Dying For Redemption

by C. A. Freeburn

  "Uncle Callous, everything's okay." Abby stood between Denver and the wooden door. "Denver didn't do anything."

  I let out a disgruntled snort. "Except shoot me. Several times. In the back"

  Abby grimaced. "Well, besides that."

  My eyebrows rose at her comment. There was a besides to that? Obviously, an interesting conversation had taken place in my office, a place off limits to Denver. He knew better and never before had crossed our unspoken boundaries. Wait. My eyes narrowed in suspicion. Was Abby up to something? Did she arrange the little powwow? I was happy to know she was a confident sort, but even a girl scout with a slew of badges couldn't put out a three-alarm fire with a bucket of water. And Denver was exactly that. Abby was getting in over her head, and the worst part was she didn't believe the water could ever reach that high.

  "Abigail, have you uncovered anything on the angle you were working on?" Willow asked, turning the conversation away from the dangerous ground.

  Abby's eyes drifted downward. "Not yet."

  Denver unclamped my hands from his shoulders and dusted off his shirt. "Maybe it's what you did, and not what was done to you, that has you stuck here."

  Willow eyed him like a preacher readying to call down a hail of brimstone. "How about you talk about what you did? My life is no concern of yours."

  "True." Denver tipped his hat toward my grandniece, winked, and then ambled out of the office. "Appreciate your time, Abigail." He knocked on Ann's desk as he walked past and flashed a grin at her.

  She flashed him the middle finger.

  I concluded that he intended to spend more time with my grandniece. If he knew what was good for him, he wouldn't. And if Abby knew what was good for her, she wouldn't permit him to come back.

  Willow's angry gaze followed Denver out of my office. "What the hell does he know?"

  "How to aggravate a soul." I draped my arm around Willow. "Pay him no mind. That's his job here. Well, it's what he made his job to be. Disgust other souls in Limbo so bad that they make a mistake and go to Hell."

  "Has it worked?" Willow asked.

  Abby looked at us, interest clearly written on her features.

  "Actually, not yet."

  Willow let out a sigh. "I guess I need to do some more thinking while Abby is digging around."

  "You don't happen to be worried about your cat?"

  "Cat?" she asked.

  "Yeah, that creature in your house. I believe its name is…" I cleared my throat and closed my eyes. I couldn't believe I had to say it. "Baby."

  Willow laughed. "That's Braswell's cat. I considered it an intruder that left fur all over. I would've gotten rid of it, but he's so very fond of the animal. I think I'll go and explore Limbo some more."

  "I'm game." Ann skipped into the room and hooked her arm through Willow's. "I know a fantastic place. Great drinks. Great music. Great seafood. The best-looking men."

  Willow grinned. "Show me the way."

  Giggling like school girls, the two sashayed out of the office.

  "Not going with them?" I asked Abby, tossing my hat onto the rack in the corner of the room.

  "I wasn't really invited." She leaned against the doorframe. "Not that I'm interested in looking for men, and I'm allergic to fish."

  "You're in limbo, Duckie. All the limitations of living are gone." I sat in my chair, leaned back and placed my feet on the desk. "Of course, everything tastes like nothing, but it's the thought that counts here."

  Tears glittered in her eyes. She swiped a trickle from her cheek and broke eye contact.

  "What were you and Denver talking about?" I asked. "Looked intense."

  "My death." She spoke to the floor.

  "Care to elaborate?" I lowered my feet to the ground.

  She exhaled. "I think my death is tied to a report I was working on."

  "Can you fill me in?" I walked over to my grandniece and draped an arm around her shoulders. She moved away from the comfort I offered. She wanted to hide it from me. "What's wrong, Abby?"

  She gave me a false grin. "Nothing's wrong. Everything is just… peachy." She broadened her sickly grin.

  Did she think I was that bad of a detective? I stared hard at her, shaking my head in exasperation. I couldn't pinpoint the reason for the lie but, dead or alive, I could spot one. I moved back to my desk, willing to play the game with Abby. There was another person to force the truth from, and I'd rather the showdown take place between Denver and me, rather than Abby and me.

  "I said nothing was wrong, Uncle Callous."

  "Have a guilty conscience? 'Cause I haven't asked anything."

  "Well," she hedged, "you asked earlier."

  "And you said no, and Denver said no. End. Finish. Caput. On to bigger issues and mysteries that need solving."

  "You think I'm lying." She crossed her arms and glared at me, looking like an exact replica of Laura, her mother, at three, pouting when she wanted to come 'vesticake with her Uncle Callous.

  I let out a deep frustrated sigh and sank into my chair. "Abigail, I believe you," I stretched the truth, "but it seems to me that someone in this conversation needs to have some convincing done in their soul and mind."

  "Yeah, right." She turned away. "I can sure hear the confidence in your words. If you ain't buying, you should just say so."

  "No doubt about that. But if I need it and don't have the money for it, I can't help still coming back and picking it up." I thumped two pencils on the desk. "One needs to keep evaluating and making the decision on what their pay should be going for. Eventually, you get to the time where you can afford it."

  "So, what are we going to be doing next?" Abby asked, using the fine art of switching the subject. "Willow is getting really antsy and unhappy about being in Limbo."

  "True, and that's not a good phase to be in." I changed the beat of my pencil-drumming, something more mellow than frantic. "I think her current state of unhappiness stems from the truth starting to point in a direction that she doesn't want it to."

  "Is her husband close to being implicated in her murder?"

  "No. It's actually starting to feel like her husband wasn't involved in her death." I bounced one pencil off the desk, aiming at the holder. Missed. "I thought we had figured out that the need for revenge was what kept her here. Wrong."

  "You can do that?" Abby's brows drew down over her eyes. Concern, revulsion, and a little bit of interest sparked in her brown gaze. "Take revenge on people?"

  Take a note: Tread carefully, Callous.

  "Sure. But your motivations better be to improve the life of the living instead of harming it. Ghosts that hurt the living, intentional or unintentional, find themselves roaming eternity without the hope of peace and rest."

  "Is that what you do to get answers?" More tears rushed into Abby's eyes. Poor kid looked terrified.

  "I don't do hauntings. Well, not that many. I shake up people on occasion, get them to see the evil of their ways, but I don't push them over any ledges. Figuratively or literally." I squinted and lined up the next pencil. Nice hard bounce. Missed again.

  "How do you help the recently…?"

  "Murdered? I listen to the newly departed, and then listen to those that were around them. Help them retrace their steps. Take all the pieces no one is sharing with the cops and find a way to drop that information onto their desks. What did your investigation reveal today, Abby?"

  Her expression clouded, and she appeared to be searching through the data in her head to separate what she wanted to tell me from what she wanted to keep a secret. I wouldn't push, as I had just given my word that I trusted her. I hoped whatever she kept under lock and key didn't spring open to hurt her.

  "There's a lot." She picked up a pencil from the floor and placed it on the desk. "You're going to want to take notes."

  I took out my black notebook and opened it the section I dedicated to Abby.

  "Okay, sweetie, fire away." Since we were relatives, my term of endearment was appropriate.

&nbs
p; "Well, I didn't investigate Willow's case very much."

  I pondered for a moment on how to respond. I had guessed that after overhearing a few syllables of her conversation with Denver. Also, it wasn't in Denver's makeup to get involved in another spirit's problem. Denver had enough of his own to manage. I sensed Abby needed my help but didn't want it. "It's easy to get sidetracked. You're still struggling to understand your own death."

  She twisted her fingers together. "I don't want to upset you."

  "Nothing could upset me more than your death."

  She blinked and tilted her head to one side. "Really?"

  I smiled. "Really."

  "Before I died, I was working on a paper for my criminal justice class. I finished the draft but still had some research to complete. Those notes and materials are gone. Someone took them." She chewed on her lip.

  "Maybe Rich or your parents put them somewhere."

  "My family didn't know what I was working on. And, I asked Rich, but he doesn't know what happened to them." Tears gushed from her eyes. "He got mad when I asked."

  I refrained from beating my head on the desk. She went back to Rich after I had warned her to stay away. I leaned back in my chair and put my feet on my desk, my legs becoming my desktop when I placed the notebook on them. "Abby, Rich is grieving too hard for you to see him. Let me talk with him."

  "But Uncle—"

  I held up my hand. "No arguing on this point. This will not turn out good for you or him. You're going to move from the between soon. You need to start making the break now. It's better for both of you."

  Her eyes drifted to the ground. She entwined her fingers together and clutched her fists in her lap. This was uncomfortable for her and, from the sad and worried look clouding her eyes, it would be the same for me.

  "I know there's a reason you don't want to. You're trying to keep a detail from me." I lowered my legs to the floor and scooted my chair around the desk. "Let me know. Let me help you. And Rich. Eventually, they'll accuse of him of the crime."

  Her head snapped up, eyes growing wide.

  "Your grandmother won't accept another unsolved murder in the family." I took her hands in mine. "She'll push the police, and they'll start tightening the screws on Rich. It's the way it works."

  "We had to pick an unsolved murder case and show the mistakes made in the investigation."

  I felt a deep stabbing pain in my chest. I really didn't need to ask, as I could read the answer in her eyes and her posture.

  "Yours."

  I killed my niece. I caused the murder of my beloved sister's grandbaby. I leaned forward, burying my face in my hands. If I had kept digging into my own death and received all the answers, then Abby would still be alive. The black mark my death had put on the family history would've been erased.

  If Jenny would've believed that her beloved Joe had helped Denver kill me. Joe knew where I was going to be working that night when I dropped off Laura. A casual conversation he repeated, along with my musings on the case, had set my death in motion.

  Being content in Limbo had allowed me to keep the truth buried, a truth that had remained hidden so long it troubled my grandniece. She gave up her life in hope of justice being served for me.

  Why hadn't she realized it didn't matter? I was dead. The dead didn't come back.

  In my mind, I saw the title on the office door, Working Shadow, Inc., and what had become my mission over the last fifty years—to help the recently murdered release the torment in their souls by finding answers. It did matter. Wasn't that what my whole afterlife was built on? The question swirled around me, through the air, and into my soul.

  Abby swiped at the tears streaming down her face like a flood current.

  It did matter. It always had.

  "You parents didn't know? Your grandma?"

  "They never wanted to talk about it." Abigail allowed a smile to develop. "Grandma always talked about you, so did my mom and Uncle Todd. They told me all the stories about what you did, what you were like growing up, and the uncle you had been. But they never talked about how you died. The word 'murder' hurt too much." Her smile vanished. "And now I did the same thing to them. Another death they won't be able to talk about."

  I pushed myself out of my chair and walked over to Abby. I knelt beside her chair and placed my hand under her chin, lifting it up so we could talk eye to eye. "It isn't the ending that's important in life, nor is it really about the beginning. The most important part is the middle, all the choices we make between birth and death." When did I get so philosophical and good at wording it?

  She raised her head to break our contact and looked at a spot above me. "I'll be damned. My greatest accomplishment is screwing up the middle so bad I got myself killed."

  "Naw, you're not damned, just troubled. It happens to everyone when they first die."

  "If you're in Hell, wouldn't that pretty much be saying you're damned?" She couldn't stop a cheeky grin from erupting.

  I chuckled, happy to see her spunk again. "You got me on that point. Hell does equal damned."

  We both paused for a bit to allow the tone to return to seriousness.

  "There's a good chance that our deaths are linked," I said.

  "I agree. But who would still have such a strong connection to the case fifty-five years later that they'd kill again to keep the truth hidden?"

  "The stigma of being a participant in a murder never lessens, Abby. It could always do damage to the living."

  She thought about that for a moment. "So, we should operate on the assumption that the murderer, or at least the instigator of your death, is still alive."

  I moved that theory around in my mind. If the culprit were dead would it matter to his family that much to have his name added to my long-buried murder case? And, would it bother them so much that they would want to have a murder investigation opened up for Abigail Harris? It could… if their good name and reputation depended on the deceased party.

  "Who knew about your project? Did anyone have an idea of the direction your investigation was taking?"

  "My hypothetical solutions were part of my thesis. I had to turn that portion in as part of my outline and draft. That included the points and theories I would be trying to prove, and the conclusion I was working toward."

  I nodded. She didn't need me to ask. Abby knew the information I needed next.

  "My professor. Peter Harding."

  "Name sounds kind of familiar but doesn't make a light bulb appear."

  "His uncle is now the dean, and he was one of Stephanie Johan's professors. But I don't know how that fits in."

  "Step one for this investigation is to find out how to connect the dots."

  Abby rose and started to pace around the room. "We need to figure out what kind of picture we're trying to make. All these years and still no hint on what happened to the missing coed or the money that was stolen around that same time."

  "Stephanie Johan." I frowned. "When I first got here, I looked for her. I asked around, but nobody ever recalled seeing her here."

  "Maybe she didn't have anything needing to be answered. She could've been at peace when she died, having seen her killer and not have anything else bothering her."

  "Or she could still be alive."

  Abby gaped at me. "What?"

  I plucked my hat from the rack and placed it on my head. "Never thought of that before. But it's a possibility. What if the letter she wrote wasn't forged? What if Stephanie Johan did set out to disappear from her life in order to start another?"

  Abby followed me out of my office. "But why?"

  I held open the front door. "That's the soul-quieting question."

  "Money. Stephanie. Professor Harding. There are two of us and three areas to investigate. How should we break this down?"

  I smiled. "We number more than two."

  Abby grinned. "Ann."

  "Tim."

  "Who's Tim?"

  "My connection on Earth. Professors don't tend to believe that
ghosts exist, and that makes it hard to interview them. But they believe lawyers exist."

  Abby looked worried. I raised my eyebrows to let her know I was waiting for her question.

  "Won't we be putting him in danger?" she asked.

  "No, I'll monitor the situation and, if needed, I can drop a book, a chair, or a chandelier on someone."

  "I should—"

  "Go for the money. I'll handle the professor and the coed."

  "What if Tim doesn't want to help? I mean, two people have already died trying to solve this case."

  She had a point. I studied her for a moment. It was time for an introduction, let Tim see who he was fighting for. A guy was always willing to move Heaven and Earth to help out a beautiful damsel in distress—even if she was a ghost.

  I linked my arm through Abby's. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  "You're a lawyer. Lie."

  The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth my posterior.

  Tim spouted some clever words of wisdom to the client in his office. While some might call it 'sharing knowledge,' I called it 'helping the guilty cover up a mistake to avoid consequences for their poor actions.' But, no one made me judge and jury, so I remained in breeze form along with Abby. Best to wait until the meeting finished before we presented ourselves to Tim.

  I heard Abby sigh impatiently. Tim scanned the room, pressing back a frown.

  "If you have any further questions, please give me a call." Tim stood and shook hands with the man in front of him.

  "You're sure this will work?" the man asked.

  "Positive." Tim led him to the door.

  The look on the man's face told me he knew he was being rushed out and wasn't quite happy about the turn of events.

  "It's best we keep our meeting short." Tim opened the office door. "I know your wife's lawyer has been keeping tabs on you. If he thinks the meetings you're having with your attorney are in and out, he won't suspect anything. We'll broadside them during court."

  The man grinned. "Great strategy. Next week. Same time."

  "Get my secretary to put it on the calendar." Tim shut the door and pushed on it to make sure it shut all the way. "You can come out now."