A Guilty Ghost Surprised (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Cozy Mystery series) (15 page)

Hopefully, we’d find out shortly. Donning the battered helmet Badger handed me - its condition still bothered me - I cinched the strap tight and climbed behind Badger onto the motorcycle. Our mission was covert, of course. People could be particular about strangers touching their cars. So much of our work took place under the cover of darkness.

Zooming through the clear night, I held on tight. I turned the tip of my freezing nose into Badger’s back. We could have done without the moon shining bright, but our mission wouldn’t take long. We’d locate Roxanna’s blue car, I’d lay my palms against it, and hopefully find out if it had been involved in a car accident. And while we were at it, we’d get paint chip scrapings for forensic testing. Easy, right?

Locating Roxanna’s flat, we scanned the street for the car, but couldn’t find it. We parked the motorcycle to search on foot. The beast rumbled rather loudly in this quiet area of Georgian flats, and would certainly attract attention if we continued to slowly case the neighborhood.

“Perhaps she’s not home,” I whispered.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he whispered back. He took my hand and linked his fingers through mine. Game on. We became a couple out for an evening stroll. Both sides of the street were lined with cars.

“There sure are a lot of cars parked here. I doubt if even a Vespa could squeeze in. They must have to park on other streets.” After thinking about it, I added, “But then where do the people on other streets park?”

Badger stopped walking. “That’s brilliant!” he whispered loudly. “Come on.” He took my hand again and pulled me along the pavement.

“Um, what’s brilliant, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Parking, of course. There isn’t enough.”

“
Okaay.”
Still didn’t get it, but glad I could help.

“Roxanna Cuttle-Jones with her upper class accent is the type of person to have her own lock-up.”

“Her what? What’s a lock-up?”

“A garage. Where she keeps her car and other stuff that doesn’t fit in her flat.”

“So where are we going then?”

“‘Round back. I’ll bet anything lock-ups are behind this row of flats.”

The
row of flats
as Badger called them, seemed like a mile long. In my nervous condition, it felt like forever before we reached the alley.

“But, if it’s a lock-up, won’t it be locked?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“If it’s locked,” I began, “then how…”

Crap.
I did not like where my thought processes took me. At. All.

“Let’s just find it,” said Badger. “Then decide what to do.”

I tugged on his hand, forcing him to stop.

“Who are you and what did you do with Badger?” I asked. “Because the Badger I know would never even
think
about…”

“Shhh.”
He pressed his fingertips to my lips. “We’re only going to check it out. That’s all.”

I nodded.

We reached the corner, turned the block and turned again a short way down the street to head up the alley behind the flats.

“Look,” said Badger. “The numbers on the lock-ups correspond to a group of house numbers. My guess is the biggest flat gets the lock-up.
And
they have the last names on them.”

We walked up the row looking for one labeled Cuttle-Jones, and found it about halfway up the alley.

“Well?”

“I sort of wish Cappy was here. He’d know what to do,” said Badger. 

I nodded. Unfortunately, Cappy knew way too much about breaking and entering.

The door was a roll-up type, with an elongated silver twist lock. The kind where you insert and turn the key, and then turn the silver handle.

I grasped the handle, and to my surprise, it turned.

Badger and I stared at each other for a long, defining moment. Should we or shouldn’t we? It wasn’t like we were stealing anything. I just needed to touch the car.

I looked around and didn’t see anybody. The only light came from the moon.

“Let’s do it,” I said.

Badger nodded in agreement. “But quickly.”

Badger rolled the door upward. The metal wheels on metal rollers squeaked loudly in the quiet night. Without wasting time, I walked in and immediately touched the car.

Dark and rainy. A white car lay on its side, the wheels spinning rapidly. A figure gets out of another car, bundled up in a huge coat, stumbles to the white car and peers inside. Recoiling, the person stumbles back, falling to the road. Scrambling up, the person runs back to the other car. A blue car with the left front fender crushed…

I gasped as arms pulled me away from the car, abruptly cutting off the vision.

“Come on. We have to get out of here.”

“Badger, I…” I tried to say I was sick, but didn’t have the chance. I threw up right there in the alley.

“Sorry, Indigo, I don’t mean to be insensitive.” Badger wound my arm around his neck. “But the lock-up has an alarm.”

Focusing was impossible. Everything blurred and the world spun faster than usual. I couldn’t stand straight. I had the impression of a red glowing light, though, coming from the garage.

“S-sorry. I-I c-cant.”

“I got you.”

He half-dragged, half-carried me down the alley.

Headlights shone toward us from the other end.

Chapter Fifteen

Confession

Determined to get directly to the bottom of my vision, I telephoned Roxanna Cuttle-Jones after school on Monday and asked if we could meet. She assumed it involved the house and I didn’t complicate matters by explaining.

Of course Simon and I dressed for the occasion. I wore my hair up in a sophisticated style, compliments of Franny. Always to my surprise, she made me look classy. I assumed as a madam, she’d make me look more, er, tart-like. She was an absolute artist with make-up. Viewing myself in the mirror, I looked at least five years older. Which in this case, is what I wanted. With my white blouse, black skirt and heeled black boots, I presented a vision of sophistication. I borrowed Aunt Amanda’s dress coat, as mine looked like a sailor had just returned from sea. I only hoped I didn’t blow it the minute I opened my mouth and my American accent and age popped out.

I took the back stairs to the kitchen to meet Simon. He looked amazing in slacks and dress shirt. It was an important occasion for him. We hoped to find out the truth about his family’s deaths.

We headed to Quixley Street in our finery. Not used to heels, I kept turning my ankles and had to hold onto Simon for support, so I sent a thankful prayer to heaven that it wasn’t far.

At Sadie’s house, we walked slowly up the path to the front door. We had never entered the house from the front - only the back where we entered like thieves in the night. Before we could knock, a woman who defined the word sophistication opened the door. Dressed in a green one-piece full body suit with a wide brown belt at the waist and heels, she exuded sex appeal. Make-up perfectly applied and blonde hair pulled back into a chignon. The vision only lacked a smoking cigarette in a long holder. Or did I mean
illusion?

“Hello, please come in. I’m Mrs. Cuttle-Jones.”

She offered her fingertips to shake and I became aware of my dry hands and chipped nails. “Indigo Eady,” I said, and hastily tucked them into my coat pocket.

Simon shook hands as well, with a polite, “How do you do? I’m Simon Eady.” If I weren’t so nervous, I might have laughed. I almost expected to see him bend slightly at the waist to kiss her fingers.

“Are you two married? I must say, you look rather young.”

Simon and I exchanged glances. Now that the moment had come, we didn’t know how to begin.

“No, we’re cousins actually. And I’m afraid we aren’t really here about the house.”

Her arched eyebrows rose toward her hairline. “Oh? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Can we sit down?” I asked.

“Forgive me. Certainly.” She led us to the dining room. “You’ll excuse the mess. I haven’t finished cleaning out the house yet,” she said over her shoulder. One end of the table had been cleared since my last visit. Mrs. Cuttle-Jones came prepared for negotiations.

Simon pulled out our chairs and we sat.

“Mrs. Cuttle-Jones,” I said. “Three years ago, my aunt and cousin—” I nodded to Simon “—Simon’s mother and brother, died in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry.” I had to hand it to her. Only the slight twitch of her left hand betrayed that she knew what I referred to. Even so, it was there.

“We have reason to believe you drove the car that hit them,” I added.

I looked for a reaction and got it. Her eyes widened.
Yeah, I guess I didn’t really think it through.
Whether from guilt or innocence, she was clearly affronted. “You think I…?” She took a deep breath. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She rose from her seat. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing at, but I’m very busy. I think you should leave.”

We walked for a few minutes without speaking. Finally, I said, “Well, that went well.”

Simon snorted.

I shook my head. “Something’s still not right. So she didn’t confess. I know what I saw in my vision, and it was her car. I’m certain of it.”

We let it go, at least for the time being.

I had only been to Cappy’s flat once before, at night, being chased by Billy and Ralph Radcliffe through the narrow ginnels. At the time, terror filled my very soul. So finding my way back through the maze of passages proved as difficult as I thought, even though night hadn’t quite fallen yet. Did I mention the neighborhood scared me a bit? And since Friday had arrived, revelers started to party early. Raucous laughter spilled out of more than one doorway. I hurried past, hoping to escape notice.

Two buildings with a split between them basically marked the entrance to the neighborhood.  If another way existed in or out, I didn’t know about it. The area wasn’t quite old enough to count as a protected historical district, so became run-down, and inhabited by the less financially able.

With my chin up, I set off down the cobblestoned road at a brisk pace, acting as if I knew where I was going and belonged there. I tried to find familiar landmarks as I went, but my first traipse through there had been nothing but a dark blur. So I went on instinct, with the help of Psychometry. When Badger and I were chased that night, we used the walls to keep our balance on the wet, slippery cobblestones. When I touched the walls now, I sensed my own energy, which is how I knew I was on the right path.

The smell of boiled cabbage, mixed with something else, wafted through the corridor. Perhaps unwashed bodies. I sniffed. And urine.
Definitely urine.

A hauntingly beautiful Italian aria drifted down from an upper window. I glanced up to a small balcony. A flower box lined the railing. Spindly plants stood dormant awaiting spring. A clothesline strung to the opposite balcony held baby bibs and bras, nylon stockings next to booties. They flapped in a breeze that didn’t reach the lower corridor.

A woman passed back and forth before the window, busy with dinner preparations, an apron tied around her plump waist. Her soulful voice, untutored, held raw emotion. The dank corridor embraced the melody and acted as a natural amphitheater. In a moment of complete awareness, I sensed the song, the words, the emotions, already mingling with the energy in the cobblestones, the walls, the very particles of air. I closed my eyes and stood transfixed, not wishing to break the connection.

When the song stopped, I opened my eyes. The woman peered down at me through a fogged pane, an unfathomable look in her eyes. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came. The moment was broken. I hurried on.

Fearful of pressing my whole palm against the walls, I used a fingertip instead. Even so, I caught glimpses of things I’d rather not. Dark things. Violence, assaults. Things not of this world, perhaps the beings that Franny spoke about. Former beings that mutated away from being human because of past misdeeds. Even things that had never been human.

I shivered, and resorted to only quick touches of my fingertip on the industrial-aged, sooty walls. Back-tracking a couple of times after missing turns, I finally found my way to his stairwell. I received a few odd looks, but nobody stopped or said anything to me.

I climbed the stairs and knocked on the door.

Cappy answered. “You found me.” He sounded surprised, opening the door wide so I could follow him inside.

The small apartment was as stark and clean as I remembered. A small sitting room and bedroom to the left, kitchen nook and bathroom on the right, all connected by a short hall. Nothing more.

“Of course. I have been here before, if you remember.”

“O’ course I do. But most
normal
people wouldn’t be able to find their way back after only one time. Some of these streets don’t even ‘ave names.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I have a good sense of direction.”

“Yeh, a good sense of something anyway.”

A feeble-sounding voice floated down the hall. “Deangelo. Is someone here?”