southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet (20 page)

Him and me both. "We did good tonight," I said, trying to focus on the positive as I started the car. "We learned where the initial shots came from. Ellis can look there for shell casings. We learned the shooter is a man. I didn't get buried in an unmarked grave in the woods."

Frankie glanced down to the empty space where his lap should be. "Yeah, well, I'm missing some important parts you can't see."

Oh my. I put the car into gear and started down the driveway. "Give it time. Everything will come back." It always had.

The gangster ignored me. "This is a sacrifice no man should have to make."

"Just rest up," I said, preparing myself for the sizzle as we headed down the driveway that led off Maisie's property. Soon, we'd be disconnected and he could recover. I'd make sure of it. And after that? Well, one step at a time.

***

When I returned to the house, I found Maisie's rusted pickup truck parked out back and her sitting on my porch steps, talking to a blonde woman wearing tight-fitting jeans and a peasant top. The yellow light near my door gave off a warm glow.

They were both petting Lucy, who lay in Maisie's lap with her belly up. That critter could charm just about anyone. 

The unfamiliar woman stood as I closed my car door. "You must be Verity," she said, closing the distance between us. "I knew you'd be here soon."

"That's 'cause I told you," Maisie said, ruffling the underside of Lucy's neck. The skunk arched her back and stretched out all four legs, overcome with bliss.

"Avery Connor," she said, holding out a hand. "Lauralee told me you need a psychic."

"And you're it?" I asked. As soon as the words came out, I worried they sounded rude. It's just that Avery wasn't what I was expecting. She was young, perky. She looked more like the waitress she was than the psychic she claimed to be.

Frankie straightened a bit and if I wasn't mistaken, he actually sucked in his stomach. "Nice stems," he said, checking her out.

If she noticed the reception she was getting, she ignored it. "I was going to call, but I'm working at the diner the next three days straight. I only had today off because I had a speaking part in the movie."

"You got me a psychic who's also a waitress
and
an actress?" Frankie asked, gliding backward, clearly impressed with her range of talent. 

"Congratulations," I told her.

 She shrugged. "The part was small. And Virginia cut me when she found out my third cousin was a Jackson." She held up her fingers and did a mock Virginia impression. "We wouldn't want to make this a star vehicle for the wrong family," she intoned.

A fellow sufferer. "I can relate."

"Show her my urn," Frankie pressed.

"In a minute," I muttered.

Avery's silver earrings gleamed in the moonlight. "Lauralee showed me some of your work, so if you can do a logo for me…" she began.

"That sounds great," I said, relieved I could actually afford her. 

Meanwhile, Maisie had come within eavesdropping distance as she stroked my blissed-out skunk.

"Why don't you head on into the house?" I asked the older woman. "Maybe treat Lucy to a banana."

"And miss this?" Maisie huffed. "Not on your life."

Great. Fine. Maybe I could get Maisie some proof and unground Frankie at the same time. 

Avery closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then another. "This is going to sound wild, but I think you have a ghost near you right now."

"Hallelujah!" Frankie shouted, loud enough to wake the dead. "She's both pretty and smart."

She gave no reaction. Her eyes remained closed. "It gives off a strong feminine energy."

"Wait. What?" Frankie asked.

"And she's weeping," Avery continued.

"I don't cry," Frankie protested. "Ever."

"Maybe she's talking about someone else," I suggested.

"I'm the only one here," he said, holding out his hands.

"She's trapped here," Avery said, dismayed, "like a weak, fluttering bird."

"Poor birdie," I said, for Frankie's benefit. Then for mine: "Do you know how we can free this weeping, fluttery, girlie presence?" I asked the psychic.

Avery concentrated for a moment. "The sweet little spirit must do this on her own," she murmured.

I grinned at Frankie's expression of horror. 

He pointed a finger at me. "Don't even think you're getting out of this."

"All right, sweetheart," I told him.

Frankie looked ready to blow a gasket. "You think this is funny?" he demanded, throwing his arms out to the side. 

Fluttering, I daresay? 

"How can the spirit do this?" I asked the psychic, as he stared daggers at her and began muttering in German.

She stiffened. "It's not your journey, Verity," she said, opening her eyes. "The ghost has to solve her problem on her own."

"Even if I helped cause it?" I asked. I didn't want the story getting out about this, but if it would help Frankie… "You see, I had this urn which I though was a vase…"

"Doesn't matter how you found your ghost," she stated. "This is a lesson for the spirit to find her way."

"You are rather good at solving mysteries," I said to Frankie.

"Shut up," he grumbled back.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" I asked Avery.

She paused for a moment. "Yes." She pressed her fingers to her temples. "Patience. You're going to need plenty of patience with this one."

Well, you didn't need to be a psychic to see that.

Chapter Eighteen

"S
O
WHAT
DO
we do now?" Frankie demanded.

I stood for a moment, unsure. "She said it's up to you. Do you get any stirrings or ideas?"

The gangster opened his suit jacket and caressed the handle of his revolver. "You don't wanna know what I got an itch to do."

"Well, you're too late. Avery is probably home by now."

"What makes you think I mean her?" Frankie mused.

Very funny.

Maisie had also retreated to the house, convinced I was the colorful one.

"She knew you were standing right here," I told him. "I think she does have some talent, so we should listen to her idea. It can't hurt to try."

He yanked off his hat and drew a hand through his hair. "This is all balled up."

"What's your first instinct?" I prodded. "Tell me what you would do, right now, to fix this."

He thrust his chin back and forward a few times, really thinking. "I'd get my ashes together."

"Good," I said. "How?"

"I'd take everything you dug up, including the dirt, and I'd put it in one spot that could hold all of it. Something I could take inside and keep."

"Okay," I said, going with it. "We can get everything out of the pool and we'll hold on to it." In fact… I had an idea. "Wait here." 

I had a black plastic trash can on the side of the house that I used for yard clippings and sticks. It even had a big caved-in spot at the bottom, kind of like the dent in Frankie's urn, which should make the gangster feel right at home. I ran back and emptied it out on to the ground. "Look at this," I said, hoping Frankie would understand the appeal.

"I'm not garbage," he said, as I dragged the trash can back to our science experiment.

"Don't be so picky." I turned it upright so he could appreciate it. "This is clean and it's big enough to hold everything."

Frankie stared at it for a moment. He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought it over. "I don't mind the color…" he mused. "I tell you, it don't feel half bad."

"Okay," I said, starting to feel pretty good about it. "I like this, going with your gut." I grabbed the shovel. "We're going to put all of you in one spot."

"With my urn in there," he said, getting excited. "And that fat rosebush."

I stopped. "That's my favorite rosebush." I backed down at his zealous glare. "Got it. Urn, dirt, trash can, rosebush. It'll look great in my parlor."

"You missed a spot," Frankie corrected as I shoveled dirt.

We kept at it until the trash can was almost too heavy to drag. At that point, I went to recruit Maisie, but she had fallen asleep on my futon. So I dragged the trash can into my kitchen and set it up there, transferring the rest of the dirt by Tupperware container, along with my humongous red rosebush, until we had a shrine to Frankie next to my kitchen island. 

"It looks good," he said, as I eased his urn into the dirt at the base of the rosebush. "Don't get any dirt in the urn or we'll screw up the ashes."

True. We didn't have many ashes left. I kept the urn upright and dug it down until about half of it disappeared into the dirt. But the top remained open and you could still see the hideous artwork on the side. 

"Do you feel any different?" I asked, dusting off my hands over the pile of dirt.

"Not yet," he said, easing down onto my kitchen island, his attention lingering on the trash can, waiting.

"I'm going to go check on Maisie," I said, forcing my stiff body to move. I felt like I'd been gardening all night.

Maisie lay snoring on my futon in the parlor, her shotgun nestled nearby, along with an old camping lantern, turned down low. I was not all that surprised to see her cuddled up with my skunk. Not many people warmed up to Lucy so fast. Then again, I supposed the little critter had a head start with Maisie. There wasn't that much of a difference between a skunk and a baby bunny.

Lucy stirred when I approached, the white stripe on her head twitching as she tried to bury her nose deeper into the crook of the old woman's arm.

She knew who had been petting her, and who had been hanging out with ghosts instead.

"Good girl." I stroked her soft little head. "You two take care of each other."

Lucy jerked to attention, and a second later I heard what had earned her notice. A car crunched over the gravel driveway at the back of the house.

"Stay here," I said as she wriggled out of Maisie's grip and followed me. The older woman sighed and rolled onto her back, letting out a loud snore. 

I took my cell phone from my bag and stuffed it into my pocket as I peeked behind the edge of my kitchen curtain. 

Ellis was just cutting the lights to his police cruiser. Thank God and hallelujah. 

Lucy and I headed out onto the porch. I rushed down the steps to greet him as he exited the car. "You're okay!" I said, throwing my arms around his neck.

"Oof," he protested as he caught me, but he didn't move away. "Your neighbors might see," he said glancing behind him.

"The backyard is large," I told him. And dark. And if I did have a crazy neighbor with binoculars and a Peeping Tom attitude, he or she would have seen much stranger happenings than me hugging a Wydell. "How are you?" 

He looked tired, rumpled. Gorgeous.

"It was a hell of a chase," he said. One arm wound around me; the other touched the curve of my neck. "You're pretty scraped up."

"I am?" I suspected most of it was from digging out a thorny rosebush. Although my knees probably looked pretty bad after falling into that grave. It had been a busy night.

He ran his fingers over my bare skin and I felt it down to my toes. "I'm sorry I wasn't there with you."

The police radio crackled from inside the car:
Confirmed location of suspect.
 

It was Marshall's voice. 

Ellis closed the door. "Let's go inside for a minute."

"What was that?" I asked, glancing back at my darkened backyard as we headed into the house. From the sound of it, he was still in the middle of a manhunt. "You found the shooter? Who is it? And why are you here instead of arresting him?" 

"Give me a second."

Ellis and I entered the kitchen silently. "Maisie's asleep," I whispered.

"She could sleep through the Normandy invasion." He stopped when he saw the trash can rosebush. "What is this?" 

"We're trying to unground Frankie." The gangster still sat on my kitchen island, gazing at our trash can monstrosity as if it were a museum display.

Ellis's gaze caught on the urn sticking out of the dirt. "Is it working?"

"Not yet," I said, watching the gangster roll his eyes at me as he disappeared.  

Ellis turned to me, suddenly uncomfortable. 

"I can't stay," he said, "I just came because…" He stood in front of me, somehow at a loss for words. "I needed to see you, make sure you made it home safe." He sighed. "What you heard on the radio… I was able to ID the car I pursued."

Fantastic. "And?"

He dipped his chin. "I can't tell you any more."

"Then why are you here?" I asked, my words coming out harsher than I intended. I touched him on the shoulder and felt him stiffen. Something was wrong. I knew that slant of his mouth, the regret in his eyes. "Ellis? I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

He appeared torn, and I positively ached for him. If he'd just learned it was his mother, or even one of his brothers… I wanted to help.

"I'm sorry too, Verity. I've got to go in to work." He touched my cheek. "I just wanted to stop by to let you know…you're going to be okay."

"Of course I am," I assured him. He worried too much. "Is there anything you
can
tell me?"

"Just that we'll get through this," he said, drawing close. He brushed a kiss over my lips. 

It was brief. Simple. It also gave me warm fuzzies and butterflies and it scared me to death. 

"Now I'm really worried," I said, enjoying the warmth of his skin. "The only other time you kissed me, you thought we were dying."

He played with a lock of my hair that had curled near my neck. "We're not dying," he promised.

"No?" I teased.

He kissed me again, just as sweet and sexy as before, the way every girl wanted to be kissed. I found myself positively lost in it until I heard a pounding at my front door.

"Verity," a harsh voice demanded.

Beau.

Ellis pulled away as if one of us were on fire. "What's my brother doing here?"

"I don't know," I said, heading for the front door, "but he's about to wake up Maisie and get a shotgun pointed between his eyes." Not that he didn't deserve it.