by Angie Fox
“Verity,” he protested.
“Go!” I ordered.
Ray looked at me, torn. Then he disappeared.
Thank goodness. I was alone.
With a mass of angry, murdered souls and a pastor who wanted me to join them.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I had to get to my car. The organist with the knife now lay beside me, out cold, so the land yacht might be unguarded. I grabbed her knife, ignoring the slice of pain as the chill of it radiated down my arm.
It was a weapon, for as long as it lasted. And beggars couldn’t be choosers.
A trio of flappers stood between me and my car. So did a shop girl. And a gangster. I gripped my ice-cold knife as the woman in the bloody bathrobe blocked my path to the parking lot. I turned toward the stairs to find the butcher.
I could stab one, but I couldn’t get them all.
And as the tip of my knife began to disappear, the bloody butcher took the lead. He towered over me, his meat hatchet raised. His lip curled, and in a rusty voice he hissed, “You…” He pointed the cleaver dead at my heart. “Tell them we are here.”
I stared into his bloodshot eyes, not quite able to process what he said. The hatchet hadn’t fallen. I was still in one piece. He could have killed me by now…if he’d wanted to.
I cleared my throat. “Excuse me. What?”
“We are lost,” he said urgently. “Trapped,” he added as if the words didn’t come easily. “We need out.”
A chill wound through me that had nothing to do with the clash of my world and theirs. I dropped the knife.
“You need me to help you,” I said, hoping, praying I understood right.
The woman in the bloody bathrobe next to him mouthed words I didn’t understand. Her voice came out as a gurgle, but I barely made out, “Please.”
Pastor Mike stumbled from the church.
I dug for my keys, my only real weapon, as he staggered down the stairs. The ghosts formed a tight circle around me. I wouldn’t make it far, but Mike could certainly target me. I braced myself.
He’d have to come to me.
Instead, he dropped down and sat on the bottom step, his head in his hands. “I think I have a concussion.”
I approached him slowly, careful not to get too close. “That’s what you get for trying to kill me.” I clutched my car keys. If he tried to get the jump on me, he’d be sorry.
He raised his head slightly. “I wasn’t trying to kill you. I wanted to explain.” He winced and braced his head again. “I need you to believe me. Jorie’s death was an accident. I feel terrible about it.”
“Not bad enough to confess to the police,” I reminded him.
We’d fix that soon enough.
A few minutes later, Ellis’s police cruiser blazed down the drive, sirens on. He launched himself out of the car.
“I’m fine!” I called to him, glad when he ran straight for me and hugged me tight.
“What’s going on?” he demanded, looking at the forlorn pastor, who raised his head once more.
“I’ll give him the chance to tell you. Mike?” I prodded.
The pastor looked like he might be sick, but he cleared his throat and stood. “I have a confession to make.”
Duranja pulled up a few minutes later, followed by the police chief.
Ellis kept the pastor inside the church for questioning.
Meanwhile, a line of ghosts had formed, waiting to talk to me. I started by simply taking everyone’s names on one of the fast-food napkins I kept in the glove box of my car.
It was a start.
The gravedigger stood at the edge of the cemetery, where the graves gave way to trees, watching me.
I took it as an invitation and walked out to him, careful to avoid the other ghosts, wishing I could sidestep their graves as easily. But we’d work on that. We’d lay them to rest in a way that allowed them to truly find peace.
He clutched his shovel tightly, fidgeting nervously as I approached.
“Hi.” I stopped several feet from him, not wishing to cause him any more anxiety. “Thank you,” I added. “You saved me back there.” Despite what Pastor Mike had claimed about meaning no harm, he’d proven himself more than capable of it. I was glad I’d run. And grateful for the gravedigger’s help.
He scratched his head and shuffled his feet. “You’re trying to make things right. It’s more than I ever did.”
“It took courage to help.” He needed to recognize that. I felt the corner of my mouth turn up. “I know it doesn’t feel so good to touch a live person.”
He barked out a laugh, then quickly stifled it. “Maybe I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known.”
“You would have.” I had no doubt. After all, he’d done it twice—once at the top of the stairs and once below. Even if all he could offer was a horrid cold spot, it had taken a sacrifice on his part. I appreciated that.
“I’m Verity, by the way.”
He stood quietly as the breeze rustled the trees behind him.
“Carl,” he grunted out as if this sort of interaction were foreign to him.
“What’s your last name?” I asked. “I might know your kin.”
He appeared startled by the question, and it took him a moment to answer. “Hodges. My people are long dead.” He cleared his throat. “I’m a felon, but you’re safe with me,” he added quickly.
“You’ve proven it,” I told him.
He ran an uncomfortable hand over his unshaven jaw and eyed me as if he wasn’t quite sure why I’d taken the time to speak with him directly.
“You were right about Lou Winkelmann,” Carl blurted out.
“He died here at the church, right out front,” I said. Carl didn’t need to confirm. I knew it was true.
“The pastor and I saw him get shot.” Carl planted his shovel in the ground between us. “The mob boss ordered me to dump the body in the river. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to hide any of them, but I needed this job.” He gripped his shovel tighter. “The boss took his daughter’s body back to Chicago with him.”
“Did you bury the baby?” I asked, breathless, not wanting to know the answer if it was bad.
“Little Bonnie Winkelmann?” He fiddled nervously with his shovel. “They didn’t kill her. The mob boss gave her to the pastor. He and his wife kept the baby as their own, fudged some papers to adopt her. They called her MayBelle.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
More people arrived at the church as word in Sugarland spread. Spoiler alert: it didn’t take long.
I studiously avoided the reporter for the Sugarland Gazette and instead approached Pastor Bob as he finished a brief chat with Duranja.
“How are you holding up?” I asked.
“Well enough,” he said. “I wish I could say the same about my son. I’m sorry if he scared you.”
“He thought he was protecting you.” It might have been wrong, but I could see at least some good in that.
He nodded tightly and gave a small sigh. “Walk with me.”
I nodded.
“And go slow,” he added. “I’m not the sprinter I was in high school.”
We struck out down the road, where it was easier to walk. “I should have been honest with Mike from the start,” he said, shaking his head. “Our generation. We used to think there was honor in keeping these things quiet, a stiff upper lip and all.”
“So you knew about your dad’s mob connections?” He’d talked about his dad with such pride.
“My dad was as clean as they came.” He held up a hand when I tried to protest. “Yes, he was. Dad helped anyone who needed him spiritually, regardless of whether or not he considered them ‘good.’ In fact, he believed it was more important to minister to those who were struggling. He called them his lost sheep.”
I stopped walking. “We’re talking about killers.”
Pastor Bob glanced out over the graveyard. “Dad learned that when Salvatore Spiro came to town.” He brought his gaze back to me. “
Sal killed his own daughter in cold blood. Then he killed his son-in-law. Dad was afraid for the baby. He begged Sal to spare the child. My dad would adopt it, raise it. Sal agreed, but for a price.” A car came trundling down the drive, and Bob steadied himself on my arm as we moved to the side. “At first, Sal wanted to store guns in the church office. Then he wanted to park hearses outside the cemetery, filled with God knew what.”
“Then he started burying bodies,” I said, looking out over the grassy cemetery.
“Yes,” Bob said. “The deal kept getting worse and worse. But what could Dad do? If Salvatore Spiro would kill his own daughter, who knew what he’d do to MayBelle?” Bob dropped my arm as we stood at the edge of the cemetery. “Dad said blessings over the graves after the gangsters did their work. He tried to do his best for those people.” He held his chin high. “It was the only way to keep my sister safe. Sal threatened her life whenever my dad tried to refuse him.”
“But they paid him. That’s how he funded the church renovation and the social projects.”
“They paid him,” Bob said stiffly. “They tried to act like it was normal. Business, they said. Dad didn’t want their blood money. He was also afraid to refuse it. So he spent it all on the town, helping as many people as he could. He renovated the church. Those three angels behind the altar—that’s the couple who died. The mother and the father. And their baby that dad saved. He renamed the church after them. He never let himself forget.”
Lou, Chastity, and MayBelle.
He wiped a hand over his eyes. “Sal died in 1957. That’s when Dad let me take over.” Pastor Bob sniffed. “Dad was used up long before then, but he didn’t want me to ever deal with Sal.” His voice caught. “He didn’t want anyone else to suffer the guilt he had.”
“Your dad died shortly after, didn’t he?” I asked gently.
“Mid-sermon at the pulpit,” Bob said, cracking a weak smile. “We buried him in the rectory churchyard. He held on until he knew it was all over.”
“Does MayBelle know about any of this?” I pressed.
“No,” he said quickly. “We kept her separated from it. We tread carefully around her. I think Mom and Dad—they were scared to death they’d lose her if she knew.”
MayBelle had told me plain she’d never felt like part of the family. But she didn’t realize it wasn’t because she was different—though she was very different—or that they didn’t love her. They’d thought they were protecting her.
That was the moment she chose to come strolling out from the back of the church, cigarette in hand.
“She’s here,” I said, surprised.
“She had to drive me,” Bob said. “And she’s as worried as I am about Mike,” he said, sobering.
“You need to tell her the truth.” It was past time.
“I do,” he agreed. “My father was insistent that we protect her, but I think I’m realizing secrets hurt more than they help.” He clasped my hand. “Thank you, Verity. I feel lighter than I have in ages.”
“I’m glad,” I said as we walked together back toward the church. “Just be gentle with your sister. She’s a sensitive soul, whether she’ll admit it or not.”
“I’ll take your word for that.” He laughed. “Oh, after you left the other night, I looked through some more of my photo albums. I found a picture of your great-grandma Ida Jane. She looked a lot like you.”
“So I’ve heard.” I’d met her hometown beau on a past adventure. “I’d love to see it.”
“Stop by for dinner some night and I’ll give it to you,” he offered.
“Thank you,” I said. “It’ll be my treat.” The chipotle chicken and waffle sliders from my friend Lauralee’s food truck would knock his socks off.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Bob said as we neared his sister. “Wish me luck,” he said as he kept walking and approached MayBelle.
But he didn’t need luck. He had a sister who loved him.
I left them on the path and headed back to the parking lot, where Frankie still lay unresponsive on the ground. The poor gangster had probably been shot by Davey or one of the other cemetery ghosts. My housemate shouldn’t have told anyone that he was the one who could turn off my power. They’d wanted to talk to me quite badly.
As I drew near, I caught Frankie stirring. He blinked furiously and brought a tentative hand to the fading second bullet hole in his forehead.
At least that one would go away.
“Dang, that stings,” he said, sitting up. “I didn’t even see who shot me. Why do I never see it coming?”
“You need fewer enemies,” I said, wishing I could help him up.
“What’s the fun in that?” He frowned when he looked at me. “Why are you smiling?”
I told him what he’d missed. And where he could find his niece.
He stumbled to his feet on hearing the news. “That’s my niece?” he asked, watching her smoking at the side of the church, embracing Bob and then pushing him away with a laugh.
“You don’t see the resemblance?” I asked.
She had the same dark eyebrows, same angular features. Same annoying smoking habit. Although I supposed that last one didn’t count.
“I have a living niece,” Frankie marveled. “I have family!”
“Actual living family,” I agreed. As well as a reconciled brother and newfound sister-in-law.
Frankie’s eyes widened. “Lou and Chastity are in the ether. Wait until they get out and hear about this!”
It would feel good to reunite them with their little girl, even if she was all grown up now.
I settled for Frankie’s joy as he glided to where MayBelle stood at the side of the church, eager to connect with his niece.
A few moments later, Duranja exited with Pastor Mike, and Ellis stood talking to the chief as they loaded Mike into Duranja’s cruiser.
Ellis spotted me soon after and walked over.
“You’re going to let him drive away with all the glory?” I asked as Duranja headed down the drive.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, stopping short of me. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“So I take it you got my message.”
“Oh, you mean when my ghost app started yelling, ‘Murder, murder, church, murder.’”
“I’m sorry,” I said, hating the distance between us. “You were right. I let my blind faith in my abilities lead me into a situation I couldn’t get out of.” If the ghosts had been out to kill me, I’d be dead.
He huffed out a breath. “I’m sorry, too. I—” He threw up a hand. “I should have been honest with you when I first started worrying. I know you’re careful, and I know you’re good at what you do. I think I just got so defensive because I hadn’t said anything for so long, and then you found out anyway.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to think about that.
“And you’ve got to start treating the law like the law, and not like a set of guidelines.”
“I’ll work on that,” I promised. Although, Frankie wasn’t the best influence.
He closed the distance between us and took my hands. “I protect people. It’s my job. But I know I can’t wrap you in bubble wrap and keep you on a shelf.”
“That’s weird, Ellis.”
He laughed. “You know I suck at talking.” He squeezed my hands. “I’m awkward and I worry too much. I’m a stickler for the rules, and I try to fix problems you don’t even know you have. I get bossy about it.”
“You threatened to arrest me,” I added.
“And I would have done it, too,” he joked.
“Remind me why I’m dating you again,” I teased.
He didn’t take the bait. “Because I love you,” he said simply. “I’d do anything for you, and I always want what’s best for you. Even if I act like an idiot about it sometimes.”
“I love you, too,” I told him. “And I promise I’ll try not to get defensive when you worry about me. I’ll make sure to obey the laws.” Whenever I could. “And
I respect you enough to always tell you the truth.”
“Right back at you.” He winked.
He was so…not smooth. “I did try to tell you about this trip back to the church,” I reminded him. “Multiple times. I even stopped by the Sugarland PD to let Duranja mock me.”
Ellis shook his head. “Five minutes after I got off this afternoon, my mom called me with a plant emergency.”
“Sounds serious.”
“She didn’t like the way her landscaper spaced her hostas.” He held up a hand. “Don’t even say it. I’d like to believe it’s her excuse to spend time with me.”
Free labor was more like it.
But I was a good girlfriend and didn’t say anything.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I didn’t realize she’d taken my phone and turned the volume off until my ghost app started going crazy.”
“That’s awful. And dangerous. What if the police needed you?”
“You needed me,” he pointed out. “I was too busy running here to tell her off, but it’s on my list. I’m not going to bury things and let them explode. I’m not doing that anymore.”
“It’ll be good to talk about our worries instead of letting them get the best of us,” I agreed.
“We’ll both work at it until we get it right,” he promised. Then he dragged me into his arms. “So I hear we’re getting married.”
“What?” I sputtered up at him.
“Word around town is that you were at the Pastry Box, picking out a wedding cake. Did you tell them I like chocolate?”
“No,” I said, extricating myself from his grip. “I was investigating. I had to get upstairs where the cakes were. And wedding cake is supposed to be white.”
He laughed. “I think we should do what we want.”
“Why are you teasing me like this?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips.
I mean, yes, we were dating. And we were getting more serious all the time. Especially now that I knew I could trust him to work on our problems instead of brushing them aside. Even if we got angry with each other sometimes. And I really loved the fact that he was mature and thoughtful and he never left me feeling like an argument meant the end of the relationship…