A Guilty Ghost Surprised (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Cozy Mystery series) (13 page)

Badger pulled the newspapers out of his rucksack and laid them on the table.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Sounds good - I’ll get it.” I took the empty carafe from the side table and headed to the kitchen while Badger started the fire. With meal time over, the kitchen crew had already cleaned up and gone home. The only “person” in the kitchen was Hannah, collecting clean pint mugs to take out front.

“Cor, it’s right busy tonight,” said Hannah, wiping her hands on her apron before lifting ten mugs in two hands. “Can I get you anything, Miss?”

I smiled. “No thank you. We’re only drinking coffee.” I lifted the carafe full of water to show her I had it under control, then set it back down. The cool water on my hands felt good, so I let the water run over them. 

“What have you done to your hands, Miss?” asked Hannah, a look of concern crossing her features.

“It’s nothing.” The episode of dizziness on the stairs raised slight blisters on my hands. The pain was tolerable. Practically nothing.

“That is not
nothing
.” Her chilly hands held mine while she stared at the red, scarred, mess. She looked back up at me with a frown. “Who’s been harming you, Miss?” she whispered, like we might be overheard. When, in fact, only I would be overheard - talking to
myself
.

I glanced quickly around the kitchen to make sure we were alone.

“Nobody.”

She shot me a disbelieving look.

“Really, Hannah. I’m sensitive to things I touch. That’s all.”

Her look still said,
skeptical, but willing to entertain the idea
. Glancing around surreptitiously, she said, “Is it that energy-sucker? The one they call the Soul Collector?”

“No,” I answered. “Really, it isn’t…”

“Then who?” she insisted.

The kitchen door opened behind me and Hannah frowned. She narrowed her eyes and looked back and forth between me and Badger.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” she accused.

“No!” I cried. “It isn’t him. I’m telling you the truth.”

“You can tell me,” she said. “I can help you. I know his type, Miss.” Her chest heaved, completely incensed.

“What?” said Badger, looking around and seeing no one but me. “Who are you talking to?”

“Hannah.” I held out my hands. “She thinks you did this.”

He sucked in his breath. “
Bloody hell.
You got this tonight?”

I nodded. “But it’s nothing. I’m fine.” But my stomach began to turn.

Hannah circled us, gauging the situation. I don’t know what she could possibly do, but I didn’t want to find out.

“Hannah,” I said, following her with my eyes. “Badger didn’t do it. I swear.”

She looked slightly more believing, but not completely won over.

“Come on,” said Badger. “Let’s get something on your hands.” He took the carafe and led me back to the snug, made the coffee and went to retrieve the first aid kit.

My head and my hands began to ache, but I refused to give in to it. Gingerly, I opened the oldest newspaper and began to read the article. Since I had been in the States at the time, tonight was the first time I read anything about the accident. The more I read, the more my stomach turned.

Crap. Definitely time to...
I jumped up from the bench and lunged for the door, flinging it open and meeting Badger about to come in. I brushed past him and hoofed it down the hall to the ladies room. Choosing the biggest stall, I dropped to my knees and hugged the porcelain, parting ways with the contents of my stomach.
Over and over.

A woman coming out of the next stall, said, “Drinking too much too soon, I expect.”

Her statement didn’t expect a reply.

Wiping the back of my hand on my mouth, I struggled back to my feet and leaned against the wall. Tendrils of hair escaped my braid and clung to my sweaty face.

“All right now, luv?” the woman asked.

“I-I’m fine,” I answered, pushing away from the wall and going to the sink. I splashed water over my face and rinsed my mouth. I raised my head and studied my face in the mirror. More pale than ever, the dark circles really stood out. I looked like a zombie. I ran more cold water over my burning hands, the blisters getting bigger after handling the newspaper articles.

Deciding I’d better get back before Badger thought I’d flushed myself into the Ministry of Magic, I left the ladies room. Badger leaned against the wall, waiting outside the door.

I tried a smile, but it came out pretty feeble.

He sighed, barely audible against the loud music drifting down the hall. Shaking his head, he pushed against the wall, put his arm around my shoulder, and walked with me back to the snug.

“What happened?” He opened the first aid kit and took out the burn cream. I noted it had been replaced since the last time I used it.

I pointed to the pile of newspapers. “Turns out, reading about violence causes blisters, too.” My voice shook. “And nausea. Unless it has to do with Sadie Cuttle’s energy on the newspapers.” I shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“You look like hell.” He gently dabbed the cream on my shaking hands.

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.” I tried for a laugh, but it came out flat.

He tipped up my chin and studied my face. He started to say something, then clamped his jaw shut. He busied himself repacking the medicine kit. He handed me a couple of paracetamol. “Here. Take these.” Picking up the kit, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

Careful not to touch the newspapers, I circled the table and sank back into the pillows on the bench. I closed my eyes for just a minute…

“Hello sleeping beauty,” said Badger. “How are you feeling?” He folded the paper back to its original configuration, a feat I never mastered, then threw the stack into the corner.

I sat up. Slowly. “Great. Thanks. I guess I fell asleep.”

“I didn’t see anything that could help us in those,” said Badger. “It’s mostly assumptions and guesses about what might have happened, interviews with friends and neighbors. Basically anything juicy to sell tabloids.”

I nodded. “Yes, it did seriously lack in any real details.”

“So the blisters, then,” he indicated my hands, “are from Mrs. Cuttle’s energy.” He contemplated for a minute. “I wonder what upset her so, why she saved the newspapers. It’s not like she knew any of them. Did she?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “She could have been an empath, I suppose.”

“A what?”

“An empath. People who feel others’ pain very acutely. Sort of like my Psychometry, they take in pain, depression, loneliness.”

“If that’s the case, why read the newspaper at all? I mean, why put herself through it?”

I lifted my shoulders. I didn’t have a good answer. “Why do I continue to do it?” I said.

“You help people.” His answer came quickly. “She doesn’t - didn’t. How could she?”

Another question I couldn’t answer.

Hannah drifted through the door, delivering pints of invisible ale and bowls of soup with hunks of bread. It looked so good, I could almost smell it.

“Here you are, Miss. I thought you could use some nourishment after…”

“Thank you.”

She eyed Badger with mistrust, but placed the same thing before him.

“Twasn’t him? Truly?” she whispered, slanting suspicious eyes at Badger.

“No. It really wasn’t,” I answered.

“Huh?” Badger tilted his head to the side.

“Sorry. I’m talking to Hannah. She brought us beer and soup.” I tried to persuade him with facial gestures that he should be nice. “Wasn’t that nice of her?”

His wary face told me he thought I may have been having some kind of seizure with all the twitching and eyebrow raising.

“Uh, yes. Yes, very nice of her. Thank you, Hannah.” He looked to the left.

I twitched my head the other way, indicating Hannah’s direction.

He turned to the right. “Thank you, Hannah.”

She curtsied and drifted back through the door.

“She’s gone,” I said. “And I badly wish I could have some of this soup. It looks delicious.”

“Yeah? I’d be happy just to see it. Or her, or all the other strange things lurking about. I’d like to know what I’m dealing with.”

“Hmm. Trust me. Not such a good idea.”

He shook his head. “I feel like I’ve lived with my head in the clouds my whole life. Until my dad died, everything was normal. At least it seemed that way.”

“So what’s normal?” My life had never been normal, not in the way most people defined it.

“Mom, dad, brothers, sister. Family get-togethers, picnics. Dinner on the table at six o’clock. What about you?”

My heart cracked a bit. When I first came here I thought I could lead a normal life. Nobody knew my secret, except Simon and the spirits.

“Normal? Seriously?” I shook my head. “You’ve seen my normal. I barely remember my mother and my dad worked all the time. The paranormal is my normal.” I didn’t want to look at him, because at the moment, I felt more like a freak than ever. I didn’t have the whole family life and normal things. I wanted it, though. Very badly. “The closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother is Franny.” And now I just sounded pathetic. “But hey, if you can get past all that popping in and out and cold spots, you kind of get used to it.” 

He sighed. “Let me walk you home. You look knackered.”

I managed a slow, painful shower, careful not to irritate the blisters on my hands too much. Still, I burst a few which stung like hell when they came in contact with the hot water. I let the water pour over me for a long time, the heat finally warming me up after the shock of the accident vision.

Completely drained, I donned a nightgown and fell into bed, hoping for a peaceful night, without dreams or spirit interruption.

When I opened blurry eyes on Sunday morning and realized I actually slept through the night, I laid back and sighed. The watchers must actually be keeping all the other spirit activity away from not only Bryan, but me, too. I wondered briefly if I could hire them.

Allowing myself to wake slowly, I rolled to my side.

A squeaking sound came from the corner of my room. Looking over, Franny sat rocking in my armchair, knitting a scarf. She glanced over with a smile.

“You’re awake,” she said, continuing with her task.  “Did you sleep well?” She appeared content sitting there in her midnight-blue dressing gown, which matched her eyes, and her long black hair flowing over her shoulder. The knitting needles clicked expertly. At times like these, you’d never know she had been a madam.

I nodded. “Like the dead,” I responded before remembering I was speaking to a dead person. Franny was so integrated in my life that sometimes I forgot. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No harm done, dear. I use the same expression myself.”

“It’s so quiet this morning,” I commented.

She smiled. “It is. I threatened everyone with bodily harm if they disturbed you. I’ve been watching over you all night to be sure nobody did. Of course the watchers are marvelous, too. They take good care of Bryan and the whole house.”

I smiled. “Thank you - aren’t you tired?”

“No, dear. I don’t need sleep like I used to. How do you like it?”

She held up the scarf she knitted, a colorful affair in a pattern I had never seen before, and about five feet long.

“It’s lovely.”

“I’m glad you like it. It’s for you.”

I cocked my head at her. “Is it real? I mean, it’s sort of clear, like you.”

“Of course it’s real, child. And yes, it’s not a physical thing - yet. I’ll figure it all out later. I have connections.”

Once again, I wondered about those connections. Who were they? Older spirits, more experienced in the ways of connecting the two dimensions? Maybe they taught
World’s Colliding 101
at the Sabrina Shores Spirit School? At least the watchers turned out to be nice ghosties.

I sat up in bed, propped my pillows behind me and watched Franny knit. Glancing around the room, I sensed something different. I frowned. And then heaved a deep sigh.

“Franny, you unpacked me.
Again.
” I had not unpacked my personal items since moving there seven months ago. I wasn’t ready. So I basically lived out of my trunk.

She shrugged. “I thought you might be ready now. There’s no reason not to.” She didn’t look at me. Her nonchalance didn’t fool me. The issue was an ongoing argument between us.

“I - I might not be staying. Why unpack?”

“Of course you’re staying, dear. Where else would you go?”

“Home.”

“This is your home now, dear. Your family is here.”

Yes, but unpacking would mean I accepted my father’s death. And I didn’t. Sure, logically I knew he was dead. But emotionally? I couldn’t think about it, not when unfinished business existed like another spirit in my life. Like the fact that my dad’s death was ruled a suicide, and I knew otherwise.

I got out of bed and began putting things back in my trunk. Not that I owned much; some family photos with me and my parents and a few personal items that belonged to them. The only thing left out was a dream catcher which hung above my bed. American Indian legend said that bad dreams got caught in the web and the good dreams flowed down the leather strips to give me good dreams.
Yeah, right
. But the ancestors on my mother’s side believed it, so why not?