Main Street, I directed my attention outward and was surprised to find the object of my musings just ahead of me. No better time than the present to talk to Sharon again. I quickened my pace to draw up beside her and pasted a huge smile on my face. “Sharon, I hear congratulations are in order.”

  She blinked at me, confused. “What are you talking about?”

  I pointed at her belly, still grinning as if her news were the talk of the town. “Your baby, of course. I always loved little ones and wished I’d had more. It’s wonderful when I hear about new mothers, so I wanted to say congratulations. When are you due?”

  Instead of the happy or at least accepting response I expected, shock registered on Sharon’s face, and she shifted from one foot to the other. Her gaze skidded past my shoulder, almost hopeful. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

  I couldn’t tell her how I had found out, so I headed off any questions with, “Oh, everyone knows. It’s all over town. You know how these things spread.”

  My claim would not turn back on me. I had found gossipers pretended to already know the juicy news that other gossipers tried to share with them. No one wanted to admit to being the last in the loop.

  Sharon clenched her hands at her sides, and the handbag she’d held on her shoulder slipped off. I reached out to help her since it seemed obvious my knowing about her condition had upset her.

  “I’m sorry. I thought it was joyous news for you. Let me help you with that bag.”

  A heavy hand on my shoulder jerked me backward. “Don’t touch her! I don’t know what you would do to her.”

  I gaped at Bart, who came up behind me and walked around to stand next to Sharon. When had I become the walking plague? His words hurt my feelings as they closely matched Isabelle’s when she warned her brother away from me.

  “I was just telling her—”

  “It’s not your business,” he snapped.

  I gasped and looked from Sharon to Bart and back again. Her cheeks flamed red, and she wouldn’t meet my gaze. Bart glared daggers at me. “You’re the father, aren’t you?”

  “Just stay away from Sharon.” He loomed over me, angry and threatening.

  I held my ground, determined not to be cowed by this man, even though I felt like going invisible and whisking away as quickly as my ectoplasmic energy would allow. “I don’t know why you have such a short fuse lately. Others have even commented on it, but I refuse to be take the brunt of it.”

  “Who have you been talking to about me?”

  Too late, I recalled where I had heard others talking about his anger. I couldn’t tell him I had been listening in at the pool hall. “That doesn’t matter.”

  Bart advanced closer, and I continued to back up. Sharon grabbed his arm to pull him back. “Stop it, Bart. Leave her alone.”

  Bart shook Sharon’s ha
nd off and advanced on me. I started to think he would attack and weighed my options. I couldn’t disappear right there in front of the gathering crowd, nor could I let him hit me. Would he stoop so low, a man of the law and up until recently a good person? I did not want to find out.

  Before I could make a decision either way, Ian appeared out of nowhere and hoisted Bart off his feet to dangle in the air by one hand. A collective gasp rose in the air from the crowd, including mine.

  Ian thrust the officer against the wall, hard enough for Bart to cry out. Bart struggled to free himself, grasping at Ian’s hand, punching at Ian’s side without effect. I stood there staring with everyone else, my mouth hanging open. The next instant, Clark pushed through the onlookers.

  “What’s going on here?” Clark demanded. When he spotted Ian and Bart, his eyes narrowed. “Put my officer down, Mr. McClain.”

  Ian didn’t acknowledge Clark’s presence. His gaze never left Bart’s, but I had the feeling Ian did nothing to Bart’s mind. Ian stood calm and quiet, but I somehow knew he was angry.

  “I said…” Clark began and reached out to grab Ian’s arm. Instinct told me I couldn’t let Clark make contact. I wrapped fingers around Clark’s forearm, tugged, and shuffled in front of him. He saw it was me and seemed to question my involvement. At his momentary hesitation, I grabbed Ian’s arm and pulled as I had done with Clark. I might as well have been dragging on a band of steel for all the movement I produced in Ian.

  I leaned in closer to him and whispered, “Please, Ian. Put him down.”

  Ian came to life. He let Bart down to the ground, and Bart shook himself as if he had wrenched himself free of Ian’s hold. His face flamed red, and speculation spread through the onlookers as to whether Ian would be arrested for assaulting a police officer. I whirled to face Clark.

  “Don’t arrest him, Clark, please. He was just defending me. He meant no harm.”