southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet (15 page)

I crossed the yard and waved to her. She got out of her car toting a brown paper take-out bag. "How'd they like the pulled pork?" I asked.

She broke into a grin. "It was so neat being on set. All the actors were so nice. And then Leon Garber, who will be the next George Clooney, this I promise you…he said my pulled pork was the best he's ever had. I got so nervous I couldn't say anything back."

"Your cooking speaks for you," I told her as she handed me the bag. "What's this?" 

"Fried chicken and biscuits," she said with a touch of pride. "I'm on my way to set up dinner service."

"You don't have to feed me," I protested, appreciating it all the same. My stomach growled just smelling the spices in the breading.

"But I want to feed you. I might even be able to hire you next week."

"To work for Virginia Wydell?" I balked. 

"Think of it as working for the good of Sugarland. Or helping me. The job's only going to get crazier once they cast all the extras and start shooting the battle." She fanned herself in mock excitement, then turned her attention to my science experiment. "What do you have going on here?"

I'm ashamed to say I considered lying. Lauralee didn't know anything about my Frankie problem, and I didn't feel like burdening her now. But this must look awfully strange. 

"I think I might have a ghost," I said, in the understatement of the year. "I went online to see how to release it and…this happened."

"I can see you're trying." She planted her hands on her hips and surveyed the damage. "But if you want to banish a ghost, you need a psychic."

"Really?" How did she know so much? "You've never been haunted. Have you?" 

She gave me a sidelong look. "Remember that cook at my work with the haunted lawn mower?" She nodded as I began to vaguely recall. Lauralee had a lot of crazy work stories. "Psychic cleared it right up."

Frankie shimmered into view behind Lauralee. "This is great," he said, wide-eyed.

"Then there's the waitress at work who's psychic," Lauralee continued. "She did a séance once in the parking lot and I swear we all saw these little flickering lights."

"Could be fireflies," I suggested. 

Lauralee and Frankie both frowned at me. "What?" I asked. I obviously believed in ghosts, but that didn't mean I had to fall for every wild story. Besides, psychics cost money I didn't have.

"What's your game?" Frankie ground out. "You afraid it might work?"

I sighed. "I think I have to give this science fair project a chance," I said, realizing how sad it sounded.

Lauralee gave a slight
tsk
at the mess in my yard. "My waitress friend is looking for a logo for her fortune-telling business. I could talk to her for you."

"That would be lovely," I said, mainly to get Frankie off my case. 

"Great, then," my friend said, as if that solved things. She gave me a nice, long hug. "I've got to go. Enjoy your supper."

"I will," I said, letting her go, "thanks to friends who don't know when to stop."

She grinned at that and got back in her car. I waved to her as she drove away, ignoring Frankie, who stood watching me.

"I like the idea of bringing in an expert," he said.

I returned to our backyard experiment. "I seriously doubt she's ever dealt with anything like this before." The sun would begin to go down soon. We had about a handful of ash from the entire pool of water. Not enough to even justify one of the measuring cups.

I took the Tupperware container with what we assumed were bits of Frankie. "Let's hope this does it," I suggested. "We'll return these ashes to your urn and maybe we won't even have to worry about the psychic."

Frankie frowned. "It doesn't look like all the ashes."

Truth be told, it didn't. I remembered dumping a lot more into the rosebushes. There had been at least three solid inches of ash in that urn. 

We returned to the kitchen and I used my funnel to guide what we'd scooped into Frankie's urn. The ash clung in wet clumps, and it took some pounding of the urn on my counter, and some nudging with my finger, but we transferred what we had into the urn.

The gangster stood, hands at his sides, as if he were unsure of what to do next. I shared a glance with him. I knew the feeling.

The magnitude of the moment weighed on me as I placed the urn on the counter. This was it. "Okay. Try to leave."

He wet his lips and gave a quick nod. "Right." He adjusted his panama hat. "This is only my afterlife we're talking about." 

My stomach went a little hollow. If this were truly it…I'd miss him. I hated to admit it, but I'd kind of gotten used to the jerk.

He locked eyes with me. "If this works, I'll come back and say good-bye."

It wouldn't be the same as having him here. But I had no right to hold him back anymore. He deserved to be free.

I gave him a weak smile and a nod. "Good luck," I said as he disappeared.

Chapter Eleven

O
H
,
MY
WORD
. Frankie was gone. We'd actually done it. I let out a small laugh, then a bigger one, giddy, amazed…and a little sad.

Frankie was gone.

He'd promised to return for a final good-bye, but as I looked over my empty kitchen, I wondered if he would. He wasn't exactly the most reliable person on the planet. And he'd been trapped here for the last month and a half. 

My eyes grew a little glassy. I was going to miss that jerk.

"Don't cry any tears of joy yet, princess," a dry voice said from behind me.

"Frankie?" I turned to find him hovering near my kitchen sink, arms crossed. 

"I didn't get no farther than the driveway."

Oh. Shoot. "That's better than before, though. Right?"

He looked at me like I had two heads. "No. Why are you always okay with the fact that I can't leave your property? Science is a crock."

The way we'd done it in the backyard? Yes.

"We did make some progress," I said, trying to see the bright side. "We do have more of you in the urn." At least I hoped that was Frankie. "It will give us more to work with when we try again. And I do want to unground you," I promised. "I really do."

"You keep saying that." He removed his hat and placed it on the counter. Actually, it hovered about an inch above. "But what's the plan?"

Oh, gee. "Let me think." Perhaps Melody could do a search.

He let out a huff. "I say we call the psychic."

"Really?" I hadn't pegged him as the psychic type. "You believe in that?"

He stiffened. "There's all kinds of hokum I can't explain," he shot back, "like how I ended up stuck with you."

Charming. 

"All right," I said, notching up my chin, refusing to let him get to me. "Let's do it." 

I called Lauralee. When she didn't answer, I left a message while Frankie watched, fuming. Because his bad attitude would certainly help get things done. And then I clicked over to my voice mail and fielded seven messages from Beau.

This day was just getting better and better.

You know what? I couldn't do a thing about the dead gangster in my kitchen, but right now, I was going to put an end to Beau's insane attempt to win me back. I gathered up my courage, punched in his number, and prepared to lay out the facts in no uncertain terms.

Instead, I got his voice mail. 

"This is Beau Wydell. You know what to do," he drawled.

I certainly did.

"Beauregard Herworth Wydell, this is your ex, Verity. 'Ex' meaning someone you do not call, you do not gift with old photos, you do not contact or even speak with unless we meet on the street and then I will greet you with a pleasant 'hello.'" This wasn't as harsh as I'd planned. "That is it. Good-bye," I said, hanging up quickly.

Frankie stifled a laugh.

"Can it," I ordered, pointing the phone at him. Just because I wasn't ruthless didn't mean I deserved to be ignored. 

I'd done all I could for the moment, so I unpacked my yummy chicken dinner and tried to forget about ghosts, exes, and psychic visitors. 

All three would find me soon enough.

Chapter Twelve

T
HE
NEXT
AFTERNOON
, I was giving Lucy a bath in the kitchen sink while my resident gangster hovered over the counter and watched. Frankie's right foot had reappeared, although I didn't think he'd want to hear any congratulations from me.

"Why don't you go sit out by the apple tree?" I suggested as my skunk struggled to climb out of the soapy water, away from Frankie. Lucy usually loved bath time. No doubt Frankie was making her uncomfortable.

"Nah," he muttered, idly passing his hand back and forth through my purse, which lay next to him. Poor guy couldn't even pickpocket anymore. "I'm too hopped up. If that psychic was any good, she'd know to hoof herself over here."

He was worse than a three-year-old. "Lauralee's passing the message along." 

Suddenly, my bag began to buzz and vibrate.

"Jesus!" Frankie shot away from the counter.

"Relax." I dried off Lucy's face so no soap got into her eyes, then reached past the hovering gangster and pulled my cell phone out from under his urn. "I forgot I set it to vibrate before I went to see Virginia yesterday."

He settled back down slowly, still a bit out of sorts as he regarded the phone. "I don't like those things."

Yes, well, I didn't enjoy the fact that a wet skunk was currently making a run for it down the other side of my counter. I shoved the phone in my pocket and grabbed for a towel. "Here, baby," I said, gathering her up so she could get comfortable and dry. The poor thing was shaking. "I've got you." 

I barely had her towel-dried before she started struggling to escape. I let her, knowing she'd dart straight for my bed and blankets. It was where she felt the safest. I supposed I owed it to her—and my sheets would dry before bedtime. I hoped.

"Was it the psychic?" Frankie asked, as I retrieved my phone. "Call her back."

I hit the redial button. "Relax, it was Melody." 

Luckily, she was better at answering her phone than I was.

"Tell me you're taking care of yourself," she said.

Static shot through the line. "I went and saw Virginia Wydell yesterday," I said, walking toward the back porch, hoping for a better connection. 

"Why on earth…" she began. "Never mind. I want to hear about it, but listen, I have to tell you. I found Madeline Angelica."

Thank goodness. "Is she alive?"

"Yes. And she lives here in town. Never left." My sister hesitated, which was uncharacteristic of her. I stood on my back porch and waited, the breeze stirring my hair. "Verity, you know her," she said, as if she wasn't quite sure how to say the next part. "Madeline Angelica Learner…well, Wydell. She goes by the name of Maisie Hatcher."

I stood in shock for a moment. Maisie Hatcher. Most people knew her as a fiercely independent woman who rarely left her farm. She had been my grandmother's friend, not a close one, but she'd been a fixture at carry-in dinners, church luncheons, and sewing parties since I had been old enough for Maisie to slip me candy from her purse. She'd fallen on hard times recently and I'd used my ghost-hunting skills to find some money hidden on her property. Then she'd turned right around and given me a loan to help save my house.

She hadn't had to do it. But she was a good person. Eccentric, maybe, but she had a good heart. Maisie had suffered a lot over the years with a bad marriage and health issues, so she'd earned the right to be a little unusual. 

And now she was heir to the Wydell fortune. 

As long as we could prove it.

I retreated straight back into the kitchen to grab my bag and my car keys. I had to go see Maisie. "Do you think she knows?" I asked Melody, motioning for Frankie to join me.

"I doubt she's aware," my sister said as I locked up and hurried for my car. Frankie grumbled, but he stuck with me. "I had to go through marriage records to find her. Her birth record is nonexistent and nobody else knows about the document you saw."

Except for Darla's killer. Even without my sister's research skills, that person could track down Maisie eventually. My heart thudded in my chest. We might already be too late.

I fired up the engine. "I'm heading over there right now." 

Melody's voice hitched. "I know you've got to do it, but please be careful."

"I will," I assured her. "Let me get off the line. I'm calling Ellis."

I took the main road until I reached a smaller side road that snaked through the woods. I turned onto the road less traveled and cringed as my car bottomed out on a pothole.

Ellis would know the best way to approach Maisie. He liked to stop in on her, make sure she had what she needed. He'd done it out of the kindness of his heart, because he was a good person.

Unless he knew she was kin.

No, I couldn't think that way. There was no reason to suspect he'd keep that sort of information hidden. 

I also needed Ellis to know where I'd be just in case someone with evil intent beat me to Maisie's house. Or arrived after I did.

My car bounced past the overgrown entrance to Johnson's Cave. I steered while fighting with the wire of my hands-free system. It had gotten tangled up with my phone again. One of these days, I was going to chuck it out the window.

But Ellis didn't answer his phone, despite my repeated attempts.

Frankie didn't seem to care one way or the other. "Just so you know, I'm not here 'cause you ordered me," he pointed out. "I'm here 'cause I want to see what happens." 

"Like an impartial observer?" 

He trailed a hand out through the window. "More like a rubbernecker at a seven-car pileup." 

I'd take it.

We drove farther into the backwoods where Maisie lived. I made a right onto the near-deserted road to her house, all the while hoping with everything I had that I'd arrive soon enough and that I'd find her alone.

Chapter Thirteen

M
AISIE
'
S
HOME
SAT
far back in the woods. The rough-hewn pine planks, gray with age, blended into the surrounding trees and underbrush. She'd lived here as long as I could remember, probably since she married back in the '50s. Her redneck husband had passed a long time ago, which was good, because I'd heard he hadn't treated her well.