by E. C. Bell
I couldn’t take it anymore, and flailed my way out of him, then stood, gasping for air.
“Is there something wrong with you, girl?” Bea asked, as Eddie disappeared back inside the house.
“No,” I said shortly, as I waited for my eyesight to clear.
I couldn’t exactly call out to Eddie to get him to come back and talk to me, ghost to living, but I had to give him a way to find me.
“Give this to Mrs. Hansen,” I said, holding the business card out to Bea. “And ask her to call me.”
She didn’t answer me. Just took the card between two fingers, as though it was covered with dirt or something. Then she sneered and slammed the door.
“Well,” I muttered. “That could have gone better.”
Truer words, and all that. I crept back to the Volvo, and with one last look at the front of that house, I drove away.
No wonder Eddie did drugs. With people like that around, how could he have done anything but?
I was pretty sure he was wrong about that bunch of women having anything to do with his death, but I knew that if I didn’t prove to him that they weren’t involved, he’d never get off that tack. And he needed to, if he was going to be able to help me find out who really killed him.
I needed to talk to him again, but not in that house. I hoped that he’d see the business card and the address on the front.
“Please, Eddie,” I muttered, as I white-knuckled it back to James’s office. “Please come to me, so we can talk. For real, this time.”
Eddie:
I Gotta Remember That Address
HERE’S THE ONLY cool thing that happened in a day otherwise filled to the brim with warm shit. Queen Bea gave my mother the business card from that crazy girl. Marie. Marie Jenner, from the Jimmy Lavall Detective Agency.
I stared at the card, attempting to commit the address to a memory that was notoriously bad. Hoped I’d hang onto it as Mom scooped up the card and stared at it, hard.
“What do you think I should do about this?” she asked the cackling old crows. They all thought about it for a minute, then told her to let it go.
“You have enough on your plate right now, dear,” Bea said. “You don’t need to deal with anything more. Don’t you think so, girls?”
The “girls” all agreed, so enthusiastically I thought I’d puke.
And then that old bitch plucked the business card from my mom’s hand and dropped it in her huge purse. “Why don’t you let me deal with little Mary Jenner?”
“All right,” Mom whispered, and my heart wrenched. She sounded so hurt. So lost. And it was my fault. I couldn’t stay there and see that look on her face. Not for one more moment.
As I left my mother’s house, I heard Mom thank them for all their help and for being such good and loyal friends.
Yeah, Mom. You got some great friends there, I thought.
Then everything went grey, and I guess I lost it again because when I came to, I was back at the tree where I’d been crucified.
This must be what hell is like.
Marie:
James Wasn’t Going to Be Happy
I DROVE BACK to the office with no problem at all, even though I was in a particularly foul mood.
I’d found Brown Eddie, but hadn’t been able to convince him to give me any useful information about the people who killed him. All he’d done was blame his mother’s book club.
I mean, really. A book club?
I realized I’d probably have to go back to that horrible tree if I wanted to talk to him again, because it looked like he was ping-ponging back and forth between those two places. I shuddered, hating the thought of seeing that tree again.
However, our potential client, Honoria Lowe, had given me a really decent clue. She’d led me right to Dead Eddie’s mom’s place with that sketch she’d made. Maybe I’d be able to figure out who killed Eddie without having to deal with him again at all. Maybe she’d just draw it all for me.
Wouldn’t that be nice? Solving a murder without dealing with the dead guy? Just dealing with someone who dreamed about the dead.
I sighed deeply as I parked the car and trudged up the stairs to James’s office. I couldn’t seem to get away from the dead, no matter how hard I tried.
I GLANCED AT my watch and was surprised to see only an hour and a half had gone by. Having a vehicle certainly cuts down on the away time, I thought as I let myself into the office proper. I could get used to that.
James looked up from one of his books and smiled.
“My car all right?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” I replied. “Hardly hit anything.”
His face whitened at my pathetic excuse for a joke, and I mentally kicked myself. He’d been through enough, lately.
“It’s all good, James,” I said, hastily. “Didn’t have one problem. Thanks for letting me use it.”
As I handed him the keys and he pocketed them, I was relieved to see the colour come back to his face.
“Glad it helped,” he said. “So, how went the wild goose chase?”
“Very well,” I replied, trying to keep my smile from disappearing, even though his words instantly ticked me off. “I ended up at the dead guy’s house. Well, not his house, exactly. His mom’s house.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Huh.”
He looked suspicious. Like maybe he thought I was lying to him. Which, of course, ticked me off even more.
“I’m telling you the truth,” I bristled, like a stupid cat ready to do battle. “That address on the sketch took me right to her house. I even talked to her.” Sort of.
“I didn’t think you were lying,” he said, but something in his tone still sounded off. “But maybe Honoria knows Eddie’s mom. Maybe she knows Eddie.”
“She said she didn’t.” I frowned. “If she knows them, why wouldn’t she tell us? The cops will figure that out quickly enough. Won’t they?”
“They should,” James said. “That murder was messy enough, and public enough, that they’ll want to catch the people responsible. For the media, if nothing else.”
“Well, then, why would Honoria lie to us about knowing Eddie?”
“People say a lot of things to protect themselves,” he replied. “Maybe she figures that going back to the nuthouse would be better than going to jail for murder. If she has us following her ‘vision’ leads, this might convince the cops that she’s gone crazy again.”
This took me aback. I never once thought that Honoria was lying about being a clairvoyant. But what if she was? What if she was playing us—me?
“Did you ask Mrs. Hansen if she knew Honoria?” James asked.
“I didn’t even think of it,” I admitted. “She’d just found out about Eddie being dead.” I shrugged. “Probably not the best time for me to drop by for a chat. She was sure I was one of Eddie’s ‘drug fiend’ friends. She mentioned someone named Luke. Luke Stewart. She called him another drug fiend. Maybe he’s someone we can check out?”
“Maybe,” James said. He glanced at the bare desk top, and sighed. “If we had our computers, this would be so easy,” he said. The police had taken them both, as evidence from our last—and only—case, and it looked like we weren’t going to get them back for a while. If ever. “We need to get a replacement. You know, something cheap, just for searches and stuff, until we get ours back.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, and then burst out with, “Can you afford that?” without thinking.
“Yes,” he said, with that superior smile all those people with a bank account that doesn’t hover around zero use that drives the rest of us crazy. “Let’s go tomorrow.”
We. This meant vicarious shopping, which took the sting out of the superior smile I’d probably imagined. “I love that idea,” I said.
After that, we settled into a tiny, comfortable bit of silence. I would have thankfully stayed there for a long time—like a cat in a sunbeam or something—but James snapped the m
oment.
“Have you called your mother lately?”
I blinked.
“No,” I finally said, looking out the far window, even though there was nothing much to see.
“You should,” he said. “She’s probably worried.”
“Probably,” I mumbled. I walked over to the window and stared out, willing James to shut his mouth about Mom.
“We have time before the meeting with Honoria,” he continued. “You could touch base now. If you want.”
The last thing I wanted to do was talk to my mother. She’d ask me hard questions—about my finances (nonexistent), my prospects for the future (equally nonexistent), and my love life (abysmal). And then she’d ask me if I’d met any good ghosts lately, and because James would be listening to everything I said, I’d have to lie. And she’d know I lied. That would probably lead to a fight, and I didn’t feel right about sparring with a woman who was fighting for her life.
“I’ll call her when I get to Jasmine’s,” I said, still staring for all I was worth out the window at nothing.
“Up to you,” he said, and I heard the rustle of pages as he reached for the book he’d been reading.
I felt the tightness in my chest ease. I was off the hook for the moment. Time to keep the searchlight away from me and my family stuff.
“Have you found out when you can move back into your apartment?” I asked, turning away from the window.
“It’s almost repaired,” he mumbled, without looking up from his book.
“Glad to hear that,” I said. His apartment had been damaged by the same freak who had burnt down my apartment building. That freak, unfortunately, was my ex-boyfriend Arnie—may he rot in jail for the rest of his unfortunate life—Stillwell.
I wandered back in James’s direction, running my fingers over the spines of the books that filled the bookcases covering nearly every bit of wall space in that office.
“When can you move back in?” I asked.
James closed his book, carefully keeping his finger between the pages to mark his spot. “In a couple of days,” he said. “Why? You tired of staying with Jasmine? Want to move back in with me for a while?”
I’d stayed at his apartment for a few days after my apartment had been torched.
I laughed halfheartedly. “Thanks for the offer, but no,” I said. “Staying with Jasmine’s not so bad. Most of the time.”
“She’s got a lot of kids, doesn’t she?”
“If three is a lot then, yeah.” I shrugged. “Most of the time it’s all right, but sometimes they’re so loud—”
“You could stay here,” he said. “If you want.”
“Maybe I should,” I said. “Just until I get my own place—”
My stupid throat tightened up, because there was no way in the world I was ever going to get my own place. Not until money started flowing in my direction.
“We have to take that job, James,” I said. “You might have enough money to ride out this—”
“Series of unfortunate events?” he said.
I shrugged.
“Close enough. I can’t, though. I need money coming in. Even if it is to build an alibi for Honoria.”
“I could lend you some,” he said.
“No.” I tried to keep my voice from quavering like a little kid’s. “Thanks, but no. Let’s just take the job. It could be profitable. For both of us.”
“Like I said, I want to think about it,” he said. He picked up his book. Conversation was nearly over. “I get this feeling she’s lying, and I don’t want to be used by a liar. You do understand, don’t you?”
“I understand,” I said. “But you have to understand that if we don’t take this job, I’ll have to find something that pays. I’m talking about another job, somewhere else.”
That got his attention. He put the book down with a thump, all thoughts of keeping his place marked obviously forgotten. “You’re not serious, are you?”
“I don’t have the luxury of time the way you do. I’m sorry.”
James stared at me for a long, measured moment. “I’d prefer that you worked here,” he finally said. “So, how about this? I’ll hire you officially, starting today. Pay you, no matter what work we do. It won’t be much, but it’ll be something.” He smiled, but it looked sad. “Even if I decide not to keep Uncle’s office open, I’ll still need help dismantling everything. Won’t I?”
Good grief. In my big rush to get us involved in another stupid case, I’d forgotten that James was trying to decide whether or not he even wanted to keep this business running. This was big, and I wasn’t giving him time to really think it through.
“Would that help your situation?” he asked.
“It wouldn’t hurt,” I said. And by that I meant it would help immensely.
“And if we take Honoria as a client, I’ll split whatever we make with you fifty-fifty, just like the first case we took.”
“You mean the one we didn’t get paid for?”
“That’s the one.”
I considered. His offer was a good one. At least I’d have something coming in. I might even be able to keep body and soul together, for a while.
“All right,” I said.
He stuck out his hand. I blinked and took it. Felt my cheeks heat as his hand enveloped mine. I shook his hand, once, and then pulled free.
“My hand’s sweating,” I said, and wiped my hand on my sweater. “Sorry.”
“Just as long as we have a deal.”
“We do,” I said. “We do indeed.”
I just hoped he didn’t do something stupid and wreck it for both of us. And I doubly hoped I didn’t do anything stupid and wreck it for myself.
Eddie:
Watching the Cat
I SAT BY the tree for a while, watched the flies buzz around the blood, which was dark and starting to crack, and wondered why no one had washed it off yet. Ripped ends of the yellow police tape flapped in the breeze.
I was dead. The cops had said so, and much as I hated them, I believed them. Explained a lot, actually. Why I didn’t hurt much, even though I could now see that my hands and feet were ripped to shit. The only pain I felt was a gnawing in my gut. That old familiar pain. Jonesing for my own particular drug of choice. That was a bitch, because I had no idea how I was going to score, being dead and all.
I was really dead.
This sucked shit in a big way. And the only person who even acted like she could see me was that weird chick from Jimmy Lavall’s detective agency. Marie. Marie Jenner.
Even though I’d told her I thought my mother’s book club killed me—I didn’t know if I believed it. They were a nasty bunch, but they were also weak-assed women, no matter what they thought of me. It would have taken somebody strong to hang me in that tree. Hammer those nails through my hands and feet . . .
Thinking about it made me feel sick to my stomach. Jesus, that was a terrible way to die.
A cat slipped out from beneath a bush near the steps of the church, and snaked its way over to the tree. It looked like it was stalking something, but hard as I looked, I couldn’t see anything that looked like a mouse or whatever the hell else a cat would chase.
It walked up on delicate feet, ears twitching as though it was listening for danger. Closer and closer to the tree, stepping on the green, then dyed brown sticky grass. One more look around, and then that son of a bitch began to lick my blood off the bottom of the trunk of that tree.
I yelled at it, but its ears didn’t even flicker, so I knew it couldn’t hear me either, so I stopped that shit quick. No point. And hey, somebody had to clean up that tree. Why the hell not a cat?
As I turned away from the tree and back onto the street, one more time with feeling, the sun dipped behind the tall buildings, and the churchyard was covered in instant dusk.
The gnawing in my gut picked up so it was almost all I could think about, but I did my best to ignore it as I carefully walked in the direction of Jimmy Lavall’s Detective Agency, so
I could talk to that Marie chick again. Even though it was only ten blocks away, I honestly didn’t know if I could make it or not, because it seemed the only places I’d managed to get to were that damned tree and my mother’s house.
So I wasn’t really that surprised when I turned a corner, and there was my old neighbourhood. Again. And my mom’s house. Again.
Marie:
Isn’t a Park Supposed to Be Fun?
JAMES OFFERING TO pay me made me feel better, and I was ready to settle in, maybe even have a nap or something, until our meeting with our potential client, Honoria Lowe, but James shook his head when I suggested it and grabbed his coat.
“We’re going to Needle Park,” he said.
I frowned. “Needle Park? Didn’t Honoria mention Needle Park?”
“Yeah,” he said. “She said it’s right by her place. It’s also where a lot of people go to make drug deals.”
He picked at the white bandages covering his head. “Help me get these off. I want to talk to the locals about Edward Hansen. And Honoria. Maybe someone saw them together. If they did, a big hole is blown in her story, and we can turn her down.”
Going to that park actually sounded like a pretty good idea. Not to try to blow a hole in Honoria’s story, but because there was a small chance that Eddie might be able to get there, too. For some reason he was bopping back and forth between his mother’s house and his place of death. I’d hoped that he would have seen the business card and tried to get to me, but he hadn’t shown up. However, maybe he’d tried to get to the park. If he managed it, we could still have a talk, living to dead.
But I couldn’t do that with James hanging around. I needed to go alone.
I watched him pick rather ineffectually at his bandaged head. “That’s a good idea,” I said. “But maybe I should go by myself.”
“What?” His hand stilled. “Why?”