by Angie Fox
“You’d better step back before Ellis sees you,” I warned, squeezing inside and closing the door behind me.
“Can’t see anything when you’re blocking the window.” Bobby Sue, married to the school superintendent, inched around me.
I let her reclaim my spot and tried not to step on Fiera’s toes. She expertly dodged me while looking out the window. “I stopped giving tours fifteen minutes ago. Why was Jorie even up there?”
“That’s a good question,” I said to the tour guide, not sure I wanted to ask more in front of so many ladies. Right then, Kelli grabbed my arm, her pink nails digging deep. “What happened?” she asked breathlessly. “I saw you talking to Jorie right before.”
“Give her some space,” Bree said as I extricated myself from Kelli’s grip, never mind she still stood too close. I was starting to get claustrophobic.
“I left Jorie in the churchyard for only a minute,” I told them. “She was supposed to be waiting for me to come back.”
“Then why would she climb the bell tower?” Kelli’s friend Eudora asked, snaking in behind us.
That was my question.
“Jorie and Ray used to babysit me every weekend my mom worked,” Bree said, her voice breaking. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I saw several people leaning out the window too far,” Kelli observed as if she hadn’t been one of them. “I should have said something,” she added, her eyes filling with tears. “Why didn’t I say something? I’m a horrible, horrible person.”
“It’s not your fault,” I assured her. It couldn’t be. “And I refuse to believe it’s that easy to fall out a window.” She looked at me hopefully, doubtfully. “If it was, somebody would have done it a long time before today,” I added.
The church was a century old, after all.
“What if it was a ghost?” Bree gulped. “I mean, this place is old. It has to be haunted, right?” she asked, looking right at me.
“Ghosts aren’t usually able to harm the living. A lot of the time, they don’t even notice us.” The case I’d solved for Bree had been an exception. “Besides, when I’m tuned in, I’m vulnerable, but the rest of you are fine.”
What they didn’t see couldn’t hurt them.
However, it occurred to me that I might have a ghostly witness to Jorie’s death. If the gravedigger Frankie had spotted earlier did indeed haunt the tower, or the ground below, he might have seen what had happened.
Bobbi Sue gave a shriek and dodged clear as the door opened behind me and whacked me in the back.
“What—?” Officer Duranja pushed it open more, forcing his way into the very warm, very crowded secondary meeting of the ladies of the Sugarland Heritage Society. He gaped at us like he’d never met a Southern woman before. “What are you all doing in here?”
Kelli flashed him her winningest smile. “Ellis said to wait.”
“In the pews. Isolated from other witnesses,” Duranja insisted as if he’d walked in on us having a slumber party.
“He did not say that,” Eudora stated.
“Go,” Duranja said, ushering the lot of us through the vestibule and into the main church. “One to a row,” he said over the gaggle of women as each launched into her own theory about what had happened and who might be haunting various places in Sugarland. “Quiet,” he ordered, which only resulted in some of them lowering their voices.
We were in a church, after all.
Just then, I spotted Fiera sitting in a pew near the back.
I slipped in behind her, making a respectful sign of the cross as I did. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?”
Fiera turned around, knuckles white as she gripped the top of the pew. “I keep trying to say a prayer, but I can’t get the words out. I feel horrible that I left my post.”
“So you didn’t see her go up?” I asked.
She shook her head no, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I’d left to take a break. I need a break every hour with all the climbing up and down the stairs. I’m the only one Pastor Mike approved to give tours,” she added, her voice breaking. “He trusted me.”
“It’s not your fault,” I assured her.
“I put up the rope barrier in front of the door,” she insisted. “People know what that means. It works at the library. I don’t know why Jorie would slip the rope. I offered her one of the first tours of the day, and she turned me down, saying she didn’t want to take the stairs with an achy hip.”
A shadow fell over us as the ladies filed past down the main aisle. I looked up and saw Pastor Mike. “How are you holding up?” he asked Fiera.
“I’m going to miss her so much,” the tour guide said, her voice breaking as she accepted a tissue from the kindly pastor.
“Did you see Jorie go up into the tower alone?” I asked him while Fiera blew her nose.
For a moment, I saw his controlled, pastoral demeanor break and the raw pain shine through. He cleared his throat. “I had a group up at the altar, looking at the carvings. I saw Jorie come inside, but I didn’t notice her going up to the tower.” He directed a sympathetic nod to Fiera. “Maybe I should have assigned you someone to help you keep an eye on our guests.”
He might have only been trying to comfort the distraught tour guide, but he didn’t need to make it sound like Fiera’s fault.
“Maybe she was depressed and I missed the signs.” Fiera sniffled, accepting another tissue. “Maybe she killed herself.”
“I’m quite sure she didn’t,” I said, glancing up at the craggy, frowning face of the reverend. The Jorie I’d spoken with minutes before her death had not been suicidal, nor eager to climb the bell tower so quickly—or at all.
She was supposed to be waiting for me. She had a bad hip. I wondered who could have led her up there and what reason they had given for her to abandon me.
The soul traces had shown no violence or struggle. If someone had lured her up to the bell tower, it stood to reason she’d known the person. Of course, that included pretty much everyone here.
“I saw her talking to you,” Pastor Mike said, in the kind of gravelly, reassuring voice that made it seem easy to tell him things. “Did you perhaps, without intention, say or do anything to make her upset?”
“Not at all.” In fact, just the opposite. “Jorie gave me a lovely surprise. I only stepped away for a moment to put it in my car. She was waiting for me to come back.”
“I saw it.” Fiera nodded, blowing her nose once more and folding over her tissue. “Jorie showed a few of us before Verity arrived.” She gazed at me with red, round eyes. “It was a lovely photo. And those roses”—she clicked her tongue—“your grandma had a special gift.”
“I don’t understand it,” the pastor murmured. “I wish I’d known she was in so much pain.”
“Cut the talking. One to a pew,” Duranja said, walking up to the pastor. “You too, Mike.”
“Of course. But can I speak to you for a minute?” the pastor asked. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you anyway,” he continued to Duranja, and they retreated to the back of the church, then through the open vestibule. I watched them take their hushed conversation out to the front steps as the front door eased shut behind them.
Bree slipped into my pew, startling me. “I’ll cover for you if you want to go to the tower and investigate,” she whispered.
I wanted to, but… “Ellis would have my head.”
Jorie was in good hands with Ellis and the Sugarland Police Department. It would be a literal crime for me to get in the way.
“What you do is important,” she insisted. “I’ve seen it.” She folded her hands in her lap. “God gave you a gift so you could use it.”
I wouldn’t necessarily call Frankie “God’s gift.”
At the very front of the church, Ellis’s mother, Virginia, looked over her shoulder and frowned. It seemed the old guard, the rich and exclusive leading ladies of Sugarland, had retreated to the front of the church from the start.
Bree ignored them. “All I’
m saying is that if I were the one who fell, I’d like to think you’d be up there checking it out.”
And that was actually what did it for me.
Jorie had loved me and trusted me. She had always believed in me and had never shied away from controversy. If Jorie had been in my shoes, she’d already be up in the tower.
“Wish me luck,” I said, slipping from the pew.
At least the old guard way up front had given up on us. Each of them faced staunchly forward. Maybe they were praying for our souls. Virginia would take great delight in reporting me, as would her cronies.
“You can do it,” Bree whispered after me.
Ducking down, I scooted out of the pew and hurried down the aisle. I didn’t see anyone out the side windows. They were probably all gathered out front.
Faster than a bee-stung stallion, I rushed to the bell tower entrance.
It would have been nice to have Frankie with me. He could be a great help when navigating the other side, and he’d have a gun in case the organist ghost with the knife lurked somewhere up in the tower.
Ghosts couldn’t kill each other, since technically they were already dead. But a death blow would knock a ghost out for a time.
I paused at the entrance to the tower. As Fiera had said, the rope barrier stood in front of the door, secure.
Did I dare?
Not until I knew I was alone. I retreated to the front window overlooking the yard and pressed close to the stained glass. Through the swirling reds, blues, and yellows, I saw Ellis speaking with the coroner while another officer took photos of the scene.
Nearby, Duranja talked to Pastor Mike.
And so I casually made my way to the bell tower door and slipped the rope.
It had been startlingly easy to do, I realized, as I climbed the steep wooden stairs to the tower.
Later, I might try to time how swiftly a person could make it to the top, but at the moment, I had to go slowly to avoid touching the railing or the walls. I didn’t want to disturb any evidence Ellis or the police might need for their own investigation.
The toes of my shoes scrunched over the sandpapery safety strips on the newly remodeled wooden stairs as they wound steeply up.
I smelled the tang of new wood over old brick and saw the glow of sunlight at the top as I made my way to the square cut in the ceiling. I notched an elbow onto the newly buffed wood floor, not chancing the smudge of my fingers over the entryway as I tried to make a decently graceful go of the last few steps.
A large brass bell hung from thick ropes above. I also detected subtle hints of the spirit who haunted this place—the smell of sweat and earth lingered in the air. A ghostly shovel, rusted at the top and clumped with dirt, leaned against the far corner near the front-facing window.
I suspected I’d found the gravedigger.
Chapter Five
I climbed the rest of the way into the tower. My gaze swept over a plain wooden floor, the wide windows on each wall, and the large church bell hanging from a freshly painted white wood beam. But I didn’t see the ghost.
Not yet.
I hesitated in the small empty space. The last place Jorie stood before she died.
There were no other signs of the ghost.
How strange. Most of the time, the ghostly side of a room or building appeared exactly as it had in the past, or at least how the dominant ghost viewed it.
But this ghost had merely focused on an old shovel.
A subtle breeze wafted through the windows.
“Hello?” I asked.
No response. Trees rustled outside, the crackling of branches overtaking the faint voices of the investigators below.
I took a deep breath in an attempt to ease my pounding heart.
My attention shifted to the window and the blue sky overhanging the cemetery below. Something must have happened to bring Jorie up here.
Crouching low so as not to be seen by Ellis or the investigators, I peeked out the window facing the front of the church and looked down at Jorie’s broken body below.
The pain of the loss shot through me, and I closed my eyes.
I cleared my throat and backed away from the window and the view of Jorie’s crumpled body, scanning the small space for a sign of what had brought her up here, or who on earth could have killed her.
The rusty scent of earth grew stronger, along with the stale odor of death.
My heart sped up. “Is anyone here?” I asked, doing my best to show no fear. I sincerely hoped this ghost was friendlier than the organist.
The tip of the shovel wobbled against the wood floor.
“I don’t mean to intrude on your privacy,” I added, keeping the one-sided conversation civil.
The spirit flickered into view between me and the stairs, a hunched, bearded man in worn coveralls. A dirty bandana slouched around his neck.
“Hi,” I said, lifting my hand in a little wave. He seemed to stare right past me. “My name is Verity. I’m sorry to pop up here without permission. Heaven knows you’ve had your share of visitors today.” He didn’t respond, so I kept going. “There’s been a tragedy, and I’m hoping you could help me.”
Slowly, his gaze shifted to stare at me.
I felt myself begin to sweat despite the chill of the ghost. “What’s your name?” I asked, trying to keep it casual. I couldn’t let him intimidate me. He was a person, just like any other. A dead person, but we could get along. Ghosts liked me. Well, most of the time.
When I was lucky.
At the narrowing of his eyes, I hastened to add, “You don’t have to tell me your name if you don’t want. I don’t mean to pry.” His breathing picked up, which made me nervous because ghosts didn’t need to breathe.
However, when under stress, some would revert to actions they would have taken while alive. I pasted on a smile and ignored the wild beating of my heart. Most ghosts scared me more than I scared them. I had much more to lose if this encounter went bad. The gravedigger couldn’t be hurt or killed, while I certainly could.
I cleared my throat and tried again. “My friend Jorie fell from the window of this tower a little while ago,” I said, maintaining my ground. “Did you see what happened?”
He let out a hard, low chuff.
“Can you expand on that?” I asked.
I didn’t know why listening to me would stress him or why he hadn’t said anything yet. Truly, the ghost had me baffled.
Still, I had to find some way to make him more comfortable.
He was blocking my escape.
Besides, his was the most positive response I’d gotten from a ghost since I’d arrived at this property. For starters, I actually had his attention. On top of that, he hadn’t attacked me for it. Those were both pluses in my book.
And he’d voluntarily appeared to me. That had to mean something.
“I like your shovel,” I said, pointing to the half-rusted thing in the corner. “It looks like you’ve put it to good use.”
Digging graves, I finished in my mind. But it was a very noble profession. This was a hardworking man. “I have trouble digging down far enough to plant a peach tree,” I admitted, instantly wishing I could clap a hand over my mouth.
It wasn’t the same.
On the upside, he eyed me with more curiosity now.
Probably wondering how much further I could run my mouth.
The tip of the shovel grated against the floor as it slid sideways an inch or two.
That was when I saw an object behind it, something made of paper and wedged behind his shovel. It lay in the corner to my right, and from what I could tell, it existed on the earthly plane.
Oh my.
“Are you trying to show me something?” I asked, edging casually toward it, keeping my eyes on the gravedigger. I didn’t want him to interpret my movement as a threat. With any luck, we were on the same page.
Even so, I refused to turn my back on him when he blocked my only escape route that didn’t involve a window. I mean, I’d mis
interpreted ghostly intentions before—like downstairs with the organist. And the gravedigger hadn’t given me much to go on here.
I grinned at him and tried not to let my smile falter when he frowned.
“If you move your shovel, I can get that paper,” I suggested.
The corner of his mouth tipped up into a snarl.
“Okay,” I said brightly, chancing a step that way. “No worries,” I added as if saying it would make it so. “I’ll grab it myself.”
Boy, I hoped that paper was worth the risk of upsetting another ghost today.
I’d hate to go to all the trouble for an old Kleenex or a discarded fundraising flier.
Handling objects on the ghostly plane was never pleasant. Usually it gave me a hair-raising shock. Combine it with the fact my touch would make any otherworldly object disappear within a few minutes, and handling the shovel became risky business. I mean, the gravedigger and I had just met. There was no telling how he’d take me fiddling with his tool of the trade or making it fade into thin air.
“I could try to reach around your shovel,” I offered, bending down to take a closer look at the object wedged into the corner.
Sweet heaven above. It was an envelope. But not any old envelope. I recognized my grandmother’s looping handwriting, and the return address in the corner:
Delia Long
#12 Peach Orchard Lane
Sugarland, Tennessee
Unless Grandma’s private correspondence was now falling from the sky, this had to be the letter Jorie had planned to give me.
I glanced up at the ghost, who, to my dismay, had begun to advance on me. I hoped he’d decided to help but couldn’t be certain. He wasn’t talking.
And from this angle, I was pretty sure I could get it without him.
“I’ll save you the trouble,” I said, deftly reaching around the ghostly spade to grab the letter. A cold shock seared my thumb as it glanced through a clump of ghostly dirt, but I managed to snag the paper and whip it out.
“There!” I said, holding it up to the ghost as if he’d been cheering me on. “We did it.”
He loomed above me, jaw clenched, breathing heavily out his nose. The cold air dusted my shoulders, making me shiver.