The First Ghost Page 23

  “I’ve got to check the altar linens,” Mother muttered, striding down the center aisle.

  “Do you have blue?” Mrs. Jimenez traipsed after her. “Blue would match my eyes.”

  “Blue altar linens. Who’s ever heard of such a thing? How’s the love of my life?” Boris materialized at the organ and played My Sweet Embraceable You. He sang along, winking suggestively.

  “It’s been a long day, if you must know.”

  “I could wipe those lines of care from your lovely brow, my dear. I love all the many charms about you. Above all, I want my arms about you,” he sang.

  I laughed. “Don’t you ever get tired of your womanizing ways?”

  “No, actually I don’t. Tell me about poor misbegotten Starla. What’s her story?”

  “Has Starla been here?”

  “Oh yes, quite a bit as of late. She’s endeared herself to Hilde, what? Thought they were going to have a slap about.”

  “Her story is more Nashville honky-tonk than Tin Pan Alley, something about drinking and cheating.”

  “Oooh, jealous husband? I know all about that.”

  “No, she was the jealous one and she caught him with her former BFF.” His face was puzzled. I realized Boris didn’t get the modern slang. “Best Friend Forever,” I supplied. “Don’t mention the name Wanda unless you want to see her go all poltergeist.”

  “Boris is something of an expert on jealous husbands, aren’t you?” drawled the cultured tones of Lady Hildegard.

  Billy startled and growled at her.

  “Shut up, Hilde,” Boris snarled.

  “Haven’t you heard the sad tale of how he died in the arms of his mistress?” Hildegard said.

  “I said shut your yap.” Boris played faster.

  “Shot through the heart by a jealous husband. Too bad it was from behind while trying the exit the window. He left the poor woman there to face her angry husband alone and--”

  Boris smashed the keyboard. “You’re nothing but a vengeful bitch who never loved anything but yourself in your whole damn life. You’re not even a lady.”

  Starla materialized above the organ. “You tell her, Boris!” I should have known that she would be drawn to drama like a moth to flame.

  “I won’t be addressed that way by a washed-up gigolo and a cocktail waitress.”

  “Oh gee,” Starla sneered. “Sorry I ain’t a mafioso’s wife. Y’all get on real well.”

  “At least Mrs. Jimenez is a music lover,” Hildegard said. “She appreciates opera. Her husband is a great supporter of the arts.”

  Starla laughed. “They’re all a bunch of wise guys. That’s your type.”

  “My type can’t be found in a place such as this.” Hildegard rose up near the ceiling. I swear she had actually swelled up like a toad.

  “Then why are you here?” Starla rose to her eye level.

  “That’s the first intelligent thing you have said to me.” With a crack like a gunshot, Lady Hildegard vanished.

  My neck was going to snap off in a moment. “Come down here, Starla. What’s that about mafia types?”

  “Don’t you know?” Hephzibah sat on the front pew. “It’s a bona fide feud.” She popped her gum. “The Kilpatricks and Jimenezes go way back to Prohibition. I bet Boris here knew some of them. They ran competing speakeasies. Things got real nasty when the Kilpatrick clan served some bad hooch. Rumor was that the Jimenez bunch diddled with it. Someone ratted Jimenez out to the revenuers. Grandaddy Jimenez did a stretch in the pen. Things got ugly and stayed that way for a couple generations. Then Lisa Kilpatrick ups and marries Leo Jimenez over her father’s objections. And trust me, nobody can object like Conan Kilpatrick. Things got kind of testy.”

  “How romantic, like Romeo and Juliet.” Boris peered over the organ.

  “Yeah, and everybody dies too.” Starla settled on the organ like a torch singer.

  “Conan Kilpatrick is good people. He keeps me busy,” Hephzibah said.

  I gasped. “You don’t mean... Did he...” I searched Lisa Jimenez’s corpse for bullet holes.

  Hephzibah snorted. “Kilpatrick thought the sun rose and set on his only daughter. But Lisa had a booze problem. Took out a mailbox, a front porch and a poodle before burying her Dodge Charger nose-deep into someone’s living room.”

  “Did anyone else die?”

  “Naw, just Lisa and Mr. Puffy.”

  “Ixnay on the oodlepay,” Starla said out the side of her mouth.

  “Oh dear. It isn’t time yet. I’m not ready.” Lisa Jimenez pulled up short at the sight of Hephzibah.

  “Relax, toots. You have until tonight, but then a deal is a deal.”

  Mother’s tension became logical as mourners filed into the chapel, guys with names like Slow Eddie, Johnny One-Time and Repo Rico. It was the first time I’d had to ask mourners which side of the family they were on.

  Slow Eddie bowed up at a little guy with jug ears. “You gotta lot of nerve showing up here, Peanut.”

  “Hey, Lisa was my cousin. I got a right.” Peanut didn’t back down.

  Johnny One-Time didn’t say a word, but lumbered to his feet to stand behind Slow Eddie.

  “Oh, look,” I said as loudly as I could. “Father Pat is here!”

  Both sides reluctantly parted to allow me access to the center aisle. I fled to Mother’s office and called Harry. “Get your butt back here right now.”

  “I had a pickup.”

  “Had being the operative word. I don’t give a crap if you had a summons from the Pope. Get yourself back to home base pronto.” I hung up on him. How dare he run off and leave me alone with these people? The chapel was filling at an alarming rate. If things went bad, we would have a riot on our hands.

  “Mother?” Where had the woman gone to? Had she gone off and left me too?

  “Right here.” She had a stack of programs. “I forgot to put these out and the guest book, too.”

  “Why didn’t you give me the heads-up? I thought this was a viewing? When did it become a vigil? And why here? Shouldn’t they do this at the church?”

  Mother closed her eyes. I could see her lips counting silently to ten. “The church was booked.” She crossed herself. “And so was Father Mike. Is Pat tanked?”

  “Yup.” I took the programs and guest book. “I’ll put these out front.”

  Johnny One-Time grunted and pointed at Billy. “Whazzat?” I’d forgotten to put him up in the office.

  “Sorry.” I scooped Billy up. “I’ll put him up.”

  Slow Eddie held up a hand. “Leave him. Lisa always liked little dogs, and given the circumstances of her unfortunate demise, it would be good karma. The dog stays.” He looked outside and his eyes narrowed. “What the hell is he doin’ here?” Slow Eddie gestured out the window. Johnny One-Time grunted.

  Fierro had parked his car and started up the walk.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “He’s here about something else in the neighborhood. It’s nothing to do with you. Go back in the chapel. I’ll handle it.”

  “See that you do.” Slow Eddie jabbed a finger at me. “I don’t want him here when Leo gets here. Leo is distraught. Got that?”

  “I got it.”

  Slow Eddie allowed himself be steered back to the chapel.

  I could see the answer on Fierro’s face: tired but jubilant.

  I was pleased to see Fierro, but Billy spun in circles then tore off down the employees hall.

  “I think he’s going to look for his Dingo,” I said. “How many?”

  He grinned. “What makes you think I found anything?”

  I punched his arm lightly. “Stop teasing and come back here.” I grabbed his hand, dragging him down the hall. Billy was frantically snuffling around the break room. “I don’t think Mother brought Dingo.”

  “It keeps him busy. Biddle lied to you.”

  “It wasn’t five?” I shouldn’t be disappointed that there weren’t a bunch of dead women. What a ghoul I’d become.

  “Twe
lve.”

  My jaw dropped. “Excuse me, but I thought you said twelve. Did you say twelve? My ears heard twelve.”

  “Twelve bodies. We’re gonna have a heck of a time figuring out who they all are, but at least we found them. I’m hoping Ellie can help us with the identity issues.”

  “That’s amazing. I’m so glad. Not that they’re dead, but that you found them.” I looked around.

  Fierro leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Why are we hiding?”

  “We’re hiding from my mother.”

  “You didn’t tell her yet? Don’t you think she’s going to find out?”

  “Now isn’t the time. Trust me on this. You don’t know how rabid she is on this subject.” I dropped into a chair.

  He turned a chair backward and straddled it, leaning his crossed arms on the back. “So make me understand.”

  I sighed. “She always throws the name Elizabeth at me. It’s like a secret code for how wrong things can go. Elizabeth was one of our ancestors who got hung for being a witch. Actually, if you look through the Mahaffey family history, there are always women being accused of witchcraft. Keeping it secret became a big deal in the family. You aren’t even supposed to tell your husband.”

  “What about you? You’ve told me. And what about Ellie?”

  “Aunt Bella isn’t thrilled with Ellie’s choices. I mean, you can’t be much more public than that. Do you know about Agnes? My other cousin?” He shook his head. “She’s in Europe, Romania to be exact, communing with the dead. That’s where Aunt Bella is right now, visiting Agnes. Agnes is public too, just not in the way Ellie is. And sometimes Aunt Bella interprets visions for people. She’s a visionary. She sees stuff, but she sucks at knowing what it means. It’s sort of hit-or-miss. The thing is, not everyone is as fanatical about the secret as my mother is, but she’s not trying to be a bitch about this. It really scares her to go public.”

  “The world isn’t the same way,” Fierro said. “A lot of people think psychics are cool. There’s all those shows about paranormal stuff on TV.”

  “But others still think we’re evil, that we do bad things or that we’re in league with the devil. This is the Bible Belt.”

  “I think that without you those women would still be lying in shallow graves. You did a good thing. But I understand. I’ll keep your secret for as long as you want me to.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “So…” He swung his leg over the chair and stood. “You have dinner plans?”

  I had an anxious twinge in my stomach. “I’m having dinner with Ethan.”

  “That’s good. Have a nice evening.”

  His eyes slid away from mine, and I knew in that moment that Tessler was right about everything.

  There was a woman in Fierro’s life, and it was me.

  My heart clenched. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. He deserved more than I could offer. Someone nice he could take to Florida to meet his mother. Someone who could cook. Someone who didn’t have conversations with Death. Fierro was a guy built for marriage.

  I stood there waiting for him to say something, to beg me not to see Ethan, but he didn’t. He waved and left.

  I should have been relieved.

  Instead, I was disappointed.

  Chapter 22

  The viewing was a success as much as anything of that type could be. Maybe Father Pat was the perfect choice. I suspect he passed something around. All I know is that by the end of the afternoon, everyone in there was hugging and crying together like they were on the Dr. Phil Show.

  Lisa Jimenez was so moved that she didn’t even balk at leaving. She and Hephzibah were belting out All You Need Is Love as they stepped across the invisible threshold into the next world. It took a bit of wrangling to empty the place of mourners, but we had an evening funeral. Mother went for a nap in her office.

  After the chaos of the day, Mahaffey-Ringold was impossibly quiet. Even the resident ghosts seemed to be absent. I flicked on every light in the place and plugged in the vacuum. It filled the void for a bit, but when I turned it off, the place seemed emptier than before.

  Desperate for noise, I turned on the radio in the office and set the speakers to broadcast. This played music in the sanctuary while I gave everything a good dusting and placed the large photo of Mrs. Bierstock on the easel. Harry would bring the urn. So maybe Blue Oyster Cult wasn’t the most tactful choice for a funeral home, but it was just me and the dog.

  I turned to go back to the office and Mrs. Bierstock’s photo attacked me. Actually, it fell off the easel and hit me, but I jumped like I had been attacked.

  Deciding that the smell of fresh coffee would steady my nerves, I went back to the employee break room.

  “Hiya, doll. Seen Mrs. B. around? I’m real hopeful I can get her at the funeral.”

  I was never so relieved to see Death in all my life. I dropped into the chair next to hers. “She was still in the kitchen, still bawling away.”

  “That ain’t good. She’s gonna have to get a grip. Her time’s just about up.”

  “It can’t be. Didn’t she just die a couple of days ago?”

  “Six.”

  “Oh, shit. I had no idea she was so close. Is the mark gone?”

  “Fading,” Hephzibah confirmed with a nod.

  “So what about the kids, the ones who died with her?”

  “Oh, they’ve been dead a long time. See, this lady was in a coma for months. It would’ve been easier if I could have crossed them all together. She might have gone then. Sometimes when they get stuck in limbo for as long as she did, makes it hard for ’em.”

  “Now I’m feeling sorry for her again.”

  “What is this caterwauling? This is worse than Boris!” Lady Hildegard sniffed with disapproval.

  “It’s classic rock. I’m guessing you’re not a Clapton fan,” I said.

  “I prefer Wagner to anything recent generations have to offer.”

  “I keep telling you, he was a bloody Nazi.” Boris materialized behind me.

  “And I keep explaining to you that my admiration is for his understanding of a woman’s voice and his dramatic use of rhythm. His Gotterdammerung is quite simply--”

  “Absolute crap.”

  “How dare you...”

  “You want rhythm? I’ll show you.”

  They both vanished. In moments I could hear dueling voices in the sanctuary. It’s Delovely vied with Welches Unhold’s List Lieges Hier Verhollen.

  With a sigh I turned off the radio and left them to it. Hephzibah was gone, and I started the coffee.

  A sudden chill alerted me that I wasn’t completely alone.

  “Hello, Starla.”

  “Hi, yourself.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Why shouldn’t I be here? It’s safe. Joby’s at work anyway, and he ain’t no fun there. I got nothing better to do. Until tonight. Then the fun starts again.” She rubbed her hand and cackled, sounding for all the world like the green-faced witch in The Wizard of Oz. “I think he’s about to crack wide open.”

  “Seriously. Why are you here? I thought you made your feelings clear the other night. You were rude to Fierro. He’s put in a lot of time and effort on your case, and that’s his own time and effort because the department doesn’t think there is a case.”

  “That don’t mean I don’t need help.” She lowered herself a few inches so that we were at eye level with one another.

  “Would it have killed you to be polite?”

  “That’s funny. Real clever.”

  “You know what I mean. You could have at least said thanks or something. Instead you threw a hissy fit.”

  She swooped closer. “So he’s pissed at me?”

  “I’m pissed at you. Fierro is a nice guy who’s trying to help you, and you treated him like crap!”

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

  “You should be apologizing to him.”

  “I would if I could. Okay, so I got a little
heated. Tell him I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. I still need your help.”

  “If I help you, will you cross over?”

  “No. No way. I don’t want to be totally dead.”

  “You are dead.”

  “But that would be like really dead, like it’s really over.”

  “It is over, Starla.”

  “No, it ain’t. I’m a bona fide free mover now. I ain’t never crossing over, and that’s a fact. Will you help me?”

  “Why should I? Give me two--no, give me one good reason I should help you.”

  “But, but...” she sputtered. “But I need you. You’re all I’ve got. My husband killed me, and nobody wants to do anything about it.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, more harshly than I’d intended.

  Starla began to cry and then vanished. I sat and hung my head in my hands, feeling lower than dirt. I started as something snuffled at my hands. Billy licked me and then nudged a hand to be petted. I was starting to get why people have dogs.

  I reached for a mug and my cell rang.

  “Portia? It’s me.” Fierro’s deep voice was a welcome sound.

  “Hey, you. I was just going to call.”

  “You were?” He sounded pleased.

  “Starla wanted me to apologize for her. She’s sorry for her little tantrum the other night.” I didn’t tell him I’d read her the riot act beforehand for treating him that way.

  “Tell her it’s okay. I didn’t take it personally. But my news is better. We’ve got Tamaguchi.”

  “That’s fantastic. Where did you find him?”

  “Actually he found us.”

  “Is he talking? Did he tell you anything? Does he have a partner?”

  “No, I meant that he surrendered himself. He walked in all lawyered up. He hasn’t said a single word. They’ve booked him, and his lawyer has been here trying to get a bond set but that ain’t gonna happen. He’s suspected of killing two women. With that purple shirt as evidence, no way is he getting out. It doesn’t get better than greed as a motive and physical evidence.”

  I frowned. “Did you say purple? Is that the bloody shirt you found? I never saw Tamaguchi in anything but white.”