southern ghost hunters 01 - southern spirits (17 page)

"He's the one who got me in with the South Town gang," Frankie grumbled, shoving his fingers through his hair. "Haven't seen him since I died."

It didn't look like a happy reunion. "You weren't surprised to find him here."

The gangster glared at me. "Yeah, but he's not the one causing trouble."

"Okay." I hoped he was right. "We'll figure out who is. Maybe we can help your brother."

Frankie didn't respond and I decided not to push him. 

Ellis returned, blankets in hand.

"Thanks," I murmured, as he passed me one. I found a quiet corner in the kitchen. 

A weary Frankie stood next to me, as if on guard. "I doubt you'll see much more tonight." He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "The poltergeist has got to be tired." 

"Manifesting is hard work," I agreed quietly. "You should get some rest, too."

The ghost nodded as his physical form faded away.

Ellis set up near me, and I didn't protest. 

I didn't sleep well, but we did rest in peace until morning. Ellis helped me stow the sleeping bag and we agreed to meet back at five o'clock that night. 

"I'll bring dinner," he said, as he tucked my bag under his arm.

"Great," I told him. I hoped Frankie would be well enough to help us out. Maybe if I gathered enough information today, he wouldn't have to work as hard. It was worth a try.

Every old property had a history. I wondered if this one would reveal more about our intruders' motives.

I knew one way to find out. 

Chapter Thirteen

"Spill," I told Frankie as I steered my car away from the haunted carriage house. "What did your brother have to say?"

Frankie shook his head. "Not much. He and the guys are being held down by the poltergeist. It's getting scary in there."

"Yikes," I said, considering the source. "We'll help him."

"Yeah, I didn't think I wanted to." The gangster shrugged. "Now I don't know."

As I drove through the gate, his energy left me with a mild zap that felt noticeably softer than the last time Frankie's energy left me. "You okay?" I asked, worried. 

"Yeah." Frankie's sighed. "That actually felt good," 

"Speak for yourself." Muted or not, the zing still made my hair feel like it was standing on end. I ran a hand through it while I waited to pull the car out onto the main road. "Cripes," I muttered as Mayor Thad Steward passed me in his silver Cadillac. He slowed to get a good look and I caught his surprised frown.

Yes, I was hanging with the Wydells again. I hoped he couldn't tell that I'd spent the night.

Nothing to do about it now. I dialed my sister before pulling out. 

"You're up early," she said, as Frankie and I rumbled onto the main road.

"How was your run?" She liked to get in a few miles before breakfast. Some days, I swear Melody had more energy in her little finger than I had in my whole body. And not because she was five years younger. She'd always been that way.

"That's not why you called me," she said. 

Darned sisterly intuition. I adjusted my hands-free earpiece and fought with the wire because, well, it was an out-of-date, off-brand, garage sale purchase that was probably going to electrocute me the next time it rained. "Don't flip out," I said by way of warning, "but I have a secret and you absolutely can't tell mom."

She gasped. "You sold the house."

"What?" I jerked. The wire pulled and almost came up short. "No," I said, making sure the earpiece stayed in. I think mom would find out about that. "The job I had to do last night…" My courage faltered and I glanced at Frankie, lounging in my passenger seat. "I'm working for Ellis Wydell."

"The middle son of the devil?" she burst out, her voice going up an octave and a half.

I gripped the steering wheel. Hard. 

Then I popped the piece out of my ear voluntarily as she listed the reasons why the Wydells were no-good dirty scum, Beau's brother included.

It's not like I hadn't heard them all before. But I was starting to learn that Ellis was different, and I didn't feel like lumping him in with the rest of his family.

Frankie leaned a little more toward the window, as my car bounced over the back roads toward my house. My sister's tinny voice launched into a fire and brimstone monologue that would make any southern preacher proud. "Is she going to take a breath?" Frankie asked.

I focused on the road. "This is going better than it looks," I told him. "Melody was especially hurt when things went bad." At least she'd avoided the public fall-out.

My sister merely had to let off some steam.

Frankie gave me the 'iffy' motion with his hand. "She sounds like a gal I knew. Suds's old lady. He'd dial her up, tell her something simple, like hey, we got to drive to Cleveland and bust a few heads. You don't want to hear the racket that dame made."

My car's blinker made a heavy
clink, clink, clink
sound as I steered the land-yacht of a Cadillac left toward town. "Melody's cautious when it comes to the Wydell boys." 

She had every reason to be.

I lifted the earpiece up. She was still going. I let it dangle over my shoulder.

Frankie braced an elbow on the door, the tips of his fingers trailing out to catch the breeze. Of course he did this without needing to crack the window. "Tell her how it fits in with the twenty large."

"Not yet." My sister might have been a bit of a free spirit, but she'd certainly want to know what I was doing for that kind of money.

I sighed. Despite the fact that I'd trust her with my life, I wasn't quite ready to tell her about Frankie yet.

How could I tell her about Frankie when I couldn't quite explain it to myself?

I tended to charge in and trust my gut. I'd figure out the details later. Only Frankie was quite a detail.

We were driving right toward the sunrise. I squinted as I raised the hands-free headset to my ear again. Melody hadn't slowed down a bit. "Haven't the Wydells done enough to our family?" she pleaded. "Why would you open the door to more abuse? You can't trust him farther than you can take his left nostril and bend it over to his—"

"I'm talking now," I said, fishing my sunglasses from on top of the visor. "It's a lot of money. And it's something I can do. Well, with your help."

"I don't believe it," she mused, as if I hadn't heard a word she'd been saying.

Yes, well, just because she was right didn't mean she couldn't help.

"I need you to research the Wilson's Creek distillery property. All the buildings. I think there are at least nine. It was up for sale a few years ago and Ellis bought it. But I want to know who owned it before, as far back as you can go. I also need to know if anything out of the ordinary happened there. Ever."

"Is that all?" she asked, with more than a touch of sisterly sarcasm.

"For starters," I said, refusing to take the bait. This wasn't my first rodeo. "I also want to know about any ghost stories or burials there. I have it on good authority there's a family cemetery on the land." Speaking of such, "Have you ever heard of Colonel Maker? He rode with the Rough Riders."

She absorbed that for a long moment. "One evening with Ellis and you've gone catawampus."

I'd tell her later I spent the night.

She took a breath, then hesitated, which was very unlike her. "What's going on with you?" she asked, her voice quite level. Sane, even. A little too calm if you asked me. "I need to know."

When she spoke that way, I wanted to tell her more. But of course I knew better. "I'm helping Ellis renovate the property." 

That was the truth, right? 

Mostly.

"You're a graphic designer. You don't renovate. You can barely change a shower curtain."

I passed my old second grade teacher driving the other way and we waved. "It's more big-picture work. Look, you have to trust me on this one. If I can pull this off, I can save Grandma's house."

"Okay," she said, drawing the word out in a way that suggested I'd most definitely be hearing more later. Like I'd expected any different. "I'll head in to work early and research for you."

Good. "Don't tell mom," I reminded her.

"Her heart couldn't take it."

What about my ears? "I don't want to hear any more lectures from you, either."

"Now, I can't promise you that."

At least she was honest.

I hung up and shot a triumphant grin at Frankie, who leaned back against the headrest. "Now we're getting somewhere," I told him. He let his entire arm trail out the window. If it were anybody else doing that, I'd tell him it could get cut off or something. Instead, I dug around in my console for a mint. I was getting hungry. "Aren't you psyched?"

He lolled his head my way. "Sure, babe." He turned his attention back to the riot of colorful trees out the window. "You don't know how exhausting it is to hang out with the living. Everything is drama."

"And you're always a model of tranquility," I muttered. I finished off a roll of half-petrified wintergreen lifesavers while Frankie sought peace and quiet in nature for the rest of the ride. Poor ghost. I kept the radio off for his benefit, but I appreciated the quiet too. It gave me time to think, and to recognize the exhaustion creeping up on me.

It wouldn't be long before I had answers to a few of my questions. Melody was a heck of a researcher. Two of her almost-degrees were in History and Shakespearean Literature. I'd let her access the information I needed while I took the morning to clean up and take a quick nap. Five hours of hard sleep on a kitchen floor did not do a body good. And I swore I'd had one eye open the entire time.

Frankie promptly disappeared the minute I started up the long drive to the house. At least I knew he couldn't go far.

I parked in the front and enjoyed the sight of my home in the early morning light. The porch columns gleamed white against the pots of pink geraniums. My freshly washed dollhouse windows sparkled. Hydrangea bushes lined the front walk, shining wet with the dew. I ran my fingers along the leaves and blooms, enjoying the cool moisture along with the hot sun on my face. Yes, my head felt fuzzy and I could probably curl up and go to sleep on my front lawn, but despite the terror of the night, I found myself strangely energized. 

It felt good to actually do something about my situation. 

For the first time since I left Beau, I was in the driver's seat. My decisions, my wits could make the difference in whether or not I could keep my home. Yes, I still had to figure out what the heck I could do about real-life vandals, and that horrifying poltergeist. I shuddered to think what would happen if I ran into either one of them again. 

But knowing it came down to me… It was a heady feeling.

I opened the front door and Lucy toddled down the front hall toward me, grunting and carrying on. 

"Hey sweetie pie," I said, lifting her up into my arms. Her fur felt warmer on one side, most likely from sleep. She wore a brand new pink bandana, compliments of Melody no doubt. "Did I wake you up?"

She shoved a warm, hard nose right into the crook of my elbow, which was skunk for:
You're worth it, babe.

We walked through the front room and back to the parlor, where she'd tossed the red blanket from my futon and rolled it into a nest of sorts. It was her prerogative since I hadn't been around to protest. Although I would throw it in the wash.

I scooped it up and took both skunk and blanket into the laundry room off the kitchen.

It felt good to settle into my own home this morning instead of packing to leave.

Sure, the house could have used a few things to spruce it up, but when you came down to it—I gave Lucy a kiss on her furry head—"I have all I need right here."

She struggled to get down and I let her go. 

I started the wash, grabbed a granola bar, and let Lucy out the back door. She scampered out onto the porch and into the sunshine.

Frankie sat out back, under the apple tree again. 

I supposed everyone needed a spot to call their own. I set his urn in a place of honor on the mantel. He deserved some respect for what he'd done for me last night. 

Ready to relax, I grabbed a towel and headed upstairs to the black and white tile bathroom for a nice, hot soak. My great grandmother had won her large, claw foot tub in an auction back in the 1930's if you can believe that. Seems they were a luxury item back then. Four generations of our family had treasured it, and I was looking forward to spending some quality time with it now.

The hot water steamed and swirled. I even added a touch of honeysuckle bubble bath, the good kind. It wasn't as if I could have sold a half-bottle of Olivina. I stirred the water with my hand, watching the bubbles break against my skin.

Last night had been a success, of sorts. Sure, I'd been attacked by a poltergeist and Ellis's kitchen hadn't exactly come out unscathed. Then there was the issue of my mysterious nighttime intruder. But I'd learned where to look next. And I'd gained some trust from Ellis.

Not that I cared
, my mind said automatically.

I undressed and slipped into the deliciously hot bath.

Only, surprisingly enough, as the steaming water and sweet smelling bubbles embraced me, I realized Ellis's opinion did matter to me. No telling how that started or why.

I leaned back, thinking. 

I liked how he'd given Harry a job, how he'd been willing to hire me despite my past differences with his family. He hadn't been the one to start anything. It was always his mother, or my ex. 

I swirled my arms in the suds, releasing the scent of honeysuckle into the damp air. I appreciated how Ellis saw something special in that old distillery complex, and how he was working to make Sugarland a better place. It would make a difference for a lot of people around here.

Maybe he truly was the black sheep in that family. He saw things differently. He cared about people. 

It seemed we had that in common.