Chasing Midnight (Dark of Night Book 2) (4 page)

“Long night?” he asked, hiding a half smile behind his cup.

“Yeah. The hospital was packed,” I responded with a heavy sigh.

That got his attention.

“Hospital? Are you alright? What happened?”

He set down his cup as I grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured myself a fresh cup of coffee. Taking a seat across from him, I gave him the Cliff Notes version.

“Wow,” he said when I finished. “I’d heard Xavier had a visitor in town. And I’ve seen the kid wandering around the Conclave. Guess I never put the two together.”

“How could you miss it? They look exactly alike. It’s kinda creepy actually.”

He shrugged.

Classic guy. Unobservant to the core. I bet if Devon had boobs, he’d have noticed.

“So, since I had a really tough night and you feel so sorry for me, would you be willing to take my meeting with Mrs. Millhouse today?” I asked, batting my eyelashes.

Shane rolled his eyes. “Isn’t she the one who thinks she’s being haunted by the ghost of her dead poodle?”

“Nope, that was Mrs. Caffery. Millhouse wants us to find her deadbeat ex-husband. Apparently, he owes her a hefty amount of back alimony.”

Shane held up his hands like a scale. “Let’s see. Meeting with client, spending the morning down at the police station with Reggie looking at old files…” He moved his hands up and down.

“I’ll throw in lunch at the Bakery.” He wasn’t exactly on Mom’s favorite person list, but he loved her bread bowls and cream of broccoli soup. Next to a good A positive, it was his favorite meal.

“Deal. You go get cleaned up. I’ll handle the meeting.” He paused, adding, “Oh, just so you know, I have an appointment at the Conclave at four. We should take two cars and I’ll head over a little early, get a few things done over there beforehand.”

We shook on it, and I crawled my way upstairs and into a hot shower.

By the time I’d fallen into bed, it was after four am. When I woke up, the first meeting of the day was over. We still had a few hours until lunch, so I busied myself with some background checks and then began tracking down our missing husband. Shane had disappeared upstairs to the renovated attic room he called home. I could hear him through the walls, the soft sound of his acoustic guitar a pleasant background noise. He was playin
g
Have You Ever Seen the Rain
,
which was one of my favorite songs. Before long, I found myself humming along.

A knock at my office door surprised me. We kept the front door unlocked during business hours, but most people called and made an appointment. Walk-ins were very rare.

“Come in,” I called out and stood up behind my desk.

And then the last person I ever expected to see walked into my office.

I walked around the desk. “Patrick, what brings you to my door?”

Patrick, AKA Tyger, and I had been friends since we could walk. His nana lived two doors down from my mom, and we were inseparable as kids. Then, as children do, we grew up and went our separate ways. I went off to college, and he opened a motorcycle repair shop and took over the local biker gang. We still talked now and then, mostly when one or the other of us needed a favor or to be bailed out of jail. That fact didn’t stop me from throwing my arms around him and hugging him tightly. I tried not to do it when he was around his friends, but every time I saw him, my inner twelve-year-old squealed in delight. He hugged me back gently and released me.

“I have someone who wants to talk to you,” he said with an exasperated, apologetic smile. Then Nana Elsie stepped out from behind his bulky frame.

Nana Elsie was well into her eighties. She had grey hair that was shorn close to the scalp, and creamy brown eyes with flecks of green in them. Her cheekbones were high and round like apples, her lips plump, and her nose perfectly straight. For a woman her age, she looked good.

This time, I squealed out loud. “Nana Elsie!” I threw myself into her outstretched arms. I had to bend over to hug her. At five-foot nothing, she was the only person on the planet who made me feel tall.

“Oh, how’s my baby girl?” she asked, her southern accent strong and warm like fresh chicory.

I wiped the unexpected moisture from my eyes. I hadn’t seen Nana in years. She’d moved to an assisted living place up north when I was in high school. Patrick was her only family, and he’d spent some time in jail a few years ago, so she didn’t have anyone to look after her as her arthritis and blood pressure got bad. A sharp pang of guilt stabbed me for not going and checking on her long ago. What kind of person was I? In that moment, I felt very self-absorbed and very ashamed.

“I’m fine. Better now that you’re here,” I admitted.

This woman had fed me chocolate chip cookies until I was sure I’d burst. She taught me how to grow orchids, how to milk a goat, and she often helped me with my history homework. She was like my second mom. I glanced over at Patrick, who had helped himself to a seat. He looked rigid and uncomfortable. The tribal tattoos covered most of his arms and neck, all the way onto his bald head, and they still weren’t the most shocking thing about his appearance. That honor went to the thick, septum ring hanging above his top lip. He was one of those guys people deliberately crossed the street to avoid when they saw him coming, and it had nothing to do with him being black. Still, who could blame them? He looked a lot more dark and dangerous than the little boy who had engaged me in a pickle-eating contest when we were six. But to me, he was still that silly boy. Just with more metal.

Nana Elsie took me by the hands. “You done good for yoself, sweet girl.”

I shrugged. It wasn’t exactly what I’d planned for my life, but it wasn’t bad. “So what brings you around these parts?” I asked, rocking back on my heels.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Patrick asked sarcastically. “She wants to hire you.”

I looked at the little black woman, and then back to him, the shock obvious on my face before I could hide it.

“Um, okay. Nana, why don’t you sit down over here? Do you need something to drink? Lemonade or coffee?” I asked, motioning her to the other empty chair.

She waved me off. “Nah, I’m right as rain.”

I walked over to my desk and took my seat, giving Patrick a questioning look, which he responded to by rolling his eyes.

“What’s going on?” I asked gently.

Nana leaned forward, resting her arms on an oversized canvas purse in her lap. “Patrick tells me you took over your Daddy’s bin’ess. He says you gotta real gift fer helpin’ folks.”

I smiled. “I suppose so. I enjoy the work at least. I like helping people.”

She returned my smile and relaxed back into the leather chair a bit. “Good. Cause I got someone who needs your help.”

“I though
t
yo
u
needed something?” I said, completely confused.

“See, a girl done been killed—”

“Hold on, you saw a girl get killed? My Lord, Nana, did you go to the police?”

“If y’all lemme finish? Nah, I didn’t see it happen. Sue Hardy, she seen it.”

“So, did Sue go to the police?”

“Sue Hardy is a ghost,” Patrick answered, as if it were silly that I didn’t know that.

I sat back, literally speechless. Nana had a reputation for being a good, church going lady, but I knew she practiced a bit. I mean, she had a goat named Vana that somehow changed color every few months, and she kept dried chicken feet in her shed. But never anything too weird, at least not around me. When she was young, she ran a palm and tarot-reading booth at the old slave market; I’d seen the old posters hanging in her house. I always assumed it was a gimmick to separate tourists from their money. I looked down at the woman now. She didn’t look frail. Sure, she had more wrinkles around the eyes, her hair was less pepper and more salt, and the skin around her neck sagged like a jack-o-lantern after Christmas, but she seemed totally lucid. On the other hand, she was talking to ghosts so…

“Can you tell me exactly what Sue saw?” I asked, figuring it was better to humor her than to give her any reason to melt down further.

Patrick snorted and busied himself with his phone as she continued.

“Well, I was out at St. Philips cemetery, dropin’ in on my late husband, Wilfred, you know. Sue startled me right outta ma britches. She were cryin’ and wailin’. So I say, ‘Whatcha be carrin’ on for?’ She seemed real surprised at first that I could see her, but I told her, I said, ‘honey when you’re as close to knockin’ on death’s door as I am, there ain’t much seperatin’ the walls anymore.’” She laughed softly, took a deep breath, and continued. “Sue told me she was wanderin’ round the old part of the cemetery, back by the willows…”

I nodded. I knew the place.

“Anywho, she been hauntin’ down there the night before, and she saw a girl looked like she had a bun in the oven. She saw her get strangled.”

“Did you see a body?” I asked seriously. Even if she was having a bout of dementia, she might have actually see
n
somethin
g
. The brain was funny like that.

“Naw. She said the girl got dragged off, and Sue can’t leave the grounds, ya see.”

“I see,” I said simply, folding my hands. I opened my mouth to tell her, as gently as possible, that unless there was an actual body, there really wasn’t anything I could do, but she cut me off.

“I know that look, girl. Same look Patrick gave me when I told him. Like I’m a few pumpkins short of a pie, but you know better. I’m perfectly fine in the brain. Matter-o-fact, the older I get, the more clearly I see the truth of the world.” She leaned forward, giving me a cool, level gaze. “Besides, I can prove it, if y’all humor an old lady.” She winked.

“Prove how?” I mean, what harm was there? This woman bandaged almost as many of my scraped knees as my own mama did, and if she wanted to show me something, I could spare the time to let her.

Patrick sighed heavily and Nana Elsie sat back, looking smugly over her shoulder at him.

“A séance. Tonight, down at St. Philips. We can call Sue Hardy, and she can tell ya for herself what she saw.”

Honestly, I was hoping to curl up with a book and a bowl of ice cream tonight. But…

I looked at her. She had this glint of joy in her eye. Nana was one of those people who, when she was happy, everyone was happy, and when she was angry, God help you.

“Okay. I’ll be there. Do I need to bring anything?” I asked. It was the southern girl that was so ingrained in me. We brought food to everything.

“Just your eyes, girl. Eleven o’clock, by the willow.”

She stood up to leave, and Patrick and I followed her lead. I hugged her goodbye, and she headed out into the sunshine. Patrick lulled behind just a minute.

“You think she really saw something?” I asked him, watching her dig a red scarf out of her purse and tie it around her head.

He looked at me seriously. “I know. It’s crazy right? But, well, she’s the only person in my life who’s always believed in me, so I’m willing to humor her.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And, I have to admit, she’s always had one eye on God.”

I hadn’t heard that expression in years. It was something Nana used to tell us as children—to make sure that no matter what happened, to always keep one eye on God. It meant not to take anything for granted, to see the interconnectedness in all things. It was something I’d sort of forgotten over the years.

Maybe it was time to remember.

i

By the time Shane and I pulled up outside Mom’s bakery, I’d filled him in on the whole ordeal. I’d expected him to mock me as a sentimental goober, but he didn’t. If anything, his face had gone pale, which wasn’t the easiest thing for a vampire to do.

“What?” I asked, throwing my car in park.

The intention was to take separate cars, but once again, the used motorcycle Shane had purchased was giving him fits so there we were. It was okay; it gave us a chance to talk.

“It’s just that… ghosts. That’s heavy stuff.” I stared at him in disbelief as he stared out of the window. I was waiting for him to crack a joke or at least point at me and laugh, but he was deadly serious.

“Wait. You mean to tell me that you believe in ghosts?”

He looked at me, pointing to himself. “Hello
?
Vampir
e
. I
s
ghos
t
so far out of the realm of possibility?”

I sat back. When he put it like that…

“Let’s go eat. I’m starving,” I said, deflecting the sudden surge in the pit of my stomach to cancel on Patrick and Nana.

i

The bakery was slow, only one other customer who was leaned over a soup bowl, shoveling it in as he read a dog-eared copy o
f
The Ilia
d
.

My sister, Phoebe, had the day off—Tuesdays were notoriously slow—so it was just Mom behind the counter cutting up a fresh loaf of cinnamon raisin bread. When the door chimed, she looked up. For a second, she smiled, and then it fell off her face. Shane really wasn’t her favorite person. I wasn’t sure what she resented more—the fact that he left me at the altar on our wedding day or the fact the he had become a bloodsucker.

Probably the former.

Shane found us a table while I walked up to the counter. Leaning forward, I gave Mom a peck on the cheek. “Hey, Ma. I brought this semester’s tuition check for Sarah.” I slid the small envelope across the counter. She was glaring at Shane, so I snapped my fingers in front of her nose. “Hello? Earth to Mom. The money?”

She wiped her hand on the white towel that she kept permanently slung over her shoulder. “Yes, dear. Thank you for that, but I don’t need it this month.” She finally looked at me.

“What? Why not?” Had Sarah dropped out? No, Sarah was the most responsible and studious of my three sisters. She was studying at UCLA to become a lawyer. It had been her dream for as long as I could remember. Mom was living on Dad’s pension and what little she could scrape from the bakery, which wasn’t much. UCLA wasn’t exactly cheap and even with student loans, I had to devote a large chunk of the business’ profits to her education.

Mom pulled a letter out of her pocket and handed it to me, explaining, “Sarah just got a new scholarship. Isn’t that wonderful? She doesn’t have to pay back a single penny and it covers everything. There’s even a stipend for food and books.”

Mom beamed as I read over the letter. “I’ve never heard of the Marie San Lucas Memorial Scholarship.”

“Neither had I. Apparently, it’s relatively new, set up by a family member who came into some money and wanted to put it to good use,” she said.

I whistled when I got to the bottom of the page where it outlined the total amount of the scholarship. “This is a lot of money, Mom.”

She snatched the paper from my fingers and tucked it back in the pocket of her apron. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Isabel.”

I was momentarily stunned. The relief was slow to sink in, but once it did, it warmed me all over. This freed up a huge chunk of my money, enough that I could go on a real vacation. I hadn’t been on one in years, since before Dad died. And I could get a new car if I wanted. I could fix up the house a bit.