by Ritter Ames
“Is it a boomerang?” Meg nodded toward the gold metal batwinged-looking weapon on her left hip.
“Sorta.” Kate pulled it away from the strong magnet that held it onto the belt. “It’s a bat-a-rang. Remember, everything has to have a bat name.” She attached it to the belt and pulled the handcuffs off where they hung on the belt. “And here are the bat-cuffs.”
“For bad guys?” Meg asked. “Or for...” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down. “…more adult entertainment?”
“I’m not sure you’re in the right frame of mind to work as one of the grown-ups at an elementary school carnival,” Kate said, laughing. She checked the pouches on the belt, and showed off the bat-flashlight and a bat coin holder, along with the key to the bat-cuffs, and a bat-knife modeled after a Swiss army knife. “Well at least the flashlight and the knife may be worth something later, but not really as much as the price I noticed was added to our credit card when I checked online.”
“Boys. Their toys only get more expensive as they get older. At least you only have one. I have three.”
“There is that. But girls aren’t cheap either.” Kate chewed her lip for a moment then asked. “Think I should leave this stuff home. Some of it could be termed weapons.”
“You’d probably break Keith’s heart.” Meg pulled the bat-a-rang away from the magnetic clip on the belt. “This is kind of heavy, but it isn’t sharp. And the knife is in one of the pouches, so no kids would see it. I say let it go, and if Polly wants to confiscate any pieces later it’s her call.”
“Sounds like a plan to help keep me from being called mean.” Kate smiled. “I like it.”
They hurried down stairs and were at the front door, Meg jingling the Camry keys in one gloved hand, when the phone rang.
“It’s probably Keith calling about the belt,” Kate said.
“Or Mrs. Dawson with something else she suddenly thought of,” Meg said.
Kate nodded. “I’ll get it.”
But neither was right. Instead, it was Linda Johnson.
“Kate, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I don’t know who else to call. Can you give me a ride to the train? My car won’t start.”
“To the Bennington train station?” Kate looked at the clock, then gave Meg a panicked look. But her friend grinned and nodded, so she swallowed hard and said, “Sure. We’ll be at your house in a minute.”
Meg pounced as soon as the phone was hung up. “She’s taking a train somewhere? Did she say where she’s going?”
“No.”
“Is she running away because we’re figuring out her story?”
Kate executed an eye roll that would have made Sam proud. “I don’t know. But all we’ve discovered is who she probably is, and she’s probably afraid of someone. If the reason she’s running is because she realizes we’re a couple of nosy busybodies, why would she call and ask us to take her to the train?”
“Oh…You make a good point.”
Kate pushed her friend out of the front door. “Come on, Wonder Woman, time to fly.”
In minutes, they’d pulled into the driveway of the little turquoise house, and hurried up the snow-cleared walk. Meg knocked on the door, bouncing up and down a little as they waited. It was cold, sure, but Kate figured her friend’s energy had more to do with a curious temperament than the chilly temperature.
“Oh, thank you. I’m so glad you could come.” Linda opened the door and ushered them inside. “I didn’t know what to do. I called the mechanic, but he was already taking his kids trick-or-treating and—” She finally noticed the women’s costumes. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I’ve taken you away from your plans.”
“We have enough time.” Meg put a hand on her arm. “Do you have luggage?”
“Yes, these.” Beside her sat two extra-large suitcases and two carryon bags. Kate and Meg shared a look saying, “She’s running.”
Aloud, Kate said, “I don’t see your cats.”
“One of the rescue people came and picked them up,” Linda said. “I told them I’d pick up the cats again next week.”
Meg raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything about the excessive luggage for a short trip. She pulled her keys from her pocket and got one of the bigger bags rolling. “I’ll get the trunk open and this one inside.”
“I can get the other big one if you can grab the two smaller bags,” Kate said to Linda.
“That’d be great. Thank you.”
It took some push and shove, and one carryon had to ride in the backseat with Linda, but eventually all the luggage and the humans were inside the Camry and on the road to Bennington.
They attempted to strike up a conversation with Linda, but every segue fell flat. Instead, Kate covertly watched as Linda kept a lookout through the side and back windows, as if she imagined someone attacking the car at any moment.
At the train station, Kate tried again. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle all of this luggage by yourself? It puts you at a very indefensible position.”
Linda blew out a breath and kind of mumbled, “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Then catching herself, she tried to smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll get someone to help me if I need it.”
“Well, we can help you get the luggage to the platform at least,” Meg said. “It isn’t often a person gets Wonder Woman and Batgirl as personal baggage handlers.”
“Oh, I wish I didn’t have to ask. I know you have somewhere else to be.”
“No more apologies,” Kate said. “Let’s get you to your train.”
They divided the bags again, with Linda taking one of the larger wheeled ones this time, and headed for the ticketing area. A kid darted out from between two cars, and hit Linda’s arm, knocking her purse. The large tote tumbled from her shoulder and the contents spilled onto the pavement.
“I just don’t need this,” Linda grumbled. All of the women dropped to their knees to help corral the objects. Kate reached to grab a pile of red and blue booklets, only to have Linda push her aside and seize them.
Kate was surprised by the rude action, more so when she realized what the books actually were. As they started moving again, she slowed down to whisper to Meg. “She has at least three passports in her bag for different countries.”
“What do you think?”
“I’m not sure she’s in the right frame of mind to go anywhere on her own,” Kate said. “She’s acting pretty desperate, and that can’t bode well if she’s truly on the run.”
Still, what could they do? Kate moved closer to Linda, hoping to have a friendly word with her, offer moral support, and perhaps find a way to convince her to go to the authorities if she was feeling threatened.
Then a man in a hat walked up to them and said with a Bronx accent, “Linda Jameson, you need to come with me.”
Linda said, “No,” and pulled a gun from her coat pocket with one hand, while she grabbed Kate’s arm with the other. “Don’t fight, Kate. I’ll let you go as soon as I make my escape, but I need you for a hostage. But I will shoot if you try to escape, or if anyone blocks me from getting away.”
“Now, let’s not do anything hasty, Ms. Jameson,” the man said, holding up his hands and motioning for Meg to stay back. “I just need to talk to you.”
“Donaldson sent you, didn’t he?” Linda demanded. “Getting half wasn’t enough. He wants it all.”
“I work for his wife. I’m a P.I. He wants you to give the money back, ma’am. He wants to make a deal. He’s already tired of running.”
Kate looked at Meg and mouthed “Wow.” Were they ever off the mark on what they’d thought. Linda pulled hard on her arm, forcing her away from the man.
“Give me your car keys,” Linda said to Meg. “I’m driving out of here, and I’ll leave Kate in a place where she can get transportation home. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I will if you don’t do as I say.”
The gun was shaking in her hand.
Kind of like my stomach at the moment, Kate thought.
Meg spoke up. “I’ll go with you. I’ll drive. You’ll have two hostages instead of one. Even better, right?”
Linda’s gaze wavered for a moment between the P.I. and the two women in superhero costumes. A crowd had formed in the outer perimeter, and several people were taking video of the scene. Others were trying to make their way toward exits while still watching Linda and the gun.
At the same time, Meg waved a hand at Kate’s side. “These costumes aren’t very warm, Linda, and Kate isn’t used to Vermont weather. Let’s go, so we can get to the car and turn up the heater. Someone’s surely called 911 by now. If you’re going to leave, we need to do it soon.” Meg gave a kind of sideways nod then, and Kate finally realized what her friend was signaling.
With her right hand, she took hold of the heavy metal bat-a-rang, and silently detached it from the utility belt’s magnet. Unfortunately, as long as Linda had hold of her left arm, and the gun at her side, there was no way Kate could reach around to hit with the weapon while it was in her right hand. She sent Meg a look, and raised the metal bat-a-rang a bit to show she was ready, then shook her head to signal no idea how to proceed.
Meg hurried over to walk beside her.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Linda demanded.
“Just walking by Kate,” Meg said. “I just assumed all the hostages needed to stay together.”
At the same time, the P.I. drew a gun, but Linda saw him and screamed, “Put that away. What are you trying to do, shoot me in the back?” She still held Kate’s arm in a death grip, but had turned so she could look back and point the gun at the man in the hat.
Kate passed the bat-a-rang to Meg. Wonder Woman whirled around, slamming the weapon on Linda’s wrist. The gun clattered to the ground, and the P.I. tackled the tiny felon. Kate pulled the bat-cuffs from the utility belt and offered them to the man. “You might be able to use these.”
“Thanks,” he said, rolling Linda onto her stomach and cuffing her hands behind her back. “You picked a pretty functional costume for Halloween.”
“My husband gets the credit for the utility belt,” Kate said. “He’s Batman.”
“Speaking of husbands.” Meg pulled out her phone. “In need to call mine so he can get the scoop on this story for the paper.”
“And just think,” Kate said, crossing her arms and looking down on the defeated Linda Jameson. “I laughed when Sam told me the kids called her a witch, but I was wrong. She’s definitely wicked.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today bestselling author Ritter Ames writes the Organized Mysteries series and the Bodies of Art Mysteries. Both are her way of coaxing her husband into more travel for “research.” The third book in her Bodies of Art series from Henery Press, ABSTRACT ALIASES, will be released October 11, 2016. Besides this Halloween short story, she has two other Organized Mysteries novels, and a third will be out in the coming months. For more information about her and her books, visit her website at www.ritterames.com, Follow her Amazon Author Page to receive new release emails, or subscribe to Ritter's Newsletter to learn when books are released or she’s running special giveaways for her fans.
Thanks so much for buying and reading this anthology. The authors had so much fun writing and putting it together.
Contents
When Jitty’s husband, Coker, goes missing from the Great Beyond, Sarah Booth Delaney, Tinkie, and all the animals sign on to find out why the spirit is AWOL. Sarah Booth has to dig deep into the past to find the answer to this puzzling mystery.
CLACKING BONES
A Sarah Booth Delaney Halloween Tale
By Carolyn Haines
STANDING BEFORE THE tri-paned mirror in my bedroom, I had one thought. Get back, Satan!
The paisley Capri leggings I’d purchased with such high expectations had gone demonic on me. They warped and stretched in a way that made me fear my thighs might explode at any minute.
And Cece was to blame. All I’d wanted was to look fetching while sporting the leggings, boots, and tunic look that my friend carried off so well. Cece Dee Falcon, the society editor at our local newspaper, the Zinnia Dispatch, had tempted me with the joys of Lycra, spandex, and bright colored patterns. She wore such an ensemble and looked like a million dollars.
She was an agent of Satan.
What the mirror showed me was not a chic, svelte fashionista, but the high cost of a long, hot summer of frozen margaritas and choco-licious mudslides. Before I could rethink my instantaneous decision, I slipped some gym shorts over the leggings, laced up my sneakers, sprinted down the stairs and out the front door of Dahlia House, and into the brisk October morning.
The only course of action open to me was to flog my wayward body back onto the path of righteousness and caloric accountability. I would begin immediately—before my subconscious had a chance to talk me out of exercise.
I rocketed down the long driveway beneath the branches of the bare sycamore trees. I was strong, confident, assuming control of my body. Halfway to the road, I felt the burn. Yes! No pain, no gain. I recited the mantra in my head and pushed on.
At the road, I did a victory dance and turned around to head home. I was ten steps into the journey when my butt muscles seized and began to twitch. And jerk. And spasm.
The return trip was not going to happen because I couldn’t catch my breath, had a stitch in my side, and I thought my heart was going to explode. I collapsed into a pile of dead sycamore leaves, gasping.
My body was in revolt. I was going to die, just like Great-great-great Uncle Leonard Delaney when he ran down the driveway chasing a carpetbagger who’d dared to make an offer on Dahlia House and the land. Uncle Leonard had become so overwrought at the varmint who meant to steal his property, he’d unloaded both barrels of a shotgun at the skunk and then keeled over dead. Uncle Leonard died in pursuit of revenge. My sin was vanity. I saw it clearly now.
Would Sweetie Pie, my loyal hound, lead the search party to my body? Would someone find me before the flies arrived? Would the worms crawl in and worms crawl out?
I made a bargain with God. I wouldn’t jog again. Ever. I would not be a slave to vanity and body shaming. I would go into the house, find a hammer, smash the mirror, and burn the leggings in the fireplace. Whatever in the world possessed me to order them in the first place? If this was punishment for a lapse in fashion judgment, I felt I had paid the price.
“It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta da-ah-ah-ah.”
“What the hell?” I sat up in the leaves to find the elegant Delta songbird, Bobbie Gentry, standing in the driveway playing her guitar and singing “Ode to Billy Joe,” the ballad that made her famous.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. Bobbie hadn’t aged a bit since 1967 when her Delta tune was a huge hit and she was a sensation. She still looked great in a mini-dress and her long hair lifted gracefully on the late October breeze.
“I need your help. I want to hire the Delaney Detective Agency,” she said.
I couldn’t believe it. Bobbie Gentry had come home to the Delta to ask me for help. This was a private investigator career moment if ever there was one.
“Sure.” I tried to jump to my feet but every muscle that I’d abused let me know payback was going to be hell. I hobbled upright.
“Are you okay?” Bobby asked. “You look like you’ve got some joint issues.”
“I’m fine. Just a cramp.” I had to squeeze the words past gritted teeth. “What can I do for you, Bobbie?”
“It’s a missing…person’s case. I heard you were pretty good with those.”
“I’ve had some success. Come with me. We can talk in the office.” It was hard to talk and walk at the same time when every step I took made me want to scream and drop to the ground. If I could hobble back to Dahlia House, I’d drown my pain in Jack Daniel’s. Aspirin might be nice, too.
“Tell me who’s missing?” I said.
“You aren’t going to believe this.”
If I could
accept that Bobbie Gentry hadn’t aged a day in the past fifty years, I could believe anything. Besides, I wanted her beauty regime and I needed to have a pad and pen to write it down. I shot a sidelong look at her. She looked terrific. “Try me.”
“It’s Coker.”
“Coker who?” But I didn’t need an answer. The entire insane scenario suddenly became clear. It wasn’t enough I’d damaged my thighs and buttocks with exercise, now the ghost who haunted Dahlia House and taunted me about my lack of a boyfriend and childless state had taken on the persona of an idol of mine. “Jitty, get out of Bobbie Gentry’s body and tell me what’s going on?”
The beautiful Bobbie shifted and changed, leaving my glamorous ghost, Jitty, in her place. Jitty lost the long dark hair, but she looked great in the mini dress and high boots. “It’s my man, Coker. He’s disappeared from the Great Beyond. I’ve searched everywhere and I can’t find him. No one has seen him.”
Coker was Jitty’s husband, back from the Civil War era. Coker had left Dahlia House to fight alongside my great-great-great-grandfather in the War Between the States. Neither man returned, but their wives, my multi-great Grandmother Alice Delaney, and Coker’s wife, Jitty, had held the land from soldiers, outlaws, and reconstruction scalawags. A bond stronger than love or blood formed between the two women. They were forever linked by their harsh struggle to survive. A bond so strong, Jitty had been sent to watch out for me, the last Delaney heir.
“Where could Coker have gone?” I asked. “He’s dead. He has to be in the Great Beyond.”
“Obviously he doesn’t,” Jitty said with some starch. “If he were there, I’d have found him by now. And I’ve searched everywhere. No one has seen him for three days.”
“Did you have a fight?” I had no clue what went on in the Great Beyond because it was all very secretive. On planet Earth, a lot of men disappeared when their wives got hot under the collar.
“No fight,” Jitty said. “I wish it had been a fight. It was Jim Red’s murder. I fear Coker has returned to earth to extract revenge.”