The Icing on the Corpse (23 page)

Chapter 36

They started on the top floor. Stan wondered if that was on purpose. A buildup of the excitement as they made their way to their final destination—the basement.

Wolf held the video camera, Val the digital. Max carried his recorder at the ready. Andy did something in the next room. Fox turned quiet. Serious. He consulted his notes, then turned to Izzy. “Anything on this floor you noticed?”

Izzy shook her head. “I didn't spend a lot of time up here. I wasn't exactly sure what I wanted to do with this space, so I didn't pay it much mind.”

Fox nodded. He walked slowly around the room with his flashlight. Motioned to Max, who pressed a button on his recorder. “Is anyone here?” he asked.

Nothing. Nothing that Stan could hear, anyway. She leaned forward, listening intently. On the show, there was always some crackle or static noise that they later deciphered. Max shook his head. Wolf did a slow pan of the room with his camera. Then they moved into the next room.

“Try the rods,” Fox said. Andy nodded. He pulled out two copper-colored wands. They glowed in the crew's lights, shooting off flashes of gold around the room.

Andy focused on the rods for a few seconds, then closed his eyes. “Felix. Are you here?”

Stan held her breath. Waited. Next to her, Izzy grabbed her arm in anticipation.

The rods didn't move.

“Is anyone here? Does anyone have a message for us?”

This time, the rod in Andy's left hand moved, ever so slightly, to the left.

Izzy peered at it. “What does that mean?”

“That means yes,” Andy said. Izzy gasped.

“What's the message?” Stan asked.

“How are you going to get a message with the rods?” Izzy asked.

“It's more to determine yes or no answers,” Andy said. “We just got the answer that someone is here, and there's a message. Adrian—want to try with the recorder?”

Fox nodded. Max wagged the recorder and hit his button.

“What do you want to tell us?” Fox asked the room.

Nothing. Izzy relaxed her grip on Stan's arm.

“Who are you?” Fox tried.

Nothing again.

“Dude. You sure you weren't moving the rods?” Max asked. Wolf snickered. Andy sent him a nasty look.

“Behave,” Fox said, before Andy opened his mouth. He looked around. “Val, snap a few shots.”

Val obliged. Wolf panned the room again. Fox noted a few things on his pad. Sarah floated around, eyes closed. Stan envisioned her getting tangled up in the wires with those heels and taking the whole operation out. She stifled a giggle. Izzy looked at her curiously.

“Next floor,” Fox said.

 

 

They descended on the main floor. In the northeast corner of the main room, near the spot where Izzy said one of the guys had told her they'd heard some knocking, the camera caught some kind of orb.

“Bingo,” Wolf said.

“What does that mean?” Izzy asked anxiously.

Wolf shrugged. “Hard to say. This part is all about capturing the evidence. The next thing is to watch the hours of footage and see what we're really getting, and listen to the recordings. You guys are seeing all the glam.” He winked at them.

Izzy started to ask something else, but then from the other side of the room, an audible gasp. All heads turned to see Sarah, standing near the window, hands on her head as if she suddenly had a raging headache. Stan remembered her similar show at the Groundhog Day event, and what happened next. She did not want a repeat performance.

“Sarah?” Stan hurried over. “Are you okay?”

“My mother,” Sarah murmured. “My mother is trying to tell me something.”

Stan looked at Adrian, unsure what to do. She couldn't tell what he thought either. But Sarah didn't seem to care what either of them thought. Eyes still closed, hands on her head like she was in some sort of weird trance, she moved away from Stan. Glided over the floor, her heels miraculously not getting caught up in tools or cables, and headed straight for the stairs leading to the basement.

“She said it was an accident. All of it was an accident.” She paused, opened her eyes, and looked around at them. “She wants to show us.” She vanished through the door onto the steep wooden staircase. Stan heard her heavy heels clunking down the steps.

Stan felt a little thrill. Was she really talking to Helga? Right now? Was this endeavor actually going to reveal something? Was Sarah for real? The opening bars of “Rhiannon” played in a back corner of her brain. Peering after Sarah, she balked at the narrow black space ahead of her. Sarah hadn't even waited for a flashlight beam.

“Holy cow,” Izzy muttered. “This is weird.”

Adrian motioned to Max. “Let's go.”

“On it.” Max headed down behind Sarah, recorder on. Fox turned to Stan and Izzy, who brought up the rear of the party. Izzy was dead last, holding on to Stan's arm. “Be very careful on these stairs,” he warned them over his shoulder before starting down. “The workers told me they haven't done much to shore up the basement structure. They're old and very steep.”

Stan craned her neck, trying to see past him into the darkness that had swallowed Sarah. She could still see Max's outline, but not hers. The walls on both sides of the stairs looked like they could crumble at the slightest touch. There was no railing. Adrian stepped onto the staircase, his heavy boot echoing against the old wood.

She turned to see if Izzy was behind her. She was, and she looked eerie in the glow of the spotlight Fox's team had set up near the camera. It cast a strange glow over everything on the main floor. Stan couldn't tell if the shadowy shapes dancing around the room and down the steps were real or her mind played tricks on her.

“Mom?” Sarah's voice called from the dark.

Stan took one step down just as she heard some weird static noise echoing back from below. Max's excited voice echoed back to her, though she could no longer see him. Then a creaking noise drowned out any further words, followed by a crack that sounded like the entire floor had broken in half below them. Then, a thunderous crash, a scream, and silence as Max vanished from their view in a cloud of dust.

Stan felt air beneath her feet and braced for impact. Instead, she felt herself being lifted and propelled backward, hitting the floor with a thud. Her breath left her in a
whoosh
as Adrian Fox ended up on top of her. From somewhere above her she heard Izzy yell. She lay there for a second, stunned, until Fox scrambled to his feet and pulled her up with Izzy's help.

“Are you okay?” he asked urgently.

“Fine,” Stan said, rubbing the hip that had taken the hardest blow. “What just happened?”

Max, Val, and Wolf ran over from various spots in the building when they heard the chaos.

“What the—” Wolf looked stunned. “Where's Max?”

“Stair collapse. Call 911.” Fox grabbed the giant flashlight out of Wolf's hand and turned back to the now-gaping hole in the stairwell as Val made the call. “Max! Sarah!” he hollered.

Stan, holding on to Izzy, held her breath and prayed for a response. She didn't know if Sarah had been on the stairs, too, or if she had been on solid ground when Max fell. Minutes ticked by that seemed like years; then she heard Sarah's voice, faint but there.

“I'm here. Max is hurt.”

Fox cursed. “Are you okay? Can I get down there?”

Sarah's voice was remarkably calm. “I'm fine. I was already on the ground. I wouldn't try to come down. The stairs have pretty much collapsed down here. Are you all okay?”

Stan nudged Izzy and pulled her forward so she could hear better.

“We are. Is Max conscious? How bad are his injuries?” Fox asked. He knelt at the top of the stairs and shined his own light down. “Can you see? Can you grab his flashlight?”

“Hang on.” A brief silence as Sarah presumably hunted around for Max's light. Then a second beam of light shined on. “Got it. His leg looks broken. Max? I think he's coming around,” she called.

“Was this a ghost thing?” Izzy asked, eyes wide. “Did he do that to Max?”

Fox ignored her question. “Is there a door outside that goes into the basement?” he asked, his tone urgent.

“There is.” Izzy snapped to attention. “I'll show you.”

“Hang tight, Sarah. I'm going to come around the back,” Fox yelled down.

“Okay,” she called back. She was so calm. Stan was impressed, because her own heart was going a mile a minute. She followed Izzy and Fox out the front door and around the back of the building, trying not to alert the crowd lined up across the street that anything was wrong. They'd know soon enough. She hoped the police showed up, too, to keep the scene calm.

Izzy took the flashlight from Fox and shined it along the wall. “It's here somewhere,” she muttered to herself. “Aha!” She pointed the flashlight beam triumphantly at a narrow door, old and probably rotting. She stepped forward and tried it. Locked. “Crap.” She rapped on it a couple of times, probably hoping to lead Sarah to it so she could let them in.

Adrian Fox lifted one black-booted foot and kicked the door in. The ancient lock popped off on the first try. The wood buckled and splintered. Fox kicked one more kick for good measure, then pushed the door in. “Wait here,” he told them. “I don't know how safe it is in there.”

Despite the severity of the situation, Stan had a moment of pure admiration as her original stereotype of the big, bad ghost hunter came to life in front of her eyes.

“Well,” Izzy said after he disappeared into the basement. “That's one mad ghost.” She pulled her phone out. “I gotta call Jake before he hears this from someone else.”

Stan didn't respond. Was it a mad ghost? Or the perils of traipsing around in an old building? She heard sirens as two ambulances roared to a stop out front. One of the guys must've directed the EMTs to the back, because soon they rushed around the corner. She and Izzy stood off to the side and watched. Stan felt numb as the EMTs did their thing. This scene had played out in front of her entirely too often in the last week. She thought of Max, his love of Southern food, how fond Char was of him, and sent a quick prayer to whoever happened to be listening that he was okay. She caught a glimpse of his face in the darkness as they brought him out on the stretcher and it looked too white.

As they loaded him up, Adrian Fox strode out of the building, conferred with the EMT, and got in the back of the ambulance with him. Sarah emerged a minute later, in the midst of a heated discussion with another EMT who was clearly trying to get her to the hospital, too.

“I don't need to go,” she insisted. “I didn't even fall!”

The EMT clearly disagreed. They were about to get into a brawl about it when Sarah spied Stan. She jerked her arm away and raced over, hiking up her long skirt. It was a miracle she didn't fall with those heels. When she reached Stan, she took her hands and leaned in close so no one else heard her.

“My mother spoke to me. Did you hear what I said inside? That she said there was an accident here?” she asked.

Stan nodded. “Was Felix Constantine's death an accident? Is that what she meant?”

“She wants to help.” Sarah took a deep breath and squeezed Stan's hands, so tight Stan almost cried out. “She says Sir Arthur Conan Doyle holds the key. He will tell you what happened.”

Chapter 37

Saturday morning, eight a.m. The timer on Stan's oven dinged, jerking her awake. She was embarrassed to find her head on her kitchen table. Her chin felt wet. Had she actually drooled? Gross.

She'd been up since four, baking. She'd never gone to sleep for more than a half hour at a time last night and had eventually given up. After the stairs had collapsed under poor Max and sent the ghost hunt careening off the rails, Stan hadn't felt much like sleeping. Or eating. So she decided to bake. At least the wedding cake was coming along. She'd gotten the taste almost to perfection—enough strawberry to be unequivocally berry-esque, but without being overwhelming. She'd probably need one more trial run before she could declare it final—this time with just a few adjustments to minor ingredients. Henry and Scruffy wholeheartedly approved. Benedict had nibbled, too. Nutty was still pouting about Benedict and had actually turned down the cake. Silly coon cat.

Still, Stan had hope. Nutty wasn't mean to Benedict; rather, he would simply sit somewhere in a far corner of the room and glare at him. Stan could almost see him calculating the food and treats he'd have to give up so the new cat could eat.

Stan tried to be respectful of Nutty's feelings, but even in just a day she'd bonded with Benedict. He was a true gentleman, and very mellow. He was even good with the dogs. Scruffy had tried to chase him down the hall once presumably to play, and he'd stopped and sat and politely let her know that he didn't want to engage in those types of games thank-you-very-much, and given her a gentle tap on the head to drive the message home. Scruffy, embarrassed, had slunk off to tell Henry about the slight. Stan thought it was hilarious.

She wanted to keep him.

She turned back to the task at hand and unloaded her cake from the oven. Now she had to work on the icing. That would probably entice Nutty. She thought a cream-cheese frosting with a hint of strawberry. Maybe a dash of lemon to give it some zing.

The doorbell rang as she began pulling items out of the fridge. She thought about ignoring it, but her car was out in the driveway, so she was clearly home. Not to mention it was barely daybreak. Scruffy and Henry were already at the door barking up a storm. She sighed, deposited her armful of ingredients on the counter, and trudged to the front door. It was probably Char. No one else was talking to her anyway. And Char would want to debrief on the ghost hunt, certainly.

But it wasn't Char. And she certainly wasn't expecting this particular visitor.

Adrian Fox stood on her front porch, messy hair blowing in the wind. He wore a black motorcycle jacket, black jeans, and his trademark black boots. He wasn't smiling. “Stan. I'm sorry to intrude so early. Got a minute?”

“Hey. Sure.” Stan pushed the door wide, noticing too late she still had a bar of cream cheese in her hand. She slipped it into her sweatshirt pocket. “Come on in.” She glanced out to the driveway. No van or other vehicle. He must've walked from Char's.

“Char said you'd be up. Morning, pups.” He scratched Scruffy's ears and petted Henry on the head. “I hope I'm not interrupting.”

“Not at all. Just baking. How's Max?” She led him to the kitchen. “Please, sit. I have lots of coffee. Would you like some?”

“No, thank you. I don't drink coffee.” Fox pulled a chair out and sat.

“You don't?” She must've looked astonished because Fox cracked his first smile.

“I don't. Just green tea. Max is going to be okay,” he said, going back to her earlier question. “He broke his leg in three places. He'll be out of commission for a bit, but he'll manage.”

“Thank goodness.” Stan remembered the cream cheese and discreetly slipped it back into the fridge, then took the seat across the table from him. “I have some green tea. It's some fancy brand that Izzy sells.”

“Sure. Sounds great. Getting ready for a big Valentine's Day party?” He nodded at the heart-shaped cake cooling on its rack.

“Huh? Oh, the cake. Actually, yes and no. I'm catering a wedding.”

“Really. You're a caterer? Impressive.”

“Well, sort of.” Stan smiled. “It's a doggie wedding.”

Fox, to his credit, didn't laugh or even smirk. He simply nodded. “That's also impressive. And interesting. How does one dog know he's supposed to marry another dog?”

“It's really more a human thing than a dog thing,” Stan admitted. She poured hot water into his mug of tea and handed it to him. “So what can I do for you?”

Fox sobered again. “I didn't expect last night's expedition to turn out that way. I would never put my guys—or anyone—in danger, and I'm devastated that happened to Max. Of course, the media's all over it as a successful ghost hunt.”

“The media?” Stan asked with a sinking feeling in her stomach. “What media?”

“All the major channels. Someone leaked the story and it took off. So now, of course, everyone is surmising that this was the work of evil spirits, etcetera. Because that's what sells.” He shook his head. “I've already been contacted by a movie producer.”

Oh, no. Stan closed her eyes. Jake would be even more livid than he was already. Now he owned a building with allegedly evil spirits. And they wanted to make a movie about it.

“Don't worry,” Fox said quickly. “I'm not looking to make a movie. The truth is, I don't think evil spirits had anything to do with what happened.”

“That's a relief,” Stan said. “And it makes sense. It's a really old building.”

Fox didn't say anything.

“What?” Stan asked. “It
is
old.”

“That's true,” Fox said. The unspoken “but” lingered in the air between them.

Stan narrowed her eyes. “What aren't you saying?”

Fox seemed to be weighing his words carefully. “Listen. Char said I could trust you to be discreet.”

Sure, but if he'd already confided in Char, he might have a problem. “Okay,” Stan said. “You think someone did this.”

Fox exhaled. “I have some concerns about the building.”

“What kind?”

“There are people who don't want this particular ghost discussed. And are willing to go to great lengths to keep it quiet. I got a call the other day. After the town meeting. From one of your town councilmen.”

“Which one?” Stan asked, but her gut already knew.

“Don Miller.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to meet. So we did. At a park just outside of town. He offered me money to go home.”

“
What?
He bribed you?”

“He didn't bribe me,” Fox corrected. “He
attempted
to bribe me. I didn't take the money. Clearly, because I'm here. And I went through with the investigation.”

“How much money?”

Fox's lips thinned. “A lot for a town councilman in a tiny town like this.”

“What's a lot?” Stan pressed.

“Fifty thousand.”

Fifty thousand bucks?
Don Miller didn't strike her as the savvy investor type who had that kind of cash in his pocket. But maybe his karate business was more profitable than Stan realized. “Why didn't he want you to do it?”

“He asked me if I would stand down out of respect for his mother and for the good of the town.”

“The good of the town. Interesting.” Stan leaned back and folded her arms. “What did you say?”

“I told him I appreciated his concern and certainly had the utmost respect for his mother, but that when I spoke with her before her death she was quite insistent that this investigation went forward. No matter what.”

No matter what.
Chills shivered up Stan's arms despite her heavy sweatshirt. “She really said that?”

“She did. It seemed very important to her.”

“She didn't say why?”

“She said it was time for the truth to come out, and I could help her tell that truth. She wanted press. Lots of it.”

Stan frowned. “She wanted press? Why?”

“She didn't get into that.”

“Did you tell anyone she said that? About how it was time for the truth to come out?”

“You're the first.”

“So she was your tipster,” Stan said.

Fox hesitated. “Off the record? Promise?”

Stan made a zipper motion across her lips.

“Yes.”

Stan nodded slowly. “I had a hunch.” She rose and walked slowly around her kitchen. “Helga wanted to talk about Felix Constantine. She wrote about him. She paid tribute to him. I know she tried to stop the building construction under the auspices of a board or committee or whatever it is she sat on. That makes me think she wanted the attention on him that your operation would bring. But the rest of the town seems to want to forget he ever existed.” She turned back to Fox. “How did Don react to you turning down his money?”

“He was angry. When I refused to change my mind, he left. But he was not happy with me.”

“Do you think he might've . . . taken other action?”

“I don't want to start rumors. You'd need to get an expert in there to look at the stairs to see if they were tampered with. It might be too late anyway. But I thought it was worth putting out there. At least tell someone about the conversation.”

“You think a town councilman snuck into a building that's under construction and tampered with the stairs so someone would get hurt? Or worse?” It sounded crazy. But then again, everything happening around town was crazy.

Fox shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. Look. I'm not saying that's it, but it's awfully suspicious that he didn't want me to do the ghost hunt and then this happens.”

They were both silent for a minute. “What about how Sarah said her mother was talking about an accident? Do you think that was about Max? Foreshadowing?” Stan asked.

Fox shrugged again. “I can't give you a good opinion on Sarah's abilities. I don't know her well enough. Could she have been referring to Max? Sure. Could she have been referring to something else? Yup. Could she be acting this whole thing out? Of course.”

“Maybe she meant Felix Constantine's death was an accident,” Stan said.

“Again, your guess is as good as mine,” Fox said.

“Do you think he's really haunting that place?”

“I don't know,” Fox admitted. “We haven't watched any of our footage, with Max's injury. But there was a camera connected in the basement. We'll see what happened.”

Stan refilled her coffee. “This man is the reason Helga's dead. I can feel it.” She glanced down the hall as the doorbell rang again. “Excuse me,” she said, and went to the door, peering out the side window.

Jake's truck was in the driveway. She cringed. Unless he'd come to break up with her, in which case it wouldn't matter, having Adrian Fox in her kitchen at this time of morning was not going to win her any brownie points. But what was she going to do? She could hardly slam the door in his face. Instead, she pushed it open. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He gazed at her solemnly. “Can we talk?”

“We sure can.” She leaned against the frame. “Let's go for a walk.”

“A walk?” He looked puzzled. “It's pretty cold out. And I didn't bring Duncan.”

Not seeing any other way out, she stepped aside, wondering how she could spin this. Having Adrian in the house after suggesting a walk would look bad. Jake followed her inside.

“Were you at the ghost hunt last night? Are you okay?” Jake stopped abruptly, his gaze moving past Stan over her left shoulder. Stan looked behind her. Fox was in the kitchen doorway.

“Jake.” Fox came down the hall. “Nice to see you. Stan, I'll get out of your way.” He started past them to the door.

“Don't worry about it. I didn't mean to interrupt.” Jake shook his head. “Sorry to bother you.” And he walked out.

Stan watched him go in disbelief. “You've got to be kidding,” she said out loud.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you any trouble,” Fox said. He looked truly upset.

“Don't be silly. Helga's death has been hard on him, but that's no reason for the kindergarten behavior.” She raked a hand through her hair, realizing she'd been welcoming all these visitors and hadn't even brushed it yet. She'd been lucky to be wearing yoga pants and not her fleecy pajamas when Fox showed up. “Did you have anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“No, I wanted to tell you about Don Miller. And ask you to be careful.” Fox gazed at her. “Whoever doesn't want this story heard is willing to go to great lengths to keep it quiet. I hear you have a . . . tendency to be in the middle of things. I wouldn't want to see you caught in the crossfire.”