Honeysuckle Haunting Page 11

  I almost crumpled the paper in my fist and threw it in the wastebasket. But I exhaled and tamped down my anger. I swallowed a few times, stared at the ceiling and pushed the ball of frustration down and away. There was no way I’d be sleeping now, but I had to at least try.

  I packed the files and snapped off the light. I stared at the blackness until fatigue finally set in.

  When I awoke, it was early. The sunrise was still a few hours off. I sighed in annoyance and draped one arm over my head.

  “Sleep troubles?”

  I bolted up. “Susan?”

  “I’m here.” The ghostly apparition glowed as she sat on a chair and stared at me. “You’re not in bed with the hot guy.”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m what’s called a good girl.”

  “Good girls don’t have purple hair.”

  “Ridiculous.” I wove my fingers together and tucked my hands behind my head. “I’m curious if you could do something for me.”

  Susan stopped playing with her bubble gum long enough to answer. “What’s that?”

  “Could you take me for a walk?”

  “Like somewhere important?”

  “Yes.” I stretched my arms in front of me. “I want to retrace your last steps with you. See what you remember.”

  “Why?”

  “Someone who is innocent is being pegged for a crime. I want to see if walking the path will help you remember something of value. Like you recalling the anchor. Maybe there’s a tiny piece of information you’ve got trapped inside your ghost brain. I want to fish it out.”

  Susan hopped from the chair and sucked the gum into her mouth. “Sure. I’ll take a walk with you. Sounds rad.”

  I pushed off the covers and climbed from the bed. “Just let me get dressed.”

  It was early when we left the inn and headed downtown. I rubbed my hands together. Seemed my Land Cruiser wasn’t warming up fast enough.

  “You were found behind what’s now Soul Food and Spirits.”

  Susan pressed a finger to her lips. “I’d had a fight with my boyfriend.”

  “Homer Hicks.”

  “Right. I was upset and walked out. But it’s hard to remember what happened.”

  “You said something about an anchor.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t remember what.”

  “Let’s just get you there and see if something sparks.”

  We reached the restaurant. I slid the truck into a spot and killed the engine. I rubbed my hands down my thighs.

  “Ready?”

  Susan stared vacantly out the window.

  “You okay?”

  She inhaled. “Yes, it’s strange doing this. Walking to see what comes back to me.”

  I reached to take her hand and remembered I couldn’t. She was dead, so I slowly recoiled.

  “Let’s go.”

  It was cold. Very cold. Not Canada cold, but still pretty dang chilly. I shivered and tucked my chin into my jacket collar. “I’m following you.”

  Susan floated toward the rear of the buildings. She mumbled more to herself than to me as she wove a path down the alley.

  “Let’s see. I was totally angry with Homer and so I came out this way. Then I saw someone.” She stopped and pressed a hand to her forehead. “I don’t remember who. Something surprising happened. Then the anchor. Then I felt hands around my neck. I was choking. I couldn’t breathe.”

  Susan squeezed her eyes tight. She cringed. “I’m sorry. Like, that’s totally all I can remember.”

  “Okay, well it’s a start.” I moved closer to her. “You said something good happened?”

  She scowled. “I didn’t say good; I said surprising.”

  The edge in her voice stopped me. Susan was rarely ticked and hardly raised her voice about anything. She wasn’t called the Teenybopper for nothing.

  I stepped closer and noted a glimmer of something in her eyes. Was it fear? Shock?

  This time, I did extend my hand. “Susan, can you remember what happened? Do you know?”

  She cupped her face. A sob gurgled from her throat. “No. I don’t know. Someone killed me! Isn’t that enough? Why do you have to know more than that?”

  I reeled back. “Look, I’m only trying to help you find peace. Get closure.”

  “Who says I want peace?”

  I blinked. “Well, you did. You wanted to hear who Neal said was your murderer. You told me.”

  Her eyes watered. The anger was potent on her face. Susan looked like she wanted to rip me in half.

  “I don’t want to remember, okay? I don’t know what happened that night, and I’ll never remember any of it. I don’t want to think about this anymore. Just leave it alone! Leave the whole thing alone!”

  Susan twisted into a cloud of smoke and vanished. I staggered back. Never in my career had I watched a spirit do that.

  What anger could do to a person never ceased to shock me.

  I stood quietly, unsure what to do. Without Susan there wasn’t reason for me to be standing in an alley in the middle of the night.

  I sighed. Even if she wouldn’t help me, maybe I could figure something out myself. I strolled down the darkened road, trying to put myself in Susan’s shoes.

  She’d argued with her boyfriend. Got that. Then she wandered around outside. Something surprising happened. After the something surprising, she was killed.

  This was an algebraic equation with half the problem missing. There was no way I could figure out what the something surprising had been. Not without her input. Then somewhere along the line an anchor appeared. Then the murder. Fragmented pieces didn’t a puzzle make.

  None of these ideas joined, not even if I sawed them in half and superglued them together. I stared at the row of buildings, trying to figure out how I could possibly get Susan to either talk to me more or remember something, when the sound of footsteps sliced through the air.

  My heart rate jacked up. It was too early for most folks to be heading to work. Much too early. But if they weren’t heading to work, then were they hunting something? Me, perhaps?

  I shuddered.

  Let’s hope no one was following me because they’d get a knee to the crotch. Not a good surprise for them.

  I ducked behind a slice of building that jutted out and peered over the lip. A figure plodded down the alley. It was a man. He was short and stocky. Homer Hicks, no doubt.

  Homer pulled a set of keys from his pocket and fiddled with a knob until he got the door open.

  I crept toward the shop. Homer shuffled around. He tossed the keys onto what sounded like a table. I grabbed a crate and quietly placed it under a window. I stepped on it and peered inside.

  Homer picked up a phone and dialed. After a few seconds his voice drifted through the glass clearly, if softly.

  “No, no one’s here. Yeah, I know that lady’s snooping around. Yeah, I’ll get rid of it. It’s been years. I know. She’ll never suspect. No problem. Don’t you worry.”

  He hung up.

  My eyes widened. It couldn’t have been more clear if I’d been slapped in the face with the information. Homer Hicks had been talking about Susan. He meant me when he referred to someone “snooping around.” And it’s been years? Obviously he was talking about Susan’s murder.

  Homer Hicks was guilty. Homer had done it.

  I was so excited I didn’t feel my foot slip from the crate. A gasp flew from my mouth. Homer Hicks wheeled around.

  Our gazes locked as I reeled off the crate and to the ground.

  Homer Hicks had seen me. Now he knew that I knew his secret—he’d murdered Susan Whitby.

  NINETEEN

  My tailbone smacked the concrete with such force that pain radiated to my jaw. My thoughts jarred. For a microsecond I didn’t remember what I was doing in the alley or why I had fallen.

  But when a door opened and the figure of Homer Hicks sliced through the light cast from the streetlamps, I staggered to my feet.

  “Stay back,” said. “
I heard everything.”

  “What’re you doing? Spying on me?”

  “I know you killed Susan Whitby. I heard your confession.”

  Homer stopped. He stared at me and then burst out laughing. “Ma’am, what’re you talking about?”

  I brushed a hand over my bruised tailbone. “I’m talking about the conversation I overheard in there.”

  “The conversation I was having,” he murmured. “Ma’am, that was about a line of fencing we sold to a customer. I’ve got to go get rid of it. No, the customer won’t suspect that we’re going to exchange it for free.”

  Okay, so maybe he sort of had me there. But I wasn’t convinced of his story, not by a long shot.

  I crossed my arms. “Why’re you calling about it so early?”

  He swiped a hand over his bald pate. “First of all, I always arrive this early. Secondly, first thing I do is call my dad when I get in. He’s up early, too, and expects my call.” He shrugged. “Goes back to when he was in the armed forces. Got up early then and still does.”

  Homer scratched his chin. “What’re you doing snooping around? A nice young lady like yourself shouldn’t be out all alone. This is a safe town, but anything can happen.”

  Like with Susan Whitby? I almost said it but kept my mouth shut. I sighed. It was a pain in the tush to admit it, but Homer’s story seemed legitimate. He never said Susan’s name on the phone, so I was working on suspicion and intuition, but mostly suspicion.

  I wasn’t batting well at all when it came to this murder mystery. Neal was dead, and I was running around in the middle of the night jumping on any and every clue I could find.

  This wasn’t me. I needed to get a grip. Like, a serious grip.

  “Thanks for your time,” I said to Homer. “Sorry to bother you.”

  He shook his head. “You didn’t bother me, but you did scare me when you fell. Do us all a favor and don’t snoop around businesses at night. Most folks around here are packing.”

  By packing, he meant a weapon. Fine by me. I didn’t need to get shot up when all I wanted to do was eavesdrop.

  I limped back to my car, rubbing my rear end the entire way. I fired up the engine and headed home. Stupid me, I’d left my clothes at the inn. Oh well, I’d stop by later in the morning and pick them up. Right now the main thing I wanted was rest. Once I had that, I’d be able to figure out what to do next.

  And that’s exactly what I did. I got home, fell face-first onto the mattress and dozed for a few hours. By the time I awoke, the sun dangled high in the sky.

  Roan had texted me, so I replied to let him know I was okay. Hmm. The guy cared. I tried not to let emotion overwhelm me and faint on the floor about it.

  I showered, dressed and decided I needed to shop for more clothes. The two pairs of pants and four sweaters I owned worked great when I thought I’d only be staying a few days. But those days had turned into weeks. Before I washed my clothes threadbare, I needed replacements.

  Time to see what Haunted Hollow offered in terms of attire.

  I checked my phone. Neither Ruth nor Alice had called. I didn’t see any point in trying to reach them. From the way Alice had been freaking out, I knew neither of them would answer.

  So I got dressed and headed out into the crisp fall day.

  The main strip in Haunted Hollow was a tourist trap from hell, to put it nicely. Cobwebs and figures of spirits had been thrown up outside every single building, and of course the stores all had catchy names that centered around ghost activity.

  Since I hadn’t spent a whole lot of time investigating clothing stores, I decided that one was as good as another. The one I’d seen the most was called Phantasm’s Fashion.

  I parked the truck and headed inside, where I was greeted by a woman with long gray hair down to her waist. She wore blue-framed glasses and reams of velvet.

  “Greetings,” she said. “Welcome.”

  “Hey.”

  The place smelled like patchouli. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she sneaked to the back room every five minutes to take a toke from her bong.

  Yes, she was a hippie, and even though she was wearing hippie-like clothing—flowing shirt and long skirt—the actual style she sold was modern and timeless, which was perfect for me.

  I might have violet hair, but I didn’t dress in hoodies and sweatpants. No, give me a nice leather or velvet jacket with a ribbed turtleneck underneath and I was happy as a clam.

  From the looks of the racks, I was about to be the happiest clam on earth.

  “Let me know if you need help.”

  “Thank you.”

  She sat at a stool behind the cash register. Music trickled from a small radio beside her. The owner turned it up and set about beading a necklace.

  I wove through the clothing trees picking up this and that. I found a mirror and draped the hangers in front of me.

  “That looks fabulous. Great color on you.”

  My gaze shifted right. Standing in the corner was the ghostly figure of a man about five-ten, very slim, wearing a dress shirt and slacks.

  I nodded my thanks and held another shirt to my chin.

  “Mustard? Ew. No, darling, that will absolutely wash you out. You do not need to go anywhere near that color.”

  And he was obviously quite gay.

  And on it went. I held something to me and the fashion-conscious ghost commented on whether or not I should try it on.

  He rubbed his hands together. “Okay, so we’ve got the plum-colored corduroys, the emerald-green sweater, the golden-honey jacket and the blue jeans. You still need one more blouse. Oh look, there’s a perfect cream-colored long-sleeved deal that will go with those, too.”

  I followed his hand. He pointed to another rack. I crossed and plucked the shirt from the steel frame.

  Peeking out from behind the clothes was Alice.

  “Ah!” I dropped the shirt on the floor.

  “We’ve been discovered!” Alice ambled out from behind a clothes tree.

  The music volume lowered. “Everything okay?” said the hippie from the front.

  “It’s just fine,” I said quickly. “Sorry. My phone rang and it scared me.”

  “Oh, okay. Let me know if I can help.” The music resumed its regular volume, which was nearly loud enough for the elderly.

  I glared at Alice and whispered fiercely. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Hiding out. Ruth’s with me.” She turned away. “Ruth.”

  “Ouch! You don’t have to elbow me. I hear Blissful out there.”

  A rack of shirts rattled and quivered as Ruth made her way through. Her head popped out from behind a line of silver tunics.

  “We’re hiding,” Ruth said. “We figured no one would look for Alice in here, so we decided to camp out.”

  I nearly slapped my head. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Alice beamed. “Pretty smart, isn’t it?”

  “It’s pretty something.”

  “I don’t think Blissful approves of our choice,” Ruth said.

  Alice looked crushed. “Bliss, is that true?”

  “Well, I mean, you’re hiding out behind a row of shirts. Anyone could walk in, snatch one off and there you’d be, curly haired and all.”

  “You mean like you just did?”

  “Exactly like that.”

  Alice thought about this for a moment. “Ruth, I think we need to cut a hole in the wall back there, make ourselves a cave. That way we’ll actually have a real place to hide.”

  Ruth rubbed her chin. “That’s not half bad.”

  “That’s a horrible idea,” I said. “Besides, it’s not as if anyone wouldn’t recognize you when you surface. You look exactly the same.”

  “Sweetheart, I’ve been trying for years to get these two out of their housecoats and into real clothes.”

  I glanced at the ghost and snorted. I turned to Ruth. “Who’s the spirit in this place? It’s a man?”

  “Darling, why ask the help when you ca
n question the aristocracy? I’m Stephan. I used to own this place when it was a bridal shop. Now I dress the regular folks and not the princesses.”

  I waved at Ruth. “Never mind. He calls himself Stephan.”

  Ruth and Alice exchanged looks. “Stephan was the go-to if you wanted the best wedding dress.” Ruth peered around the room. “He’s here?”

  “He is. He wants you to get out of those muumuus and into real clothes.”

  “But it’s comfortable,” Alice whined.

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her from the floor. “Come on. If we do our job right, Kency Blount wouldn’t recognize you if she sat on you.”

  Ruth glanced at her sweater. The fabric had pilled and frayed. “I suppose I could use something new.”

  I fished a credit card from my wallet and flashed it in front of them. “This is on me.”

  “No,” Ruth said. “I can’t have you buying me clothes.”

  I smiled. “I can and will. I want to.” My gaze flickered to Stephan. “You think we can make some magic happen?”

  Stephan’s gaze swept over Ruth and Alice. “Honey, if it takes a bulldozer, we’ll make magic.” He rubbed his hands together and smiled devilishly. “Let’s get to work.”

  I swear the next hour was like a movie montage. Not the stupid kind where everyone’s working together to rebuild something, but the good kind where clothes are flying, women are in and out of new outfits and a ghost is smiling.

  Smiling.

  “I haven’t had so much fun since a round of girls came in drunk off margaritas,” Stephan said, pointing to a pink boa.

  I pulled it from a mannequin and draped it around Alice’s neck.

  Stephan pinched his fingers, brought them to his puckered lips and made a kissing sound. “Magnifique! I’ve outdone myself yet again.” He sighed dramatically. “What I wouldn’t give to be alive again. It would be worth it to feel a roll of silk draped over my naked body.”

  Some thoughts I simply didn’t need invading my head. I forced myself to say something pleasant. “That sounds wonderful.” It came out clipped, but I don’t think he noticed.

  I stepped back and surveyed our work. Ruth wore a brown button-down shirt, black bell-bottomed pants, a wide-brimmed purple hat and black sunglasses.