Between a Ghost and a Spooky Place (Ghosts of London Book 1)
Page 11
“I think I know why that is,” Harry said, raising a finger as if she was in class. “I was talking to the Absinthian Church’s Elder, and he explained that you incurred a lot of karma when you traded stolen goods, Buckley.”
“I see,” Buckley said, looking a little taken aback.
“He also said that the reason you’re now my guardian is because you need to remove this karma. So you’re doing exactly what you need to be doing!”
Buckley smiled sadly. “So. At least I’m doing something right, right?”
“No, you’re doing everything right,” Harry said, patting the man’s arm.
Jarrett watched this with amazement and found his own hand stealing out to mimic Harry’s gesture. But then he stopped himself. He didn’t want to know what Buckley felt like. Not really.
“If not for you I’d be dead right now,” Harry continued. “The way you handled that Philo fellow…”
“You stopped Philo from murdering her?” Jarrett asked, nonplussed.
Buckley bowed his head. “It was my pleasure.”
“You should have seen him,” gushed Harry. “He wielded that coffee table like a real knight of old.”
Jarrett closed his eyes. He decided that he didn’t want to know.
“You saved my life, Buckley. I’m sure that will go a long way toward chipping away at that pesky karma of yours,” Harry was still enthusing.
“Thank goodness,” Buckley murmured. He didn’t seem convinced.
“So,” Jarrett interrupted, eager to return to the matter at hand. “You said you know where this page-turning woman lives, Sir Buckley?”
The man gave him a grave look. “I’ve met her. This morning.”
“Wait, you met her? You mean in your ghostly form?” Harry asked.
He nodded. “In my ghostly form, and… in her ghostly form.”
Jarrett stared at the man. His was not an intellect capable of grasping complicated issues quickly or easily, but he still vaguely understood that what the old ghost had just said was something very significant indeed.
“He means she’s dead,” Deshawn said, glancing over his shoulder.
Jarrett gasped, and so did Harry. It seemed like the right thing to do.
“She’s dead?” Harry asked in an oddly squeaky voice.
“Afraid so. Jingoist…” Buckley made a gesture of being hit over the head and for a moment silence reigned in the car as they all reflected on the fate of the poor woman.
“So he got to her,” Harry said, sounding defeated.
“Yes, he did. In fact, she was murdered even before I was. She was, after all, the one who betrayed him.”
“So she’s still around,” Harry mused.
Buckley pointed at her. “That’s what I was getting at, Harry. She is still around, probably because, just like me, she has some karma to deal with. And…” He paused meaningfully. “… information to impart.”
“She knows where Jingoist is holed up,” Jarrett guessed.
“She does. But when I asked her, she was reluctant to tell me. Said she thought I was the cause of all her trouble.”
“What? That’s crazy!” Harry exclaimed. “If anything she’s the cause of your trouble.”
“Well, she seems to think I told on her to Jingoist, and that’s why he came after her.”
“I don’t think Jingoist needed you for that, Buckley,” Harry said.
“No, I didn’t think so either, but it was quite impossible to convince her. She’s in rather a dark state of mind right now, and not readily susceptible to reason, I’m afraid. Which is why I thought perhaps you could talk to her. You are, after all, not an old fogey like me, but rather a likable young woman.”
“He’s right, you know,” Jarrett remarked. “You are a likable young woman. I mean,” he quickly added when Harry frowned at him, “I liked you from the moment I saw you.” Then he quickly added when she gave him an ‘Oh, please,’ “No, I mean it, and in an entirely non-sexual sense too.”
A soft cough sounded from the front of the car. “If you’re worried about Mr. Zephyr-Thornton’s remarks, Miss McCabre, don’t be. I can assure you that he is not, in any way, shape or form, interested in the female sex at all.”
Jarrett grinned. “You do have a way of putting things, Deshawn,” he said. And when Harry persisted with her frown, he added, “But he’s right. I’m not in the market for the attention of the ladies. Quite the contrary, in fact.”
“Oh. Right,” was all Harry managed to say. But she did seem relieved that he wasn’t some sort of sexual predator pouncing on her five minutes into the conversation.
“Deshawn,” said Jarrett, taking control of the situation once more, “set a course for this mystery woman’s home, will you?”
“Already on it, sir,” said the inimitable Deshawn.
How he knew where to go was a mystery to Jarrett, as were a lot of things about his driver/valet/butler/assistant, but he’d learned not to ask too many questions, and simply let the man work his particular brand of magic.
And as Deshawn steered the car through London’s congestion with expert ease, Jarrett studied the young woman in front of him closely. “So you can talk to ghosts, and you’re being persecuted by an immortal being and one of London’s top gangsters. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but who are you?”
Harry shrugged. “I’m a nobody, really. Just one of those innocent bystanders you always read about.”
“Right. The ones who get slain in police crossfire.”
“I guess I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She quickly put a hand on Buckley’s arm. “I don’t mean your shop was the wrong place for me, Buckley. Far from it, in fact.”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t the place for a lively young woman like you,” he said with obvious remorse.
He probed a bit more, and discovered Harry McCabre was actually a historian, but had never been able to find employ in her chosen field, having to settle for the job at Buckley’s in the meantime. She lived in a crummy flat—that much he had ascertained as he and Deshawn were staking out the place—and her parents had died when she was just eighteen, forcing her to fend for herself in the big city, her relatives living across the pond. In spite of all this tragedy she was a remarkably upbeat and positive young woman, he thought, and found that he liked her quite a lot.
“So what are you going to do when all this is over?” he wanted to know.
She shrugged. “No idea. My uncle invited me to stay with him on Long Island for a bit, but after that? Try to find another job, I guess?”
He winced a little. The prospect of work, like the notion of death, was one that filled him with great distaste. Not having had to work a day in his life he nevertheless instinctively knew that he wouldn’t like it. He was his own man, his father having given him the opportunity to do whatever he pleased. He simply didn’t think he was outfitted for the life of the wage slave, his personality not suited to take orders and do what he was told from nine to five. Harry, on the other hand, had never known different.
“We have arrived, sir,” Deshawn now announced, and indeed he drew the car to a stop in front of a three-story red-brick modest residence. They all filed out of the car, ready to tackle this most important, albeit dead, witness.
Jarrett had to suppress a groan of dismay, therefore, when the big, imposing figure of Inspector Darian Watley came striding out of the building even as they strode up to the front door.
Chapter 23
“What’s all this, then?” Darian asked as he surveyed the group of three approaching him a little wearily. He focused first on Harry, then on Jarrett, wondering what was going on here.
“Oh, we thought we’d take a look around,” said Harry casually.
He narrowed his eyes. “I thought I told you to stay put at my place?”
Jarrett appeared surprised by this. “You’re staying at his apartment?”
“Only for the time being,” she said defensively, and Darian found that he didn’t like
this defensiveness any more than he liked her arriving in Jarrett’s criminally expensive Rolls Royce Wraith.
“And you?” he said, turning to the rich kid. “I thought I told you not to get involved?”
“And I told you I would,” Jarrett returned pleasantly. “It is, after all, my mother’s health which is at stake here.”
“There’s a lot more than your mother’s health at stake,” Darian growled. His eyes flitted from Harry to Jarrett, not liking what he was seeing. “You two know each other?” he asked, more gruffly than he’d intended.
Harry gave Jarrett a warm smile. “We just met, actually.”
“And instantly we clicked,” Jarrett supplied.
“Like soulmates.”
“In an entirely platonic way, of course.”
“Of course.”
Darian was just wondering if the red mist he was suddenly seeing was a personal experience or a natural phenomenon when Jarrett’s valet interjected quietly, “We were about to pay a visit to Miss Fenton, Inspector. We understand she might throw some light on the location of the Clavicule Necroire.”
“Well, then you’re plum out of luck,” he said gruffly. “Because Miss Lakesha Fenton has just been found murdered.”
And as if to add substance to his words, the gurney with the woman’s body was at that moment being carted out of the house by the coroner’s people.
Harry gasped in shock, raising a hand to her face. “Oh, no!” she cried.
“Oh, yes,” he grumbled. “Looks like the work of the same guy who killed Sir Buckley. Big old-fashioned wallop to the head, no sign of forced entry, no fingerprints, no traces of any kind. As if the guy is simply a ghost.”
At this, Jarrett smothered a strangled sound, and Darian looked up sharply. “Yes? Speak up, Zephyr. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
“Zephyr-Thornton,” Jarrett was quick to correct him. “Nothing, Inspector. Simply shock at the poor woman’s unfortunate demise.”
“Yes, well, another reason for the lot of you to stay away from this case. This isn’t amateur hour. We’ve got a real killer on the loose, and he’s picking off everyone who’s had any involvement with that damned book, apparently.”
“This woman was also involved with the book?” Harry asked innocently. Too innocently, Darian knew.
“You know damn well she was involved, Harry,” he growled, “or else you wouldn’t be here.” He took the last step down from the stoop, so he was level with the others. “What made you come out here? How did you know about Miss Fenton’s involvement? And who told you where she lived?”
He didn’t ask his barrage of questions to anyone in particular but to all three simultaneously, knowing full well that they were going to prevaricate.
“Well, actually it was Deshawn who made the connection,” Jarrett said after a pause. “Isn’t that true, Deshawn?”
Deshawn’s eyes briefly flitted to his master, and there seemed to transpire something between the two men. Then he turned back to Darian and said smoothly, “It’s common logic, Inspector. Miss Lakesha Fenton used to work for the Church of the Absinthians until two weeks ago when she abruptly vanished from the roster. As did Jingoist. From that, it followed they must have been working together in the theft of the church’s valuable book.”
“And how did you know she vanished from the roster, as you put it?”
Deshawn’s face didn’t change expression when he said, “The cleaning lady at the church is a close personal friend of mine, sir. She informed me that two weeks ago there was a great commotion. Not only was their most prized possession gone, but along with it one of their most respected clergymen and the woman who used to turn the pages of the book during Mass.” He shrugged. “It didn’t take more for the church Elder to put two and two together and deduce that the two of them had absconded with the book.”
Jarrett clapped his man on the back. “My God, Deshawn. You’re even cleverer than I thought. I mean,” he said with a quick look at the inspector, “that’s exactly how we managed to find the woman, Inspector Watley.”
“Deshawn is a real sleuth,” chimed in Harry, her eyes alive with mirth.
Darian stared from one to the next. There was something fishy going on here, and he’d be damned if they were going to make a fool out of him. “Yes, well, just make sure you don’t mess up my case by snooping around.” He pointed a finger at Harry. “You should be in my apartment right now, the door bolted and making sure this Jingoist can’t get at you.” Then he pointed at Jarrett. “And you? Shouldn’t you be playing rock star or something?”
“Oh, I outgrew that juvenile phase a long time ago, Inspector,” Jarrett said with a smirk. “Nowadays I’m in the business of saving lives.”
Christ, the guy was simply too obnoxious for words, Darian thought. In fact he didn’t think he’d ever felt such a distaste for another human being in his life, and he’d been dealing with the scum of the earth for years.
“Can we take a quick look inside?” Harry asked in her sweetest voice.
“No, you can’t take a quick look inside!” he thundered. Then he took her by the arm, seeing as there was no other way to make her see sense.
“Hey, where are you taking me?” she lamented.
“Home, where you’re safe,” he snapped as he marched her off, stared after by Zephyr and that know-it-all valet of his. He caught sight of Constable Fret, and called out, “Tilda! Take Miss McCabre back to my place, will you? And this time, make sure she stays put!”
And with these words, and after receiving a scowl from Harry in thanks, he strode back into the house, to give strict instructions not to let anyone in, more specifically the Zephyr excrescence and his annoying little sidekick.
Chapter 24
Harry sighed as she stared out the window of Darian’s apartment. She’d been so close to solving this case. All she needed to do was talk to the ghost of Lakesha Fenton and convince her to give up the location of Jingoist. Then she and the others could figure out a way to take him down. Even though he was immortal, surely there was some method to trick him and remove the book from his grasp long enough for the Elder to do his thing and take away the man’s immortality. Then it was simply a matter of handing him over to Darian to let justice take its course. Jarrett’s mother would be saved, Buckley would be free to join the great hereafter if he so chose to and she…
She wasn’t entirely sure what she would do once this case was solved.
And as big, fat raindrops pounded the windows, she sighed again.
What was she going to do? She didn’t feel like going to Long Island. Her life was here in London, after all, and she needed to make it work one way or another. She could take a holiday from her problems, but only temporarily, then she still had to figure out what she wanted to do with her life.
Darian was right, though. Perhaps it was all too dangerous. Two people had died already, and she didn’t feel like being number three. He was right, but he didn’t know that Jingoist didn’t care about walls or cops. Constable Fret was no match for the priest. He would find her, and he would enter this place no matter how many officers were stationed outside the door, and then what? Buckley was probably going to be there when he did but was the old ghost capable of stopping an immortal being? She kinda doubted it.
No, she needed to handle this herself, one way or another.
Dusk had fallen by now, and she’d received several messages from Jarrett, telling her they’d been barred from entering the house and had finally even physically been removed from the scene. And to make matters worse, Buckley had vanished without a trace again, as seemed to be his habit ever since he’d died. Well, she couldn’t blame him. His life was over, and hanging out with the living must be awful, reminding him of all the things he’d miss now that he was no longer part of their world.
She looked up when her laptop announced someone was trying to reach her.
She’d set up her computer in the living room, and Constable Fret had even helped her f
igure out Darian’s home Wi-Fi system. She settled in front of the PC and grinned at the screen when Alice’s cheerful face hove into view.
“Hey there, honey,” she said by way of greeting.
Alice squinted at the screen. “That’s not your flat. Where are you?”
She laughed and took the laptop to show her cousin around the apartment. “I’m in protective custody of a kind,” she said, “at the house of the inspector handling the murder investigation.” In a few brief words, she updated Alice on all that had happened, including Buckley’s surprise visit.
“I told you that vision of Gran wasn’t just a dream!” Alice cried.
“So you knew about this ghost stuff?” she asked, settling on the sofa.
“Sure thing. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about last time, only I didn’t know how to broach the subject.”
“So this Brian guy you were talking about…”
“He runs an outfit called the Wraith Wranglers. Ghost hunters if you will, and Fee Bell and I, and Rick and Reece, we’re part of his team.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “You’re… a ghost hunter?”
“Well, we don’t really hunt ghosts,” Alice said with a funny grimace. “But because we can communicate with the dead, they help us solve their own murder cases and stuff. Look,” she added, when Harry gawked at her, “it’s not a full-time thing, of course, just something we dabble in from time to time, but Brian’s been saying he wants to find more recruits, and seeing as you’re so uniquely gifted, I just thought you might join us.”
Harry emitted a surprised laugh. “Me? A ghost hunter? Honey, just because I can talk to Buckley doesn’t mean I can see other ghosts as well. I’m sure it’s just because we were close. After all, we worked cheek by jowl for twelve months.”
“Nope,” said Alice with a knowing shake of the head. “Ghosts trust you. They show themselves to you for a reason, and it’s because they instinctively know you can help them find closure, or help them solve their murder or clean up some mess they left behind or some unsolved stuff they need to deal with.” She grinned. “You’re one of a very few people who can do this, Harry.”