Givin' Up The Ghost (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Mystery) (10 page)

“So he drowned, then?”

“No,” answered Simon. “The back of his head was crushed and
it looks like foul play, according to the investigators.”

“What? I thought...” began Andy, but he didn’t finish. He
shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed
the back of his neck and then ran fingers through his hair. He shook his head
again, leaning forward. 

“What did you think?” I asked him. “Because,” I glanced at
Badger and back again, “his family is trying to understand what happened - what
might have been going on in his life that they might not have known about. And
since you were his friend...” I shrugged, letting the sentence hang. 

“Look, Badger, we don’t need to discuss this,” said Andy,
“There were rumors, you know the sort of thing people gossip about.”

Badger leaned forward in earnest. “Andy, he was my father.
He’s dead - that’s why I’m here. I want to know what was going on in his life
before he died. Did he confide anything to you?”

“No, we had lunch before he disappeared, discussed a few
projects. That’s all.”

Badger perked up. “What projects? What was he working on?”

“A few small things. A new gazebo in the park. Upgrades on
Sabrina Castle, cobblestone repairs on the more high-traffic areas. It’s been
kind of slow.” 

“Was he having problems with anyone? Did he have enemies? If
you know anything, even rumors, I want to know,” pleaded Badger.

Andy sighed. “Okay. I heard a rumor that he was having a
fling with Shelly. When they disappeared at the same time, I assumed...you know
- they were together.” He shrugged.

“I’m aware of that rumor,” said Badger. “But I don’t believe
it.” He pinned Andy with a piercing gaze. “Why do you believe it? Is there any
proof? Did you see anything in particular? Do you know for sure?” Sometimes
Badger can be intense. Like right then.

“Whoa,” said Andy, “slow down. Look, when people spend a
fair amount of time together, they sometimes grow close. Your dad and Shelly
spent a great deal of time together. It doesn’t mean he didn’t love your mom,
or you kids. Sometimes, when men get to a certain age...” he faltered. “Hell,
men have needs, you know? And Shelly was attractive.”

Andy squirmed. That had not been an easy thing to say to the
son of a dead man. And Badger’s intent gaze pinning him to the chair hadn’t
made it any easier.

“But you have no proof?” Badger insisted.

“Nooo,” he hesitated. “Not really.”

“You don’t sound completely confident,” I said. Badger’s
rising anger required defusing, so I jumped on Andy’s hesitation. I was
learning that Badger could be hot-tempered and wondered how much of that came
from Bart.

Andy sat back in his chair, re-crossing his legs. He rubbed
his chin between thumb and forefinger, like he was smoothing down a beard.
“Well, the night of your mom’s birthday party, they did look rather cozy.” He
squirmed before looking up at Badger. 

“I see,” said Badger, getting to his feet. “Well, thank you
for your honesty. I appreciate it.” His stony look and set jaw spoke volumes.
He was not a happy camper.

“Sure, no problem.” Andy looked miserable, like he regretted
saying more than he should have. “Tell your mom I’ll come by to see if I can do
anything.”

Badger nodded curtly and strode down the hall. Simon and I
hurried after him.

I caught up to him and grabbed his sleeve. “Badger, wait.” 

I glanced back over my shoulder to check if Andy was
watching, but he had gone back into his office.

“We should look at your dad’s office,” I whispered. “The
police will no doubt search it sometime today.”

He nodded. “Brilliant. This way.”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure.” His jaw muscles flexed. “Someone murdered my
father, and I can’t expect to always hear what I want to hear. That’s something
I’ll get used to I guess. I just hope my mum hasn’t heard the same rumor.”

“What Andy said is probably true, about people working
together and getting close,” said Simon. “But I’ve seen your parents together –
they were in love. No way - he wasn’t cheating.”

“Thanks, mate.” Badger cracked a lopsided grin. 

“This way.” He hung a right and led us to the end of the
corridor. “In here.” He tried the knob, but it didn’t turn. Reaching into his
pocket, he pulled out a chain attached to a set of keys. Selecting a key, he
inserted it into the lock and turned. “I carry his extra key since the last time
he lost it.”

We entered, closing the door behind us. The room was as neat
as Andy’s was messy, and similar to his home office. A few folders lay open on
the desk, looking like he had only stepped out for a cup of coffee and would be
back any minute. An eerie feeling, for sure. But approaching the desk, I noted
that a fine layer of dust blanketed everything. I shivered and searched around
for the source. A flash of flowing brown hair attached to an indistinguishable,
blurry body, disappeared through the door. So. At least one person followed us
through the halls, then. I didn’t get a good look, but I had an inkling of the
spirit’s identity. Since I didn’t know for sure, I decided to keep it to
myself.

We searched the office, grateful that it hadn’t been given
to someone else in Bart’s absence. Still, we didn’t know exactly what we were
looking for.

“Give us a clue, Indigo.” Badger rummaged through the top
desk drawer while I searched the shelves. Simon riffled through the sketches on
the graphing table. “Is it bigger than a bread box? Smaller than a flash
drive?”

I walked over to the desk. “I don’t know what I’m hoping to
find, but I know what I’m not finding,” I said. “His camera and cell phone.”

“Yes. He must have had them on him,” said Badger. “So either
the killer has them or got rid of them.”

I nodded. “Either one could have helped us. Photos or phone
calls would have been useful in helping us with what was happening up to the
day he died.” The inbox on the desktop overflowed with papers. I was hit with a
sudden idea. I thumbed quickly through the pile.

“Well, this has been sort of useless,” said Badger, joining
Simon in the center of the office. “We may as well go.”

“Aha!” I exclaimed, pulling a stapled packet from the middle
of the pile and waving it in the air. “Here it is.” I flicked further down the
pile and pulled out two more stapled packets.

Footsteps in the corridor brought us up short. We froze and
stared wide-eyed at each other. I quickly folded the packets and tucked them in
my back pocket.

“Over here!” whispered Badger, pulling me by the wrist to a
nook behind the door. Badger flattened himself against the wall and wrapped his
arms around me. Footsteps stopped outside the door, and the doorknob slowly
twisted and creaked open. A flash of pink suit appeared inside the doorway,
hand still on knob. She spoke over her shoulder to an unseen person. “They’re
not in here. They must have snuck by me.” The door closed and footsteps
receded. She would have been expecting us to check out and hand in our badges
before leaving.

I let out a sigh, but stayed inside the circle of Badger’s
arms. After all – she could have come back. And wrapped in Badger’s arms felt
pretty darn...er, um...safe. That’s right – safe.

We waited a few minutes, then tiptoed back into the room.
Simon came out from under the desk.

“Whew! That was close,” whispered Simon.

“Too close,” said Badger. “I wonder why all the security?”

I pressed my ear against the door. “I think it’s clear.”
Opening the door, I peered out. No one in sight. I gestured to the boys to
follow me.

We pad-footed up the hallway, slinky as cats – okay, more
like cat-burglars, but the point is, we made it out without being seen, dashing
by the vacant reception desk and waiting for the interminably slow elevator to
whisk us away. And just in time, too, because Badger’s ringing cell phone may
as well have shouted out with flashing neon arrows over our heads, “interlopers
right here.”

He pulled the squealer out of his front pocket, checking the
caller ID. Riley. He answered, listened for a minute, then said, “Right, we’re
on our way,” before flipping the phone closed.

He was not smiling.

––––––––

“R
iley found out that my dad had an argument with Butch
recently,” said Badger. “She wants us to check it out.”

Riley somehow managed to obtain information without going
out to investigate. I was starting to question her secret sources, but the
information was invaluable, so I didn’t question it
too
closely.

We headed back to the market square, where Butch’s was
located a few doors down from the Blind Badger. We walked along the ginnel,
avoiding the stream flowing down the center and went through the back door of
the butcher shop. As we headed down the passageway, the first thing that hit me
was the smell. Raw meat.

My nostrils flared and gag reflex triggered. I shivered.
Large amounts of meat meant large amounts of blood. And the smell of blood
totally creeped me out. It might have something to do with the ghosts I
encountered. They liked to show me their gory wounds and then accompanied it
with the metallic odor of blood in case I didn’t get it.

Haunches of meat, beef, pigs and chickens, hung from metal hooks
and rows of metal tables lined up like dissection tables in a morgue. I
shivered with revulsion and tried not to breathe too deeply.

Translucent furry rabbits, squawking chickens and squealing
pigs flitted everywhere like it was an animal graveyard. I reminded myself not
to touch anything.

We found Butch in the back, looking lost in thought as he
wielded a hefty meat tenderizer. I couldn’t help but notice how efficient he
was. I glanced nervously at Simon as Badger loudly cleared his throat to get Butch’s
attention. As soon as he glimpsed Badger, he dropped his tenderizing block and
grabbed him in a bear hug, and burst into tears.

“I cannot believe this has happened,” he cried, in his
slight Italian accent. “Why, it seems we was just-a fighting about his order,
and now he’s-a gone.” Red splotchy spots sprang up on Badger’s face and his
neck turned bright pink where Butch had a death grip around it. I started to
fear for his life. “We will never fight again! I cannot believe it! My poor
boy, I am so sorry.” This guy was either sincere or an incredibly talented
actor.

“Umm, thanks Butch,” Badger tried to disengage from Butch’s
hold. “So, you’ve heard, then.” Badger stared down at the red spot on his
shirt.

“Yes, certainly,” he said, wiping his Basset Hound eyes on
his blood-stained apron. “Everybody now knows.” He began crying again. “On-a
Thursday, we was fighting. He says his order is short, I say he is crazy, I
filled it myself, he says no, I say yes, and now,” he cried, “never again.” All
the while he gestured wildly with his hands. His accent became thicker the more
upset he became.

Butch grabbed Badger’s upper arm and dragged him over to the
freezer. “Here,” he said, “your papa is right. He wins this-a one.” Butch
pulled a twenty pound haunch of beef out and thrust it into Badger’s arms.
Badger tried to hold it away from his body, while Butch thrust more meat into
his arms.

I’d had enough. I backed toward the door, using the sink on
my left to insure I didn’t trip. Big mistake. Glancing into the sink, splotches
of blood swirled into puddles of standing water. Blood drained from my face. I
have never fainted before, but if I took one more breath... The boys didn’t
need me here, right? I could totally step out for fresh air...

“Uh,” said Simon, “perhaps we should come back for this
later, Butch.” He tugged the meat out of Badger’s arms and set it on the table.
“Ya see, they can’t go home yet, until the police say so, and so they have
nowhere to put the meat.”

Simon took hold of Badger’s arm and started pulling him
toward the door, with me already backing out as quickly as I could.

“Oh, yes,” said Butch. “When you are home again I will bring
it to you. Do not you worry,” he said following us to the door, “you will have
plenty to eat.”

Badger kept nodding and saying “Thank you,” as Simon pulled
him outside. Dark fleshy splotches stained his shirt.

That non-hug back in Bart’s office back at Shoreline?
Sooo
not gonna happen here.

“Whew!” said Simon. “We can’t seriously consider him a
suspect, can we? I thought he was going to adopt you right there on the spot.”

I was still trying to breathe normally, so couldn’t answer.

“At least we know what the fight was about,” said Badger. He
shook his head. “He volunteered the information without being asked. Fighting
was part of their relationship.”

“On the other hand,” said Simon. “Did you see the size of
that hammer he was using? And quite expertly, too, I might add. It looked like
it could cause the sort of damage inflicted on your dad. And he
does
have a rather bad temper, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, he does,” said Badger with a sigh. “And
unfortunately, so did my dad.”

––––––––

F
riday morning I awoke to an insistent tapping noise. Who in
the world had the nerve to come calling at this hour? I wrapped my blanket
around me and stumbled out of my kitchen armchair to peek through the window
before opening the door.

“Cappy? What are you doing here?” I frowned. I so wanted to
shut the door in his face. Darkness still blanketed the sky. I squinted at the
clock on the kitchen wall. Eight o’clock in the morning. We had only gotten to
sleep around four.

“I need to talk to you before I go to work.” He looked
around, eyeing the chair next to the fire that I had vacated, and where Simon
still slept in his.

“We fell asleep talking.” Why did I feel the need to
explain? He didn’t need to know about our strange sleeping habits. The Bagley’s
had all gone home, forensics having completed their jobs in only one day, so
Simon and I went back to staying up most the night and falling asleep by the
fire.

Cappy’s
whatever
shrug said he had no interest in the
matter.

I went to the sink and filled the coffee carafe with water.
When the coffee was on, I walked over and tapped Simon on the head. When he
didn’t respond, I said, “Cleo, wake him up will you?”

Almost immediately, Simon leapt out of his chair. “What
the...?” he began, confused.

“We have company,” I said.

Simon stumbled on his way over to the table where Cappy sat.
“Bloody cat is a bloody menace,” he grumbled.

Cappy, not seeing any sign of a cat, raised his eyebrows in
question.

“Cleo is our resident ghost cat,” Simon said.

Cappy warily glanced around the room, but didn’t see a cat,
ghost or otherwise.

“Don’t worry, mate, I can’t see her either. I can only feel
her.” He rubbed his arm where bright red dots of blood rose to the surface. He
walked back to the stone fireplace and stoked the remaining coals, and then
added more wood to build up the fire before returning to the table.

I dashed to my bedroom and dressed in sweatshirt, jeans and
bunny slippers, my hair contained in a rather messy French braid.

Pouring coffee for the three of us, I pulled scones from a
paper bag, set plates, utensils, butter, jam and lemon curd on the table, and
joined them.

“All right. Talk to me.” I was in no mood for pleasantries.
I sipped my coffee with half-closed eyes.

When Cappy didn’t answer, I looked across the table to see
wide open owl eyes, with an equally gaping mouth.

Simon burst out laughing. “I think he’s met our cat.”

“Don’t worry, it’s only Cleo,” I said. “She likes men,
but...”

Before I could finish, Cappy jerked in his chair, the sharp
sting of Cleo’s claws having connected to the back of his hand.

“...don’t try to touch her because she doesn’t like the feel
of hands going through her body,” I finished, a scratch too late.

Cleo leaped down and haughtily flounced away, sitting near
the fireplace to groom her fur back into place, her tail quivering in queenly
irritation.

“Blimey!” exclaimed Cappy, sucking the wound on the back of
his hand. “I never seen such a thing in all my life!” Shock, surprise, and more
than a little fear flitted across his features.

Simon still laughed, close to falling over backward in his
chair as he rocked back on two legs. It took a good ten minutes for him to
control himself. Since he couldn’t see Cleo either, he was always getting
clawed. Finally someone else earned Cleo’s wrath, and he couldn’t help himself.

I shook my head and turned my attention back to Cappy.
“Ignore him. What did you want to tell us?”

He began hesitantly. “It’s like this, see. When we were
looking at the murder board last night, I saw Badger’s old man got in an
argument with the butcher about the meat order.”

Simon snorted one last time. “And?”

Cappy sighed. “And, well, I ‘appen to know there weren’t no
meat shortage.”

 “How do you know?” I asked, although I already had an
inkling.

“Because the meat was left alone in the alley and I helped
myself to a bit, didn’t I?” He hung his head, not making eye contact.

“You stole
meat?
” said Simon, incredulous. “You’re a
thief! I should have known!” He pounded the table, making the mugs jump.
“Didn’t I tell you, Indigo? The kid is no good.” He stood and loomed over
Cappy. “I think you should leave now.”

“Wait!” I said. “Sit down. He came over here to tell us, so
let him explain.” I turned back to Cappy. “Why did you do it?”

Dude looked totally beaten down. “It’s like this, see. I
live with me grandmum and she’s been sick and can’t work. I don’t make much
meself, so we’re a bit skint right now.” He lifted his shoulders. “So I took
it.”

Simon slumped back into his seat.

That would explain how ravenous he was during our meetings.
And the extra sandwiches he slipped into his pocket. He was feeding his sick
grandmother.

Silence filled the room. What could we say? Theft is wrong,
obviously. But would I steal to feed my family, especially if the opportunity
presented itself?
No doubt
. Even if it meant going to hell.

“I’ll pay it back as soon as I can,” he said in earnest,
looking at Simon. “I ‘ad to do it, don’t you see? I told ‘er I bought it with
me earnings. I never done it before, I swear.”

His eyes pleaded with us to believe him. “I wanted you to
know. And I will pay it back. But now I don’t know what to do, because Butch is
a suspect, because they were fighting, but it were all my fault!” he cried.

Emotions warred on Simon’s face. We had a thief in our
midst, but how far would he go in the same position?

This was clearly a dilemma. The missing grocery order was
the cause of the argument, but could Butch have been angry enough to lash out
at Bart?

“Don’t worry, we’ll work this out,” I said. “Let me think.”

Cappy downed two scones in as many minutes while we chewed
the matter over.

“I know!” said Simon. “He can work for Butch. It’s perfect.
A
help wanted
sign is in his window – he needs help delivering and stuff
like that. He can earn money and pay back what he owes. Plus, he can keep an
eye on Butch, since he’s still a suspect.”

I was glad Simon came around, but working for Butch? Could
we do that to the poor kid? Butch was a suspect. Plus, all that blood...

Cappy looked as doubtful as me. “But what if Butch won’t
hire me? And what about me job with Chimney Crickets?” He shoved a bite of
scone into his mouth and grabbed another from the plate.

“The deliveries are all early in the morning. I doubt
Chimney Crickets starts that early,” said Simon.

Cappy shook his head, quickly chewing and swallowing before
answering. “No, people don’t want us showing up too early, not ‘til about
10:00. But still, me schedules might conflict, like, even if it were only
weekend jobs when school is back in.”

“I know,” I said, “why don’t we apply to Butch’s together.
You and me. I can make the deliveries after 10:00. At least for a while,
anyway.”

“Perfect!” said Simon.

I pinched myself. I had to make sure I was truly awake and
this wasn’t another nightmare. But apparently, I really did just volunteer to
work for Butch amongst all that blood.

“Do you think it will work?” said Cappy.

“Sure, why not,” said Simon. “With your knowledge of the
streets in town, you’ll be perfect. And it’s only temporary. Plus, Butch feels
so guilty about that argument, if Badger asks him, he’ll definitely say yes to
both of you.”

“Good, then that’s settled.” A sense of bloody dread settled
over me.