by Mac Flynn
I stepped to the forefront of our pairing. Vince may have been our liaison with the dead, but I could handle the living. "Hello, Mr.-?"
"Robert Morley, and this is my property," he growled.
I smiled at him. "Just the man we wanted to meet. We saw the For Sale sign at the road and wondered how much your-um, your lovely house would cost." I sidled up to Vince, looped my arms around one of his, and rubbed my cheek against his sleeve. I was surprised when he only stiffened a little and didn't outright toss me to the ground. "You see, we're looking for our first home together and thought your house would make the perfect honeymoon home."
"What are your names?" Morley questioned us.
"Um, well, I'm-um, I'm Liz Vance and this is-um, Vince Vance," I replied.
The man raised an eyebrow. "'Vince Vance?'" he repeated.
"His parents had a sick sense of humor, but we were wondering about the house. How much is it?"
Morley visibly relaxed and nodded at the heap of wood formerly known as a residence. "If you want the place it's thirty thousand for the house and lot if you pay in cash, and twice that if you don't."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why so cheap?"
"None of your business, and if you're not going to pay that amount then get the hell out of here," he insisted.
"But we haven't even gotten a look around," I argued.
"No!" His reply was so fast and cold that I started back. He caught himself and pursed his lips. "The grounds and house aren't-um, aren't safe, so nobody can go through them."
"You're not seriously expecting us to buy a house without looking at it, are you?" I questioned him.
He scowled. "Listen, I'm giving a good price and if you don't want it then you can get the hell out of here." He jabbed a finger down the gravel driveway. "Go on! Get!"
"But-"
Morley reached into his droopy coat and pulled out a revolver with six shots. He cocked back the hammer and swung the barrel of the revolver between us. "I said get! Now scram before I waste some silver bullets on you!"
Vince set one of his hands over mine that held onto his arm and bowed his head to Morley. "We apologize for the intrusion. Come, wife, let us away," told me.
We turned away from the angry little man, climbed back into the car, and drove away from the dreary house and its rundown park.
Chapter 3
"What a smelly pain in the ass," I mumbled.
"It was fortunate he did not shoot us," Vince spoke up as we bumped onto the pot-hole filled road.
I glanced at him. "I thought silver bullets only worked on werewolves."
"They are fatal to werewolves, but the purity of the silver will cause other supernatural creatures extreme pain, and the weaker ones possible death. He may have also coated the bullets with the herbs he smeared on his person to increase their potency," Vince told me.
I wrinkled my nose. "You mean all those smells? I just thought he was trying to be a walking herb garden."
"Those smells were the amalgamation of several powerful anti-supernatural herbs and metals. I have never encountered so many on one person before," he mused.
"So is he trying to keep away his mom?" I guessed.
Vince parked the car along the road, shut off the engine and leaned back in his seat. His lips were pursed together and he glared at emptiness over the dashboard. "I believe all the precautions were regarding that slip of paper."
"Is he that afraid of a paper cut?" I quipped.
Vince shook his head. "No. The insignia on the paper was a motif of a skull within a circle, and a cross over the bones."
"Sounds like Morley doesn't like pirates," I commented.
"The insignia is one used by a powerful syndicate affiliated with Ruthven. They trade in anti-supernatural items and hexing people using illegal curses," he explained.
"Let me guess, past trouble with them?" I mused.
"Yes. Tim and I had indirect dealings with them when humans found themselves in need of a curse removal or other supernatural creatures came to us after being attacked by humans who wielded these anti-supernatural items. We never discovered the controller of the Supernatural Syndicate, only the agents," he told me.
I cringed. "How many unsolved mysteries did you and Tim pick up?" I wondered.
"Far too many," Vince commented.
"So these guys are affiliated with Ruthven how?" I inquired.
"They have traded resources. Werewolves for spells and such," he answered.
I slid down my seat and groaned. "Just what we need, more enemies."
"We will focus on Ruthven, and handle the Supernatural Syndicate only if we must," he instructed me.
"So these anti-supernatural things won't kill strong paranormal creatures, right?" I asked him.
"That's correct," he replied.
"So which category do you fall under?" I asked him.
"Need you ask?" he returned.
I shrugged. "I just wanted to make sure I was stuck to the stronger one," I teased.
"It won't kill me, but it may seriously harm you," he revealed.
I cringed. "I see your point. A good idea to run."
"We're not running." He opened his door and stepped out. I noticed we were parked on the far edge of the park wilderness. "We are merely taking a less direct route."
"And if he catches us he's merely going to shoot us," I quipped as I slid out.
"The risk of being a detective," he reminded me. He led me through the untamed bushes and onto the crab grass-infested lawn.
"You ever thought about retiring and enjoying all that hard cash hidden under your coffin?" I asked him.
"Yes," was the surprising reply.
My eyes flickered to him and I raised an eyebrow. "So why don't you? I mean, after we find what Tim was up to," I added.
"Believing we will survive this hunt is overly optimistic, so I will leave the future to the future," he answered.
I grabbed his arm and arrested our walk. Vince turned to me with a raised eyebrow and I shakily smiled at him. "You ever thought about dropping this whole thing? You know, just letting Tim rest in peace and getting out of here? We could buy an island and live off the blood of shipwreck survivors."
Vince frowned. "Have you forgotten that Tim-"
"Tim's dead," I interrupted him. I turned my face away and bit my lip. "I. . .Tim was a good friend, but maybe it's time to move on before somebody gets seriously hurt, maybe even killed. It's not that I'm really afraid of dying. Well, I'm actually terrified, but it's just that-well, I don't want to lose you. I almost lost you a few days ago, and I. . .I don't want to see that happen again, okay?"
I started when his cold hand settled on mine, and I whipped my head up to look into his eyes. His cold red ones held a soft light in them. "Liz, I-"
"There you two are! What in the hell took you!" a banshee of a voice interrupted us.
We jumped apart and turned to the thick mess of trees in front of us. The old woman's ghost floated out with her astral arms crossed over her transparent chest. She stopped in front of us and scowled. "I told you to meet me at the hollow tree, and here I find you dallying by the road."
I marched up to her and stuck my face in hers. "You didn't tell us the welcoming party was a trigger-happy asshole," I snapped back.
She floated back and waved away my concerns with her hand. "That nincompoop? That's just my idiot son. He's the one who murdered me ten years ago."
I started back. "Murdered you?" I repeated.
She gestured down at her corporal self. "I didn't get this way by falling into a gopher hole."
"Then do you wish us to avenge your death?" Vince guessed.
She turned her nose up and snorted. "No, it's past time for that. That idiot isn't going to learn that he shouldn't have done it, and I'm only hoping I've scared him enough he'll never have a good night's sleep for the rest of his life, natural and unnatural."
I held up my hands palms-out. "Wait a sec. So you're a murder victim done in by your own son and
we're supposed to do what now? Ask him where he hid your body ten years ago?"
"No, ask him where he hid my body a week ago," she corrected me.
"Why did he do that?" I asked her.
"I don't know and I don't care. All I care about is finding my bones and you two giving them a proper burial so I can rest in peace," she snapped.
"Don't you know where he hid your body? I mean, can't you sense it?" I wondered.
"Don't you know anything? The astral body and real body don't work like that," she growled. She paused and rolled her eyes up to heaven. "All right, since I can see I didn't get the cream of the intellect crop I'll start from the beginning." I was starting to see why the son had knocked her off. "My name is Harriet Morley, and I was a very wealthy woman in my day. Bobby, that's the boy you met, he wanted the money I'd saved up from my husband's life insurance policy. Frank died about twenty years ago and left me enough to live on for-well, for longer than I lived. Bobby wanted it all and never did have the patience to wait for anything, so that spoiled boy of mine killed me with a knife to the back and stuffed my body in a trunk for a couple of years."
"Didn't anybody notice you were gone?" I wondered.
"No. I didn't have many friends," she replied.
"Geez, I wonder why?" I muttered.
"Of course, the police came around, but for once Bobby cleaned up after himself. They couldn't find evidence of what he'd done and stopped looking for me after a while. Of course, I tried to get their attention, but so few people believe in ghosts nowadays that the only person I could talk to was Bobby."
"Those must have been some awkward conversations," I commented.
A sly grin slipped onto her lips. "They were for him. I'd scare him to death by floating through the walls and he'd run screaming from room to room with me chasing him. He tried moving my body to the basement and burying me there hoping it would quiet me. That boy always was an idiot. Any fool knows a spirit can't be quieted except with revenge or a proper burial."
"So he's sticking around for what? Waiting for you to be declared dead so he can inherit the money?" I guessed.
She scowled at me. "I'm getting there. As I was saying, it only took two years to scare him out of the main house and he took up in the cottage, but I followed him there and tormented him until he started putting up all those awful symbols on the walls about four years ago. He also took to covering himself in all that nasty-smelling gunk so that I couldn't spook him outside the cottage. Of course, he doesn't usually come out anymore, not even to look for where I hid the money. That's why he's sticking around. Didn't get the money because I hid it where I hid what Hilda gave to me, and nobody's finding anything until I find my body."
"Let me get this straight," I spoke up. "You died ten years ago, and Hilda gave you something a few months ago?"
Harriet rolled her eyes toward Vince and jerked her head toward me. "Where'd you pick this one up, the human world?"
"Yes," he told her.
The ghost sighed and returned her attention to me. "I caught Hilda snatching some mushrooms from my property a few years ago and we grew friendly. That's why she gave me the-well, why she gave me what she gave me, and why you're going to help me find my body. If I can't get Bobby to confess to his horrible deed then my body needs to have a proper burial for me to rest in eternal peace, and you're going to do that for me. I'm tired of spooking that idiot into doing what's right. He's never going to change, just like his father, and I may as well leave him to rot in this mausoleum he's made of my property," she explained to us.
"So we just have to dig up your body in the basement and put it in a cemetery?" I guessed.
Her face fell and she floated to and fro. "That's where you two come in. My body, or what's left of it, has been stolen."
My eyes widened. "Someone dug up your body and moved it?"
She floated towards the house. "It's easier if I show you, and maybe you're smarter than you look and will see something I missed."
Chapter 4
Harriet led us up the slight hill toward the house. I sidled up to Vince and lowered my voice. "You think she's telling the truth about this whole murder business and us needing to find her body to put her at peace?" I whispered.
"We will see," he replied.
"So in your cute little way you're saying you don't know?" I teased. I thought I detected a hint of color in his cheeks. "Is the great Vince the Vampire blushing?"
"No."
"Then you might want to rub that rouge off your cheeks. It doesn't become you."
"What are you two whispering back there?" Harriet screeched.
I gave her a wide, scary smile and gestured to a bunch of overgrown, thorny roses we passed. "Just admiring your yard."
A beaming smile slipped onto her lips and her eyes took on a faraway look. "You should have seen it when I was alive. This place was the envy of the street," she bragged. We reached the side of the house where lay a wooden cellar door set into at an angle in the ground and against the siding of the house. She gestured to the pair of metal handles and a fresh lock. "I used to be down there," she informed us.
"Why the fresh lock?" I asked her.
"Every year Bobby gets a new one just to make sure nobody gets in," she explained.
Vince knelt in front of the doors and grasped the lock in one hand. He pulled a large ring of keys from inside his jacket and tried them one at a time. "Why don't you just crush the lock with your hand?" I suggested.
"A broken lock would raise suspicion, and if we cannot approach him to interrogate him about the body then we must keep him off his guard so he may lead us to it," he told me. The lock snapped open and Vince set it aside and opened one of the doors.
Our supernatural eyes allowed us to see into the dark, dank gloom of the basement. The floor was made of earth and a short flight of long, narrow steps led to the ground. Vince led the way down the steps and into the large square room. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling which was open to the sub-floor. Frayed electrical wires twisted and crossed over one another in their attempts to supply the house with power. Short tubes of rusted old water pipes were disconnected from each other and hung low enough to knock into our heads. The smell of mold permeated every corner of the crowded room where wooden and cardboard boxes were stacked to the ceiling and rotten from the damp. In the far right corner sat the stairs that gave entrance to the house.
"Glad we didn't buy the place," I muttered.
"I was over here," Harriet directed us.
She led us behind a dusty stack of crates that hid the far left corner of the basement. In the light, dusty brown dirt of the basement floor was a foot deep hole, and around the hole was the dark ground of recently disturbed earth. The ghost gestured to the hole.
"That's where I called my grave for the better part of ten years, and just look at it! The thief didn't even leave me a finger bone!"
Vince knelt before the hole and traced one hand over the disturbed earth. His eyes followed his fingers as they traveled along the lip closest to where we entered this small nook. He turned on his heels and followed a strange pattern in the dirt.
I nodded at the scrape marks. "What are those?"
"Someone dragged a sack to the steps of the basement that lead into the house," Vince surmised.
Harriet scoffed. "That's nothing. I've already seen that, but you should see the mess they made on my old floors. Idiot didn't even wipe his boots before he traipsed across those real hardwood planks!"
Vince stood and a frown crossed his lips. His eyes flickered to Harriet. "Would your son have any reason to hide your body in a new location?"
She shrugged. "How should I know the mind of an idiot?"
"Would he?" Vince persisted.
Harriet sighed and shook her head. "Nothing I could think of, but like I said, he's an idiot and I can't get him to talk to me."
"Why don't I try again?" I offered.
"Do you wish to risk it?" Vince asked me.
I snorted. "I think
that's the first time you've ever tried to change my mind about doing something incredibly stupid and dangerous, but yeah, I'll risk it. We don't really have any other choice except for following this dirt trail." I nodded at the clumps of earth left on the narrow steps that led up to the old door into the house.
"We will follow the trail as far as it leads us and then see if we must attempt contact with the son," Vince suggested.
"And I'll give the grand tour," Harriet insisted.
Our ghostly guide led us up the dusty, creaky stairs and through the basement door. Well, she went through the door. We solid people had to open the door. Vince tested the knob and found it unlocked. He opened the door and found Harriet on the other side with a stunned look on her face. We furthered our trespassing by entering the main floor of the house.
"Has your son often left this door unlocked?" Vince asked her.
She shook her head. "Never. He's an idiot, but he'd make a good cow with how he sticks to his routine."
"Then it seems someone was negligent, or didn't care to hide the missing body," Vince deduced.
I looked around where we stood. The stairs opened onto the back of the house. To our right lay the rear door, and to our left was a long hallway that stretched to the front entrance. Doors lined the wall to our immediate left, and a single door lay on the opposite wall. At the front of the house I could see the banister of stairs along that same opposing wall.
The house at one time must have been beautiful, at least judging by the peeling flowered wallpaper and real hardwood floors once shined to a reflective polish but now covered in dust. The ceilings were tall and vents along the lower part of the walls told of a centralized heating system. Alcoves between the doors and two feet off the ground held smashed stone statues, and the wooden baseboards were of a dark, rich, expensive mahogany.
Harriet floated over to one of the statues and glared at it. "That stupid boy thought I hid the money in these statues. They weren't even hollow, but he smashed them to bits, anyway."
Vince and I ignored her prattling. His attention was on the dark earth beneath our feet, and mine was on him. The trail took a right turn outside, and Vince tried the door. Like the basement door this entrance was unlocked. He turned to the fuming phantom.
"Does anyone else-" For the first time I jumped forward and clamped a hand over his mouth. A noise in front of the house had caught my ears.