A Guilty Ghost Surprised (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Cozy Mystery series) (5 page)

He glared back but let it go.

A seventeenth century serving wench drifted through the wall and set an invisible tankard of ale before me. Circling over to Simon with another mug, she quickly scanned the murder board over his shoulder, then turned and blatantly read what Riley texted on her cell phone.  

“Good evening, Hannah.” I greeted the girl with a smile.

“Oh.” She faked nonchalance. “Good evening, Miss.” She dropped a slight curtsy, but didn’t bother apologizing. Sometimes I think she forgot I could see her, but in any case, she didn’t seem able to help herself. She’d become addicted to eavesdropping. Tonight she wore a white, off-the-shoulder chemise under a green bodice vest and brown billowy skirt with a pristine, white apron. Her white mop cap bobbed as she floated around the table, first playing with Simon’s hair and then Badger’s.

When Riley’s phone pinged, Hannah zipped around behind her to read over her shoulder. Impatient, she reached a finger out and scrolled down while Riley struggled and muttered curses at it for misbehaving.

Hannah looked at me. “Twas the runners - I mean
police,”
said Hannah. “The police came upon the accident—nobody phoned it in.”

I repeated what Hannah said.

“How did you—” began Riley, but didn’t finish the train of thought. “Never mind.” She snapped the phone shut and tucked it back inside her purse.

“The police?! I wonder what they were doing in the area?” Simon wondered aloud.

“Exactly,”
said Badger. “Whatever else went on that night, in the same area as your accident, could have something to do with our case.”

“You’re right.” Excitement entered Simon’s voice. “If police were hanging about, then something must have been going on. Other people, probably up to no good. But the point is,
other people
were in the area.
Other people
who could have crashed into us or seen something.”

“I’ll check for any other activity going on in the area that night,” said Riley, jotting down the new information on the board.

Simon banged his fist on the table in frustration, causing the ghost dog to set up a cacophony of deep-throated barks which reverberated throughout the tiny room.

Hannah shrieked, and so did I. My hands went to my ears to cut off the deafening echo.

“What?!” Riley screamed and leapt from the bench. “What happened?” Her eyes grew huge in her face. Her hand flew to her heart.

“Hannah screamed.” I pointed to a spot near Cappy where Hannah still shrieked.

Cappy jumped to his feet. “What? Where?”

“What is that…
that…beast
doing in here?” Hannah cried, crouching behind Cappy wide-eyed and scared, pointing at the ghost dog under the table.

“What’s ‘appening?” yelled Cappy. “What’s that on me?! Get ‘er off!” He flailed around, arms flying like a swarm of Africanized bees had landed on him. Which only encouraged Hannah to fly about the room screaming like a banshee.

“Everybody stop! Just stop where you are!” I yelled.

Hannah crouched in the corner, trembling, while Cappy stood panting and breathless, his brown eyes large as bar mats in his head. The others stood completely confused.

“Now,” I said. “Hannah, the dog followed me and he’s very friendly. He won’t hurt you.” Then I turned to Cappy. “Cappy, Hannah is also very friendly, and she won’t bite you any more than the dog.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want ‘er touching me, all right?” He shivered. “Bloody cold ‘ands on me,” he muttered, righting the chair he turned over in his haste to get away from Hannah.

She stuck her tongue out at Cappy. “And I don’t want that beast in here, either.” Hannah carefully picked herself up off the floor, but kept an eye on the dog in case it attacked her. She edged her way to the closed door and disappeared through it.

The dog, excited by all the shrieking, ran about the room with the tennis ball hoping someone would chase him.

I shook my head as the rest of the group watched the ball circle the room, bobbing up and down.

Getting down on my knees, I patted my thighs, and in my most playful voice, said, “Come here, boy. That’s right. Bring me the ball.” He ran near and away again. “Come here, boy, come on.” Panting, he came close and dropped the ball, backing away again so I could throw it for him. I picked up the slobbery thing and set it on the table. The dog behaved remarkably well. He sat looking back and forth between me and the tennis ball in hopeful anticipation.

“Sorry, everyone,” I said. “Today has sort of been a disaster.”

“Just today?” Badger snorted and rolled his eyes.

I glared at him. “Are we through here?” I asked, reaching for my coat.

“Yeah,” said Badger. “I think we’re through.”

What did he mean by that? Well, I wouldn’t examine that statement any further tonight -
if ever.

Simon followed me down the passageway, ghost-dog and Cappy on our heels, to the pub entrance.

I supposed the fault lay with me. Spirit activity did tend to follow wherever I went. But how could I be responsible for their behavior? My reaction to them caused part of the havoc. But still. If Badger’s kisses weren’t so darn nice, I’d give him up - if I had him, I mean.

 I stopped by the entrance to slip into my coat, hat and scarf, as did Simon and Cappy. Facing the menu board, I read the daily specials as I wrapped my scarf around my neck.
Shepherd’s Pie
or
Spaghetti with garlic bread
. Glancing briefly down to pull on my gloves, I looked up again to a blurry board, the letters scrambled into a jumbled mess. I shook my head and looked again. The letters returned to order. I could have sworn it said something about ‘
the child’.
But no - I must be tired.

Still, it was odd.
A tingle slithered along the base of my neck. I turned around. A dark presence hovered in the corner. The Soul Collector in his favorite spot, waiting to steal my soul if he could. I looked back to the board.
Could it be trying to tell me something?
Was he—
it
—not content anymore to just follow and wait? Now it wanted to communicate?

What had it said? Something about
the child.
My stomach sank. It couldn’t mean Bryan - could it? I seriously hoped not. We’d have to keep him safe until we could send him back. I’d have to speak with Franny. She would certainly have connections that could help us. 

We waved goodbye to Cappy. Simon and I, accompanied by the bulldog, headed home. I snatched the bobbing tennis ball out of mid-air and tucked it into my coat pocket. No sense in drawing attention to ourselves. I sincerely hoped we could drop the dog off where we found him.

A few turns later, we arrived at the Quixley Street mansion. “Well, here we are. Go on now,” I said to the dog. “You’re home.” I made shooing motions with my hands, but he didn’t go.  Instead, he pranced around, getting down on his forepaws with his rear-end in the air, wiggling his nubby tail, before easily evading my waving hands.

“Come on,” I said to Simon. “Maybe he won’t follow us again.” We headed down the sidewalk, but the dog still loped along behind. “Shoo! Go on now!” I turned to Simon. “Maybe if you throw the ball, then while he’s chasing it we can run.”

“Oh right.”
Simon’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Even though we can’t outrun a live dog, we’ll be able to outrun a ghost dog because they’re so much slower.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Well, do you have any bright ideas?”

“No, but obviously we can’t take him home. It’s hard enough explaining to my dad about the odd goings-on with Bryan and Franny snapping the telly on and off all day, and toy cars rolling around the floor unattended. And besides, Cleo would not appreciate a dog in the house. At. All.”

I had forgotten about Cleo, our resident ghost cat. “Well then, we’ll just have to tire him out or something. Come on.”

The thing about ghost dogs? They don’t get tired. We tried to tire him out. We threw the ball over and over again, but every time we attempted to leave, he followed.

“Sit.” He complied. “Stay.” Not in his repertoire.

Panting sounds close on our heels told us he had not obeyed. I turned around, hands on hips. “How is this going to work if you don’t do what you’re told?” I said sternly. He cocked his head and smiled happily, drool seeping from the sides of his mouth.

“What do we do?” said Simon. Not that he saw him, but the bouncing ball that kept landing at his feet told him the persistent dog still hung around. That, and the snuffly breathing.

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

I turned to the dog. “Listen buddy, we gotta go. Do you understand? You can’t come with us.”

He barked an answer.

“Right then. Okay. Good. No offense, but we’re just not set up for guests right now, maybe when…”

“If you’re quite through making polite excuses to a dog,” Simon interrupted, “perhaps we could be on our way?”

With no snappy reply immediately on hand, I stuck my tongue out at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Is that the best you can come up with?”

“Just throw the ball - far - and we’ll make a run for it.”

Simon picked up the perpetually slimy ball, and with a huge grunt, tossed it over the fence into the side yard.

A brief glance up at the house revealed a green light glowing at the upper window.

And in the midst of the glow, a face watched us.

A shiver inched up my spine as we turned and hauled our buns up the street.

Arriving breathless, we let ourselves in the back door.

Drifting through the door from the hall into the kitchen, Cleo stopped, arched her back and hissed like a cobra.

The dog, sneaking in behind us, took the hiss as an invitation to give chase. He darted between Simon’s legs and bolted through the door after Cleo. Simon, red faced and grumbling, lay flat on his back.

Shrieks coming down the hall announced the path of the chase through the living room.

I ignored Simon’s outstretched hand and ran, probably foolishly, toward the chaos. “Don’t just lie there, Simon, we’re about to have a war!”

“What the bloody hell is that infernal noise?” yelled Simon. He scrambled to his feet and dashed after me. His developing psychic skills obviously picked that moment to allow him to hear the chaos, but not see it. But he was certainly used to the physical results by now, evidenced by his sore backside on more than one occasion.

My sudden stop caused Simon to skid into the back of me. I fell forward and landed on my knees.

“Oof!” Simon fell over me and face-planted on the floor. Pushing himself up, he said, “Ever heard of brake lights? We seriously need to get you some. And maybe a siren with a flashing light as well, just to caution people you’re in the area.”

“Oh, shut up,” I responded. “It’s your cat and little brother that’s causing half the problem.”

Meowing, barking, screeching and childish laughter mingled and echoed throughout the room.

“My - Cleo is not my cat. I can’t even see her. She didn’t even show up until you did. Like every other spook in this house. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s…”

Simon, standing in the path of the tornado, landed on his back again. “Maybe I’ll just stay here for a while. I give up. I’m down for the count.”  

Cleo darted across the sofa and around the room chased by the ghost dog, two shooting white blurs circling the living room like a paranormal galaxy. Bryan squealed and laughed, chasing after the two of them. Franny jumped up and down on the sofa, flapping her arms, and screeching in mortal fear. Or did I mean
immortal
fear?

I jumped to my feet. “No! Sit! Stay!” It did no good. Delight and slobber circled the dog’s face. He was having the time of his life, er,
non
-life.

“Simon! Do something!”

“What?”

“I don’t know - anything!” I joined the chase behind Bryan, and Simon disappeared someplace. Probably escaping through the back door, if he had any sense. “
Oh please don’t let Uncle Richard come home right now,”
I muttered. “Cleo, come here! Bryan - stop!” I grabbed Bryan by the wing. Rather, I
tried
to grab him by the wing, but my hand floated right through it.

“Where have you been?” I yelled at Simon as he ran back into the living room.

He held up a raw steak. “Food for the chow-hound. Where is he?”

The trio ran back toward us. The dog skidded to a halt when he caught scent of the steak.

“He’s sitting right in front of you,” I said.

“Good. Where’s Cleo?”

I looked around and didn’t see her. “Hiding.”

“Right then. Come, poochie. Come get our lovely dinner.” He held the steak in the air. “Is he following me?”

“Yep, right at your feet.”

He led the dog down the hall into the kitchen. Throwing a dirty blanket from the laundry into a corner, he laid the steak on it and the dog pounced, settling in for a solo steak-fest with our dinner.

“Well that went well,” said Simon.

“Yeah.
NOT.”

I longingly watched it chow down. “I was so looking forward to that.”