by Tegan Maher
I scowled at him. "I didn't find this one, or the last one, for that matter. I was just in the vicinity."
"Tomato, tomahto," he said, waving me off.
Shooting him a death glare, I pulled the front door open, and Coralee rushed through.
"So what have you learned since last night?" she asked, propping her hip on a stool.
"Nothing," I said again.
She narrowed her eyes. "Noelle Elizabeth, don't you hold back on me. You know I'll find out anyway."
I held out my hands. "I know. I swear—the biggest news is that there is no news. Hunter hasn't even been able to identify her."
"I thought she had ID in her pocket," she said, furrowing her brow.
"She did," I said, walking to the back to kick on the coffee pot. My captive audience followed. "But it was fake. The girl on the ID is alive and well, working at the Piggly Wiggly. And the address on the ID was hers. So, no idea who Boone dragged up last night."
Coralee crossed an arm over herself then rested her elbow on it, chin in hand. After going through all the same questions I asked Hunter, she frowned. "Everybody comes from somewhere, and everybody has a name. We just have to find hers."
I could hear the resolve in her voice. Like I said, she's a good egg, and a poor girl found dead in a lake wouldn't go to her grave without a name or justice if she could help it.
Erol floated over and checked out the new flavors. He said one of the things he missed the most about being alive was coffee.
"How did she die?" he asked as I popped in a pod of blueberry-flavored coffee, hit the button, then motioned to the drawer to see if Coralee wanted a cup.
She shook her head a waved me off. "I've had plenty already. And how did she die? Now that you mention it, I assumed she drowned. But is that right?"
They had me there. I hadn't thought to ask because I'd assumed drowning, too.
My phone rang as I was pouring a blurp of half-and-half into my cup; it was Hunter.
I slid my finger across the screen to answer, then pushed the speaker button.
"Hey, handsome! What's up? I was just getting ready to call you. Coralee and Belle came over, and we realized we don't even know how the girl died."
"Oh, she drowned," he said. "Well, to be more accurate, somebody drowned her. She had bruising on the back of her neck that indicates somebody held her under, and she struggled."
I pinched my lips together. So much for the wisp of hope I'd been holding out that she'd simply drowned. "So what were you calling me about?"
He pulled in a deep breath and let it out again. "Is Coralee still there? If she is, put me on speaker. I may need her particular expertise here."
I hit the button, and Coralee hollered, "I can hear ya, sugar. Go ahead."
Shoving a finger in the ear closest to her and shooting her a dirty look for nearly putting me deaf, I held the phone closer to the center of the circle we were standing in. Belle hovered on one side and Erol on the other.
"I just had an ... interesting call," he said.
"What do you mean by interesting?" Coralee asked.
"It was a man." Hunter paused for a second, measuring his words. "All he said was back off the drowning case if you want that little redhead you've been seein' to stay healthy. Then he hung up."
A range of emotions flitted across Coralee's face, but sheer, mama-duck rage is what settled there. "You know what that means, right, boy?"
"It means Noelle's in the cross hairs, and I don't have the first clue why," he said, sounding exhausted.
"No," she said, her eyes snapping blue fire. "It means we have some sumbitch to track down. This town don't run that way no more. You get me pictures of that girl and anything else you have, and I'll find out who she is—you can bet your sweet ass on that. Then you're gonna find out who killed her, and they're gonna fry. Nobody threatens mine."
I didn't know who the killer was, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he'd messed up. Coralee with a mood on was nobody to mess with, and he'd just tripped the switch.
CHAPTER SIX
"I AGREE," HUNTER SAID. "I'm not willing to let it go, either. Whoever did that lit a fire rather than putting one out, but I don't like the idea of running blind with a threat hanging over Noelle's head."
I scoffed. "Don't worry about me. I'm capable of taking care of myself."
Coralee and Erol both raised a brow at me, reminding me about recent encounters when I needed a little bailing out.
"What?" I said, a little offended. "I took care of myself just fine when the whole barbecue thing went down." We'd run into some serious crazy during the county fair and barbecue competition a couple months back, but nobody'd lost an eye. As a matter of fact, I'd learned some mad skills during that debacle.
"Yeah," Hunter said, and I could hear the doubt in his voice. "That's not a chance I'm willing to take. Until we figure this mess out, would you please make sure somebody's with you at all times?"
When I paused, Erol chimed in. "I think he's right, sugar. I know you're all super witch"—he circled his hands in front of me in the total picture gesture—"but you're not immortal. And you have to admit, you have a penchant for gettin' yourself into pickles."
I scowled. "So ... what? I'm supposed to hang out at the Clip N Curl or at Bobbie Sue's or Brew? I don't think so. I have work to do."
Erol lowered his brows and put his hands on his hips. "What am I? Chopped liver? I may not have a body, but I can get someone who does have one here in a blink. Consider me 911, no phone required. And I've been practicing my ghost defense tactics, too. I'm the best in my class."
Belle nodded. "He's actually gettin' pretty good."
"Okay, okay," I said, then realized what he'd said. "Wait—ghost defense tactics? What in the name of little green apples is that?"
He blushed a little, but Belle floated forward. "We figured with all the changes goin' on, we didn't like it that we just had to stand by and watch bad things happen."
I knew she was talking about an incident a few months back when Gabi had been attacked at the farm. Addy and Belle—along with Max—had worked together to scare off her attackers, but the second time around, they didn't have the element of surprise going for them. They hadn't been able to do much.
"So," she continued, "Janey hooked us up with a head shrink that kicked it a few months ago over in Eagle Gap. His specialty was helpin' folks overcome phobias, so we figure all he's gotta do is teach us how to play on those phobias. Or some of 'em, anyway."
Janey was the ghost of a woman I'd met while doing a pick over that direction. She'd been haunting the house to the point it was unlivable until I helped her and her grandson, the owner, come to an understanding. A real sweetie pie, once you got to know her. Scary as crap when she wanted to be, though.
I wobbled my head from one side to the other. "Not a bad idea, all in all. Janey's helpin' too, I assume?"
"Of course she is," Erol said, giving me a look that implied I was simple for even asking.
"As fascinating as this all is," Hunter said, the sarcasm seeping through the speakers of my phone, "I need to get to work. Noelle, if you and Erol wanna come over and get some pictures of the girl at some point, that would be good. Maybe if we plaster her face everywhere, somebody'll recognize her. I'm gonna get with Channel 12 and the paper too. Maximize coverage."
"Okay," I said. "I have some people coming in a few minutes to look at a bar cart I made, but I'll be over right after that. Erol will be here."
He paused. "I mean it, Noe. No messing around. We don't know who we're dealing with. Until we do, I have to know you're safe."
I heaved a huge sigh. "I said I would."
"Even when you're driving," Coralee said.
"Even when I'm driving," I agreed, thinking about what a pain in the backside that was going to be.
It wasn't long after I hung up that the folks who were looking at the cart showed up. I'd only had it for sale on the major local sites for a day, but I'd had several calls on
it already. That meant I didn't have to negotiate much.
Being broke was so ingrained in me that it was hard to remember sometimes that I didn't have to worry about the lights being shut off if I didn't take the first offer somebody made. It was a good problem to have, all things considered.
The couple, a balding, portly, middle-aged man and his wife, showed up and admired the piece. They were both wearing clothes that cost more than the entirety of my closet, and the wife had so much Botox she reminded me of Tim Allen in Christmas with the Kranks.
That was fine with me, though. They seemed nice enough, if a little high-falutin', but ended up paying full price for the cart as well as several smaller accent pieces I'd made.
With a tidy chunk of change in my pocket, I started to lock the doors and head over to the courthouse, but another couple strolled in before I could.
"Hello. Welcome to Reimagined," I said.
The woman, dark-haired with a slightly exotic look about her, smiled back but didn't say anything as she wandered around, looking at what little stock I had. It seemed no matter how much I made, I couldn't manage to make it fast enough to fill the store before it sold. Not that I was complaining, but it did make for a lot of empty space instead of an organized store.
She ran her fingers over an entry piece that was part bench and storage and part coat rack. I'd made it from an old toy chest and an oak table with drop-down sides that I'd gotten for a song because one of the legs had been broken.
"This is unusual," she said. "You made it?"
I nodded. "I did. I made everything in here. That lifts up for storage," I said, motioning toward the padded bench that had been the toy box lid.
She raised it up and nodded in appreciation. "You did a great job."
"Thank you. When I saw the two together, I knew instantly what I wanted to do with them."
Her husband, a fortyish man in a charcoal business suit, seemed more interested in studying me rather than my creations. I watched him from my peripheral as he wandered around the store, casting surreptitious glances in my direction.
I furrowed my brow. "Are y'all looking for something in particular?"
"No," she said. "We were just driving by and saw the place. I do love antiques and was curious to see what you had."
Erol hovered over the register, keeping a close eye on the man.
"I think I'll take this, though," the woman said, picking up the price tag. "Can you come down fifty?"
I pretended to think about it. I always marked things up a bit higher than I wanted to get for them so I had room to haggle. "I can come down thirty."
She nodded and stuck out her hand. "Deal."
When we shook, she gave a little jolt, then tilted her head and studied me. "Does the word misty mean anything to you?"
"No," I said, watching her expression. "It doesn't. Why?"
Lifting a shoulder, she said, "No reason. It's just—"
"Mel, don't go weirding the poor girl out with your mumbo jumbo," the man with her said, reaching for his wallet.
He pulled out some bills and handed them over, but she didn't take her eyes off me. "Is it okay if we come back tomorrow to pick it up?" she asked. "We brought the car rather than the truck."
"Sure," I said, "that'll be fine. I'll just mark it sold, and you can call when you're on your way."
We exchanged information, and he headed out the front door. She followed but paused and turned to me, brows drawn. "I don't know why, but the word is important whether you know it now or not. When you realize why it’s important, your heart's desire will get you through. I don’t know what that means, though.” She chewed on her lip for a second, then added, "You take care now, you hear?"
Nodding, I thanked her. As soon as they pulled away from the curb, I bolted the door shut and motioned to Erol. "Okay, what was that?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe just some weirdo."
I shook my head, thinking of Serena, an honest-to-God psychic I'd met at the fair. "Don't be so sure about that. He may write her off as a whackadoodle, but I'm pretty sure she was telling the truth. Or at least what she believed to be the truth."
I glanced at their info—Melanie and Jameson Schrader.
"There's no tellin', sugar," he said, floating toward the door. "And if you think she may have been more than just a flake, maybe we should have Hunter run the name through the databases. Maybe the girl's name was Misty."
"Not a bad idea," I said, a little irritated at myself because I hadn't thought of it. "Did you notice the guy was watching me?"
"I did," he said. "And I didn't like it. I don't believe in coincidence."
Neither did I. I glanced at the name and number she'd scrawled across the back of one of my business cards and decided on the spot that I was gonna learn about her, too.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT ONLY TOOK A COUPLE minutes to walk to the courthouse because it was right up the street from us, at the apex of the town square. By the time we got there, my mind was whirring with a dozen new questions but not a single answer.
On the way up the steps, Angus and his girlfriend Trouble, two other living-impaired friends of mine, floated up. Before he passed, Angus had been the town ... err ... well, let's say he preferred liquid suppers on the park bench to sit-down meals at a dining-room table.
"Hey, Noelle! Long time, no see," Trouble said, smoothing the front of her translucent, tie-dyed peasant skirt.
"I know. How have you two been?" I asked, stepping into the shade of the wide porch. Angus had always been happy-go-lucky, but since reuniting with Trouble, he never seemed to stop smiling. Nobody deserved that more than he did.
"Good. Been spendin' some time over to the lake and just heard about that girl." He shook his head, the smile fleeing from his face.
Trouble pinched her lips together. "Drownin's not a horrible death, but it's still a death, and we heard she was young."
Trouble had drowned, so she knew what she was talking about.
"It is," Erol said. "And to think nobody's even come forward to report the poor lamb missing."
"I know," Trouble agreed. "We been out there tryin' to make sure she's not trapped like I was."
Trouble's story is a whole other tale, but it broke my heart to see the lost look on her face as she remembered her years trapped. "That's super kind of you guys."
"Yeah," Angus said. "Lots of action out on the lake lately. I'm glad to see the town doin' so well, but I sure do hate to see the growth. All them fancy-pants boats takin' the place of good ole fishin' boats." He sighed. “Half the fun of fishin' was worryin' about springin' a leak."
I laughed. "I don't know so much about that, but I'm with you on the progress. I hate to see the change, too, but at least it's just mostly in the summer." `
"Right?" Trouble said. "At least they leave us be in the winter."
Reaching for the door, I said, "You two crazy kids have fun. I gotta go see Hunter."
Waving, they clasped hands and floated away.
The sheriff's office was at the back of the building, guarded by Peggy Sue Dalton, a middle-aged woman who was an absolute ray of sunshine. She stood when she saw me, a bright smile lighting her round face.
"Hey Noelle," she said, pulling me in for a hug. Peggy Sue wasn't one of the folks in on the existence of Keyhole Lake's thriving post-life community, though I had no doubt she'd have been just fine with it. Still, they tended to keep the info on lockdown to avoid an invasion of ghost hunters and haunted-house reality shows. Nobody had time for that nonsense.
"Hey, Peggy Sue! It's good to see you. Things been goin' okay?"
"Fine as frog's hair," she said, releasing me.
"All right, but if you need anything, you let me know, you hear?" Peggy Sue'd done me a couple good turns I'd never be able to repay her for, but I'd give it my best shot.
"Just some of those mixed-berry pastries the next time you're through. Oh, and my niece has a birthday comin' up. I've stopped past the shop a couple times try
ing to catch you"—Erol snorted and gave me an I told you so look—"because I need to see what you got. She reminds me some of you, so I think you'll have just the thing."
"Sure thing," I said, walking around her desk and heading down the hall toward Hunter's office. "Whenever you want, just let me know."
I pecked on the doorway to Hunter's office. He was at his desk, studying a file, and smiled at me when he looked up.
I smiled back. "Just reporting in with my bodyguard," I said, and Erol hmphed. "Do you have those pictures ready? I figured I'd hang a few around town. Bobbie Sue's, Rae's, the hardware store. Maybe take one over to Monty at the Cat and to Marybeth out at Fancy's."
"That's a great idea," he said. "Those are probably the most visited places in town, so maybe we'll get lucky."
I slid into the chair across from him. "Did you find anything else?"
"Actually, I did. Or rather, Jim did. She was wearing a ring on a chain around her neck—it looked like an engagement ring—and it had initials engraved inside the band. MC & DL forever. I had to send it over to the jewelry store so he could read it, the script was so fine."
"She was wearing it on a necklace instead of on her finger, though?" I scrunched up my brow. "That probably means it wasn't hers, then."
"Maybe not," Erol said. "Or maybe they'd broken it off, but she still loved him. Plus, the initial M."
"What about the M?" Hunter asked, looking back and forth between us.
"It's probably nothing," I said.
Erol glowered at me. "Or maybe it's something."
I lifted a shoulder and explained what had happened in the shop. "Either way, it doesn't put us any closer to finding out who she is. It'll be a good piece of the puzzle when we have more info, but right now, that's all it is—a puzzle piece, and we have no idea what the picture is."
"So do you think it's possible her name was Misty? That would fit," Erol said.
"I'm with Noelle on this one. I'm a believer—I have no choice because I've seen it too many times—but I don't think we should assume anything. I'll run the name through our databases and see if I come up with anything. I can look through missing person's cases without raising any more red flags, too."