"You've been spending a lot of time with him," she says.
I nod, but I'm confused. I had two dinner dates with him this week, but our other hangouts were later in the evening, well after dinner, which Enzo usually has at Ma and Pop's. "Yeah, but you're acting like you don't see him. Doesn't he still eat over every night?"
"Not lately. He didn't show up for spaghetti last night."
I open my mouth to make some sexual comment about him and Carly, but I remember these are my parents. I can discuss anything with them except sex. I don't know what it is. My folks are awesome, but put a bird and a bee in the conversation, and I'm outta here. I had no problem when Ma told me about periods and lady parts, but I wouldn't listen to how babies were made or how to save myself for marriage.
Obviously none of the Mancini children have listened to the last part of that, although I'm pretty sure Pop still thinks I'm a virgin. Izzie had to tell me about sex, and by time she sat me down, I already knew. The internet has information on virtually everything.
"Well?" Ma asks with impatience in her tone.
I also think of what Izzie said about Carly. I don't know how my parents feel about her, and I don't want them worrying. "Um, he's fine. Works hard. Looks healthy. Too damn suspicious for me to scare."
She smiles, obviously pleased with my answer. She kisses my cheek. "Have a good day, dear."
After she gives Pop a peck on the mouth and leaves through the kitchen, Pop looks to me and says, "You'll find the opportunity to get him. He can't be on guard all the time."
Pop's wisdom is the best.
* * *
I get off work, go upstairs, shower, and have another few moments with the Cap'n. With a belly full of peanut-butter-nugget goodness, I head out and drive several blocks over to the police station. It's situated behind Town Hall and on the back side of the seedy part of town. The visitor parking area is small and not too far from the main doors. I park at the back of the lot, by a street lamp, and wait. Enzo should be off soon, and I want to catch him before his big date with my boyfriend.
I grab my cell to pass the time with a riveting game of Word Womp. I love those little gophers. But my charge is down to thirty-eight percent, and I'd rather not kill my battery. So I toss it back into my bag and look at the radio. I don't have that much gas, and since money is low, I shouldn't waste it jamming to tunes. I also don't want to strain that battery either. My Kia isn't as young as she used to be, and I can't afford car parts.
I blow a raspberry in the air. How else can I pass the time? I open my glove compartment, but other than making art on napkins with packets of ketchup, I just have to sit here and entertain myself.
A line from "Do Re Mi" plays in my mind. My windows are up, so this is as good a time for singing at the top of my lungs as ever there has been. After two rounds of a needle pulling thread, I decide to switch the song. "Do You Want To Build a Snowman" comes to mind, but while young Anna is utterly adorable, the song is sad and makes me want to throat punch the Frozen parents. When I have kids, if my daughter can freeze things with one touch, I won't lock her up in her room. I'll get her help. And move to Antarctica. Or whatever parts of the world are still cold despite global warming.
Another fifteen minutes go by, and my throat is getting hoarse, and my toes are forming into icicles. I always thought global warming meant it would get warmer, not that Mother Nature was on crack. Whatever. I prefer the cold over the heat anyway. But I'm not ready for this quick of a shift from fall to winter. My cell says it's two minutes after five. What's taking my brother so long?
I open my door and step outside. Yeah, there's a slight breeze out here, but at least I can stomp around and try to keep warm. And I do just that. I stomp in a circle, as if I'm doing a rain dance.
A white sedan pulls in and parks up front. A woman and little boy get out. She stares at me while pulling open the door. It's a good thing I don't mind looking foolish. I'd fail miserably if I did.
I step on a rock bigger than a pebble but smaller than a breadbox and wince. Guess these boots aren't that great after all if I felt it through the sole. That's what I get for thinking I could save some by going to Payless. I know better. I kick the rock and watch it roll several inches away, into a small pile of foil wrappers. The kind from sticks of gum. A quick glance around to many other wrappers tells me that someone has an oral fixation and loves their Juicy Fruit or Wrigley's. I sometimes wonder if I have an oral fixation too. But I don't think pizza and Good Humor Strawberry Shortcake Bars qualify. And let's not forget sandwiches.
A dark blue pickup truck pulls in but parks over near a patrol car. The door opens, and Detective Kevin Burton gets out. Ugh, of all people I have to see today. He walks to the station and spots me about midway.
I stop my dance and consider jumping back into my car, but I don't want to look like a coward. I never want to give this jerkwad the impression he can rattle me. Once I do, he'll believe he's won our little war.
Last time he and I were face-to-face, he shoved me against the wall in my apartment and wrapped a hand around my throat. Then my super, mega-awesome ghostly friends scared the crap out of him. He ran out of my place with a scream I wish I had recorded for posterity.
He stops walking and just stands there for a second.
Please, don't come over here. Don't come over here.
Just then Enzo, my brother, my bro, my knight in shining armor, exists the station and notices both of us. He passes Kevin. They don't speak. Their dislike for one another is almost as thick as the hatred I have for Kevin.
Enzo crosses the parking lot to me, and Kevin finally goes inside.
I wrap my arms around myself and smile. "Thank you for coming out before he came over."
"I don't think he would have. Ever since that night at your place, he hasn't been as cocky as before. Not just with me but the other detectives too. I heard a couple of them talking about it. They think there are problems at home with his wife."
I roll my eyes. "You had to bring her up, huh?" Hilary is the second person I dislike most.
"Sorry. Why are you here? You know I have plans tonight."
I smirk. "I'm aware of your date. Are you meeting up, or is he picking you up?"
"Ha-ha, very funny. So what's going on? It's cold out here."
"Tell me about it. Okay, so first, Ma misses you. She wants you to continue stopping at her house every night and mooching dinner." I chuckle.
He stands there unaffected, obviously not finding me nearly as hilarious as I do.
"Second, have you heard anything else about the explosion?"
He shrugs. "Nothing more than I already mentioned. Why?"
"I met the fiancée the other night. She was rightfully inconsolable. I just thought some information might help her get through this."
He raises a brow. "Are you a grief counselor now?"
Hmm, counselor or a therapist. Would I be good at those jobs?
Ever since I returned home last month, I've been extremely aware of how lacking I am in the career department. Not that I need one, I guess. Izzie doesn't have one. She never wanted one. Her dreams were to get married and raise a family. She's doing that. Enzo loves being a cop. Ma and Pop run their own business, and even Julian is happy breaking the law and recreating crime scenes. Okay, in all fairness, helping his boss's clients sounds like a nice gig, if you forget about the illegal stuff.
So, will I be content just working at the deli? Probably not. But I'm also not in a rush to find something else.
"Is that all?" Enzo impatiently asks, sounding a bit like Ma.
Geesh, where's the fire? Does he need time to go home and beautify himself? I start to ask but figure I've made enough jabs at him tonight.
"That's it. But someone should clean up around here. It's a pigsty." I point to the gum wrappers.
"Have a good night, sis," he says before walking off to his Jeep.
You mean, have a boring night.
I get back into my car, turn it on, a
nd crank up the heat. On my way home, I drive to Deborah's house. I don't know why. I doubt I'll see anything worth seeing, but it feels right. I park in front of the house before hers but don't turn the car off. I won't be here long.
A light is on in the front room to the right. Does she live alone? How does she feel about her father? Uh, Gianna, you're talking to yourself again. If I don't make a friend soon, I need to find a hobby.
I put the car in drive and start to take my foot off the brake.
"Why are you here?" asks a deep voice behind me.
I jump and nearly drive onto the sidewalk. I glance in my rearview mirror, and seated in my backseat is Freezer Dude.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I turn at Deborah's corner and drive. I have no idea where I'm going. I'm barely paying attention to the stop signs and lights, let alone my location. I'm way too busy keeping my gaze between the road and the master of creepiness in my backseat. I just couldn't stay by his daughter's house, in the middle of a strange, dark street. I want to be near people and light, even if no one can see my passenger.
Goose bumps have taken permanent residence on my arms and along the back of my neck. I've never been afraid of ghosts in the past, but this one definitely knows how to chill a person through and through. Problem is, most ghosts don't have beefs with me. They are either confused and don't know they're dead, or maybe they do but haven't gotten around to moving on yet. Then there are the ones that need some help before passing. Like Thomas Sterling.
The common denominator with all of them is that I'm just a mediator. With Freezer…uh, Mitchell Young, though, we have a past relationship. That makes this a bit more personal. Plus, those eyes are just terrifying.
"What do you want?" I ask him.
"I want to know why you were at that house." He suddenly disappears.
Oh my God, is he gone?
He reappears beside me, in my passenger seat.
Damn.
"Well?" he asks. "Do you know the woman who lives there?"
"You mean your daughter, Deborah?" There's no sense in playing coy. "No, I don't know her."
He narrows his gaze. "Then how do you know her name?"
"Google." I turn onto States Avenue and then realize he's frowning. "Oh yeah, you don't know about the internet, huh? Well, I'd explain it all, but I'd rather hear about why you're here. And no, I don't mean in my car. Why did you come back over from the other side?"
He smirks. "I wasn't ready to die. Why shouldn't I come back?"
That makes sense, but most people don't have the choice. What makes him so special?
"When you died but didn't cross over, I knew I would find a way home," he says.
He's been waiting and scheming all of this time? That's so determined and creepy. A healthy dose of fear settles in my chest. I spot lit-up stores a couple of blocks ahead and drive toward them.
"That was eighteen years ago." My voice shakes, and I pray he doesn't notice. I don't want him to know I'm scared. The tough girl act usually keeps people on their toes.
"I didn't know that much time had gone by until I was on this side." His tone sounds sullen.
"Were you hoping to find your daughter still as a child, to reconnect with her?"
He doesn't respond.
That must mean I'm right. And it's such a sweet move, or it would be if he wasn't dead.
"So now what? She can't see you. You can't do much. Why not just move on?"
His face scrunches up into an angry scowl. "Because I'm not done. My life was stolen from me, and that's not fair."
I stop at a traffic light. "Life isn't fair, buddy. Do you think I want to be able to see ghosts? That talking to the dead is fun for me? I would love to be normal."
Okay, so that's a lie, but no one ever said the rules include telling ghosts the truth. Sure, normal is great. It's normal. And seeing ghosts has its drawbacks, especially when they're ex-cons. But I like being able to help some of them move on. Maybe I should consider being a counselor. Then I'd get paid for helping people. And maybe I could afford boots from a slightly more expensive store, like Marshall's, instead.
The light changes, and I drive down the next block. "What's your plan now?"
"Does it matter? You have no say in what I do or if I stay."
A car darts out of the shopping center, and I almost have to slam on my brakes.
"Watch where you're going, buddy," I shout.
Mitchell snickers. Ugh, calling him by an actual name is weird, and it makes him feel human. Not only is that no longer the case, technically, he's too creepy. Freezer Dude suits him better.
"At least I know I can't die if you crash. Women drivers still suck no matter what decade," he says.
I scoff. "Screw you. At least I can eat hot dogs and…and have sex."
I immediately hear the connection of the two and realize my mind's in the gutter. I shake the thoughts away and focus on what he could possibly want. What all ghosts want. "Would you like me to give a message to your daughter?"
"Is that what you think? That I'll peacefully cross over as soon as you tell Debbie I love her? Do you think I'm that pathetic?"
Well, since he's asking.
I make a right turn into the strip mall and realize it's the one next to Izzie's doctor. I must've driven here on subconscious autopilot. I pull into a spot, put the car in park, and turn off the engine. Enough of the stores are still open that if I need, I can run inside and get help. That doesn't make complete sense. How can a regular person help me with a ghost? But the thought makes me feel safer.
"Then what? You're just going to hang around her place until she grows old and dies?" I don't like being crude with the dearly and nearly departed. It makes me sad to know they'll never hug their loved ones or eat Fettuccini Alfredo again. But this guy is neither dear nor near, so I don't mind adjusting my attitude.
He looks out the windshield and seems to be lost in thought.
There are a dozen or so cars in the parking lot. A car pulls in beside mine, and a woman with a teen boy get out. They head to CVS. As they reach the door, a man opens it from the inside and lets them enter before he walks out. He holds a small bag, the size that only a greeting card fits in. It must be someone's birthday or anniversary.
I'm so lost in watching the Card Guy that I don't notice Freezer Dude has turned toward me until Card Guy walks past my car. I flinch when I notice Freezer Dude's creepy, wide smile. He's a pro at that bone-chilling expression. I bet he was an excellent convict—great at keeping other prisoners in line.
"Don't worry about my plans. They have nothing to do with you. And stay out of my way." He shouts the last sentences so loud I lean back against my door.
Then he shimmies out of my Kia through the passenger door and stands on the pavement. In a split second he rises and dives into Card Guy.
"Merde!"
Card Guy shudders and shakes, and he looks like he's going to crumble to the ground. I want to run out and help him. I remember all too clearly how scary the experience is, but what can I do? Hold his card for him?
Then Freezer Dude jumps or is thrown out and manically laughs as he glides past my car.
I turn in my seat and watch him go, hoping he'll stay away from me for the rest of tonight. Maybe I should help all ghosts except him. But with all of his body hopping, I'm afraid he may hurt someone. What if the next time he body jumps, it's in a person crossing a busy street or driving a car? He can kill someone. Is it possible that's what he wants? Some sort of revenge on those who are still living? I certainly believe he's capable of pettiness and bitterness.
Card Guy gets into his car and peels out of the parking lot. He may have nightmares tonight.
I turn my key in the ignition and see movement from the corner of my eye. Up ahead, standing in the doorway to Mystic Aurora's is Mystic Aurora. Her mouth is open, her jaw practically lying on her chest, and her eyes are wide like she saw a ghost.
Oh, shoot. She saw the ghost.
* * *
&n
bsp; I try to get Mystic Aurora to unlock her door and talk to me, but she backs away and hides in the store. I pull a deli brochure out of my purse, add my cell to the back, and stick it in the door as far as it will go. These brochures are sure coming in handy.
I go back to my car and sit there for a minute, hoping she'll take the brochure, and it doesn't blow away. If I start getting crank calls I'll know she didn't get it. She doesn't come forward, so I decide to leave. This has been a crazy evening, and now I don't mind being friendless. Spending the rest of the night in front of the TV sounds like an awesome plan.
When I pull into the small parking lot behind the deli, though, there is Julian's black SUV. What's he doing here? I park and step out of my car. Julian is by my side immediately.
I shut my door and lock it. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be with Enzo?"
"He canceled. Said something came up."
More like he rose up around his ex. Ha-ha, I'm so goofy. "So you thought you'd come here?"
"I wanted to make sure you believe that I had nothing to do with that explosion or the people associated with it."
He's been worried I don't believe him? How sweet. "I believe you. Do you want some coffee?"
"Sure." His lecherous smile makes me slightly regret my offer. Things were much easier before I knew what he did for a living.
I lead the way up and go straight to the coffeemaker. He makes himself at home by removing his jacket and stretching out on the sofa.
"Are you hungry?" I ask and open my fridge, not sure what I'll make if he says yes. Packets of cold cuts and a couple of pounds of salads sit on the top second shelf between the eggs and fresh broccoli. None of that was in there this morning.
Ma likes to sneak up here, although she'd probably say it isn't sneaking since she owns the place, and stock my kitchen like a food fairy. She's awesome. She loves to feed people, and I love to eat. We're a fantastic pair.
"I could eat. Do you plan on making a sandwich?"
The desire in his tone makes me turn and study him. His brows are raised, and he looks very hopeful. I laugh and turn back to the fridge. "Sure. Turkey or pastrami?"
Two Ghosts & a Love Song (Dead by the Numbers Mysteries Book 2) Page 7