Drowning in Amber (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 2) (35 page)

“We got a problem at the house,” he said. He looked over at all of us. “A big problem. You gotta come.”

I suspected he’d called Ambrose Welch. Looked like we were about to meet him. Lucky us.

R kept us on the ground for the ten minutes it took Ambrose Welch to get to us. He came in from the back and stood beside R, staring at all of us as though he couldn’t quite wrap his head around all the sudden visitors.

Crank groaned, holding his hurt arm in front of him. I suspected R had broken his collarbone. He shrank as R looked over at him.

“This is his fault,” R said. “He went to her house.” He pointed at Eddie’s mother, who was staring steadfastly at her hands, clasped in front of her like she was praying. “To get the money Brown Eddie owed. And he used the name Raymond Dunning.”

Ambrose’s face stilled. “He what?”

“He—”

“I heard you.” Ambrose looked down at Crank. “You did that?”

“I had to get the money, Ambrose.” Crank’s voice sounded young. And frightened. Very, very frightened. “You told me I had to get the money.”

“Yes.” Ambrose sighed and shook his head. “I did, didn’t I?”

Crank scrambled to his feet, still holding his arm to his chest. “Yeah, I was just trying to do what you told me to do. That’s all.”

He grinned and for a horrible second, he reminded me of a dog grinning grotesquely in an effort to appease its master.

“I get that,” Ambrose said. “But why did you have to use the name of the man who owns this house, Crank? Why did you do that?”

Before Crank could answer, Ambrose pointed at the doorway through which he’d so recently appeared. “You want to go and wait for me downstairs,” he said.

Crank’s face stilled. “But, Ambrose—”

“Now.” Ambrose Welch’s voice sounded calm, relaxed. “I’ll be right down.”

“But, Ambrose,” Crank said again. “I didn’t do nothing wrong.”

“Now,” Ambrose said again.

Crank sobbed but turned, obediently enough. He took one shambling step down the hallway and then another. Then he ran.

Ambrose sighed as we all listened to Crank blunder down the stairs, sobbing and crying out when he bumped his hurt arm.

“Take care of him, R.”

R nodded once, dropped his armload of purses to the floor, handed Ambrose the huge gun, and walked to the back of the house. As he disappeared through the doorway, I thought I saw him pull something—maybe another, smaller gun—from his pocket. Then the door boomed shut, and we all sat in silence for a few moments.

“He’s done for,” Eddie said. And he smiled, a ghastly thing on his white, drawn face. “Good.”

The gunshots didn’t sound like anything more than a couple of soft pop-pops. Could have been firecrackers in the backyard, but we all jumped as though we had been the ones who had been shot. One of the women moaned and slumped over in a faint, but no one reached out to help her. We all kept our eyes on Ambrose Welch.

He didn’t even blink. Just kept the big gun nonchalantly trained above our heads as he waited for R to come back. I had no doubt that he’d use it on all of us if we did anything. Anything at all.

Trust Bea to decide to use this moment to leap into action.

Well, she didn’t really leap. She growled something unintelligible and scrambled to her hands and knees.

“Are you crazy, woman?” Ambrose said. He almost looked amused as he pulled the gun down until the business end was pointed at Bea’s enraged face. “Sit back down.”

“I will not,” she said, and pushed herself to standing. She grabbed the head of one of the other women from the book club to steady herself, and the woman screamed as though Bea was somehow killing her. Another and another started wailing as Bea flailed around, still getting her footing.

Ambrose rolled his eyes. “I said sit down,” he said. And then he struck Bea hard with his free hand, knocking her back to her knees.

Bea cried out and grabbed her face where he’d hit her. She was bleeding, and the rage on her face leaked away, leaving only fear. But she couldn’t stop herself and said, “You have to let us go, young man. People know we’re here.”

“Who?” Ambrose asked and lifted the barrel of the gun until it was pointed at her face. “Tell me who, right now!”

“I’m not telling you anything,” she said. A tired dignity came over her, and she sank back down to the floor. “Not another word.”

“Leave her alone,” James said. His voice sounded amazingly calm, even when the barrel of the gun swung in his direction. “She’s just an old woman playing detective. They all are. Please don’t tell me you have been spooked by a bunch of women?”

“I have not been spooked!” Ambrose bellowed, sounding as frightened as I’d ever heard a man sound. “You better shut your mouth now,” he said, trying desperately to regain some of his lost dignity, and failing, miserably. “I’ll have no problem kicking the crap out of you.” He glanced at the rest of us. “Just to teach you all a lesson.”

I heard someone stumbling up the stairs at the back of the house, sniveling and crying softly. Well, I didn’t really hear him stumbling up the stairs, but I did hear the sniveling and crying. I glanced around me and no one else was reacting to the noise. No one but Eddie.

“He’s baack!” he singsonged. “I can see his light from here.”

And then I could too. It was Crank’s spirit, looking very much the worse for wear.

“What the hell?” he muttered as he floundered into the entryway. “What the—” Then he stopped and stared at Eddie. If I could have worked up the courage, I would have laughed. He looked so scared. Like he was seeing a ghost. Which, of course, he was.

“Eddie?” he whispered. “What are you doing here? I thought—”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I’m dead.”

Crank stumbled back a step, looking even more distraught, if that was possible. Eddie followed him.

“And so are you,” he hissed.

“But— No—” Crank said. He stumbled back to the wall and fell through it with a small, wild yip. As he disappeared from view, Eddie laughed.

“Serves you right, you son of a bitch,” he said. And then he made a move as though he was going to follow him.

He had to stop. No matter what Crank had done to him in his former life, Eddie had to stop what he was doing. Now.

“Don’t!” I cried. “Don’t do that!”

Both Eddie and Ambrose turned to me, and when the big gun swung in my direction, my mouth went dust dry.

“What, do all of you have a death wish?” Ambrose said. “I said shut the hell up.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Eddie said at the same time. “You know what he did to me. You know!”

“I know,” I whispered. “Just don’t.”

“Holy shit, girl, I’ve had it with you,” Ambrose’s voice suddenly hit the stratosphere, and I wished I had the courage to put my hands over my ears. “R! Get up here now!”

“Be quiet, Marie.” James’s voice sounded urgent, and I knew he was right. But I had to make certain that Eddie understood. He had to stay away from Crank’s spirit. Better if he could forgive him, but I couldn’t see that happening in a matter of moments. And I was pretty sure that was all the time I had to convince him. No matter what Ambrose Welch did to me.

If Eddie confronted Crank’s spirit and Crank decided that he needed to go to hell for what he’d done—he could pull Eddie down with him. The two spirits could become entangled, if Eddie wanted badly enough to make Crank pay for what he did. Then Eddie would pay, too.

“Stay away from him,” I said, looking past Ambrose to Eddie. “You have to. Or you’ll go to hell.”

I didn’t even see the barrel of the gun swing in my direction, but I did see stars when he hit me with it. And, as I blacked out, I heard James cry, “No!”

That was all I heard. The horror and rage in James’s voice as I slithered down a cold dark hallway to absolute black.

AS I WATCHED
Ambrose Welch smash Marie in the face, knocking her to the floor, I thought about everything that had brought me to this point in time. A teeny bit of that “seeing your life flash in front of your eyes thing,” I suppose. Mom. Dad. Luke. Luke’s frightening father. Even Noreen had led me right to this moment in time. But none of them were to blame. I’d done all this myself. Every decision, ultimately, had been mine. But Crank? That was a different kettle of fish. My life had ended because Crank had decided he wanted to get ahead in Ambrose Welch’s organization. And Crank needed to pay.

All I’d been trying to do was carve out a little piece of the Canadian Dream for myself in that churchyard, and he’d killed me. Not just killed me, but hung me up like a grotesque scarecrow as a warning to all the other wannabe businessmen.

I always thought he was a friend of mine. I stared at the spot on the wall where his spirit had fallen through for a long time, wondering how I could have been so unbelievably wrong about him. Sure, I was a frigging addict and didn’t have the best instincts, but still. You’d think I would have been able to see that someone who I thought was an honest-to-God friend would have the capacity to kill me.

James said something, and when I looked back, I saw he had Marie’s unconscious body in his arms, and he looked like he wanted to kill someone. Specifically, Ambrose Welch. Marie moaned, and I should have gone over to make sure she was all right, but then I heard Crank crying and wailing somewhere down in the basement. And I had to look him in the eye, no matter that Marie had told me to stay away from him.

I walked down the steps one at a time and enjoyed the hell out of listening to Crank gasp and gibber and cry out when he saw me.

“Yep,” I whispered. “Vengeful spirit here. Hope you like the idea of hell, my friend. Because that’s exactly where you’re going. And I’m going to put you there.”

THE BLACK WENT
grey and then white. That scared me for a second, I have to tell you, but my face hurt so much, I was pretty sure I wasn’t dead. Not yet, anyhow.

My vision cleared enough to see that James had me in his arms. He was glaring at Ambrose Welch like he wanted to kill him or something. And Ambrose looked back at him, looking just as angry.

“Let me go,” I said. My words sounded garbled, like my mouth was full of marbles. James glanced down at me and then back up at Welch. “I have to find him,” I said, and struggled to sit up, wishing I didn’t feel so weak and wishing that James didn’t look like he was absolutely capable of murder.

Finally, he looked back to me, but his eyes were still ice. He set me on the filthy floor, carefully. “You can’t go anywhere,” he said to me. “Not yet.”

Then he turned to Welch. “What happens now?”

Welch didn’t answer him. Just called out to R again, and finally I heard him bumbling up the stairs, talking to himself distractedly.

I looked around. No Eddie, which frightened me. Where was he? The women were quiet, for the most part, though a couple of them were crying softly. Bea looked like a battered queen, a trickle of blood running down her cheek where Welch had smacked her. She reached over and patted my hand, absently, as if to say “everything will be fine.”

Not so much, Bea.

I turned my head back so I could see Welch. “What are you going to do to us?” I asked.

Welch ignored me, which was probably for the best, because when I tried to sit up, my head swam, and the world briefly turned grey again.

When my head cleared, R was standing beside Welch. How long had I been out?

“Only for a second,” James said.

I blinked at him, wondering if he could read my mind. He shook his head, and said, “Don’t talk anymore.”

Oh. My internal voice had gone external. Not good. I clamped my lips shut and tried to figure out what the heck was going on.

“All of them?” R said.

“All of them.” Welch’s face was stone, and I clutched for James’s hand.

“But—”

“They walked into my house, R. My house. I don’t care who they are, they are going to be put down. Got me?”

“Yeah,” R whispered. “I understand.”

James squeezed my fingers once, reassuringly, but when I glanced at him, he still looked like he could easily kill someone.

“Take them to the basement,” Welch said. “We’ll deal with the bodies later.”

The word “bodies” threw the book club into a frenzy, and for a horrible moment, I was afraid Welch was going to shoot us all right there, just to shut them up. But James came to the rescue.

“Please, ladies,” he said. “Be quiet. Everything will be just fine. I promise.”

One by one, the women quieted.

“Get them up,” Welch said. R waved his gun in our direction, and the women stood. I clutched at James’s arm, pulling his head close to mine. I couldn’t move yet, because I was certain when I tried, I’d black out again.

“What are we going to do?” I mouthed, and was shocked when he smiled. It was an easy, sunny smile. Like we were out for a Sunday stroll or something.