Ghouls Just Want to Have Fun (11 page)

"That's cool," I said. "What do you drive, anyway?" With Shelby Lynne's height, it had to be roomy.

"A Jeep," she said. "Actually, my brother's Jeep. He's in the service and is trying to sell it. I take it to school hoping someone will see the for sale sign and buy it."

"When you say Jeep...?"

"Wrangler. It's kind of cool, but could use more legroom. Well, I'd better get back to school. If I'm late to American Government, Mr. Nielson will spend ten minutes lecturing the class on the importance of punctuality."

I popped a tot in my mouth. "Beats lecturing on American government, doesn't it?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I think learning how our system of government was formed and how it has evolved over two hundred years, and recognizing just how each branch has overreached its constitutional authority like an out-of-control octopus is fascinating." She looked at me with a sheepish smile. "I guess it's no secret that I'm a strict constructionist," she said.

"Hey, how you raise your kids is your business," I said.

She looked at me to see if I was joking, and I smiled. Okay, so I slept through most of American Government. Understandable. I had it first period.

"See you at four," she said, getting to her feet.

"Don't be late," I told her. "I'm thinking our secret weapon might need to eat around five to take his meds."

She gave me another uncertain look. "O-kay. See you at four."

"Roger dodger," I said, thinking Shelby Lynne was right about one thing. I was a wee bit strange.

I finished eating and tossed my garbage into the nearby trash bin. I considered leaving it on the counter for Dixie to clean up, but I knew there'd be a payback, and right now I was too busy with my siege on Haunted Holloway Hall to wage a battle on another front.

I jumped in my car and headed for Joe's house, debating the most effective way to get him to agree to assist me that wouldn't automatically commit me to dragging the old guy around during this sensitive and high-stakes operation. I already had Shelby Lynne Sawyer to deal with; I wasn't sure I could handle a third person fussing over a creme pastry.

I was fairly confident that I could convince Joe to play along, though. He was always up for a little private eye role-playing. I also knew he was concerned about Romeo Rivas moving in on his territory, so playing up the let's-make-Hannah-jealous card would probably work. Two birds, one stone. Or, rather, one old boyfriend equaled one big story. I hoped.

I rang Joe's doorbell, wishing I'd had enough sense to bring food along. Joe is as obsessed with eating as I am. Fortunately for Joe, he has the physique of a clothesline pole. I'm not chubby yet, but the Levi's don't fit like they used to. Especially in the thigh area.

The door opened.

"Hey, Joe. What do you know?"

"What do you want?" he snapped.

I frowned, really kicking myself for showing up on Joe's doorstep empty-handed.

"Uh, I need a favor," I said. "Is it a bad time?"

"What kind of favor?"

This was so weird. Joe usually had to coax
me
into his house with goodies.

"What we talked about the other night. You know. That super-hush-hush visitor to town." I looked around. "Can we discuss this inside?" I asked.

"Is this about Elizabeth Courtney?"

I shoved the old man into the house and shut the door behind me.

"Keep it down, would you? You never know who's listening."

"Not to worry. Most of the people in this neighborhood are deaf as doornails," he said. "I do most of the neighborhood watching, if you recall."

I nodded. He had a point. He was the only guy I knew who kept track of license plate numbers on strange vehicles on the street around his home.

"You're in a grouchy mood," I told him. "What's the matter--Mrs. Winegardner find someone else to share her sticky buns with?"

Joe crossed the room and sat down on his sofa. He shook his head. "Naw. It's your grandma."

I tensed. "Has something happened to Gram?"

Joe shook his head. "It's nothing like that. She just can't go out this evening. We were planning to take in a flick at the theater--Harrison Ford's latest--but she up and cancelled on me. Something about packing to do. Is she taking a trip somewhere?"

I felt my south-of-the-border stomach contents churn. Yeah. A trip to Casa Tressa.

"You know Gram. She's probably packing up her romance novels for the library book sale," I said, trying to put the ol' guy's fears at bay. "Or going through her closet again and sorting clothes to give to Goodwill so she can buy new stuff. I wouldn't worry, Joe." I, on the other hand, was ready to unroll a new package of Rolaids and crunch away. "And as luck would have it, the timing is perfect, because I have a very special assignment for you. One that will make the residents of Grandville, including my gramma, sit up and take notice. And the only man for this job is you, Joe. Only you."

Joe perked up. "And you say your grandma will take notice?" he asked.

I nodded. "You'll get more attention from Gram than Lawrence Welk does on a Saturday night on PBS," I told him.

"Then I reckon I am the man for the job," Joe said. "So what's my assignment? Nighttime surveillance? Intelligence analysis? Covert operations?"

"Flower delivery," I said.

Joe stared at me. "You're nuts," he said.

"How about if I included a box of chocolates?" I added.

He considered a moment. "Gift Shoppe chocolates from on the square, not those cheapo Bargain City boxes," he said. "And I pick 'em out. I can't abide the fruity ones, and the caramels stick to my partial," he added. "I prefer the cremes."

"Fine. Whatever," I said. "These chocolates aren't for you, anyway. They're for a certain special someone who is going to help both of us get what we want most."

"And what's that?" Joe asked.

"Companionship for you and a bargaining chip for me," I told him.

His eyebrows went up one level. "You got a deal, girlie," Joe said. "But remember, if this plan goes south and Elizabeth Courtney gets too hot for my bod, I draw the line at having sex. I'm not that kind of undercover operator."

I laughed, figuring Joe was probably safe where his old prom date was concerned. Unless, of course, she was the one occupying the wooden crate I'd seen that night and had a hankerin' for iron-poor blood around sundown.

I thought for a second. Just to be safe, we'd go before sunset.

Joe and I had just finalized our plan of attack, with Joe taking copious notes, when I heard the back door open and shut.

"Who's that?" I whispered to Joe. "Are you expecting someone?"

"It's probably Rick," Joe said. "He was going to stop by this afternoon to return some fishing tackle he borrowed for his Canada trip."

I wrinkled my nose. Home-wrecking trip, he meant. Kimmie was still furious with Craig, and I was feeling none too charitable toward Craig's best friend and en-abler. I'd really been getting into the idea of being Auntie Tressa or "Aunt T," which I thought was a cute play on words. Now, thanks to Townsend and his jughead cronies, Craig had missed Kimmie's ovulation cycle, and he was backpedaling about his readiness for fatherhood. And all to go murder poor Mr. Moose. And people thought my priorities were screwed up. Hello.

"Hide the plans!" Joe said, and I scrambled to conceal any trace of our little conspiracy. I tossed Joe's legal pad onto the floor and was scooting it under the couch with my heel when Townsend entered the living room.

"Knock, knock," Rick said, standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, looking pretty handsome for a homewrecker.

"Isn't it a little late to knock," I asked, "considering you're already in the house?"

Townsend shrugged. "No telling what one could walk in on if they don't knock. Especially with Calamity Jayne on the premises," he said. "Hey, Pops," he greeted Joe.

"Well, hello there, Rick!" Joe jumped to his feet and joined his grandson. "I'd forgotten you were going to drop by. How is everything? How's the job? How's the folks? How's Hunter? How's that snake colony? Everything copacetic?"

I wanted to commit a little elder abuse. Joe had apparently been taking notes on the fine art of babbling when hiding something. From me. He was prattling so much I was surprised his dentures didn't pop out. And Townsend was no fool. He was certain to know something was up. Joe's superfluous chatter was a dead giveaway.

"Everyone's present and accounted for," Rick said. "What are you two up to?"

Damn.

"We were just chewing the fat, weren't we, girlie? Just visiting over a cup of... a cup of..." Joe finally realized we hadn't been eating or drinking. There was a first time for everything. "Just visiting," he finished with a help-me-out look.

"Actually, we were just working on a top-secret project," I said, getting to my feet. I saw Joe's head spin in my direction so fast, I thought we might have an
Exorcist
moment going. "Top-level security clearance only. Sorry, Townsend, but you don't have that clearance, I'm afraid. Security briefings and clearance authorization were scheduled the same week you were following moose droppings in the wilds of Canada. Tough break, Ranger."

Townsend nodded. "I'm sorry to miss out," he said. "I'd really like to be a part of the excitement when you two finally discover a snack food you both like that doesn't contain trans fat."

I sneered. "You will be sorry, Townsend," I said. "I swear."

Townsend shrugged. "Story of my life," he said.

I spent a moment trying to decipher his hidden meaning, but it hurt my brain too much. "Whatever," I said, my standard line when I didn't have a brilliant comeback. Or any comeback. "I'll just be taking off then, Joe."

I walked to the front door and Joe followed me. "Thanks for dropping by," he said in a loud voice, then bent close to my right ear. "Remember, butter-creams are my favorite," he whispered.

"I'll do my best," I told him. "You just get rid of your grandson there, Van Helsing." Rick was one distraction I didn't need. Especially when I was involving his granddad in yet another field operation.

But this was different, I told myself. This was perfectly safe. Totally no-risk. No bodies. No drug dealers. No handguns. No fleeing felons or crazy clowns. It was a friggin' feature article on a sixty-eight-year-old author, for heaven's sake. What could possibly go wrong besides the callous rejection by an ego-crazed author of a suitor bearing flowers and candy?

"Ten-four," Joe said with a wave. "I'll ten twenty five you at eighteen hundred."

"Oookay," I said, having no clue what had just been said.

Anyone know a good--and cheap--shrink? I probably ought to have my head examined.

CHAPTER NINE

I called Shelby and changed the pickup time to five-thirty. I needed to pick up the flowers and candy, feed my critters and spend a bit of happy time with my pooches. Joe would meet us at Holloway Hall around six. I figured that was late enough not to disrupt the author's supper hour--we eat early in the heartland--and early enough that she wouldn't be in her jammies nodding off yet. Yep. That ol' early-to-bed-early-to-rise credo.

I did my chores in a hurry, wishing I had time to go for a short horseback ride, and promised myself I'd do just that once the weekend rolled around.

I cleaned myself up, then made a turkey sandwich, washed it down with a glass of milk, and gathered my Operation: Pulitzer supplies. My digital camera. Flashlight. Notepad and pencil. Minirecorder. Cell phone. Breath mints--just in case Joe partook of onions or garlic at supper. I made my list and checked it twice, then turned on TBS to wait for Shelby.

When a movie called
A Howling in the Woods
came on, I flipped the channel to
The Club
.

Shelby arrived right on time.

"You shouldn't have," she said when she spotted the flowers and candy on the table.

"I didn't," I told her. "At least not for you. They're our ammunition."

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Ammunition? What the devil kind of secret weapon are you planning to use?"

"Romance," I said.

"Oh, brother, this ought to be good," she said, sliding into a nearby chair. "So, are you ready?" she asked.

"I was born ready," I told her. Secretly, I'd just as soon jump into my jammies, pop some popcorn, put on
The Sound of Music
and sing along with Maria von Trapp and the von Trapp children.

"Where is the secret weapon?"

I got up and grabbed my supplies. "We'll meet him there," I said.

Shelby gave me a sideways look. "Him? Is this going to work?" she asked as we walked down the front steps.

"I'm almost positive it will," I said, hoping the weapon didn't backfire.

"If not, there's always Drew Van Vleet," she said.

I gave her a dirty look. Well, I gave her back a dirty look.

"You're starting to sound like one of those repeating parrot toys," I said. "Get some new material, would you?"

Shelby's shoulders shook. I couldn't tell if she was laughing or getting ready to turn and pop me one, so I gave her a wide berth. She walked around to the driver's side of a bright red Jeep Wrangler. It wasn't in mint condition, but the paint wasn't chipped or faded. And the tires weren't bald.

"Sweet ride," I said. "How much does your brother want for it?"

"Around twenty-five hundred dollars. It's a 'ninety-four. Why? You interested?"

"I might be," I said. Right. Twenty-five dollars was more than I could afford to pay right now. Still, the idea of tooling around in a red Wrangler was, like, the shizz.

Shelby turned onto the road to the Holloway house and flipped her high beans on, illuminating a dark-colored Buick and a skinny figure beside it.

"Who is that?" Shelby asked.

Joe directed his flashlight beam in our eyes.

"Don't tell me," Shelby said.
"That
is our secret weapon?"

I nodded. "And he looks like he's primed and ready," I said.

"Are you sure you don't mean loaded?" Shelby asked.

Shelby parked the Jeep behind the Buick, and I grabbed the flowers and candy and hurried up to Joe. He had on what looked like a brown tweed jacket, which smelled faintly of moth balls.

"Nice tweed," I said. "But the cologne leaves something to be desired. Did you lose your tail?" I asked, and Joe turned around to look at his rear end. "No! I meant your grandson. Did Townsend follow you?"

Joe's shoulders straightened. "Nobody follows me unless I want 'em to, girlie," he advised.

"All right, all right. Don't get your joints in a knot," I said, thinking I was already too late on this count. "Here." I handed him the bouquet of yellow roses and the box of chocolates I'd spent way too much money I didn't have on. Especially considering I probably wouldn't get to enjoy any of the chocolates.

"Yellow roses! Why'd you pick yellow roses?" Joe asked. "They're not romantic at all."

"It's the traditional color for friendship," I told him. "Everyone knows that."

Actually, I'd had to ask, but Joe and Shelby Lynne didn't have to be privy to that information.

"I hate the color yellow. It makes my skin look sallow."

"You're not going to wear them," I pointed out.

"But I have to stand there holding them right next to my face. I'll look like a walking corpse. Like that look will get me in the door to see a lady friend," he said.

"I'm sure you'll get in by virtue of your charming, affable personality," I snapped. "You're so full of it!"

"Just a minute, vixen. You need my assistance with this little assignment more than I need you."

"And you need my help steering my grandma away from rich Romeo Rivas," I reminded him.

"Children, children, please. Let's not argue."

I finally remembered my new associate, Shelby Lynne.

"Who are you?" Joe asked. "Who's she?"

"You didn't tell your 'secret weapon' about me?" Shelby asked. "Why am I not surprised?"

"What secret weapon? What's she talking about?"

I shook my head. "Joe, Shelby Lynne Sawyer, homecoming queen candidate and die-hard Elizabeth Courtney Howard fan. Shelby Lynne, secret weapon and die-hard
Die Hard
fan Joe Townsend," I introduced the two.

They eyeballed each other.

"You related to Homer Sawyer?" Joe asked.

"He's my grandfather," Shelby said.

Joe nodded. "Good man. Good customer. Always paid his lumber bills on time. You look like him."

"Joe!" I said.

Shelby smiled. "That's all right. I do look like him," she said.

"Joe has, uh, assisted me in the past on certain undertakings," I told her.

Shelby nodded. "You forget, I read all about it in the papers."

Who hadn't?

"Okay, kids," I said. "Here's our plan. Shelby Lynne, you set up out of sight in those bushes along the driveway. I'll position myself up closer to the house and see if I can get some pictures. Joe, here's the recorder. You know how to use it, right? Turn it on before you knock on the door. Make sure you take any change out of your pocket, or all we'll pick up is the sound of coins dancing around. Now, we've gone over this before. You heard Elizabeth was back in town. You knew her way back when. You even took her to the prom. You want to welcome her back to Grandville. Blah, blah, blah."

"No problemo," Joe said. "I'll turn on the old Townsend charm, and she'll be like putty in my hands."

Townsend BS was more like it, but a rose by any other name.

"Once you're in and you've renewed old acquaintances, then you start talking about how great it would be for the community if Elizabeth would consider giving an interview. Stress those hometown ties that bind. The values of the heartland. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Then, if she appears to be relenting, only then do you mention me by name. Be complimentary. Talk me up, but don't go overboard. Tell her how nice I am, what a hard worker, briefly touch on the Palmer story and state fair action. Hit the small-town-girl-trying-to-achieve-success angle, but be low-key. Laid back, but frank. Don't beat her over the head with glowing praise for me and my journalistic credentials."

Joe gave me a look. "Don't worry," he said.

"If she still seems to be hesitant, then you pull out the 'do it for old time's sake' bit. You know, lay on some guilt. After all, you took her to the prom out of the kindness of your heart."

"And for fifty bucks," Joe said.

I frowned. "Huh?"

"Her dad paid me fifty bucks."

"What? You said Ruthie wanted you to take her."

"She did. And she wanted this high-priced engagement ring from Jacobsen Jewelry," he said. "So it was a win-win for everyone involved."

"Except Elizabeth, whose father had to bribe her date to take her to the prom," I said. "I think you'd better leave that little tidbit out when you ask for your favor."

"Like I'm about to tell her that," Joe said. "Give me credit for half a brain."

"You got it," I said. "Give that man credit for half a brain," I told Shelby Lynne.

Joe snatched the roses and candy from me. "You ought to be paying me for cinching this story for you," he said. "Instead all I get are insults. Insults and yellow roses that make me look like I have a case of jaundice. You better hope I don't find out these chocolates are knockoffs," he said. "Or there will be hell to pay."

"Just remember Romeo Rivas," I told him, "and his moves on and off the dance floor! Now hightail it up there and charm that old lady author's socks off. For God and Grandville!"

"It wouldn't hurt you, either," Joe mumbled, and got in his car and headed up the road toward the driveway.

Shelby and I followed our secret weapon at a safe distance, separating when we got to the end of the driveway. Shelby cut to the right, and I headed for a fat evergreen near the front of the house.

Joe stopped the car in the circular drive close to the front door, and I watched as he got out, grabbed the flowers and candy, muttered something about yellow roses belonging in Texas, straightened his clothes and walked to the front door. He lifted the knocker and brought it down hard.

I held my breath when the porch light came on and the door opened. I peeked through the evergreen branches and caught Vanessa McCormick's profile. I heard Joe jabbering and saw Vanessa nodding, but couldn't make out what they were saying. I hoped Joe had remembered to turn on the recorder.

A few more minutes of conversation followed and, to my shock and delight, Vanessa opened the door to let Joe enter. I caught Joe's backward glance in my direction just before he entered the house. Man, would he be the cock of the walk when this was over.

Fifteen minutes went by. Another ten. I was feeling pretty good about my chances of walking away with a to-die-for doozy of a story. I could feel my excitement build. This could make me a household name. Cinch my status as a serious journalistic type. Get me a huge raise!

Just when I was ready to break out the champagne--okay, beer--and celebrate, the front door opened and Joe exited empty-handed. From the way he moved to his Buick, his strides long but jerky, his arm swings pronounced, I could tell he was agitated. That, along with the not-quite-under-his-breath mumblings that accompanied his exit from the house. I looked on as he got in the car, slammed the door shut, put the Buick in drive and shot away. He stopped at the end of the driveway, and I jumped into the backseat.

"What happened?" I asked. "Did you see Elizabeth? Is she willing to meet? Does she really look like George Patton?"

Joe pulled onto Dead End Lane, alongside Shelby's Jeep. Shelby jogged up and slid into the backseat beside me.

"So, how did it go? Did she agree to an interview? Is she just about the coolest person ever? I bet she's the coolest person ever," Shelby Lynne rattled on. "Am I right?"

Joe just sat there. This worried me. Joe is rarely quiet, unless he's stuffing something into his mouth. Or adjusting his dentures.

"Joe? Is something wrong?" I asked. "Are we going to get our story?"

Joe turned around in his seat. "Only if you go with a headline like '
New York Times
Bestselling Author Denies Being Pity Date.' Or maybe, 'Courtney Howard: From Hometown Girl to Rich Bitch.' "

I gasped. "Joe! I've never heard you talk like that! What happened in there?"

"She snubbed me," he said. "Gave me the royal raspberry. The old heave-ho."

"What are you talking about?"

"She denied even knowing me. Said she never attended the prom. Implied I was a scheming, two-bit fortune hunter."

I shook my head. "I don't understand. She didn't remember you at all? Are you sure you took this Elizabeth Courtney to the prom, Joe? Maybe you were mistaken."

Even in the dark, I could sense Joe's displeasure at my words. The growl cinched it.

"I am not mistaken. I took that mad hatter to the prom. She just doesn't want to admit it for fear the truth about her daddy's payoff will get out. It wouldn't make her look too good, given her daddy had to hire someone to go to the prom with her."

I shook my head. "I don't know, Joe. It doesn't seem to me that would be such a big deal after all these years. Who'd care that much?"

"Entertainment Tonight. Inside Edition.
The
National Enquirer."

"And she didn't recognize you at all?"

I saw him put a hand to his head to smooth his hair. "Well, she didn't actually see me," he said.

"What?"

"I told her assistant who I was, proceeded to make my way through that whole spiel you gave me, and her secretary went upstairs to tell Elizabeth. I could hear them talking. She came back down after about twenty minutes or so, and that was when she told me that Elizabeth didn't remember me and denied going to the prom at all. I suggested that if I could speak to Elizabeth myself, if she saw me, it might help her remember. Miss McCormick went back up to try and convince her to see me, even took the roses and the candy with her, but the old fork-tongued story weaver wouldn't have any of it. I even called up to her and she ignored me. Wouldn't take a friggin' step out of that room even for a second. Old horse-face."

"So you didn't even get to see Elizabeth?" I asked. "Speak to her?"

"If you don't count me yelling up the stairs at her, then the answer is no."

I thought for a moment. "Vanessa did say her boss hadn't been well. Do you suppose she might be seriously ill? Maybe having trouble with her memory? That would explain her not remembering you, Joe." In my book, it seemed unlikely that anyone having met Joe Townsend could forget him. Unless they were suffering from a medical or mental ailment.

"I suppose anything's possible," he acknowledged.

"Wait here," I told Shelby and Joe.

"Where are you going?" Shelby asked.

"I want to check something out," I said. "A photo op."