Audrey Claire - Libby Grace 02 - How to Blackmail a Ghost (7 page)

“I have found sustenance, but it will never replace my loss,” Ian said. “You are special. If it is just your blood, it is still true.”

I spun away and headed for the door. “So you’re not my friend. I get it.”

“I did not say that.”

I winked out of his house, but on entering my own, I heard his voice as if I had never left his presence.
“I cannot drink from you, but I am still with you. As long as you want me to be.”

* * * *

“I need a ten inch earth auger bit,” Bart said, approaching my counter. “Do you have any in stock?”

I blinked at him. What in the world was an auger? “Um…” I had been compiling a book with inventory and short explanations of what the items were that I didn’t recognize. I was still in the As. “Is that
o-g
—”

“
A-u,”
he corrected. “You don’t even know what it is. How can you work in this store?”

I straightened. “I’ve been doing just fine so far.”

“Because everyone pretty much knows what they need.”

“What is your problem, Bart?” I demanded. “Did I do something to offend you?”

He seemed taken aback, and the scowl disappeared from his face. “Sorry, no. I just have a few things on my mind. If you don’t have the bit, maybe you can order it with your discount.”

“Sure.” I brightened and slid a sheet of paper toward him. “If you’ll write down all the details here, I’ll order it tonight and let you know when it comes in. Meanwhile, I’ll check my inventory just in case I already have one.”

He grudgingly obliged and muttered his thanks.

“I appreciate your patience during my learning curve. If there’s anything else?”

“No.” He scratched his head and glanced around the store. “I’ll just check the aisles while I’m here.”

“Okay, take your time.”

That was how my day went, trying my best to help the few customers who entered the shop. I was proud of myself that I knew which aisle contained the hammers and nails and which vendor could get me a delivery of showerheads in a decent amount of time. Derision at my lack of knowledge didn’t end with Bart, unfortunately. Many of the men in town assumed I knew nothing and pointed it out frequently. A couple informed me they would be speaking with the mayor about my incompetence.

“Well, good luck!” I had snapped at the last customer when he threatened me as well. Olivia Walsh had at first said she would hire someone who knew more about the hardware business when she hired me if I couldn’t handle it. Later, in a moment of weakness, she had said she didn’t want to be reminded of George, so I could do what I wanted. The flash of sadness in her eyes confirmed to me if no one else that she had loved her husband despite their problems. I felt sorry for her loss.

Days passed slowly with no break in the Sadie Barnett case. I could find no clues, and the few times I had run into Clark, he had nothing to add as well. Then again, I wasn’t sure if he was unwilling to share with me if he was not dating me. I considered visiting his office invisible but hadn’t made myself do it yet.

I had heard no more from the person who sent me the letter. That made me happy, and I had begun to breathe easier. I even completed my inventory book between customers since few people visited the store. I could with confidence look up the name of any gadget and tell the person what aisle they would find it, or if I had more in the back. My happy glow buzzed brightly as I did just that and flipped through my book. Then instead of my neat handwriting—because I couldn’t use a computer or a typewriter—I was presented with a letter, written in a now familiar box style.

I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE, LIBBY GRACE. CONFESS TO KILLING SADIE BARNETT OR I WILL TELL EVERYONE YOUR SECRET.

Had I any blood coursing through my veins, it would have run cold. I shivered and looked up at the elderly gentleman before me. He blinked back in total innocence, waiting for me to tell him where he could find the picture hanging kits. With his gnarled fingers, I doubted he had the ability to use a hammer and nails. I struggled to gather my thoughts as fear clouded out everything.

“Strips. That way,” I said, pointing.

He thanked me without another question, thank goodness, and turned toward the direction I indicated. I glanced back at the letter, and seeing it again made me dizzy. I wanted to snap the book closed and never open it again. However, that wouldn’t help my situation.

Why would this person want to force me to confess to the murder? Of course! He wanted me to take the fall so suspicion doesn’t turn to him. I couldn’t do it. Even if I did confess to the murder, my secret would still come out. I couldn’t stand trial. No way could I keep my concentration with the trauma of being arrested. If people found out I was a ghost, Clark wouldn’t hesitate to contact Mason and have him pick up Jake. Above all else, I couldn’t let that happen. I needed to figure out who killed Sadie myself and who sent the letters and whether or not they knew my secret.

Since the store had been locked up tight when I arrived that morning, and I locked the door each time I left, I assumed no one had broken in. That left one of the customers. I had no reason to hide the inventory book and had left it on my counter unattended a few times. As I had checked the book earlier, I knew it didn’t hold the letter as early as that morning, so between ten and two, someone had slipped the letter inside. I thought back to who had come into the store during that time.

“Four people,” I whispered to myself and wrote them on a blank sheet of paper.

Bart Pierce – Police officer

Sharon Roache – Mayor’s secretary

Isabelle Givens - Clark’s sister

Bernie - Taxi driver

One of these people was the guilty party. My suspicions lay closer to Isabelle since she’d seemed to have no real reason to come into the shop other than to dig at me for dumping her brother. Bernie seemed bland and apologetic on behalf of the incident with Mrs. Cavendish, but he had made a purchase. Bart had picked up his auger with no more snide remarks. He had even apologized again for his behavior from before. Sharon had seemed distant, but like the others, she’d made a legitimate purchase. So who was the guilty one, or was it someone I hadn’t seen, who slipped in unawares?

I decided to start with these four people. After I made arrangements with Monica, who I caught at work in Gatsky’s, to pick up Jake, I sat in the shop until after sundown, thinking about the best way to get these people to open up to me and answer my questions. I was close to none, and I had to tread lightly when it came to Sharon in case she decided to inform the mayor. I also had to choose my words with care as far as Bart because he might talk to his boss, and I definitely didn’t need Clark asking about the second letter. He would not be put off with a flimsy excuse about why it was possible to blackmail me. No, I needed to handle this quietly.

The bell over the front door jingled, and I looked up, sure I had locked the door. Ian stood there, calm and self-assured, his green eyes focused on me although I had gone invisible as soon as I had entered the shop. “Hello, Liberty.”

“Ian, what are you doing here?” I materialized.

“You are distressed, are you not?”

I gaped at him. “How… Never mind. Yes, I guess I am. Someone is blackmailing me, and I’m going to find out who.”

“I will help you.”

Just like that, with no show of surprise, or even alarm, Ian offered his assistance. He was the only person who knew everything about me. Monica knew nothing of my ghostly wail that I could emit if I were very upset, a sound humans couldn’t hear and that could call all kinds of dark creatures, according to Ian. She didn’t know I sometimes drifted if I didn’t pay attention, and that I suspected I could disappear from existence if I wasn’t careful. Most important, Monica didn’t know I could be banished to a pit of despair that I could not return from. Ian knew everything. He knew my strengths and weaknesses, even my fears. From the fact that he showed up now, our connection meant he also sensed when I was upset—whether or not I wailed.

He approached the counter, and all I could do was sit there watching him come closer, studying his face and trying to read his motives. “Why would you help me?”

“Why would I not?”

Realizing the questioning got us nowhere and Ian didn’t appear to be forthcoming about his reasons, I let it go and focused on the next step. First, I brought him up to speed on all that had happened thus far, including showing him the latest letter. Ian frowned over it, and I leaned closer, waiting for him to tell me he sensed something or that it gave off an aura that would lead us to its writer. His green eyes rose to meet mine, and he raised an eyebrow. I saw amusement in their depths.

“I confess I do not know who wrote this, Liberty, but we will find out.”

I sighed. So much for my notions. “Okay, well I guess the best way to go about this is to question the suspects. I want you to promise me you won’t zap anyone’s mind.”

He stiffened, and offense rolled off him almost visibly. “I do not
zap
minds.”

I nabbed the letter and folded it to stuff into my pocket. Then changed my mind and handed it back to him. “Can you keep this for me for now. I don’t want it to drop if I have to wink out at any time.”

He took the letter and tucked it away in the pocket of his slacks.

“We have to catch Sharon when the mayor isn’t around and question Bart away from the station so Clark won’t find out about it.”

“You could possess the police chief to question his officer.”

I didn’t even consider this option. “You know how I feel about that.”

“You cannot do anymore damage than has already been done.”

We stepped out of the hardware store, and I locked up before hiding the key. Ian stood in silence watching me. As I turned around, I spotted Bernie heading down Main Street with a passenger in the car. That left us with Isabelle, and I hesitated to interview Clark’s sister with Ian there.

“Maybe he is dropping his fare off at her house?” Ian suggested.

“Of course,” I exclaimed. “Bernie was taking Mrs. Cavendish to her various appointments. Did you notice if it was her in the car?”

I wasn’t sure if Ian’s mind was as quick in deciphering what he saw as his inhuman speed, but it was possible. When he nodded in the affirmative, I gave thanks for small favors, and we both headed off in the direction of Mrs. Cavendish’s house. We waited until we were reasonably sure no one watched us. Then I winked out, and Ian moved at his usual blurred clip. Soon we arrived in Mrs. Cavendish’s neighborhood and spotted the taxi in her driveway. Bernie was just helping Mrs. Cavendish from the vehicle, and she brushed his hand away to straighten and start up the drive on her own.

I made myself visible, and Ian arrived in a breeze beside me. He didn’t give me a chance to open my mouth before he swept forward and invited Bernie to join us for a visit with the elderly woman.

“Ian,” I said in a fierce whisper when both people followed along with Ian’s suggestion. “You promised.”

He looked at me and smiled. The charm radiating from his being swept me up in its magnetism until I found myself seated in Mrs. Cavendish’s living room waiting for her to serve iced tea to all of us. When she left the room, Ian suggested Bernie help her with the tray, and he left as well. I rounded on Ian, furious.

“I told you not to—”

“I assure you, I have not zapped anyone’s mind, Liberty.”

“Call it what you want. Just stop it!”

He sat back on the love seat beside me, calm and comfortable. My glaring did nothing, but after a few moments, he explained.

“A vampire has charm he cannot turn off. You remember I mentioned something about this before.” I was too angry to answer, so he continued. “No matter what I say, I have a certain amount of influence over humans. It could be about the weather.”

“Then how do you get anyone to tell the truth?”

He blinked at me.

“I mean other than controlling them.”

“I word my questions appropriately.”

His existence was complicated. I considered how annoying it would become to have people agreeable with me at all times, to go along with whatever I suggested and never know what they truly felt about me. Then again, these people who did what Ian asked already felt he was wonderful. Just his nature made them that way. What a sad existence.

“You do not have to worry about me, Liberty,” he said as if he knew I had started to pity him. “There are those who have stronger minds and spirits who are not easily influenced.”

“Really?”

He smiled. “Yes, like your chief of police.”

My mouth fell open. “But you made him forget.”

“I meant not influenced unless I used my ‘mind zap.’” Ian joking seemed incongruent with his nature, and I chuckled.

“Oh. Well, that’s good to know.” The truth was, I was pretty sure Clark hated Ian. It might have to do with his being attracted to me, of course. When Mrs. Cavendish and Bernie returned, I dove into the subject of Sadie. “Were you at the park the day of the festival, Bernie?”

Bernie squirmed. His gaze darted to Mrs. Cavendish and back to me. “I have a lot more work with so many tourists in town, but Mrs. Cavendish is my main customer usually, so I try to do what I can for her.”

In other words, he had given the older woman an excuse not to help her so he could make more money that day. I had the feeling he didn’t want Mrs. Cavendish to catch on. “So you were at the park?”

“I might have dropped a fair there a couple times,” he admitted.

“Did you see what happened to Sadie?”

“Poor Sadie.” Mrs. Cavendish produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “She didn’t deserve what happened to her. She was a sweet soul deep inside.”

Very deep.

“Of course,” I agreed aloud. I looked pointedly at Bernie, but he fidgeted even more with his regular fare so upset. I knew many people worked more than one job in Summit’s Edge, and no taxi driver could make a living in our town. Bernie needed the little he got from Mrs. Cavendish, and I didn’t want to interfere with that if she fired him. Sweeping at the Laundromat, his other job, couldn’t pay much by itself.