Leo sucked in a sharp breath. Apparently Sylvia hadn’t told him about my theory while they were at the market.
Alex abandoned any pretense of working and pulled up a chair.
“Gus, hey Gus,” she gestured to her boss. “Come here a second.”
Gustav Shempsky had been flirting with a cherub cheeked woman and heaved a put-upon sigh before he ambled over to our table. “Ah, our newest residents. I’ve heard you had some trouble in town. Sounds familiar, does it not?”
To my surprise, Alex blushed. “Totally different circumstances, Gus. Sam never tangled with a ghost.”
“Ghost you say?” Gustav showed as much surprise as Alex had, nothing beyond a mild interest. “What’s it done?”
There didn’t seem any point in keeping the circumstances of our accident under wraps. I’d been both loud and vehement at the hospital and Mrs. Small had witnessed the aftermath of the latest incident.
“It’s not all paranormal activity though,” Neil remarked, then told them about the boom box in the wall.
I expected Alex and Gus to shrug that off, but they didn’t. Alex drummed her fingers on the tabletop and Gus frowned at her and waited. For what, I had no idea but the rest of the table paused, too.
Alex seemed to come to some sort of decision. “Okay. Well, first off, don’t judge the barrel by a few rotten apples. We don’t normally talk about this, but a few years ago there was a hate group that stirred things up around here.”
Gustav made a rude noise. “Call a spade a spade, liebling. It was a homegrown terrorist cell.”
Neil’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
Gustav nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“I read about that,” Sylvia surprised us all. “In the archives, though it didn’t mention any names.”
“That was the town protecting its own,” Alex said. “But Sam and I were at the epicenter of it.”
“Okaaaay,” I drew the word out to give myself a chance to think. “So, the moral to this story is…?”
Leo was way ahead of me. “Bad things happen, even in small, sleepy towns.”
“And you shouldn’t ignore even the smallest thing because you believe it to be harmless,” Alex added. “Have you told Sam about the boom box? He might want to dust for fingerprints.”
The tips of Neil’s ears turned pink. “Well, I made a mess getting it out of the wall last night. I didn’t think about it being evidence and I didn’t want all the plaster dust to ruin the machine so I wiped it down.”
Alex made a disgusted sound, but I grinned. So Mr. Perfect didn’t plan for every contingency. Though it was a rotten thought, it made me feel better.
“Did you consider,” Gustav mused, “that perhaps the ghost isn’t trying to harm you, but maybe to warn you?”
I didn’t, which must have been apparent by the look on my face, because he waved a hand as if he could erase the supposition from our minds.
“Don’t listen to me. I’m a foolish old man.”
“No, I think you might be right,” Sylvia chimed in. “Think about it, Maggie. The ghost had no way of knowing she’d cause your car to wreck. Maybe she was just trying to get your attention.”
Mission accomplished. “What about just now, in the library? I think knocking a bookcase on my head is taking the whole cry for attention thing a bit far.”
“You said you saw her in front of you. Yet the bookcase struck you from behind. It could have been someone else. Not a ghost, but a flesh and blood person.” Sylvia rose. “Let me check something.”
Before anyone could respond she’d dashed out of the diner, across the street to where her car was parked. She opened the trunk, rooted through the heaping boxes of ghost hunting paraphernalia, picked something out and shut the trunk.
We sat quietly as she ran back in and took a moment to catch her breath. She set a small electronic device, which looked like nothing more than a remote control, down on the table. “This is a spirit box.”
“It looks like a radio. Or maybe a personal recorder.” Leo squinted at the small electronic device. His eyebrows furrowed.
“Similar. It’s going to help us communicate with the deceased.”
“How?” Neil’s tone was derisive.
Sylvia beamed at him as if he were the star pupil and I knew she had the answer ready to go. “What this does is generate white noise. We need air to communicate, but a disembodied soul needs fuel of a different sort. Namely energy. All we have to do is sweep until we find the right frequency.”
“Like tuning a radio signal,” I said. Though I harbored some doubts about her latest harebrained scheme, I didn’t have a better suggestion.
“Does it work on AM or FM?” Alex asked.
“Both, though FM works better. Why?” Sylvia raised an eyebrow.
“Because the mountains muck with the FM signal, same as they do with cell phones. You have to find a spot with a clear signal.”
“And hope your ghost shows up there,” Leo put in.
A small smile spread across my features. “I think I know just the place.”
****
The location I had in mind was the stone bench where I’d spoken to Marty the day before. I definitely got a cell signal there and it was there I’d first felt the ghostly chill. We had to wait until after the construction crew left for the day to attempt communing with the other side. There was way too much hammering, sawing and talking to hear any voices that might try to make it through the static.
Plus, we’d probably look like idiots.
Since our truck and most of Neil’s tools had been trashed in the accident, he too found himself with time on his hands. Leo had left us his car and ridden back to the estate with Sylvia. We’d stopped by the Sheriff’s office but Sam was out, so we drove down to a public beach by the river. Though it was still too cold for swimming, footprints in the sand indicated we weren’t the first people to spend some time there. We sat and basked in the quiet sunshine.
“This is a nice town.” Neil pulled me close to him.
“It’s ridiculously disturbed,” I murmured. “We fit right in.”
He laughed and rested his chin on top of my head. “Are you really all right?”
I considered the question from all angles. “I’m better,” I said at length.
“Why do you think that is?”
His tone was mild but my eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Hey there buck-o, if you’re waiting for me to say you were right, you can lump it.”
“I wouldn’t dare take credit. This isn’t at all what I had in mind, anyway.”
I turned to look up at him. “It isn’t?”
“Hell, no. Look at the two of us. We look like we’ve been tag teaming Mike Tyson.”
“Dirty,” I said.
He snickered but kept going. “No, I’m genuinely curious because you seem better, more relaxed. I think if the whole getaway had worked out the way I’d originally intended that wouldn’t be the case. You’re not turning into an adrenaline junkie on me, are you?”
“Nope, you still hold that title.” I mulled it over. “I’m good at it, the sleuthing. Finding loose threads and seeing the pattern when they all tie in together. And I can help fix them, make the picture right again.”
He absorbed my words, his gaze fixed out on the water. “Have you considered getting a criminal justice degree so you could do it professionally?”
I snorted. “No. I’m too old, too fat and too flighty.”
“You’re none of those things.”
I poked him in the ribs. “You’re supposed to be one hundred percent honest, remember?”
He snagged my hand and held my gaze. “I am. You’re one of the most tenacious people I’ve ever known.”
“Tenacious,” I repeated. “That’s just another word for stubborn.”
He ignored me. “And I’m not talking about the Police Academy, but how about getting your PI license?”
I sniffed indignantly. “PIs photograph cheating spouses and have suspicious stain
s on their shirts.”
He laughed. “You have a very interesting world view, you know that?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Neil, it isn’t your job to find me one, okay? I’ll figure it out eventually. Just be patient with me.”
He looked down at our entwined hands. “I’m used to solving problems.”
“And am I a problem?” I said it without rancor but held my breath the second the question popped out.
“You’re my solution,” he said and then he kissed me.
Things were just getting interesting when a squeal of breaks indicated another arrival to the beach. We broke apart and looked toward the parking lot to see the sheriff climbing from his vehicle.
“I heard the two of you were looking for me.”
I rose and dusted off the seat of my jeans while Neil held out his hand. The two men shook. “Sheriff. We had something happen last night.”
Both of Sam’s eyebrows rose. “After the accident?”
Neil nodded and then explained about the boom box.
Sam took off his hat and muttered something incomprehensible in rapid-fire Spanish. Switching back to English he said, “There’s not much I can do now, other than have patrols drive past your property for a few nights, see if we can catch someone in the act. Even if it is a prank, there’s still the matter of breaking and entering and destruction of private property. If anything else happens contact me immediately.” He took a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it over.
“Sheriff.” I reached for his arm when he turned back toward his vehicle. With all the excitement, high-octane emotion, and orgasmic pie, I’d forgotten to ask Alex. “Do you know anything about Aileene Grant’s death?”
“Who?”
“Aileene Grant, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Grant. They work for the Greys.”
Sam shook his head. “Sorry, never heard of her.”
“Do me a favor and ask Alex to call me when she gets a chance. I meant to ask her about it earlier.
Sam smiled. “Will do. You two stay safe.”
I sighed as we watched him walk away. “Why do people keep saying that to me?”
“It’s a mystery.” Neil draped an arm over my shoulder.
Leo had given us a shopping list for the local hardware store. While Neil browsed the assortment of screws, nuts and whatnot, I introduced myself to Granny Johansson. The Johanssons owned the place and she oversaw its operation from the wooden rocker out front to make sure her “no-good son-in-law knew a pipe wrench from his pecker.” Her words, not mine
After a few moments chatting, I casually brought the Grant name into the conversation.
“Oh, that’s who you remind me of.” Granny Johansson leaned back in her rocker and assessed me with a shrewd eye. “Are you related to them then?”
“I’m not sure.” It wasn’t a lie. I knew little enough about my ancestry that it was entirely possible, however unlikely, that I was related to the Grants. Deciding to play the part of interested relation, I probed for information. “How long have they been here?”
Detective Capri had once told me it was important to start out an interrogation by asking a few questions she already had the answers to, for two reasons. 1.) To gauge the suspect’s physiological tells, and 2.) To determine whether or not he would lie to you right off the bat. Not that I planned on interrogating Granny Johansson, but the technique fit the situation.
“Since the sixties. They originally bought and remodeled the lock house, you know.”
I blinked, surprised. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it. When did they sell it to the Greys?” And why? Somehow I doubted their relocation was because of the avocado bathroom fixtures
“Let’s see.” My companion’s gaze went unfocused and she stared past me the way someone does when trundling through the archives of memory. It must have worked because a moment later the rocking stopped and she smiled up at me. “Well, I remember. It was the fall of 1991.”
That meant they’d lived on the property for almost three decades. “Isn’t it odd they didn’t say anything to me about having owned the place when we stopped by to visit them?”
Granny Johansson’s face fell. “Not at all, dear heart. It was right before their daughter was murdered.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Murder? Here?” Leo practically capered in front of the stove when I told him the news of a three decades old homicide.
We were holed up in the kitchen, which was the last untouched holdout in the total facelift to the property. The rest of the place was chaos. Half finished, mangled chaos. The workmen had left for the day and both Neil and Sylvia were catnapping in preparation for the upcoming séance.
“An unsolved murder.” I took a sip from the water bottle I’d snagged from the fridge. “Tell me that doesn’t sound like the kind of thing that would lead to a ghost.”
Leo twirled the spatula and then attacked the onions and garlic in the frying pan with relish. “Oh, those poor people.”
“You sound really broken up about it.” My tone was dry.
He waved a dismissive hand at me and then added breaded slices of eggplant to the sizzling mixture. “You know what I mean. Make yourself useful and grate some fresh parmesan for me.”
“I’m supposed to be on vacation,” I groused. “You can’t have it both ways, you know. Besides, I’m injured.” I held up my stitched mitt.
He winced. “Sorry, I forgot.”
I rose and retrieved the grater and the block of hard cheese. “It’s okay, I have another hand. What are you making, anyway?”
“Eggplant parmesan.”
“Sylvia won’t eat it,” I warned as I fumbled with the cheese wrapper.
Leo took the block from me, sliced the plastic end with a paring knife, then handed me the naked cheese. “She doesn’t eat anything cooked. Berries, nuts, organic produce and all of it raw, no dairy, no complex carbs other than beans. There are only so many things you can do with a bean, my girl.” He wore a pained expression. For a gourmet like Leo, Sylvia’s vegan lifestyle was sacrilegious.
“We should all eat like that, naturally. It’s very healthy.” Grating the cheese was a challenge, but I managed to brace the grater between my knees and use my good hand to rub over the serrated portion. More cheese wound up in my lap than in the dish, but I’d proven my point.
Though I wasn’t sure I had one beyond refusing to let the cheese win. What had Neil called me? Tenacious. The thought made me smile
“Blasphemy.” Leo whisked the cheese away and did his magic. “And who do you think you’re fooling? You wouldn’t last a week.”
“I would if I looked like Sylvia at the end of it.”
Leo eyed me critically as he flipped the eggplant. “Honey, it would take more than a few fruits and nuts to pull that off.”
“Well I guess I’m nuts, since you’re already the fruit.” I threw a dishrag at him.
“Low blow, laundry hag.” He snapped the dishtowel at me. “Although I can’t fault your observation skills on either count.”
“Speaking of which, what do you think the chances are that the murdered Aileene Grant is the ghost that’s been following me around, trying to get my attention?”
“Considering you also look like her daughter? Pretty damn good. That’s not the question though.”
“It’s not?” I said at the same time a sleepy-eyed Neil asked, “What question?”
He sat down in the chair next to mine and picked something out of my hair, something that turned out to be a stray piece of cheese. One eyebrow went up in inquiry.
“Parmesan cheese. Leo made me help.”
He nodded and popped the cheese into his mouth. I cringed.
Leo rolled his eyes. “You two are like primates, you know? Social grooming and eating the little bitty bugs and whatnot.”
Neil shrugged. “Everyone has to have a hobby. What were you two talking about?”
“Leo was just telling me that the ghost’s identity isn’t as important as f
inding out who killed her.” I looked to my friend. “At least I think that’s what he was driving at.”
“Nope.” Leo wore a small smile as he added fresh herbs to his red sauce. “The most important question is, what does the ghost want with you?”
“You don’t think that’s the same thing?” Neil got up and went to inspect the contents of the fridge.
I worried another hangnail. “It could be, but Leo’s right. This is, by its very definition, a cold case. If the police haven’t found the killer by now, what are the chances that I could twenty two years later?”
“That we could.” Neil popped open a soda and saluted me with it. “Remember our deal?”
“Of course. I’m injured, not senile.”
“You did take a blow to the head earlier,” Leo pointed out.
I glared at him. “Hush you, or I’ll call my mother-in-law and tell her what changes you made to the master suit, against her specific instructions.”
“Everyone wants his and her sinks.”
“Not at the price of a linen closet. Where are the towels going to go?”
“On the heated towel racks, of course.” He looked at me as though I really had gone nuts.
Maybe so. “Most people have more than two towels, Leo. And what about sheets, huh? Did you think about the sheets in your power trippy home design scheme?”
“Guys,” Neil said. “Let’s try to stay focused here, okay?”
His interruption gave me the time needed to withdraw enough to see the scene from his perspective. Leo stood with his hands fisted on his narrow hips and glared at me. I’d unconsciously mirrored the pose. Too little sleep, too many nasty surprises made for a crabby laundry hag. “Okay. I’m sorry for being a lunatic, Leo.”
His posture relaxed too. “I’m sorry too. I’ve been…tense.” He turned back to his eggplant.
“Come on, Uncle Scrooge. You need to rest.” Neil drained his soda can and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. He led me down the hall and back into the bedroom. The construction crew had been busy. The damaged wall was gone, replaced by freshly spackled sheetrock. Our bed was still out on the deck though, for which I was grateful.
The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag: All Washed Up: (Book 3 in the Misadventures of the Laundry Hag series) Page 12