The First Ghost Read online

  “How about never being evicted again?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We should buy a condo. They’re selling these condos over in Benton. It’s not far from your new gig, and I know you love the city but it’s close enough. If we pooled our incomes, I’ll bet we could swing it.”

  “I don’t know.” Benton is an older ’burb close to Canterbury Park. It’s cute and a little trendy, but at least it’s not like the McBurbs stuffed with chains and strip malls. “Benton’s got a lot of older buildings.” Which were probably riddled with ghosts. “Old buildings have problems.”

  “This is all new construction. You should see the pictures. It’s a cool building and the condos look plush. We could pick the interior. They’ve already got the exteriors built. With the housing market the way it is, things are really cheap. It’s a good time to buy, and I know you have savings. You squirrel away your pennies. There’s even a little courtyard for your dog to piddle in. He’s not destructive, is he?”

  “Not at all,” I lied. “Besides, he’s going to live with Ellie soon. Okay, I’ll think about it.”

  “I’ll take you out there tomorrow and show it to you. They’ve got a real town square, and the condo building is right in the commercial district so you can walk places. And there’s bus service, too. Plus you can borrow my car whenever.”

  “Enough.” I held up my hands. “I’ll look.”

  * * * *

  Billy was happily stretched out on mounds of fluffy stuffing spread around the bathroom. Rip-proof dog bed, my ass.

  I took him outside so he could contribute to the small colony of dog turds he had deposited under the scraggly evergreens. Someone would have a nasty surprise when the stench of summer arrived, but we would be long gone by then so I really didn’t care.

  I did care about the messages I had on my voice mail. Starla and Corinne both watched in stony silence as I hit play. The first message was from Ethan. “Hi, Portia. Just called to say I had a great time last night and I hope you did, too. Maybe we could get together for dinner this week. Give me a call.”

  Yes! Yesyesyes! I danced and hugged my phone. “He called.” Ethan had perfect timing. He had waited a full day, which was appropriately eager, but not too stalker-ish. And he had lobbed the ball back into my court by asking me to call him. Oh yeah. I was gonna keep him around even if he was—

  “He’s too short for you,” Starla said. She had apparently mastered the art of chewing gum and smoking simultaneously, neither of which I was aware that ghosts could do. But since I couldn’t smell the smoke, maybe it was a ghostly illusion. “You look stupid together.”

  “I can’t believe you’re wasting time on a date while our murders go unsolved,” Corinne said.

  “Hey, I spent the day on you guys. I humiliated myself with a detective and got Corinne’s old job. Both of you can shut the hell up.”

  The next message was from Susie Simpson. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Corinne Simpson’s aunt.” Corinne made a strangled little noise. “I’m flying into town in two days, and I wondered if you could help me go and get Corinne’s stuff. Ruth hasn’t been real helpful.” She left me her number.

  “Goodie for both of you,” Starla snarled. “Meanwhile, I’m lying dead under a woodpile and nobody gives a shit. The only person who missed me was my boss, and that was because I didn’t show up for work.”

  Billy was thrilled with all the activity. Snorking happily, he raced off to the bedroom. A moment later he was triumphantly carrying his favorite toy, which I had nicknamed Dingo. Don’t ask why.

  He noisily savaged Dingo, tossing him and catching him and shaking him from side to side as violently as a dog with no neck can. I had excess energy myself, but my mode of attack was cleaning my apartment. In the bedroom, I made a disturbing discovery. It hadn’t shown up on the buff carpet that was the same color as his coat, but the corner of my bed where Billy slept was covered in pug fur.

  Pugs shed.

  A lot.

  I located a lint roller in dresser, but I was going to need a bunch of them.

  Billy dragged Dingo into the room, tossing and catching him.

  “How come you aren’t bald?” I made a fourth pass over my crimson comforter with the lint roller.

  He blinked his bug eyes and wheezed, his tongue hanging out the side.

  Before bed, I had to take Billy outside again to do his business. Starla and Corinne followed me out there.

  I stood by the bushes, barely paying attention, and tried to decide if the pot of boiling water in my kitchen should be used for cinnamon tea or chamomile. Maybe a nice mint tea.

  At the same moment the foul odor hit my nose, Billy’s hackles rose and he growled. A more menacing rumble came from another throat.

  “Run,” I yelled.

  Corinne screeched and went one way. Starla went the other. The demon threw back its head and bayed like a hound at the moon.

  “Ar-ar-ar-ar.” Billy barked for all he was worth.

  The demon hesitated and then pursued Corinne, who fled in the direction of my apartment. It disappeared through my front door, and I raced after it, flinging my door wide open. The demon stood in my kitchen, with its nose raised, like an animal scenting the air, methodically sniffing my cabinets.

  I ran in, heedless of Billy barking madly at my heels. “Stay away from her. You aren’t welcome here.”

  The demon paused and said something in its guttural voice.

  “Did you hear me? Leave! I command you to leave!”

  I swear it laughed. It raised arms equipped with glistening claws and heaved its sluglike bulk at me. I grabbed the only thing I could think of to swing at it.

  The teapot shattered as it struck the demon, spraying the creature with boiling water and burning my hands. I hadn’t expected the thing to be so solid. It howled in agony and then fled through my kitchen wall.

  For a moment I lost Billy, but he peeked out from behind the sofa. He hadn’t been underfoot when the pot had shattered.

  A few minutes under cold water helped my red, painful hands, and some aloe helped a great deal. My arms had been protected by my thick coat.

  I had learned two important things. First: this place wasn’t safe. The demon knew it could find ghosts here. Second: demons can be hurt by boiling water. It wasn’t the most practical weapon, but good to know.

  When I went to hang up my coat, I made a startling discovery. In the fray, the demon had swiped my coat. Three long, parallel slices gaped on the right side of the coat, revealing the white filler material.

  Demons are dangerous.

  Make that three things I learned.

  Chapter 10

  It was my last free morning before starting back to work, and the knock on my door surprised me. I checked the peephole, expecting to see the manager with eviction papers, but it was a poorly dressed hulk.

  I couldn’t think of a good reason for Detective Fierro to show up at my front door. I combed my hair with my fingers. My curls are lovely when properly tamed, but look like an orange fright wig first thing in the morning. Since I slept in sweats, I was sort of dressed.

  He smiled when I opened the door, but I wasn’t fooled. Lots of nasty things had smiled at me lately, including a demon. “Good morning, Ms. Mahaffey.”

  “Miss,” I said. “It’s miss. Come on in.” My hands were faintly pink this morning. Fierro noticed everything.

  “Burn yourself?”

  “I broke a teapot. But I have plenty of coffee. Want some?”

  “Coffee’s good.”

  I gestured to the kitchen table, mercifully free of the card players, and Fierro took a seat. He was a big guy, but moved with a sort of grace, the bulky outline more a function of bad clothing than a body gone to fat. His shirt stretched tighter as he leaned back in his chair. The man had muscles.

  “Milk? Sugar? I’ve got half-and-half, too.”

  “Black,” he said. “When you’re a cop as long as I been one, you learn to dr
ink coffee however you can get it.”

  I poured him a large mug of coffee and refilled my own, adding some froufrou French vanilla creamer until it was a lovely beige. “How long have you been a cop?”

  “Nine years. I’ve spent the last four in the CAP Unit.”

  “The what?” I placed his cup in front of him and seated myself across the table.

  “Crimes Against Persons.” He sipped his coffee. “Rape, robbery, homicide. All the violent things people do to one another. This is good,” he said appreciatively. “French roast?”

  “Kona. Special blend that I buy at Baer’s Deli.”

  “They make the best kolaches in the city.”

  “They do.” I leaned back. “You know Baer’s?”

  “You kidding me? I’m a cop. I know every donut shop and bakery in the city.”

  “I’m guessing this visit has nothing to do bakeries and coffee blends.”

  He took a long drink of his brew. “You and your cousin have a lot in common, I think.”

  I was wary. “Eleanor?”

  “You’ve got other cousins?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, she’s the only one I know, so that’s how I’m referencing. You look like her.”

  I didn’t think so, other than height and hair color, but these are such obvious identifiers that I get that a lot. “People seem to think so.”

  “I think maybe the resemblance goes deeper than superficial stuff like being exceptionally tall.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Corinne Simpson shared a room with you at the hospital.” He leaned forward. “Isn’t that interesting? Her being your bosom buddy and all? What are the odds? And then you show up on my doorstep asking all kinds of questions and making accusations about her being murdered. And full of information.”

  My mouth was dry. I gulped some coffee. “Quite a coincidence.” The bitter brew burned its way down to my churning stomach.

  “And then you call me up out of the blue about another gal, claiming she’s been murdered.”

  “Ellie got a vibe.”

  “Ellie don’t know nothing about this. She gets vibes off of objects. You got nothing belonging to Starla Mueller.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “This has nothing to do with Ellie. You never met Corinne Simpson or Starla Mueller. Have you?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Were they alive?”

  I stared back. My mouth worked for a minute before anything came out. “No,” I finally admitted. “No, they weren’t.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He took a long drink from his coffee.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “About what?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “About me, I mean?”

  “What do you want me to do? I came to you for information.”

  I allowed myself to breathe. “I never wanted this. I don’t want anyone to know, either.”

  “That you’re psychic?”

  “Clairvoyant.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “I prefer clairvoyant. I can’t tell the future. I just...I hear things from spirits. Psychic sounds so shady, like I should have an infomercial.”

  “I see. And you want it to be a secret.”

  I sighed. “I respect what Ellie does, but I am not her. I don’t want to be on TV or in the papers.”

  “These spirits contacted you? Is that how it works?”

  “Something like that. I swear, I never meant to get involved. First it was Corinne and now Starla. I was in the hospital because I hit my head, and when I woke up, I saw ghosts. Then Starla found me and…you believe I talk to dead people? Ellie said you were a skeptic.”

  “I believe it’s the only logical explanation.”

  “So yes?”

  “I believe you. For now. You’re sure Corinne Simpson was murdered?”

  “She thinks so. What I told you at the station is her recollection. She ate someone’s burrito out of the break room and started having symptoms immediately. The heart medicine was probably intended for the owner of that burrito.”

  “That’s a good guess. She have any idea who it belonged to?”

  I shook my head. “No, she was just hungry.”

  “So find the owner of said burrito and we might have a clue as to motive.”

  This was the opportunity to tell him about taking Corinne’s job at Wollencroft Agricultural Research, but I didn’t. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t approve, and quite frankly, the money was too good to pass up. “Then again, Corinne had a tendency to graze the fridge. If someone wanted her dead, the burrito could have been a plant.”

  “Pretty risky move. Anyone could have eaten it.”

  “About Starla Mueller,” I said.

  “I went to see the husband, Joby.”

  “And?” I prompted. “What did he say? Did he lawyer up?”

  “Don’t watch so much TV. I went by to follow up on the missing person report, to see if he’s heard from his wife.”

  “Which he hadn’t.”

  “Actually, he claims he heard from Starla.”

  “But that’s a lie!”

  “He claims she called him two days ago from California.”

  “What about her stuff? I’ll bet all her stuff was still at their apartment.”

  “It’s all gone. Joby claims he gave it to her, that he shipped it to California, but he doesn’t remember the address and he doesn’t know how to contact her. She told him she’s never coming back.”

  “Starla is dead.” My face felt as red and angry as my hands.

  “I believe that,” he said.

  “You do?”

  He smiled, and I was reminded of Aunt Bella’s cat whenever a bird flew into the window. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Joby recently made a large donation of women’s clothing to Goodwill. He insisted on a receipt for tax purposes. Oh, and he never received a call from California on his home phone, according to phone records.”

  “That proves it.”

  “That proves Joby is a terrible liar.”

  “But you can get a warrant now, right? You can dig Starla back up.” Seeing the look on his face, I added, “That’s really important to her. She wants a proper burial. And Joby’s ass in a sling.”

  “I wish it was enough, but it isn’t.”

  “But he lied.”

  “Which isn’t against the law. It doesn’t get us any closer to showing a judge probable cause to believe that Starla Mueller is dead and buried near her husband’s cabin.”

  “Did you ask him about the cabin?”

  “He claims he hasn’t been there in months.”

  “This is so frustrating. What can I do?”

  “I need information. Starting with, where was Starla killed?”

  “In a car. Joby strangled her, put her in the trunk and drove her out there to the cabin. She’s buried under the woodpile. That’s all I know.”

  “When exactly did he kill her?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll ask her when I see her.”

  “Can you call her?” He looked around the room as if he might locate her. “Is she here now?”

  “It doesn’t work that way. When Starla makes contact, I’ll ask her. Anything else?”

  “Where and when and why are a good start.”

  “I think I know why or at least part of it. Joby has a girlfriend. I don’t remember her name.”

  “A lot of people seem to think murder is cheaper than divorce. Find out about the honey. That could be important.”

  We exchanged cell numbers before he left.

  My initial flush of excitement faded, replaced by throbbing hands and a frisson of unease. If word of what I was doing ever got out, Mother would trip.

  As if on a mother-daughter psychic connection, she called. Intellectually, I comprehend that she doesn’t really know when I’ve done something wrong, but this happens often enough that it’s spooky. Given my family, anything is possibl
e.

  “Pick up, Portia. I know you’re there. This is your mother,” she added unnecessarily. “We never finished that conversation.”

  I slouched over to the phone and did what I was told. “Good morning, Mother.”

  “What was that little crack about working with Ellie during dinner?”

  “I never said anything about working with Ellie. I said I was giving the dog to Ellie.” I glanced around to make sure Corinne wasn’t hovering. She still thought I was keeping Billy.

  “And why were you over at Ellie’s house?”

  “She’s my cousin.”

  “You’ve never been close. You two have nothing in common.”

  “Okay, I needed an in with the police. I took them what I heard about the girl who died in my hospital room. Only we pretended that Ellie had gotten some vibes. That’s the extent of my working with her.”

  This was true. Ellie was still furious over my little stunt with the file. She had agreed to an object reading, but I filed that away as Too Much Information. I didn’t lie to my mother. I just didn’t tell her everything.

  After I soothed Mother and convinced her I would not be appearing in any episodes of Ellie’s Psychic Investigators show and promised to choke down another desiccated pot roast on Sunday, I hung up and went to start my shower.

  Corinne huddled by the commode, a far cry from her high-flying self that had been swooping around. Her eyes were dry, but red and swollen. “What was that thing last night?” she whispered.

  I crouched down next to her and wished I could pat her shoulder. How much could I tell her without screwing things up? “That was a demon. I burned it, but it could come back. Better to stay inside and stay hidden. Better still, cross over and let me handle things.”

  “Not yet,” she insisted. “I want to go to work with you once or twice. You might need me.”

  “That would be fine. We’ll go tomorrow.”

  If she wanted to be suicidally brave, who was I to argue?

  * * * *

  My first day at Wollencroft Agricultural Research started off as any new job. I had a photo ID made, filled out my tax information and Duncan Werner showed me to my cubicle. There were fewer people there than I had expected. Apparently Woll Ag had multiple facilities.