"I'll have to come back another time," I say. "Just make sure she's home first."
"Just wait. I'm sure she'll be back soon." His impatience leaks with his snappy tone of voice.
"Were you ever nice?"
Suddenly Frank appears in the space between us, and my heartbeat leaps.
I yelp in a rather unattractive fashion. "Would it be too much to ask for you guys to wear cow bells?"
"I've been thinking," Frank says.
Freezer Dude glares at him. "Is that a miracle because if not, get lost. You're interrupting my time."
Frank scowls. "Who's this?"
"Long story. What did you realize?"
"I don't have time for this," Freezer Dude says with a long groan.
I scoff. "Where else do you have to go?"
Freezer Dude's gruffness doesn't seem to faze Frank at all. "I was thinking about Kit. She was upset when I canceled on her that last time. I didn't remember this until earlier."
I shrug. "Okay, so she was upset she wouldn't get paid for the night?"
Freezer Dude clicks his tongue. "You were with a prostitute?"
I start to point out Freezer Dude showered with men for years in prison but decide I don't want him pissed off and trying to get back at me. I want him out of my life.
Frank shakes his head, ignoring Freezer Dude. "No, this was more than that. She sent me a few romantic texts until I canceled, and then she got angry. She texted that I was dog meat, and I would pay."
"And you forgot to mention that?" I almost shouted.
Freezer Dude starts chuckling and won't shut up.
"I didn't think much of it because it was months ago. I hadn't received a message in a long time. I figured she moved on."
I stare out my windshield, trying to ignore Freezer Dude's incessant laughter, and shake my head. It's possible that Kit let it go, but it's also possible she's spent these months figuring out her revenge.
"What?" Frank asks. "You think she wanted me dead?"
"No," I say.
Freezer Dude shuts up. Finally.
I look Frank in the eye. "But she may have wanted Serena dead."
* * *
After another thirty minutes without Deborah's arrival, my friendly ghosts leave, and I drive home. I climb the stairs to my apartment, and my cell rings. It's Ma. "Hello?"
"Gianna, I need you to get over here STAT," she says in a rushed tone.
Panic swirls in my belly. "Is something wrong?"
"No. I need you here now though." Then she hangs up before I can find out the problem.
Even though she's says nothing is wrong, my stomach tightens, and I turn abruptly on the step, almost missing it and flying down them all. I run to my car and pull out of the lot quickly. I consider talking to Pop, but then he'd have to close the deli, and if Ma is right that this isn't as dire as it sounds, it will all be for nothing.
When I pull up to their house, Enzo's car is parked behind Ma's in the driveway. I brake right in front of the house and try to calm my racing thoughts as I speed race inside. Enzo is seated at the kitchen table, in front of a place setting, and Ma is scooping mashed potatoes into a serving bowl at the stove.
I blink, trying to refocus the scene to make sure I'm seeing things correctly. There's no blood, ambulance, or heart attack. Enzo is calm and practically drooling over the awesome aroma of meat and potatoes, and Ma is humming a tune I, surprisingly, don't recognize. It all becomes very clear.
"This is about dinner?" I shout.
Enzo shrugs but looks as snug as a bug in rug with a knife and fork close by. And how exactly does a bug get in a rug? "She made the same phone call to me."
If he knows this then he was here when she called me. That brother card may get torn to little pieces. "Why didn't you text me to tell me to not break all speeding laws on the way over?"
He points to the brown wicker basket on the top of the refrigerator. "She took it from me."
I give an unexpected snort. Growing up, Ma used that basket as a form of punishment if we brought anything to the table besides our hungry bellies. Izzie was infamous for wanting to read magazines, and I went through a Bratz stage—fashion dolls with big eyes and lips and really cool accessories. They were way cooler than Barbies. Anyway, Ma would take our items and stick them in the basket until after dinner. And if anyone tried to take it back, especially Enzo when he grew tall enough, we'd be punished with a night of no television or dessert.
I doubt the consequences are still the same today, but Enzo is dutifully letting it go. My cell is in my pocket, and I have no intention of playing with it.
Ma smiles at me. "Wash your hands then have a seat. The food is done."
I let out an exaggerated sigh, drop my purse by the leg of the table, and walk to the sink. As I wash up, I spot the resting roasted chicken, bowl of peas, and a loaf of Italian bread that looks freshly made. It smells amazing. Ma's gone all out.
I take a seat at the table while she cuts into the bird. "What's the occasion, Ma?"
"There isn't one. I just want to spend time with my kids."
"Is Izzie coming?" Enzo asks.
I hope she didn't pull one of those phone calls on the pregnant woman.
"No. It's just us. She has her family. Plus, she won't be pleasant company for another month."
Enzo and I smile. It's so true.
"And Pop will eat when he closes the deli," Ma says. She carries the platters and bowls to the table. When Enzo and I start to stand up to help, she wags her finger, points, and orders us to remain sitting.
I'm seated beside Enzo, at the back of the table, and I feel like I'm ten again. He and Izzie would fight over the drumsticks, although I'm not sure why since there are two on every chicken. Ma and I like the white meat, which left Pop with the thighs. No one argued over the wings.
Ma places a generous portion of breast meat with crispy skin on my plate and then proceeds to give Enzo both drumsticks. His eyes light up, and a playful smile dances in the corners of his mouth.
I grab the spoon in the bowl of taters and take way too much. But I'm not complaining.
Enzo rips into the bread and hands me a chunk. I get giddy because it is warm, soft, and squishy. Ma fills our glasses with ice water, and for the next blissful fifteen minutes, we all eat in silence.
I sigh and sit back, stuffed beyond repair. Enzo goes in for seconds on the sides, and I watch in amazement. He has the best metabolism in the world. Lucky son of a gun.
The silence is broken by the trilling of my cell. I widen my eyes and stare at Ma.
The muscle at the left side of Enzo's mouth twitches.
Ma sips her water, sets the glass down, and without looking my way says, "Go ahead. We're practically done."
"That's not fair. She gets to use her phone when you've taken mine away," Enzo says as if he's five.
Ma raises her brows. "She's not dating someone I can't stand. My house, my rules."
I snort and pull out my phone. Speak of the devil, it's Julian. I stand and walk to the back door, so they won't see my sheepish smile as I answer.
"Hey," I say and try to not sound cute and girly in front of the family, but it's no use. This man makes me feel very feminine all the time.
"Hi. I have time to kill on my stakeout and thought I'd nose around in your case."
I cover my mouth to prevent from laughing. He said "your case" as in it's mine. That's so adorable.
"Did you find anything?" I ask.
"I only have a first name to go by for Frank's escort. Were you able to get anything else?"
"No, just that her name is Kit."
"That's probably not real either. Okay, I'll dig around in Natalia's records and see if I can find anything. I'll talk to you later."
"Okay, bye. And thanks." I hang up and turn to find Ma and Enzo staring at me. "What?"
Ma narrows her gaze. "What were you talking about? You're not getting a cat? I don't think we should have pets around the deli."
"No,
I said Kit, as in…Kit Kat. I love them."
Ma nods and gets up, gathering her plate. Enzo's still watching me though. He knows I'm lying.
* * *
After Enzo and I clean up the kitchen, we kiss Ma good-bye, promise to come by more often than just Sundays, and go our separate ways. I step into my apartment, and Frank pops up in front of me.
"Geez, you scared me."
"Sorry. I need your help. I found my mom."
"Great."
"I want to say bye to her before she runs off to God knows where. You need to tell her."
I inhale deeply and sigh. "I can't."
His eyes widen. "What?"
"I mean, I can't do this and not tell my brother where she is. It's one thing to help out and fudge things, but it's another to aid and abet. I'm not risking my freedom, and there's a very angry cop who would like nothing more than to send me to jail." At least I'm assuming that would give Kevin delight.
Frank looks into the distance for a moment. "Okay. Fine. But will you tell her bye before you alert the police?"
"Yes. That I can do."
Cynthia Mason is hiding out in a motel in Oceanside, two towns away. On the ride over, Frank tells me what he wants her to know, and I come up with a slightly plausible cover story. If she believes it, I'll be golden. If she doesn't, well, at least she won't threaten to call the cops on me.
I knock on her door and listen to scrambling inside. I knock again and take a step back in case she wants to peek out the window and check me out. I'm sure she'll recognize me, so I don't know if that will hinder or help.
"Cynthia?" I say. "I have a message from Frank."
The lock clicks, and the door creeps open. "What did you say?" she whispers.
I step closer and lower my voice. "I can speak to dead people, and Frank's standing beside me."
I don't like blurting that out, but I don't know how else to get her to talk to me. And the worst that happens is she tells someone. At this point, she has no reason to rat on me.
We stand there for another half a minute, and then she opens the door a little more.
"I never worked for him. I was at the house after the explosion, and I saw his spirit there."
She gaps and covers her mouth.
I fill her in without giving too much detail. She looks paler and paler as I speak, and I'm not sure how much she can handle. In this moment, I feel bad for the woman. Despite all she's conned, no one deserves to lose someone they love.
When I'm done explaining, she steps back and sits on the full-size bed. I enter the room and shut the door behind me. Frank sits, as best as a ghost can, beside his mother.
"She seems so frail," he says, and a lump forms in my throat.
Gosh, why did I have to care? This would be so much easier if I didn't.
"Did he suffer?" she asks with a sniffle.
He shakes his head.
"No. He wasn't even aware it happened when we met."
She nods her head and stares into her lap.
"He wants you to know that he loves you tremendously. With everything you both went through over the years, that love never faltered." I glance at Frank to make sure I got it all right.
He smiles at me, but it's not a happy grin by far. It's full of sadness.
I just sit there as Cynthia cries, and Frank stays close to her side. At one point, it seems as if she can feel him. She leans into him a bit, and he leans back. It's comforting to watch them.
After she calms down, I tell her the last part Frank mentioned on the ride over.
"Frank wants you to pick a new lifestyle, to stop playing games. Those were his exact words."
She looks me in the eye. With no makeup on, her hair back in a sloppy ponytail, and in a crumbled navy shirt and sweatpants, it's remarkable how different she looks from the first night I saw her.
"Thank you. I appreciate your coming here to let me know. Tell him he was the best son a mother could ask for."
"You just did." I point to where he's seated just in case she doesn't feel him.
She gives a half-smile and turns to him. "I love you, Frank."
"I love you too, Mother."
I stand up, ready to leave before I start crying. Before I shut the door, I say, "Look, my brother is a cop, so I can't not tell him you're here. But maybe I can wait half an hour or so, give you some time to figure out what you want to do next."
Frank's grin is wide. He stays behind. I sit in my car and pull my phone from my pocket to check the time. Thirty minutes and then I'll call Enzo. Maybe it's not right but… Damn, this is that gray area again, huh?
I chuckle. "Way to go, Gianna. It's not like I can be a hypocrite for long."
"Have you finally gone crazy?"
I flinch and spot Freezer Dude in my rearview mirror. I turn my head and look back there. Yep, it's actually him. Then I look at my finger. It's tingly and throbbing, but there was no warning first. Well, darn. If that keeps up, I won't be able to get ready for him.
"Now what?" I ask, not wanting to ruin the tender moments I just shared with one ghost for the anger and pettiness of another.
"My daughter is home."
This is definitely a night for family.
I softly sigh. "Fine."
* * *
When I'm knocking on Deborah Young's door, I wonder if I should be upfront or not. I don't know this woman at all. She may believe in my abilities or think I'm a kook and call for the men in white coats.
The door opens, and Deborah stands there. She has light blue eyes like her father. Her blonde hair falls to her shoulders, and there are light laugh lines in the corners of her eyes. She's dressed in beige trousers and a thin, chocolate-brown sweater. "Hello, can I help you?" she asks.
"Hi. I'm sorry to bother you, but I sometimes get messages from the dead." I hold my breath and hope she doesn't slam the door in my face.
Her brows rise, and she just stares at me. "Okay."
Really? That's her response?
"And what does that have to do with me?" she asks.
Holy moly. She's a believer. This may not be as hard as I anticipated. "Your father, Mitchell Young, wants me to let you know that he loves you. He also says good-bye."
When she stands there with her mouth parted, looking numb, frozen, and perhaps scared, I wonder if she really is a believer.
"Look what you did to her," Freezer Dude shouts.
I bite the corner of my lip. "I didn't mean to blurt that out. I know most people think I'm crazy, but he won't leave me alone until you know."
Her eyes widen. "He's here now?"
"Yes."
She nods several times. "If he can hear me, I hope he knows that while I appreciate the concern, I don't care."
I'm not expecting that.
Freezer Dude's furry white brows knit together. "What?"
"Can you explain?" I ask.
"Sure. He was a criminal. He spent most of my life in prison for his crimes. I never knew him. Mom didn't want me to be the girl with her father in jail, so I never visited. I was once troubled by that, but after I grew up and had kids of my own, I realized she was right. That's not a way to live. So I'm glad I didn't know him, glad I had a wonderful stepfather who was truly there for me. I haven't thought of Mitchell Young as my father in decades. Thank you for coming by, but please don't return."
She carefully shuts the door, and Freezer Dude and I stand there gawking at her door.
"I have grandkids," he says.
Is that what he takes from all of this? I turn to him. "Are we done now?"
"We'll see." He disappears.
"That wasn't the deal," I shout at the air.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The next morning I roll over in bed, open my eyes, and listen for impending doom. My alarm clock says it's 8:00 a.m. There's no clanking from the deli, no phones ringing, no one banging on my door. I haven't been visited by ghosts young and old, and there aren't any emergencies. I slept deeply, without tossing and turning or fever
ish nightmares. Holy cannoli, the world is ending.
I chuckle, sit up, and rub the sleep from my eyes. Today is Friday, which means I'm off from the deli, but I need to go to Sparks to practice my repertoire. Ha! I have a repertoire. I'll get a chance to cozy up to Natalia and see if I can wiggle any information out of her. I also have a good feeling about Freezer Dude. He got what he came back for. He may not like what his daughter had to say, but there's no denying it. He can now move on.
As for Frank, I need to find Kit. And the best person to ask is the one who used to work alongside her. I leisurely get up because arriving at someone's house at the crack of dawn two days in a row is just rude. I shower, dress in black leggings, a so long it could be a minidress tunic, and my black boots with the spikes on the toes and then flip on the TV while I make breakfast. I fill the room with the Morning Show's chatter about the latest T. Swift song and aromas of coffee, toast, and two perfect over-easy eggs.
After much sipping, chewing, and moaning over the deliciousness that is food, I head out.
When I get to Zoe's, she's on her way out to run errands, and Serena is washing her coffee cup. I sit on the side of the couch sans the folded sheets, blanket, and pillow. I can tell she doesn't want to talk to me, what with the hunched shoulders and lack of saying hello. I got a grunt, and I'm certain that if this was her place, she wouldn't have let me in. Thank goodness I arrived before Zoe left.
"I know this isn't something you want to talk about," I say. "It must be hard, but I'm assuming your reluctance to want to find your fiancé's killer had to do with your job and not because you don't want to know. Right?"
She turns toward me while drying her hands on a green-and-white striped towel. "Of course I want to know. I want whoever did this punished so hard."
Good. At least we're on the same page.
"Why is it so important to you though?" she asks.
I've told so many versions of this truth that I'm beginning to confuse myself. "Last month my sister was accused of murdering a woman. It was very hard on her and the family. I helped figure out the truth. Now, it kinda feels like an addiction. How can I ignore that injustice?"
Two Ghosts & a Love Song (Dead by the Numbers Mysteries Book 2) Page 18