by Angie Fox
Ellis had been the only member of his family willing to give me the benefit of the doubt after what happened between Beau and me. He’d also been my first official ghost-hunting client, and in the aftermath of solving the haunting at his Southern Spirits restaurant, we’d decided to give a relationship a try.
Over a year later, we were still going strong, and I was determined to keep things that way, no matter how many veiled insults and backhanded, Southern-style putdowns his mother dished out. Virginia might be used to ruling the town, but I wasn’t having any of it in my personal life. Ellis was worth any discomfort.
I answered the call with a smile. “Hey, you’ll never guess where I found Lucy—”
“Verity.” The seriousness in his tone pulled me up short. This wasn’t a lighthearted chat-over-his-lunch-break type of call. Ellis never sounded like this unless something bad had happened.
“What’s wrong?” I stepped away from Lucy so I wouldn’t wake her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he assured me, and I breathed a little easier. Of course he was fine. Ellis was a gifted police officer. He knew what he was doing. Still, his tone was clipped, on edge. “I’m at a crime scene, and I need your help.”
Oh my. There was only one kind of crime scene where I could possibly tell Ellis anything he didn’t already know. “Who died?”
“No one you know. Or at least I hope not.” I could hear the wind whipping on the other end of the line. We didn’t have so much as a breeze where I stood. “Verity,” Ellis said, pulling me back to the present, “I’m at Wilson’s quarry, and I need you to get down here right away.”
Chapter 2
“Oh no.” This didn’t sound good. “Was it a murder?”
“We’re not sure yet,” Ellis said. He sounded frustrated. “That’s what I’d like your help figuring out. It’s…odd. The victim was found at the bottom of the ravine shortly after daybreak. You know how to get here?”
“Yes. Of course.” Who didn’t? We used to toss rocks off the edge of the ravine at Wilson’s quarry when we were kids. Back then, sharp drop-offs felt fascinatingly dangerous. But after my adventures with Frankie, in which I’d nearly met my death twice on two separate cliffsides, I found them to be more frightening than fun.
“There’s no obvious evidence of foul play,” Ellis continued, “and the coroner’s taken a look and ruled it an accident.”
“But you don’t buy it.” Ellis had good instincts when it came to these sorts of things. And I didn’t have a lot of faith in our local coroner. Raymond Thornberry was as stingy with his time as he was with his tips at the diner. He and I had disagreed earlier this summer on a cause of death, and I’d been right. If Ellis’s gut told him there was something fishy going on, he was wise to investigate.
“Trouble is, I have no evidence. I thought if you could come here and tune in to the other side, you could give us some insight into how this poor girl died, maybe point us in the right direction. It’ll have to be fast, though. Ray wants to remove the body, and he’s getting impatient.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I promised. On a day like today, I could understand why the coroner was in a hurry. A body wouldn’t last long in heat like this.
I could almost hear Ellis’s tight grip on the phone, the way he gritted his jaw. “Thanks. The quicker, the better. It’s not just Ray giving me grief.”
I could believe that. It was no secret in town that I could talk to spirits, thanks to an unfortunate 911 call that had recorded me confessing my unusual ability, coupled with the investigative talent of our local eager-beaver reporter, Ovis Dupree. He should have retired twenty years ago, but he was as keen to hunt down a hot story as a person half his age. A woman who spoke to the dead? That was juicy news as far as Ovis was concerned.
At least half the people in Sugarland thought I was a kook making up a crazy talent to get attention, and a good many of those people worked with Ellis.
He believed in me, of course. It would be hard not to after the things we’d been through together. But he’d never gone out on a limb to bring me into an active investigation before. I wouldn’t disappoint him. “I’ll head out now. Where is the scene?”
He told me to head to the south entrance to the quarry off Tilbert Road, and I promised I’d be there in a flash.
It looked like Lucy would get to sleep under the blueberry bushes after all.
I hurried back to the pond. I might be tuned in to the ghostly realm, but if I wanted to do my best job, I’d need Frankie along. He possessed the kind of insight a person could only get from nine decades on the other side.
“Frankie,” I said, toeing the water, not wanting to shock him like he had done to me.
A fish bobbed to the surface, swished its tail, and splashed back into the depths of the pond.
“Frankie,” I called louder. “Paging gangster Frankie Winkelmann.”
“Do you mind?” his strained voice sounded in my ear.
Oh, good. I had his attention. “Listen. We have a new job, and it starts now.”
“Hiding out is a full-time job. Especially when you’re around.”
“Cute.”
Only I didn’t have time for banter. Ellis was waiting at a murder scene.
I tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “I mean it, Frank. I need you back on shore. Now.” It wasn’t like I could drag the gangster out of the pond.
Touching Frankie would give us both a huge shock. Worse, it would send him straight down through the muddy bottom when I needed him focused and working with me.
Just my luck, Frankie had a flair for the dramatic.
He rose out of the depths like the ghost of Davy Jones, water cascading down his hollowed-out cheeks, his coal-black eyes hot enough to burn a hole right through me—if I’d been intimidated by that type of show. Unfortunately for Frankie, we’d been through too much for me to be scared of him now.
“Ellis has a new case,” I told him. “There’s a dead lady in a ravine waiting for us.”
“There’s a dead guy right here who asked you to leave him alone,” Frankie growled.
“I can’t do it without you.” As I said the words, I realized I was right. I didn’t know how to tell a natural death from a murder. When people died, their souls left traces behind. Frankie knew how to read them, but I didn’t. I couldn’t do a good job for Ellis without Frankie there.
The gangster shook his head slowly. Then the whisper of a grin tugged at his upper lip. He had me over a barrel, and he knew it. I swear he had a sixth sense for the minute he could begin to capitalize on, well, anything.
He drifted across the pond toward me, his feet trailing in the water. “You want to make a bargain?” he prompted, his innocent tone not fooling anybody.
Bargaining with Frankie was like trying to teach a cat to fetch a ball. It was intelligent enough for the task, just completely disinterested in playing along.
I planted my hands on my hips. I’d already built him a shed. I’d already let him invite his friends over, a disproportionate number of whom had tried to off me after we’d stumbled into their hideout.
I’d already tried to give him his freedom, but we hadn’t figured out how to do that yet.
In the meantime, Ellis was relying on me. He’d gone out on a limb to involve me in this case, and I was going to honor that by doing my best for him.
I sighed and dropped my arms. It was time to live dangerously. “What do you want?”
The sudden gleam in Frankie’s eyes almost made me want to take it back, but the clock was ticking, and the stakes hadn’t changed. We stared at each other in silence for a moment before he broke out in a broad smile. “How about I help you now, and you’ll owe me a favor to be named later.”
It was like making a deal with the devil. Only I didn’t have a choice. “Done,” I said quickly before I could change my mind.
He tipped his hat to me. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you.” His good humor faded. “Now get m
e out of here before De Clercq sees me.”
And just like that, I realized I’d done him the favor.
Chapter 3
I fetched Frankie’s urn from the house and placed it next to me on the passenger side of the 1978 avocado green Cadillac I’d inherited from my grandmother.
The gangster glided straight through the door, straightening his tie with one hand as he took a seat. He’d tucked the other hand in his jacket, most likely gripping his revolver.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, keeping an eye on the yard.
“As you wish.” I ka-chunked my relic of a car into gear and steered down the side drive, bouncing over the gravel.
I didn’t relish the idea of getting up close and personal with a recent murder scene—or spending the afternoon with Frankie—but if it meant I could help Ellis gain some insight, it would be worth it. I took us down the long driveway from my house and turned left onto a country road that led to another, slightly more rural route. I hadn’t been this way in years. Most of the time when we were kids, my sister and I had ridden our bikes to the quarry, cutting through yards and fields. Heck, driving probably took longer.
As we lurched over the dirt road that led down toward the quarry, we passed the old McNairy farm stand and a peach grove. There was no sign for Tilbert Road, but I saw two patrol cars parked on the shoulder next to a pecan orchard. A narrow dirt road between them led into the grove. Part of the quarry lay beyond. This must be it.
Tree limbs slapped the passenger windows of my car as I tried to park as far off the road as I could.
“Remind me never to let you drive the getaway car,” Frankie muttered as a particularly large branch popped against the window by his head.
“You’d have to drag me into the driver’s seat and tie me to the wheel,” I said, mostly satisfied with my parking job.
Frankie pulled his hat down firmly. “Let’s get this over with.”
The walk through the orchard turned out to be the best part of my day. The trees were tall enough to cast a lot of shade, but the nuts weren’t quite ripe enough to have fallen en masse yet, so there wasn’t much to slide on underfoot. I’d never taken the time to appreciate it as a kid. “What a pretty place,” I mused.
“What a weird place,” Frankie said, his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders hunched. “You’d think there’d be a ghost or two wandering around a plot this big, but I’m not seeing anybody or anything.”
I brushed a hand against a branch laden with green leaves. “Maybe you’re just the dominant ghost here.”
Frankie snorted. “I can’t haunt everywhere at once, sweetheart.” He shook his head. “No, if there were a spirit here, these trees would probably look a lot smaller. Or there wouldn’t even be an orchard. How old is this place?”
“You should know. You’re from Sugarland.”
He scanned the trees. “I didn’t exactly hang out in pecan orchards.”
True. “I think it was here when my grandmother was a girl.” Although I couldn’t be certain. I almost wished there was another ghost here just so we could see the history of the land. Experiencing the other side was a bit like stepping out of a time machine. But I supposed we didn’t have time for that anyhow, at least not at the moment.
A stout man in a Sugarland PD jacket carrying a camera strode toward us. I knew him on sight, the same way I knew most people in town. In this case, I’d gone to high school with his sister. “Hi, Walt.” I smiled.
He frowned and kept walking.
Ouch.
Frankie drew back from him as he passed. “Ah, the first of the fuzz. At least we know we’re in the right spot.”
I peered over my shoulder after Walt. I knew I was a persona non grata in this town after clashing with the Wydells and coming out as a ghost hunter, but I’d hoped for a little more warmth. Then again, Ellis had broken protocol by calling me here. That wouldn’t be a popular choice.
I couldn’t let it get to me. I’d just have to prove Ellis right by doing a good job and then getting the heck out of here.
Still… I scanned the orchard. Frankie was right. There were no ghosts to be found. If the same was true at the ravine, that could be a problem.
Ghosts tended to be territorial. And if one had witnessed the death in the ravine, I might be able to get a first-hand account. It would go a long way toward showing Ellis and the police where to look for clues.
When Walt was hopefully out of earshot, I turned my attention to the gangster. “Frankie, if there are no ghosts here, we’re not going to be able to do much, are we?” I didn’t want to think it, but the fact was that without ghostly witnesses to give me insights, there wasn’t much I’d be able to do that a regular detective couldn’t.
He ran a hand over his mouth and chin. “Just because nobody’s lurking around in the orchard doesn’t mean there won’t be a ghost in the ravine. People haunt the craziest places.” He adjusted his hat. “I once met a gal who clocked out in rush-hour traffic. She’s sitting on Highway 64 to this day.”
Jeez Louise. I’d much rather haunt a pretty pecan orchard.
Another minute’s walk and we reached the edge of the orchard. Shortly beyond the line where the trees ended, the ground rose for about five feet, and then dropped abruptly.
Ellis waited for us on the rise, along with another officer I recognized named Duranja. Ellis appeared relieved to see us, while Duranja scrutinized me like I held some kind of unnatural power over his fellow officer.
Ellis met me halfway and took my hand to help me up the last few steep feet. “You made it.”
“I’m sorry it took so long,” I said with a sidelong glance at Frankie.
Ellis released my hand and cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming.” He lowered his voice. “Is Frankie here?” A moment later he shivered, and I felt the chill in the air. Frankie had hit him with a cold spot. The ghost cackled while Ellis shook it off.
“That wasn’t necessary,” I murmured. Frankie merely grinned.
“So, you can’t go down to the actual crime scene,” Ellis said. “Is this close enough?”
“It’s fine,” I said, peering over the edge of the cliff and suppressing a shudder. The coroner and his assistant stood at the bottom, looking rather irritated. In front of them lay the body of a woman, sprawled facedown across the rocks at the bottom of the ravine. It was a ways down, but from my vantage point, I could see where the blood had seeped beneath her, forming a halo of gore. A ghostly, burnt orange vapor curled from under her, almost like someone had draped her over a smoke machine.
“Did she fall onto something?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Duranja snickered. “Rocks.”
Ellis shot him a sharp look. “There’s nothing noteworthy beneath the body, if that’s what you mean.”
“Interesting.” It was normal for the newly deceased to leave a mark as the soul left the body. Death spots appeared bright white, with glowing tendrils of light reaching toward the heavens. I’d never seen this color before. “What does the orange mean, Frankie?”
He surveyed the scene. “Don’t that beat all. I haven’t seen an orange plume since Pinhead MacKenzie accidentally walked in front of a streetcar on Wabash Avenue.” He eyed me. “That one was an accident, one hundred percent. He couldn’t keep his eyes off this dame. She walked like she had a brass bell for a bottom, and—”
“So it means an accidental death?” I prodded, keeping him on track.
“Not always,” Frankie said, focusing again on the body. “It means that death was a shock, but without any fight beforehand.” He huffed. “With my crowd, you usually see the violence. It glows red. Almost everybody who was anybody had that. Dying a nasty death is practically a rite of passage for the South Town Boys.”
“Poor gangsters,” I murmured.
Frankie squinted at me as if he was trying to figure out what made me tick. “Who’d want to go because of something boring like old age?”
I would. I really, really would, bu
t now wasn’t the time to get into it. I passed on Frankie’s insights to Ellis.
He didn’t appear convinced. “It’s not easy to fall off this ravine. You’d have to walk right up here to the edge and lean into it.”
“Could have been suicide,” Duranja suggested. “Assuming your girlfriend isn’t nuts.”
“Thanks for that,” I told him.
“But there was no note,” Ellis said, completely wrapped up in the case. “I’m not going to rule out the possibility of foul play unless we have some evidence of suicide.”
“Okay, well, we don’t have any ID for her either,” Duranja pointed out. “Maybe she left her note wherever home is.”
“Then she drove to Sugarland to die?” Ellis asked. “One of us would recognize her if she lived around here, and we don’t have a car or tire tracks.”
“Say she did commit suicide,” I suggested, for the sake of argument. “If she meant to kill herself, would death be a surprise?” I wasn’t sure. “It could have been a cry for help that didn’t go as planned,” I reasoned. “Or she could have been pushed. That would be a shock, yet not overly violent.” I looked at Frankie. “Is there anyone dead that we can find and ask?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, babe. We’re all alone here.”
“We can walk the pecan orchard again,” I told him. “Maybe someone will turn up.”
Frankie looked at me like I was nuts. “Ghosts are supposed to start haunting a spot because you want them there?”
With a shrug, I turned to Ellis. “It seems we’re at a dead end. Without any ghosts to question, all I can do is read the death spot.”
He nodded, frustrated. “I understand. It’s fine. It’s more than we had before.”
“Not much more,” Duranja muttered. “And we waited, what? An hour?”