“I won’t. I’ll give it my best shot, Richard.”
I didn’t know how, but I knew he was gone. I looked to my left and saw people staring in my direction and saying unkind things about me.
“Daddy, who’s that man talking to? I don’t see anyone,” said a cute little girl with blonde pigtails. She was hugging her father, her blues eyes looking bigger than normal and showing me she was scared.
“He’s talking to himself. That’s just Thanet Blake, the poverty hill peeper with the bad reputation that everybody knows about, Elvira. Don’t be afraid of him. He’s probably harmless, today. He’s always drunk,” said the father as he hurried to button up his suit coat. I suspect he thought his coat would protect him from the alcoholic vapors drifting from me to him by the wind. “Just look the other way and pay no attention to the despicable lush. He belongs in the city’s skid row area with all the other bums. The only case he can finish with any success is a case of alcohol. “
The little lady’s mother was next. She dipped her comment in acid. “What a disgusting sight that man is, being drunk while visiting dead relatives,” said momma, as she gave me a superb long nose sour look she most likely perfected by practicing in the bathroom mirror. An elderly person dressed in faded bib overalls and a crusher hat was with them. I supposed he was the grandfather because there was a family resemblance. He took a long look at me and began laughing. “Maybe I should join him. I sure could use a shot of booze. Hey, Blake, you delightful drunken bastard, how about giving me a swig of your formaldehyde from that hip flask all you private dicks carry? My son and his wife are so disgustingly upper class stiff, they starch their underwear.
I don’t.
Give me a drink. I’m thirsty as hell.”
He shuffled a few steps toward me and stopped when he took a hard look at my face. Every once in a while I get mad—like now. I shouted at them. “I don’t have my hip flask with me and I haven’t had a shot of rye since last night. Mind your own business! Better yet, hire me to air out the,
twisted with corruption,
skeletons in your closets and I’ll charge you double.”
I wandered off still mad until I counted to ten and realized I shouldn’t allow ignorant people to bug me so badly that I crawl down to their gutter level thinking and argue with them.
I went to the main building. People were milling about everywhere. Some were lined up and asking for the locations of family gravestones, others were just milling. Because of the crowd, it took me a few minutes to find Mother. She was standing near a huge coffee pot. It was on a close to collapsing table that was already heaped to capacity with a ton of cookies. I picked up a mug that looked as if it hadn’t been used, poured coffee, and grabbed a hand full of chocolate éclairs from an area that hadn’t been disturbed by somebody’s hand. I’m a sucker for them, particularly their white centers.
As I drank and chomped, I noticed Mother staring intently at me. The stare was the usual one I get when she’s analyzing me. This went on for several minutes, and yes, it makes me squirm. More often than not, she gets too much information from me.
“Well, Sonny, are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Don’t tell me nothing is because your face tells me otherwise.”
I should wear a paper bag on my face when I’m with Mother. Oh, boy. Her tone of voice tells me it is now officially hot seat time, and I’m in it. So what do I say next? Maybe I should just blurt out the truth.
Hey Mother, I’ve been hired by a ghost
. Should I really say that? Sure, why not? The worst thing she could do would be to have her only child, which just happens to be me, committed. So, here goes.
Because there were people all around us, that I felt shouldn’t hear what I was going to say, I moved real close to her and whispered into her left ear. “I’ve taken on a new case.”
Mother turned pale and caught her breath. She whispered in my right ear. “Does it involve murder, Sonny? Please say it doesn’t. Murder cases are so dangerous for you.”
“There’s no danger for me, this time. As for it involving murder, in a way, it does. I think people being killed in a war, is mass murder.”
Mother frowned. “I don’t understand,” she said.
I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “The soldier we saw being buried has hired me.”
Mother actually did a
W.C. Fields
double take before whispering, “Let me smell your breath.”
As I had brushed my teeth in the morning, I figured she wouldn’t suffer through halitosis when I breathed on her. I leaned down to her face and swooshed my breath at her. She sniffed several times before saying, “Well, you haven’t been drinking today, and I don’t smell tobacco, or even a breath mint that you frequently use when you attempt to disguise your usual alcoholic aroma. I wonder, could you be suffering from withdrawal symptoms, seeing and hearing things, trembling all over? Describe what is wrong with you because I know there must be.”
“Believe me, there is nothing wrong with me, outside of the fact that I have a mother giving me the third degree.”
She wrinkled up her nose. She’s a cute lady when she does that. It’s her way of correcting her son’s manners. “Then, Sonny, you’re telling me one of your fibs—a very inappropriate one, under the circumstances.”
“Mother, I’m being on the level with you. Besides, have I ever fibbed to you?”
“Yes, more times than I can count.”
“All right, all right, I have fibbed, but not this time. Look, didn’t you tell me about two weeks ago that two new ladies have joined your tea socials?”
“Yes. Emily Morton and Starla Smith, oh, and Sonny, Miss Starla, notice I said,
Miss
, just happens to be young enough and wild enough for you to date. She’s a gorgeous raven-haired beauty, she’s never been married, and she is presently unattached.”
Mother stopped and frowned before adding, “However, there is an element of danger about her that puzzles me. I can’t put my finger on it. But tell me, what do Emily and Starla have to do with what we’re talking about?”
Mother thinks I should get over Dru and find somebody. “Are you saying what’s her name, Starla is dangerous, and yet, you want me to do the tango with her when you know danger scares me? Now, don’t you start playing Cupid again, Mother. I’m not ready to do any dating. What I’m getting at is what you told me about those two ladies. You said they were two of the city’s well known psychics.”
“Yes they are. What exactly are you getting at, Sonny?”
“Just this…Have they been able to communicate with the dead?”
“They claim so, and the séance we had at one of my socials was very convincing that they can do just that.” Mother sighed. “Is your next sentence what I think you’re going to say?”
“It certainly is, and it goes like this. If they are on the level about what they can do, is it really so strange that I have been hired by a ghost?”
Mother frowned. “Yes, it most certainly is strange.” She looked at me for at least a minute. “All right, Sonny, what does the soldier ghost want you to do, and when?”
“Tonight, after the graveyard is empty, he wants me to meet with his wife. Her name’s Medea. She plans to kill herself. I’m to stop her from doing so. “
Mother said nothing, but I saw tears in her eyes.
Chapter Two
Not all the people who have died for our country are buried in the graveyard Mother and I first visited. Many are in the ones we are now standing in, though much smaller, but kept in excellent condition. The grass has been freshly mowed and the gravestones are cleaned and free of moss. Some of the monuments are several feet tall and appear quite ominous in the dark. The cemetery is busy, full of folks placing flowers on graves and talking. Mother and I were close enough to listen to a sad-faced old guy dressed in blue jeans and a checkered shirt, who had rode up in his car, got out, and was talking to three other people. They were putting flowers on a head stone.
“I sure miss old Spinny. He was one great individual. I stopped visiting him because of that stupid mistake I made. I’m still kicking my ass and wishing that a doctor had sewn my mouth shut an hour before I went to see him on that last damn day. Damn it all to Hell!”
“What mistake did you make, dear? You never have told me why you stopped drinking beer with him, every Saturday night.”
The lady was evidently his wife. She was wearing a flowered dress, a ribbon-shaped United States flag in her gray hair and hugging the sad faced guy with love and devotion on her wrinkled free face. Actually, who else would call him,
dear
?
“Oh, damn, being a history buff, I went and asked him about Pearl Harbor. He was there that day, when Japanese planes attacked.” He paused to clear his throat and take deep breaths before saying, “Spinny got a faraway look in his eyes, as if he began reliving that day all over again. Then, he started to cry. I left his house. That’s why I never visited him again—because of my big mouth and what my words did to him. I wish I could go back in time and change that day.”
Mother was born in Kentucky. Five years ago, she journeyed back to her old Kentucky home and met relatives I didn’t know we had. She was told about the ones who fought in the Civil War. One was named Roger. He fought for the North. The other— Houston, was his name—fought for the South. Roger had some fingers shot off, evidently by a Confederate soldier, and because he could no longer fire a weapon, they decided he should become a cook. He died of dysentery, caused, possibly, by his own cooking.
Houston was captured and hung because of his war activities. It seems he was responsible for ending the lives of many people.
Anyway, when Mother returned from Kentucky, she had gravestones for Roger and Houston put in this graveyard. We decorated them with flowers.
According to Mother, she could trace our family tree further than the Civil war, to the founding fathers on the East Coast during the 1600’s, and even to the battle of Hastings in 1066. Still, I suspect that everyone can claim nearly the same thing. About a dozen feet away, I see a tombstone that is not only badly worn, it also has moss growing on it, which is strange, considering the neat condition of all the other gravestones within my eyesight. Curiosity makes me walk to it. Looking closely, I notice it still has a few readable letters showing through the moss.
C-O-R-R-E-G—Corregidor!
Excitement smacked my gut. I got down on my knees and began scraping away the moss with my hands, looking for a name. Slowly, one came into view.
Marie Jo
. More scraping and I saw another word.
Nurse…
and finally,
WW II…
I stood up. Yeah, my tears started flowing. I started to hear whispering in my right ear, telling me that I was supposed to find this gravestone and to know that a World War Two nurse named Marie was laid to rest here, and to make her place presentable for others to see and to decorate.
I don’t know a great deal about the battle of Corregidor. I know nurses were there, along with a lot of service guys. I know the Japanese took Corregidor during that war.
Marie Jo.
Was she killed during that battle, and later somebody found her remains and brought her back to the states? Or did she come home and die of old age, or what? I knew, without actually meeting her, or even knowing about her, that she was extremely brave and courageous—a heroine that should always be remembered.
I made her gravestone neat and legible without using the tools in my car’s trunk, stood up, left a few flowers, and said, “Rest easy, Marie Jo. You deserve everything heaven can give you.”
I wiped my eyes and walked to where Mother was talking to a group of people that turned out to be a few members of her social group.
Yeah, you guessed it, and probably, before I did. I saw a raven-haired beauty staring in my direction as she was talking to Mother. If her name isn’t Starla, I’ll give you a dollar, which is all the money I have in my wallet. Ah, yes, her smile was friendly and luscious looking, her dark brown eyes compellingly sending out invitations to me. Maybe I should melt into the ground. Mother, no doubt, set this meeting up. How she managed to do it, I’ll never know because she’ll give me an innocent look and say her usual thing,
Why, whatever are you talking about, Sonny
?
“Sonny, I’d like you to meet Starla. Starla this is Thanet, my private detective son.”
Starla came real close to me. Her scent and body heat entered my nostrils and swarmed around in my soul. Swarmed around, like hell! She came damn close to incinerating my soul! I have to admit her being close enough to rub my clothing with her body was great—sensational, fireworks exploding all over me and the whole damn Thanet Blake universe! Wow, did she ever do some arousing where arousing shouldn’t be happening at the moment.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Thanet. Your mother has told me many things about you.”
How do you interpret that? Her voice was a soft whisper—a quiet symphony you wanted never to stop hearing. Good Lord was I ever in trouble! Mother, I’m going to get you for this. I looked at my wedding ring for marital strength and managed to speak in a voice that struggled to sound hardboiled.
“I’ve also heard a sentence or two about you. I understand you’re quite psychic.”
“Yes, that’s why a few of us are here today. We’re trying to see if we can sense some spirit activity in this graveyard.”
Her warm compelling breath on my lips tasted of mint. “You and I should have a séance together, and most certainly all alone and away from everybody, and all interruptions. And please do not be offended when I say we might even contact your wife.”
I wasn’t offended. A little guy in my mind was. He shouted at me, using my voice,
Not a chance, Starla, not with you or anybody. If that’s possible, I’ll do it myself
.
Good Lord, was I going around the bend—somebody talking to me, and using my voice? It won’t be long now, Thanet. The boys with the straitjacket will be looking for you.
Trembling like the proverbial leaf in a windstorm, I looked over Starla’s left shoulder and stared at Mother, using my high sign look for,
help me out of this mess
. She caught my expression, cleared her throat, and said, “Now, that you two have met, perhaps you might see each other once in a while, or maybe even quite often. Right now, however, it’s time for Sonny to take me to the next graveyard. Starla, stir up the spirits and tell us all about it during our next social. I’ll see that my son joins us.”