by Angie Fox
“Duranja didn’t say much about it in his report,” Ellis said, clearly unhappy about that. “He did go into detail about the letter you took.”
“That was a terrible mistake,” I admitted, willing him to understand. “I got carried away.”
“Ghost hunting?” he asked pointedly.
I ignored his tone. “I had reason to think a certain ghost may have witnessed her fall. He’s a gravedigger, and he haunts the tower.”
Now I had his attention.
“And?” he asked.
“The gravedigger went after me and I had to run,” I admitted. “If he saw anything, he’s not talking. Yet,” I added, with a touch of optimism.
He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair as if he were trying to hold onto his temper. “It was a mistake that wouldn’t have happened if you were prepared for the dangers of ghost hunting, which you can’t be because it’s impossible to predict what’s going to happen next.”
He had me there.
He dropped his hand. “You were explicitly told to stay with the rest of the witnesses.”
“It was a quick fact-finding jaunt up the tower,” I insisted.
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
That was cold.
“So now I need your permission to do my job?” I asked. Honestly. “My grandma’s friend died, and I was in a position to see what might have happened. I’d be ashamed if I didn’t step up in that position.”
He gritted his jaw so hard a muscle in his neck jumped. “You chose to strike off on your own during an active death investigation.”
He made it sound bad. “I didn’t mean any harm.”
“You used to talk to me first. Once upon a time, you would have held back and at least thought about it.”
“Once upon a time, you’d have wanted me to go.” I glanced past him, out to the darkened backyard.
The more I’d braved otherworldly situations, the more I realized I could help people in a way nobody else could. I could see nothing bad about that.
Except when I got into trouble.
I chanced a glance back at Ellis. The soft porch light played across his handsome features, and I paused a moment to enjoy it.
“Why don’t we head inside the house for a nice glass of lemonade?” I asked, taking the Southern approach.
Tough conversations always went down better with a cold drink.
But Ellis was the stubborn sort. He remained rooted to the porch. “I don’t want any lemonade. I want you to listen to me.”
As if I had a choice.
“You’re getting too bold,” he stated flatly, “and you’re not always staying on the right side of the law like you used to.”
Boy, that was hard to argue after the night I’d had. “I’m doing my best,” I insisted, walking toward the porch swing by the stairs. I needed space.
“And yet Duranja caught you breaking into the Adair estate a few months ago.”
I turned. “How could I resist a Gatsby-era house party? The ghosts invited me in.” At his thunderous expression, I added, “Then I got permission from the live owner, so it was all fine.”
He ran a hand down his face. “You took evidence.”
“Not that time,” I clarified.
“Today,” he countered.
Right. “I do feel awful about that,” I said, closing the distance between us once more. “I was flustered. And I don’t see how a personal letter is major evidence anyway.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It has been in the past.”
“I’ll try to do better.”
That earned a small look of understanding from Ellis. “In this case, you got lucky. We read it, and it appears to be just a chatty old letter.”
Oh, good. “Can I have it back, then?”
“No.” He started to speak and then stopped. “Look, I know you feel a certain responsibility for your grandma’s friend, and I get that, I do. But you need to cool it. Not every incident has a ghostly witness, and not every accident is a crime.”
He was one to talk. “I remember a time when you were right there with me, investigating every angle, no matter how unlikely.”
“Yes,” he said immediately, “when we were investigating clear cases of foul play that led to murder.”
“The ledge is waist high. It would be hard to fall.”
“But still possible,” Ellis stated. “From what I’ve seen, this one looks cut and dried.” He held up a hand when I began to protest. “Not every death is nefarious, but we are looking into it.”
“Then tell me what happened to the photograph,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“It could have been dropped, like the letter,” he said quite reasonably.
“But you didn’t find it on the lawn with the envelope.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “No.”
It bothered him. I could see it. Well, it nagged at me too.
When it came down to it, I didn’t think I could let it rest until we’d recovered that photograph.
I had a feeling that would be a problem for him.
The clickety-click of animal nails on glass interrupted my rumination. “Look,” I said, pointing to the window off the parlor. A furry skunk pressed her nose to the glass. “Lucy is dying to see you.”
He tried to resist. He even kept his frown for a few seconds while watching her snurffle and dance on her back legs.
But he was too weak to resist her charms.
“Hello, pretty girl,” he said, directing the smallest slip of a smile at her. That was all right. I wasn’t jealous.
I winked at the skunk—we were a team, after all—as Ellis followed me inside, keeping an eye on me the entire time.
“I’m glad to see you, pumpkin,” he murmured, kneeling down to greet the skunk, who rushed him as soon as he cleared the threshold. “And you need to remember to lock your doors,” he added to me, letting Lucy do a back bend over his thigh so he could rub her belly.
Leave it to my girl. She had a way with Officer Wydell, and he was soon scratching her under her chin as she kicked out her back leg and grunted happily at the attention.
Oh, to have the charm of a Lucy, I mused, pouring two glasses of lemonade with ice.
“I have a feeling you’re still going to try to investigate without me,” Ellis said, lavishing attention on my skunk.
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” I hedged, knowing it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.
Ellis’s attention shot up to me. “We’ve already searched the grounds.”
I placed a glass of lemonade on the kitchen island for him.
He didn’t take it.
“Maybe there is another copy of the photograph somewhere,” I mused. Then I could at least have a better understanding of what had gone missing.
He eyed me. “How come you can’t go back to graphic design?” he asked, standing. “I’m sure my mother’s not trying to turn every client against you anymore.”
“It’s not that simple,” I said, taking a sip of lemonade.
Ellis touched my arm. “Hey, if my mom did try to hurt your business in any way, I’d be on her and so would Beau.”
“It’s not that,” I said, walking away, abandoning him and the lemonade. “I wanted that before. Badly. I like being creative and I like working with people. Every day was different from the day before.” I closed my eyes tight. “But now, I have something better.”
“How?” he thundered. “How is this better? You’re chasing down spirits I can’t even see. You’re getting into situations where nobody alive can help.”
I turned to face him. “Tonight, I went to a speakeasy that was as real to me as my house and my kitchen.” Boy, did Ellis look angry. But I kept going. “I danced to my grandpa’s favorite jazz band. Live. And that’s not all. I’ve seen things. I’ve been a part of history. How do you expect me to live a life on the mortal plane knowing all this is happening on the other side and I’m not a part of it anymore?”
The ghosts I interacted with every day were part of real life, too.
“You haven’t seen it.” Now that I had, I couldn’t ignore it. “I’ve made friends—good friends—on the other side that I never would have met because they’re not living and breathing anymore.” And, yes, I didn’t know what I’d encounter when I walked into certain situations, but that was part of life even in the mortal realm. And then there was Frankie. “If I stop venturing out on the ghostly side, how can I help Frankie with his issues? Are you saying I can’t do anything with Frankie anymore?”
“Frankie will be fine with or without you,” Ellis said as if it were a fact.
Hardly. “We’re working on getting him free, but he needs my help. He has a chance”—however slim—“to mend things with his brother. I think that might be a stepping-stone for him. He needs to stop being defined by his death and his ashes in the yard. He needs to grow emotionally, and if he does that, I really think we can free him.”
“Or you could be chasing another ghost up a tower,” Ellis countered.
He didn’t need to get snippy. “Listen to yourself. I just opened up to you, and all you did was try to blow a hole in it.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t deal with this right now.”
“Nobody asked you to. You came to see me,” I reminded him.
He nodded, jaw tight. “Maybe that was a mistake.”
It hurt to hear that. It hurt badly. “I will talk to you about ghost hunting. I will work through the issues you have with ghost hunting, but I refuse to be sorry for it.”
“Then I suppose we have nothing more to say to each other,” Ellis said, watching me, eerily calm.
“I suppose we don’t,” I said, and let him walk away. I let him slam the door, and I let him launch himself into his patrol car. My stomach hit my shoes, but I let him drive away.
A warm ball of fluff brushed my leg.
“Lucy.” I reached down for my skunk. I folded her into my arms, and she snuggled deep. Ellis might not understand what I needed right now, but Lucy did.
I walked her over to the couch and sat down. I buried my face into the back of her warm, soft neck and felt her sigh against my arm. Lucy was always glad to see me, no matter what. She cared.
It would have to be enough.
Chapter Eleven
I expected Ellis to call and apologize. He wasn’t one to stand on principle when he said or did something wrong. But my phone didn’t ring.
At about eleven o’clock, I fired off a text to my best friend, Lauralee. She’d always been a good sounding board—she’d been my rock when my engagement had fallen apart.
She texted back right away.
She was up late with a sick kiddo. Her second born, Hiram, had the flu, and she was in bed, snuggled with him. I didn’t get into my troubles but asked her to call when she had the chance.
Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well that night. And by the next morning, the fight with Ellis still weighed on my mind.
“It’s not like I can change who I am,” I said, stirring up yogurt and blueberries for Lucy and myself. I added a sprinkle of Vita-Skunk supplement to hers. “I mean, he knew this about me when he asked me out in the first place.”
We’d fought off a particularly terrorizing poltergeist, and we’d been buried alive and shot at before he’d even taken me out for pasta and a glass of wine.
Lucy snorted and spun in circles that should have made her dizzy. I took it as enthusiastic agreement, even though it was more likely her appreciation for the pecans I sprinkled over her breakfast.
“I’m careful. You know I am,” I said, and to my skunk’s delight I placed her bowl down for her. I did need to be more careful about law breaking. And I would. I never set out to break any rules. Sometimes it just…happened.
Ellis had been on jobs with me. He’d seen what it was like. I had to adjust to each situation. “I always try to do the right thing,” I reminded Lucy, who munched away, “and if he can’t see that, well…”
The niggling pit in my stomach worried Ellis would walk out for good.
I mean, wasn’t I worth a little trust, and perhaps an occasional flare-up with the police department?
I’d never lied to him, never pretended to be anything other than who I was.
The screen door flapped behind me as I walked out onto the porch with my breakfast, hoping a change of scene would lighten my mood. The morning air was crisp, and the pond in my yard placid and serene. Still, I couldn’t enjoy it. I mean, I’d wanted to clear the air with Ellis for a while, ever since I’d overheard him at the haunted asylum. I’d put it off because I hadn’t known how to solve it.
And he’d put it off until the organist with the knife had made it impossible to ignore.
But I didn’t like fighting, and I really didn’t like the way we’d left things last night.
I ate my breakfast with a hip dug against the back porch rail, watching a broken branch of an apple tree graze the pond.
Lucky for Ellis, I wasn’t the type to fly off the handle or commit relationship hara-kiri over a seemingly impossible fight. Although if I was honest with myself, I didn’t feel obligated to compromise much, either. My talent for exploring the other side had become a huge part of my life, and as long as Frankie let me, I’d keep at it.
We’d figure it out. Somehow. All I knew was my mother didn’t raise a quitter. Not when I had so much to lose.
The kitchen phone rang, and I nearly hurt myself dashing inside to pick it up. At the very least, it might be Lauralee. With any luck, it would be Ellis. Perhaps he’d just needed to think it through before realizing what a terrible mistake he’d made yesterday picking those fights. We’d talk. He’d apologize. I’d invite him over.
I answered the phone and found Fiera on the line.
“Do you still want to go?” she asked.
It took me a moment to figure out what she was talking about. I also didn’t want to speak too fast and betray my disappointment at the sound of her voice.
She cleared her throat. “Verity? You said yesterday you wanted to run over to MayBelle’s place.”
“That’s right.” Fiera never let a detail drop. I’d be very interested to hear if MayBelle could shed any light on the events leading up to Jorie’s fall.
“MayBelle will be there if we make it before lunch,” Fiera assured me. “After that, it’s anybody’s guess. MayBelle likes to sleep late, make a big brunch, and then she’s off like a pistol shot.”
Truly? “We’re talking about visiting MayBelle at the retirement apartments, right?”
“Not everyone does retirement the same way,” Fiera admonished.
Of course not. No one could accuse me of being an early bird, either. I checked my watch. It was already eleven o’clock. “I can be there in ten minutes.”
“Sold,” Fiera said. “See you soon.”
Park Manor was a former luxury hotel just north of the town square. Built in 1908, it graced the edge of one of the fancy old neighborhoods and, at five stories, was one of the tallest buildings in Sugarland.
But times had changed. We didn’t get as many out-of-town visitors these days, and in the past year, our new mayor had converted the old hotel into rent-controlled senior housing.
It made me proud all over again to live in Sugarland.
I parked in the street across from the white stone entrance, glad for once to have left Frankie’s urn at home. He was most likely resting up after our adventure last night, or busy plotting new trouble.
Either way, I didn’t want to know.
Fiera waited for me on a pink couch in the lobby, under a painted glass ceiling, her attention captured by the ornamental plaster work gracing the doorway to the elevator bay. “I’m moving here when I retire,” she vowed.
“Good plan.” One flaw. “Are you the type to ever retire?” She was in h
er mid-seventies and showed no sign of pausing, much less slowing down.
She grinned at me with a sparkle in her eye. “Okay, I’ll just live here and walk to do my tours at the library.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said as we headed toward the elevators. “The Coffee Cartel just opened up along the way.”
“Holey Moley donuts is a block over,” she added.
Not to mention the diner going in across from the square on Main Street. “This is the perfect spot to live if you don’t mind being in the city.”
She laughed at that, which was strange because I didn’t get what was so funny.
Fiera sobered as the polished walnut doors of the elevator eased closed. “It feels like I’m on my way to visit Jorie.” She blinked hard. “At least she can be with Ray now.”
I smiled, thinking of how she’d landscaped his grave with dwarf rosebushes. “She really loved him.”
“To brave that creepy church once a week?” Fiera sniffed and swiped at her eyes. “That was true love.”
The tiny crystals on the chandelier above us tinkled as the elevator lurched on its way up. “Okay, I agree it’s creepy, but I thought it was because I’m tuned into the ghost side,” I said. “What about it made you uncomfortable?”
Fiera’s brows rose. “Do I want to know what’s on the ghost side?”
“No,” I told her. I’d keep the stabby organist and glowering gravedigger to myself.
“I do like to sleep at night,” she smirked as the doors opened onto the fourth floor. She stepped out and then waited for me. “It’s an uncomfortable place. Pastor Mike blames the newer churches for siphoning off members, but I think it’s more like people just don’t like the way it feels there.”
“I could see that.” I’d felt it even before I was tuned in. “Did anything bad happen at the church?”
Fiera considered the question for a moment. “If it did, I think I would have heard.”
“Me as well.” The Sugarland grapevine never missed a thing.
Fiera glanced down the hallway as we huddled by the elevator. “I will tell you that I’ve watched Pastor Mike’s mood go downhill since he took over for his father as pastor.” She pursed her lips. “And his dad seemed to get happier the minute he retired from that place.”