Givin' Up The Ghost (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Mystery) (18 page)

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R
iley called Danny, her friend who worked at Puttock’s Pub,
and asked him to stop by the Blind Badger.  The inquisition, er,
information
quest
was to take place when he got off work on Friday night at eight.

Danny was a good looking, freckle-faced, ginger-headed guy
who looked like Prince Harry. I’m sure the girls drooled over him in the halls
at school.

I lit the fire in the snug while Riley started the coffee.
Since she’d met me, she learned to like coffee. Cappy couldn’t stand the stuff,
so she plugged in the electric kettle for tea as well. She lay out sugar, milk
and biscuits, and a plate of sandwiches. We were kind of known for going
through huge amounts of food when we got together. Especially Cappy. He acted
as if he never ate.

Danny was the first to arrive.

“Hiya,” he said to Riley with a big smile.

“Hey.” She smiled back.

And then he glimpsed me.

The disappointment in his round, blue eyes were like a
needle scraping across a record, going from a happy tune to a crappy tune in a
matter of seconds.

I smiled apologetically. Obviously he planned to have Riley
to himself.

Then Simon came in and his normally smiling face turned
upside down at the sight of Danny. It dawned on me that he was jealous. He
liked
Riley. And not just
liked
her, but
like-liked
her. Normally he
went straight for the food, but not tonight. Glowering kept him busy.

Cappy came in next and went straight for the food – no one
wanted to be stuck with the left-over liverwurst. Although Cappy never seemed
to mind much.

The noise level in the snug was rather loud in the small
room as different conversations took place.

Danny was looking rather confused as Badger arrived and
introductions were made all around, but he recovered good-naturedly, grabbing a
sandwich and biscuits (cookies in britspeak) and making sure he was seated next
to Riley.

“So,” asked Danny. “What’s the occasion? Somebody’s
birthday?” He took a big bite of his sandwich and spit it out.

We laughed at the disgusted look on his face, Simon the
loudest.

Since he wasn’t a member of our group, he didn’t know to
look out for the nasty-tasting liverwurst. Riley only took the sandwiches from
the kitchen that hadn’t been sold that day, and somehow, liverwurst was always
left over. I don’t know why they bothered with the stuff, but Riley said some
of the older folks really liked it. 

“Blimey, what is that? It’s disgusting!” Danny spat the
liverwurst into his napkin and took a drink of his tea to wash down the taste.

“Sorry.” Riley laughed. “It’s the luck of the draw ‘round
here. Help yourself to another one,” she said, indicating the tray on the
table.

“You mean unlucky, don’t you?” He grabbed another sandwich,
hesitating about what to do with the liverwurst.

“‘ere, I’ll take it,” said Cappy, stuffing the last bite of
his sandwich into his mouth. “I don’t mind liverwurst.” He grinned delightedly
at the disgusted looks he received.

The room eventually became silent and Danny looked
uncomfortable as we all stared at him.

“What?” he said. “Do I have liverwurst in my teeth?” He ran
his tongue over his pearly whites.

“No,” said Riley. “You probably wonder what’s going on, so
I’d better tell you.” She set her coffee on the table and turned to face him on
the bench.

The smile on Danny’s face faltered at her sudden
seriousness. He glanced around nervously.

Riley took a deep breath. Now that the time had come, she
didn’t look quite sure of how to ask him about what we wanted to know. “You
know they found my dad’s body, right?”

Danny nodded.

“And you know he was murdered?”

He nodded again, looking more uncomfortable by the minute.

“You can’t tell anyone about this conversation.”

“Okay,” he said, sliding his eyes around the table at us
before coming back to rest on Riley.

Riley cleared her throat. “We’re investigating his murder. 
The five of us. And we have something to ask you.” 

Danny couldn’t fail to notice her distress. He rubbed her
arm in encouragement.

Simon frowned.

Riley took the direct approach. “An argument occurred
between Billy Radcliffe and Gerry a couple of weeks ago at Puttock’s. We want
to know what it was about.”

Danny hesitated. The avoidance of eye contact said he had
the information we wanted. He coughed dryly into his fist. Yep, the dude
squirmed like a guilty schoolboy with a dirty magazine.  He avoided answering
the question by asking one himself. “You’re not thinking that Gerry killed
Billy, are you? Because Gerry was working two nights ago. He was there until
closing and didn’t go out-” He cut the sentence off abruptly.

“What?” said Badger. Danny had been about to say more and we
all wanted to know what he was hiding. 

Danny swallowed hard and became interested in his
fingernails. “Look, I can’t...” He looked up at Badger imploringly. “I can’t
tell you without some innocent people getting hurt.”

“Innocent people have already gotten hurt, mate,” said
Badger. “Three people are already dead. How many more people have to die before
someone starts telling the truth?”

All eyes glued expectantly to Danny. He eyed the door. I
could see him calculating what his chances were of making a run for it.

Simon noticed it, too. He got up from the table and went to
lean against the closed door, arms crossed against his chest. The gesture was
not lost on Danny or anybody else.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” Danny glanced between Simon and
Badger, both stony-faced. Cappy grinned, nodding, which I think sort of scared
him more. Danny’s face held the look of someone who realized he would not leave
without telling us about the argument. At least not standing upright on two
legs. He might be able to fight his way out, but I doubted it. I think he only
wanted to protect Riley from what he had to say. But one look at her face and
he was convinced.

Danny took a deep breath and leaned his crossed arms on the
table. “There’s no need for that. I’ll tell you.”

And he began.

“Let me say, that no matter how weird this is all going to
sound, I don’t believe Gerry guilty of Billy’s murder or your dad’s.” He turned
to Riley. “Otherwise, I would have said something.”

Riley couldn’t contain the slight gasp. Clearly we were
about to find out more than we had bargained for.

“The fight,” he said, “isn’t even the tip of the iceberg.”

The story he began to tell was truly bizarre. Gerry had
hired Billy to be the middle man in procuring a prostitute for him. That was
one of Billy’s sidelines.

Cappy had been right about hearing the word ‘prostitute’
when he overheard the heated words between Gerry and Billy.

“So, it sounds like Gerry was unhappy with the prostitute,”
I said. “And what does that have to do with Bart’s murder?”

“Nothing! I told you. I don’t think Gerry had anything to do
with it.”

Danny still hadn’t told us what he was hiding, I felt sure
of it.

“Then what aren’t you telling us?” I asked, leaning toward
Danny.

“I was getting to that,” he said, with another sigh. He
turned to Riley. “I’m truly sorry for what I’m about to say. Nobody should hear
this about their mother.”

Badger was on his feet with Danny’s t-shirt twisted up in
his fists before anyone else could react. “Just what the hell are you implying,
Danny?” demanded Badger through clenched teeth. His eyes blazed and his tense
body vibrated with barely contained violence.

Riley, Cappy and I were on our feet in an instant, fearful
of what was about to happen and not sure what to do.

My voice, when I spoke, was so soft that it barely
registered, but it seemed to cut through Badger’s nightmare like a hot knife
through butter. I placed my hand lightly on his right forearm. “Badger. Let him
say what he means. He’s not the culprit here – he’s only telling us what we
demanded from him.”

Sweat broke out on Danny’s face and he breathed heavily when
Badger released him. He wiped his sweaty, trembling palms on his shirt, tugging
down and trying to flatten the twisted material. He sat back down with a thunk.

“If he’s going to tell me that my mother is a prostitute,
I’ll kill him right here,” said Badger. His voice was deceptively soft, but the
menace unmistakable. Truly fearful to behold.

I took his arm, lightly, pulling him back slowly, urging him
back into his seat, rubbing his arm. I rested my hands lightly on his
shoulders, and then looked over to Danny.

“Tell us.”

Danny took a deep breath. “Billy was supposed to get him a
prostitute that resembled your mom.” He didn’t look up from the table.

Nobody spoke.

Simon’s eyes went straight to Riley - Cappy was already
there, his arm wrapped around her. Riley put her hands up to her face as the
realization of what Danny said sank in.

I reflexively tightened my hands on Badger’s shoulders.
“Okay,” I said. “All right then. Now we know. Please, everyone – please sit
down now.”

Everyone obeyed, including Simon.

“Well,” I said. “You’ve had quite a shock.” I left the snug
and went to the bar. Charlie was busy, so I reached behind the bar for a bottle
of brandy. Bart, sitting on the end stool still reading his newspaper, didn’t
respond. I thanked God he hadn’t been in the snug to hear what Danny had to
say. We didn’t need another snug storm.

I returned to the silent room bearing the bottle of brandy.
I had the feeling nobody said a word the whole time I was gone. Taking a glass
out of the little cupboard, I poured Badger a tiny spot.

“For medicinal purposes,” I said, joking feebly. Badger
still hadn’t not responded, seeming to be in shock. I worried at his silence. I
worried he might explode with that fearless Badger temper.

I took the untouched glass from the table and knelt before
him. “Drink.” I urged the glass into his hands.

Our eyes locked. He drank without looking away, like I was
his lifeline. I looked away first, taking his empty glass and setting it on the
table.

Then I turned to Danny.

I hesitated. “I take it Gerry wasn’t happy with the
prostitute procured for him?”

“Right,” said Danny. “Not that time, nor any other time. And
what’s more, he made them dress up like her. You know, brown wig, sort of cut
short and curly, like Claire’s. They all had blue eyes.” He looked over at
Badger nervously. “‘Course, I was busy when they came in, but I had to do a
double-take more than once. I didn’t know what was going on at first, but the
others cottoned on to it.”

I nodded my understanding. Badger and Riley seemed unable to
speak.

“Can I go now?” asked Danny, standing up.

“Of course,” said Riley, starting to rise, but Simon waved
her back.

“I’ll see him out.” I had never seen Simon so intimidating.
Usually he was a lover, not a fighter.

“Thank you, Danny. Really,” said Riley, from her seat on the
bench.

“And I’ll take this back to the bar,” I said, holding up the
bottle of brandy.

Cappy and Riley began speaking quietly, so Badger followed
me out into the hall.

“I wanted to thank you,” said Badger, stopping me. “For what
you did in there.”

“I didn’t do anything. Just tried to diffuse the situation.”
I shrugged. He had the strangest look on his face. Confusion? Desire? It made
me go warm all over.

“But you did do something – you are probably the only person
who could have stopped me from hurting Danny. Your voice somehow cut through
the anger. It was all I heard. Thank you.”

He leaned in to kiss me on the cheek, but somehow, his lips
ended up locked onto mine, and I was kissing him back. His arms encircled me
and pulled me into his body. All reason was lost, no one else existed except
the two of us. Until...

“Oi. Do you two mind? You’re blocking the door,” said Simon.

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T
he pounding on the door came early that Saturday morning.
As usual, the noise didn’t bother Simon at all. His cheek was pressed against
the chair wing, mouth open. Drool seeped out.

Without fully opening my eyes, I yelled, “Franny, go away!
It’s too early.”

But the pounding kept going, on and on.

I suddenly worried that the protective herbal sachet over
the doorjamb would dislodge and allow all the spooks of Sabrina Shores to
invade my sanctuary.

“All right, all right!” I yelled. I staggered up from my
chair, blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I weaved unsteadily over to the
kitchen door and pushed my way through it.

“Well, what is it this time?” I said grumpily. But I stood
in an empty hall. “Franny?” I called, confused.

Franny appeared at the top of the stairs. She looked scared.
She still wore her nightclothes and her hair was down. I wondered fleetingly
how a ghost could look sleepy, like they had just gotten out of bed. They
didn’t sleep. Did they?

The pounding came again.

“Oh, dear,” said Franny. “It’s the coppers! Run, girl, run!”
she yelled, streaming quickly down the stairs. “It’s a raid! Run! I’ll hold ‘em
off ‘til you’re gone.”

Franny disappeared, but was back in a flash with a large bag
which she dumped upside down on the stairs, a trail leading to the front door.
Marbles? Why was Franny spreading a huge bag of marbles everywhere? They
bounced down the stairs, rolled down the hall, around my bunny-slippered feet
and across the floor.

Between the pounding on the front door and marbles flying
around the room, the racket finally woke Simon up. He pushed his way through
the kitchen door to find me standing in the hall, frozen and confused to the
spot.

“What’s going on? Wha?” said Simon, before stepping on
marbles and going down to land flat on his back.

“Oh dear, oh dear.” Franny wrung her hands. “This is not
going well at all.” She swooped up next to Simon, urging him to get up. “Get up
and run, boy!” she yelled. “Oh, why won’t you two run?! Coppers are at the
door!”

Was I dreaming? I pinched myself on the arm. “Ow!” Okay, not
a dream. So what happened? I woke up. I went into the hall. Franny poured
marbles everywhere. Simon came in. Simon slipped. And cops were at the door.

Cops were at the door!

“Simon.” I tugged at his arm. “Get up.”

“Why is it I always end up on my back ‘round here?” he asked
grumpily. “Wait – what are my old marbles doing everywhere?” He slipped again
as he tried to stand. I held his arm, trying to help him catch his balance.

“A better question would be,
Why are the cops banging on
the door?”
I said.

Franny stood by, frantic. “I don’t understand your
generation.
Why won’t you run?”

“Franny, we are not going to run! Now let us figure this
out.” I tried to think calmly and rationally.

“How do you know the cops are at the door?” asked Simon.

“Franny told me.” I finally managed to steady Simon. “Look,
I think we know why they’re here. It’s not totally unexpected.”

Simon looked suddenly pale and scared. I gave his arm a
reassuring squeeze. “You’re innocent. There’s nothing to worry about. Let’s see
what they want.”

“I’m out of here,” said Franny. “I tried, but would anyone
listen?
No!
Nobody ever listens to me!” And then she disappeared in a
cloud of cold.

Simon stayed in the hall while I waded carefully to the
front door, trying to stay on my feet. There must have been a thousand marbles
littering the floor, Franny’s attempt to trip up the cops while we made our
escape.

Two men stood at the door, each flashing their
identification and introducing themselves.

“Hello, Miss. I’m Detective Inspector Longstaff and this is
Detective Sergeant O’Boyle,” he said, indicating his colleague, who only
nodded. They both wore dark suits and ties.

I tightened my grip on the blanket around my shoulders.
“Hello officers. What can I do for you?”

“We’re sorry to bother you this early, but we’d like to
speak to Simon Eady, if we may.” Although he was being polite, this wasn’t an
idle request.

“Please, come in. I’ll get him.” I opened the door wider.
“But be care-” I began, but not in time. DI Longstaff, the first through the
door, had already stepped on a fistful of marbles. His feet slipped out from
under him. He fell backward into DS O’Boyle, who caught him under the arms and
struggled to right him back on his feet.

“I’m so sorry, I tried to warn you about the marbles,” I
said, catching the start of a smile on DS O’Boyle’s face, before he pressed his
lips together.

DI Longstaff, finally upright, straightened his suit and
grunted a reply which I didn’t catch. I seated them in the lounge, which nobody
ever used due to the icebox-like temperature, but it couldn’t be helped. I
offered coffee, but they both refused. I didn’t think to offer tea.

Simon was no longer standing in the hall, but Franny had
returned, dressed in her finest clothing and hair up, standing on the landing
at the top of the stairs.

“Serves him right,” she said, arms crossed over her heaving
bosom, indignant at the early morning raid. “It’s that
Longfellow
you
have to look out for. I know his type.” She stuck her nose in the air and
turned huffily, drifting down the hall.

I didn’t want to know about
his type
. I ignored her
and headed up the stairs to look for Simon.

He came out of the bathroom dressed in jeans and t-shirt,
his hair combed, but looking as pale as me.

“Wait for me,” I whispered. “Give me five minutes.” I
flashed five fingers at him. I came out dressed, teeth brushed and hair braided
in less than five minutes.

We headed to the lounge together.

Rather than talk to him there, DI Longstaff requested that
Simon go down to the station to ‘
help with their inquiries
.’ I was
expecting that, which is why I was ready myself. Longstaff declined to take me
along, but I insisted, saying that they should probably speak to me, as well.
And so fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the station.

High ceilings and walls, painted a drab institution green,
echoed our footsteps through the lobby. DS O’Boyle nodded at the navy-blue
uniformed bobby as we passed the front desk. Winding through a series of halls,
we came to an interior waiting area. 

I wasn’t surprised to see Badger there with Claire. I called
Uncle Richard before we left, so someone would know where we were. Just in case
they locked us up and lost the key. I couldn’t repeat the mingled oaths that
shot down the line, but let’s just say he was none too pleased. In this case,
distance worked in our favor. Our solicitor would meet us at the police
station. 

Claire was at the desk trying to get information from a
short, thin, middle-aged bobby, who urged her to take a seat and someone would
be with her shortly. She was dressed for work at the pub in black slacks and
white polo shirt. Her short, curly brown hair was pulled back into a tiny pony
tail, tendrils escaping around her face. Her blue eyes were red and shadowed,
making her look older than her forty years.

I walked over to Badger. “Hello. How are you?”

“I’ve been better.” His smile was weak and his tired brown
eyes held no sparkle. The scar over his right eye ticked nervously. But I knew
he still had fight in him when I read his faded black tee-shirt that said,
Take
No Prisoners.

We didn’t get a chance to speak, though, because a uniformed
constable took him down another green hall to an interview room, footsteps
echoing long after they disappeared from sight. 

I had five minutes with Mr. Cooper, our solicitor, before
being interviewed. I told my story and stuck to it. I was being stalked by
Billy, and when Badger and Simon came to pick me up, they gave chase but lost
him. Only a lie by omission, right?

I was so going to hell.

No matter how many different ways they tried to trip me up
to get more information, I stuck to my story:
I had never met Billy. I had
never spoken to Billy. I noticed him following me on several occasions. I didn’t
know why he followed me. He never approached me. Simon and Badger reached home
– the Eady home – five minutes after I did.

According to the newspapers, Billy died at least three hours
later. Besides me, two other witnesses could attest to that.

I sat in the waiting room with Claire while Simon was
questioned. Her inquiring eyes rested on me, but I refused to engage. We sat in
silence. Several hours dragged by before I went outside to get fresh air. The
cold air hit me like a wall of ice after sitting in the over-heated police
station. Come on summer! I thought, hugging myself. I missed last summer, holed
up in my room sleeping my grief away. But it was only December 17th, so it was
best not to dwell on it. I stretched my legs, walked up and down the sidewalk,
reluctant to go back inside.

And then they were there. Simon and Badger walking down the
steps. Free men. I gave a strangled yelp and covered the ground in three
strides, flinging my arms around both of them. They hugged me fiercely back,
laughing in relief, and we still had our arms about each other when Claire came
down the stairs.

“All right, you lot,” she said, standing immovable, arms
crossed. “You may have them fooled, but not me.”

We broke apart, looking rather sheepish, as only kids in trouble
can. “Bloody hell,” muttered Simon, more scared than ever.

“In the car. Now.” Claire strode off, not looking back to
see if we were following. We exchanged worried looks, but had no choice. We
marched single-file, like prisoners of war going to the firing squad. 

We drove to the pub in silence. I worried about not having a
cover story. At the station, I stuck to the truth but didn’t elaborate.
Clearly, the same story would not work on Claire Bagley.

It’s the parent thing.
Not something I had to worry
about recently. I felt the urge to giggle, but stopped myself. Giggling was not
my friend right now. 

We sat over in the far corner of the pub. Claire ordered
burgers and soda pops, which we fell upon ravenously, not having had the
opportunity to eat breakfast. It bought us time. Very little time. Now her
prisoners, we didn’t have the chance of a private conversation to agree on a
cover story, er, I mean to collaborate on, um, stuff.
Have I mentioned I’m
going to hell?

Riley hovered nervously near the bar, her ears perked in
order to hear what we were discussing. She picked up and put down the same
glass at least five times, trying to look busy.

When Uncle Richard came striding through the door, my heart
stopped briefly.
I shared a now we’re in for it
glance with Simon.

Uncle Richard’s face was thunderous as he threw his raincoat
over a chair back, loosened his tie and sat down. Seeing the anger cross my
dad’s features on Uncle Richard’s face was oddly unsettling. My dad rarely ever
got mad. His blond good looks and cheery nature usually diffused any trouble. 

The bite of hamburger I had taken lodged in my throat,
refusing to go down. I took a swig of soda and cringed at the sweetness. I
rarely drank soda pop, but remembered that sugar was supposed to be good for
shock. And I thought maybe I was in shock, given everything that had happened
since that morning. We were probably grounded forever. Weren’t we too old to be
grounded? My mind was everywhere except on the real problem. What were we going
to say to Uncle Richard and Claire?