In the Dead of Night (2 page)

“Do you want me to call ahead to Charlain and tell her we’re going to be late?” said Jackie Holland to Fiona from behind me. “Or, should we try and reschedule?”

One of Fiona’s best friends since childhood, Jackie’s usual gruffness was muted. They grew up together in east Nashville. Her dark brown hair is almost kinky, but it fits well with her eyes. Almond shaped and light blue in color. And her athletic build is heavier than Fiona’s.

A little on the short side, Jackie makes up for it with her commanding, almost abrasive presence. A no-nonsense girl with a dry sense of humor, she has a keen passion about all things paranormal. In fact, she’s the reason Fiona became interested in exploring haunted locales back when they were in high school.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be up for it,” Fiona told her, and then looked back at me. “Unless y’all want to still do it. Jimmy knows how to get there.”

The plainclothes policeman advised that he only had a few more questions for Fiona and then our group could leave. That sounded like an excellent idea, as the coroner had arrived and the red flashing lights from an ambulance announced the dead would soon be leaving Johnny’s house. A “News Channel Five” van pulled up beside the ambulance.

Shit!

I’d always dreamed of being on TV someday, but this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I glanced back at the carnage in the kitchen one last time. Poor Johnny and Brenda. They barely got settled in their latest pad, and now none of their friends could throw them a nice house-warming party. They have, or
had
I suppose, an eclectic set of friends. Gay, straight, democrat, republican, and then...there’s us.

It royally sucks that Johnny will never finish the restoration of this house. He got a great deal on the beige brick one-story he and his gal pal Brenda bought to set up for their West End neighborhood salon. When we walked in the front door, the scent of perm solution overpowered the onset of death. They were just getting a small taste of what could’ve grown into something great. All of this made the scene of what awaited us in the kitchen so much worse, since we had no warning other than the steady dripping from spilled bottles of color, acetate, and of course, blood.

The interrogation finally ended, and Fiona was soon on her way over to me. But my plan to mosey up to her side and comfort her didn’t happen. Jackie and another female in our group, Angela Meyers, beat me to it.

Damn it, Angie!

Jackie’s roommate is strikingly pretty, with long hair that’s platinum blonde. If you ask me, Angie’s beauty seems more ‘made up’ than natural, and we’re all still trying to decide what her real hair color is. But I’d never tell her this. Hell, she might beat me up, or try to incinerate me with her big green eyes. The girl’s incredibly strong, man, so I won’t mess with her, especially when we’re all tense. Not to mention she carries a third-degree black belt in karate.

“Okay, let’s go,” said Fiona between sobs. “I guess we should take the wine with us, since I need a damn drink and soon.”

She motioned to the good luck gift she brought with her, still sitting unopened on the coffee table, which had been ignored by the forensic team. Angie stepped over and picked it up, her eyebrows raised in admiration as she read the Frogs Leap label, which is the vineyard of Fiona’s favorite Merlot.

“Babe, if you don’t feel up to going to the Thompson house, we can postpone tonight’s investigation to some other time,” I suggested.

Really, I thought it was crass to even consider doing anything but mourn with my wife over her loss. And it’s not like the rest of us were strangers to Fiona’s pals. Jackie and Angie were friends of Johnny and Brenda too. The rest of NVP, short for Nash-Vegas Paranormal, had met them and Candi before, even though just in passing for Ms. Starr. I’d gotten to know Johnny a little, and he’d been to our home down in Arrington a few times. I probably would’ve spent time with Candi, too, but the only time she made it to Arrington was on a weekend night when I had to work late. Any other time she and Fiona hung out was either at Candi’s posh home or at other celebrities’ estates in the area.

My wife shook her head sadly, as if unsure what’d be best.

“You and the guys should go on, and we’ll stay with Fiona,” said Jackie, with enough force to encourage us to follow her suggestion. She wrapped her arms around Fiona’s shoulders protectively. Angie gave an over-enthusiastic nod to support Jackie’s ‘directive’.

“That sounds like the best idea,” Tom chimed in, before I could offer another rebuttal.

I turned to look at him and the rest of the guys, and could clearly read the desire to get something productive done tonight. I might’ve resisted more, but since this genuinely seemed to be what Fiona wanted, I nodded my compliance. I knew she’d save the wine until after, but for now she wanted something else upon which to focus.

“Y’all should leave now,” the uniformed policeman advised, stepping over to our group while motioning to the front door. Already, three more news vehicles were crowding the curved driveway.

Flanked by Jackie and Angie, Fiona led the way out. She paused to give me a hug and kiss before we all stepped outside, squinting from camera flashes and the video lamps’ searing brightness.

Chapter Two

Charlain Thompson has few redeeming qualities in my opinion. Attractive at least on the outside, she’s always decked out in high-society apparel. But it’s hard to ignore that cold, self-centered, spoiled little girl who fuels the abrasive, nouveau riche ‘diva’ with which the world must deal. In other words, she comes across as a real bitch.

None of us were pleased tonight when neither Jackie nor Angie came along for the trip back into Nashville’s city limits. Fiona’s pain and need for comfort is more than reason enough. Hell, I’d be there now if she hadn’t insisted on me keeping our appointment with the ‘Dragon Lady’.

By the time we arrived at Ms. Thompson’s 1860s spacious Italianate Victorian overlooking the Cumberland River, we were nearly two hours late that Wednesday evening. At least the oppressive July heat had subsided, though the air was still thick and sticky. Honeysuckle vine, that sweet Tennessee perfume, hung in the air.

Before we’d even stepped out of the van, after parking on the cobblestone circular drive in front of her mansion, she stood waiting for us. Waiting impatiently, I should say, with both hands on her hips, long red nails tapping away. She stood near the edge of the steps that led up to the front door, announcing as usual it was her turf. Lady—and I use that loosely—of the manor.

“Where’s Fiona?” she asked, her snappy tone laced with ice, the hallmark of any woman in need of a good lay, made worse since it’s her. “You were supposed to be here at six-thirty at the latest, and my little ones will be getting ready for bed soon. Don’t even think about bringing your equipment in here tonight!” she finished, pointing toward our van where Tony and Tom had begun unloading.

I just glared at her, wishing I could assault her ears with the grotesque details of our evening up until then. I managed to tune out her lecture, her face pinched by her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. All I really heard from her was ‘wah,wah, wah’ like an adult in a Charlie Brown cartoon. The fabric in her dark gray tailored jacket made a whipping sound as she waved her arm around in exaggerated fashion, her skinny forefinger pointed out like a witch’s wand.

Before Tom went to the trouble of putting everything back inside the van I snapped out of my self-preserving stupor and motioned for him to wait as I worked to apply my charm on our dissatisfied client. I do it every day for a paycheck working as a supervisor for one of the nation’s largest ‘bargain’ wireless providers.

“I am
so
very sorry, Charlain,” I told her, in the most sincere tone I could muster. I closed the passenger door gently before taking a step toward her.

Her menacing finger disappeared into a fist that quickly flew down to her hip, like a gunslinger standing down. She didn’t need to do anything else for me to know I had just a moment to try and fix this situation. So I decided to be blunt.

“Three of Fiona’s dear friends were murdered, and she was the first one to discover their bodies this evening.” There it was...brutal truth. It even caused her face to soften a bit.

That’s always been the problem with me…. I’m sure my wife would’ve cringed and shot me her own evil eye if she’d been witness to the way I addressed Ms. Thompson. Fiona’s way of dealing with delicate matters is to ease her way into figuring out the best way to word it. Though at times, she’ll keep things completely to herself. As for me, I fail to see the need for evasiveness, especially when being honest and laying out the facts can defuse a volatile situation. I’m a complete straight shooter. Always have been and always will be.

Charlain stood in what seemed like shocked silence. Half-expecting her to scoff and deliver another smartass comment, I was pleasantly surprised when she finally managed to speak softly, and with a hint of actual concern.

“You’re not talking about what happened to Candi Starr tonight, are you?”

“Afraid so,” I confirmed, my serious tone hopefully matching an equally solemn look on my face. Her reaction gave me pause to consider she might not have a Grinch-sized heart after all. “We were there to drop off a gift, and then the plan was to come here afterward. Fiona really looked forward to the investigation tonight.”

Her next response was a pensive nod. “Well…it’s still too late to set things up inside,” she said, after releasing a low sigh. “I guess we’ll have to reschedule.”

There wasn’t any real compassion in her tone. No remorse for what happened to three fellow human beings. Plus this negates the hard work already put in by Tom and Tony, especially Tom. I motioned for the guys to wait a moment, as an idea to salvage what we could from tonight came to me.

“We can do that, no problem at all,” I said, turning my attention back to her. “I’ll have Fiona contact you in the next few days, after all the craziness surrounding what happened tonight simmers down some. In the meantime, we could do some work just on the outside of your home, which is part of what we would’ve done this evening anyway.”

“Fine, but keep it to the front yard and watch out for the gardens,” she warned. “I’ll expect a call from your wife by Monday.”

She turned and walked in stiff steps back to the house. Even so, we had achieved a partial victory, though unfortunately one which meant Tom and Tony would have to put the consoles back in the van. We’ll only be using cameras and handheld recorders tonight, along with our standard EMF detectors. The upside is we could be out of here in an hour or so. The only other thing that sucks is the fact Charlain refused to turn off the front security lights. Anomalies are harder to detect unless photographed or caught on video in complete, or near, darkness. I’m not sure why it is, but every ghost hunter we’ve encountered gets their best evidence of paranormal activity in darkened conditions. Only every now and then does someone in the ghost hunting community catch an amazing apparition or anomaly during the day.

“So, are we going in or not?” Tony asked me, as I rejoined the guys who were still waiting at the back of the van.

Tony Perez is a former roadie and longtime friend of mine. He also works in the same call center as me. He loathes it much more than I do, but he’s got bills to pay same as everyone else. Like me, he’s part Cuban, so we hit it off right away. He has very little patience for bullshit and diva bitches messing up his investigative plans.

“Well?!” he demanded, removing his University of Kentucky ball cap and scratching his near-bald head. His beer gut bounced a bit as he took two steps toward me while looking me straight in the eye.

“Nope, man, it ain’t gonna happen tonight,” I told him, returning his serious gaze with my own.

Man, I feel for poor Tony. He’s dripping with sweat and his Red Wings jersey is damp around the neck from exerting himself with the consoles. And as I feared, he didn’t react well to the news.

“That’s just
frigging
great!” he seethed, tossing his well-worn hat to the ground.

Yeah, he’s frustrated, but he didn’t throw it too hard, since the hat and his Red Wings jersey are his unofficial ‘ghost hunting’ uniform Very tacky, yet it’s
so
Tony. Hockey, Kentucky basketball, fishing, and investigating the paranormal are all he really cares about. And that bitch just took out his favorite thing on an already bad night.

Tom shook his head in disgust, obviously thinking this was a wasted trip out here.

“But, and I mean this is a
good
‘but’, Charlain’s gonna allow us to reschedule the inside investigation!” I quickly spouted, hoping to appease them both. “Fiona just needs to call her by next Monday to schedule a time.”

That meant it’d be my job to make certain it happened, and all three guys implored me to stay on her, to insure she didn’t procrastinate. I think they forgot for a moment what we’d witnessed just a couple of hours ago, and the unknown long-term impact from that gruesome experience on Fiona’s psyche. Not to mention a conversation with Charlain in light of our missed appointment would likely be most unpleasant, similar to visiting a dentist to get a painful tooth pulled.

“Man, I heard the way Charlain talked to you just now,” said Justin, grinning while he grabbed his analog camera and a small tape recorder,