Ghouls Just Want to Have Fun (21 page)

"Well, what's he doing here, then?"

A second later Drew Van Vleet joined us on the front doorstep, and I had the opportunity to repeat my question. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Probably the same thing you've been fumbling around trying to do for the past couple days," he said. "Get an interview with Elizabeth Courtney Howard. The difference between us, however, is that I plan to snag said interview. No matter what it takes." He pulled a fancy camera, complete with a zoom lens out of his expensive shoulder bag.

"Is that right? So how did you find out about Howard?" I asked.

He smiled. "Grease enough palms, and you'd be surprised at what you can learn," he said. "Besides, I knew you were working something you thought was big, so I decided that it would be a good idea to keep an eye on you."

"You followed me? That's low," I said. "What's the matter? You can't scare up your own stories? What kind of newsman are you, anyway?"

Van Vleet took a shot of the house and looked at the result before he saved it. "The kind who will win journalistic awards and kudos when you're not even a footnote in that rag you call a newspaper."

"Oooh. Who wrote that line for you? A spinmeister for one of the major political parties?"

Van Vleet ignored me, opened his bag and stuck his camera back inside. I was just getting ready to knock on the door when I picked up the sound of weeping.

"Is that crying?" Shelby Lynne asked.

I tensed. "Yes," I said. "It is."

"Is it coming from inside the house?"

It took a few seconds for Shelby and me to realize the crying came from none other than Drew Van Vleet's leather shoulder bag. We both stared at him. He fumbled about in his bag for a second, and the crying suddenly stopped.

"That was you?" I asked. Understanding, when it finally dawned, was followed a heartbeat later by anger. "You were the crier? The whole time?"

Van Vleet had the good sense to look slightly embarrassed--by being caught in the act, if not for the act itself. It didn't last long. He simply shrugged.

"Seemed the thing to do at the time," he said. "I wanted to scare you off the story. The legend of Loralie offered the perfect opportunity to do just that."

"There's only one problem with that reasoning," I told him. "It didn't work." Okay, so I admit it might have worked, had I not wanted this story so much--and had so many folks going out of their way to help me get it.

He shrugged again. "It was worth a shot," he said.

Beside me, Shelby Lynne was performing some serious knuckle-cracking.

"This guy set out to deliberately scare you off the story? You want I should take care of him?" she asked, and I felt like a Mafia boss.

I shook my head. "Unfortunately, it's a free country," I told her, "and I doubt he broke any laws. At least any that I can prove."

"So what do we do?" she asked.

"Stick with the plan," I said, and reached up and slammed the knocker down. "We stick with the plan."

To my surprise, the door swung open. No one was there. I looked at Shelby Lynne. I stuck a hand on the doorjamb.

"Hello!" I called into the house. "Anyone home? Ms. Courtney Howard? Are you home?"

The only response was the echo of my own calls.

"Hello!" Shelby Lynne called out. "Yoo-hoo! Anyone home?"

"I'm going in," Van Vleet said, preparing to shove past me.

"Excuse me? You can't just barge into someone's home," I told him. "That's breaking and entering. Right, Shelby?" Shelby Lynne looked at me in surprise. I surprised myself. Here I was, facing an open door leading to the scoop of the century, and I was worried about protecting the object of that scoop's privacy? Irony. Oh, irony.

"The door is open. How is that breaking and entering?" Van Vleet asked.

"Uh, maybe because you weren't invited into the house," I replied.

"Criminal trespass at worst," he said, preparing to enter. I put a hand on his arm, suddenly feeling very protective of the woman who resided there.

"This isn't cool, Drew," I told him. "Let's give her a call and see if she picks up, tell her we're down here and handle it that way."

"I've done the calling route. I didn't even get the courtesy of a response," Drew said. "I've played the good old newsboy angle and got doors shut in my face. I'm going in. So, take your hand off my arm." He yanked away from me and entered the house.

"What do we do now?" Shelby Lynne asked.

"We go in," I told her. "To make sure Van Vleet behaves."

She nodded. "You should have let me thump him," she told me, and it was my turn to nod.

"Hindsight is always twenty-twenty," I said. "And cheer up. You might get your chance yet," I added.

Shelby and I stepped into the house, and I called out once again to alert the resident author that she had visitors.

The house was lovely, in an old-fashioned kind of way. We stepped into a small foyer, which was home to an antique pedestal table my mom would give her DVD-R for.

We moved on into the living room on a well-worn hardwood floor that had recently been polished to a dark sheen. A large, rather stern-looking stone fireplace was on the opposite wall, with built-in bookcases and shelves on either side. Two high-backed sofas with carved wood on the backs and arms faced each other with a large cocktail table between them. A couple of Queen Anne chairs completed the arrangement. A worn but obviously costly rug was on the floor.

At the far edge of the living room was a long, impressive curving staircase that led to the second floor. I stopped at the bottom and called up.

"Elizabeth? Are you there? It's Tressa Turner from the
Gazette
." Okay, so I took the liberty of being on a first-name basis with the author. It was something I could look back on and remember with some level of fondness. "The door was open. Could you spare a moment of your time?"

I frowned and looked at Shelby, who had joined me in staring up the staircase. Nothing.

I looked around the uncluttered room with a wistful eye. My house was so messy, the dust bunnies had dust bunny babies.

I noticed a sheet of paper in a garbage can near the stairs and reached in and pulled it out. Before I could take a look at it--I can be a bit of a compulsive snoop, especially when given access to a famous person's "gar-
baj
"--Drew Van Vleet nudged past me at the bottom of the staircase.

"I'm going up," he said.

I shoved the paper in a side pocket of my backpack, put my arms out like a school crossing guard or traffic cop to stop him. Tressa, the human shield. "You can't go up there! If Elizabeth wanted to acknowledge our presence in her house, she'd be down here," I told him.

"Try stopping me," Van Vleet said, shoving me to the side, only to be deterred by a roadblock he had zero chance of dislodging. Shelby Lynne stood with arms crossed and an I-dare-you look about her.

Unfortunately, Van Vleet was more resourceful--and more foolish than I thought. He dove between Shelby Lynne's legs and climbed the stairs doggy-style. I ran up after him.

"Get back down there!" I told him in a hushed voice. "There's obviously no one here."

Drew Van Vleet stopped in front of the door that led to the room I'd, uh, surveilled that night from the tree. He put a hand on the doorknob.

"Don't do that!"

He turned the knob. The door was locked.

"Ms. Courtney Howard? Are you in there?" he said.

I looked at the locked door, wondering why this door was locked and the rest were standing open.

I tapped on the door. "Elizabeth?" I said.

"Back off! This is my story," Drew Van Vleet snapped, giving my shoulder a shove.

Our confrontation was brought to a rather anticlimactic end--and a fortuitous one for Drew Van Vleet, since I was about to clobber him--when we heard the sound of a car pulling up the driveway.

"Shit!" Van Vleet apparently wasn't as sure as he'd been a few minutes ago that he hadn't broken any laws. "They're back!"

I ran to a narrow window at the end of the hall and peeked out. Sure enough, the blue van was pulling into the drive behind Van Vleet's SUV.

"Run!" I warned, with no idea where to run to. I just knew I didn't want to be caught inside the house with no way to explain being there that didn't end with an incarceration.

"Down here!" Shelby hissed from the bottom of the stairs. I ran down, Van Vleet on my tail. Shelby motioned to a door leading to the basement. "We can get to the basement back here, then crawl out the cellar door and hightail it to the cemetery once they've entered the house. We can pretend we've been there all along," she said.

As a plan, it had merit. Except for the fact that Shelby Lynne wanted us to make our escape through the very same cellar I'd seen the oblong box carried into that very first night.

Still, knowing that Drew Van Vleet was responsible for the Loralie hauntings helped me haul this reporter's rear down the narrow, steep stairs to the basement with barely a flinch. I kept my eyes glued to Shelby Lynne's back, not taking a chance on seeing something I didn't want to see.

We made our way over to the stairs that led out through the cellar door on the side of the house, and sat breathless, waiting for the occupants to enter the house before we made our way outside into the sunlight again.

I shivered in the cold gloom of the basement. The door upstairs squeaked and then shut, and we heard someone call out. That was our cue. We climbed up the stairs one right after the other, opened the door and climbed out, shutting it behind us and running for the shelter of the cemetery.

I carried one thought with me as I sprinted for cover: Thank goodness I'd worn my Converse.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

While we caught our breath in the cemetery, I took the lead and outlined our strategy. I know. Boo! Scary!

"Okay," I said between wheezing breaths. "Here's what we do. Once they don't find us inside"--breath--"they'll come out into the yard to look for us." Breath. "We let 'em find us." Two breaths. "Act all surprised."

"Brilliant, Einstein," Van Vleet said. "How do we explain being back here?"

"You just have your camera out and pretend to be a reporter, and I'll take care of the rest," I told him.

Shelby Lynne gave me a this-better-be-good-or-I'll-squash-you look.

"This is insane," Drew Van Vleet said after a minute or two. "I'm not gonna cower in this graveyard. I've done nothing wrong. I'm going to march up there and demand to speak with Elizabeth Courtney Howard."

"Is that right?" Shelby Lynne caught him by the collar. "You're the one who got us into this mess in the first place by going into that house when you shouldn't have. If you think I'm gonna let you put my future at risk, you're nuts. You're gonna do just what Tressa tells you," she advised Drew.

"Oh, yeah?" He looked at me. "And what if I don't?"

"Then Shelby Lynne and I both tell the cops how we warned you not to go into that house and how you ignored us. It may be simple trespass, but it'll still make an interesting headline in the
Gazette
" I told him.

Shelby Lynne reached into his bag and pulled out his recorder. "Besides, calling a person and playing sick jokes like this could be considered harassment," she pointed out.

Drew's Adam's apple made a couple quick trips up and down. "You win," he said. "For now."

"And I doubt very much if Publisher Van Vleet would be amused," I added.

I got out my camera and shot pictures of the house and of Loralie's headstone. Several minutes later we heard voices. Showtime.

"What are you doing there?"

I gave a little start--you know, as if taken by surprise--and turned to find Vanessa McCormick and Lizzie's boy toy standing watching us. Drew Van Vleet continued to shoot pictures. Shelby simply stood there, a rather large mime.

Come on, guys. Work with me. Work with me.

"Oh, hello again, Vanessa," I said, putting my camera into my bag. "How are you this dreary morning?"

"What are you three doing back?" the boy toy asked. He was shorter than I'd thought. Under six feet tall. Shorter than Shelby Lynne, for sure. And he wasn't pleased to find us here.

"Oh, good question," I said. "Good question." I walked over to the couple and leaned toward Vanessa. "We're actually working on a story," I said, a conspiratorial tone in my voice. I took her arm and led her toward the house. "You see, Vanessa, we know about the B-and-B."

She gave me a questioning look.

"Bed-and-breakfast," I whispered. "The real estate deal with J&R Development."

She looked surprised.

"We also know the sale was finalized today," I said. "Even though it's not the caliber of story that, say, an interview with your employer is, it's still big news for the county. By the way, Ms. Courtney Howard hasn't changed her mind about that interview, by any chance, has she?"

Vanessa shook her head.

"That's too bad," I said.

"Do we have enough shots, Drew?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Guess so," he grumbled.

"Excellent," I said. "Well, we'll just be on our way, Vanessa. And if Elizabeth changes her mind about the interview, be a dear and give me a call, won't you?" I wrote my cell phone number on a
Gazette
business card. "She can call me after she finishes her final book, if she prefers. Anytime. Day or night," I added.

Vanessa took the card and stared at it. I put out a hand to the boy toy. "And you are?"

"Leaving. As I'd advise you to," he said, and turned on his heel with a really nasty observation about reporters.

"I'm sorry if I've upset your friend," I told Vanessa. "We're leaving."

"That's Ms. Courtney Howard's driver," Vanessa explained. "Tony. He's a bit protective of Elizabeth," she said.

I nodded. Tony the boy toy was protective of his employer, huh? So protective, he left her locked in her bedroom?

"We'll be leaving, too," Vanessa McCormick added. "We're heading back to Connecticut early tomorrow morning. Elizabeth's last book is a wrap."

"So, I guess that's that," I said. "Well, it was nice meeting you at least."

She nodded. "It was good to meet you, too," she said and walked back to the house. We all walked to our respective vehicles and got in.

I couldn't help but glance at Elizabeth's window as we drove away. This time, the curtains were closed.

It was getting close to the time when I was supposed to meet Manny at the hospital, so I offered to drive Shelby Lynne home first.

"I can ride along with you," Shelby said. "No biggie. I'm supposed to be sick, anyway, so it's not as if anyone would be surprised to see me at the hospital."

I could tell she was disappointed that the Courtney Howard story wasn't going to happen. I was bummed, too, but at the same time I was relieved that we'd avoided an ugly confrontation that could have landed us all in hot water.

I couldn't shake my unease over the locked bedroom door. Was it possible that Courtney Howard was being confined against her own will? Victimized by trusted employees who stood to benefit from controlling the older woman's finances and access to the outside world? I knew it sounded far-fetched. Vanessa McCormick didn't seem the type to take advantage of an old woman. But I'd learned fairly recently that you couldn't depend on anyone being what or who they claimed.

And what about Driver Tony? He seemed a little rough around the edges. Still, I supposed that bad boy image had a certain appeal. Which brought me around to Manny and my debut as his significant other.

I pulled into the hospital parking lot and turned off the Plymouth.

"You have a sick friend here, huh?" Shelby Lynne said.

"Never met her before in my life," I told her.

"You're visiting someone you've never met before?"

I nodded, grabbing my rearview mirror off the floor and holding it out like a compact so that I could reapply lip gloss. I never went anywhere without a heavy-duty coat of lip gloss.

"I'm doing a favor for a friend. It's his ahnt."

"Huh?"

"His aunt."

"And he needs you to go with him because...?"

It was Rick Townsend's third degree all over again.

I turned to Shelby Lynne to explain, and noticed that her eyes were huge.

"Shelby?" I asked. "Is something wrong?"

She pointed past me. I started to turn, when the driver's-side door fell away and I tumbled out. I expected to hit the concrete, but strong arms lifted me before I struck the ground.

"Hey, Barbie Doll," Manny said, settling me on my feet. I straightened my clothing.

Shelby Lynne scooted toward the driver's side and leaned out. "This is your friend?" she asked, getting an eyeful. "Introductions, please."

"Shelby Lynne, Manny. Manny, Shelby Lynne."

Shelby held out one large hand. Manny seemed to stare at it for a second before he shook it.

"Good to meet you, Manny," Shelby Lynne said.

"Hey," Manny replied.

"I won't be long," I told Shelby Lynne.

"Take your time," she said with a wink. "Take your time." • Manny and I headed for the hospital entrance.

"Friend of yours?" he asked, obviously referring to Shelby.

I thought about it for a second.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, we're friends." Like, how did that happen? I gave Manny the short version of how Shelby Lynne and I had hooked up, and explained the homecoming controversy. "I'd give anything to see those preps lose big, and Shelby Lynne and Tom win," I told him. "So, how's your aunt Mo?" I asked as we approached the main entrance. "Is she improving?"

Manny shook his head.

"What's wrong with her?" I asked.

"Congestive heart failure," he replied.

"Sorry, Manny," I said. "That's tough."

He opened the hospital door for me, and we entered. We made a short stop at the gift shop, and Manny asked me to pick out a flower arrangement for his aunt while he picked up a box of chocolates. I couldn't resist selecting an ice cream cone vase with an assortment of white and pink carnations as faux ice cream. Trust me. It was adorable.

We made our way down the hallway to his great-aunt's room. Just outside the door, I grabbed Manny's arm.

"What am I supposed to say again?" I asked. "How long have we supposedly been dating? Isn't she going to wonder why she hasn't met me before now?"

Manny shrugged. "Manny's a private person."

"And it's just going to be your great-aunt Mo we're telling, right?" I asked. "Not Great-uncle So-and-So, First-cousin What's-Her-Name and Second-cousin-Twice- Removed Whatever. Right?"

"Just Ahnt Mo," Manny said. "No sweat. Manny'll do most of the talkin'. All Barbie has to do is take my lead and play along."

I'm usually in for it when someone tells me what I have to do, and it starts with the word "all."

Manny suddenly grabbed my left hand and slipped a ring on my finger. Without warning he opened the hospital room door.

"Yo. Ahnt Mo."

Sounded like the beginning of a rap.

I tagged in on Manny's heels, sticking close behind him and staring at the rock on my third finger that had to be fake. It had to be. It was as big as a Skittle.

"Ahnt Mo's been wondering where her Manny's been keepin' himself," came from the bed. "Come give Ahntie Mo a big hug.

I saw now where Manny got his third-person-speak. I peeked around him at the figure reclining on the hospital bed. I also saw where Manny got his bulk.

Aunt Mo was heavyset but by no means fat. Dark hair that had probably once been jet-black but was now salt-and-pepper was pulled back in a tight pony-tail. Aunt Mo had cast off her hospital bedsheet, but was wearing the traditional ugly light blue print hospital gown.

Manny released my hand and went up to hug his aunt.

"How you feelin'?" he asked, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Don't help to complain, so Ahnt Mo will just say never been better and leave it at that."

"'s good," Manny said.

Aunt Mo leaned to one side. "Who's that hiding behind Manny? I know Manny's shadow is bigger than that."

I was about to take a step to the side when Manny grabbed my hand and yanked me forward.

"This here's Tressa, Ahnt Mo," he said.

Aunt Mo looked at me for a long moment, one of those top-of-the-head-tip-of-the-tootsies numbers that make you feel really uncomfortable and wonder if your zipper is down or if you've walked out of the house without a brassiere. She finally looked at Manny.

"Tressa? Did you say Tressa? What kind of name is that, anyway? Tressa. Ahntie Mo never heard of no one called Tressa," she said, once again giving me the benefit of her appraisal. "Unless she worked in a beauty parlor." She leaned up in her bed. "You work in a beauty parlor?"

I shook my head. "I work at a newspaper. And at an ice cream shop. And every other weekend at Bargain City," I told her.

"Hmm. With a name like Tressa, you should open a beauty parlor. Tressa's House of Tresses. Don't that sound fine?"

"Very nice," I replied.

Her eyes narrowed and centered on my face.

"Manny never brung a girl home before," she said, and I couldn't tell if she was talking about Manny or to him, so I just stood there. "What makes you so special?"

I looked up at Manny, completely blanking on how to respond to this inquiry.

"You know how you always tell Manny to find a good girl?" he said. "Well, here she is. Manny's good girl." Manny grabbed my left hand and held it up in front of Aunt Mo's nose.

"Oh my god! Is that an engagement ring? Oh my lordy! Are you two engaged? Oh my god! Oh my god. Oh my god! My Manny's found himself a nice girl! And a hardworkin' one! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" The old woman's hands suddenly moved to her chest. Not in an oh-my-god-I'm-just-so-happy kind of move, but more along the lines of an oh-my-god-I'm-having-the-big-one number.

"Are you all right?" I asked her. "Is she all right?" I asked Manny.

He moved to his aunt's side. "Ahnt Mo, are you okay?"

She nodded, but she didn't look okay. And apparently the heart monitor thingy she was hooked up to agreed, because all of a sudden alarms started going off and people started running in and yelling something about someone coding. And they put the head of the bed down and shoved Manny and me out of the room.

"I've killed Ahnt Mo," Manny said as we waited for news of his aunt's cardiac episode. He must've been upset. He'd used first person.

I rubbed his broad back. "Look on the bright side, Manny," I told him. "You made her last moments on this earth extremely happy ones. In fact, I don't recall ever seeing anyone quite that happy," I added. "Ever."

The doctors came out about half an hour later, and I could tell Manny was poised for the worst.

"Are you Mrs. DeMarco's nephew?" a hospital-green-clad doctor-type asked, and Manny nodded.

"Ahnt Mo's gone, isn't she, Doc?" Manny said and I reached out and took his hand and squeezed it, and felt him squeeze back.

The doctor smiled. "No. As a matter of fact, your aunt is resting comfortably," he told Manny.

"Say what?"

"She had an episode with her heart there, called an atrial tachycardia. Fortunately for her, with her history of structural heart problems, the episode actually helped jump-start her heart out of the sluggish rhythm it had fallen into. As you know, with the medication not working, we were hesitant to use the paddles on her, fearing that might kill her outright, so believe it or not, this little episode was actually the perfect medicine at the perfect time."

I looked at the doctor. "You mean she's going to live?" I asked.

He nodded. "Not forever, but for now," he said.

I looked at Manny. He looked at me. We both stared at the ring on my left hand, fourth finger.

Manny and Tressa were screwed.

I dropped Shelby Lynne off at home before three-thirty, reminding her of her makeover appointment, and called Gram to make sure she was armed and ready. If Shelby noticed my preoccupation and the gem the size of a pea on my hand, she didn't mention it.