But she'd seen him, talked to him.
No, she hadn't.
She'd been hallucinating.
Just like after her accident.
That explained the tricks and how he suddenly disappeared. He hadn't been here in the first place. She needed to get a grip on her emotions. Hallucinating Charley was not a good thing.
"Mrs. Randolph? Are you all right?" That soft, pitying tone again.
Amanda straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. "I'm fine. Do you want to see the box where I stored my gun? Dust for fingerprints? Check for DNA?"
"What did you mean when you said Charley told you someone named Kimball stole your gun?"
She leaned forward, clenching her hands between her knees and focusing her gaze across the room. "Oh, that." She cleared her throat. "Well. It was a dream. While I was in the hospital, and they were giving me drugs. I dreamed about Charley." She stood. "Let me show you where the gun used to be."
"You dreamed about Charley, and he told you Kimball had stolen your gun? Why didn't you tell me that during our interview?"
"I didn't remember until I got home and found it missing. What difference does it make? It was…just a dream. You think it was maybe a psychic vision, somebody named Kimball actually did steal my gun? I suppose that's possible." She was babbling, trying to cover her irrational statements.
"Kimball—last name or first?"
"I don't know. Psychic visions. They can be so vague." She started toward the bedroom.
"You know anybody by that name?"
"Nope. Right over there. That box. The gun was wrapped in that striped towel last time I saw it."
Daggett surveyed the mess, his eyes widening. "Is this the way you found your room? Have you touched anything?"
"Of course I touched things. Lots of things. The boxes were all in the closet, and this stuff was in that box. I pulled it out trying to find that blasted gun so I could bring it to you."
He looked at her, that left eyebrow shooting upward again. "So there was no evidence of a break-in when you got home."
"The unlocked door."
"Other than that."
"My blinds were all closed."
"You don't normally close your blinds?"
"Not the blinds in the living room or kitchen. I hate being closed in. Claustrophobia."
The detective looked skeptical.
"And the boxes were in a different order than I left them," she continued.
"The boxes?"
She gestured toward the closet. "Those boxes. Someone took them out to get to my gun and didn't put them back the right way."
He nodded, his expression unchanged. He thought she was nuts. "When did you last see this gun?"
"A few weeks after Charley gave it to me. I packed it away."
"And that would be…when?"
She shrugged. "A couple of years ago."
"And you haven't seen it since that time?"
"No."
"So you don't really know when it went missing."
"Yes, I do. I told you. The door was unlocked, the blinds were closed, the boxes were rearranged. Somebody was here while I was gone!"
Daggett nodded, withdrew a pen and paper and wrote up her complaint. He made a perfunctory investigation of the scene, but she could tell he didn't believe her. At this point, she wasn't sure she believed herself.
On his way out, he indicated the half-empty glass of wine sitting on the dresser. "First of the evening? Second? Third?"
She sighed. "First." But it wouldn't be the last.
She couldn't really blame him for doubting her word when she'd been blithering about messages from her dead ex-husband.
After he left, she locked the door behind him, returned to the bedroom and retrieved her glass of wine. It was room temperature now, but she didn't care. She sank into the rocking chair, stared at the wall where she'd seen Charley, then took a big gulp.
"Kimball tried to kill you because he thinks I told you about him. He's going to try again. You're in danger. You need my help."
Charley. No more wine for her.
Chapter Seven
She refused to look up. "Go away. You're dead."
"Yeah, I am. But that's beside the point. Or maybe that is the point. I don't know. Believe me, I'm as confused as you are, but I think I'm here to save your life."
"I am not hearing voices. I am not hallucinating."
"That's true. You're not."
Amanda put her fingers in her ears.
Charley suddenly appeared, grinning, sitting cross-legged on the floor in her line of sight. "Hi."
Amanda shot out of the chair. "I need more wine." She sank back down. "Or less wine."
"Hey, I'm not thrilled about this deal, either, but I'm stuck with it. That white light everybody sees when they die? It got yanked away from me before I could reach it, and suddenly I'm watching you go tumbling down that mountain. I took care of you, didn't I, got you back to the highway, saved your life? I thought maybe that would be it and I'd get to move on, but I'm still here. At least you can see me now. When I talked to you at your mother's house, you acted like you didn't hear me. Your mother never did like me."
"With good reason. Go away."
"I can't. I tried. I can go inside the dark like I did just now when those cops came, but other than that, I'm stuck with you."
Amanda rose, deliberately averting her eyes from the illusion of Charley. "I'm going to bed now, and when I wake up in the morning, I'm going to be completely normal again…no Charley, no little green men."
"You need to cut back on the wine, Amanda. There aren't any little green men here, just me. And I'll probably still be here when you wake up."
Amanda crossed the room and yanked open the bottom drawer of her dresser. Selecting a nightshirt, she clutched it to her chest and turned around.
Charley's grin widened. "Go ahead. Change clothes. If I'm not really here, getting naked in front of me won't bother you."
Amanda hesitated, then, determined not to give in to her own delusions, laid the nightshirt on her bed and lifted the bottom of her T-shirt.
Charley whistled and clapped. "Take it off! Take it all off!"
Amanda spun around, turning her back to him. Charley's grinning image reflected in the beveled mirror of her antique dresser. Did hallucinations reflect in mirrors? Vampires didn't, but she wasn't sure about the protocol for hallucinations.
"Gotcha!" Charley exclaimed triumphantly. "If you didn't believe I'm here, you wouldn't be embarrassed to undress."
"I don't believe you're here. I believe I'm losing my mind, but I'm not going to undress in front of you anyway."
"Like I've never seen you—"
Amanda whirled on him. "That's enough! We're getting a divorce. You do not have the right to talk to me that way!" She lifted her hand to her head. "Oh, lordy! I'm talking to my hallucination again!"
"It's a start. Sit down. We've got a lot to talk about."
Amanda shook her head but followed his directions and sat in the rocking chair. "If I listen to you, will you go away?"
"Maybe." He sighed. "To tell you the truth…and I'm afraid that's all I can do anymore…I'm not sure. This death thing, I don't have any experience with it. I don't really know what I'm supposed to do."
"So you're dead. You're a ghost."
Charley flinched. "You don't have to be rude."
"You're dead, but you're not a ghost?" If he was her hallucination, shouldn't he be more agreeable?
"Ghost just sounds so…hazy and insubstantial."
"Fine, you're dead, but you're not a ghost."
"I'm still Charley. I just don't have a body. At least, not the same kind of body I used to have. I'm not very solid anymore."
Like a ghost, she thought. But arguing with Charley had always been pointless. His hallucination wasn't likely to be any more open to logic.
"Whatever. It's late. I'm tired. What is it you want to talk about?"
"I guess we have to start wi
th Kimball and that gun."
"Can you sit down? I don't feel comfortable having a conversation with someone who's standing while I'm sitting." Standing and hovering a few inches off the floor.
"Sure." He perched on the side of the bed, about an inch above the colorful spread.
Amanda motioned with her hand, indicating he should lower himself a little more.
"Huh?"
"You're floating. That doesn't make me feel comfortable."
Charley lowered half an inch into the bed.
"Up," Amanda instructed, and he rose. "That's good. You look like you're actually sitting."
Charley gave her a satisfied smile. "I'm getting better at this no body thing."
"Okay. Talk, then go away."
Charley drew in a deep breath. "Roland Kimball. Mayor of Silver Creek. Future Governor of Texas, if he and his family and his wife's family have anything to say about it, and, as much money as they've got, they probably do."
"The mayor of your home town, a rich man who could buy all the guns he wants, stole my gun. Do I have this right so far?"
"Sort of." Charley cleared his throat. "There's a little more to the story."
"Of course there is." There always was with Charley.
Amanda realized with a start that she was buying into this ghost story.
But right now, it seemed the only thing to do, just for tonight, just until she got some rest and returned to normal.
"Kimball thought I had the gun he used to kill his former girlfriend, and he wanted to get it back. But I didn't have it. But he didn't believe me. So he killed me, tried to kill you, searched my apartment, picked your lock, found your gun and thought it was his. He's going to try again because he thinks you know about him. Those anonymous calls Dawson told you about were him, calling here, trying to find you. He might have figured out the gun he took isn't his. If that happens, he's going to be really upset."
Perhaps this was Charley's ghost after all. Only Charley could tell such a nonsensical tale and sit there looking as if he'd just explained everything. "So this Kimball person killed you, tried to kill me, and the anonymous phone calls were from him, checking on my whereabouts so he can make another attempt?"
"Yeah. I didn't see him making those calls, and I didn't see him stealing your gun, but I know it happened the same as if I'd been there. Now that I'm on the other side, I know things," he said smugly.
"Funny. You claimed to know everything when you were on this side."
"I might have been bragging then, but I'm telling the truth now."
"Got it. Kimball killed you, and now he wants to kill me. Why did he think you had the gun he used to kill his former girlfriend?"
"Because I told him I had it."
"Why did you tell him you had his gun?"
Charley lowered his head and mumbled.
"What?" she asked.
"Blackmail."
"Blackmail?" Amanda leaned forward. "You were blackmailing this Roland Kimball?"
"Yes."
"You told him you had his murder weapon?"
"Yes."
"But you didn't really have it?"
"That's right."
Amanda shook her head slowly. "I can't have a coherent conversation with you even after you're dead." And that statement itself was the ultimate in incoherence.
"I only did it to him twice."
Amanda's eyes widened. "Twice? You blackmailed him more than once?"
"Well, only once successfully. The second time I asked him for money…" He grinned and spread his hands. "He killed me."
Amanda massaged her temples, fighting the headache that was starting. "But this man once paid you money for a gun you didn't have? Why would he do that?"
Charley's grin turned cocky. "Because I'm damned good at what I do."
"You're dead. That isn't exactly a testimonial to your skills as a blackmailer."
"Yeah, but you have to admit, getting somebody to pay you, even once, for something you don't have is pretty damned good."
"Tell me, Charley. Tell me how you did it." He was running on ego now. He'd tell her the story, though she'd have to figure out for herself how much of it was true.
"I was still living in Silver Creek. It's a small, hick town, and I wanted to get out of there, move to the big city. So one night I was in an alley when—"
"What were you doing in an alley?"
"Hanging out." He cleared his throat and shifted, sinking into the mattress slightly. "Until my date's husband left the bar. Anyway, I'm hidden in the shadows when I see this big black Cadillac pull down the alley. Like I said, Silver Creek is small. Not many Cadillacs around. Kind of strange to see one in that part of town, going down a dark alley, so I kept still and watched."
Charley was really getting into his story, his eyes sparkling, his voice exuberant, his body rising about an inch off the bed. Amanda forced herself to ignore that little oddity.
"My patience paid off. The car pulls up next to a trash bin, and His Honor, Mayor Kimball, opens the door and gets out holding a plastic bag like from a grocery store. He's not ten feet from me, so I can see he's got red spots on his white shirt." He paused and leaned forward slightly, ever the storyteller. "Blood?" Another pause, and he leaned back. "So I stand there watching, not moving a muscle, knowing I'm about to see something important."
"Are we going to get to the point of this story before I die of old age and join you hovering over that bed?"
Charley smiled and straightened. "That's very touching, Amanda, that you plan to join me in bed after you die."
Amanda glared.
Charley lifted his hands, palms out. "Okay, okay! So Kimball tosses the bag into the dumpster, and it makes a nice solid clunk when it hits the other garbage. Something small and heavy in that bag. Add that to the red spots on his shirt, and this story is getting real interesting. Kimball looks around, acting suspicious, then he jumps back in his car and speeds away. I figured whatever His Honor tossed into that dumpster, I needed to have it."
Amanda snorted. "Mr. Fastidious, climbing into a garbage container? Sure wish I could have seen that!"
"It wasn't exactly my idea of fun on a Saturday night, but I had a hunch it might be worth it. I grabbed hold of the handle and hoisted myself up. Fortunately, it was almost full, so I leaned over the edge and was just able to reach that little plastic bag. I pulled up, and it fell out."
Charley paused, and Amanda, rolling her eyes, took her cue and supplied her line. "What fell out?"
"A gun. I reached to pick it up, when suddenly…" He did the pause, lean forward thing again. "Bam!"
Amanda gasped, startled in spite of herself.
"My date's husband comes charging out the back door of the bar, grabs my legs and yanks. He's a big man, but I fight him off and get away. Had to run all the way through the town, though, and that kind of took my mind off His Honor's throw-away."
Amanda thought about reminding Charley that he had just told her the town was small, so all the way couldn't be very far, but she decided to let it go since he was in the zone of his storytelling.
He crossed his legs and dangled his arms over them. Casual, relaxed…floating several inches above the mattress.
"The next day, big story all over the news, murder in Silver Creek. Local woman, Dianne Carter. Looked like a carjacking. Happened in a secluded spot out by the lake. Her husband said she'd left to go to the grocery store about eight o'clock that evening and never made it back home. Word around town was that it was some druggie passing through, some guy who maybe saw her at the grocery store, forced her into her car, made her drive out to the lake, took the cash from her purse and shot her. But I wondered." Another pause for dramatic effect.
Amanda obliged him. "Okay, I'll bite. How did you link the mayor in the alley with the lady at the lake?"
"It was obvious. Kimball's a few years older than me, but everybody knew him. He was the rich kid, class president, most likely to succeed, all that stuff. Dianne wasn't rich, but
she was popular. Homecoming queen, head cheerleader, the girl next door that every guy wanted to be with. But in her senior year, she started dating Kimball. They were the king and queen. Everybody thought they'd get married, but something happened when they were at college in Austin. They both came back, married other people and never spoke to each other again."
The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (Charley's Ghost) Page 7