by Diane Capri
Unfortunately, my attempts to go online proved fruitless. In spite of all the money floating around up here, the internet service wasn’t the greatest. Drove me nuts. Instead, I hunkered down for a night of popcorn with my fur-covered friends and Pretty Woman playing on TNT. No ghosts. No good stories to uncover. Oh, well.
When I woke up the next morning on the couch, Mac at my head and Cass at my feet, I knew the day would be difficult. Nick’s wake was today. I’d received a text from Becky yesterday saying Nick had been cremated after the coroner released his body. I wondered who’d given the consent. Maybe it had been in the will? Someone must have known his last wishes. I guessed it was Becky. They went back a while, but then again, so did Nick and Candace. I wondered if it was possible one or both of them had known Nick back in 1985? And hadn’t Candace mentioned the name Roger during her tense standoff with Becky not too long ago?
As I got dressed, my mind reeling, I had that feeling again … that I wasn’t alone. I glanced around. Nothing. Cass lay curled up on the bed next to Mac, who was meticulously grooming himself.
“Hello?” I called out into the empty bedroom. Then, feeling vaguely silly, I said, “Lucas?” No response. I finished getting ready and left.
Maybe Lucas’s visit with Bob was simply a one-time deal, like when I had seen the little girl when I was a kid. If so, I was disappointed. I mean what could be better than being sung to personally by the ghost of Bob Marley, and being haunted by a hot, dead guy? For the hundredth time in the last few days, I found myself wishing Simone hadn’t shown up when she did. Her timing, as usual, was pretty damn horrible.
A half an hour later, and after a few days’ absence, I was back at Nick’s. I’d left Cass at home with Mac, although I’d contemplated bringing her. While some would have understood my bringing her, others might not have been okay with a dog at a memorial service.
It was strange being at the bar again. It felt different without Nick’s constant presence. I hugged everyone I knew—Candace, Becky, Mumbles—but before I did so, I put a buffer in place in the form of long, black satin gloves so I wouldn’t be forced to deal with painful visions. Yeah, I looked a bit like Jessica Rabbit, but it was better than having to deal with an onslaught of depressing life stories. Today was going to be hard enough.
I was a bit surprised to see Jackson there. He shook my hand, and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. The kiss was just enough contact to force a vision of him as a young boy being beaten by a larger man. Oh dear. I quickly took a glove off, acting as if I needed to scratch the top of my hand. I then placed my hand over the top of his and squeezed for a second, sending him healing vibes. He glanced down at me and smiled.
“Tough day,” I said, putting the glove back on.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” he replied, glancing curiously down at my gloved hands. “What’s up with the gloves, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Umm … eczema. It’s a stress response.” I quickly changed back to the earlier topic. “Did you talk with the police?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I did.” He stopped for a minute and then moved closer, dropping his voice to a loud whisper. “The unofficial word on the street is it was a mob hit. They say no one will ever go to jail for his murder.”
I brought my hands up to my mouth. “No! What do you mean?”
“The cops aren’t exactly on this all hot and heavy. Look, they may act like it for the time being, but a mafia hit is one of those things that rarely gets looked into too deeply. Plus, the media hype will be gone by tomorrow.”
I wrinkled up my nose in distaste … kind of the way I do when I accidentally step in a pile of Cass’s poop. “Yeah. The media hype. I had no idea Nick had been such a star.”
Jackson crossed his arms. He held a beer in one hand. “Yeah. Kind of. I mean he was a big star as a kid. Then he got offered a role back in the mid-eighties for a show that was meant to compete with 21 Jump Street … you know, the show that made Johnny Depp such a big star?”
“Oh, I don’t know TV much. We weren’t allowed to watch it when I was a kid. And I was born in ‘84, so a lot of this is before my time. Speaking of, you don’t look any older than me.”
“I’m twenty-six, but I grew up here in Tinseltown and this stuff has always fascinated me. Why do you think I wanted to do the documentary on Nick?”
“He really wasn’t interested in that, was he?”
Jackson shook his head and I noticed his expression had gone a little sour.
“Nope. Not at all. So, maybe there was something to the theory that Nick was responsible for Roger Hawks’s death back in the day.” He shrugged. “Those two might know.” He pointed first at Becky, who was talking with the attractive woman who’d been in the bar with the middle-aged, good-looking guy not long ago.
Becky had her usual glass of wine in hand and looked completely distraught. The glamorous woman looked casually bored, and her boyfriend or husband—whoever he was—had just sidled up to them and handed her a drink. He gave Becky a hug. I wondered who they were.
Jackson then pointed to Candace in her regular spot near Mumbles. They were hunched over the counter, nursing drinks. There were a couple of guys working behind the bar, and some waitresses passing around appetizers—I recognized none of them. I assume they were hired caterers. About sixty people were there and I had to wonder who was paying for it all. My guess was Becky. She appeared to be playing the grieving widow.
I wanted to ask Jackson what he meant with regards to Becky and Candace when the handsome, middle-aged man got up on the small stage.
“Hello! Hello, everyone. Good afternoon.” The bar quieted down and the small crowd turned to face him. “First of all, I want to thank you for coming today. This is certainly not how I imagined my next visit to Nick’s Place.” He bowed his head momentarily. “But I know Nick would be honored and humbled to see all of you gathered here today in his honor.”
Something shiny caught the corner of my eye across the room. I glanced over to see a big guy leaning against the wall. Actually “big” was a nice way of putting it … he was seriously overweight. His hairy arms were crossed above his huge, sagging gut and a large, diamond-encrusted watch sparkled obnoxiously from his wrist. I had never seen him before, but then again, I hadn’t seen most of the people in the bar today. There was something about him, though. Something not right. Fact is, he didn’t look sad or solemn or contemplative. Just irritated.
I directed my attention back to the guy on the stage.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Bradley Verne. Nick was a good friend of mine. In fact, he was more than a friend. Nick was like a brother to me. I have many fond memories of Nick and me at my dad’s place. We had so much fun as kids, and I feel fortunate to have had him in my life. My wife, Raquela, and I loved him dearly.” His eyes caught those of the chic woman in the crowd who smiled and nodded. She then dabbed her dry eyes with a handkerchief.
So Bradley was the son of the guy Nick had housesat for. One more puzzle piece dropped into place. I looked back up at the small stage … Bradley had tears in his eyes. Clearly he’d been close to Nick.
“I’m not looking forward to telling my father about Nick. They were quite close and Nick was family to us. Dad … well, his health hasn’t been great, and I’m worried this news won’t help much.” That was when the waterworks really started, and Bradley was unable to speak for several seconds. Finally, he stepped down and stood next to his wife who embraced him. “I’m sorry. We love you, Nick. Peace be with you, brother. If anyone else wants to share stories and memories about Nick, please step forward.”
No one did, so I decided to go up. I hadn’t known Nick for long but he’d been willing to take a chance on me.
“Hi. I’m Evie Preston, and I played music here in the evenings.” I glanced at the small group of regulars and smiled. Candace waved and Becky smiled back, wiping her eyes. “Nick was a really good guy. I didn’t know him that long. But he was the kind of person who
really cared about others and he took friendship seriously. Thanks to Nick, I didn’t have to turn around and head back home to Texas right after I got here. I know I will miss him dearly.”
“Kind? Took friendship seriously?!” The voice was loud, male, and very unfriendly.
I peered out to see who was shouting. It was the fat guy with the flashy watch. He was covered in sweat and his face was turning an alarming shade of red.
“Let me tell you something about Nick Gordin, chica!”
Chica? Who was this guy and what was his deal? The low hiss of whispers slid across the room.
“Nick Gordin was a bum! He was supposed to be my partner. He stole my fish taco recipe and he was running with our idea of a franchise! He even had the loan docs all ready and I only just found out about it. Dropped me like a hot tamale! How’s that for taking friendship seriously?!”
I couldn’t speak, but Bradley and Jackson made their way over to him. There was a loud exchange with lots of colorful language, and then the large fellow was escorted out. But he managed to get the last word in when he yelled, “Karma is a bitch! Guy got what he deserved.”
After his departure, an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. No one knew what to say following the outburst. Finally, Bradley stepped forward again.
“I am so sorry, everyone. That guy is a lunatic. I think Evie expressed what we all know and feel about Nick. Let’s grab a drink and toast our friend!”
He kindly escorted me down from the tiny stage as I was still pretty shaky. “Thank you,” I whispered.
He patted my hand sympathetically. “I am so sorry about that. You seem like such a nice young woman. Nick mentioned how much he believed in your talent.”
“Really?”
Bradley nodded. “Yes. He was really fond of you. Here, let me get you a drink and introduce you to my wife.”
“Thank you … hey, who was that guy?”
Bradley grimaced and rolled his eyes. “That was George Hernandez, Nick’s former partner. He’s a jerk. I don’t even know how he got in here today. Nick washed his hands of George about a year ago. Don’t worry about him. He’s loud, but he’s harmless.” Bradley went up to the bar and ordered drinks. He came back, handed me a glass, and then escorted me over to where his wife stood, handing her a drink as well.
Close up, I could see she had been nipped and tucked— tastefully—within an inch of her life. She had short, dark hair, clear blue eyes, and a killer body I am certain she paid a lot of money for. Her lips were large, but not obnoxious, and she smiled sincerely at me, her white teeth gleaming brightly in the dim lights of the bar.
She reached a free hand out. “Hi. I’m Raquela Verne. That was very nice of you, what you said, and I am so sorry about that a-hole, George.”
“I’m grateful your husband stepped in when he did.” I shook her hand, my gloves still on. “Nice to meet you. I’m Evie Preston.”
Bradley smiled, placing an arm around his wife’s tiny waist. “Raquela is my rock. She is always here for me, and with Nick being gone…” He started to cry again. Poor guy.
“Honey, you loved him. It’s okay to be emotional.” There were tears in her eyes as well. Real ones. “Come on, why don’t we toast Nick?”
Bradley dabbed at his eyes again and cleared his throat, in an effort to get the attention of the bar.
“Before we toast,” Bradley called out, “I want to let all of you know I will be doing what I can to keep the bar open.” He turned to me in an aside. “I’m hoping you will stay on.”
I nodded, surprised and pleased. “Great! Well then, here’s to Nick.”
Everyone raised their drinks. “To Nick!”
I said the words and I meant them, too. But my mind kept wandering. Was Nick’s killer in the room? Or maybe George Hernandez was crazy enough to have murdered Nick? Didn’t they say killers sometimes come back to the scene of the crime? I took a sip from my drink, looking around the room at all the people. Which, if any, of these folks had come back to gloat?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ONCE HOME, I MADE a determined effort to go online. It took some time, but finally, the service provider came through and I was able to Google Nick’s name. Of course, there were articles about his murder. They all said the same thing: that the former child star had been killed in his bar on Monday morning.
But eventually, I found what I was looking for. It was an archived article from the 1985 edition of The Los Angeles Times. It showed a photo of a much younger Nick with Roger Hawks, and a photo of Warren Verne, Bradley’s dad. The article read:
Last night at the estate of producer/director Warren Verne, actor Roger Hawks was found drowned in the swimming pool, just after 3:00 a.m. The evening before, actor Nick Gordin hosted a party for Hawks to celebrate Hawks’ upcoming new role as the next James Bond. Verne, in Europe on location, was reported as saying, “I am devastated at the loss of such a talented young actor,” upon receiving the news of Hawks’ death.
Sources say Hawks was inebriated and some speculate drugs may have been involved. So far, there has been no comment from Nick Gordin.
As I delved deeper, the story got more interesting … and troubling. There had been an investigation, because, as it turned out, Nick and Hawks argued that night. No one ever claimed to know what the argument was about. But my eyes popped when I read, Nick Gordin’s fiancée, Barbara Dennison, claims Nick was with her when Hawks likely drowned.
“Oh boy!” Nick had been engaged? Had he also been married? Then divorced? What if they were still married? Barbara Dennison. I looked back at the screen. There was a photo of Nick and a pretty blonde woman. Something about her eyes reminded me of…
“No way! Candace!” Cass and Mac glanced over at me from the bed. I smacked my forehead lightly, “Of course! Candace told me her real name was Barbara.”
“The plot thickens,” said a voice from behind me.
Startled, I spun around in the desk chair. And there he was.
“Lucas.” My voice cracked a little, not quite the come hither tone I was going for. Then again, how did one behave when a sexy ghost pops unannounced into your bedroom?
He grinned, “Ah, you know my name.”
I nodded. He was even more gorgeous than I recalled. Lucas placed his hands on either side of my chair and drifted an inch closer. I could feel my heart racing, and hear the blood rushing through my ears. “What…” I shook my head. “How…”
He smiled. “You ask a lot of questions, Evie.”
“You know my name.” He knew my name!
“Yes, Cass told me.”
“My dog spoke to you?” Curiouser and curiouser.
He shrugged, tilting his head to the side. “Not usually. I’ve been able to communicate with animals before, but they typically don’t talk in words. Or at least, I haven’t found one yet, until I met her.” He pointed down at Cass. “She’s a smart cookie … she can carry on quite a conversation.”
“Huh.” I glanced down at Cass who looked back up at me innocently. “Who knew?” I shook my head. This was sounding more and more ridiculous.
He nodded, “But your cat, well … he’s no genius.”
“He’s not technically my cat.”
“Try and tell him that. He’s opinionated as hell.”
“I think opinionated is a prerequisite for most felines. At least in my experience,” I replied. And then I remembered I was chatting with a ghost. “Um, what are you exactly?”
“Exactly?” He gazed upwards and rubbed his chin. “Some would say I’m a ghost. Some might call me a soul, or a spirit, or even an energy or entity. I say I’m simply dead, but that’s not technically true either. You can just call me Lucas.” He grinned.
“Yeah, okay … so what was up with Bob Marley in my kitchen yesterday? I mean, that was him, wasn’t it? Or … his spirit?”
“Sure was.”
“This is insane. I mean, I think I saw a ghost once before. A little girl. She didn’t look like you though, with
the, the…” My hands fluttered in the air “The glow.”
“The girl you saw was a ghost, but I’m not. Children don’t typically return as spirits. They don’t need to. A ghost is simply an energy imprint left behind … like an echo of the person who used to be there. The soul or spirit of the child moved on. But I bet you’ve spent a long time after pretending you never saw her in the first place.”
I nodded, thinking about my uber-religious family. “My father would have been horrified if I said I’d seen a ghost.”
“He would have said you were making up stories.”
“Or worse.”
“You weren’t. You saw what you saw. And then you closed yourself off to it. But looks like the timing is right for you to start seeing us again.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He sat down at the edge of the bed. Cass wandered over and sat next to him. Mac followed Cass and soon they were both curled up next to Lucas. He frowned at Mac. “I’m not really a cat guy.”
Um … okay. “You were going to tell me what you meant about timing…”
“Right. You’ve heard of people who’ve seen spirits, right?” He patted the space next to him on the bed. “Come, sit.”
I moved from the desk that also served as a vanity, and tentatively placed myself next to him on the bed.
“I can assure you I am very real, and,” he flashed that sexy smile again, “I can teach you everything I know about being a spirit.” He winked, and my toes curled.
Whoa, Nelly. Was I seriously lusting after a dead guy? My head was beginning to throb. Then I got a bright idea. “Can you tell me who murdered Nick?”
He shook his head sadly, “No.”
“But why not? You’re a spirit. You live on the other side. Don’t you know things?”
“Yes and no, but we’ll get to that. One thing at a time.” He tilted his head and looked at me speculatively. “Aren’t you at all interested to know why you can see me and other spirits now?”