by Angie Fox
But who was I kidding? We’d never be a conventional couple, and I didn’t want to be. I wanted this. Him. One disagreement didn’t change who we were or what he meant to me.
He kissed me again and I stopped thinking at all. I wrestled him out of his shirt. He flipped me on my back. We were right about to get to a very good part when—
The doorbell rang.
“Ignore it,” Ellis said against the soft skin at the nook of my shoulder, his breath setting off a cascade of sensation all over.
Bing-bong!
“Are you expecting anybody?” I asked, distracted, my fingers running through his short, thick hair.
The door cracked open, and I felt cold and abandoned as Ellis sprang up, ready for action in two seconds flat.
“I’m so, so sorry.” Beau peeked his head around the door. “Mortified, actually.”
“What the hell?” Ellis’s shoulders relaxed now that the threat had passed, but the rest of him stood stiff and held his ground. “This isn’t a good time for a visit,” he said as I admired his hard, muscled back.
“I can’t help it,” Beau said, pushing the door open anyway. My skunk snuggled up in his other arm.
“Lucy!” I’d lost one shoe somewhere on or near the couch, so I kicked the other one off and went to fetch her. Beau was supposed to feed her and let her settle in for bed. “What’s going on?” I asked, sidestepping Ellis so I could take her.
“I was making her the skunky bananas foster,” Beau said, handing her to me, “but she got into the compost while I did the final flambé.”
Ah, yes. Keeping her out of the compost was a constant battle. “She does that if you don’t watch her like a hawk. Trash smells delicious,” I added to Ellis, who stood ramrod straight while Lucy licked my chin.
“I thought it might make her sick,” Beau said, “but I didn’t know, and you weren’t answering your phone. Neither was Ellis. Bree’s not at the shelter, and I couldn’t call anyone else.”
“No, you can’t,” Ellis agreed.
Pet skunks were technically illegal in Tennessee.
“I couldn’t leave her alone if she was in trouble, so I brought her to you,” Beau said, his grin faltering. “Hey, brother.”
“Hey, yourself,” Ellis said, looking him over, taking his measure. “What the hell were you doing at my girlfriend’s house?”
“He was worried about me, so he went along on my ghost hunt tonight,” I said, stroking Lucy’s head, hoping to make it sound like it didn’t matter.
Which it didn’t.
“I invited myself along,” Beau admitted. “Verity didn’t want me there.”
“So therefore you enabled her and then you hung out at her house,” Ellis said, his words reasonable, his tone a little too threatening.
“He actually helped me a lot,” I said, running a hand down Ellis’s arm. Ellis didn’t react.
“I kicked butt,” Beau said, trying for charm, although he didn’t quite pull it off.
“I had to get information from a gangster who didn’t want to talk to me, but Beau saved the day by being a guy’s guy and talking cowboy movies,” I said, trying to downplay my need for help, but at the same time, sell Beau’s accomplishment. Hard. “Isn’t that terrific?”
“Yes,” Ellis lied.
“You’ll be happy to know Lucy looks fine,” I said to the guys. While her belly gurgled from her rich meal, she seemed alert and healthy. Maybe some skunks would get sick from compost—heaven knew I tried to keep Lucy out of mine—but it seemed she’d built up a tolerance.
“I’m glad,” Beau said, “and I’m really sorry to interrupt. You two have a good night,” he said to Ellis. Then, with a smile aimed directly at me, he added, “You too, Verity.”
Ellis closed the door the second Beau cleared the threshold. “What the hell was that?”
“How about we go back to kissing and not talking,” I suggested, placing Lucy on the floor.
Ellis gritted his jaw and ran his hands through his hair. “I tell you I worry about keeping you safe when you’re ghost hunting, so you take my brother with you?” he accused. “I mean, you’re using Beau to hunt down mobsters!”
“Not by choice,” I pointed out. “He led me to believe you sent him.”
Ellis stared at me, but he didn’t speak, so I kept going. “It’s not going to be a habit,” I insisted. “It happened to work out this time.”
Ellis cursed under his breath. “You never would have partnered with Beau before.”
“Believe me, I resisted it.”
He began to speak, huffed, and had to start again. “It just makes me wonder how well I know you.”
That wasn’t fair. “Your brother said a lot of nice things about you tonight. He followed me on my ghost hunt because he wanted to help fix things between us. I want that, too.” I wrapped my hands around his waist and laid my head on his chest.
He cradled my head in his hand. We stood for a moment, simply breathing each other in. “I love you, dammit,” he murmured into my hair.
“And I am one hundred percent crazy fool in love with you,” I said against his skin.
“We’ll figure this out,” he promised.
We didn’t make it back to the couch that night, but it was all right. We snuggled together in his bed in the dark while Ellis ran his hands through my hair and made it feel like everything would be fine.
At some point, Lucy managed to worm her way between us and start snoring. We stayed that way until we fell asleep.
When I woke in the morning, the sun shone brightly in the sky and Ellis had already gone to work. I scratched my yawning little skunk on the head.
She’d showed no sign of sickness after her venture into eggshell heaven last night. I was glad for her and for myself because I had a busy day ahead.
Lucy sneezed and rolled over to reveal the corner of a piece of scratch paper.
“What’s this?” She resisted as I slid it out from under her.
Ellis had written me a note.
Last night was great. Why don’t you take a day off? Maybe meet Lauralee for lunch? Lay off on the ghost hunting while I’m at work. We’ll talk tonight and figure it out.
One hundred percent crazy fool in love with you,
Ellis
“Hmm…” I stroked Lucy’s silky ears. It would be nice, but Lauralee had a sick kiddo, and I had a few things I wanted to check out.
“Ellis isn’t going to be happy, but I need to go see Pastor Mike,” I told my skunk, who promptly reclaimed the note as a pillow.
I showered and changed and slipped into the white jeans and pink sweater I kept over at Ellis’s for the occasions when I neglected to go home.
“I’ll drop you on the way,” I promised my skunk, grabbing one of Ellis’s strawberry Pop-Tarts and breaking off a piece for Lucy. My phone rang as she gobbled it down.
It was my sister, Melody.
“Are you ready for this?” she asked as I scooped my skunk up and headed for the door.
“What?” I asked, digging for Ellis’s front door key.
Why he insisted on locking his door was beyond me.
Well, I supposed Beau had proved his point last night.
“I asked around about that donation Fiera said she made to the library, how she had all those pictures from Jorie’s house.”
“And?” I asked, turning the key in the lock.
I knew Melody would come through for me on this.
“Well, the library received no donation. No photographs, letters, or anything at all. If Fiera did take anything from Jorie’s, she kept it for herself.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Sounds like we’re going to have a word with Fiera,” I told my skunk, snuggling her into a travel crate I kept in the trunk of my car. She turned in a circle and found a comfortable spot on her fleece blanket.
Lucy was calm this morning, content. She’d enjoyed our time at Ellis’s house. I had too.
But it was time to get back to business. I couldn’t wait aro
und all day for Ellis to get off work. Fiera had lied to me about removing photos from Jorie’s house. Then she’d lied about giving them to the library. Why?
I steered out onto Magnolia avenue. Fiera lived only a few blocks over, but I didn’t think a confrontation at her house would suddenly inspire Fiera to confess to both incidents or convince her to cough up what she’d taken. If anything, it would make her dig in harder—and let her know I was onto her.
I’d have to be more clever.
In the meantime, I dropped Lucy off at my house. I sliced her a wedge of Cinnamon Banana Skunk Crumble and watched her devour it, her tail swishing with joy.
It was too chilly for her to be outside; otherwise I might feel obliged to dig out whatever had captured her interest under the porch. I didn’t think my white jeans could take it. But since I’d gotten her inside the house, it could wait.
“I’ll see you later, sweetie,” I said, grabbing my bag on the way out the door.
When I’d met with Pastor Mike yesterday, he’d invited me to drop by the church any time to see what he had from Jorie’s.
Now was the time.
I headed down the back porch steps.
I’d at least get to see some of what Jorie had saved. Hopefully it would be enough to give me an idea who might have lured her up to the bell tower, and what might have made them desperate enough to kill.
When I arrived at my car, I saw a gangster waiting in the passenger seat.
“Ha!” Frankie said when I slid onto the driver’s side and deposited my bag on the floor behind me. “You’re not going to take off on me today. I’m going to watch you like a hawk.”
Seriously? “We’re not going to intercept your brother until after dark. Wally Big Ears said so.”
Frankie crossed his ankle over his knee, his foot flapping up and down like he was powering a motor. “I’m not going to sit around all day, hoping you make it back in time.”
Oh, joy. I’d traded a happy skunk for an unhappy ghost.
“Fine. Hold tight,” I said, leaving my keys to dangle in the ignition. “I’ll go get your urn.”
There was no sense arguing with Frankie when he was like this. Besides, despite the fact that he liked to dance on my last good nerve, I didn’t relish the idea of him pacing the yard, alone all day, waiting for our showdown tonight. It would likely drive Lucy crazy. At least with me, he’d have something to distract him.
“Where are we going?” he asked when I’d made it back to the car.
“The Three Angels Church,” I said, tucking his urn into my bag.
“That place again?” He rolled his head back. “Let’s at least go to Holy Oak Cemetery, where I can score a drink with Handsome Henry.”
“We don’t have time to hang out with a dead hit man,” I told him, pulling down on the shifter and ka-chunking my car into drive.
“He’s the only guy I know whose girlfriend died hanging onto a bar cart,” Frankie protested.
“Sorry.” I steered down the side drive. I did like Henry’s girlfriend, Rosie. She was a pistol. But we had more important things to do.
“How about we visit the police station and I strike a few deals with the dead bookie upstairs while you make kissy faces at Ellis?” he suggested.
Frankie was full of ideas this morning.
“How about you hang out in the cemetery and tell me what’s going on with the ghosts at the Three Angels Church?” I countered. “Try to figure out why the place has such negative energy. Oh, and watch out for the gravedigger and the woman with the cat-eye glasses who plays the organ.”
“And just like that, she puts me to work,” Frankie said to nobody in particular.
At least he didn’t say no.
He’d also stopped the leg twitching, which I considered a success.
We’d find answers for Frankie soon. Tonight. In the meantime, I’d be grateful if he could help me clear a few things up.
It didn’t take long to reach the north side of town and the gates of the Three Angels Church.
“If I’ve got to see it, you’ve got to see it,” Frankie said as the tingling sparks of his energy settled over me.
“Truly?” I asked. “You just got your leg back.”
“Exactly, so let’s not stay long,” he ordered.
Not a problem. I didn’t relish another visit to the church. “All I want to do is talk to the pastor,” I assured him, and myself.
“I forgot how much this place creeps me out,” Frankie said with a shudder as he noticed a woman in a bloody bathrobe standing at the entrance.
“It’s ten kinds of strange,” I agreed, slowing as we passed her. She stared into space, giving no indication she noticed us. “Why is she acting like we’re not here?”
“Takes all kinds to make a world,” Frankie muttered.
It was more than that. “You can ask her while you’re waiting,” I suggested. “I mean, don’t most ghosts have a reason to haunt a particular building or area?”
“Your subtlety is not subtle,” he informed me.
“I just don’t get it,” I wondered aloud. “If you had an afterlife and all eternity to live it, why not drop by the speakeasy under the flower shop?”
“You have to know the code,” he said as if I were daft.
“Bad example,” I said. But based on my experience so far, a good portion of the ghostly life appeared fun, or at least moderately entertaining. “If I were dead, I wouldn’t mind playing cards with the Civil War guys or asking Rosie to mix me a drink. Why do all these ghosts stay here instead of going out and enjoying their afterlife?”
Frankie shrugged. “Not everybody can live like a gangster.”
I was about to respond with something clever when I spotted a familiar woman up ahead, standing under a tree, staring at the ground. I slowed. “Wait. That’s the organist.” Her dress sagged over her thin frame, and the chains on her glasses hung low. “She’s the one who attacked me the other day.”
Her mop of hair blocked my view of her face. She didn’t even look up as we passed.
“The organist with the knife?” Frankie asked, fidgeting again. “You should be glad she’s staring at the dirt instead of noticing you.”
“Yes, but why is she doing that?” I prodded.
“Why not?” He threw up his hands. “You always have to know why everybody does everything, and it usually gets us in hot water.”
“If you don’t like the way I do things, perhaps you shouldn’t have insisted on coming along,” I mused.
“All I’m saying is we should mind our own business,” Frankie said as we pulled into the parking area.
Because Frankie the German was an expert on staying out of trouble.
“Wander the cemetery,” I suggested, retrieving my bag from the back. “Haunt a little,” I added as he lowered his chin and stared at me. “Do it. See if you can figure out what’s going on around here.”
“Okay, fine. Better than listening to you.” His voice lingered as he passed through the car door and glided toward the cemetery.
It wasn’t my fault we needed answers. Besides, a ghostly investigation would be good for him. Maybe it would take his mind off Lou and our failure so far to find him.
Plus, with any luck, with a new ghost in the cemetery, the spirits would pay less attention to me.
Jorie’s soul traces had all but disappeared from the grassy area underneath the bell tower. I hoped she’d found some peace as she transitioned into the afterlife.
I opened the heavy wood door of the church and stepped into the cool dark of the vestibule.
Now that I stood alone in the old church, I could feel the age and the history in a way that was impossible during a crowded fundraiser.
The heels of my boots echoed on the polished wood floors, and I felt a sense of peace and constancy that wavered only slightly as I passed the entrance to the bell tower.
I wondered if the gravedigger lurked up there.
Pastor Mike stood at the front of the church,
bent over a section of the carving of the three angels as if it were the only thing in the world.
“It’s a gorgeous piece,” I said, joining him.
The carving depicted two angels, a man and a woman with widespread wings and loving smiles, bending to admire a cherub resting on a bed of sunflowers. The baby raised its face to the sun shining above, which cast thick rays down over the trio.
Pastor Mike bent over one of the cherub’s toes, rubbing a polishing cloth over a crack in the wood. “It’s my favorite thing about this church,” he mused. “Other than the people, of course,” he added. He returned his attention to the piece with a small sigh. I detected more visible cracks and a chip out of the male angel’s nose. “We’ll fix it up,” he vowed.
“You’re doing a great job so far.” The piece gleamed with wood polish and smelled like lemons. He’d organized several fundraisers to restore the carving. Ours with the heritage society was simply the latest.
“If only I had my grandfather’s touch,” Pastor Mike said, trying for levity. His regret seeped through.
“It was a different time,” I assured him. Although how the original Pastor Clemens had somehow managed to finance charities and the church while weathering the effects of the depression was beyond me. Some people just had a gift.
It was no wonder so many people admired him to this day.
“Your dad showed me pictures of all the great things your grandfather did,” I said, watching Pastor Mike rub a stray bit of wood polish from a ray of sunshine.
“This is his legacy,” he said. “My dad’s, too.”
“And yours,” I reminded him, smiling at the mention of his father. I’d enjoyed my visit with Pastor Bob. “Your dad is a great guy.”
“He is,” Pastor Mike said, stuffing the cloth in his pocket and returning his attention to me. “Thanks for indulging him. My father couldn’t stop talking about your visit.”
“I always enjoy talking Sugarland history.”
“Then you found a friend,” he said wryly.
I’d have to stop by Pastor Bob’s again sometime.
“Speaking of such, I’d be glad to show you those photos I have.” He led me down toward an unassuming door behind the choir section. “I’m going to give them to Suzanne once she gets into town, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you taking a look.”