A Match Made in Hell

by Terri Garey

  * * *

  CHAPTER 9

  Wrought iron, like black lace, framing glimpses of gardens and courtyards. Brick streets, oak-shaded and wide, houses gleaming with trim and sentried with shutters. Savannah dripped with Southern charm and Spanish moss, particularly in the historic district.

  "Beautiful town," Joe said. He'd insisted on coming with us, claiming he needed some time off anyway. I knew he'd done it because he was worried about what kind of trouble I'd get myself into without him, but that was okay with me. A night or two with my boyfriend at a cozy bed and breakfast sounded pretty good, even if Kelly was part of the deal. She'd have her own room. "I've always heard Savannah was worth a visit."

  "Me, too," I said. "Aren't these old houses great? Look at those brownstones—they must date to the 1800s."

  Savannah was a city of squares. Literally. The center of each square was marked by either a fountain or a statue, green space all around. People sunned themselves on benches or hung out on the grass, the atmosphere lazy and unhurried. Even the tourists took their time, strolling in and out of quaint little shops and historic mansions.

  It was cool—in a vintage kind of way.

  "There's a big fountain in that park over there," Kelly said, pointing. "Let's stop and get a couple of pictures."

  "Sounds good to me," Joe said. "I wouldn't mind a chance to stretch my legs." After a four hour drive through a boring stretch of grassy Georgia low country, I didn't blame him. We found a parking meter with some time left on it near a sign that said FORSYTH PARK and left the car.

  "Wow, look at the size of that." Kelly was admiring the two-tiered fountain. It was white stone, high and graceful, capped with the stone figure of a woman. Marble sea nymphs splashed at her feet.

  A little touristy, but gorgeous.

  "I'm glad you guys decided to come." Kelly smiled at me, taking a seat on a bench near the fountain. "And I'm so glad to be out of that wheelchair."

  She was hobbling around pretty well without her crutches. Joe had pronounced one ankle almost healed and the other ready for a walking cast.

  "I'm glad you didn't mind driving instead of flying," I said. "Those little commuter planes make me nervous."

  Joe gave a snort. "Wimp."

  I pretended I was gonna smack him, but he just grinned and grabbed my hand instead. I let him keep it.

  "I've always wanted to come here," Kelly said as we took a seat on the bench beside her. She looked relaxed and happy, soaking in the day.

  Somewhere in the background I could hear band music—the old-fashioned, energetic kind—lots of horns and tubas. Judging by the flags and streamers in one corner of the park, and the cluster of tourists in that area, there was a festival of some kind going on.

  "We have to have some fun while we're here, check out the nightclub scene," I said to Kelly. "I hear it gets pretty wild down on River Street. Can't have your memories of Savannah be anything less than spectacular."

  She laughed. "I don't know if I'm up to 'spectacular.' I'll be happy with 'great' or 'interesting' or something like that."

  I sighed. "You need to wave your freak flag higher, Kelly."

  "My what?"

  "Your freak flag—you know, whatever it is about you that makes you unique, makes you you!" I glanced over, only half teasing. "You should let loose once in a while."

  She looked away, staring toward the fountain. "I guess I should. It's just been a long time since I have."

  I watched a woman in period costume stroll past a man with a big dog on a leash. The man was ignoring the woman's severe hairstyle and wide hoop skirt, chatting it up with two babes in jeans and tight T-shirts, each with a dog of their own. The dogs wagged their tails and checked out each other's butts while their owners did the same, only more discreetly.

  "Let's throw a coin in the fountain," Kelly said.

  "You go ahead." I was fine just where I was. The afternoon sun was warm, though the air was cool. I loved fall in Georgia. "Don't forget to make a wish."

  Kelly got up and went toward the fountain, digging in her purse for change.

  "I'd like to make a wish, too," Joe said, rising from the bench. He was smiling.

  I gave him my archest look. "Really? What are you going to wish for?"

  "If I tell you, it won't come true." He winked at me as he moved toward the fountain, diving one hand into his pocket. "And I can't have that."

  I watched him walk away, enjoying the view. The man knew how to wear a pair of jeans.

  "Have you seen any of the men from Fort McAllister?" The woman in Civil War costume was walking quickly toward me, skirts rustling.

  "Excuse me?" Some people really get into these re-enactments.

  "The garrison," the woman said. "Major Anderson's men—Sherman's taken the fort. Have any of the men returned?"

  I had to hand it to her—this woman was in character. I'd seen people like her before. They loved festivals, and usually belonged to some anachronistic society with a weird name, like the Society for Creative Underpants.

  "I'm sure you can find them wherever the beer booth is," I said, smiling only enough to avoid out-and-out rudeness.

  "You're dressed strangely." The woman looked at me suspiciously. "I thought you were a boy."

  "I'm dressed strangely?" Mentally, I compared the woman's drab gray dress with my favorite flat-front khakis, worn with a beaded belt and cute blue corduroy jacket. "Move along, Miss Harriet Beecher Stowe—or whoever you are."

  The woman was plain and wore no makeup. With her dark hair in a severe part, clubbed in a low bun, she bordered on homely.

  "Elizabeth," she said. "My name is Elizabeth."

  And that's when I knew. She wasn't pretending. She wasn't a member of any society.

  She was dead.

  "They say that Sherman will burn Savannah to the ground," Elizabeth said, looking around with worried expression, "that we should pack up and run while we have the chance, but I can't go without William. Have you seen him? William Coleman?" • Poor woman. The only thing I could do to ease her mind was tell her the truth.

  "Savannah won't burn, Elizabeth." I remembered that much from my history lessons. "And William is at peace now."

  She looked stricken, raising a hand to touch the white cotton collar of her dress.

  "He's not here anymore, Elizabeth." At least I hoped not. "But you can see him again—anytime you want to. You just have to be willing to leave this place behind."

  "But… but Savannah is my home." Elizabeth spoke the words simply, like a child. "Where would I go? What would I do?"

  I shook my head at her. "Don't worry. Don't be afraid. Just open your eyes and look—really look—around you."

  Elizabeth's face was pale. I'm not sure how Southern women used to breathe in such tight-waisted gowns—hers was banded and cinched with layers of ribbon.

  She met my eyes a moment more, then did as I'd suggested, looking around at the tourists in their shorts and tennis shoes, wielding their cameras. At the dogs on their leashes, and the people who walked them. At the cars parked along the streets that bordered the square.

  I watched her face, seeing her expression go from guarded to puzzled, from puzzled to accepting.

  "I don't belong here," she said.

  "No, you don't." I kept my voice soothing. "But keep looking."

  Her eyes scanned the trees that filled Forsyth Park, taking in the Spanish moss, swaying in the breeze, the shadows cast by the leafy green oaks. "I see something," Elizabeth whispered. "Something beautiful."

  Those were the last words she said as she gathered up her skirt and walked away.

  Within three steps she was gone, dissolved like a mist from times past.

  "You look like you've seen a ghost," Kelly said. She'd come back from the fountain without me even noticing and was standing by the bench.

  The look I gave her must've spoken for itself.

  Her eyes widened. "You did see a ghost!"

  "Nicki?" Joe was beside her, fro
wning.

  "Shhh," I said, shooting up from the bench. The chicks with the dogs were sending us curious glances. "Let's get out of here. I'll tell you about it in the car."

  "That is so cool," Kelly said. "You helped a woman from the late 1800s. It's like there's no time limit on this thing."

  "This thing?" I wasn't sure what she was driving at.

  "You know…" She waved a hand. "… how long a spirit can hang around after the body's gone."

  Kind of a creepy train of thought, if you asked me. "I never thought about it," I said, and I really didn't want to now, either.

  "Are you okay, Nick?" Joe's fingers gripped my thigh as I drove, his touch warm and reassuring. "Is this one over?"

  I nodded a yes, keeping my eyes on the road. This encounter, this episode, was over. The look of peace on the woman's face as she walked into the Light assured me of that.

  "It's over," I said. "I'm okay, except that I'm starving. It's almost one o'clock; let's get something to eat before we go to Bijou's."

  "Fine by me." Joe glanced in the backseat at Kelly. "Are we expected at any certain time?"

  "I just told Leonard we'd be there sometime this afternoon," she said. "I wasn't sure how long it would take us to get here."

  We looked for a place to eat near the Old City Market. The smell of fried chicken lured us into a diner called Homebody's, where we pigged out on crispy chicken, mashed potatoes, and pot-likker greens. There was even fresh-baked corn bread.

  Halfway through the meal Joe's phone rang. He checked the caller ID and sighed. "Sorry," he said. "I have to take this." Then he answered, "Dr. Bascombe."

  I could tell by his expression that he was going to be a while. He confirmed it by putting his napkin beside his plate and rising from the table. "What does the MRI show?" he asked the person on the other end. He jerked his chin toward the window to indicate he was taking the call outside, then went out on the sidewalk.

  Joe was being considerate. We both hated it when people yakked on their cell phones during a meal.

  "It's weird how ham hocks can add such flavor to vegetables." Kelly sprinkled more salt on the last of her greens. "I'd love to learn how to cook like this someday."

  "My mom used to make the best black-eyed peas you ever tasted," I mumbled through a mouthful of chicken. "And biscuits. She made the best biscuits."

  Kelly said, "None of my foster moms were very good cooks."

  The fried chicken suddenly tasted dry. I knew it wasn't my fault that she hadn't had the happy childhood I had, but still…

  "What was it like, living in foster homes?" Might as well not dance around it. I took another bite. "How many were there?"

  "Three, mainly. I don't remember the first one very well—I was a baby. They were nice, I guess. I was moved to a different foster home when I was four or five." Kelly put down her fork and reached for a glass of sweet tea. "The Bakers were nice people, too. I lived with them and a bunch of other foster kids until I was twelve or so." She took a sip of tea. "I knew they were never going to adopt me, though, so I was pretty happy when the Charons came into the picture. They picked me out of a photo album and came to meet me at an adoption picnic. A few weeks later they took me home."

  Wow. I'd would have been scarred for life after being handed around like an unwanted kitten, but I didn't say it.

  Kelly shrugged. "I'm not sure what happened. We never bonded, I guess. I tried to be a good daughter, but it just didn't seem to work out. We didn't get along. I even ran away a few times, but the cops always found me hanging around the bus station and brought me back. It's not like I had anywhere to go, anyway."

  "Then what made you run away?" I was curious. She didn't seem angry at her adoptive parents, so they must not have been too bad.

  "It wasn't their fault. I found out they'd lost a baby—a little girl—and I wasn't eager to be anybody's replacement kid. I always had the feeling they were disappointed in me, like they'd picked the wrong kid from the photo album and regretted it."

  My throat tightened.

  "I got good grades. Earned a scholarship, even, and worked my way through school." She glanced up, her look slightly sheepish. "I even married up, just to please them. But nothing ever did."

  "Joe?"

  Kelly put down her glass and leaned back. "I can't believe I'm sitting here spilling my guts like this." She gazed around the old-fashioned diner, empty but for a couple of guys in the corner. "We're supposed to be having fun."

  "Oh no, you don't." No turning back now—fun could wait. "You married Joe to please your parents?"

  "Partly." Kelly glanced at Joe through the window, then stared at the table. "I cared about him, but mainly I just wanted to get away. The Charons had never been further away than Macon, Georgia, and never would. Joe took me to Boston and I never went back."

  How could she not have been wildly, madly in love with Joe Bascombe?

  "I always felt like Joe deserved better," she murmured, as if reading my mind. "I was the doctor's wife who didn't know how to cook, dress, or make the right small talk at cocktail parties. He never complained, but then again, he wasn't home very much."

  "So you ran away again."

  She didn't bother to deny it. "Yep. I ran away and joined the Peace Corps." Her laughter surprised me. "My childhood dream."

  "Really? That was your childhood dream?" Personally, the thought of visiting third world countries was only appealing to me if there were white sand beaches, fruity tropical drinks, and palm frond huts that came with maid service.

  Kelly nodded. "It's a great way to see the world and do some good at the same time. I've never regretted it."

  Joe was still out of the sidewalk, so I felt safe asking the question. "Did you regret leaving Joe?"

  She met my eyes evenly enough, though she took her time answering. "He's a great guy. I want him to be happy. But we made better friends than lovers," she said, and left it at that.

  "Excuse me, ladies." The two guys from the corner had stopped at our table on their way out. One of them was offering a brochure. "We were wondering if we could interest you in a free ghost tour?"

  Kelly and I looked at the brochure, then at each other, and burst out laughing.

  "C'mon now," the guy said, obviously used to that reaction, "Savannah Spooks is a cool tour." He was short and chubby, mid-twenties, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt covered with skulls. "Spider and I know the creepiest places in Savannah. We usually charge ten bucks apiece, but for you lovely ladies, we'll do it for free."

  His friend "Spider" was tall and thin, with a jet-black goatee and close-cropped hair, a silver crucifix dangling from one ear. He was by far the better-looking of the two. I noticed him staring at Kelly as he put in his two cents.

  "Skully makes it sound like a bad pickup line, but it's for real. We give guided tours of some of Savannah's most haunted places, including Bonaventure Cemetery."

  I couldn't help it—I laughed. Spider and Skully, of course. What else would their names be?

  Spider frowned at me, obviously not amused.

  "Sorry," I choked out, "private joke."

  Kelly recovered quicker than I did. "That's really nice of you guys, but no thanks."

  Spider looked disappointed, but Skully was obviously the persistent type. "Take one of the brochures." He urged it on me with a smile, chubby cheeks gleaming, and I took it. "Maybe you'll change your mind. We leave from the Velvet Elvis over on Congress Street every Friday and Saturday night at seven o'clock. We even provide the mosquito repellent."

  Lovely. But I wasn't going looking for any ghosts. They found me easily enough as it was.

  "You girls from around here?" Poor Skully wasn't giving up. "Need directions?"

  I felt a little bad about the way I'd been laughing. They seemed like nice enough guys. "No, thanks," I said. "We have a map we got off the Internet."

  "Those things are crap," Spider said. "Where ya goin'?"

  Kelly surprised me by telling him. "The Blue Dahlia.
It's a flower shop over on Victory Drive."

  Spider looked at Skully, and Skully looked at Spider. Then they were the ones who burst out laughing.

  "What? What's so funny?"

  Skully was the one who answered. "Oh, it's a flower shop, all right. It's also one of the most haunted old houses in Savannah."

  This time when Kelly and I looked at each other, neither one of us felt like laughing.

  "What's going on?" Joe came in from the sidewalk. He snapped his cell phone shut, looking none too happy to find us talking to two strange guys.

  Kelly spoke up. "Spider and Skully give ghost tours. They were just about to tell us about the Blue Dahlia."

  Joe gave them the eye, then shot me a brief glance as he slid into his seat. "What about it?"

  Skully was eager to share, unfazed by Joe's lack of enthusiasm. "It's haunted, man. Big-time. It used to be a bed and breakfast, but the old lady shut it down. We'd love to get some equipment in there—set up some recorders, a night vision camera. Probably get some orbs, maybe even some EVPs."

  The way Skully said "orbs" and "EVPs" made them sound like religious experiences.

  Joe wasn't impressed with the techno geek-speak, and neither was I. He took a bite of his now cold chicken, while I held back a sigh.

  Kelly, however, was fascinated. "EVPs? That's electronic voice phenomena, right?"

  Spider gave Kelly an approving look. "That's right. Ever heard any?"

  She nodded, surprising me. "On the Internet. Some of them are really spooky."

  Spider's thin face lit up. Kelly was smiling at him, and I realized she was actually flirting with this guy. Compared to a wholesome guy like Joe, a guy like Spider hardly seemed her type.

  "Tall, dark, and brooding" was usually my type.

  "Cool," Spider said to Kelly. "Ever been to a site called Spooked? I helped set that one up… it's got some great EVPs in the audio section."

  What the hell. Getting laid would probably do Kelly a world of good.

  "Have a seat, guys." I grinned at Joe to let him know there was nothing to worry about, guywise. "Tell us about the Blue Dahlia."

  An half hour later we knew most of what there was to know about the old house our mother had grown up in, and more about Spider and Skully than I really expected to.