southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet (8 page)

I didn't know if I wanted to hug him or throttle him. Actually, neither, considering it was a bad idea to touch a ghost. "You took forever."

His lip hitched and he looked at me as if I'd gone off my rocker. "I ain't been gone that long." He drew next to me. "Now keep it down. The front door is open and your copper is inside."

"Ellis?" I asked.

He frowned. "That's what I said."

"Good." Some of my tension eased, having Frankie with me and knowing Ellis was near. I shuddered, my body trying to shake off some of the lingering fright. "You know I'm not usually this jumpy. I thought you might be…someone else."

Frankie cocked his head. "Who? The guy in the back? He
is
pretty pissed. Stay away from him," the gangster said, as we made our way around the front. 

I
knew
I'd felt an entity back there. Even without Frankie's powers I was becoming more sensitive to the other side. "Who is he?"

"Just some fella haunting his death spot." He tried to be casual, but his eyes held mine for a split second too long when he said, "I'm serious. Don't mess around back there."

"I wasn't." Still, it made me curious. "I didn't feel him this morning when I was with Melody."

Frankie frowned. "He don't have to stick around.
He's
not grounded."

Right.

Police tape ran all the way down the sides of the stairs, roped around the lights, and blocked the main entrance. "Let's do this," I said, ducking under the yellow barrier near the top of the stairs. 

Frankie gave one last, lingering glance behind us.

The front door opened easily. I slipped inside and tried not to jump when the door boomed closed behind me. "Ellis?"

"Verity." He appeared around the corner, one hand on his gun belt. The sudden bright lights in the lobby made it hard to see, but all the same, Ellis didn't appear at all happy to find me standing there. "We said ten o'clock."

"I'm avoiding your brother," I told him, nervous and chilled from outside. "Is it a problem?"

As my eyes adjusted, I realized I hadn't mistaken his apprehension. "Marshall said he'd stop back by after supper." 

"Oh," I began. 

Ellis lifted his head as a car pulled up out front. "Speak of the devil."

Dang. "What do I do?"

"You hope he doesn't see you," he said, moving past me to the door. He cracked it open and I heard a car door slam shut. "Hide. He's coming."

"Hide?" I muttered to Frankie, who had already disappeared. There was nowhere for a mortal human to take cover around here. Lights blazed in the lobby and the main room behind it. There were no dark corners, no bookshelves to duck behind. They'd all been relocated for the party. And I was
not
huddling up under a skirted table like the one where I'd found Darla's body. 

But I had to go somewhere. Anywhere. Before I could think on it too much, I opened the heavy wood door to the storage room located just off the lobby. I'd seen them use it as a coatroom for events, and a dented, empty garment rack still stood near the back. Boxes crowded the walls, more donations for the Cannonball in the Wall brunch. Poor Darla must not have gotten through them all before… 

I closed the door behind me and kept the lights off, knowing that if Marshall decided to investigate, I was in one of the first places he'd look. But it was the best I could do on short notice. 

Marshall's footsteps echoed on the marble as he entered the lobby. "Wydell. Here. Brought you a coffee." The detective's voice was warm and relaxed. Thank goodness. That meant he hadn't seen me enter the building. "All quiet?"

"As much as you can expect around here," Ellis said. "I caught Ovis Dupre peeking in the side window, trying to get a picture for the
Shady Oaks Extended Living Center Gazette
."

The detective let out a huff. "I thought he was persistent when he worked for the
Sugarland Daily
. That guy just can't retire, can he?"

"Guess not. Beatrice expecting you back home soon?" Ellis asked, a note of expectancy in his voice.

Please say yes. I'd do anything. Well, not
anything
, but…

"She's on the phone with her mother. That could take all night. I thought I'd look around here for a bit. See if I can't make sense of it all."

No, no, no. I couldn't leave my hiding spot with him wandering around the main room. And what if he wanted to see the rest of the exhibits, the ones in here with me? 

Ellis didn't know where I'd gone. He might not even try to stop Marshall from opening this door.

Their voices drew closer. 

I brought a hand to my heart.

"You know who else stopped by?" Ellis asked, a hint of mischief in his voice. "Alma Sue Holcamp." 

Marshall gave a low chuckle. "I had her fudge cookies at the county fair this summer. She more than earned that blue ribbon. Good enough to make a man think he died and went to heaven."

"She tried to bribe me with a double batch. The whole time she's holding out the plate, Alma's peeking past me into the library, like she's about to see the Holy Grail." 

Marshall chuckled. "The Holy Grail of gossip."

"I didn't want to bring food into the library, so I put them in the car. Want to sit out there and have a couple?"

"Couple dozen?" Marshall asked. "Sure," he said, after a pause. "Why not?"

"Okay." I could hear the relief in Ellis's voice. "You head on out. I'm going to make sure the windows are locked. For all we know, Alma Sue could be conspiring with Ovis Dupre," Ellis added, only half joking. He knew this town.

The door of the library boomed closed. 

Before I could even take a deep breath, Ellis wrenched open my hiding spot. "I swear, Verity," he began, a grin tickling his lips, "you are lucky I like you."

My heart warmed at that. "You like me?" I don't know why I was so surprised. I knew he did. Maybe I just needed to hear it again.

Naturally, he chose that moment to clam up, ushering me out of the storage room with quiet efficiency. "I asked you to come at ten because I knew Marshall would be out of the way by then. Sometimes, you have to do what I say instead of always thinking you know best."

Shoot. I'd been so busy dodging Beau I hadn't even thought about avoiding Marshall. "Okay, so what do we do?"

"Just stay put a minute until Marshall is out of the way. I'm going to stall him with Alma Sue's cookies as long as I can. You do your investigating. Fast. I can hold him for about a half hour, but that's only because we have a big plate and he brought coffee. When you leave, go out the back door."

Oh, no. "I can't." I wanted to avoid that frigid spot until the ghost was good and gone. Even if I couldn't exactly see the specter, I sure as heck didn't want to draw its attention. I'd heard of spirits following people home. "Is there any way I can sneak out the front?" I asked, more than a touch desperate. "Maybe use a side window? It was good enough for Ovis."

Ellis's cheeks flushed. "Don't do this to me, Verity. You absolutely cannot get caught in here. It wouldn't go well for either of us."

He was right. Ellis would get into so much trouble. He could even lose his job.

"Fine," I said, forcing myself to accept that he was right. "I'll go out the back." I'd risk a run-in with the ghost that made even Frankie nervous. "But you have to give me that half hour in here. Not a moment less." I needed to concentrate, to focus without worrying about Marshall bursting in the door at any second.

"You got it," Ellis said, checking his watch. "It'll be okay. We've pulled out of tight spots before."

True. But sooner or later, we were bound to get caught. 

Frankie materialized as the door boomed closed behind Ellis. "That was too close," I said.

The gangster glided to one of the arched windows flanking the door. "Don't matter how close it is, as long as you don't get pinched."

That was one way of looking at it. 

My hard, flat sandals echoed against the marble floors as we passed through the lobby and into the main reference room. The tables stood undisturbed, their artifacts eerie in the deserted space, the remains of lives long gone.

"You ready?" Frankie prodded.

"No," I said. I wasn't being saucy. It was the God's honest truth.

Frankie was not amused. "Wrong answer. Clock's ticking."

I knew that. I was strong. I could handle this. "I'm ready." As ready as I'd ever be. "Show me the other side."

Chapter Five

T
HE
AIR
SHIFTED
, prickling my skin and working a dull throb through my muscles and bones. Sparks of energy spiraled lazily downward like enchanted dust motes. 

I held my breath while an unearthly light settled over us, casting the room in an eerie silver glow. 

Images slowly came into focus all around me. The row of display tables in the reading room faded away, replaced by military cots. A woman huddled over one of the nearest ones, her long skirts trailing behind her as she bent to whisper over an empty pillow, crumpled with the weight of a head. I froze when the apparition turned my way, as if I'd called her, which I certainly hadn't. She had no face. She barely had any form at all, just an outline of a woman.

I heard faint sobbing as she glided toward me. No telling where that came from. I fought to keep my expression neutral, locked my knees lest I show the fear pounding through every cell in my body.

"What do I do?" I whispered to Frankie when it became clear she wasn't stopping. "Frankie." 

I turned to find him gone.

My mouth went dry. The woman hovered inches from me, forcing me to stare straight at the churning mist that should have been her face. I could see right through her. I leaned back as the chill of her washed over me. 

"Private Baker asked to send a letter." Her lilting voice was sweet, hollow. Haunting. "Will you take it down for him when he wakes?"

She pointed back toward the bed with the crumpled pillow, and I could have sworn I saw a flicker of light over the bed.

Keep it together.

I'd seen ghosts before. I had one living in my house. But these entities seemed…less human. I felt bad for even thinking it. 

Still, I wasn't so sure I could even speak to Private Baker if he was a wisp of light on a pallet, and how dare I even hesitate when it came to helping an injured soldier? "Yes," I said, before I could change my mind. He was suffering, and I'd do whatever I could. Maybe Frankie would have some ideas on how to connect with the barely-there spirit. If the gangster didn't laugh me out of the building first.

"See to the men," she said, before she faded into nothingness. Her voice echoed in the air around me. "I'm to help the doctor with an amputation."

I brought a hand to my mouth. The library had been converted into a field hospital after the Battle of Sugarland. I'd just never given much thought to what that meant. 

When Frankie showed me the other side, I saw the strongest energies that haunted the space. If I concentrated, I could almost see the outlines of the men on the cots, hear moans and chest-deep coughs. They controlled this space.

With a creak and a loud slam that shook the building, the front door of the library burst open. I turned, expecting Ellis, or worse, Marshall. But no. The real door remained closed. Two spirits shimmered through the dark wood. A man in a Confederate uniform staggered into the field hospital, half supporting, half dragging one of his comrades. They flickered in shades of ghostly gray. Even still, I could see the man's leg dripped with blood.

"In here," I said, waving them over.

They disappeared.

I dropped my hand to my side. What was I thinking? I couldn't help them. None of this was real. Not anymore.

Keep it together.
 

I squeezed my hands into fists, welcoming the sharp sting of my nails biting into my palms. That was real. I was real. They were not. 

And as far as my ghost buddy? At least I'd found Frankie. He sat on the floor near the lobby with a group of bandaged soldiers. They appeared to be playing poker.

At a time like this.

I stalked over to him. "What are you doing?" I didn't appreciate being abandoned in a haunted library. Especially for a game of five-card stud. It's not like we had all day.

The curly-haired soldier on Frankie's right glared at me with his one good eye. The other was covered in gauze. He quickly drew his cards to his chest. "Are you cheating, Frank?"

"Me? No," the gangster scoffed, as if the mere suggestion offended him. He jabbed a thumb in my direction. "This dame wouldn't know a good hand if it bit her."

We had work to do. "I don't care about your cards and he shouldn't, either." I gave Frankie a pointed look. "Now are you going to help me out or are you going to sit around gambling?"

"One more, Stoutmeyer," Frankie said to the dealer. He accepted the card and lazily fingered his hand. The gangster threw a card down and the dealer, a skinny guy with bruises all over his face and a chest full of gauze wrap, laid a new one facedown on the table. Frankie scooped up the card. "I did my job. You're the one who wanted to do some investigating. So why are you talking to me instead of trying to find out what happened?" he pressed. "Ticktock," he added, just to get my hackles up.

"Fine." He was impossible anyway when he was like this. "I'll do it without you." I addressed his buddies. "Maybe some of you gentlemen can help. I'm investigating a death that happened in this room last night." 

The corporal on Frankie's left straightened his uniform collar. He didn't appear injured at all. If he hadn't worn a uniform, I would have pegged him for a cute farm boy. "Were we here last night?" he asked the others.

"That's a tough one." The man on Frankie's right shrugged a shoulder, not bothering to look up from his cards. "What year is it?"

"1973, I think," the corporal said.

I started to correct him when the dealer interrupted me. "More than a hundred years since the battle and the town still remembers us."