by J. J. Cook
Thinking about everything that had happened in the last two weeks, I just hoped everything would actually go back to normal again. I was beginning to doubt it.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ollie was spending the night at the Biscuit Bowl again.
Uncle Saul had wanted to, but he’d forgotten in all the food truck madness that it was Spirit Night. That meant a family obligation for both of us. Neither one of us was looking forward to it, but no one with family missed Spirit Night.
All of the Chase family from the 1700s forward was buried in the same cemetery, Our Lady of Perpetuity. The cemetery was put in during the 1800s, but earlier family members had been disinterred and moved there.
Every year on Spirit Night people visited with their dead loved ones leaving candy, cookies, beads, and other throws. Sometimes you’d see colorful masks on tombstones or pictures. You could leave whatever you wanted to honor the dead.
My mother’s family, the Olivers, weren’t from Mobile originally. Their dead were scattered from here to Atlanta. Thank goodness! It would’ve been impossible to visit with all of them on Spirit Night.
Daddy had texted me that he’d send a car for me and Uncle Saul. Miguel had dropped us off at the apartment after midnight.
Uncle Saul and I were able to get cleaned up and change clothes before we had to go to the cemetery. Looking your best was an essential part of Spirit Night.
I’d smuggled Crème Brûlée into the apartment for the night so he could get a break from the food truck, too. He’d been walking around the apartment investigating everything as though he’d never seen it before.
“How are you feeling?” I asked Uncle Saul.
“I’m okay.” He grinned. “Not a fan of Spirit Night. I’d forgotten that was one of the reasons I don’t come home for carnival. How about you?”
“I’m hanging in there. I don’t think there’s ever been another time in my life that I wished carnival was over. Is it ever going to be Fat Tuesday?”
He laughed at that. “You’re still young, Zoe. There’ll be plenty of times you’ll wish Mardi Gras was over.”
“Why? I can’t imagine feeling that way if I wasn’t working the food truck.”
“Even though there are plenty of people in the city for carnival, I used to lose most of my regulars at the Carriage House. Everybody is busy going to parties and staying out too late. It makes it hard for a small business to plan for a normal two weeks.”
“Now you tell me.” My phone buzzed—it was Daddy downstairs with the car. “They’re waiting for us.”
“Then I guess we better go. I was crazy to tell your father that I was over my cold. As far as I know, being sick would’ve been the only thing to save me from Spirit Night.”
I took his arm and smiled at him. “Well, at least you have that awesome suit. It could be worse. You could’ve had to wear black.”
He looked down at his burgundy suit and purple tie, adjusting the matching hat on his head. “You’re right. I’m looking good tonight. Too bad there are only our relatives and dead people to see it.”
I was wearing a bright emerald green dress that ended in a flounced ruffle mid-calf. The rest was formfitting across my curves. I had a matching green hat that I had to pin on my head. I didn’t wear the pumps that went with the dress—walking in the cemetery wasn’t good for shoes. Instead I wore a pair of ankle-high flowered boots.
“I’d say we make quite a spiffy pair.” Uncle Saul opened the door. “As much as I hate Spirit Night, it will be good to get away from that food truck for a while. I never want to see that many black-eyed peas again.”
“It’s hard for me to believe you wouldn’t open another restaurant like the Carriage House again if you had the chance.” I pushed the button for the elevator.
“I think those days are behind me, Zoe. I don’t know how long I’ll live out in the swamp. There’s still a part of me who will always feel like Mobile is home. That part would like to live here, but what would I do?”
“You could work with Daddy at the bank.”
The elevator doors parted, and we stepped into the lobby.
“I don’t think I could ever be that homesick,” he confided. “I said no to that when I was eighteen. I’ve never regretted it.”
We walked out into the cool night air. Music was playing across the city. Fireworks were creating brilliant pinwheels in the dark sky. It wasn’t strictly legal to shoot fireworks during carnival. That never seemed to stop anyone.
Small impromptu parades of three or more people carrying banners and throws marched up and down the streets. The closer we got to Fat Tuesday, the later people stayed out.
Daddy’s driver, Maurice, opened the back door to the white limo. I could see Great-Aunt Tildy and Granny Ginny waving and smiling from the interior. Cousins Baxter and Dori were also in there. Daddy was in front with the driver.
“Here we go,” Uncle Saul said.
- - - - - - -
We drove to the cemetery with everyone crowded together, talking at one time. The Chase clan was a noisy, boisterous group when we got together during the year. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, you had to fight to get a word in.
When I was a child and Grandma Chase, Daddy’s mother, was still alive, I used to sit and listen to everyone talk. I never said a word—until one day she poked me and told me I’d better start talking.
Grandma Chase was a formidable woman, in girth and intellect. She was the only woman I’d ever seen my mother back down from.
Grandma Oliver was a short, dainty woman who’d died before I was born. I’d seen her pictures. She looked a lot like me, minus the curly hair.
Everyone in the limo, except for me and Uncle Saul, had brought something to put on the graves. Great-Aunt Tildy had brought a beautiful scarf to put on Grandma Chase’s cross headstone. Grandma Chase had loved scarves. I still had a dozen she’d given me.
Uncle Saul mentioned that he didn’t have anything to leave for Spirit Night. He was immediately inundated with beads, cookies, and colored bottles that Cousin Dori made for a living and sold on eBay.
I didn’t say anything. Let them think I had something.
The cemetery was far from empty when we arrived. Other families were observing Spirit Night, too. Already, graves were littered with trinkets, and four-course meals, left behind for the dead.
We piled out of the limo when we reached the Chase family plots. Right in the middle was a huge stone mausoleum where my great-great-grandfather, General Isaiah Chase, was buried. He was an important man during the Civil War. He’d died after his leg was blown off by the Union Army, but he still managed to save dozens of soldiers.
While Daddy’s family was wonderfully proud of that heritage, I’d always been a little uncomfortable with it. I didn’t care so much that the Confederacy lost as what they were fighting for. Grandma Chase had old photos of her great-grandfather’s plantation showing the slaves at work.
A wreath was placed on the door to the mausoleum by Great-Aunt Tildy. Everyone bowed their heads and said a little prayer for the General. The rest of the time it was a free-for-all with everyone walking around the Chase graves putting items on the tombstones or on the graves themselves.
The event reminded me of the Addams Family movie when they played “Wake the Dead.” I was glad none of the Chases got up to answer the call.
I lingered a moment at Grandma Chase’s grave, already tied with a scarf and hanging with beads. I missed her. She’d been a bright spot in my life. I felt like I’d learned more from her than from my bickering parents. I wished she could’ve seen me with the Biscuit Bowl. I knew she would’ve been proud.
I glanced up as the night breeze rustled the trees around the graves. I felt a chill go down my spine. Not surprising since I was standing in a cemetery in the middle of the night.
There was a dim light movi
ng through the trees. It looked like someone who’d lost their way and had taken out a flashlight. The light kept moving until it was close to where my family was now taking out champagne and plastic glasses to salute the Chase dead. After that would come shrimp and beignets. Spirit Night could go on until dawn.
I kept watching the light, hoping it wasn’t someone who wanted to ask us where his family plot was located. This was the only part of the cemetery that I knew. Maybe Uncle Saul or Great-Aunt Tildy might be able to give directions.
I was getting that weird feeling that comes into the pit of your stomach right before the Frankenstein monster attacks in the movies. I kept staring—even though common sense dictated that I should move away, preferably out of the cemetery.
“Who’s that?” Uncle Saul brought me a glass of champagne.
“I think it’s someone lost in the cemetery.” At least I was hoping that’s what it was.
The old magnolias parted slightly, and the Spanish moss swayed with the movement.
I caught my breath. “It’s Old Slac again. Run!”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Cousin Baxter was at least six-foot-six and weighed two hundred something pounds. He came up behind us as I was preparing to run. “What’s that?”
The light shining on Old Slac was ghastly. It turned his face an unearthly shade of green and made his turkey feathers stand out. His dark eyes stared at us with cold conviction as he pointed at me and Uncle Saul.
“It’s the ghost of Old Slac,” I whispered, starting to slowly back toward the car. “Seeing him is a death warning.”
Cousin Baxter played football for the Crimson Tide. He was in his third year at the University of Alabama where he was studying insects. I wasn’t sure what career he had in mind, but he’d always loved insects—especially if he had a chance to put one on me.
The one thing celebrated about Baxter was his prowess at tackling anything that got in his way. I’d always admired that about him. He wasn’t brilliant in school, but he sure could throw down.
As I kept backing away, Baxter spit out the gum he’d been chewing and growled. “No old ghost is gonna crash Chase family Spirit Night. Look out Old Slac. I’m coming at you!”
Uncle Saul grabbed my arm as I reached to stop Baxter from attacking Old Slac.
Baxter ran full tilt into the ghost. He was hunched down, head first, like when he tackled the opposition on the football field. He grunted loudly as he tackled and then fell to the ground. The surprising thing was that Old Slac fell under him.
Uncle Saul ran toward them and I followed. Daddy saw us and asked what we were doing. I felt like I was in an episode of Scooby-Doo. Whoever was under Baxter (who’d inherited his girth from Grandma Chase) was trapped but still kicking his arms and legs trying to get free.
The ghost of Old Slac was painted with some kind of phosphorescent color, which was why he’d appeared green. A supersized flashlight rolled out of his reach. I felt sure if he could have, he would’ve smacked Baxter in the head and run.
He didn’t know Baxter. Once he got them down, they stayed down.
Uncle Saul moved closer despite my plea not to go there. Daddy grabbed me and held me tight as we stayed about three feet from the ghost and Baxter.
“Let’s see who we have here.” Uncle Saul reached down, and Old Slac’s scary face came off in his hand.
“Bennett?” I couldn’t believe it. “What in the world are you doing?”
Uncle Saul and Baxter got Bennett Phillips to his feet and pushed him toward the limo in the cemetery. I was glad they were able to do something, because Daddy was still terrified. He clung to me like a frightened child as he walked back.
The cemetery lights weren’t good, but they were better than the darkness in the trees. The Chase family gathered around to stare at the intruder. Baxter occasionally bared his teeth at him.
“It would be a good idea to tell us why you’re here and dressed like that,” Uncle Saul said. “Baxter isn’t known for his patience.”
Bennett struggled a little more, but there was no way he was leaving until Baxter said he could go. “I’m here because I have to be here. Let me go. I’m just a small cog.”
“I think you might be responsible for the attack on my brother,” Uncle Saul said.
“What about that newspaper reporter getting killed?” Baxter asked. “He has a murderer’s face, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t kill my own son,” Bennett denied. “And I didn’t attack Ted with a knife, either.”
Daddy was finally able to overcome his terror and stepped up to the limo. “Bennett? Is that really you? Why would you pretend to be the ghost of Old Slac?”
“To scare you.” He struggled again. “Get this big oaf off me.”
“Is he calling me an oaf?” Baxter demanded.
“Yes.” I was struggling to understand why Bennett would be involved with this. “Why would you want to scare us off? You asked for my help solving his murder. What happened to change that?”
“I’m not saying anything else. Call the police. I’ll call my lawyer. The only thing I’ve done is get into the carnival spirit. I haven’t hurt anyone.”
Uncle Saul wasn’t happy with that answer. “Who are you working for? Who sent you?”
“I’m not working for anyone. I’m doing a favor. You’d best drop it here if you know what’s good for you.”
“Was that a threat?” Baxter clutched Bennett around the neck with his large fingers. “First you insult me and then you threaten my family. I should take you in the woods, old man, and feed you to the gators.”
It was easy to see that Bennett was more afraid of whoever had sent him than he was of us. Baxter continued holding Bennett while Daddy, Uncle Saul, and I moved away from the group of curious family members who had no idea what was going on.
“I think calling the police is a waste of time,” Uncle Saul said.
I agreed with him. “But what else can we do?”
Daddy shrugged. “He hasn’t done anything that we can prove except standing around looking scary. At this time of year most people would think it’s part of the fun.”
“So we just let him go?”
“I think so.” Uncle Saul nodded.
“Okay.” Daddy shrugged. “But maybe we should let Baxter rough him up a bit more to make a point.”
Uncle Saul laughed. “I never realized how bloodthirsty you are, Ted.”
“We don’t know for sure that he didn’t attack Daddy with a knife,” I added. “He might’ve killed Jordan. It seems to me that he deserves a lump or two.”
Uncle Saul put his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s just harass him a few more times and see if anything pops.”
“I know where an empty warehouse is over by the docks.” Daddy rubbed his hands together. “We could take him there and get some answers from him.”
Uncle Saul chuckled. “I don’t think we should go quite that far, Ted. We can’t prove he did anything.”
Daddy frowned. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t almost killed!”
“Then I suggest we take advantage of this opportunity and get some information from him here,” Uncle Saul suggested. “Baxter will get bored soon.”
My uncle and my father stepped up like two Mafia brothers standing over their captive prey.
“Does this have something to do with Jordan’s death?” Uncle Saul started in questioning Bennett again.
Bennett put his hands on his face. “Leave me alone. Or kill me. I don’t care which.”
“Where can I send the bill for the suit you ruined when you attacked me?” Daddy wanted to know. “And don’t think I’m not cancelling my subscription to your newspaper. Our friendship is over.”
Uncle Saul and I exchanged humorous glances behind Daddy’s back.
“Did Commissioner Sloane put you up to this?” I
asked. “Is he the one you owe a favor?”
Bennett started crying. In a moment, he was breathing hard as his loud sobbing filled the cemetery. “I didn’t want to do any of this. I only wanted to find Jordan’s killer. I’m caught in the middle like you all. It’s just a big game. My son’s life meant nothing.”
I felt sorry for him. He was in a bad place. He probably was sorry he’d been involved in whatever was going on. That didn’t make him less responsible. Everyone is always sorry after they get caught.
He suddenly started making choking sounds and was having trouble breathing. He grabbed his left arm and held it to him.
“He’s having a heart attack,” Baxter said. “Call 911 and stand back. I just finished CPR classes at school. I can handle this.”
I called emergency services as Baxter and Uncle Saul performed CPR. Daddy went to stand with the rest of the family.
The cemetery was outside the city, but the ambulance reached us in only a few minutes. They checked Bennett before putting him on a stretcher and racing for the hospital. Baxter had been right. He’d had a heart attack.
Probably too much stress, I thought. Whoever or whatever had made him dress like the ghost of Old Slac had been too much for him. I hoped he’d survive and could answer some questions later. He might not have all the answers, but I was betting he had more than we did.
“I think that’s enough excitement for Spirit Night,” Uncle Saul told everyone. “Let’s get going. It feels like rain.”
Of course Great-Aunt Tildy, Granny Ginny, Cousin Dori, and Cousin Baxter all had dozens of questions as the limo returned them to their homes. I suspected even great-great-grandfather Isaiah Chase had some questions he wanted to ask, too.
I had questions, but I knew there were no answers. Not yet, anyway. I would’ve settled for some kind of fruity cocktail drink with a lot of rum in it. At least that would’ve smoothed out the rough edges.
“I don’t think Bennett was the one who hurt me,” Daddy said when it was just me, him, and Uncle Saul going back to his apartment. “I’ve known him since we were kids. He just doesn’t have it in him.”