Audrey Claire - Libby Grace 01 - How to be a Ghost (17 page)

Sick and horrified, I drifted to Clark’s side. He gave his officer a clipped order, and the man disappeared from the bedroom. Miles shouted something I couldn’t distinguish, and I a glass shattered on the floor. I thought Clark would charge out and make sure everything was okay, but he stood where he was, scanning the walls. The vents in Miles’s room were overhead in the ceiling, rather than on the wall. Clark shined a flashlight into the interior but seemed satisfied nothing had been hidden there.

I followed him around the room at first and then grew bored with it. I started to go back to the box of discs when I felt a sort of resonance of power to my right, but there was only bare wall. I stuck my head through to the other side and found the bathroom, nothing more.

Clark grunted in frustration. I felt the same. I raised a hand, palm out and ran it over the wall like I was a ghostly metal detector. I got no response and started feeling foolish. Then the power surfaced a second time. My hand hovered above a hook screwed into the wall. Jake had squeezed more than a few jackets on them.

I drifted away from the hooks and glanced at Clark. How to tell him to look here? Blowing out the lights would be too much of a risk and might disable the camera. I had an idea. I solidified my fingers and unhooked one of the jackets to let it fall to the floor. Just as I had hoped, Clark heard and strode over to investigate. He picked up the jacket and checked the floor then was about to hang it up again, but his gaze snagged on the hook.

Good job, Clark!
I gave him a silent cheer.

Plastic gloves appeared from Clark’s pocket, and he snapped them into place. With ginger touches, he detached the hook from the wall to find a tiny camera behind it, and if I was not mistaken, it continued to record. “Bingo,” he whispered.

If disorder reigned in the closet, the bedroom put it to shame after Clark tore it apart. He apparently didn’t find what he looked for, but he straightened and shouted for the other officer to bring Miles in. Just as shaken as I felt, Miles haunted his bedroom doorway, eyes big in a pale face. He rung his hands, and Clark pointed to the box of discs.

“Do you want to explain that?” Clark asked.

“I’ve never seen it before.”

Clark held up the tiny camera. “What about this? I found it in the hook there.” Clark pointed with his chin. “Where’s the receiver, Mr. Lucas?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s not mine! Why would I hide a camera in my room?”

“Why would anybody?” Clark said. “Miles Lucas, you are under arrest for the murder of George Walsh. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

“I don’t understand this,” Jake shouted as the officer whipped him around and slapped handcuffs on his wrists. “I’ve done nothing wrong. You have to believe me.”

“…If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you,” Clark continued. “Do you understand the rights as I have just explained them to you?”

“No!” Miles sobbed.

I moved up behind Clark and laid my hands on his shoulders.
How can you conclude he’s the killer, Clark? I don’t believe it. Something doesn’t feel right.
I could say none of this out loud, and when Clark hitched his shoulders, I backed off, watching as he tucked the box of discs beneath an arm and left the room.

* * * *

Scandal in Summit’s Edge!

This time I did read the news report Luis had written—over Monica’s shoulder as she took a break at the restaurant. She read every word out loud anyway, making comments as if to herself, but she knew I was there. I loved how she talked to me the same way as we had when I had my body. Monica never missed a step. She kept on going as my best friend and confidant.

“It’s got to be one of the officers,” Monica surmised, and her face brightened. “Or wait, what if it’s the chief himself?” She giggled. “He seems like a man who takes the law seriously and wouldn’t even steal a sticky pad from the office, but I bet it’s all a front.”

I scowled at her although she couldn’t see me and glanced around to see if anyone was nearby. “Are you accusing Clark Givens of murder, Monica?”

She blinked at me. “No, of course not. Well… I’m not going to write anyone off, but I meant, what if Clark was the one leaking info to everyone. He might have a thing for spreading gossip. Everyone has a vice.”

“Clark would never do that!”

A slow grin spread over her face. “Oh? You’re starting to like him now that you’ve been tailing him everywhere.”

I sputtered. “It’s not like that.”

She made a noise of disbelief. “Ian will be jealous. I can’t believe my girl Libby’s playing two men and not even alive.”

“I am not ‘playing’ two men,” I said, sounding high and mighty in my own ears. “I am not interested in a relationship with either of them.”

“Okay.”

She sounded unconvinced.

“Are you talking to yourself?” Sadie entered the restaurant and shut the door behind her.

I groaned loud enough for Monica to hear me but not enough for Sadie to. “That’s my cue,” I whispered to her. “I’m going over to the station to see how the police are dealing with the newsbreak.”

“You do that,” Monica said under her breath, amused.

While my annoying friend chatted with Sadie, I made my escape and blinked into the police station. My mouth dropped open at the madhouse it was. Citizens packed the small reception area, all shouting to be heard at the same time. The officer on duty stood behind his desk with hands raised and waved them up and down in an attempt to control the crowd.

“Everyone, please, one at a time. I can’t hear any of you if you shout at me.”

Sylvia Campbell, my old boss, was the first to speak when the noise ebbed. She slammed a small electronic device on the desk and pointed at it while she sneered at the officer. “I found
that
in sunroom! Someone has been spying on me, and I want to know what the police are doing to find and arrest that person!”

A man in the crowd spoke up, waving a similar device in his hand. “This was in my living room. Nothing goes on in there except me in my underwear watching the game. Who is the Peeping Tom, and what is the chief going to do?”

“Well I heard they arrested Miles Lucas,” another person said. “Maybe he had something to do with it.”

The shouting rose to a crescendo until a slamming door swung everyone’s attention to Clark exiting his office. He walked to the officer’s desk and frowned at the pile of tiny cameras. “I specifically instructed that you all let the police come out to retrieve the cameras and to keep your hands off them. How am I supposed to lift a fingerprint when you touch all over the evidence?”

No one seemed to care about Clark’s trials. They wanted an arrest now or for him to confirm Miles was guilty to set their minds at ease. Clark refused to do so. The front door opened, and still another citizen of Summit’s Edge entered. I recognized one of the employees from the local bank. He squeezed through the crowd and placed a baggie on the desk with a camera inside. I clutched my hands together, hoping with this maybe Clark could get a print, but the man’s next words sent a chill racing down my spine.

“I found this in my home office, facing my computer.”

The deathly silence in the station seemed to press in on my ears, but it could have been all in my mind. Clark turned away and pushed fingers through his hair. All of us watched his back as he shifted his shoulders and rolled his head, cracking his neck. When he turned around, his expression was grave.

Clark picked up the baggie. “Step into my office, sir. I’m hoping you can set my mind at ease that this has not just become a federal case.”

Unlike before when everyone pressed to get an audience with the officer on duty, at Clark’s words, the entire crowd jostled each other to get out the door. I knew just where they headed—to the bank. Everyone wanted to make sure whatever monies they had deposited were still there. I would have too had I not already checked that morning to find what I expected, a dwindling sum that wouldn’t last the month. I had already contacted the mayor and would start work at the hardware store on Monday.

When I joined Clark in his office, I found him informing the bank employee he would confirm whether any sensitive data had been gathered through the use of the camera in his home. Clark wrote down the man’s name and number and sent him on his way. Before Clark could go to the evidence room to review the tapes, call after call came through on his line. His cell phone rang constantly, and he had to calm countless visitors. At last, he shut off all communication devices and shouted to the staff he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances, and then he slammed the door and locked it.

I don’t blame you
, I thought, resting in one of the visitor chairs and facing him. We had both been going for a couple days trying to crack the case, and Clark still had poor Miles in lockup. I had peeked into his files again to learn the mayor’s secret. She had indeed been with her doctor on the night of the murder—a psychiatrist. This was why our esteemed mayor snuck out of town at an ungodly hour. She valued how she looked in the public eye above all else. I had shared what I learned with Monica, and in usual Monica style, she had quipped, “So Olivia Walsh is coo-coo?”

I had frowned at her. “That’s not nice, and no, she’s not crazy. She’s getting the help she needs. The mayor is on medication to help combat obsessive-compulsive disorder. A lot of people deal with it on some level. Many are able to cope with no outside help. I guess the mayor isn’t one of them.”

As I had thought of it, I realized why she had become so angry with me for pretending I had a phobia in order to excuse not working at the elementary school. Even though I didn’t know about her problem, she had seen it as me making fun of her, which was far from the truth.

So, if the mayor had not killed George in a rage for cheating on her with another man, then was it possible Miles had committed the crime, or was it someone else we hadn’t even thought of? I knew from sitting with him, Clark’s lack of credible suspects frustrated him, and the issue with someone spying on everyone could not help.

He sat at his desk with his face in his hands, breathing deep. I hadn’t looked at him since the night I possessed him and had stared through his eyes in the mirror. I imagined exhaustion beat him down, and I extended a hand to touch his. At the same time, Clark raised his head, and as was his habit lately, he raked fingers through his hair, shoving it off his forehead.

I squinted at him. A black-gray smudge marred his skin just below his hairline. I had the urge to lick my thumb to try wiping it away, but I couldn’t do that. Even as I reached for him again, a gut feeling told me this spot was not anything visible with the physical eye.

Someone banged on the office door, and an officer’s shadow appeared through the glass. Clark gritted his teeth and shouted. “I thought I told you not to disturb me.”

“I’m sorry, chief,” the officer called back, “but you said you were giving a public statement this afternoon, and the mayor’s calling. She wants to go over what you’ll say.”

Clark grumbled and rose to his feet. He jerked open a side drawer in his desk and rifled around a little, then moved to another and another. At one of the file cabinets, he seemed to find what he looked for and brought out a small cracked mirror. I chuckled in silence. Not the type to worry about his appearance much. He tried smoothing the jerky spikes in his hair with little success and stared at his face. The smudge was still visible through the disordered hair, but Clark didn’t seem to see it.

“You look like crap,” he told his reflection. “I guess that’s what happens with three hours sleep and a gallon of coffee. Guess I’ll have to deal with her.”

You can do it
, I cheered him, but my heart was heavy. I didn’t follow Clark to the mayor’s office. Rather I returned to my own home and spent time with Jake when Monica brought him home. The night took a million years to descend, and I had to wait longer still for Ian to return from his night’s feeding. When he seemed to appear almost the way that I did outside his home, I started.

“Good evening, Liberty,” he intoned, meeting my gaze. “You are looking…depressed.”

“You can’t see me.”

A glint of something flashed in his eyes, and I followed him into his home. “Poor choice of words. I meant the gloom coming from you is almost visible.”

“Wonderful,” I moaned.

As usual, we entered his book room, and Ian took a seat in an armchair. I let him see me and sat nearby, learning forward in my seat and imitating Clark’s positioning earlier with my hands over my face. After I had had time to collect myself, I straightened.

“What happens if I possess a person too long?”

“Why?” Suspicion colored Ian’s tone.

“I…”

“How long did you stay in Clark Givens?”

“I don’t remember.” I surged to my feet and paced. “A lot happened. His office isn’t far from the mayor’s, and I jumped right out of him when he went after the person who broke into the mayor’s office, but I’m not sure how long before that I sat reviewing files.”

“You used your possession time reviewing files?”

I huffed. “It was much more important work than it sounds.”

He stared at me to the point that I wondered if he blinked or if he needed to. “Tell me specifically why you are asking this question.”

I hesitated but then took the plunge. “There’s a mark.” I swallowed, my head beginning to spin. “More of a smudge really. It’s on Clark’s forehead. I could be wrong, but I don’t think it’s physical. He didn’t seem to see it, but I did.”

“The Mark of Death.”

“M-M-M.” I could not say the word for anything.

“Clark Givens will die within two to ten years. No exceptions.”

A few seconds passed before I took in the full brunt of Ian’s words and what it meant for Clark. I had lost my body and essentially stolen Clark’s. Now he would die? “C-Could you be wrong?”

“Unfortunately, no. I have seen it before.” He stood and strode to the bookshelf to remove a book. This time, after he had flipped through the pages, he brought it to me to have a look. The illustration shot an arrow of pain straight to my heart. The man pictured had a mark on his forehead that matched Clark’s, and the caption beneath read, “The Mark of Death.”