"You're going to damage the case," I said in a low grumble. I sidled over to Mike and Karen, who had set about examining the appointment book.
"Wouldn't it be easier to just ask me, Callous?"
She made another good point. Since she intruded into my territory, I figured I might as well use her. "Okay, Willow, did you meet with Karen's husband, Rob, before your accident?"
"Earlier that morning."
"How early?"
"Before dawn."
Interesting time for confronting an employee's abusive husband, usually a time reserved for murder, mayhem, and the hiding of a body. "Did anyone see you? I can do a little remembering game with them. Was your meeting caught on your security cameras?"
"No. I didn't meet him here. I went to his house."
"Does Karen know that?"
"She was working out of a client's office. He had some last minute trial preparations."
"What happened at the meeting?" I asked, instead of what kind of trial? I knew enough to keep my mouth shut. I hadn't been hired to uncover a prostitution ring.
"Basically, I talked, he listened."
"And the basic words of this talk were?"
"If he hurt Karen again, I'd kill him." Willow tapped her chin. "Kind of eerie considering what happened to me."
"Maybe he took you seriously and decided to get rid of you first."
Willow stared at me thoughtfully, like a burglar deciding if the bank had enough money to make it worth their effort. I swore I could see my interest rate rise in her eyes. And then it fell.
Her voice sounded lost when she responded. "Rob couldn't have gotten access to my car. It was the butler."
"If it was the butler, you wouldn't be here."
Willow crossed her arms over her ample bosom and hovered above the floor. "Just because that's your belief, doesn't make it true."
I wanted to ditto her, but decided irritating her spirit with Karen and Mike present wasn't in anyone's best interest. Living or dead. I needed to get through to Willow, make her understood how the process worked. Or at least, as I'd come to learn.
Maybe, just maybe, the butler did do it but with an incentive. A monetary one.
CHAPTER TEN
"Ain't murder the biggest one."
"Maybe Braswell paid the butler."
It wasn't a comfort statement, but I'm not known for being a helpful guy unless paid. And it was more about hunting, beating, and locking up rather than sweet nothings whispered in ears. Of course, if I had had a Willow back in my time of being alive, that would have been different, but it was too late for me now.
"In reality," Willow held her arms out in a motion of defeat, "it doesn't matter much who killed me. I'm still dead."
Karen and Mike whispered in the background. I made out the words nothing written.
"Something is bothering you, Willow." I paused for effect. "It's keeping you connected to the living world. Once we unlock this secret, you can go on to your final resting place and meet up with your kin."
Willow raised her eyebrows, and a sly smile developed on her face. "Who says I want to see them? Maybe I want to stay."
"Really?" I called the bluff. "It doesn't matter that you'll be stuck in the between for the rest of eternity? Neither here nor there. Always watching, but never really participating in the lives of the ones you loved. Watching them moving forward while you remain… in Limbo."
"I don't care." Her jaw clenched with determination, but tears shimmered in her eyes. Not an ocean, or even a lake full of water, but enough to fill a wading pool, and we all outgrew wading pools.
"It's your decision, but I'm still going to dig around for the truth."
"Has it even entered your thinking that maybe I don't want to really know for sure?" She studied me.
"No." Personally, I had decided to let my own death go for a while. I had some answers, but not enough to get me out of Limbo. My major problem lay in wanting revenge, not knowledge. That was why I'd held back. I was dead, so revenge couldn't hurt me, but it could hurt Jenny.
"Da… Women …" I corrected myself, "don't like to be insulted, and ain't murder the biggest one?"
Fire burned in Willow's gray eyes. She hadn't thought of it before but, in her heart, it rang true. The killer had insulted her and needed to pay for it. "What should I do?"
Stay away. But I knew those words wouldn't accomplish my goals. She would stick closer to me than horns to Satan's head. "Is there anyone else who could possibly be angry enough to have you killed?"
"I can think of a few names."
"Great. Why don't you go back to my office and write them down. It's good for the soul to get it all out. Ann's back at the office, and she'll help you out."
"And you?"
"I'm going to do a little listening in on your employees. Ain't nothing like being gone to start people's lips flapping."
"Especially when they think there's no worry of you popping in." Willow faded into the air.
"I can't see anything showing for when she met with Rob," Mike said. "Maybe she didn't have time."
"Maybe." A look of relief passed over Karen's face. She didn't like the hubby, probably wouldn't mind him going to jail, but there was something stomach-churning about discovering you had married a murderer.
Not that we all weren't capable of it, given certain circumstances, but being able to and actually doing it was the difference between Heaven and Hell.
Interesting, though, that Willow had made no note of her meeting. Why hide it? She offered up the information to me. A feeling of doom developed in the bottom of my soul. Did someone erase details from the calendar?
Mike pulled Karen to his chest. She pressed herself close. Obviously, I wasn't going to learn anything more from those two, or at least not anything to help me find Willow's murderer. It was time to move on.
But where? I didn't have a map of the building and had forgotten to ask Willow for the layout, so I changed my investigation method to trial and error. I breezed by the ladies' room and then backtracked.
Did I want to venture in there? It was the best secret meeting place in the building for two employees to toss around rumors. And there wasn't a species alive that felt obligated to share more than a dame with good gossip.
I went in and hung out near the mirrors. Surveillance was a boring activity, especially in a john. Toilets, sinks, mirrors, and stalls. If I'd seen one commode, I'd seen them all. Considering this was a house of sin, there wouldn't even be interesting numbers to jot down.
I needed some way to pass the time. I stood beside the mirror, and then jumped in front of it. "Ghost check." Still invisible and in full spy mode. I stood on the opposite side and jumped in front of the mirror while waving my arms around, still no form. I conjured up a few vapors and watched as the air swirled in the direction of my movements.
Yep, cheap entertainment.
The door creaked open, and I merged back into the nothingness of the air. Two barely-over-twenty-year-olds walked in and stood in front of the mirror, fussing with slicked-back hair.
"Whatcha' think is gonna happen with Braswell running this place?" The girl smoothed a hand over her blond hair.
The redhead snorted and examined her teeth. "Willow was too smart to leave this joint to him entirely. I hear she split it two ways between Braswell and one of the women working in the paperwork department."
The blonde giggled. "From what I hear that's not the only thing split two ways with Braswell."
"Do tell."
The redhead pulled out a tube of lipstick and twisted it to reveal some shade of brown. "Now, this isn't anything I saw or anything official in any sense of the word, but I was told in confidence that Braswell was spotted necking with…" She paused to apply her lipstick.
Lipstick must contain some sort of chemical that makes dames spout out secrets. This was going to be an avenue to explore. I wonder which little hot body it would be.
"Spit it out." The blonde bounced on her toes, excited at bei
ng the one chosen for the revelation.
"Gannon." The redhead finished with an air of authority and wickedness.
Blonde gasped, and then grinned. They both cackled and started out the door.
I heard the blonde's final statement and shuddered. "I can see that."
Had Willow? How did you ask a woman that?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Abby
Yellow crime scene tape glistened under the early morning sun, dancing on the light wind, one end tied to a tree growing between my house and the neighbors. The broken plastic strip drifted up from the dew-covered grass, and then snaked back to the ground. For a few minutes, my attention was riveted on the black and yellow tape. Up and down. Up and down. The breeze picked it up, and then dropped it back to the ground, the sunlight catching on the plastic.
I rubbed the back of my head, fighting off the chill worming up my spine. What happened to nighttime? Did I black out again? Poor Rich. What did he think when I didn't come home last night? Or even call? My gaze returned to the strip of plastic fluttering in the wind, almost tranquil as it beckoned me closer with every lift. Why was it in front of my house?
Rich! Not Rich!
My heart twisted, the pain nearly doubling me. I scanned the rows of cars. I spotted mine, but not Rich's truck. He wasn't home… or hadn't been home. That meant he was safe. If not Rich, then who? Did someone sneak into my house? Did the burglar return and get into an altercation with Rich? Wait. The blood on the carpet. My blood. Rich saw the blood and called the cops.
Relief flooded through me and lightness filled my head, swimming the scene in front of me. That was why the police were stationed in my neighborhood yesterday. No one got hurt because I decided to investigate my own attack. They came for me.
I scared Rich. He must have imagined the worst. Blood on the floor, I was missing. No phone calls explaining what happened. No trace of me whatsoever. They must have thought I'd been kidnapped.
I dropped onto the front steps and found myself sitting on the concrete. My mind was so befuddled. I couldn't judge the steps or the stupidity of leaving without telling anyone my plans. How could I have caused Rich and my family such anguish?
Oh, God, my parents! What did Rich tell them? What did they think had happened to me? Were they out looking for me?
"I have to let them know I'm all right." I stood.
"It's not nice to lie," a taunting voice said, filling the air around me.
I scanned the area. Who was there? Walking backward, I made my way up the stairs without tripping or missing a step. I reached for the door handle. My hand didn't grasp anything.
"Just enter. No need for opening."
I still couldn't see the person who spoke. Fear took over, and I listened to the voice, even knowing that I'd be trapped against the door. The air left my lungs in ragged, loud gasps, yet my chest didn't burn at the fast pace of my breathing.
Calm. Remain calm. I closed my eyes and centered myself. Opening my eyes after the brief respite, I glanced around. I was inside my house. The police hadn't shut the door. By walking into it, I had pushed it open.
"Shut the door!" I yelled at myself. I reached for the door. It was closed.
"Open, closed, it doesn't make a difference anymore." The voice was inside my house, coming from my living room.
How did he get in here? I didn't want to turn, I didn't want to see him, but I knew it was better to face the intruder.
I turned around and gasped. "You!"
The man from the alley. He had followed me. I drifted toward the phone. The man stood in the middle of my living room and smiled.
"Won't do you any good."
I missed the phone. I tried again. Panic started to rise in me. I pushed it down even as my hand continued to refuse to respond to my brain. Pick up the phone. Pick it up. My fingers wouldn't—couldn't—grasp the receiver. No matter how hard I tried, my fingers missed. They seemed to go through the phone.
"No reason to get upset, honey. I didn't come to do you any harm." He moved closer, gliding across the carpet.
I froze. There was something off about the guy, besides following me and just appearing in my living room. I didn't know what to say or do. I stood and stared.
"I'm just the welcoming party." He tipped his fedora. "It's very confusing when you die."
Die? What was the lunatic talking about? Was he going to kill me?
"Get out!" My words came out as a sharp whisper instead of the deep order I wanted.
He leered at me. "Is that what you really want?"
"Yes," I said more firmly.
"Would you like me to say a hello to your Great-Uncle Callous?"
"He's dead."
"So am I." His feet lifted off the floor. He stood in mid-air, his image becoming transparent. His eyes stared into me, bringing coldness into my body. "And so are you."
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Never speak ill of the dead."
"Whore!"
The word stopped me from floating down the hallway. I glided through the door on my left into what appeared to be a private office, as I was sure there were creative uses for a desk and a copy machine. Not that I'd seen any, but being dead didn't stop one's imagination.
"Shhh!" one of the women whispered. She sat down beside a dark-haired woman on a floral couch and glanced nervously at the door. I deduced she wasn't the one who had shouted 'whore.'
The woman who did glared at the door in disdain. "I don't care who hears."
"Of course you do, Janey." Her friend pulled a flask from her large straw handbag and poured a liquid resembling water into a small steel cup that magically got taller when the top was tugged. She handed it to her friend.
Janey downed the booze and gave a little shudder. "You just don't understand, Marie."
"The police are starting to think someone killed her, and going around calling her a whore isn't a good idea."
"Yeah, never speak ill of the dead, even if they were evil."
"Evil? Aren't you being a little harsh?"
The look Janey tossed at Marie would've snatched the breath from the devil himself. Marie tried to speak a few times and gave up, deciding instead to wet her whistle with the nerve-calming tonic in her flask.
Ah… booze. I wondered if they would offer me a little sip if I materialized. Of course, then they wouldn't refer to the departed Willow as a whore.
"What kind of woman runs a business like this?"
"Janey, if it wasn't for her—" Marie started.
"Don't." Janey held up the hand-of-silence.
"But it's true. Where else could we make this kind of money? And not many people with our skills get a pension and a college fund."
"She got rich off of us. It's wrong."
"Kind of like marrying for money." Marie peered through her lashes. Janey stood and glared down at her friend.
A catfight.
"It's not the same," Janey spat.
I envisioned claws coming out as she took a step toward Marie. Anger snapped in her eyes, and she flexed her well-manicured two-inch-long nails. Marie was as tough as a three-day-old biscuit. She didn't take a baby step back or even flinch.
"Not to you, but how about the guy?" Marie responded.
"Like you wouldn't, if you had the chance."
"I probably would, but I'm not the one cursing a dead woman."
"She took him!" Janey wailed, dropping back down on the couch. "I could've started a new career."
"As what…"
I deduced from the set of Marie's color-enhanced mouth that she was about to say something vicious. Whatever truth she knew held the promise of Janey self-destructing, and Marie kept in the realm of the unsaid.
She licked her lips and then started a new sentence. "Well, maybe he wasn't satisfied with her. I mean, someone did do her in. And who gained more than Braswell?"
Janey let out a deep sigh and dropped into a chair. "He wouldn't have hurt her."
Marie patted her leg and smiled. "He really did
love Willow."
"It's not that. It's just not in him to kill a person."
Marie shrugged. "So, maybe he couldn't do it personally, but he could have paid someone."
Janey let out a laugh. "Wouldn't that be precious? He uses her money to get someone to kill her." She tugged at the short hem of her skirt. "At least he's available again."
I wondered how Miss Congeniality would feel about Braswell's possible new romantic interest, Gannon.
"If he killed her, Janey, he'll go to jail."
Janey shrugged. "If he confesses to me, I won't go to the police. But more than likely, it was Pauline. You have to admit Braswell's sister gains the most."
"True. Pauline did introduce them, and we know Braswell was always more interested in his little fashion drawings than actual work. I did hear that Pauline will be the true owner of the business."
Janey took a long gulp. "What baby sister wants, she gets. Gets him to dump me and marry Willow. Probably even got big brother to kill so she could run the empire."
Bingo.
* * *
The object of intense gossip was always easy to spot. You just needed to listen for whispers; the more there were, the closer you were getting. I neared the cafeteria and heard the high-pitched voices come to a halt for a moment before resuming, but softer.
I spotted the tall brunette who held everyone's interest. When she went for eye contact, gazes dropped and voices rose in uncomfortable cheerfulness. Pauline, Braswell's sister, was my guess. She walked with a tray loaded down with a sub sandwich, chips, and chocolate cake to a table with only one vacant chair. I sidled over to her and waited.
And waited and waited. She was obviously hungry because she sat down and ate. Not picked, not poked at, but devoured her food.
"How you doing, Pauline?" someone at the table asked.
She nodded and continued chewing.
"I can't believe she's gone. I keep expecting her to walk in that door."
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