Pecan Pies and Dead Guys

by Angie Fox

  More likely he’d been skimming off the bar, watering down drinks, and corrupting Molly while Ellis and I watched Netflix downstairs.

  De Clercq frowned. “Did your research include…” He pulled out a notebook and read from it. “The acquisition of a bourbon still, three flappers, and a six-piece band?”

  “Yes,” Frankie said, in his most innocent voice.

  He wasn’t fooling anybody.

  But I was impressed he could fit all that in Ellis’s small attic. When Frankie used his dominant ghost vision, he certainly thought big.

  The detective stared him down.

  “Fine, fine.” Frankie raised both hands in mock defense. “You got me. I was throwing a surprise birthday party for George Sykes. You know, the Merchant of Death.”

  I did not know, and I was glad for it.

  Frankie laid his palms flat out. “These things have a tendency to get out of hand.”

  “I can vouch for that,” I promised.

  De Clercq directed a stony glare at my housemate. “Out of hand to the tune of twelve cases of bootleg champagne, six pounds of silver confetti, and one pigmy goat.”

  “Yeah, well, he had a goat named Trixie when he was growing up.” Frankie shrugged. “He loved that goat. Thought having one there would make the whole event extra special.”

  De Clercq gave no reaction, but I could swear I heard his knuckles crack.

  This was bad. De Clercq knew all about Frankie’s shady past, and he had the power to put him away for it. And since Frankie was tied to my land, that meant imprisonment in my ancestral home for the rest of his afterlife. There would be no more field trips with me and the urn, no more mysteries to solve around town. I’d have to find yet another career. Frankie would go ballistic in a month. I wouldn’t last a week.

  “You win,” Frankie said quickly. “I was kicking back, catching a few laughs, but now I’m here, and I’m ready to make good on my bargain.”

  De Clercq appeared doubtful.

  “I’m serious.” Frankie straightened his hat. “What can we do for you, Inspector?”

  “A question I ask myself frequently,” the other ghost muttered.

  “There’s no call for that,” Frankie said as if he were the one who had a right to be peeved. “You’re the one coming to me. If you think I’m such a rat, why do you want my help?”

  De Clercq tucked his notebook away. “Sometimes it takes a rat to catch one, Mr. Winkelmann.” I saw Frankie deflate a little and felt kind of sad for him. He made a big show out of being a criminal, but a part of him had enjoyed being cast as a good guy on the Sugarland Express.

  “I may not care for you personally,” De Clercq said, looking him up and down, “but I acknowledge that you are talented at what you do. I need a criminal mind on this investigation.”

  “He does have a certain skill set,” I admitted.

  “We leave at once,” the inspector announced.

  Frankie and I exchanged a look. “Believe me, I can leave now,” I assured them, and I could swear I saw Frankie wince.

  It was best to get this over with. Delaying wouldn’t make it any easier. Besides, apart from meeting Zoey, this barbecue had been a bust. I hadn’t even gotten to spend any time with Ellis. “I just have to find my boyfriend and say goodbye. Oh, and Zoey, too.”

  De Clercq didn’t even bother to look at me. “Your living assistant is not invited,” he clarified.

  “She’s my ride,” Frankie countered.

  De Clercq wrinkled his nose as if he’d detected an unsavory odor, but he didn’t argue.

  Rather, he addressed Frankie once more. “I have secured us special invitations to a house party at the Adair estate.” He paused and twirled the end of his mustache. “A murder will take place tonight.”

  “We can stop it,” I said, forgetting I wasn’t allowed to speak.

  “Hardly,” De Clercq replied, his words a bit sharper. “The man died in 1928. The details are most puzzling. Most scandalous. But I believe, with some work, Mr. Winkelmann and I can sort them out.”

  “Yeah, I’m good at that,” Frankie said, nodding his head one too many times.

  I was the one who did most of the murder solving. De Clercq was lucky to have me, even if he didn’t know it.

  But I wasn’t in it for the dead inspector or even Frankie. A person had been killed. A unique soul with a family and a life. I hadn’t been able to help the girl at the bottom of the ravine this morning, but maybe I could help the poor victim from 1928 find justice.

  I said my goodbyes to Zoey, and then popped into the house in search of Ellis. I found him in the kitchen, one hand on the wall, talking on his cell.

  He saw me coming and ducked his head. “I’ll be there soon, sir,” he said into the receiver. “Yes. Bye.” He ended the call and closed the distance between us.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “I didn’t mean to abandon you out there. My mother needed me more than I realized.”

  She wasn’t one to leave her guests unattended, either. “What happened?” I asked, sliding my arms around his waist.

  “A confrontation that turned into an intervention with Beau.” He grimaced. “He’s skipping out on meetings at the law firm, and he’s behind on his cases. He’s not happy there, and it’s starting to show. Dad’s out of town. Harrison won’t bother talking to him, so Mom appointed me the voice of reason. I told him he should do what he wants with his life.”

  “I’m sure that went over well,” I said, catching a glimpse of Virginia out the kitchen window. She scurried from guest to guest, making up for lost time.

  “Mom had a fit. Beau made it worse. I barely escaped a few minutes ago. Then I got a call from the station. The chief wants to run a couple of things by me. We still don’t know who the dead girl is, except she’s definitely not from Sugarland.”

  “That doesn’t narrow it down much.” Sugarland wasn’t all that big. “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  He sighed. “We need to locate her next of kin. Duranja is hitting dead ends. He’s working a double and ready to put his fist through the wall. They called me because I have a knack for investigation.”

  “You do,” I agreed. “You should go.”

  He nodded. “Maybe that will get Duranja out on the street, where he can focus and calm down.”

  In my opinion, Duranja would be a bit on edge on a beach vacation, but I kept that to myself. “I’ll be busy anyway. Inspector De Clercq tracked Frankie down.”

  The corner of his mouth ticked up. “At last.”

  “He wants us to go out to the old Adair estate and investigate a murder from the 1920s.”

  “I’ve always wondered if that place was haunted,” Ellis mused. “I’ve driven past it on patrol and swore I saw lights on the lawn. But when I’d stop and look…nothing.” He shook his head. “Be careful,” he warned.

  “I always am.” I never took unnecessary risks. He knew that.

  Ellis drew a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m just saying you have an uncanny knack for stirring up trouble.”

  Didn’t I know it.

  The Adair mansion stood a few miles outside Sugarland. It had been a country estate at the turn of the century, where the rich went to play. I’d only been there once before, on a dare. The entire property was closed off. No one had lived there for decades.

  Well, except for the dead, it seemed.

  Thick elm trees staggered in unkempt rows up the weed-tufted drive leading to the house. Their branches twisted and twined overhead, like a gnarled trap.

  My car tires crunched over the gravel as I pulled to a stop at the locked front gate. The horizon glowed orange and purple with the approaching dusk.

  A cold breeze tickled the back of my neck, and I exchanged a glance with Frankie as I slid out of the car.

  “This house was always hopping back in the day,” he said as if defending the eerie silence in the air. He ran a hand along his jaw. “I never got an invite myself, but I heard some
wild things.”

  “You heard correctly,” De Clercq said, materializing in front of us. He’d been too cool to ride in my car.

  I caught a glimpse of a stone mansion in the distance.

  “Come.” De Clercq motioned to Frankie. “The crime will take place soon.”

  “Wait. Let me figure out how to join you,” I said. The gate appeared solid. I’d been hoping for a rusted hinge or a few missing bars.

  De Clercq floated through without a backward glance.

  Lucky for him.

  Frankie followed suit.

  Darn it.

  The fence surrounding the property was fifteen feet high, with a decorative, curlicue top designed to impale anyone crazy enough to climb it.

  I tested the front gate, and it held. Just my luck, the metal was in remarkably good shape. When I was a kid, I’d been small enough to slip between the iron bars without a problem, but there was no way I was squeezing through now.

  De Clercq glided down the path, drawing farther and farther away from me. Frankie floated a few paces behind him.

  “Hold up,” I called. I could walk the perimeter. Surely, I’d find a weak spot somewhere, but I needed time. “You’re not seriously leaving without me?”

  Frankie hurried back to me. “You want to make this guy mad?” he hissed, hitching a thumb at the inspector, who continued on without him. “Improvise,” the gangster urged, drawing his hat down over the bullet hole in his forehead. “Go over, around, under. Just get in here and help me.”

  “I’ll try,” I called as he turned and caught up with De Clercq, leaving me alone.

  An owl hooted from a branch overhead, and I found myself strangely comforted to know that there was something else alive in this place.

  All right. Think, I told myself as my eyes adjusted to the waning light. I was a smart Southern girl, and I wasn’t about to let two ghosts and a fence get me down.

  There had to be another way in.

  I stepped back and studied my situation, just like my grandmother had taught me to do when the going got tough. Only night was approaching, and it was getting harder to see with the trees blocking the remaining light.

  The silvery ghosts floated farther down the path toward the house.

  I couldn’t go under or through the fence. But the last tree on the path grew close to the gate. And I had been quite a climber in my day.

  I dug the mini flashlight out of my purse and clicked it on.

  The gnarled elm wove in and out of the fence’s iron bars, a good part of it cast in shadow. It looked half-dead, the branches dry and weathered, but it wasn’t as if I was going to get a better chance at this.

  Holding the small flashlight between my teeth, I hoisted myself up on the lowest branch and breathed a sigh of relief when it held. The rough bark scratched the inside of my thighs as I drew myself up to stand and grabbed for the next thickest branch I could reach. I made it up two more before perching on a positively anemic branch at eye level with the top of the fence.

  I tossed the flashlight down onto the ground on the other side of the fence. There was no turning back now.

  “Be strong,” I said to myself and to the branch as I eased off the straining wood and onto the top of the fence, taking extra care to avoid the sharp spindles on top. I grabbed the sides of two spindles for support and jumped down onto the flattest piece of ground I could see.

  I landed with a bone-jarring crunch, but the ground held, and so did my ankles. I was in one piece. Now I just had to find the ghosts.

  I retrieved my light, ignoring the burning scratches on my hands and legs. One thing at a time. I hurried through a sprinkling of trees toward the main path. Once there, I spotted my companions already halfway to the house.

  “Wait up,” I called as loudly as I could.

  Frankie turned to me wide-eyed. The inspector continued as if he hadn’t heard me at all.

  “Keep it down,” he muttered as soon as I’d caught up, his shoulders stiff, his posture drawn tight. “You’re making a scene.”

  “Said the guy who brought a pygmy goat to a party,” I said, scraping the hair out of my face and retying my ponytail. “How about, ‘Hi, Verity,’ ‘Glad you didn’t get impaled on the fence, Verity.’”

  “I am glad about that,” Frankie admitted. He drew a cigarette case out of his suit pocket. “The last thing I need is you following me around for eternity with a fence post up your—”

  “Frankie!” I snapped.

  He grinned. “Kidding,” he said, removing a smoke and stashing his case. “Just stay cool and stick with us. The inspector isn’t in the mood for games.”

  I noticed the inspector had stopped and waited for Frankie. The mobster cupped a hand and lit his smoke, tossing his match as we hustled to catch up.

  “Can you imagine living on an estate like this?” I asked as we drew closer to the house. The mansion was lit up like Christmas morning, and the faint tinkle of piano music floated down the path. The rest of the property lay in desolate shadow.

  Naturally, we veered off to the left, into the darkness, toward a tall foreboding structure looming amid the trees and choked with underbrush.

  Frankie took a deep drag off his cigarette. “For once, I’d like to go to the party,” he groused, smoke trailing from his nose.

  I had to agree with him.

  I remembered my grandmother talking about visiting the Adair property when she was a little girl. Apparently, the couple never had children. They’d wanted them desperately, but it wasn’t meant to be. That didn’t stop them from making their home into a place that children would love. They built a menagerie on the grounds, an exotic zoo right here in Sugarland, and opened it to their nieces and nephews and the kids in town. Entire families would visit on Sunday afternoons and make a day of it, picnicking on the grounds.

  When the Adairs died, the little zoo was shut down, the animals sold, and the property slowly fell into disrepair. An out-of-town relative had inherited, but no one had lived on the estate since.

  We neared a long, rectangular glass and metal building on the left side of the mansion. In the ghostly realm, the two stories of tall glass windows stood dark and silent. An elaborate iron sign above the entrance read Adair’s Magical Menagerie.

  In the world of the living, the place had lost some of its magic. Cracked glass caked with grime clung to rotting window frames. In many places, the windows had broken altogether, leaving jagged pieces of glass behind. The once-grand sign slumped over the rusty doors like something out of a funhouse nightmare.

  I was pretty sure I’d seen Ellis play a game like this on his Xbox. In the game, people who entered the building usually got eaten by roving zombies. I shuddered but tried to think sensibly. There are no zombies here. There’s no such thing as zombies. Just ghosts.

  It wasn’t as comforting a thought as I’d hoped.

  De Clercq veered straight for the abandoned menagerie. “The crime will take place in here.”

  Of course it would. We couldn’t have a murder inside a nice, well-lit sitting room, now could we? “We still have time to see who did it,” I said, venturing closer, catching a flicker of movement in the darkness behind the broken windows and fragmented glass.

  “There’s something alive in there,” Frankie said.

  Maybe it was just a squirrel. Stranger things had happened.

  An inhumanly shrill shriek split the stillness of the night. I jumped so high and so fast, I nearly grabbed on to Frankie for support. He hollered and ducked out of my reach, dropping his cigarette. “Geez, woman!”

  My hands shook as I whirled to face Frankie and De Clercq. “What was that?”

  De Clercq, calm as could be, stared at me as if I were off my rocker. “That was a monkey.” He eyeballed Frankie. “You need to train her better.”

  “I’m trying,” the gangster said, straightening his suit jacket, keeping his eye on me as if expecting me to pounce. Smoke curled from the cigarette he’d dropped on the ground. He retriev
ed it and took a drag. “You know how unpredictable the living can be.”

  Sure. Blame it on the fact that I had a pulse. “I figured the animals in there would be long gone.”

  I crept up to the doors and peered inside, and the dusty moonlight filtering through the holes in the ceiling showed me something remarkable.

  Expansive cages soared at least ten feet tall in this world and in the ghostly realm. They lined the walls on either side of the doors and housed all sorts of fantastic creatures, all long dead. I made out a pair of black and white capuchin monkeys swinging back and forth from a hanging rope. Next to them, three more gray, ghostly monkeys with long silky fur and big eyes clung to a small spindly tree. They eyed their neighbors like they couldn’t believe they were distantly related to those clowns.

  An anteater snoozed next door, and across the way, a spotted cat paced, running its silky coat against the bars. It might be an ocelot, I wasn’t sure—but whatever it was, it was ridiculously cute. And up above everything, perching in the rafters, a flock of chattering parrots.

  My word. They were all dead. Although they didn’t seem to know it. “I didn’t expect to see animal spirits.”

  “Really?” Frankie drew behind me, the bitter smoke from his cigarette curling over my shoulder. “Where did you think all the horses down at the track—ah—I mean,” he amended when he saw De Clercq looking his way, “all the horses those dead soldiers ride come from?”

  Yes, but every animal I’d met before had been bonded to a human ghost, cared for by a person who hadn’t gone to the light. These were wild animals.

  “Animals have spirits just like people do,” the inspector said stiffly. “True, they usually tend to move on. They are simpler creatures and not so tied to this realm.” He joined us and stood on the other side of Frankie. “These animals seem to have been particularly happy and decided to stay.”

  “I don’t know,” Frankie hedged, “being penned up in a cage for all eternity don’t sound very happy to me.”