The First Ghost Page 8

  “Nice,” I said. “You must love twenty-first-century warfare.”

  “Naw, I hate bombs. Too much work. They make me feel like a damn tour guide. Everybody this way. This way to cross over into the light. No pushing. Enough room for everyone. Bah.”

  “You can’t smoke in here. It’s dangerous.”

  “Young people these days got no respect for their elders,” she grumbled, but put out her light.

  “Speaking of crossing over, I have questions.”

  “I’ll answer if I can.”

  “Where do you take people when they die?”

  “Across.”

  “To what?”

  “To get to the other side. Sorry, doll. Some secrets have to wait.”

  Frustrated, I poured a cup of coffee. “So are you really Death? The Death, I mean? Are there more of you? I mean, how could you be everywhere? Do you always look the same? Like that?”

  She held up the hand with the extinguished cigarette. “That’s a lot of questions. I know this is new, but you sure are Imogene’s kid. You think too damn much. I’m not the one Death, but I am Death. It’s all you need to know.”

  “But I always thought...I mean, why look like...”

  “Like I’ve got one foot in the grave?” She snorted at her own joke. “I crack myself up. Sorry, doll. You were expecting Brad Pitt perhaps? Ah, Hollywood. Nobody likes my true form. Not anymore. So now I look like everyone’s grandma. It’s what people want.” She glanced up at the wall. “It’s about time for me to go.”

  Uh-oh. “Why are you here?”

  “Business, doll. I’m not stalking you. It’s business.” She paused. “You ain’t seen Lester Jacobsen, have you? The old guy on the train?”

  “No, I…business?”

  From down the hall I could hear Junior McKlusky’s wail. “Mother! Help!”

  “Portia!” Walter yelled. “Call for an ambulance! Mrs. McKlusky’s having a heart attack!”

  “Gotta go,” Hephzibah said. “It’s been real and it’s been fun, but it ain’t been real fun. Later, doll.”

  I called 911, even though I was sure they wouldn’t be able to revive Mrs. McKlusky.

  * * * *

  The funeral was postponed since it looked like a double ceremony, so I called Eleanor to pick me up. She arrived with every hair in place in a shiny new SUV. The leather seats were as soft as Billy’s ears.

  “I thought you had a funeral, Portia.”

  “Plans change.” I was thinking of making that my new motto. Everything changes. “Where do we go?”

  “Into the city.”

  From the grim set of her mouth, you’d have thought she was piloting a tank into combat. Her sober focus became more reasonable as we drew closer to the police department. I had thought we would go to the downtown municipal building, which is quite nice. We didn’t. Ellie turned the SUV south.

  Canterbury Park is mostly upscale, a more moderate clone of Highland Park. But where the southern edges kissed Dallas, the area changed. Every town has its slum, I guess, and it makes sense to put a police station where the crime is. We were entering a war zone.

  I’ve been fortunate enough to never need the police services, and the closest I’ve come to a run-in with the law was a ticket for double parking before I wrecked my car two years ago.

  You could feel the economic slide from upscale commercial to low-rent lease and all the way down to abandoned buildings. The few storefronts still open were barricaded: a check-cashing window, a liquor store, a pawnshop. Men with dirty coats and gray skin wandered the streets, not yet ghosts but no longer participants in the land of the living. Even the pavement seemed defeated and had surrendered to the cracks and potholes gouging its surface. What little traffic there was rolled slowly along.

  We circled the parking lot twice before a space opened up. Actually, the space on the end was technically available, but it was occupied by broken beer bottles and a snoozing wino using the curb as a pillow. Neither Ellie nor I was brave enough to roll him out of the spot, so we circled a few more times.

  Finally, a teenager sauntered out with his pants riding below the equator and his hat turned sideways. I couldn’t guess if he was a suspect, witness or victim. I was just glad that he backed his tattered ragtop out of a spot close to the front door.

  Ellie beat two other cars that all dove for the opening at the same time. One drove away to continue trolling. The other cussed us and gestured out the window. Ellie ignored him, but I flipped him the bird on her behalf. It was the least I could do.

  I repeatedly checked around me for signs of Corinne, but in spite of her protestations, she seemed to have deserted me now that I was actually at the police station. The whole point of her not crossing yet was so that she could help.

  Inside was chaos. Aimless souls wandered about, shuffling papers. Above it all hovered an extremely large black man. When I say hovered, I do mean up around the fluorescent light fixtures. It shouldn’t have surprised me, but the Canterbury Park Police Department was haunted.

  I lowered my eyes, but he noticed me staring at him and swooped in for a better look.

  “Looky here what the cat drug in.” He had a soft Southern accent. “I do believe Ms. Eleanor got a real live ghost hunter with her.”

  I could hardly carry on a conversation surrounded by people, so I gave him a little smile and a wink. It would be rude to ignore him. Meanwhile, Ellie marched up to the desk and announced our presence to a bored woman in a PSO uniform. She smirked at the sight of Ellie and picked up the phone.

  I made a lame excuse about washing my hands.

  “I usually do that when I leave,” Ellie called after my retreating back.

  There wasn’t anyone around the narrow hallway. I cautiously opened the door into the dimly lit ladies’ room. The smell convinced me I didn’t want to wash my hands here. I most certainly wasn’t desperate enough to use the restroom. I had come for a conversation.

  “Hee hee!” The ghost rubbed his hands together. “I surely shouldn’t be in here, but don’t mind if I do. I’m half-starved for a little conversation. The name is Lincoln, as in the president who freed the slaves, and Brown, as in the color of my skin.”

  “Portia Mahaffey.”

  “Mahaffey? You must be related to Ms. Eleanor back there. Y’all do have a passing resemblance what with the hair and being so tall.”

  “Cousins,” I said. “Is this your regular haunt?”

  “Oh yes, ma’am. Here I died and here I stays.”

  “How awful. Police brutality? Another prisoner?”

  He had a huge booming laugh and a mouthful of white teeth, surprising on someone who must predate modern dentistry. “Nothing so violent as that. I’m afraid it was a run o’ the mill heart attack, Ms. Portia. But I was in such an angry state I just couldn’t move on.”

  “And now you can’t.”

  “It’s all right. As locations go, this one is pretty lively. I like to cause a little mischief now and then. And they always blame the prisoners.” He winked and boomed out another laugh.

  “Portia?” Ellie knocked on the door. “Are you okay in there?”

  “Uh...yeah. Making a phone call. Be right there.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I gotta go, but it was nice to meet you, Lincoln Brown.”

  “Likewise. Stop by anytime.”

  I paused and looked up at him. “I bet you see and hear everything that goes on.”

  “Enough.”

  I had an idea tickling the back of my mind that a friendly ghost might be a dandy informant. “Good to know.”

  Ellie was at the counter engaged in conversation with a huge bear of a man. He had to be a detective. He wore a jacket that was not so much fabric as upholstery. He also wore a why-me expression.

  “Portia, this is Detective Arthur Fierro. I was telling him about your friend’s murder.”

  Fierro had strong features, a square superhero sort of chin and a nose that would have been tragic on a woman, but worked for him. H
is dark eyes were surprisingly soft in such a hard face. “And I was telling your cousin here that there isn’t a murder. Pleased to meet you, though.”

  “At least hear us out,” Ellie said. “Lieutenant Horton promised me that.”

  “I know. My desk is this way.”

  He led us through a maze of badly dressed men and cluttered desks to a little cubicle in the far corner. His desk was by far the messiest I had ever seen. The secretary in me ached to attack the towers of paper listing dangerously to one side.

  I saw Lincoln out of the corner of my eye. He had followed at a distance and was hovering with apparent interest. This was good.

  Detective Fierro glanced around for spare chairs, finally stealing them from the nearest cubicle. He flopped down in his seat and leaned back as the chair groaned. Ellie perched on her seat. I sat in mine and almost tipped forward. Someone liked their chair tilted downhill.

  Fierro popped peanuts in his mouth from a little plastic bag. “Lunch,” he explained. “So Corinne Simpson was a friend of yours.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So how come your name hasn’t surfaced until now?”

  “Maybe you haven’t been talking to the right people.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “I was given to understand she didn’t have many friends, just acquaintances.”

  Snowing a seasoned detective was going to be a lot harder than intimidating Ruth. “That’s true. Corinne didn’t socialize a lot. But we had a lot in common.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, we were both secretaries. And...dogs. We were both dog lovers. Especially pugs.”

  “Dogs, huh?”

  “Yes, and...” I glanced around, but Corinne was nowhere to be seen. She had been right. I needed her. Where the heck was she? “Mostly the dogs. We talked about our families, about her Aunt Susie in Omaha and...we were both single girls in the city. You know how it is.”

  “Why is it you believe Corinne was murdered?”

  “Why do you think it was an accident? She was poisoned.”

  “You seem very sure.”

  “I am sure.”

  “Detective,” Ellie interrupted. “You should know I’ve gotten very clear signals from the girl’s belongings.” She slid her eyes over to me. Thank you, Ellie. She was craftier than I had given her credit for. “Tell him, Portia.”

  I took a deep breath and plunged in. “Ellie felt a strong sense that Corinne was killed, but that the poison was intended for someone else. She was an innocent victim.”

  Fierro leaned forward, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Go on. How was this poison administered?”

  “A burrito.”

  “A poison burrito?”

  “Yes, a poison burrito. Only it wasn’t Corinne’s burrito. She was hungry and ate someone else’s burrito out of the fridge, and then she felt sort of dizzy and lightheaded and she...she died.”

  He was looking at me with more interest now. “Whose burrito did she eat?”

  I felt my face flush. “She didn’t know. Ellie, I mean. Ellie couldn’t tell. But it wasn’t Corinne’s burrito.”

  His mouth twitched again. “Anything you want to add?” he said to Ellie. “Feel free to chime in here.”

  “Portia pretty well summed it up.”

  He stood. “Well, ladies, thanks for coming. I’ll be sure and let you know if something turns up.”

  “Don’t you need my number?” I said. “Don’t you want to write any of this down?”

  “Not really. I’m aware that Corinne Simpson’s last meal was a burrito, but I’ll be sure and check out the stuff you told me. We know how to reach Eleanor if it comes to that.”

  We were getting the brush-off. I looked at the mounds of files and spotted a familiar label. My fingers itched. What I wouldn’t do to get a look at that file. I looked around until I made eye contact with Lincoln. I nudged my chin toward the file and silently hoped. I took several steps away from the desk.

  Lincoln was a genius. Right as Detective Fierro turned to go, his coffee cup went flying, spraying papers, people and a wilted ficus with hot coffee.

  Fierro had a rare talent for cursing. Ellie and I had both been sprayed, and as we slunk off to the bathroom, I pulled my coat tighter around the file stuffed in there.

  I would have high-fived Lincoln if I could have found a way to do it.

  I made it as far as the restroom, but the door was locked. “Occupado,” came the muffled reply. Crud. I had no intention of removing the file from the building, just reading the contents. I was brazen, but I had no wish to experience jail life firsthand. I don’t pee in public.

  As soon as the door opened, I slipped inside to read the report. There was a lot of cop-speak. I did make contact with W1, blah blah.

  Now this part was interesting. Corinne had been poisoned with a large dose of heart medicine. They were debating accidental overdose versus intentional. What’s more, they had traced the source of the drug to one of the scientists. Very, very interesting. He must be the one who poisoned Corinne. Now if I could only figure out why.

  Poor Corinne had died of a heart attack brought on by the drug. And she was younger than I’d thought. Twenty-four and an orphan, alone in the city, with only a dog as a friend. Plus she wasn’t model-thin. Being over six feet myself, I know how cruel kids are to anyone different. Corinne probably came here to make herself over, to create a new life and identity.

  “Portia?” Ellie knocked on the door. “Are you in there?”

  “Be right out,” I said.

  “Ms. Mahaffey?” It was Detective Fierro. “I’m going to go to the break room for a minute. I hope anything that might have accidentally ended up in your possession finds its way back to my desk. Lieutenant Horton is a big fan of your cousin’s, and I’d hate to piss him off by arresting her family, but there are boundaries. We have an understanding?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I hear you.” Mother would have a fit. Not only was I working with Ellie, but I was stealing police reports and hanging out in ladies’ rooms with men. Lincoln had been reading over my shoulder the entire time.

  “Poor kid,” he said. “You sure she didn’t kill herself?”

  “Positive. She’s been staying at my place. She won’t cross over until her murder gets solved.”

  “I can understand that,” he said. “Just don’t let her roam the streets. It’s goddamn dangerous out there.”

  I nodded. “There’s been a demon sniffing around the train station.”

  Lincoln shuddered. “That’s some good information. I’ll pass it on to any free movers.”

  “Free movers?”

  “Spirits that travel place to place. Not everyone is tied to a location or a person.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “You know about Reclaimers?”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “Bastards have been trying to nab me for the last twenty years.”

  “And here I thought you were from before that, from before the Reclaimers. You can escape them?”

  “It ain’t been easy. That’s for damn sure. They stopped getting after me for about the last five. Not sure if they done give up on ol’ Lincoln or what.” He shivered. “Hope I’ve seen the last of them bastards.”

  “That’s some good information,” I said. Lincoln Brown was going to be a useful ghost to know.

  “Your girl don’t know none of that, right? They’ve got some funky rules about crossing over of her own free will unless taken by Reclaimers. Shit. I’da know what’s the point of that, but there you are. Anyways, I’m okay out in the parking lot. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. You come by and see old Lincoln from time to time. Hear?”

  “Deal. I owe you for this report.” I cautiously opened the door. Lincoln slipped on ahead.

  “Coast is clear,” he called back.

  I sneaked back and slid the folder into one of the less towering stacks of paper and slunk out to the car. Ellie was in her Suburban with the engine running and
the heater cranked up high enough to melt plastic.

  That wasn’t the only thing hot.

  “I have never been so embarrassed! What were you thinking?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it!”

  “So what do you want, Ellie? Money? A finger? My firstborn? You’ll have to wait a while for that.” Like forever.

  “Warn me before you do something like that in the future. I have a reputation to maintain.”

  “It was sort of an impulse thing. But I learned some useful information.”

  She sighed. “I’m glad you want to help the girl.”

  “Thanks for going along with me. I appreciate your help.”

  She smiled faintly. “Detective Fierro isn’t a believer in psychic phenomenon.”

  “So I gathered. At least he talked to us.”

  “He tolerates me because of Lieutenant Horton. I helped Horton on the case that got him promoted to lieutenant.”

  A sudden cold flash made me shiver. “Brr.”

  “I’ve got the heater up as far as it will go.”

  “Then your Suburban is drafty.”

  “It is not. You have coffee all over your jacket. Maybe it’s the wetness making you shiver. You even have coffee on your face.”

  I pulled down the visor and exposed the little mirror. The blond woman in the mirror was angry and hard. Her eyes were red as though she had been crying. I shrieked and slammed the visor shut.

  Ellie swerved violently. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Th-there w-was a f-face,” I chattered, feeling cold down to my core. A quick look over my shoulder assured me that no one was in the car. “I s-saw a w-woman.”

  Ellie’s face lit up. “A ghost? You saw a ghost? In my car? How exciting!”

  “I’ve seen her before. She’s haunting me, I think.”

  “What does she want?”

  “I don’t know. She hasn’t made contact yet. I’ve seen her a couple of times.”

  “O spirit, please reveal yourself,” Ellie intoned.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I said. “She’ll talk when she’s ready. Besides--” I shivered again. “She doesn’t look exactly friendly.”

  “How does she look?”

  “Royally pissed.”

  I checked the mirror as Ellie drove me home, but the angry woman didn’t show herself again.