southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet (19 page)

Josephine gave me a shy smile. "I would have welcomed you here if you died."

"Thanks," I said, aware she'd meant it as a compliment. I cleared my throat, still not quite used to this type of casual conversation with the dead. "What did the shooter look like?"

She folded her hands in front of her. "Just a man."

"You gotta give me more than that." Especially since I knew Virginia Wydell was most likely behind all this. "Was it a woman dressed like a man?"

"A man," she repeated, in no uncertain terms. 

Okay, so maybe Virginia had an accomplice.

The ghost startled and drew a hand to her mouth. 

"What?" I asked. "Do you remember something else?"

She gazed at me for a moment. I noticed then that the frogs had quieted. The insects had ceased their calling.

Her image began to fade. "There's another spirit lingering here. He seems almost…familiar." Her eyes widened. "Oh, no. Ma sees him, too." I heard a low rumble in the distance, not unlike a growl. "It's not safe for you here." Her orb darted back toward the house. "Run!"

She didn't need to tell me twice. I took off like a shot down the hill. Loose dirt and rocks made me stumble, but the cold blast of air on my back zapped me into moving faster than I ever thought possible. I had to get off his property, right now, before Ma Hatcher found me.

Frankie zoomed ahead. I ran past the noose, over the spongy, shifting ground. I was almost to the property line when a wall of energy smashed into me from behind, nearly toppling me. Fire seared through my veins. My spine crumpled and my limbs went slack. I lost all sense of where I was as I fell headlong into an open pit.

I landed hard, my cheek slamming into cold, wet dirt. My body throbbed from the impact of the poltergeist. It had to be Ma. I hadn't made it off her property. Not quite.

I pushed myself up, stunned, as dirt pelted me from above. 

The ghost of Ma Hatcher loomed over me, wearing a high-collared dress and wielding a shovel. Her eyes glowed red, the bones of her face stark and skeletal. "Good girls don't snoop," she chided, shoveling dirt down on me. 

"I'm a friend of Josephine's," I pleaded, scrambling for a way out of the hole. 

She sent another pile of dirt raining down on me. "Naughty girl. I sent her to her room." I had dirt in my hair, dirt in my mouth, and more spilled down over me. "And you, you'll stay put and stop prying into our business."

Whatever her business was, I wanted nothing to do with it. I held my hands up as I scrambled to stay on top of the growing pile of earth. That put me closer to Ma Hatcher, which scared me even more. "I won't say anything." I had no clue how to get out of this. "I don't even know anything."

Frankie slammed into her. "Beat it, you old broad!" He set off a shock wave of energy so fierce it knocked me to my knees. 

She whirled and effortlessly tossed Frankie away. Then she directed a hateful sneer at me, and pointed her fingers straight down at my head. A bright flash of light blinded me, throwing me back, before everything went dark.

Chapter Seventeen

A
COLD
HAND
brushed my shoulder and I was overcome with the sick, watery feeling that came from touching the dead. My gut twisted with pain. I lurched away, my face mashing into the dirt of the hole. The musty odor made my stomach curl. 

"Easy there," a genial voice said, while a clammy hand patted my back, sinking down through my skin, driving a chilling stake straight through me. "You had quite a scare, young lady."

I rolled away from it, ignoring the tingling in my limbs. This ghost's touch was a thousand times worse than Frankie's. It felt as if I'd run through that ghost outside the library again. But it's not as if I could hide. It knew I was here. I forced myself to open my eyes and turn over.

A face stared down at me. This wasn't Ma Hatcher. The high forehead, sunken cheeks, and intense expression belonged to the Yankee officer I'd met in the library. Jackson, the Anne Rice superfan. He floated mere inches above me—way, way in my personal space.

"It's you," I croaked. "What are you doing here?"

He came into such clear focus I could see the stubble on his chin. He wore a cavalry officer's jacket this time, with the bars of a major. He also gave me no room to move. He didn't kneel next to me or stand. He hovered, taking up every bit of space, not even bothering to pretend he was anything but a specter.

"I've been following you," he said, his energy imprint tickling my chin. "You didn't come back to the library tonight."

I scooted around him and struggled to lean up against the edge of the grave. Oh my word. I was sitting in a grave. I shook the dirt from my hair and wiped the tears from my cheeks and eyes. I hadn't even realized I'd been crying. "What happened to the poltergeist?" Stars dotted the night sky. There was no sign of Ma Hatcher.

"I got a jump on her," Jackson said, excited. He hunkered down next to me. "Knocked her hard from behind." The delight drained from him. "Just like a sneaky, conniving Yankee, right?" he added, a bit self-conscious.

"More like the hero who saved me." Even so, I scooted a few inches away. "Ma was ready to—" I didn't even want to think it.

"Bury you alive," Jackson finished.

"Yes." My body still hadn't stopped shaking. "In fact"—I struggled to stand—"I need to get out of here."

"Sit," he said, reaching for me. "You're in no shape to walk. Besides, the poltergeist isn't coming back anytime soon. I made sure of it." I shrank away and he couldn't quite conceal his wounded expression. 

"It hurts me when you touch me," I explained.

"Really?" He withdrew his hand and stared at it as if it would throw off sparks or something. "So that's why you made a fuss when you ran through me behind the library."

"That was you?" I asked, my mind scrambling. Of course it was. I'd felt it the second he touched me tonight.

He glanced away. "I was feeling vulnerable after we talked. Returning to my death spot helps." He forced himself to meet my gaze once more. "Besides, I wanted to make sure you made it home all right."

I didn't know what to think. Poor man. "You died in the parking lot," I said, trying to get a grip, "outside the library."

He gave a small shrug. "It was just an open yard back then, out behind the building. I was too far gone. It wasn't worth taking me to the surgeon."

"I'm sorry." That must have been a frightening, lonely way to die. And now, more than one hundred and fifty years later, he was still alone. "I'm just surprised you didn't feel it when I ran straight through you." I looked him over. His body was relaxed, his expression intent. "Frankie got the heebie-jeebies the one time we accidentally touched, and he won't let me forget it. But you really are fine."

"I'm different," Jackson said, in the understatement of the year. He could touch the living. He could banish the dead. He shrugged, embarrassed. "It's one of the reasons they keep me in the basement." 

I wondered if he had any idea how much power he held. 

I brought my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. "I have to know, what did you do to scare off a poltergeist? My usual method is panic or fleeing, and frankly I don't recommend either."

He smiled at that. "I've had a lot of practice defending myself. I can knock a ghost like Ma into the ether for a while."

"Nice trick," I said. I didn't know what I would have done without him tonight.

He dropped to a sitting position next to me. "It doesn't make me very popular." He leaned his head against the back of the grave. "I've lost my temper and done it to the Johnny Rebs when they've ticked me off. That was all the time in the early days."

"Not the best way to make friends," I agreed.

He shook his head. "They wouldn't be friends with me anyway." He turned his head toward me. "You're so very nice. I realize we've only known each other a short time, but we have so much in common." He smiled. "I've been wanting to talk again, just the two of us. And perhaps, if you already own it and it's not too much trouble, I was hoping you could lend me Lestat's book. I read the preview chapter, but the library doesn't have it in my stacks."

"I'll find it for you," I said, struggling to stand. I'd buy my copy back from the used bookstore. "But first, I have to get out of this grave." 

"Of course," he said, taking a sudden interest in the clumps of dirt at his feet. "I hope I wasn't asking too much. I know I must seem odd to you." I felt a twinge of guilt as he rose up out of the grave. "I'll try to remember my place."

"No," I called to him. "Wait." He lingered at the edge, right where Ma Hatcher had stood. I managed to reach a few sturdy tree roots and haul myself out by a leg thrown over the side, then a roll, and then a clumsy stand. A lady does what she must. "I do want to talk to you," I said, out of breath. "I like you," I added, and was rewarded when his face lit up. Poor guy. "It's just that we're in a haunted forest, and I don't know where my ghost friend, Frankie, is. He's not in good shape. I'll bet he's lost his knees by now, and probably a good portion of his mind."

"Then I shall help you find your friend," he said, offering me his arm.

"Erm…"

"Sorry," he said, dropping it.

"I'm glad for the company," I told him, as I began walking toward Maisie's house, grabbing nearby trees for support. My knees felt weak, but that wasn't going to keep me from moving. "I also appreciate your help with Ma." Hopefully he could keep me safe until we arrived at my car.

"We can talk while we walk," he said, as I stepped over another mushy part of ground. I didn't want to risk falling into another grave. "I have some fascinating theories on whether Louis really knew about Lestat's desire to turn Claudia. Because when you think about it…"

I shrieked and stumbled backward when Josephine appeared right in front of me, with absolutely no warning. 

"What are you still doing here?" She wrung her hands. Her long hair streamed out behind her, as if held by an invisible wind. "Ma won't stay gone."

These ghosts were going to give me a heart attack one of these days. "Major Jackson sent your ma to the ether," I told her, "for now at least."

My new ghost friend stared at Josephine, openmouthed. She jumped when she saw him, and immediately began fidgeting with the lace edge of her ghostly white gown. "It was you?" she stammered. "In the woods? You?"

"Major Jackson, this is Miss Josephine Hatcher," I said, making the introduction. "Josephine, this is—"

"Matthew," she gushed. I swear if she'd had blood running through her veins she would have gone pink in the cheeks. "Matthew Jackson. I knew you." She dropped her gaze. "You didn't know me."

"I knew you," he said, stumbling over her words and his. "Prettiest girl in church."

Her image grew stronger, more defined. I could see the wisps of hair at her temple, feel the intensity of her gaze. "I was sorry when you…"

"When I joined the Yankees," he finished for her.

"No," she said, earnestly, "when you died."

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"This is great, you two," I began. I really hated to break up the moment. "But Josephine, you said your ma is coming back. The major saved me once, but I'm not going to push my luck."

"Oh, wow." She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. "Thank you," she said to him. "Verity is the only friend I have."

His lips pursed. "Not anymore," he said, giving a low bow.

She giggled and disappeared.

"As much as I want to pinch your cheek right now, we have to keep moving," I said, picking up the pace.

He dragged behind, staring at the empty space where Josephine had appeared. Oh, brother.

I'd never been so happy to see Maisie's house. "We made it," I said on a sigh. I dug for the keys in my bag. "Thank you for the escort. I think you saved my life tonight." Quite literally. "I've got to go, but you should stick around here. I think she likes you."

He let out a huff. "You are imagining things."

"Trust me," I said, heading toward the front of the house and my car. "You got her flustered. I've never seen her just disappear on a guy like that." Never mind that I'd never seen her talk to any young man, period.

He fell in next to me. "It's too late for me. I'm a monster. You saw me in the basement of the library. I'm hideous."

"You are not." He'd merely spent too much time alone and angry. A century and a half of bullying would do that to anyone. He needed confidence and the company of a sweet girl like Josephine. "You should court her."

He let out a huff. "That would be highly improper, especially given how I treated her mother when she tried to kill you."

"Josephine knows what her mother is like," I told him. "Besides, you also saved me and I'm her friend. Friendships mean a lot to a girl like Josephine."

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw my car. There didn't appear to be any damage from the shoot-out tonight. What kind of life did I have when I actually had to worry about that?

The ghost of Frankie illuminated the front passenger seat. Thank goodness. We were getting out of here.

But before I put the key in the lock, I turned back to the major. "Ask her to go for a walk. Tonight, before you chicken out."

He ran a hand through his longish hair. "But—"

"You don't know if you don't take a chance. And wouldn't it be nice to get out of that library and talk to a pretty girl?"

He appeared distinctly uncomfortable. "I think she'd rather have me protect you."

"I'm fine now," I assured him. "You can do this."

He glanced back toward the haunted house on the hill. "I'll consider it," he said, before he disappeared.

It was all I could ask.

I heaved open the door to the land yacht, and found only the top half of the gangster inside. His body had disappeared clear up to his chest. "Frankie, you poor thing. I hope you're okay," I said, sliding into my seat, depositing my bag on the floor of the passenger side.

He barked out a laugh. "Now you worry about me," he said, adding in an eye roll just in case I didn't get the point. "I need a vacation."