The First Ghost (7 page)

Where was Hephzibah now? I had no idea how to deal with these issues. This was why I hated working in the funeral home. “Perfectly understandable,” I said. “But I think it’s time to find out. Tonight.”

Corinne nodded. I could tell she was crying even though no tears streamed down her cheeks and she didn’t make a sound. “It’s just...never mind,” she mumbled.

“Tell me.”

“Somebody killed me. And now he’s going to get away with it.” Her shoulders shook, and she ducked her head, letting her honey-colored hair hide her face.

No, no, no. Not this conversation. “Do you have any idea who killed you?”

The hair curtain swayed as she shook her head. “I don’t know who. I don’t even know why.”

“Maybe it wasn’t murder. Maybe it was an accident.” I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to kill Corinne.

“That isn’t possible.”

“Maybe the police have solved it.”

She lifted her head. “Could you find out? Please? That would mean a lot. I don’t want him to get away with it.”

Against my better judgment I said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

What else could I say?

* * * *

The day stretched ahead of me, long and empty. I had made a promise to Corinne, and I really had no idea how to fulfill it. I had made promises to myself, but the prospect of job-hunting filled me with terror. I’d rather face another demon.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I called Harry.

An hour later, Harry picked me up in a blue Mahaffey-Ringold van. I hoped it didn’t have a body in it. The big hearses are mostly for funerals. The van does the bulk of pickup and delivery.

He frowned when I climbed in. “Did you have to bring the dog?”

“I didn’t want to leave him alone all day.” I was afraid of further damage to my bathroom door or unabashed howling.

“You’ve gotten weird on me. Don’t you think it’s time you got another car?” He shifted gears.

“That might be hard.”

“Oh?” He stomped on the accelerator with such ferocity I had to close my eyes. If Harry on the freeway was a scary prospect, Harry dodging pedestrians and city traffic was truly a near-death experience.

I gave him the CliffsNotes version of losing my job. He made appropriate brotherly noises and then asked the dreaded question. “Is that why you wanted me to pick you up? You’re coming back to work for Mother and Walter?”

“No, absolutely not.” I was so horrified I made the mistake of opening my eyes. A large semi bore down on us at a terrifying speed. Harry wrenched the van back onto our side of the street just in time. The truck driver laid on his horn indignantly. Harry beeped back at him and careened around a corner.

I had one arm holding Billy in my lap and another gripping the armrest. Billy stood with his front paws on the dash, snorking happily.

“I need to talk some things over with Mother. Mother-daughter stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Drop you off and disappear. Don’t worry. I need to take Mrs. Hazelthorne to the crematorium anyway.” He jerked his chin toward the back of the van.

* * * *

Harry let me off at the side door and peeled out as though it was a dire emergency to deliver Mrs. Hazelthorne within the next thirty seconds. Good thing most of Harry’s passengers were already dead.

The bell tinkled as I went in the employee entrance. Mother was entertaining a “client” in her office.

“Oh hello, dear,” she said. “Mrs. Hazelthorne, this is my daughter, Portia.”

Mrs. Hazelthorne was plump, but in a shapely way, with gray hair fluffed about her head like a huge cotton ball. “Two of you? Dear me, this is my lucky day. So very nice to meet you, Portia.”

Mrs. Hazelthorne sat in a chair poring over the pages that Mother turned for her. She didn’t appear to have mastered the art of floating yet.

“Mrs. Hazelthorne is newly deceased,” Mother offered. “We’re finalizing her funeral plan before her husband arrives.”

“Definitely the pewter urn,” Mrs. Hazelthorne said. “The living room is very nautical, and pewter would fit right in with all the blue tones.”

“Now about the hymns,” Mother said.

“Let me see.” Mrs. Hazelthorne tapped her chin. “I always liked
Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me
, and
Rescue the Perishing
. Those would be nice, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes,” Mother said. “I’ve always been partial to Fanny Crosby. May I suggest
Blessed Assurance
?”

“That sounds nice. What do you think?” Mrs. Hazelthorne looked brightly at me. “What a cute little doggy,” she exclaimed, spying Billy for the first time. The pug was sitting there with his head cocked and a bemused expression on his face.

Mother’s mouth hung open. “You did get a dog. I thought Harry was making it up.”

“I’ll explain later,” I said. The front doorbell tinkled.

Mother stood. “That will be Mr. Hazelthorne.”

“I’ll get him,” I offered. I unclipped Billy’s leash and he trotted at my heels. I hoped he didn’t think he was my dog now. He’d probably transfer his loyalty to anyone who fed him.

Mr. Hazelthorne was a phlegmatic, red-eyed man. He had obviously been crying, but was otherwise stoic. I introduced myself and took him back to see Mother.

“Nice dog,” he said. “Betty Lou always fancied little dogs.”

I assumed Betty Lou was Mrs. Hazelthorne. When she saw her red-eyed husband, she grew weepy herself. I had to leave the room. I’m so not cut out for this kind of work. I wandered off to the chapel where services are sometimes held.

The chapel is very traditional, bordering on old-fashioned. It’s what people expect. Burgundy carpeting and dark wood. Seating on both sides with a wide center aisle. The benches look like standard pews, but the pieces come apart. The size can be adjusted. It’s supposed to be easy, and taking the things apart really is, but Harry and Walter need about an hour with a rubber mallet to put them back together. Up front is a platform with machinery hidden by drapery. Coffins come in on rollers and then are raised into position. The sound system is new, too. Mother sank a bunch of money into the place before the economy tanked. Now everyone wanted funerals on the cheap. She swore they were doing okay, but I worried.

Hephzibah sat at the organ, flipping through the hymnals. “Boy, them Lutherans are a serious bunch. Give me something with a beat any day. Is Betty Lou about ready?”

“I have no idea.” I sat next to her on the bench. “Mother is doing the service arrangements with the husband right now.”

“Good. Betty Lou wanted to see her Clarence one more time.”

“Speaking of, I’m calling Corinne’s aunt tonight. I think she’s almost ready to cross over.”

Hephzibah gave me a look. “Did she you hit you up about solving her murder?”

“I promised to make sure it was being handled. That’s as far as I go.”

“Unh-huh. Sure it is, doll.”

“I don’t think Corinne expects me to solve her murder. She’ll go with you.”

“If you say so. Hey, you haven’t seen an old guy hanging around the dang train station, have you?”

“What kind of old guy?”

“A dead one. Sometimes they get away from me. Lester Jacobsen had a heart attack, and he was supposed to make it to the hospital, but he didn’t. I heard a rumor that he’s wandering the rails.”

I was pretty sure I had seen him twice. “Any idea what he looks like?”

“Little guy. Bushy mustache. Lots of white hair.”

“I saw him. He asked me about his mother, which I thought was weird.”

“Sometimes people don’t know they’re dead and they get confused. If you see Lester, try to hang on to him. I’m afraid he’s gonna be demon chow if I can’t locate him soon.”

“...and this is where we hold services, unless you have another location in mind,” Mother said, leading Clarence Hazelthorne into the chapel.

He looked around. “This will be fine. Betty Lou would like it here.”

“Oh, I do, Clarence. I do.” Mrs. Hazelthorne clasped her hands together.

“I’m not sure about the urn,” he said. “I think the brass might be nice and shiny over the mantle.”

“Trust me,” Mother said firmly. “Pewter is the only way to go. May I make some hymn suggestions?”

I stayed out of the way until Mother had safely guided Mr. Hazelthorne through the arrangements Mrs. Hazelthorne had chosen. He shuffled out the door.

After a few sniffles and some hand-wringing, Mrs. Hazelthorne went meekly with Hephzibah. They simply joined hands, took a step, and vanished. A little puff of air blew past my face. I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe smoke and a flash of light? Angels singing? Maybe a little drama? It was so mundane. Hands. Step. Gone.

Goodbye, Betty Lou.

Mother beamed at me. “We have so much to discuss,” she said. “I’ll make the French vanilla coffee.”

I followed her down to the little kitchenette in the employee section. It was very quiet, with Harry and Walter both gone. When the place is slammed, Mother brings in more part-time planners, including my Aunt Bella. There are two people who specialize in “preparing the deceased.” They’re sisters, and behind their backs Harry and I call them the weird sisters. They’re a little strange, but loyal to Mahaffey-Ringold. I know they worked for my grandparents, but they look old enough to have worked for my great-grandparents.

As the coffee percolated, Mother and I sat at one of the blue card tables that passes for an employee lunchroom. None of the renovation money had gone into improvements here. The linoleum was worn dull, and the metal chairs groaned with every shift in weight. I opened my mouth to speak, but an unseen visitor cleared his throat.

Billy growled softly.

“Show yourself, please,” Mother said. “It’s rude to listen in on other people’s conversations.”

“Rude, am I?” A young man appeared. He had slicked-back hair and a pencil-thin mustache. His eyes were so dark they looked black. His clothing was old-fashioned. Twenties? Thirties? I’m not good at that sort of thing. He checked a golden watch on a chain. “Isn’t it a wee bit tardy to be drinking coffee, what?” He smirked.

Mother sighed. “Portia, this is Boris. Boris...”

“Oh, I know who she is. Can she finally see me? How marvelous.”

So this was the infamous Boris. I knew he resided here and that he was in the habit of popping in and annoying Mother. Sometimes he played the organ.

“I see you,” I said.

“Smashing dog! Is he yours?”

“For now.”

“Hullo, poochie.” Boris hovered over Billy, who growled. “Well, aren’t you the cranky one? Hah! He’ll fit in just fine around these uptight killjoys.”

“Did you need something?” Mother asked.

“Just being social.” Boris raised an eyebrow. “I take it I’m impinging on some sort of hen party.”

“You are,” Mother said.

“Fine,” he sniffed. “TTFN.” He snapped his fingers and vanished.

Mother waited a moment. “I know you’re still here.”

“All right. All right. I’m going this time.”

Silence.

“I mean it, Boris.”

“Damn it,” he said.

She waited a moment longer. “He’s gone now. I’ve been around him so long that I’m sensitive to his presence. That happens when you’re around one ghost for years and years.”

I shuddered at the thought. Then a question occurred to me. “What about Reclaimers? I thought they came for people who didn’t cross over? And what about demons? Are there other things I need to look out for?”

The coffee was done. Mother got up to pour us each a cup. The strains of
Roll Out the Barrel
being played on the organ drifted down the hall from the chapel.

“Reclaimers? You’ve been talking to Hephzibah. Reclaimers have only been around the last forty years or so. Things were getting cluttered with too many ghosts. In the sixties it became popular to linger and haunt members of the establishment. Too much war and too many drug overdoses. So the Reclaimers were drafted. They hunt unclaimed souls for a bounty, but older ghosts, like Boris, are pre-reclaimer. They can’t be touched.”

“But demons?”

“Demons are a real risk for ghosts. They aren’t picky. They’ll eat anyone they can catch. Mahaffey-Ringold is on sacred ground. Demons can’t come here, so it’s a popular place for some of the older spirits to hang out.”

“I know about Boris and that snooty old lady, whatshername. Lady Hildegard? How many of them live here?”

Mother studied me curiously. “How did you know about demons, anyway? Have you actually seen one?”

“Ugly and smelly.”

She set down her cup. “Honey, I’m impressed. I’ve been hoping to see one for years. Only a few days and your gift is so strong.”

“I’m being haunted,” I blurted out.

“Already?”

“Remember the girl who died in my hospital room? She was murdered, and now she won’t cross over. I promised to look after her dog.” I gestured to Billy, who had stretched out under the table, all four legs spread-eagled, snoring softly.

“Ah,” Mother said. “That explains the dog.”

“I’ve promised to call her family, but...”

“It’s difficult,” Mother said. “Some are reluctant, but persuading them to cross over is a skill that comes with time. I’m sure you can reason with her. Good Lord! What is that smell?”

I glanced under the table at Billy. “He’s been a little gassy today.”

“What are you feeding him?”

“Money. He eats money.”

“You should try something for sensitive tummies.”

“I didn’t realize you were a dog expert. Maybe you should--”

“Don’t even think about it. This was your charitable impulse. Speaking of, I suppose you need a temporary job.”

“You haven’t gone precognitive on me, have you, Mother?”

“Don’t I wish.” She took a sip of her coffee. “You’re here in the middle of the day.”

“I could have the day off.”

She smiled at me over her cup. “Cruella let you off? I doubt that. We could find you a permanent position here.”

“I’ll find a new job soon. I’m not cut out for the funeral business.”

“If you insist,” Mother said. “But I think your new skills would be handy. Be here tomorrow by noon to clean the chapel. We have an afternoon viewing. Don’t worry. She’s already crossed over. Just make sure things run smoothly.” The chorus to
Ain’t We Got Fun
drifted down the hall. “And keep Boris off the organ.”