Southern Bred and Dead (Southern Ghost Hunter Mysteries Book 9)

by Angie Fox

  Maybe Lou had led a double life: hardened gangster in public, ladies-magazine-reading teetotaler in private.

  It could happen. I’d certainly seen stranger things.

  I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. A shimmering gray figure watched us through the cracked-open bedroom door.

  From the curl of the hair and the smoky eye shadow, it appeared to be a woman.

  I gave her a small reassuring smile to let her know we meant no harm.

  “Frank,” I said quietly.

  “Don’t call me Frank,” he ordered.

  “Look,” I pressed.

  He’d barely turned his head when, with the swish of a polka-dot dress, the ghostly door began to ease closed.

  Frankie raced over there in a heartbeat and blocked it with his foot. “Hey, doll,” he said, going easier than I’d expected, given his mood. “We’re just looking for Lou.”

  “Stay away from him,” she ordered, voice quivering.

  “You got something to hide?” he asked.

  “Stay away from us both!” she cried, and before he could get another word out, what I could see of the polka-dot dress evaporated. Her hold on the door slackened, and Frankie nudged it open the rest of the way with his foot.

  “She’s gone,” he said, more than a little frustrated.

  “You scared her.”

  “I am pretty tough,” he said, taking it as a compliment.

  He held his gun ahead of him as we ventured into a sparse bedroom furnished with little more than a bed on a plain metal frame.

  “Who was she?” I asked, moving to the skirted table by the bed. It seemed she’d known Lou, but in what capacity I couldn’t say.

  “I’ve never seen her before in my life,” Frankie said, checking under the bed.

  “You sure about that?” I asked, scanning the room. “If this is Lou’s hideout, she could be his girlfriend.”

  Frankie barked out a laugh. “Lou didn’t have a girl. He wasn’t the type to commit.”

  “Care to explain this?” I asked, directing him to a framed photograph on the nightstand. The decorative glass held a photograph of a dark-haired, smiling woman in a dress speckled with daisies, and a long-faced, hook-nosed man who bore a passing resemblance to my friend.

  Frankie nearly dropped his gun. “Holy hell. That’s Lou.”

  “I think she’s the one I saw behind the door.” I’d only managed a glimpse, but the hair was the same, the smoky eyes as well.

  “I don’t believe it,” Frankie said, stunned.

  I checked out the tiny tiled bathroom while Frankie stared at the photograph as if he could make it make sense by sheer force of will.

  The closet-sized space held a plain tub with a slight rust stain flowing from the base of the faucet to the drain. A cake of rose-shaped soap rested in a dish perched on a porcelain pedestal sink. On the small glass shelf above it, I watched as a ghostly silver-backed hairbrush began to fade away.

  Quickly, I opened the medicine cabinet over the sink and caught one last glimpse of a neatly rolled toothpaste tube, an antique loose powder with the fuzzy puff on top, and a toothbrush as they disappeared.

  “Why is there only one toothbrush?” I asked.

  The room darkened as the silvery light from the ghost faded.

  “I think this was her room, not his,” Frankie said as I dug into my bag for my flashlight and clicked it on.

  “So the girl is the dominant ghost?” I asked, joining him in the now-empty bedroom.

  All traces of the ghostly furniture had disappeared, even the photo.

  “The closet had dresses and a lady’s shoes,” Frankie said. “No guy’s clothes.”

  “A daisy flowered dress?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I don’t get it.” Frankie planted his hands on his hips, studying the empty room as if he could will the ghost’s vision back into existence again. “This is supposed to be Lou’s spot.”

  “Do you think she’s controlling him?” I asked, moving to the living room. It, too, had lost all traces of its ghostly past. The room stood stark and empty, four walls and a hardwood floor.

  “Lou would never allow it,” Frankie said. “He’s bossier than I am.”

  “Perish the thought,” I said, training my flashlight over the empty spot of the wall where the radio had stood. “Maybe it was less romantic and more blackmail.” Although I wasn’t sure how… Take me to your safe house or else?

  Frankie considered it, not convinced. “Lou owned his dark side. He didn’t leave any room for blackmail.”

  “Okay, well, if she was staying up here, then she’s connected to him.” The bartender had said this was his hideout, and I didn’t think he’d lie to me at gunpoint. “If it’s not love or blackmail, then what? Does any of this make sense to you?” I asked Frankie, who had gone strangely silent.

  He stood looking at the floor. “None of this has made sense since I found out my own brother killed me.”

  And we were back to square one.

  He brushed past me. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We opted to make our way out via the rear fire escape, seeing as Frankie had lost his disguise and the club owners didn’t like Frankie even when he wasn’t robbing the bartender downstairs.

  “I’m proud of how you handled your first stickup,” Frankie said, hovering next to me while I took the metal stairs.

  “It wasn’t a stickup,” I said through clenched teeth. It was more like trickery, which was only slightly better in my view. “I wasn’t going to take anything.”

  “Nobody gets it right the first time.” He shrugged. “But the important thing is you kept your cool.”

  Next time, give me a choice in the matter. “You could have warned me.”

  “If I did, you wouldn’t have done it,” Frankie reasoned.

  Oh, for the days when I didn’t have a ghost by my side and an urn in my purse.

  We reached the bottom, and I jumped the last few feet, landing hard. Kitten heels were not made for this. “You realize you got me into big trouble,” I said, smoothing my skirt. “Either Brennan tells on us and the O’Malley family will be after me for the rest of eternity, or I owe that bartender a date.”

  “Hold up,” Frankie said, winding in front of me, nearly causing me to trip as I avoided running into him. “You and Brennan,” he said, pointing at the building. “Brennan and you? I thought you were the loyal type.” Frankie took off his hat and stared at me. “I might not like you dating the fuzz, but Ellis is a good guy despite his job, and he doesn’t deserve you skirting around on him.”

  Seriously. I looked him in the eyes, right below the bullet hole in his forehead. “I’m not going to cheat on Ellis with a dead prohibition-era bartender.”

  His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Good, because Brennan is a player.”

  I couldn’t believe Frankie was actually watching out for me. And for Ellis. When had this started?

  “I made a deal to get us out of there alive,” I told him. Simple as that.

  “Speak for yourself,” he huffed before turning and gliding toward the alley without me.

  “In one piece,” I corrected. The gangster was far too sensitive about being called dead. I mean, wasn’t it obvious?

  I held back while he called off Ice Pick Charlie and the guys guarding the back door of the club. They faded away, promising to pass the word to the guys on the roof across the street.

  Frankie and I made our way up the side alley in the dark alone.

  “You’ve changed,” Frankie said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  Not this again. “I’m doing fine,” I insisted. I’d helped him tonight. I’d done my best for Jorie this afternoon. What else did he or anyone else want from me?

  “I’m not saying it’s bad,” he said, passing straight through a line of trash cans. “I mean, it took nothing to get you to sneak into the gin joint tonight. And I liked how you handled a gun.”

  “I resisted. A little.” I ran
a hand down my face. Now Frankie was proud of me.

  “But did you have to hit on the bartender?” he pleaded.

  This was really bugging him. I searched for the right words. Kicked a rock. Considered how to put it. “I misled the bartender.” For a good cause. “You of all people should know things aren’t black and white.” We emerged onto the shadowy street. “Perhaps I am learning to bend the rules a little, but I’m doing it with the best of intentions.”

  Frankie considered my explanation, then broke into a grin. “You know, that’s what I always say. You do what you gotta do.” He shook his head. “Still, I’d never promise a date to anybody but Molly.” He started across the road toward the car.

  “Yeah, I have a feeling that’s going to come back and bite me,” I said, following.

  “It always does,” he agreed.

  Lord above. Since when did I have anything in common with Frankie? Maybe Ellis was right. Maybe I was looking at the world a little differently than I had before.

  Although, it had worked out so far.

  Frankie stopped short of the passenger-side door of my car. “Can I give you some advice?”

  “That depends on the subject,” I said, leaning against the car.

  Frankie drew a smoke out of his suit pocket and held it in the corner of his mouth. “I remember my first holdup,” he said, striking a match.

  He was not going to Obi Wan me into any more criminal activity. “Unlike you, my first holdup will be my last.”

  He lit up and tossed the match. “It was an armored car out of Memphis, and the driver was on the take.”

  “So the exact same thing as tonight,” I added, with more than a touch of sarcasm.

  He took a long, slow drag. “I was so nervous I dang near forgot half the money, and I didn’t even take the guard’s gun.” He chuckled. “I might as well have baked him brownies and asked about his kids. But I proved I could do it, and I was a different person when I got home that night than I was when I left in the morning.” He eyed me and took another drag. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

  “No.” I really didn’t.

  Smoke streamed out his nose. “When you choose to do something different,” he said, gesturing with his smoke, “when you step outside of what you’ve done before, take another path from who you say you are—it changes you. You might not be the one to realize it, but it does.” He raised a brow and took another drag. “My brother recognized it the second he saw me after that robbery.”

  “And he was proud,” I concluded.

  Frankie coughed and waved the smoke away from his face. “He was furious,” he said, recovering. “Lou dang near tore my head off.”

  That didn’t make any sense at all. “Lou’s a gangster.” He should have been proud. It wasn’t as if he could tell by looking that Frankie had let the guard off easy.

  Frankie shrugged. “Lou’s my big brother. He wanted a better life for me,” he said, taking a drag. “He always said he got into the mob to keep me out of it.”

  Part of me couldn’t imagine Frankie before he embraced a life of crime, the Frankie who was not a gangster. “But you’re such a natural.”

  “I know,” he said, with a little too much enthusiasm. “Lou saw it as a way to survive.” He pointed his smoke at me. “I saw it as a way to live.”

  It never occurred to me that there might have been another path for Frankie. But it seemed like there had been other choices, ones his brother had wanted him to take. “So did Lou ever get over it?” I asked. “I mean, it’s not like he could judge if he joined the South Town gang before you.”

  “I never asked,” he said, without an ounce of regret.

  “Of course not.” Frankie wasn’t big on communication.

  His eyes went cold. “He shot me before I got the chance.”

  “I’m aware.”

  Frankie tossed his cigarette. “Come on, I need a drink.” He passed through the car door and took a seat, leaning his head through the window. “There’s an underground party I know.”

  “Absolutely not,” I said, digging out my keys as I walked around the front. For one thing, my feet were killing me. I opened the driver’s door and looked down at him. “I don’t trust you not to stuff liquor bottles down my dress and try to sneak me out the back.”

  Frankie rolled his eyes. “That would never work because touching you would make the booze disappear.”

  I sat down on the edge of the driver’s seat and nudged off my heels one at a time. Pure bliss. “I’ve had enough action for one day,” I said, to the tune of his long sigh. I glanced over at him. “In case you forgot, I’ve been busy with murder, armed robbery, and a manhunt”—I tossed my heels into the back seat—“when all I wanted was a nice afternoon out followed by an evening of knitting in my car.”

  “This is your problem,” Frankie stated as I pulled onto Main Street. “You need to learn how to live it up.”

  “And you need to settle down.” I’d kept my promise and then some by helping him track down his brother’s whereabouts tonight. At considerable personal risk. I’d earned the rest of the evening off.

  “There’s a gin joint above the old sugar warehouse,” Frankie suggested as we made a left onto Third Street.

  “Those are loft apartments now, and I don’t think those people want us traipsing through.”

  He considered that while I drove through a cute neighborhood of 1940s bungalows. Ellis lived only a few blocks away, I realized with a pang. I wouldn’t mind stopping by his place if I were sure I’d be welcome. After our fight this afternoon, I just didn’t know.

  “How about the card game at the library?” Frankie suggested.

  I waved to an older couple sitting in lawn chairs under a porch light, drinking wine.

  “The last time we crashed the card game at the library, I almost got shot,” I reminded him.

  “Actually, it was the time before,” he corrected.

  Either way. “The library is closed at this hour. I can’t get in.”

  Frankie leaned his head back against the seat rest. “It’s like you only want to think of the problems and not the solutions.”

  I glanced at him. “And you like creating problems, period.”

  He eyed me, his head still back. “Daisy Marple’s crypt at Holy Oak Cemetery is always hopping.”

  It went on like that until we pulled down the long drive to my house.

  Frankie stared out at the young peach trees I’d planted the spring before. “Nothing ever happens at your house.”

  Should I remind him of the time he opened a high-stakes casino on my back porch?

  “Hold that thought,” I said, pulling around to the back. Ellis’s police cruiser sat parked in front of my rosebushes.

  I wished nothing interesting happened at my house. But since Frankie got stuck there, interesting was better than some of the alternatives. At the moment, Ellis stood on my back porch, knocking.

  “Maybe he’s coming to apologize for our fight this afternoon,” I said, hastily shoving my car into park and killing the engine.

  “You do look like you went a few rounds,” Frankie said, taking in my appearance.

  Heavens. I must look a fright after dancing and robbing and running up stairs and down fire escapes. I ran my fingers through my hair, realizing both barrettes were gone, along with the baby’s breath.

  “I’m out of here,” Frankie said, disappearing as I debated rooting through the back seat for my shoes.

  Seeing Ellis shouldn’t make me nervous, but it did. Despite our troubles, I hoped he’d be glad to see me because he loved me.

  I slipped barefoot out of the car, with a ready smile that died on my lips almost as quickly as it had appeared.

  “Where have you been?” Ellis asked, tromping down my porch stairs, his tone a bit too accusing for my taste.

  I crinkled my toes into the dirt. There was no sense lying about it. “I just got back from a manhunt with Frankie,” I declared, daring him to challenge me on i
t.

  His brows knit and his pace slowed as he crossed the yard. “What do you mean a manhunt with Frankie?” he asked, looking me up and down before he stopped in front of me. This was not the greeting of a happy boyfriend. “Where did you go?”

  I notched my chin up. “You could be happier to see me.”

  “You’re a mess.” His jaw clenched. “Did you do anything illegal?”

  I brushed past him and headed for the house. “I’d rather not say.” Breaking and entering was outside the law, but I wasn’t sure about the robbery part because it wasn’t in our world. So did Ellis even have jurisdiction?

  “Get back here,” he said, on my heels.

  I would not allow him to order me around at my own home. “Why did you come over in the first place?” I asked, mounting the back stairs. “Was it just to argue, or are you even a little glad to see me?”

  We disagreed on a few very important points, but that didn’t mean he had to greet me like an angry police officer. He was my boyfriend. He’d driven across town to see me. He’d be wise to begin with a sweet hello and a kiss before giving me the third degree.

  Especially after the day I’d had.

  I hadn’t taken two strides when he said, “I found this at the murder scene.”

  In the glow of the yellow porch light, I saw him hold up a clear plastic evidence bag with Jorie’s big manila folder inside, the one she’d brought with her this afternoon.

  “You found it,” I said, ten kinds of relieved as I made a grab for it. It had contained the photograph. I’d worried I’d never see it again.

  He held it back from me. “Why is your name on the folder?”

  So he hadn’t come here because he missed me. My heart sank a little.

  Nevertheless, I explained all about Jorie and the sentimental items she’d tried to give me. “Now can I see what’s in it?”

  “It’s empty,” he said, handing me the sealed bag.

  I turned it over in my hands, disappointed. “I’d hoped the picture would still be inside.” Jorie had placed it there minutes before she died. I’d give anything for that shot of my grandmother and Jorie outside the Three Angels Church on her wedding day, especially now that both of them were gone. “I don’t understand it.”