Givin' Up The Ghost (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Mystery) (2 page)

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I
averted my eyes from the bar. You didn’t want to make eye
contact with spirits. When that happened, they tended to form attachments. A
nasty bit of business, because they were hard to get rid of once they learned
they were visible to me. If word got out, every ghostie in town would blaze a
beeline for Indigo Eady.

So now you know. Like the line in that
Sixth Sense
movie?
I see dead people.

Badger returned and led the way down an unlit and slightly
slanting hallway and through the kitchen. We stepped outside into the gray.
Dirty, rust-colored brick buildings hovered over the narrow, roman-built,
cobblestoned alley. I stepped over the stream of water running down the center.
The sound of the heavy flow draining somewhere in the distance made me shiver.
The familiar tingle tickled the nape of my neck. The one that meant spirit or
psychic activity. Glancing around quickly, I didn’t see anything that should
warrant my concern. I shook the feeling off.

I followed Badger to a motorcycle where he handed me a beat-up
helmet. As he strapped on his own, I stared dumbly at mine. Could this have
been the uneasy feeling I had?

“Is something wrong?” he asked, tugging and tightening his
chin strap, then swinging his leg over the bike.

“I don’t know,” I answered with a frown. “Perhaps you can
tell me why my helmet is so banged up.” Comparatively speaking, his helmet
appeared black, shiny and sparkly. I turned my helmet over in my hands. The
dingy, dented thing totally put the “Hell” in helmet.

Badger laughed. I was not amused. “You’re safe with me,
don’t worry.” He kick-started the motorcycle. It roared to life like an angry
lion. “Climb on.”

“If this helmet is an indication of your driving skills, I
think I’ll pass,” I yelled through the helmet gap where his ear should be.

“Scared?” His teasing tone didn’t make me feel better. He
needed to put his serious face back on, the one he wore when untangling my
braid, and the one when he reminded me of how we met, even the funeral
discussion face would make me feel better. But teasing? Not so much.

“No.”
Yes
. I frowned at him and put the beat-up
helmet on, which made my head wobble like a bobble-head doll on a dashboard.
Okay, so I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.

“Come here.” He laughed. Again.

He tightened my chin strap so it didn’t wobble anymore, and
I climbed on behind him. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I squeezed my eyes shut,
wrapped my arms around his waist and clung on for dear life. My heart banged
into my ribs, bouncing its way to my stomach, like the metal ball from a
pinball machine bouncing against the walls before finding its way into the
right hole.

Without even a peek during the journey, he could have taken
me anywhere. But ten minutes after forever, Badger dropped me off at home.
Still shaking, I thanked him and limped inside. I suspect he figured I didn’t
hear his parting chuckle.

I went up the back stairs to my bedroom and changed into
black sweatpants, pink pull-over thermal shirt and pink bunny slippers – with
six inch bunny ears, of course. Throwing a Christmas blanket over my arm, I
headed to the kitchen. Once there, I moved a kitchen chair over to the doorway
leading outside, checked that the sachet of herbs was still above the doorjamb,
and then did the same at the other doorjamb that lead from the kitchen to the
living room. 

I hadn’t performed that ritual in over a week, but with
today’s episode, I had to check. I put on a pot of coffee, stoked the coals and
re-started the fire. A fireplace in the kitchen was the most awesome thing
ever! Besides the herb sachets above the doorjambs, I mean. It didn’t take long
to make this my favorite room in the house. My grandmother, god rest her soul,
managed to clear the room of spirits and place sachets above the doorjambs so
they couldn’t re-enter. I wished she had gotten to the other rooms. Clearing
spirits from a room was tricky, though, because they could easily be trapped
inside instead of out. If trapped inside, then they were almost impossible to
get rid of. I didn’t have the nerve to try myself. And anyway, I didn’t know
what the little bags contained. They smelled like basil and mint, and other
herbs I couldn’t identify. The kitchen was the safest room in the whole house,
and I frequently slept in my chair next to the warm fire, all night. So did
Simon, but for different reasons.

I shivered and sipped my coffee. I was safe here, inside the
kitchen. A Victorian fireplace, containing a stone Cinderella seat and a fire
blazing cozily lined one whole wall. Coffee, tea, or even cold feet were
propped on the fender to warm. Copper pots and pans hung above the
butcher-block work-table against another wall, an arched pantry on the other,
and a dining table in the center of the room. A narrow stairwell once used by
servants led upstairs to bedrooms and the attics beyond. Bright, flowery
curtains surrounded the kitchen window overlooking the large backyard.

My father’s childhood home was cozy and comfortable. I liked
to imagine him growing up here. Living here linked me to him, however tenuous.
If Uncle Richard wasn’t so distant, it might be perfect.

I poured coffee and curled up with my blanket into the old
comfy armchair in front of the fire, thinking about my grandmother. We both had
the same gift, if you could call it that. My life wasn’t my own, constantly hounded
by spirits that wanted something from me. Many were downright mean, pinching me
and pulling my hair to get my attention. And then some were evil, a whole
different ballgame. That thing in the alley? Pure Evil. I called it the Dark
Shadow. A swirling mass of malevolence, and it wanted me for some reason.
Fortunately, my run-in with Badger scared it off.

To my relief, Simon came down the back stairwell, saving me
from dwelling on things better left alone.

“What’s up?” he asked, shuffling sleepily toward the coffee
pot. He was barefooted and wore a t-shirt with pajama bottoms. He poured a mug
and dumped tons of sugar and milk into it before he sank into the armchair next
to me. His shaggy blonde hair was sleep-tousled, and his amber-brown eyes
ringed with shadows. Those shadows were practically the only thing that marked
us as family. Neither of us slept well, both fighting our own demons when we
had nothing else to distract us during the long winter nights. 

“I ran into Badger this morning,” I said. “Literally.” I
pulled my pant leg up to reveal my injury. Vibrant hues of purple, blue and
black contrasted with my pale skin.

“Whoa, that’s gnarly!” he said, totally impressed. “That’s
going to scar, that is. What happened?”

I poured out my whole pathetic story, about the appearance
of the Dark Shadow scaring the life out of me in the alley, bowling over Badger
in the market square and the disturbing vision when I touched Badger’s hands.

The psychic line didn’t get passed on to Simon, but we did
share a psychic grandmother, so he “got” it. Unfortunately, I inherited the
whole psychic thing from both sides of the family. I didn’t stand a chance.

“Speaking of Badger,” I said, “what happened to his father?
I remember bits and pieces, but I’ve sort of been preoccupied.” The
understatement of the century, for sure.

He shrugged. “Nobody knows. He was at the Blind Badger and
seems to have disappeared from there.” He rested his bare feet on the fender,
wiggling his toes.

“But, what do you
think
happened to him?” I
persisted.

Simon gazed into the fire, thinking about his answer. “Well,
rumor has it he ran away with his secretary, Shelly. And that’s what the police
think – they both disappeared at the same time.” He shook his head. “But I
don’t think so.” Frowning thoughtfully, he looked at me. “I’d swear he was
madly in love with his wife. Sickening, really, people their age behaving that
way.” He grimaced and took a sip of his coffee, and then grimaced again because
he wasn’t used to the bitter taste of coffee. “They were always kissing and
holding hands – no, I don’t believe he ran away with another woman.” 

“I don’t think so either,” I said. His eyes bored into me as
I stared into the fire.

“What do you mean?” He swung around to face me and sat
forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. He looked confused.

“I mean...I’ve seen him.” I hesitated to look at him, not
sure if I wanted to go there.

“What? Where?”

I took a deep, fortifying breath and turned my head. My
silence and shimmering eyes didn’t escape his notice. Simon was a bright guy.

“No. Please don’t tell me you mean his spirit?” He shook his
head in denial, but I could tell he believed me. 

“Yes. I’m sorry, Simon. I guess you knew him quite well.” I
twisted in my chair. “I hate to tell you this, but...his head was horribly
bashed in, right about here.” I pointed to the back my skull. “And what’s more,
I think he’s been dead awhile, because his spirit is pretty solid – much more
solid than Agatha’s.”

Simon’s eyes went wide. “Don’t tell me you’ve seen Agatha,
too?”

I nodded, looking for the slightest sign that Simon
suspected I was crazy. I was relieved not to see any. 

“Crikey!” He slumped back in his chair. His eyes glazed
over, seemingly mesmerized, as he stared into the fire.

I let him muddle through the implication of what I said.

He shook his head, trying to take it all in. “So, how does
this thing work? I mean, you weren’t, like, walking down the street and they
walk up to you and introduce themselves – ”

I sighed. “
Of course not
. You’re such a dork.”

“All right, then what?” He crossed his arms and swiveled to
look at me. He was a total newbie when it came to ghostly behavior.

Remembering the back of Bart’s head, I shivered, clutching
the blanket at my chin. I bit my lip, struggling to hold back the nausea. This
situation hit way too close to home. “I saw them both at the pub. Agatha behind
the bar and Bart sitting on the end barstool reading a newspaper.” I shrugged.
“Sort of carrying on like I would imagine they always do, um, did.”

I watched Simon as he processed the information. To say my
revelation required digesting was an understatement. It’s not every day your
best friend’s dad dies, someone who’d been a fixture in your life, and I’m sure
Simon was reeling from this unfortunate news.

“Wow,” he said, blowing out his breath hard enough to ruffle
his hair.

We meditated in silence, each lost in our own musings for a
long time.

“So, what do we do now?” he asked.

I looked at him in alarm. “What do you mean? There is nothing
we can do.” I stoked the fire, suddenly feeling the need to do something with
my hands.

“Nothing?”
he echoed. He stood, looking incredulous.
“What do you mean,
nothing?”
He took the fire poker from me, efficiently
stoked the fire, then returned it to the stand.

He hovered, waiting for my reply.

“People will think I’m crazy like they always do – this is a
new beginning for me. I’m making friends.”

Simon lifted his eyebrows so high, it crinkled his forehead
and made him look forty, instead of seventeen.

“Well, okay. No friends yet. But I will,” I insisted. “And
when I do, I have to leave all this craziness out of it. And besides, this is a
job for the police, and there’s no way I’m going to tell them I’ve seen the
ghost of Bart Bagley – they’d commit me – or burn me at the stake for being a
witch!”

Deflated, Simon sat back down. “Look, Indigo, I see what you
mean,” he said.  “But on the other hand, he was like an Uncle to me and
Badger’s my best mate. He’s been working his arse off since Bart’s been gone. I
think he deserves to know his dad didn’t abandon their family and run off with
another woman.”

We had a stare-down. He won. Guilt made me back down from
the challenge.
Crap.

“But we still have the same problem,” I reasoned.  “You
can’t tell Badger because he’ll think I’m crazy – and if he has any sense at
all, he won’t believe us.”

Simon was not amused. “All right, then,” he retorted back,
“then...” he ran his hands through his hair while he searched feverishly for a
solution. “We’ll get proof - so he’ll have to believe us.” 

I shook my head and sighed. I had been there before - Simon
didn’t get it. He’d always been popular. Nobody ever accused him of being
seriously crazy or insane. “And then what?” I asked. “Are you suggesting we
solve this mystery ourselves?”

The light went on in the attic and his eyes lit up. Me and
my super big mouth gave Simon the solution he was searching for.

“No!” I yelled. “Absolutely not. That’s too crazy, even for
me.” I took my mug over to the sink and dumped the cold coffee down the drain,
washing it quickly before putting it in the rack to dry. I turned around and
Simon was right behind me. I crossed my arms and leaned against the sink, glaring
mulishly at him. “What you’re suggesting is madness,” I said. “They’ll commit
both of us! You know that, don’t you?”

“I won’t let it be like that – I promise,” he pleaded,
getting down on his knees in front of me. 

I shook my head. Would this whole death thing never stop? I
didn’t want any more murder, or death, or ghosts. “I can’t do this.
I don’t
want to do this.”
My heart raced even thinking of getting involved in such
a farce.

“Please,” Simon said, shuffling on his knees behind me as I
headed back to my chair.

Why was Simon pushing so hard for this? And then
ding,
ding, ding
. A bell went off in my head. Why didn’t I see it before? The
reason Simon pushed so hard was because his mother, Amanda, and four-year-old
brother, Bryan, were killed by a hit and run driver. They never found the other
driver. Sure, the death of his best friend’s dad was important, but solving
what happened to Bart Bagley would appease his own survivor’s guilt.