A Guilty Ghost Surprised (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Cozy Mystery series) (6 page)

Walking back down the hall to the living room, I looked for Franny. “Franny? Are you here?”

She popped back in, glancing nervously around. “Is it gone?”

“No, it’s -
he
, is in the kitchen eating.”

“What is it doing here?” Her voice grew stronger, more intense. “Beasts like that don’t belong in the house.”

“The dog isn’t dangerous. He’s actually very friendly, but I guess even in death dogs still like to chase cats.”

She harumphed and began hover-pacing. “But what is it doing here?”

“He followed us. It’s only temporary, until I can figure out what he’s doing here and help him to cross over.”

She stopped, wide-eyed. “But that could take an eternity. What if he doesn’t want to go?”

A slight niggling of fear made my heart trip. What if he didn’t want to go? Especially when he could stay and have steak? We’d have perpetual chaos!

“Is he part of this murder case you’re investigating?” Franny asked.

“No, he’s just a dog who took up residence in a haunted house.” I went over and flopped onto the couch, exhausted.

“What house, dear?” She asked in earnest.

That’s right! Franny
said
she had connections. “On Quixley Street, a house owned -
formerly owned
- by Sadie Cuttle. Can you find out anything through that ghostly grapevine of yours?”

“I will certainly try, dear.” She faded away.

Her ghostly connections concerned me because I suspected it involved a whole underground spirit community. For the most part, spirits meant trouble. More spirits in the house, I didn’t need, especially ones with ulterior motives or less than stellar reputations. Where light existed, darkness also dwelt. Spirits didn’t cross over for good reasons and some of them dangerous. Evil lurked, even in the light.

“Don’t bring anyone home!” I yelled after Franny.

“What? Who are you talking to?” asked Simon, coming back into the living room.

“Franny. She’s going to check around and see what she can find out about Mrs. Cuttle and the ghost dog on Quixley Street.”

“Oh - good.” He flopped onto the couch next to me. “She can do that?”

“Apparently. I just hope she doesn’t bring anyone else into the house. It’s crowded enough as it is.”

“I’ll say.” He sighed. “The dog’s napping after his meal.”

I raised my eyebrows. Since when could Simon see spirits?

“He’s snoring the house down. I can hear him from here.”

I listened. A steady drone echoed down the hall like a squadron of airplanes through war-torn skies.  

“And not only that,” he added, “the smell in there is atrocious. Apparently his gastrointestinal system still works fine.”

Chapter Six

No Police, Please

The Blind Badger bustled with activity, so I waved to Charlie and Claire and proceeded to the snug.

“Hiya,” Cappy said, eyeing the area around me nervously. “Are you alone?”

“If you mean the ghost dog, then yes. I’m alone. He made himself scarce when I left home.” I shed my coat and hung it on a peg. The street lamp from the ginnel highlighted the rain dripping down the windowpane. I closed the blinds and poured a mug of coffee from the carafe on the side table.

“Good,” Cappy returned. “The others will be late. Riley said to ‘elp yerself to sandwiches.” Little did Cappy know that he resembled an apparition himself—his black hoodie steamed from the cold damp against the heat from the fireplace.

“Thanks.” I vaguely noted the half empty plate. No doubt a few already found their way into his pocket, which reminded me... “How’s your grandmother?”

He shrugged and bit into a sandwich. “Better, I think. She’s getting up and about a bit more.”

I nodded. “Good.” I suspected he may have twisted the truth. Or maybe wishful thinking replaced it. I wondered what would happen to him if anything happened to his grandmother. And I wondered, not for the first time, what happened to his parents. He never mentioned them and didn’t seem to want to talk about them. I could relate, though, so I never asked.

Badger came in, followed by Simon, and a few minutes later, Riley. Simon pulled the murder map from the telly behind the bench and rolled it out onto the table. Riley sat next to him on the bench. They reached for the pen at the same time—and jerked back when their hands touched. They didn’t speak or look at each other.

I sighed. I desperately hoped the awkwardness between them would go away so we could concentrate on the case.   

“Sorry you had to come out on a night like this,” said Riley to the group. “But since we had to work and were already here…” She shrugged.  

“No problem,” I said. “I’ve got nothing else to do.”
Ouch!
Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned my dateless status on a Friday night. But who was I kidding? Everyone knew I didn’t have a life. 

Riley’s eyes shone with excitement. “I’ve been sitting on this all day and nearly busted waiting to share it. Get this—” she laid the report on the table “—the police broke up a brawl at a party in the area that night. Underage drinkers scattered when the police arrived, some on foot, others in cars.”  

Simon began to read through the report.

“Also,” added Riley, “The police found a drink driver passed out in his van. They took his keys and put them under the seat and let him sleep it off.”  She looked pointedly around the table. “The Land Rover was blue and his name is Scott Durdle.”

I gasped. It sounded like the same truck, er,
van
, taken into Bodies by Billy the week after the accident.

“Durdle could ‘ave hit Simon’s car either before or after the cops discovered him there,” said Cappy. “Do we know what time they found ‘im?”

“Around 8:30.” Simon read from the report.

“So it fits the timeframe,” I added.

“Yes, it does,” said Badger. “And something else, as well.”

“Scott Durdle couldn’t ‘ave been the only drunk driver in the area,” said Cappy. A very significant fact. With a party of underage drinkers, our suspect list just grew exponentially.

“Right,” said Badger.

“There’s more,” said Riley. “One of the kids fighting at the party took off in a white van. The police found him a half mile from the accident. They arrested him for disturbing the peace and drink driving. They had his van towed.”

“So he could be a witness. He may have seen something,” I said, getting excited.

“As well as other kids at the party,” added Simon. “I wonder how many of them drove blue automobiles?”

“And the breakdown driver,” Badger added. “He was in the area, so he could be a suspect if he drove a blue tow van.”

“And there’s one more,” said Cappy.

Everyone looked over at him, not knowing who he referred to.

“The police,” he said. “The police were in the area as well. They drive blue cars.”

It struck me that if the accident involved police, it could be the reason why the accident report contained so little information. The same realization crossed my friend’s faces.

“So, shall I say it, then?”

Solemn nods all around.

“All right. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but the police report is remarkably non-informative. It may be a cover-up. They may be protecting their own.”

“You think?” said Simon sarcastically. “There isn’t even the name of who filed the report. We’d have a hard time proving it if the police did it.” 

“Yes,” I said. “But at least we have one inside source. Robbie O’Boyle.”

At the end of the last investigation we had to trust him with our information. We needed his help and he needed ours. He didn’t let us down. And he already knew my secret.

“So to recap,” said Riley. “We now have three suspects. Number one is Scott Durdle, the drunk guy in the blue Land Rover. Then we have the breakdown driver, and now the police.”

“And our witness is the drunk kid in the white van…” began Simon.

“Jason Krepp…” Riley put in.

“And possibly the other kids at the party,” Simon finished. He thought for a minute. “Hey, that name sounds familiar.” He looked at Badger. “Don’t we know him?”

“Yeah, he’s that blond, long-haired cocky bloke always in trouble at school last year. He got held back a couple times so he’s a bit older than us. Always smoked fags out behind the football field with his loser mates. I haven’t seen him at secondary school, though.”

“Yeah, I know who you mean,” said Simon. “He lives near us,” he said to me.

It was a lot to take in. All of a sudden we had leads.

“Right. So who’s doing what?” Riley perched her pen over the board to log the assignments. “I have to work.” Riley generally didn’t go out to investigate anyway. Her contribution all came through her cell phone and her mysterious secret source.

Badger looked at me. “I’m off tomorrow and so is Simon. The three of us can go by the police station and talk to Robbie, then swing by and talk to Jason.”

“I’ll check out the grapevine,” said Cappy. “If any rumors exist about that party, I’ll find out.”

Riley noted it all down.

On Saturday afternoon, Simon and I met Badger at the pub and walked the remaining four blocks to the police station. A weak sun filtered through the clouds to lend intermittent rays of warmth. Perhaps a sign of hope in the uncertainty of this investigation. I linked arms and walked happily between my two favorite guys.

Sabrina Shores housed the police department in a nineteenth century gray stucco building in the business area of town. It had high ceilings and walls painted a drab institution green. The temperature inside was tropical and muggy compared to the damp and cold outside. Our footsteps echoed through the lobby as we strode past the front desk, nodding to the bobby on duty. Acting as if we belonged seemed the best course of action. We didn’t want to be questioned too closely.

Winding through a series of halls, we came to an interior waiting area. I remembered seeing D.S. Robbie O’Boyle occupying a cubicle there. As a Detective Sergeant and the bottom rung of the police food chain, hopefully we’d find him working today. Not many people mulled about, and nobody paid us the slightest bit of attention, so I went through the short swing-door to the cubicles beyond. Badger and Simon followed. I sensed their nervousness. They hadn’t enjoyed our last visit when being ‘interviewed’ about Billy Radcliffe’s murder.

Robbie had just hung up the phone. Glancing up, his eyes widened at our approach  He hadn’t expected to see us there voluntarily, either.

“Well, and what can I do for you lot today?” Robbie wasn’t a huge guy, but stocky and tough-looking, probably about twenty-one years old. His rolled-up sleeves revealed Popeye-like forearms, and his freckles matched his short ginger hair.

As the self-appointed spokesperson, I stepped forward. “We’d like to speak to you. In private,” I added, looking around at the few people drifting through the office. We didn’t want to be overheard.

He looked at the watch on his left wrist and said, “I’m due for lunch. Will the police canteen do?”

 We took the lift to the basement. Only a skeleton crew worked on Saturday, so we virtually had the place to ourselves. Robbie purchased lunch, while the boys and I drank coffee. We took a booth in the corner.

Robbie peeled the wrapper from his sandwich as I explained, hesitantly, what we wanted; the name of the officers in the area of the accident on that fateful night. Simon needed information about the deaths of his family so he could have closure. A sudden hot flash warmed my cheeks as I omitted the part about investigating the murders. I fanned my face. Is omission the same as lying? If so,
I am so going to hell.

“Sorry about the heat,” said Robbie, misinterpreting my discomfort. “The thermostat is stuck on tropical all winter. Once summer hits, though, it will be arctic.” He set his sandwich into the paper basket and stared down for a drawn-out minute.

We exchanged worried glances.

When Robbie looked up, he directed his gaze at Simon. “My superior and I came upon the accident that night.”  He shook his head. “Only eighteen years old and a rookie at the time. My D.S., Dick Wilkins, drove the car. Cloud coverage darkened the whole area, so visibility was low to begin with, the street wet and not well lit. We almost didn’t see the car.” He took a deep breath. “The woman—your mum—and your brother…they...they had already died.” He rubbed his face, then the back of his neck. He cleared his throat before continuing. “We thought you were gone, too. We couldn’t reach you with the way the car laid on its side. We waited for rescue services.”

Simon’s face lost color. His lips worked, as if he tried to say something.

I squeezed his arm and spoke for him. “Did you see anyone else in the area? Someone who might have witnessed the accident?”

 Robbie hesitated—only slightly—then shook his head. The experience clearly stayed with him. And his hesitation stayed with me…

“Well, thank you for the information.” I stood and extended my hand. As we made contact, a vision ran through my head...
pitch black on a wet, dark road…a white car lie on the passenger side, the driver side wheels still rotated. Robbie stood and stared, a disturbed look on his face, at the retreating lights headed away from the accident scene.