A Guilty Ghost Surprised (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Cozy Mystery series) (17 page)

“No.”
Yes. Maybe
. The metallic blood odor wafted from my shirt. Having my head down so I wouldn’t faint may not have actually helped.

“Hand me that rubbish bin, Badger.” Simon thrust it into my hands. “Here.”

The dirty bin didn’t help matters much, either. Not when dealing with a stomach already asking for a reason to evict the contents residing there.

Badger’s and Simon’s thunderous faces glared at Cappy. They hadn’t wanted us to go alone, they wanted to accompany us. But they had straight arrow reputations, dudes who didn’t party, so they stayed behind. Cappy didn’t want their reputations to blow our party cover.

“That bozo tried one on ‘er, didn’t ‘e?” said Cappy. “That Jason bloke - ‘e wouldn’t let ‘er go when she asked ‘im, so I let ‘im ‘ave it. ‘Bout that time, the cops showed up and we went out the back.”

“That bloody bastard.”
Badger’s hands curled into fists. 

“We ought to go kick his arse right now,” added Simon, jumping up from the table.

“No! You’ll only get yourselves in trouble,” I said. “Besides, Cappy took care of it -
him,
I mean.”

Cappy nodded. “That’s right. I took care of ‘er, like I said I would.”

I looked at my clothing. “This isn’t our blood, it’s Jason’s. I’m pretty sure he has a broken nose.” And I’m certain he lost at least a gallon of blood,” I added for good measure.  

Badger and Simon shared a look, and I knew it wasn’t over for Jason. These dudes wrote the definition of
overprotective
in the new abridged Caveman Dictionary. But they let it go for now.

“Did you find out anything?” asked Simon, pulling the murder map from behind the bench.

“Yeah. Another kid, named…” Cappy looked over to me to supply the name.

“Oh.” I looked at the pen marks on my palm, barely visible after scraping my hands on fences and trees. I squinted my eyes and turned my hand in different directions. “Looks like…Tyrone Wah...”

“Wahlberg,” Cappy supplied. “Tyrone Wahlberg. ‘e was at the party that night. Owns a blue Chevy. That’s about it, though. ‘e wasn’t there tonight.”

“That’s brilliant,” said Simon. “One more possible suspect. Well done, you two. Especially you, Cappy. Thanks for taking care of my cousin.”

Cappy shrugged. “Part of the job, no big deal.”

“It
is
a big deal,” said Badger, insistently. “It’s not the first time you rescued her. We take care of our own. Good job.”

Our own.
Yep, that’s what he said. That meant
I belonged.
I’d dissect that whole
our
thing later. It almost made the whole blood thing worth it.
Almost.

Cappy wore a pleased look. I think
our own
meant as much to him as it did me.

“What do you know about this Tyrone kid?” Simon asked.

“Nothing, but I’ll find out. Leave it to me,” said Cappy.

 “Leave what to you, Cappy?” said a voice from the door we hadn’t thought to close.

We all froze, eyes wide as bar mats.

A feeling of deja vu came over me. The same thing happened on the last case, when we investigated Bart’s murder. In the snug, discussing the evidence, in walks D.S. Robbie O’Boyle.

Crap. Not good. Not good at all.  

“Um, I forget,” said Cappy.

“Uh huh,” said Robbie, looking around the circle at our guilty faces. “What’s up gang?”

Nobody spoke up, so I took the plunge. “W-we, uh, w-were just…talking.” I shrugged.

“So you wouldn’t know anything about a party tonight over on the south side of town?” said Robbie.

I couldn’t bring myself to utter the lie, so I shrugged again. 

“Or why, for instance, at least two of you are covered in blood? Not to mention your black hair and blue eyes are quite unmistakable, Indigo Eady.”

What did he mean by that?

I sighed. “Oh,
all right
. Come in, Robbie.”

Badger looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“He saw me at the party,” I said.

Robbie, out of uniform, now in jeans and tee-shirt, took a seat next to Cappy.

“Look, I don’t know what you lot are up to now, but obviously I’m concerned when two of my young friends are seen at a party like that.”

“Coffee?” I asked him.

“Please.”

Nobody spoke while I got up and poured his coffee. I set a mug in front of Robbie and sat back down next to Badger.

I wrapped my hands around my mug for warmth. “Okay, we were there. Me and Cappy. We heard about the party and wanted to dig for more information about the party at that same house three years ago. The night Aunt Amanda - Simon’s mom - and Bryan died.”

Robbie sat and sipped his coffee, obviously putting the pieces together. “You lot are investigating their deaths, then.”

I looked at the others, not wanting to give up the ghost without their approval -
Simon’s
approval.

“Yes,” said Simon. “Yes, we are.”

“We’re doing nothing wrong,” Badger added.

“As a matter of fact,” said Cappy, glancing around the table before making his suggestion to see if we all concurred, “there is something you could do to ‘elp.”

“I thought so,” said Robbie.

“I didn’t want to ask,” I rushed in to say. “It’s about your coworker, the one you told me about.” I pleaded with my eyes for him to understand. “Well, you’d have to, uh,
investigate,
within the police department.”

“You mean
spy,
don’t you?”

I studied my hands, then looked up. “Are you satisfied that your superiors conducted a thorough investigation into Michael Potter’s actions that night?”

Now it was Robbie’s turn to study his hands. “I shouldn’t be here discussing this. It’s almost treasonous.”

“Is that a yes or no?” Badger asked.

He muttered almost unintelligible epithets under his breath. Almost. That’s when I knew we had him.

“No. No I’m not.”

Everyone relaxed, as if we held a collective breath.

“All right, then,” said Cappy. “Now we ‘ave our inside man.”

“I’m not making any promises,” said Robbie. “I work with these people. I respect them. Most of them, anyway. There are some that will have closed ranks. I could be jeopardizing my career if the wrong people find out what I’m doing. And for the record, Cappy, I am
not
your inside man. I’m my own man, and I’m taking the risk
on my own
. Is that clear?”

Nods all around.

“Thank you, Robbie.” I put my hand briefly over his. He stiffened. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to…”

“No, it’s all right…”

Could Robbie be afraid of me? Afraid that I could read his mind and eavesdrop on his thoughts? Did Badger and the rest of my friends worry about the same thing?

I glanced over at Badger. He stared angrily at Robbie, then down at his hands, avoiding eye contact with me. Could he be mad at me? Or Robbie? Tears pricked my eyes. It served as a reminder to me that I was not normal, even in my friend’s eyes. I studied the lines on my palms, wondering if the scars could be removed. But what good would it do, unless the curse went with them?

Simon broke the silence, reaching back for the murder map and rolling it out onto the table. “All of our sources are confidential, you understand?”

“Yes, of course,” Robbie answered.

“Right, then,” said Simon, tapping the area on the board with Michael Potter’s information. “It appears Potter has something of a bad driving record. Three or four accidents while on the job. What we don’t understand is how he can still be on the job?”

Robbie pulled the map closer to study it. He shook his head. “Where did you…? Never mind.” He looked back down at the board. “You’re right, though. We’re only allowed two strikes on our driving records before some serious suspension time occurs. Right, then. I’ll see what I can find out. In the meantime, please stay out of trouble.” He looked at me intently. “Especially you.”

He rose from his chair and headed to the door, then turned around. “By the way. You never said what happened.” He pointed to the blood on my shirt.

My cheeks burned. “Cappy was defending my virtue.”

“Oh. Good job, Cappy.”

Robbie nodded a hello-goodbye at Riley, who came through the door as he left.

“Sorry I’m late.” She came in and laid her purse on the bench, then poured hot water for tea. “What’s he doing here?” She nodded her head toward Robbie’s retreating back. Then she turned to me. “And what in
bloody hell
happened to you?!”

“Uh, long story,” I said.

Riley took a seat next to Simon on the bench. We explained about the party and the fight, the possible new suspect named Tyrone, then Robbie showing up and agreeing to help us.

 “So, as far as you could find out, only one kid from the party drove a blue car?” said Riley. She recorded the information on the murder map.

The fire burned low, the aroma of coffee filled the air and rain drizzled down the window. All my favorite investigators were tucked cozily in the snug. Simon and Riley didn’t act awkward. Badger’s moodiness had gone. And Cappy was his usual cheerful self.

“Correct,” I answered. “A blue Chevy.”

Riley looked up from the board. “Do we know where to find him?”

“I was ‘oping Badger or Simon might know of ‘im. ‘e’s about their age, about eighteen.”

They both shook their heads. “Never heard of him,” said Simon.

“I’ll call Daniel, then. He’ll probably know ‘ow to find him,” said Cappy. He borrowed Riley’s cell phone and made the call.

We couldn’t tackle interviewing suspects head-on. These people didn’t have to speak with us, and they certainly wouldn’t want to if they knew we suspected them of a crime.

Hence, the birth of Operation Engagement.

We had to be sneaky. And yes, we were so going to hell, but for a good cause…

Chapter Seventeen

Tricks of the Trade

“An engagement!” exclaimed Franny. “Oh, how lovely, dear. And Saturday is such a lucky day to shop for rings. Well of course we’ll make you shine, leave it to me.” She zipped through the door like a ghost on a zip-line on
who-knows-what
kind of mission, leaving me sputtering after her.

“Wait! It’s not a real engagement, Franny…” I flung the bedroom door open but she had disappeared.
Crap.
Franny was always anxious to help me
find a man
, as she put it. She didn’t get that marriage was not every woman’s goal in modern times. And certainly not sixteen-almost-seventeen-year-old girls.

A Victorian ghost-nurse, one I recognized as one of the watchers, nodded her head at me as she floated down the hall. I nodded back and tried to smile, but worry about what Franny had in mind distracted me. I went back into my bedroom.

Franny floated back through the door empty-handed. “Drat!” She opened the door and retrieved the garment that could not float through the door with her.

I eyed it suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“This,” she said, “is a corset, designed to…”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“But, dear, it will draw in your waist and push up your…”

“
No
, Franny. I don’t need to be
pushed up
.”

I began dragging things out of my trunk, searching for something suitable to wear to a fake engagement ring shopping assignment with Badger. I pulled out blue jeans and a sweater…

“No,” said Franny, standing over me with her arms crossed.

Next out came beige pants with beige turtle-neck…

“No.”

“How about…?” I started to pull out my old fall-back, black jeans.

“No!” She actually stomped her foot, which couldn’t have been easy as she doesn’t actually stand on the floor, but several inches above it. “You don’t always have to look like a boy!”

I stood up and crossed my arms. A standoff ensued.

“Franny, it’s not like in your day. We don’t dress up for everything.”

She jammed her hands on her hips. “Let me tell you something. I may be a hundred and twenty five years old, but I
know
how to attract a man. Why, I could teach you tricks…”

“Franny!” My cheeks flamed. I wasn’t a prude, truly. But when she mentioned the line of business she used to be in, it sort of made me uncomfortable.

“I’m not suggesting you don’t know how…you…to… fine!” I stamped my foot in frustration. “What do you suggest I wear, then?”

“Wait here.” She flew off so quickly, the breeze lifted my hair.

I sighed. I had no idea what she would come up with. Probably some medieval torture chamber to go with the corset.

A door down the hall opened and closed. No doubt Franny borrowed something that had belonged to Aunt Amanda. The last time she did that, Simon caught a pink bra floating down the hall. Trust me, boys do not want to see their mother’s undergarments
at any time
.

The door opened and Franny floated through with something white and filmy, and held it out to me.

“This is perfect,” she said. “White and virtuous. It covers everything, but shows off your curves. At least, the curves you’ll have when you put on the corset.” 

A white v-neck, thigh-length, form-fitting sweater with white leggings. The white would add a few pounds, but I could use a few. I had a narrow waist and hips. And I didn’t have much of a bosom to speak of. The corset
would
help with that.

“All right.” Sometimes agreeing with Franny turned out to be the best option. And she did seem to choose appropriate garments for someone my age. “Do you study modern fashion magazines or something?”

She winked at me. “Tricks of the trade, dear. Now, get dressed and I’ll do your hair. I know exactly how you should wear it. Trust me, dear, men can’t wait to lose their hands in that gorgeous mane of yours. But first, make-up.”

I stood up to view the whole effect better. I turned sideways, hands on hips. The bubble-butt still remained, but if I turned just right, it wasn’t so bad. I practiced a bit while Franny dug through the make-up pit. Not mine, just stuff that came with my room.