Givin' Up The Ghost (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Mystery) (9 page)

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“Q
uickly, stuff the folder in your bag, Simon, someone’s
coming,” I said. Simon stuffed the tube containing the murder map under the
bench as Badger and Riley’s mom Claire appeared in the doorway.

Her pale face revealed that something was terribly wrong. My
conscience stung with the inability to divulge what I knew. But telling Claire
about my ghost whispering abilities and that I had spoken to her husband was
not an option.

“Badger – Riley,” she said, looking to each of them. “The
police are here. I...I need to speak to you. They say...” She choked up,
swallowing back the tears that sprang to her blue eyes. Riley looked so much
like her, they could have been sisters, with their svelte good looks and sense
of style. 

“I’m sorry,” I said. “We’ll go so you can talk.” Grabbing my
jacket, and with Simon and Cappy behind me, we left the snug.

“What about the murder board,” Simon whispered as we headed
down the wobbly hallway.

“It will be okay. Badger or Riley will get it,” I whispered
back, holding up crossed fingers. We bundled up against the cold and headed
home. Cappy traipsed off in the opposite direction.

We walked along the damp, cobblestoned road, taking cover
from the weather by sticking as close to the buildings as possible. The jettied
half-timber beams leaned in to cast ancient shadows over us. Muted light shone
from closed curtains, silhouettes passed back and forth behind them like shadow
puppets. We didn’t have anything like this in the States. There was even a
castle. The ancient architecture was a marvel, the same buildings standing
upright in the same spot for hundreds of years. Nearly upright, anyway, because
many leaned. I guessed that the sameness, or lack of change, must have been
what kept so much of the spirit world tied there.

I kept looking over my shoulder. Living in a medieval
village made it hard for me to distinguish if the tingling at the base of my
skull was a sign of psychic intuition or a spectral presence. In any case, I
sensed that someone, living or dead, followed us. Shivering, I pulled the
lapels of my pea coat up toward my face, and looked back again.

Simon looked back as well. “What is it?” he whispered.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

But it didn’t take either of us long to figure out we were
being stalked by a living amateur. Footsteps echoed behind us, the
tiptoe-running kind that took the opportunity to make up ground when our backs
were turned.

It had to be Billy. Still, we were near home and Simon and I
could outrun Billy Radcliffe any day.

I was glad we didn’t have to.

I gathered extra bedding and made up the spare bedrooms.
Luckily a big Victorian house had plenty of extra rooms. I was pretty sure we
were going to have overnight company.

I wasn’t wrong.

Uncle Richard came home late and entered through the back
door. After hanging his overcoat on a peg, he loosened his tie and sighed.

He looked completely knackered. I jumped out of my armchair
and headed to the refrigerator. “Why don’t you sit – I’ll get you something to
eat.”

“Thank you. That sounds like heaven.” He draped his suit
jacket over the back of a chair and sat at the table, where Simon joined him.
An awkward silence ensued. I heated grilled chicken breast in the microwave and
set a tomato salad in front of him. The way he dug in, I was sure he hadn’t
eaten all day. Two minutes later the timer chimed and I cut up the chicken into
bite-sized pieces and spread it over his salad and joined them at the table.

“How was your day?” I asked, watching him eat. Okay, I
stared, wide-eyed like an owl, elbows on table and chin resting between hands.
I couldn’t help myself. He was my dad’s twin – identical twin, I should say.
The same dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. Simon and I didn’t see him much, so
when we did, I stared my fill. I may have creeped him out.

“Long. Hard.” He swallowed and wiped his mouth on a paper
towel. He looked at Simon. “They found Bart’s body.” He took another bite. “The
Bagley’s are on their way over now. They’ll be spending a few days while
forensics goes over their flat. They suspect foul play.”

“Yeah, we figured something was up,” said Simon, glancing
surreptitiously at me. “We were there when Clair came in for Badger and Riley.”

Our kitchen was busy as Victoria Station at rush hour on
Thursday morning. Of course, Uncle Richard passed through quickly, as always.
He and Claire poured coffee on their way out the door.

Harry, grabbing the doorjamb before Claire could usher him
out, stuck his head back in and asked, “Where’s your Christmas tree, Indigo?”

“Yeah,” added Henry. “And the presents?”

“Well...” I began. “I, uh...” I looked at Simon, who only
shrugged.

“We’re getting it this weekend,” said Uncle Richard, coming
to my rescue. He avoided eye contact.

I hadn’t really thought about Christmas. At least, I tried
not to think about it, other than something I had to get through. It was
obvious that our family, such as it was, didn’t feel much like celebrating.

Claire smiled weakly and ushered the boys out the door.
Children always looked forward to Christmas, it seemed, whatever the
circumstances.

Uncle Richard gave Claire a lift to work, and dropped Harry
and Henry off at a friend’s house on the way. Police forensics had Claire’s car.

With two adults and two children out the door, the chaos
became more manageable. Riley had to work later, but Badger and Simon had the
day off, so we sat around the table eating bagels and drinking coffee and tea.
The fireplace radiated heat into the chilly room.

“Did anyone think to get the investigation board?” I asked,
holding a hand over my yawning mouth. I didn’t sleep well. Spirit activity
seemed to be especially high, but with company in the house, I didn’t think
sleeping in the kitchen was an option. Plus, after repacking all my things,
that stubborn spirit unpacked,
again
. So I repacked them,
again
.
By now, it was the principle of the thing. I would unpack when I was ready. One
day I would catch that interfering ghost in the process and go all
ghost-buster
on her.

“I have it,” said Riley. “Nobody was paying much attention.
They just wanted to make sure we weren’t taking anything out of the flat. I
imagine they’ll think of searching the pub at some point.” She rolled her puffy
blue eyes. But she was right. Bart was last seen at the pub. Common sense said
they’d have searched there first.

“Good,” said Simon. “We wouldn’t want it falling into the
wrong hands.”

“What’s the plan for today,” I asked, leaning back in my
chair, sipping coffee.

“We talk to Andy Hall,” said Badger. “He was dad’s friend
and coworker. If anyone can shed light on what was happening in his world, it
would be Andy.” Badger’s face was drawn, the skin tight over his cheekbones.

Self-conscious about wearing yesterday’s braid, with strands
and wisps escaping haphazardly, I smoothed my hair down the best I could,
glancing sideways at Badger. It couldn’t be helped. Coffee came first. Always.
Then I would try to look good for, er, the interview. That’s right, the
interview. 

I looked around the table. Every face was drawn and haggard.
We were a ragtag group, for sure. With a common goal. But would solving this
murder make any of us feel better? Would Simon’s guilt be absolved? Would mine?

Badger, Simon and I walked the five blocks and took the
elevator to the fifth floor of Shoreline Construction, stopping at the desk to
ask for Andy.

Heated from the walk and the warmth of the lobby, I unwound
the thick scarf from my neck. An aquarium lined one wall, and the room was
tastefully decorated. The receptionist wore a pink suit with pearls and eyed us
like she was the gatekeeper of the Emerald City and might not let us through.
We were underdressed in jeans and boots, but she reluctantly filled out our
visitors passes anyway, stamping,
Must Be Escorted
, quite loudly while
eyeing us with suspicion.

“She’s new here,” Badger whispered.

Andy came from down the hall, extending his arm to shake
Badger’s hand.

“Badger!” he said, “It’s great to see you, come on back.”

“Hi Andy, these are my friends, Simon and Indigo. You’ve
probably met Simon – his dad is Richard Eady. And Indigo is his cousin.”

“Yes, of course,” said Andy. “I remember you. I’ve worked
with your dad a couple of times, too. Great guy.”

Simon smiled politely and shook hands, but I waved my
bandaged hand as a greeting. Andy led the way down a series of white hallways
lined with pastel flower paintings. A few people said hello or waved to Badger.

Andy had a corner office with full-length windows and an
incredible view overlooking Sabrina Park.

I’m sure I was gaping, because Andy came and stood next to
me. He jiggled the change in his pockets, surveying the view. “Amazing, isn’t
it?”

“It’s remarkable.” The gorgeous park, from this height, revealed
the impressive panorama. An island in the middle of the Sabrina, eight
footbridges connected the two sides of the river. Meandering paths wound
through rich green grass and trees, while the river flowed around it.

It included an amphitheater, soccer and cricket fields, and
boat rental huts. All were closed for the winter, but it must be awesome during
the summer. I longed for warmth and normal things like that. A flame of hope
filled my chest briefly, but flickered out when I turned back into the room.
Normalcy was a rare commodity for me.

Like Bart’s home office, a big desk sat in the center, with
a drafting table near one of the windows. But there the similarity ended. The
view was rather spoiled by the interior. Every available surface was covered
with stacks of paper and other debris; empty coffee mugs, empty paper cups,
fast food bags and occasionally, a waft of rotting food. The room was
completely at odds with Andy’s appearance, which was neat in business casual
clothing, and clean cut brown hair.

Andy hastily cleared seats for us, apologizing for the mess.
“Sorry about this. I don’t allow the cleaning service in here. They always seem
to lose or throw something away that they shouldn’t.” He indicated we should
sit and seated himself behind his desk. “So, what can I do for you? Have you
heard from your dad?” He leaned forward, hands folded, elbows on his desk.

Badger leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “The
police have found his body,” he began. “They notified us last night.” Clearly
uncomfortable with the conversation, he crossed his right ankle over to rest on
the opposite knee, then uncrossed and switched sides. 

Andy’s blue eyes widened and he looked momentarily stunned,
but he recovered quickly. “Wow. Not what I was expecting to hear.” He blew out
his breath as if he’d been holding it. “Man, I am so sorry. What happened?
Where’d they find him?”

Badger struggled to compose himself, so Simon answered for
him. “His body was hung up on branches in the river.”