southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet (3 page)

Beau leaned past his brother to get to me. "I don't care if my family thinks you're bad for me. Let me take you out tonight."

"No," Ellis and I barked out.

Virginia Wydell looked ready to climb over six rows to get to us.

Suddenly shimmying underneath the grandstands wasn't looking like such a bad option.

Ellis cleared his throat. "I love you, brother, but sometimes you don't have the sense God gave an ant. What you had with Verity is over. You need to give up."

Beau shook his head, rueful. "You have no idea. You never kissed a girl like her."

Maybe I could just whack my head on the metal bleachers and hope to forget I'd met either one of them.

"I've got to go," I said, sliding past the brothers, ignoring it when Beau ran a hand up my leg. Ew. I was done—with this, with him, with the whole blessed day. I had no more celebrating left in me. I was heading home. By myself, mind you.

And if I had a wish left in heaven, nobody would follow me. Then again, if wishes were fishes, I wouldn't be eating ramen for dinner tonight.

Chapter Two

I
HEADED
STRAIGHT
home to the antebellum house my grandmother had left me. It stood on the outskirts of town, on what had once been a working orchard. Over the years, my family had sold the land around the house, piece by piece, so that the rows upon rows of peach trees and even the grand front drive had given way to tidy bungalows lining the long road to the main house. Today, the surrounding front yards and porches sat vacant. No doubt the festival kept my neighbors occupied.

When I spotted the white columns of my house, I felt that fist in my chest ease just a little. This place was safe. Mine.

Sure, my home had seen better days. The paint on the front steps had chipped in places, and the roof over the veranda drooped like an elegant, aging Southern belle. But the freshly washed dollhouse windows sparkled, and the lilac bushes lining the front walk smelled like heaven. I ran my fingers along the leaves and blooms, my sandals clacking against the brick path.

No place had ever felt more like home, especially when a furry little skunk dashed out from under the white painted porch.

"Lucy!" I greeted her.

She waddled, her body churning as she ran. I met her halfway, kneeling to let her nuzzle my palm as I stroked her soft head and white striped back. I tried to pick her up, but she was too excited. She turned in circles before flipping over into a backward somersault and popping back up.

"Good girl!" I crooned, not because it was a particularly smooth trick, but because she'd done her best. A while back, I'd tried to teach her to roll over like a puppy dog, but it turned out she didn't have that kind of coordination and this was what she'd taken from the lesson. She seemed so proud every time she did it. Plus, I had to admit it was rather darling. "You want to go inside with me?"

Lucy loved hanging out under the porch, but this time, she came eagerly into my arms. Even skunks needed girl time. "How about we find you a treat?"

She wriggled and grunted happily. Lucy understood the word
treat
. She was actually due for a Vita-Skunk supplement, and when I sprinkled the added nutrition onto a bit of chopped banana, it became the Holy Grail of skunk happiness. 

I cuddled Lucy close as we slipped past the cheery yellow front door, but two steps inside the house, a violent chill seized me. Lucy let out a squeak as we walked straight through it and into my sunny, warm foyer. 

"Heavens to Betsy, little girl, what was that?" I brought a hand up to still my galloping heart while Lucy sniffed the air.

I'd never felt anything like it.

Dust motes glimmered in the light pouring in the widows. The hardwood floors gleamed. Nothing seemed amiss.

I held her close. "I don't see anything." We glanced left into the empty front room, and right into the equally bare dining room. I'd sold every stick of furniture in the place to pay off my debt to Beau's mother, and the house felt cavernous without its customary antique decor. At least that made it easy to see that Lucy and I were alone.

The skunk buried her face in the crook of my arm, her cold nose coming to rest on the inside of my elbow. "Come on, baby," I cooed. "You'll feel better after you've eaten something." We continued down the hall, only to run smack-dab into a cold spot more raw than the first. "Oh, no. That is
it
." I held Lucy close, trying to shelter her as best as I could. "Will someone tell me what is going on?" 

I saw nothing. No shadows. No wayward spirits. Of course that didn't mean there wasn't an ornery ghost skulking about. My back stiffened. "Frankie," I warned. I had only one place of refuge and this was it. He'd better not be up to anything.

My home had been blessedly ghost-free—quite a feat in the South—until last month when I'd accidentally trapped the spirit of a 1920s gangster on my property. Frankie "The German" wasn't exactly easy to live with, but it was my fault he couldn't leave. I'd tied him to my land when I'd emptied his funeral urn out onto my rosebushes. At the time, I'd believed my ex-fiancé had given me a dirty old vase, long overdue for a rinse with the hose. And perhaps a fresh flower. But as it turns out, there's a reason why ashes are customarily scattered to the wind, or at least spread out a bit. When I poured the entirety of Frankie's remains in one spot and then hosed him into the ground, the poor gangster had become quite stuck.

I stroked Lucy's head. "Frankie, I know you're around here somewhere." I scanned the high walls, covered in white flowered paper, up to the original Greek revival–style moldings. "I'm not in the mood for games."

He shimmered into view next to the gilded light poking from the wall, overlooking the dark square on the wallpaper where my grandfather's portrait once hung. 

Lucy wriggled deeper into my embrace. She wasn't particularly fond of ghosts.

Frankie appeared in black and white, his image transparent enough that I could see through him if I really tried. He wore a 1920s-style pin-striped suit coat with matching cuffed trousers and a fat tie. His shoulders stood level to my line of sight, which would have made him unusually tall for a man of his time, if he weren't padding his height by floating a foot off the ground. 

He used his ill-gained height to full advantage as he glared down at me with those sharp features that made him look every bit like the killer he was. "You think I'm playing a game?" he asked, twirling a white panama hat in his fingers. He cocked his chin. "'Cause I'd give anything for a laugh, princess." 

My gaze traveled to the neat, round bullet hole in the center of his forehead. He noticed and, in one smooth movement, slid the hat over his wound with a cocky flick of the wrist. "I didn't get to go to no Cannonball party," he huffed. "I got to tramp around making cold spots all day."

That could actually prove useful come summertime, since I couldn't afford to run the air-conditioning. Still, I'd upset him and I could see why. "I'm sorry. If I knew how to unground you, I would." Right now, the only way he could leave my property was if I took his urn with me. A stubborn spot of him lingered, one that hadn't quite rinsed away. No doubt our situation was unusual. "It's not exactly something we can Ask Jeeves."

The ghost drew closer, blocking my way. "What about that idea you found on Google last night?"

Lordy. I never should have let the ghost watch me do an online search. "Not everything you read on the Internet is true."

He watched me expectantly. "It looked legit to me. The thing had graphs and numbers, and you could see how he separated the dirt from the ash." 

I stepped around him and headed for the back parlor. "It was a fifth-grade science project, and I got the distinct impression the kid was winging it." That kind of trick might be good for a school assignment, but this was Frankie's afterlife we were talking about. I could tell by the slight chill in the air that the ghost hovered right behind me. 

"Hey," he snapped, "we don't know until we try it."

True. Enough strange things had happened around here lately. Perhaps this was one more that would work out in an entirely unexpected way.

I turned to face him. "All right," I said, I ignoring the victorious grin that flashed across his features. It wouldn't hurt to at least attempt an ungrounding. "But we'll need to borrow supplies." I didn't have much of anything in the house. "Once my neighbors return home from the festivities, I'll start making some calls. Just…try to keep your expectations realistic."

Frankie punched the air with his fist. "You know what the first thing I'm going to do once I get out of here?"

'Um—" I wasn't quite sure what he did before.

"Nothing." The ghost swept his hands to the sides, as giddy as I'd ever seen him. "I'm going to wander around and go wherever I want and do nothing."

All right, then. Everyone needed a goal. "Good for you."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "Or maybe I'll rob one of those newfangled armored cars."

"Frankie…" Forget it. He was happy. No sense reminding him that he couldn't touch money, much less spend it.

He was still chuckling to himself as he faded away.

At least we had a plan.

I kissed Lucy on her soft little head. "Thank you for being so patient." I eased her onto the kitchen floor and set about fixing the most delicious banana skunk treat ever.

We always split the fruit—she didn't eat much—and it was an indulgence for me, too, since I wasn't going to buy fresh produce for myself. I only stretched my budget to keep Lucy healthy.

I watched her tail swish as she chewed. In spite of everything, I really was lucky. I had a house, a pet who loved me, friends.

Even if my ghost buddy was eager to escape.

That evening, I set about calling my neighbors and gathering the supplies for a fifth-grade science project. We needed measuring cups, an aquarium net, Tupperware. I was heartened by the way my neighbor Stuart even offered to deliver his grandson's old kiddie pool to my backyard. I'd told him I needed to give Lucy a good scrub-down, which made me appreciate the gesture even more.

Some folks—believe it or not—had a bias against skunks. As if Lucy had ever done anything to them.

Never mind. 

We'd start Frankie's ungrounding tomorrow, which should make the ghost happy.

He hadn't made an appearance all evening, which was nice in a way. I treated myself to a granola bar for dinner, then took a long, leisurely soak in the tub.

The house lay silent. Warm.

Just as it would be if Frankie were truly gone. 

My cell phone rang as I slipped out of the tub. It was Melody. I reached for a bath towel and answered. Maybe she'd made quick work of the new donations and had gotten back to the festival. 

"How's it going?" I asked, struggling to balance the phone while wrapping the towel around myself.

"Did you enjoy the reenactment?"

I let out the water in the tub. "It was like nothing I've ever seen before." I'd give her the details later. "Are you about through all of the donations?"

"We were. Until your crazy almost-mother-in-law sent over Leland Wydell's entire Civil War collection."

I wiped the moisture from my cell phone and brought it back up to my ear. "Leland Wydell the first?" That was Ellis's great grandfather.

"The man was obsessed. He collected uniforms, letters, even furniture from dozens of different families in the county and especially liked to buy the estates of war heroes. These aren't even strictly Wydell family heirlooms anymore."

Actually, I liked that. "This way, there will be more families represented."

"True," Melody said, "but we're going to be here all night. In fact, that's why I called. I was hoping you could help me out tomorrow. I'm not going to have time to set up tables or direct the caterers. Can you meet me at six and handle those details while I finish going through the artifacts?"

"Six in the morning?" I asked. 

"Lots of people get up earlier than that," she said, drily.

Yes, but I wasn't usually one of them. "Of course," I said. How hard could it be?

Good thing I had no idea.

***

The next morning, I pulled into the back parking lot of the library at 5:59 a.m. Melody was just getting out of her car, balancing a tray of three coffees. I helped her with them while she reached into the passenger seat for her satchel. She wore a stylish pink suit and had tucked her hair into a French twist.

"If you went for a run this morning, I'm going to officially declare you a superwoman."

"I wish," she said, taking a coffee while I did the same. "I was here until almost two this morning. I could barely see straight." We headed for the back door of the building. "Even then, Darla Grace wouldn't quit. Not that I'm one to do anything halfway, but let's just say that when this woman volunteers, she
volunteers
. I left her sorting through an antique secretary."

I took a sip of the drink. It was hot, delicious. "That does sound kind of fun." I loved looking through antiques.

Melody swung the door open. "True. But Darla Grace really does need to learn when enough is enough," she said. "She left me a message at three this morning, saying I had to get back down here. She'd found something urgent." Melody took a fortifying sip of coffee. "Luckily, I didn't get the voice mail until I woke up," she added under her breath. "What could be so important in a bunch of old letters?"

"Maybe you'll have to expand the exhibit again," I said, half joking. I loved history as much as the next person, but preserving it should be a labor of love, not this battle between the families. Every light in the library blazed. "You're going to have to preserve this month's electric bill for posterity," I said, trying to get her to smile a little. "It'll be epic."

I was glad to see Melody's mouth tug into a grin as we walked down a back hallway and up the stairs to the main level. 

"It'll be fine," she said. "I just worry about Darla sometimes. She needs to learn to take it easy and treat herself better. Maybe I could teach her some of my yoga stretches."