The First Ghost (18 page)

“I was. I am.”

“So why, then?”

“I don’t know. I just did.” That wasn’t an answer. Fierro asked a lot of questions, but didn’t answer many. “I think I’m going to Mass tomorrow.”

“Me too,” I said. We locked eyes and something sparked for maybe a second. Then it was gone.

It was dark by the time I deposited Fierro back at the PD. I’d intended to call Ethan and see if he wanted to meet for drinks, but the weather gave me the perfect excuse. Now all I wanted was a hot bubble bath and an evening without ghosts.

I got my wish.

On Sunday I planned to meet my mother for Mass and then stay for the meal as promised. I had a brilliant idea for the next week, but needed Corinne to make an appearance. I wanted her to stake out the fridge at work and watch to see who helped himself to a burrito.

But on this Sunday, there was no Starla and no Corinne and I didn’t go to Mass. I thought about saying a prayer, but I wasn’t sure how to begin, so I decided that God would understand. I was doing something important by solving murders so the victims could cross over. Surely that was what he wanted me to do.

Starla had given me a pretty good description of the bar where she worked. A quick cruise by the Peppermill revealed it was not only open on Sunday, but would actually open at nine. Who goes to a bar on a frosty Sunday morning?

I circled the block and finally parked around the corner. I wasn’t sure exactly why I had come, but I wondered if Starla had any friends at the bar and if they knew anything helpful. I was lost in thought when someone knocked on the passenger side window. I started and then sheepishly unlocked the door. Fierro climbed in.

“This is police work,” he said. “Not psychic work.”

“Good thing I’m not a psychic.”

“Clairvoyant. Whatever. You might want to drive something other than a hearse if you want to stake out a place.”

“This isn’t a stakeout,” I said. “I was just thinking.”

He shifted in his seat and turned toward me. “I thought you were meeting your mother for Mass.”

“I was. I thought you were going to church too.”

“I was. In one hour we can both go in and see who wants to talk about Starla.”

“I get to go too? I thought you had a partner.”

“He doesn’t share my enthusiasm for the Starla Mueller case. In fact, he doesn’t think there is a case and officially there isn’t a homicide. What about you? I thought you had a boyfriend. What’s he going to think about you hanging out in bars on Sunday morning?”

I stared. “How did you know I had a boyfriend?”

He turned to face ahead. “You must have mentioned it.”

“I did nothing of the kind. You’ve been checking up on me.” I wagged an accusatory finger.

Fierro unbuttoned his jacket. “I had to make sure you weren’t some type of nut, that you didn’t have ties to the case.”

“You said you believed me.”

“I did. I do. But I checked you out first.”

“That’s not fair. You know more about me than I do about you.”

“Come on,” he said. “Pull out and turn left.”

“Why should I?”

“Because there’s a good Spanish bakery around the corner. Esperanza’s. Coffee and a pastry, my treat. Plus you can grill me. Deal?”

“Fine.” I put the hearse in gear. “But I don’t know where you get off thinking a boyfriend gets any say about where I go when. And he’s not my boyfriend. We just started dating.”

“So what does that make the good doctor?”

I cut my eyes over. “It makes him none of your damn business.”

“Does he know you see dead people? Right there. Pull in.”

“It says
no parking
.”

“I can handle that. One of the perks. So does he?”

I parked and glared. “No, he doesn’t know. I don’t want him to think I’m weird.”

Fierro thought for a moment. “Good choice.”

We sat by one of the windows with coffee and pastries. He was right. My pastry was a pink shortbread with icing. Amazingly good.

“All right,” he said. “Shoot.” I raised an eyebrow. “Not literally of course. I’d haunt you.”

“Is there a Missus Detective Fierro?”

“There was.”

“How long have you been divorced?”

He took a long drag of coffee before answering. “I’m not. Gracie died. Cancer.” He put up a hand to stop any embarrassment. “She’s been gone for four years. I’m okay with talking about it.”

“I still feel like a heel.”

“Ask me more questions.”

“Now I’m afraid to.”

“I’ll fill in the blanks. No kids. No pets. I’ve been a detective for six years and a cop longer than that. I joined the force when I was twenty-one. And yes, I played college football until I blew out a knee. How’s that?”

“It’ll do.”

At nine o’clock the doors to the Peppermill were unlocked. The interior was dark and smoky. There were no windows, and for all I could tell, it might have been nine at night except for the lack of people. That’s not to say that the bar was empty. There were two people sitting there drinking. One of them was the bartender. A woman stood off to the side polishing glasses with a dingy towel. Her smudged eyes and tousled hair gave rise to the suspicion that she didn’t sleep in her own bed the night before. She eyed us with a lack of interest.

“Help you?” she asked in a throaty, smoker’s voice.

Fierro flashed a badge. “Looking for Lurlene Hooper.”

“Found her,” she said. Compared to Lurlene, Starla looked fresh and dewy eyed.

“Talk to you over here?” Fierro gestured over to a table at the far corner.

Lurlene shrugged and followed us.

“I’m looking into the disappearance of Starla Mueller,” he said.

Interest flickered in her dull eyes. “’Bout time someone gave a damn. Me and Dean reported her missing. That bastard she married don’t give two shits.”

“I hear you. Thing is, we don’t have much to go on. I’m looking for anything you can tell me about Starla and her husband.”

“Like what?”

“Like, how would you describe their marriage? Would you say it was in trouble?”

She snorted. “Trouble? Did the
Titanic
run into a little trouble with some ice? That marriage was beyond trouble. Starla was pretty sure Joby was running around on her. She said she was gonna follow him and find out. That’s what she said the last time I talked to her. She never showed for her shift. Me and Dean got worried. We started calling, but ain’t nobody seen Starla. That bastard husband of hers cussed us and claimed she run away with Dean’s cousin, but Dean and me knew better. Starla ain’t the type to run.”

“Why not?”

“She just ain’t. Starla never run from nothing in her whole life.”

Fierro nodded. “I hear you. Here’s my card.” He pulled a little gold case from his pocket and handed one to her.

Lurlene’s eyes grew canny. “This here card says
Homicide
. You think she’s dead?”

Fierro hesitated and then nodded. “It’s a strong possibility.”

Lurlene stared at the card. “Shit,” she said, blinking back tears. “That’s what I think too.”

When we got back in the car, I said, “So where does that leave us? Lurlene didn’t do anything but confirm what Starla already told us.”

“It leaves you keeping your date with your mother. It’s bad enough skipping church, but you better not miss lunch. And it’s nice to confirm what Starla told us about going to confront Joby, especially from a living witness who can actually testify in court. But that’s enough freebie work on behalf of the dead for one day.”

I decided Fierro had a point, so I swung by my apartment and grabbed Billy, who spent the ride racing back and forth between the dash and the passenger window. He never settled down into his seat. Halfway there, I remembered to drive with the window cracked. When he finished this bag of dog food, I was buying something cheaper. Hopefully it would make Billy less gassy.

I didn’t bother putting Billy on the leash at Mother’s. He had gotten used to staying on my heels. “Be good,” I said. “Don’t pee on anything.”

He snorked along the front door with too much interest.

“I mean it,” I said.

“Ooh, it’s a little doggy. Looks like a tasty snack.” Old Man Biddle hovered over me, grinning.

“You’re still here?”

“’Course he’s here. He won’t cross over,” Hephzibah said. “Be careful, doll. Don’t let him pollute you.”

Mother whipped the door open. “Stay out! You’re not wanted here!”

I recoiled in shock.

“Not you,” she whispered. “Him.”

“Hee hee.” Biddle zoomed down the street, cackling.

I followed her inside, shucking my coat and draping it over an armchair. “Why won’t Biddle cross over?”

“Because he doesn’t want to.” She picked up my coat and opened the closet door. “He knows where he’s going.”

“You mean hell?”

“Amen, sister,” Hephzibah said. “He’s just hanging around trying to cause as much havoc as he can before the Reclaimers get him. Personally I’m rooting for a demon. If anyone deserves to get eaten, it’s that old bastard.”

Mother shuddered. “Enough about Old Man Biddle. Where were you this morning?”

“It was the weather. I wasn’t sure if the streets were good.”

“You’re such a bad liar.” She patted my cheek. “It does a mother’s heart good.”

“What did Old Man Biddle do that was so awful?”

“Never you mind. It’s being handled. Once the place goes through probate,” Mother said, giving Hephzibah a worried glance.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t meddle in matters of the living,” Hephzibah said. “I’ve got business of the dead to tend to.” She walked through the front wall.

“I figured now that you saw concrete evidence of the spiritual world you would come back to church with me.”

“I meant to,” I said. “I had things to do. And the weather really was bad last night.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Were you meeting someone perhaps? How is your doctor?”

“He’s not my doctor, but he’s fine. His name is Ethan. If things stay good, I’ll let you meet him.”

“You say that like you’re ashamed of us.” Walter entered the room, stamping mud from his feet. Harry’s arms were laden with firewood.

“Oh honey, that’s too wet to burn,” Mother said.

“It’s not bad. Just a little damp,” Harry protested.

Mother made a face. “That makes it so smoky, and it takes forever to catch. Portia’s not ashamed of us. She’s cautious. Doesn’t want to jinx a new relationship. Right, dear?”

“That’s it,” I said.

“I mean,” Mother continued, “there isn’t anything wrong with him, is there? Something we should know?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, Mother. He’s very nice. Nothing for you to worry about.”

The meal was a disaster and not because of the rubbery lemon chicken or a broccoli rice casserole with the consistency and flavor of paste. It was the poltergeist-style antics of Biddle, who’d found his way back into the house. Walter prayed over the meal and I joined in. I don’t know if it helps, but I figured that little things like saying grace couldn’t hurt and if they helped, well, so much the better.

Grace was interrupted by the bread pudding flying off the table and onto the floor. Mother looked up and saw Biddle cackling and hovering over her table. Her jaw tightened. Harry and I leapt up to clean the mess.

“It’s no great loss,” Harry whispered. “There’s a pie from Perulli’s in the fridge.”

“Leave it somewhere safe,” I said.

He gave me a funny look. “You know, a lot of strange things have been happening around the neighborhood lately.”

We went into the living room to see Mother red-faced and Walter holding a squirming Billy, who had been doing his best to clean up the pudding by himself.

“I didn’t think he needed to eat glass,” Walter explained.

“Little piggy,” I said. Billy wiggled with delight, then his eyes bugged over my shoulder.

“Ar-ar-ar-ar.”

“Your dog is weird,” Harry said, but he had a thoughtful expression as he stared at the place Billy was looking. “You know, all this started when Old Man Biddle died.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mother said, but she got up and lit her incense candles that she gets from Father Mike. She has a little shrine to the cross in the living room. I think the candles smell foul. Fortunately, Biddle seemed to agree. He hacked and wheezed and recoiled from the smoke before disappearing.

* * * *

I had a good excuse for leaving early. I needed to pick up Aunt Susie at the airport. Billy was pitiful when I left him in the car with the windows cracked.

I recognized Susie Simpson, although I had never laid eyes on her before. She was Corinne, three decades older. Same round face, long blond hair and wide blue eyes. This was how Corinne would look if she had matured, raised her niece, then buried her.

Susie greeted me like an old friend with an enormous hug. “I'm not usually a hugger,” she said. “But I feel like I know you.”

I helped her gather her luggage. Susie recoiled at the hearse. “Oh my.” Her carry-on fell to the ground.

“I should have warned you. My family owns a funeral home. I had to borrow a car. Don’t worry. I won’t put your stuff in the back.”

Bug eyes and frantic scrabbling paws on the window told me that Billy had spotted us.

“Billy,” she exclaimed, rushing to the hearse. “He looks so good.” She cuddled the wheezing pug trying to lick her face.

I eased us back into traffic and turned toward downtown. “It’s a longish ride. Do you want to stop for a bite or a Coke? I can pick you something up.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. I’m anxious to get to the apartment.”

“You want to go now? I thought maybe tomorrow after work...”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “That would be okay.”

“Are you sure? You don’t mind?” I turned to look at her.

“That would be fine. I was planning on staying a couple of days. I’ll get a hotel room.”

“You could stay with me. I don’t mind.”

“That’s so sweet, but I wanted...well...” She seemed embarrassed. “I don’t get down to Dallas very often.”

Something clicked. “You want to go shopping.”

“That seems awfully shallow, doesn’t it? Poor Cori.” She sniffled. Fortunately I was armed with tissues. I had expected this.