southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet (22 page)

Ellis's squad car was parked out front. Behind it, Marshall's blue detective's vehicle sat with the rear door open. The gray-haired officer held on to Melody's shoulder as he deposited her, cuffed, in the back of his car.

This was a nightmare. Even under the glow of the streetlights, I could see how scared she was. I pulled up right along side of them.

"Melody," I called, grateful I remembered to shut the engine off before I dashed around my car.

"Stay back," Marshall ordered, slamming the door on my sister. He held up a hand, as if that could stop me. "Verity, I'm warning you."

"What did she do?" Whatever it was, we could figure this out.

He appeared tired, strained, as if he didn't want this to happen any more than I did. "Get going or I'll arrest you too."

I lit up at the thought. At least then I'd be in the same car with her. We could talk.

Marshall must have guessed where my mind was going. "No," he ordered, as he got in his car and slammed the door.

I watched helplessly as he drove away. What was I supposed to tell my mother? That I'd just watched my sister get arrested? On evidence that my almost-boyfriend brought against her?

Speak of the devil. Deputy Sheriff Wydell himself walked down the darkened stairs of the library, approaching me as though he was facing the firing squad.

"What the hell, Ellis?" I demanded.

He was cold, closed off. I met him halfway up the stairs. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked stiffly.

Yeah, from the guy who had been kissing me in my kitchen not a half hour ago. 

I ticked my chin up. "Usually, I just hear about it through the grapevine when the Wydell men double-cross me. Figured this time I'd come down and watch it happen for myself."

At least I got my reaction. He appeared as if I'd stabbed him in the gut. "Verity, that's not fair."

I knew it wasn't, but I was pissed. "You couldn't give me any warning at all?"

His eyes burned hot. "That's not how it works." He let out an exasperated snort. "How did you find out, anyway? I knew the Sugarland grapevine was good, but this is truly impressive."

"Frankie spied on you."

He let out a curse. 

"Don't be a hypocrite, Ellis. You think it's plenty fine when you're the one who needs information from that ghost."

"You want to know what happened?" he demanded. "I didn't have a choice. I put out a warrant for your sister because when I chased down the shooter, it was her. Or rather, someone driving her car."

I took a step back and almost lost my balance on the stairs. He reached out for me, but I held him off. "You can't think it was her."

"I don't," he said, stepping down to face me. "I refuse to believe that. But it doesn't change the fact that I chased her car with her plates out of the woods tonight. I lost the car when it crossed the railroad tracks and nearly got flattened. It was headed straight into downtown, right here toward the square. I called in the model and the plates and it came back as hers. We put out an ABP and found her and her car at the library."

I stood there, with the outside lights buzzing, struggling to put it all together. "So someone took her car."

"That's the kicker," he said, moving closer. "She says they didn't. She claims her keys were in her purse the entire night."

"Then she's wrong."

He looked as frustrated as I felt. "She was working with my mom and Montgomery Silas all evening. Only Mom and Montgomery were busy rewriting his speech for the evening. Melody could have easily driven off."

Ha. Says Virginia Wydell. "It can't be Melody. Jilted Josephine said the shooter was a man. The casings from the gun are on the top of the hill and Melody doesn't even own a gun!"

"I know," he said quickly.

This was all too much. I stared back at the darkened library, then out over the deserted town square. "Where are they now? Virginia and Montgomery?"

Ellis motioned up the hill, keys in his hand. "They're headed up to the Cannonball in the Wall midnight salute." I could see the lights on the hill overlooking the town. "Ovis wanted him for pre-event pictures, and we both know Montgomery's the star. He gave me his keys and asked me to lock up."

Yikes. I hadn't realized it was the sixteenth, the night we commemorated the October 17 battle by gathering at the original cannon on the hill as the clock changed to 12:01 a.m. "It doesn't even feel that late."

"It's not, but he was anxious to get away. It's a media circus up there and this is his event."

His and Virginia's.

"I need to get into the library again."

"Verity—"

He knew it as well as I did. "The ghosts might have seen something." If he cared for me at all, he'd do this. "You owe me, Ellis."

He ran a hand over his face. "You said yourself they don't keep track of time. They're not going to know when your sister left." He caught himself. "If your sister left."

But I couldn't let go. This was the only plan I had. "I just need to figure out who took her car and why."

Ellis cringed. He wanted to help me. I could tell. "I'm supposed to lock up and help with the questioning."

"I need you," I told him. He'd used a judgment call earlier, and now I was making one. Only his was to follow the rules and mine was to bend them. "I can't do this without you."

"All right," he said through clenched teeth.

His cooperation came from guilt, but I'd take it. "Be fast," he said, as we hurried up the steps of the library. 

"If we get caught, I'll tell them I lost my sweater," I promised.

"I'll tell them I lost my damned mind," Ellis said, twisting his key in the lock.

The doors boomed open. The lobby stood dark, the only light coming from outside. I searched for a switch. "Oh frick. I can't see."

"Hurry," Ellis said, ushering me inside. He flipped the security lights on and closed the door behind us. "I swear this town has eyes."

The foyer appeared eerie in the weak overhead security beams, as did the reading room beyond. There were no Confederates playing poker, no field hospital. I hadn't brought Frankie. I needed him to open my eyes. But if I did that, Maisie would be all alone. 

Beau would have taken off the second he realized I was gone—which wouldn't take long.

I was still deciding what to do when Major Jackson slowly took form right in front of me. "Matthew," I greeted him, surprised. 

He'd removed his officer's coat and appeared as I'd seen him before, in a simple homespun shirt and trousers. He tilted his head shyly. "I walked Miss Josephine home tonight." There was an edge of excitement in his voice. 

"Good for you," I said breathlessly. It still wigged me out that I could see him without help.

 "I really hoped you'd stop by," he said. "Did you bring your copy of
The Vampire Lestat
?"

"Unfortunately, this isn't a social call," I said, glancing at Ellis, who stood near me with a hand on his holster. "Can you…see him?" I asked Ellis.

"No." He cleared his throat. "But it feels cold all of a sudden," he said, his breath coming quickly. It was a start.

"You're much more open to me," Matthew said, clearly meaning it as a compliment. 

"I'm glad," I said. "Listen, I'm hoping you can help. My sister was arrested and I need to know what happened at the library tonight."

He glanced behind him. "I haven't really seen anyone, or anything, tonight."

"Can you show me the other side so I can ask around?" It was a big favor, but we were sort of friends. 

Major Jackson thought for a moment before nodding. "I think I understand what your gangster did. It's highly irregular."

"That sounds like Frankie."

"Brace yourself." He closed his eyes and focused. As he did, I began to see the ghostly room take shape around me. Only this time, it was different. Groans came from the field hospital, only the beds lay empty. I saw no ghostly nurse. No friends playing poker. The lobby lay abandoned. "I've never done this before," Jackson said, his eyes closed, his cheek twitching as he held the connection. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Me neither," I agreed. I didn't see much in the main area of the library, but the door to the coat closet glowed white at the edges. "I think it's working."

"Tell me if it gets to be too much," Jackson said. Sweat formed on his brow. "This is dangerous."

"Then you're doing it the way Frankie would." I heard banging inside the coat closet. Someone let out a loud curse. "Do we know who's in there?" I whispered.

"The surgeon," Jackson said, with a slight shiver. "He doesn't like anyone in his operating room, unless you're on the table."

I remembered. The surgeon had chased Jackson out of the coat closet on the night Darla was murdered. I'd been hoping to talk to him about that. And tonight, he might have seen who took Melody's keys.

Jackson watched me, worried. "Are you still all right? You couldn't even touch me without hurting yourself, and this is much more personal."

"I feel fine," I assured him. The others might call him a beast, but from what I'd heard he only lost control when they harassed him, or when he felt painfully alone. He was neither of those things right now. We'd forged a connection that we both needed, and I knew in my gut that he'd do his best to protect me. "Can you hold the connection steady enough for me to talk to him?" 

He swallowed visibly, the man who'd faced down a poltergeist. "Yes." He focused on the coat closet, on the glowing light beyond. "I will stay here and give you small bits of power. I will not get emotionally involved and I will not hurt you." He said that last part like a vow, as if he had to convince himself. 

"I trust you," I said to the ghost. His eyes widened at that, but I didn't have too much time to think on it. Instead, I watched the old wooden door open wide for me.

Chapter Twenty-One

A
HOLLOW
SCREAM
echoed from the room. I exchanged a glance with Ellis, who stood with his back straight and his hand on his gun holster. He'd seen the door open by itself. Despite the fact that we both
knew
what had done it, he seemed as startled as I was.

"I'll go in there with you," he said, his voice gruff.

"No." I approached the room slowly. He couldn't help with what lay past the darkened doorway. "I'll handle the ghostly threats. You tackle the human ones." I needed him to stay outside and keep watch. They'd arrested the wrong person, which meant Darla's murderer was still out there. I'd do my job much better if I didn't have to worry about the killer sneaking up on me.

A faint silver mist streamed from the room and curled over the floors. It felt cool against my toes. I walked straight into it, letting it flow over my ankles, my shins, my knees. I saw the other side in glowing shades of gray and white, and a flicker of movement inside the claustrophobic room caught my attention. 

I stepped through the open doorway and straight into a pool of blood, thick and almost black. 

Keep it together.

Lanterns blazed in the room, and white light streamed in from small high windows near the ceiling. Below, a heavily bearded man in a butcher's apron and white shirtsleeves wiped down a surgeon's saw. Blood stained his front, his sleeves, and the rag he tossed into the corner with a pile of others.

"Bring in the next patient," he ordered, bracing a hand on the bloody table, his head lowered, as if he craved some small release, a brief respite from the never-ending carnage that was his afterlife.

I cleared my throat. "I'm not a nurse," I said, cringing at the way my voice wavered.

His head whipped up. His expression was pained, his eyes piercing. "Then get out!"

"No," I said, taking a step forward, tripping on an empty coatrack that someone should have at least put away in the corner. "I need to talk with you."

He sneered as I rolled the coatrack to the side. "They use my operating room as a dumping ground. Boxes and coats and garbage!" He shoved at a tall box that stood between him and his surgical instruments, but his hands went straight through it. "How am I supposed to concentrate?" There was an edge of desperation to his voice. I couldn't imagine his life. This. Standing here in a storage closet and being expected to operate, to chop off arms and legs to save lives. I was sick and sorry for all of it.

But I couldn't do anything for him, or his patients. 

I could help Darla, though, so I focused on that. "A woman came in here several nights ago," I told him. "She discovered something in a wooden secretary with a dove on the lid. It had been kept in here." I scanned the boxes stacked against the wall, two more beneath his operating table, and a box full of rolled-up posters blocking the lantern he used to light his table. "Do you remember? It was right before you chased off Major Jackson."

He ran a hand through his hair. His eyes were bloodshot. I wondered when he'd slept last. Probably in 1863. He appeared almost lost for a moment before he shut down hard. "I don't need any damned Yankees in here, and I don't need you."

The front door of the library crashed open with a loud
boom
. 

Cripes. I hurried to the doorway and peered out. Ellis stood guard at one of the long windows by library entrance, his eyes trained on the street. A Confederate infantry soldier entered the lobby behind Ellis. The soldier's muscles strained as he supported the weight of his injured comrade. It was the same two men I'd seen the night I met Jackson.

"The doctor's in here," I called.

The uninjured soldier turned to me. "He took a round ball in the shin." 

I motioned them forward. "Get him on the table." I stepped outside to let the soldiers past. 

"What's going on?" Ellis asked, joining me.

"I'm going to need you in a second," I told him. "Hang tight."

Inside the operating room, they were hoisting the injured man onto the table. "On the count of three," the surgeon ordered, "One, two…" Together, he and the other soldier lifted the injured man.

"Okay." They were settled. "Ellis, we have to get all the junk out of this room."