Ghost Killer

by Robin D. Owens

  “You’re welcome,” she said.

  The minute he took her hand, he felt the thrumming tension in her, the need to act. He’d felt that himself before. He slowed her steps, bent his head to murmur in her ear, “What say we do some knife fighting practice?”

  “Our room is too small.”

  “We’ll find somewhere.”

  She squeezed his fingers. “Then I say let’s do that.”

  They took the steep stairs slowly, then opened the door.

  There, standing in the middle of the room, studying her bone knife, was the ex-sheriff, Mason Pais, Jr. Both sheaths, metal and silk, lay on the bed.

  Clare lunged for him. “You don’t know what you’ve done!”

  As tall as his grandson, taller than Zach, the man held it over her head.

  Anger washed through Zach. He controlled it. “Doing a little breaking and entering. Why?”

  The guy shook his head. “Just can’t get a good fix on you, Ms. Cermak. Jackson Zachary Slade, yeah. But you and that kooky ghost-psychic shtick? Not quite buying it. You’re not like any kind of gypsy or medium I’ve ever run into.”

  “Here in Creede?” Clare said, scathing.

  “I did my military duty. Spent some time in Denver. Nope, just not buying it. You look and act like an accountant.”

  Clare crossed her arms. “I am an accountant. I was at a very reputable firm, but someone else needed a good job that I didn’t. You asked what we were doing here, and I told you.”

  “And you’re pissed that I don’t believe you’re a flake.”

  “That does it.” She reached into her purse, flicked on her phone, looked at Zach. “Do you know the number to the sheriff’s office here?”

  “Yeah.” He gave her the number.

  Her thumb moved as she began calling. “I am going to report you.”

  “I’ll say you invited me in,” the older man replied affably.

  Clare gasped, stopped calling.

  “Who do you think my grandson will believe?” Pais asked.

  “Us,” Zach said. “He knows you.”

  A crack of laughter came from Pais. “Yeah. Maybe. But what do you think he’d do?”

  Zach sat on the bed, relaxed casually, signaling to the man that Zach didn’t think he was any threat at all.

  More head shaking from Pais. “You two are a couple of pistols.” He turned the bone in his hand, glanced down at a fulminating Clare, met Zach’s gaze. “Now we get calls from hikers and such, and I s’pose you did, too, about finding human remains. But the fact is, bear bones look a lot like human.” He studied the knife. “Now, me, I can tell a human bone from bear. This looks like a femur to me.”

  “Please let me have it,” Clare demanded.

  “There are laws about obtaining and owning human bones, you know,” Pais said genially. “The bones gotta be antique and . . . well, maybe I should talk about this with my grandson, the sheriff.”

  “You’re right,” Clare said. “It’s an antique artifact. A family antique artifact. And I guarantee you that I will make a big fuss, here in Creede, and all the way to Denver if you confiscate my family heirloom.”

  She jutted out her chin, looked at Zach. “We’re not going to let him get away with this, are we?”

  Zach smiled one of his make-my-day-you’re-going-down smiles. With teeth. “Nope. We’re going to call his bluff.” He sprang from the bed, knocked the guy off balance, and as he did, he broke the older man’s grip on the weapon and threw the knife on the bed. Clare leapt to grab the silk sheath on the table even as Pais yelped and began to swear.

  “Goddammit, Slade, you cut me.”

  “The knife turned in your hand as I freed it and it took a bite of you. It’s particularly bloodthirsty, literally. It likes to soak up blood.”

  “You bastard,” Pais said. His hand dripped blood on the floor, luckily on the wood and not the carpet.

  “We have bandages,” Clare said. “We’ll take care of you before you and Zach have that little talk with the sheriff. But I want you to look here.” She held out the pristine sheath. “Do you think you bled enough on the knife for it to be bloody?”

  “Hell, yeah, I did—” He stopped as he stared at the ivory silk unmarred by any stains. He gulped. “Crap. This is crazy crap.”

  “Yes. It is.” Clare smiled coolly. She drew out the knife, slipped it into the metal sheath, then back into the silk tube and tied a knot more complex than Zach had seen from her before.

  Her head angled and she closed her eyes. Checking on the monster ghost, no doubt. A tiny sigh relaxed her body. “We’re safe. This time.”

  “Crazy crap,” Pais repeated.

  Lifting her suitcase to the bed, she said, “You know I had this behind the lining of my suitcase. As far as I’m concerned, that’s pretty extensive searching of my property.” She looked at Zach. “You be sure to tell the sheriff that.”

  He swallowed an admiring smile. “I’ll do that.”

  With quick efficiency, she had their first aid kit out and Pais’s hand bandaged in a few minutes. “There, that’s done. Now, as for you, Mister Mason Pais Junior,” she said in freezing tones. “I give you permission, and the sheriff permission, to contact the last person I consulted with, Dennis Laurentine. I’m sure he’ll give you an earful on me.”

  “On us,” Zach said easily.

  Clare sniffed. “Tell the sheriff that he can e-mail me the report or statement or whatever about last night at Pico’s Patio.” Her voice hitched so slightly, Zach didn’t think Pais heard the hesitation. Clare was muscling through grief and fear with grace, not letting those emotions get her down. “I’ll review the report and return it. If he needs me to come in, someone can call or e-mail me for an appointment.” She waved at them. “Take Pais Junior away.”

  Zach was sure she wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out the cuffs he carried and snapped them around Pais’s wrists. That would be satisfying, but over the top. “I’ll be back in a while.”

  “That’s fine.” She sat down at the table and revved up her tablet, focused on it. Pais stared at her, but she paid absolutely no attention to them, as if they’d already left.

  Zach stepped toward the door and opened it for Pais. When the guy passed him, Zach looked at the keyhole. No scratches. Interesting. The ex-sheriff might have a key.

  * * *

  The SeeAndTalk app on her phone jazzed the melody programmed for Desiree Rickman. Clare picked it up, tapped, saw the lovely woman and immediately felt plain.

  “Is Zach there?” Desiree asked, peering as if checking out the room behind Clare.

  “No. He’s at the local sheriff’s office.”

  Desiree’s brows went up. “Tony will like that. He is very pleased with the law enforcement contacts Zach is making.”

  “Uh-huh,” Clare replied. She didn’t think she’d better go into detail.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour,” Desiree said.

  Clare felt her eyes bug. “What!”

  “You won’t tell Zach, will you? Tony has a hot case and thinks I’m skydiving today.”

  Clare opened her mouth and shut it.

  “I flew into Alamosa and rented a van. I have your and Zach’s armor, a gun and wheels for you.”

  Now Clare could see the interior of a vehicle . . . and both of Desiree’s hands steering. Good.

  “I don’t know how to shoot a gun,” Clare said.

  “Damn. We’ll take care of that when you return to Denver.”

  Clare was glad to hear “when,” and not an “if.”

  “I won’t come as far as the hotel. I’ll stop at the cross street a block below and drive east one block. I’ll meet you in the bar parking lot.”

  Clare didn’t even know there was a bar at that location
. “Wheels?” she asked. But the screen went dark.

  She opened the door and went out onto the balcony, checking the county building catty-cornered across the street where Zach was, and the main street to the left, where Desiree would drive up. No people.

  The sun had come out and the aspen on the hillside glittered golden in the slight breeze against the deep blue of the sky, a perfect autumn day in the mountains. The breathing exercise she’d learned in her beginning yoga class filtered into her mind and she stood, relaxed, soaking up the atmosphere, the beauty of the day, the quiet of the town, the freshness of the soft air against her cheek, and breathed.

  Tension seeped away even as her lips curved and she held tight to the sensory input, saving it as a cherished memory. Living in the moment, something she did all too rarely.

  Perhaps a lesson of this case. Another lesson, a gentler lesson than learning how to destroy a killer ghost. The image of Caden’s scared and tearful face rose in her mind and her jaw clenched and her shoulders tensed and her breath came choppy with fear and sorrow once more. Then, Enzo, big puppy-dog eyes lost and suffering, flashed in her memory.

  She turned away and went to meet Desiree.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  CLARE’S TIMING WAS good. She got to the empty parking lot on the far side of the bar, Tappings, as a large, dark gray four-wheel drive van pulled in. The engine cut, and Desiree popped out of the cab, waved to Clare, then went around to the back, opened it up and leapt up into the rear space.

  “Help me get this out,” Desiree said, sliding out a metal ramp that Clare helped angle to the ground. The woman unlocked the wheels from its rack. Clare stood near the top of the ramp and rolled it down with her.

  “What is it?” she asked. It wasn’t that she didn’t know, she just didn’t believe it.

  “Motor scooter,” Desiree said with satisfaction, and shot her a glance from under enviable-long lashes. “You seem like a scooter kind of girl. It would get you to Alamosa. It’s city and highway friendly.”

  “You brought me a motor scooter.”

  “And helmet.” She gave Clare one that looked newer than the scooter, in a pattern of a universe with colorful galaxies and bright stars. Then Desiree dusted her hands. “Let me ask you this, Clare. What happens if Zach takes off in the truck?”

  Clare glanced around the town, filling up with people for Cruisin’ the Canyon, but still dead—no, not that word, never that word again—quiet. She couldn’t imagine asking anyone for a ride. “Good point,” she said.

  Desiree jumped from the back of the van and sent her a serious look. “You have to remember to have personal backup plans.”

  If that was the woman’s philosophy, no wonder she drove her husband crazy.

  “I suppose so,” Clare said. “I am an investigator, sort of.”

  “Yeah.” Desiree swung out a bundle larger than the scooter seat storage compartment. “Here’s your and Zach’s body armor.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You can tell him it was couriered to you.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “Sure.” Desiree narrowed her eyes and scanned Clare up and down. The woman’s lips pressed together and she jerked a head at the bar. “Let’s go in and get a soda or something. I want to look at you closer.”

  Clare’s heart began to beat harder. She put her hand to her midriff. “You see it?”

  “I see something. Some damage to you . . .” Desiree squinted and tilted her head. “That is also affecting your aura.”

  That didn’t sound good.

  Desiree shut the door of the van and locked it. Clare dropped her hand from her body and the inner wound, and fell into step with Desiree. “But the bar’s closed.”

  “Tommy knows me. He lives behind it, he’ll open it up for us.” She smiled and looked even more beautiful. “He won’t even mind if I don’t buy liquor because I’m driving.”

  “I’m sure,” Clare murmured.

  “We’ll leave him a large tip.”

  “That reminds me. How much do I owe you for the scooter rental?”

  Desiree knocked on a door, hard, then whistled four notes and Clare heard stirring inside. Desiree gave her wide eyes. “I didn’t rent it. I borrowed it.”

  Clare froze. “You borrowed it. Did you let the owner know you were borrowing it?”

  With a cheeky grin, Desiree shook her head. “He’s out of the country. It will be back in his garage in perfect shape by the time he gets back.”

  “I’ll make sure of that,” Clare said repressively. She had a creeping feeling that associating with Desiree Rickman would, on the whole, be expensive.

  The door opened on a ripple of Desiree’s laughter.

  That was the last shared humor they had. A silent man with a belly, Tommy, grunted a greeting to them as he gave them a liter bottle of lemon-lime soda and two gin glasses as they sat at a table near the door. Then he retreated behind a huge and lovely bar to do set-up tasks.

  They sipped their drinks in silence and Desiree scrutinized her. Then the smaller woman made Clare stand up as she circled her, humming to herself and tapping her lips with her forefinger. Finally she subsided back into her chair and took a large swig of pop.

  “Well?” asked Clare, seating herself and keeping her hands still when they wanted to tug on a piece of her wildly curling hair.

  “I haven’t seen anything like it,” Desiree admitted. “It looks like a nonphysical hurt, but a hurt all the same.” She shrugged. “Not sure what to do to heal it, so we should hope it gets better on its own.”

  “Thanks.”

  Desiree frowned. “Do you know how it happened?”

  “Maybe when I attacked a monster ghost trying to eat a little boy and it ripped through me.”

  Wide-eyed, Desiree nodded. “That could maybe do it. Be more careful.”

  Since Clare wasn’t at all sure that she was going to survive, and that in trying to survive she’d have to risk everything, she just said, “Yes.”

  “So, can I see your knife up close and personal?” Desiree asked.

  “It’s back in the hotel room.”

  Desiree appeared shocked. “You don’t carry it around with you?”

  “No.”

  “You should do that.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Really,” Desiree insisted.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m not exactly accustomed to weapons.”

  “We will work on that.” Desiree paused, said casually, “So how did the whole ‘soaking in blood’ thing go?”

  “Surprisingly easy.”

  “Excellent.”

  “I just need to learn how to fight with it,” Clare grumbled. A pressure at the top of her spine seemed to radiate warning throughout her body.

  “Easy enough,” Desiree said cheerfully.

  Before she knew it, Clare stared at two wicked-looking blades on the table before her. She hadn’t really seen Desiree move, let alone retrieve the knives from her person. They were smaller than Clare’s weapon, but appeared more lethal.

  Desiree smiled, and gestured to the wide space in the room, left for a band and dancing, Clare thought.

  “We can do that right now.” Desiree smiled. “The sooner the better, right?”

  Clare frowned at her. Had Desiree heard Clare say that? Heaven knew, it was a phrase she often used.

  So she wouldn’t be distracted, she turned off her phone.

  For extra space, they pushed back a few tables and chairs as Tommy watched them from behind the bar, continuing to work.

  Clare faced Desiree with a knife and knew the smaller woman could slice her to bits, but wouldn’t.

  “I’m coming at you, Clare, we’ll practice defensive first.”

  Clare didn’t really
want to; she’d rather go on the offense, attack instead of wait. She’d been waiting too long, trying to gather information so she’d be prepared for the final fight when she could destroy the ghost. But she learned a few defensive patterns, then stepped back and held up both hands.

  “Um . . .” she said.

  Desiree lifted her brows. “Yes?”

  “Um.” Clare glanced at Tommy sideways, then circled her finger in the air. “Um, the, um . . . what if my enemy came at me in a whirling motion?”

  “Huh.” Desiree stared at her.

  Deciding to lay it all out on the line, Clare said, “You see auras, right?”

  Desiree said, “Sure.”

  “Can you, um, expand your aura as if it were a sphere?”

  The other woman’s eyes widened. “Interesting concept.” She tossed her head. “I can just about do anything with auras.”

  “Ah, okay. Then, could you, perhaps make it layered—” Like the evil ghost was layered . . . with other ghosts, with air, with supernatural stuff or whatever . . . with the nasty razors or teeth. “—and teach me how to penetrate each layer of your aura.”

  “While I’m whirling.”

  “Yes, while whirling.”

  “Wow. We can experiment.” Another big grin.

  Several minutes later Clare had learned the most effective way to thrust, slash, cut, and slice, moving ever closer to Desiree’s body. And she and Desiree worked out a couple of sequential steps and patterns of attack.

  Desiree’s phone alarm beeped. She stood. “I have to leave in fifteen minutes to be back in Denver in time to meet Tony.”

  “I understand. Thanks for delivering the armor and the scooter, and most especially for helping me with knife fighting.”

  “I want to see you on the scooter.”

  “Okay.” Clare left a fifty on the table, and Desiree gave Tommy a blinding smile that had him returning a melting grin.

  Tommy and Desiree watched her take the scooter for a spin around a couple of blocks south and west—not near the county building. The vehicle handled just fine, though Clare didn’t think she’d do well on an hours-long trip. But it was wheels, and enough to tool around town. Oddly, it gave her a sense of freedom she hadn’t expected, as if in the back of her brain, she’d been anxious that she didn’t have transportation of her own.