Dark Passing (The Ella Reynolds Series)

by Liz Schulte

  I thought back. It was hard to say if I liked Gabriel from the start. I didn’t dislike him. “Not exactly.”

  Fagan smiled. “Well, I guess that gives me hope. We might be friends yet.”

  I shrugged.

  He stretched an arm over the back of the booth. “What I want to know is what makes you so special?”

  My eyebrows pulled together. What the hell was he talking about? “Nothing.”

  “Then why do you think you’re so much better than everyone else that you can judge them without even knowing them?”

  I laughed, tracing the sweat rivulets on the side of my glass. “I don’t think I’m better than anyone. See that table over there.” I pointed to a particularly fun-looking table, where people were laughing and having a grand time. “You could probably go over there, start talking to them, maybe even join in. I couldn’t. It isn’t me. I’m not friendly, and I don’t really want to be. I’m better now than I was, but…”—I shrugged again—“as Gabriel says, baby steps.”

  Fagan watched the fun table until the waitress returned with his fresh drink. “So asking you to go to parties where you don’t know anyone and socialize is—”

  “Dreadful.” I nodded. “But my will is stronger than my antisocial tendencies these days—and I’m determined to solve Mary’s case.”

  Fagan’s jaw softened a little and he took another drink. “Do you even want to change?”

  Did I? The word “no” was on the edge of my tongue, teetering back and forth. A smaller part of me—the part that always cleaned up after my brash side—wanted to say yes. “Sometimes.” I smiled a little—very little. “I can’t tell you how to make me like you. Just stop being such a douche. That would be a good start.”

  Fagan laughed, throwing his head back. “Detective Troy is a saint for putting up with you.”

  “You don’t know half of it.” Perhaps it was the environment, but I was relaxed, and Fagan seemed nearly bearable. “What about you? Why are you bargaining for dates? Surely there are other girls in Jackson.”

  He nodded. “But none quite so famous as you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Just when I started to think you weren’t so bad, you had to prove me wrong.”

  Fagan laughed. “I thought you’d appreciate honesty.”

  “It’s better than thinking you have some unrequited love for me.”

  The waitress stopped by our table. “Another round?”

  “Yes,” Fagan said with enthusiasm. I looked at my water and at his tonic. The devil on my shoulder felt more like herself being in O’Malley’s and demanded a real drink. “Come on, Ella, have a drink with me,” Fagan prompted when I took too long to decide.

  “I really shouldn’t,” I said, more because it had to be said than because I meant it.

  “Why not.”

  “I used to drink a lot.”

  “Are you in AA?”

  I snorted. “Yeah, because group therapy would work so well for me.”

  “Then you’re fine. Somewhere under all of this”—he waved his hand at me, making me scowl—“is someone fun. I’m sure of it.”

  I shook my head at the waitress. Fagan couldn’t have been more wrong. I was a mean drunk, always had been. This was the nice me. He leaned over the table. “Can I ask you question?”

  “That depends on the question.”

  “Why’d you stay in the house? If it was so haunted and you were so terrorized, why didn’t you just leave?”

  I sighed. I got this question a lot, and there was no easy answer to it. “Leaving never occurred to me as an option. I don’t have a lot of great qualities, but I don’t run away from things. Once I commit to something, I see it through. I committed to Danny, and our relationship was never going to end until I knew what happened to him.”

  “What if the case was never solved? You would’ve just stayed?”

  I nodded. I’d thought a lot about this. I didn’t know where my breaking point was, but if I hadn’t reached it during the height of those events, I probably never would have. I would’ve stayed until I was killed too. And as much as I hated to admit it or think about it, I was getting dangerously close to that point with this case as well. Each new factor or clue in this crime pulled me in deeper. Lakota’s death was like an anchor. I didn’t know if I could walk away from this, no matter what was on the line.

  “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

  I shook my head. “It’s okay. You’d think I’d be used to them by now.”

  “You never get used to losing someone you really loved.” Fagan had his own sad, faraway look in his eyes. “It’s the sort of emptiness that stays with you.”

  “It did for a long time, but I learned a lot about the person I was married to in the course of the investigation, and I was able to shut that chapter in my life. I’m starting a new one.”

  “With Detective Troy.”

  Unless he leaves me. “Unless he wises up.” I forced a laugh that didn’t sound light or breezy at all.

  Fagan studied me, and I worried my doubt was too clear on my face. “He seems pretty smitten.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Me either.”

  This time I really did laugh. My heavy, uneasiness broke away. “Finally you laugh at my jokes. I was getting a complex.” Fagan’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

  “Why can’t you be like this in Jackson?” Like this, Fagan and I could possibly be friends.

  “I have an image and responsibilities in Jackson. Everyone who sees me is a potential voter, and I have to set a good example for my deputies.”

  I let his words roll around in my head for a while. “Bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Bullshit. That might be part of it, but you know you didn’t have to be such a jerk to me all this time because of that.”

  “Then why did I do it?”

  “Because you’re hiding something.” It slipped out without my having thought about it, but once I said the words they made sense. Maybe years of therapy had rubbed off on me. “It’s a defense mechanism. There’s something you’re hiding about Mary’s case and you’re worried I’ll find it while I’m poking around. That’s why you’re trying to keep me on the defensive.”

  “That’s absurd.” He didn’t quite meet my eyes.

  “Ha! No, I’m right and you know it.” He looked away. “Admit it.”

  “Your boyfriend is here.”

  “What?” My head snapped to attention and swiveled to the door. Sure enough, Gabriel was walking in with a couple other cops. I glanced back to Fagan, who wore a stupid, smug smile.

  “Why, Ella, it appears you do care what at least one person thinks. Admit it,” he mocked.

  My brain scrambled with what to do. Should I try to hide and sneak out? No, that was stupid. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I should go over and talk to him. Surprise him. He’ll be happy to see me. Hopefully. I was sliding toward the edge of my booth, watching him, when his eyes met mine. He looked shocked, then smiled a little—until his eyes flickered away from me and onto Fagan. A faint line of worry creased his forehead, and I wanted to smooth it out. He veered away from his friends in our direction.

  “Hi.” I smiled brightly, standing up to greet him. “Fancy meeting you here.” I put my hands on his arms and leaned in to brush my lips against his cheek.

  “I thought you were coming back tomorrow.” His eyes roamed, taking everything in. The dress, the drinks, Fagan lounging in the booth like he hadn’t a care in the world, the bruises on my arm—and there his gaze stopped. His expression darkened as he took in the bruises, and he gently lifted my arm and examined it closer. “What the hell happened? Are these fingerprints?” He looked from me to Fagan, waiting for an answer.

  “Let’s sit down.” I pulled him down to the booth with me.

  “I didn’t think you were meeting any more witnesses today.” He reached out, took a drink of my water, then rubbed his hand over his temples with so
mething like relief crossing his face.

  “I’m going to the restroom. Good to see you again, Detective Troy.” Fagan, the slimy traitor, scooted out of the booth and limped away.

  Gabriel’s whiskey-colored eyes seared holes through my defenses. “Ella, start explaining.”

  “Well, you see…” I had no idea what to say. “Where do you want me start?”

  He sighed. “Let’s try the beginning and see how that works.”

  “Okay. Well, Martha lent me this dress to wear to the stupid fundraiser Fagan made me go to. We got to the fundraiser and Lola, that’s the politician’s wife, whisked me away from Fagan and we spoke about her son, Alfie—he knew Mary. Then later Fagan tried to make me mingle, and you know how I feel about mingling.”

  A small grin twitched his lips. “I do.”

  “I told him that wasn’t part of our agreement, and if he expected me to socialize, I wanted new terms. So we began to debate, and I may have accused him of not caring as much about Mary or Lakota as winning elections and being a bad investigator”—I paused as Gabriel’s grin broadened—“which made him mad.”

  “You think?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Men are too sensitive. Anyway, we started yelling at each other and, to avoid more of a scene, he dragged me outside. I fought against him, hence the bruises. I broke his toe, and he agreed to let me see Lakota’s apartment. After we looked at that, he wanted to go get a drink, and I wanted to come home, so we compromised and came here.”

  “Had that story come from anyone else, I’d think it was a lie.” Gabriel shook his head. “So he hurt you?”

  “I hurt him worse than he hurt me. I’m pretty sure I won that battle.”

  Gabriel bit his lip. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m trying to decide what to do about him.”

  “You don’t have to do anything ‘about’ him.”

  He gave me a level look. “I’m getting pretty sick of seeing him entirely too close to you. Now this.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  “Yes.” His eyes flashed. “I don’t like you being so far away and spending so much time with him.”

  My chest warmed, and I snuggled closer to Gabriel until we were touching. It was easy to forget Gabriel had his own baggage in the form of a cheating ex-wife. Of course he’d be paranoid. “You have nothing to worry about. I can barely tolerate him.”

  “You could barely tolerate me when we first met.”

  “Not true. You were never the tool he is.” I rested my head on Gabriel’s shoulder. “I don’t like you just because we worked a case together, and working with someone else isn’t going to change how I feel about you.”

  His breath caught in his chest.

  “I love you because you make me want to be a better person.”

  Gabriel’s fingers wound through mine. We both held perfectly still, not saying anything for a couple seconds, wanting the moment to linger. “How many drinks have you had?” Gabriel broke the silence.

  I laughed. “Just water.”

  “Seriously, Ella.”

  “Seriously. I’m not saying I didn’t want one, but I refrained.”

  He raised his head. “This is quite the test you put yourself to.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “How many has Fagan had?”

  I glanced at him, standing at the bar with a couple glasses already around him. “Looks like five or six shots and at least two vodka tonics.” I smiled up at Gabriel. “I’m easier to be around when he drinks. You should’ve seen how mad I made him.”

  Gabriel chuckled. “He can’t drive.”

  “He can come back to my house. I have plenty of rooms. Plus the ghost might like a new toy.”

  Gabriel said good-bye to his friends, and I felt mildly guilty for ruining his night. I collected an intoxicated Fagan from the bar and we met Gabriel at the door.

  “Where’s your coat?” Gabriel asked.

  “Left it at the party.”

  “Wait here. I’ll get the car.” He gave me his coat then went out into the blustery night.

  I elbowed Fagan in the side. “See. That’s how you’re supposed to act.”

  “Ow,” Fagan rubbed his side. “You have bony elbows.”

  “All the better to jab you with.”

  “You’re pretty, but you aren’t nice. I like my girls nice,” he slurred.

  “And you can’t hold your liquor.” I could probably drink him under the table… if I did that sort of thing anymore, which I didn’t. Gabriel pulled up and I wrangled Fagan to the car.

  My big old Victorian house seemed to watch us drive up the dark, slumbering street, and I smiled, a bit surprised. I’d missed the pile of bricks more than I ever thought I would. Gabriel hauled Fagan inside and deposited him in one of the guest bedrooms. I stayed downstairs, not ready for bed yet. I wandered around the first floor, looking at everything and letting myself acclimate to being back home. A hand brushed my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps, but it didn’t startle me. I turned around with a smile for Gabriel, but he wasn’t there. I was alone.

  “Grant?” I asked softly. The hair around my face fluttered back, and the air chilled. A form slowly took shape. After a few seconds, Grant stood in front of me as if he’d always been there.

  “You aren’t scared of me anymore?”

  I shook my head, unable to find words.

  “You’re not thinking about leaving us are you, Ella?”

  “No,” I said. “You’re stuck with me for a while.”

  Grant smiled, but faded away as Gabriel walked in. “Were you talking to someone?” He glanced around the room. “I thought I heard voices.”

  “Weird. I didn’t hear a thing.” I took his hand and we went upstairs, though my thoughts were on Grant and all the questions I needed to ask him.

  “Grant! Where in the hell are you? I have questions. Come out, come out wherever you are.” I listened for a sign. “Here ghostie, ghostie.”

  Nothing. The stupid, stubborn house remained peaceful and dull. Crap. What good was it to be haunted when the ghost wouldn’t talk to me?

  “I hate people,” I muttered as I walked toward the kitchen. “Dead or alive.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  The familiar voice made my head jerk. Grant was sitting at my kitchen counter, smiling like a man with a secret. I let out my breath slowly, trying to ease my heart. I was the one who called for him. Why was I panicking? Because you’re talking to dead people.

  “Until you showed up last night, I thought you’d forgotten about me,” he said. “I’m glad to talk to you again, Ella. It gets boring without you.”

  I closed my mouth. This wasn’t my imagination. I sat down in a kitchen chair and stared. “You’re really a ghost.”

  He gave me a sly, mischievous look. “What makes you think I am? Maybe I’ve only ever been in your head.”

  “You’re in front of me.”

  “How can you be certain? Maybe this is your imagination.”

  I’d forgotten how annoying Grant could be. “What does that mean? Are you here all the time? Do you watch me?”

  “I’m around. I keep an eye on things.”

  “Grant!”

  “Nothing to be uncomfortable about, I’m a doctor.” He laughed. Jackass. “There are lots of ghosts in this house and in your past. I’m by no means the only one.”

  “Who else? Is Danny here? Why can I see you?”

  “Is this why you called for me? To talk about Daniel?”

  “No, but…”

  “We have very little time, Ella. What’s your question?”

  I ignored him, still trying to wrap my brain around the ghost business. It was one thing for me to adamantly declare to Gabriel that my house was haunted. It was another altogether to confront walking, talking proof—not just strange noises and bumps in the night. “Am I the only one who can see you?”

  “You’re the only living person I’ve spoken with.”

  “Can’t you just give me a strai
ght answer?”

  “I don’t deal in absolutes. Your time grows shorter.”

  There were so many questions I wanted answered. How could any of this be real? “Is there another ghost trying to reach me in Jackson? And why can I see you people, things, whatever you are?”

  Grant shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Okay, let’s try this, then. There is a ghost haunting me in Jackson. Can you go talk to her, see what she wants, and if it’s Mary Nelson, ask her who killed her?”

  Grant chuckled. “Got yourself into another murder, did you?” I nodded. “Even if I wanted to help, I can’t. My domain’s here.”

  “But you came to the bar and the hospital to see me.”

  “You live here. I can stay with you if I choose.”

  “If I sell the house someday, could you still stay with me?”

  “Do you want me to? Or are you asking about Daniel again?”

  I wasn’t entirely certain.

  He shook his head. “Stop living among the dead, Ella. There’s a live man waiting for you right on the other side of that door.” He pointed to the front door, and my eyes flickered in that direction. When I looked back, he was gone, and Gabriel’s knock echoed through the house.

  “Some help you are,” I mumbled as I walked to the door and opened it.

  My eyes opened in my bedroom. A dream. It was just a dream. But it didn’t feel like a dream.

  “Grant?” My voice shook, and I clenched the covers as I scanned the room. My closet door slowly opened, then closed just as gently. Holy crap, it’s real. I swallowed and pushed away the weirdness, ready to dive back into my questioning.

  “Morning.” Gabriel’s voice came from the doorway. I yelped.

  He laughed. “A bit jumpy this morning?” He kissed my cheek; his whiskers scratched my skin. He was fully dressed and carrying coffee.

  “Heh. Old ghosts.”

  He handed me a cup and sat with his back to the headboard. “You have to let those go.”

  Easy for him to say. He didn’t just have a conversation with one. “I had the craziest dream about Grant last night.”

  “What did he have to say?” He spoke carefully—as he always did about Grant.