Deader Homes and Gardens

by Angie Fox

  “He’s always thinking six steps ahead,” Ellis said.

  Ellis’s squad car was parked in the circle. The sun had set. The air felt warm and comforting. And there was nothing I wanted more than to slip into that car and let him handle the rest of my night.

  But I couldn’t do it. Not yet. “You know what? I think I will drive myself home. I have some things I need to deal with.”

  If I let Ellis drive me, I’d end up back at his place instead of mine. And while Ellis’s house would be a welcome sanctuary, I wasn’t making things up when I said I had more to do tonight.

  If my suspicions were correct, my good friend Frankie had created a gangster paradise in my lovely sanctuary of a backyard. And now that I had his power, I was going to see exactly what he was trying to pull.

  * * *

  Ellis followed me out of the lot, but I lost him on the highway. No doubt he’d head back to the station to hear the report on the situation at Rock Fall mansion.

  I was done with it, at least for today. I’d already given too much.

  I had my purse. I still had the doll stashed in the backseat of my car. Anything else would resolve itself tomorrow.

  Highway 4 took me back into town, and I eased off of it onto Rural Route 9. The hills and turns along the narrow country road made for slower driving, but they forced me to think about the road and not about the horrible scene I’d witnessed at the mansion.

  Trees stretched over the blacktop from both sides, blocking out the moon and turning my headlights into two distinct circles of light stretching to oblivion.

  I wondered what Rock Fall mansion would be like in the dark.

  Goose bumps prickled along my arms. It doesn’t matter. You’re not going back there tonight.

  I needed to focus on what was real: The ribbon of blacktop stretching out in front of me. The quiet of the night.

  I adjusted my rearview mirror and saw the little ghost girl sitting in my backseat, clutching her doll.

  Sweet Jesus!

  I slammed on the brakes, the back of the car fishtailing wide as I wrestled it to a stop. There was no shoulder. My car sat half-on, half-off a strip of gravel as I forced myself to turn around and face the ghost in my backseat.

  But she was gone. The seat sat empty.

  The doll lay on her side, smiling.

  Chapter 12

  I drove the rest of the way home with both eyes wide open and a hand over my heart.

  Multiple, frenetic glances in my rearview mirror showed no more visits from the girl in my backseat. No traffic behind me either.

  Drive.

  I crested a hill on the rural roadway, my lights illuminating the blacktop in front of me, unable to cut into the darkness beyond.

  The little girl had appeared back there for a reason. Maybe she’d decided to talk, and my panic had driven her away. Perhaps she’d only wanted her doll. If so, why had she given it to me in the first place? And why didn’t she take it back with her?

  The only thing I knew was that my land yacht had become the creepiest place in six counties.

  I hit the gas, testing the engine and my tolerance for breaking the speed limit as I hauled butt back to my place.

  My fingers ached from gripping the wheel as I steered up the long drive toward home. It felt like I’d been gone a week.

  I let out a long sigh as I caught sight of my lovely old house, with its front porch light as welcoming as a fresh batch of biscuits. Home at last. I needed to get out of this car and into a nice, hot bathtub—with every door locked behind me.

  As if that would keep out a ghost.

  I steered the car toward my favorite parking spot in the back of the house and was shaken out of my homespun reverie when I heard laughter, jazz music, and the unmistakable din of a party in progress.

  Because, of course, I’d left Frankie in charge.

  Ghostly whiskey bottles littered my backyard.

  “Darn it, Frankie.” I slammed a hand on my steering wheel. I could hardly park my car among the several dozen ghostly gangsters drinking and dancing in my backyard.

  Somehow, I managed to find a spot. And when I stepped out of the car, I saw wiseguys splashing in the cozy fishing pond beyond my favorite apple tree…naked!

  “That’s it!” I grabbed my bag from the seat, leaving the freaky doll in the back. “Where’s Frankie?” I asked the drunken flapper dancing in circles next to my front bumper.

  She giggled and spilled half a glass of champagne on my hood. She blew a kiss at me and pointed toward my back porch.

  A jazz band struck up a hard beat next to my hummingbird feeder and I saw the traitor to the right of two trumpet players. Along with the band, they’d somehow managed to cram my porch full of a half-dozen gambling stations. Frankie stood at the head of a craps table, throwing dice to the cheers of his friends.

  “Swell party!” the flapper said, holding up her glass for a mock toast, nearly spilling the rest of the drink on her head.

  “The fun’s over,” I said, storming up the back steps, past a blond gangster with a lock of hair that fell stylishly over his forehead. Dimestore Bobby. He winked at me.

  Suds leaned against the porch post at the top of the stairs and pulled the half-smoked cigar from his lips. “It’s all legal,” he said, hefting a bottle, “except for the gin. Wait.” He spread his arms. “That’s legal now, too!”

  “Joy to the world,” I said, barreling past the gangster. Suds had been stuck in a tunnel, dead, for a good part of this century. I felt for him, but not enough to sacrifice my home and my sanity.

  And how had so many ghosts died with so much gambling equipment?

  “Frankie,” I demanded as I scooted past a rowdy poker table, trying to ignore the couple making out on my porch swing.

  “Whoa! Hey!” the crowd at the table cheered.

  A smiling Frankie raised both hands and accepted high fives and slaps on the back for his win. He appeared as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.

  “You fix this,” I warned him.

  He stacked a wad of ghostly cash on the pass line. “I, for one, am rather shocked that you care.”

  Baloney. “You hid this from me.” He hadn’t turned on my ghost-seeing abilities this morning until I was well away from the backyard.

  Frankie stepped out from behind the table. The entire lower section of his body was missing from the waist down. “You drained half my energy today,” he said, dropping the cute act. “I’m half gone to heck.” He looked down past his fading waistline. “I can’t even go skinny-dipping looking like this.”

  “You don’t get it.” None of them did. “You and your obnoxious friends are taking over,” I bit off. “This is my home!”

  “And this is my life!” he shouted.

  I stared at him. Frankie never yelled, at least not about anything so personal.

  He straightened his tie and cleared his throat. “All I’m saying is you should be happy you’re not paying for the band.” He dug into his coat pocket and handed off a stack of cash to Suds. “That should do us till morning.”

  I felt bad about his afterlife, and his lower half. But we had to be reasonable. “You can not have a jazz band out here all night.”

  “Watch me,” he said as his friend eyed us and counted the cash. “I’m on a hot streak a mile wide. If I keep shooting like this, we could be here for days.” The gangsters at the table cheered, which only egged Frankie on. “Have you people ever seen so many sevens?” he called.

  “He’s nuts,” I said to Suds.

  “You always this square?” Suds asked me, around his stogie.

  “Pay them,” Frankie said, handing his friend a wad of dough. His friend gave a quick nod and headed off to do his bidding.

  Frankie took up his dice again.

  “This wasn’t part of our agreement and you know it,” I said.

  He rattled the dice in his hand. “I’m going to take my power back in a minute,” he said. “If you ever want to use it again, you�
��re going to let me have my gang headquarters.”

  A dingbat flapper giggled and leaned in so close I had to twist sideways to avoid touching her. Frankie let her blow on his dice. She giggled and batted her lashes at him.

  “So that’s how it is,” I huffed. I realized with a sinking feeling that I had no other argument.

  He was right. We’d made a deal. Worse, I’d dictated the terms. I just hadn’t anticipated exactly what it meant to have the gang over.

  The flapper sized me up as if I were competition.

  Not in this universe or any other. But I did need his power—now more than ever.

  “All right,” I said, gathering my dignity, “you can have your party.”

  Frankie grinned like the cat that ate the canary.

  “Just don’t disturb the neighbors,” I added as I felt the unmistakable tingle of his power leaving me.

  “They ain’t invited,” Frankie said, his energy rising out of my body with a crackle and a jolt.

  The gambling table shimmered into nothingness. The flapper’s high-pitched giggle faded, along with the sounds of the band and the party on the lawn and clinking of glasses.

  Not a minute later, I stood in front of half-of-a-Frankie, on a perfect summer evening in Tennessee. Frankie tossed the dice again and they disappeared as soon as they left his hand. “Yes!” he said, tossing his arms up.

  Another win, but this time, I didn’t hear the cheers of the gambling crowd.

  Insects buzzed and bullfrogs called to one another in the night.

  I spotted my little skunk curled on the porch of all places. “Lucy,” I called, hurrying over to her, hoping she hadn’t been too afraid of the band.

  “She’s been hanging out all night under the poker table,” Frankie groused.

  “You’re not scared?” I asked my girl as I lifted her up. She grunted and snuggled in my arms, but she wasn’t upset. “Maybe she’s okay with ghosts now.” I turned her toward Frankie. “You might have won her over.” But she took one look at him and started scrambling to get away. “Lucy!” I chided as she tried to climb my head. “Stop. It’s okay.” I caught her in my arms, trying to soothe her, but she was having none of it. “Huh,” I said, glancing at the gangster.

  He took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Turns out she’s okay with ghosts, she just doesn’t like me.”

  “That’s not true,” I offered, stroking Lucy’s ears as she scrambled in terror from the ghost in front of me.

  “I don’t know what I ever did,” the gangster muttered, turning back to the invisible table that I’d seen only moments ago.

  “I don’t know either,” I murmured to her, easing into the house and locking the door behind us, “but you do have good taste.”

  “I heard that,” Frankie called from the porch.

  “I need a soak,” I said to the skunk, careful not to use the word bath. She knew that word and she always thought it was about her.

  But I was the one in need of bubbles tonight. I’d met four ghosts at Rock Fall mansion, been scared out of my wits by all of them, dodged a dark shadow, found ghostly artifacts, and then some real ones that might have led to the death of my former professor. I poured the last glass of wine from a bottle Ellis and I had shared and retreated to the upstairs bathroom.

  Lucy watched as I filled my claw-foot tub with olive blossom-scented bath bubbles. Then she curled up on a towel next to the sink while I sipped on a crisp pinot and lowered myself into the steaming, fragrant water. I placed a warm washcloth over my eyes and leaned back all the way to bliss. Maybe soon, when Lee’s cucumbers came in, I could cut a few to place on my eyes. It would be a regular spa up here.

  Heaven knew I needed it.

  Frankie had me over a barrel when it came to hosting the gang. I hadn’t even liked crazy parties when I was in college, much less now. Still, I didn’t see a way out of it. Not unless I could find them another place on my property.

  I did own the bit of land past the fishing pond. Maybe we could finagle a gang headquarters for the South Town boys out there. Nothing permanent, of course.

  Maybe Ellis could help me build a shed…

  I reached for my wineglass, and my fingertips came in contact with a glossy surface that didn’t feel at all like my drink. Smooth, rounded, and very, very cold. I lifted the washcloth off my eyes and saw that I held the smiling face of the doll in the purple dress.

  Chapter 13

  I didn’t sleep much that night. Even after I returned the doll to the backseat of my car. Even after Frankie offered up Suds as a bodyguard.

  I mean, we were talking about a little girl. True, she was a creepy one that seemed to be able to move objects in a way I’d never experienced before. But having Suds here wasn’t the answer. I didn’t want any ghosts watching me sleep, not now—not ever.

  Which was why I lay flat on my back, covers to my chin on my futon in the parlor, with every light blazing, in case the ghost of the little girl happened to pop up when I least expected her.

  Next to me, Lucy stretched out on her back, her furry body forming a perfect half circle. She snored lightly, her belly exposed. She had no worries.

  Outside, Frankie gave another victory whoop at the craps table.

  How had so many ghosts invaded my personal space in such a short amount of time? And why did the gangsters on the back porch seem like the least threatening of the bunch?

  I slept late the following morning and woke near noon with a skunk pawing at my face.

  “Lucy,” I protested, batting her away, which only encouraged her to jump onto my chest.

  She was heavier than she looked, a solid ten-pound bowling ball. She grunted and a cold wet nose hit my ear, signaling in no uncertain terms that breakfast was long overdue.

  We’d never slept this late before.

  “I’m up,” I groaned, scooting her onto the cushion next to me and sitting as best I could.

  She hit me with a well-aimed nose to the elbow that I took to mean, “You’re not up fast enough, sweetie. And it’s not nice to starve a skunk.”

  I made her a blueberry salad topped with Vita-Skunk and arranged another plate of berries for myself.

  “Come along,” I said, holding the back door open for her. Gray clouds stretched overhead and the remnants of a morning rain dripped from the trees.

  There was no sign of Frankie.

  We ate breakfast out on the porch swing, to the chirps of birds and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. “This is how it should be,” I said, biting into a sweet berry while Lucy, nose down, scarfed her breakfast.

  It was hard to believe I’d seen a gangster party out here last night. But it had been real. As real as the death of my poor professor yesterday. In my mind’s eye, I could see the white swirling light of Professor Grassino’s soul traces, the last bit left behind by his spirit as he departed this earth.

  I needed to learn what had happened to him and how to bring peace to the ghosts in that house. I suspected both had something to do with the dark spirit I’d seen. It was my moral obligation to put an end to this before anyone else got hurt—or killed.

  Lucy’s bowl rattled as she pushed it around on the porch by my feet. “I think it’s empty.” She’d licked out the last of the berry juice and, now, she just had a bowl. “I’ll make you more for supper.” She sure loved Lee’s produce.

  I’d be certain to compliment him on it and perhaps secure a fresh basket for tonight.

  I placed the dishes in the sink and grabbed my cell phone from the kitchen island. My sister, Melody, had called several times, no doubt worried when she heard the news about Professor Grassino. I called her back to let her know I was all right, then put in a call to Lee.

  His phone rang and rang, which was strange. We hadn’t talked since arriving at the hospital last night. Certainly, we had plenty to say now. I eyed Lucy, who stood at my feet, tail swishing, no doubt hopeful for a refill on her blueberry salad.

  “I’m worried,” I told her.
“I don’t know why Lee’s not answering his cell.” He’d certainly want to talk to me after last night, and he didn’t seem like the type to sleep the morning away.

  I placed the phone back on the counter. “We’ll give him a minute,” I told her.

  After I’d gotten ready for the day, I tried him again with no response.

  All right. As soon as I found Frankie, I’d head over there.

  I checked the back porch, then the rose garden, but there was no sign of Frankie. Perhaps last night’s party had taken a lot out of him. He was probably in the ether, an in between realm that seemed to have more energy than earth. It was where he liked to rest sometimes. But I’d give the yard a good look-see, just in case.

  There was no sign of him under the apple tree. Or skinny-dipping in the pond, thank goodness.

  Unless he’d freed himself by being happy.

  I wasn’t quite sure what to think about that, if it was even possible, when I detected movement in the field beyond. “Frankie?” I called, heading over to investigate. A semitransparent bent knee emerged from the tall grass. That was all I could see.

  Too bad I’d sold the lawnmower.

  Then a hand waved at me. The rest of the ghost lay prone.

  “Is that you?” I asked, jogging out to him through the wet lawn.

  I found him on his back, smiling. He’d lost his tie, his jacket, his shoes. At least he had his legs and feet back.

  He’d undone the top three buttons of his shirt, revealing part of a surprisingly muscled chest. I’d never seen him this disheveled. “Baby cakes,” he said, dropping his hand onto the ground by his head, “I had fun last night.”

  “I know, I was there.” For at least part of it. “What brought you out this way?” I asked, following his gaze to the cloudy sky above. “Contemplating life?”

  “Drag racing,” he said with relish, reaching inside his shirt to scratch his chest. “I bought a car last night. A 1934 Riley MPH convertible. With a radio and a heater.”

  I didn’t know if he was joking or not. He couldn’t get cold anymore—or feel the wind in his hair. But he did like to control the radio. “I don’t see any cars out here,” I said, scanning the field. If it was on the ghostly plane, I wasn’t sure if it would appear with Frankie or not. “How does that work?”