The First Ghost (17 page)

* * * *

I went three days without unmasking the owner of the burritos. I did narrow it down to management or one of the scientists, and something about the cheap, frozen burritos didn’t say upper management to me. They had to belong to one of the scientists.

During this time, I started to slip into a workable rhythm. I also received flowers from Ethan. Pink roses. Very nice. I managed to keep the scientists from completely dismantling the equipment, although I did find Dr. Tamaguchi trying to unjam the copier. He had pulled out the paper drawers and spirited the sorter shelf away from the main unit, but no real damage was done. At least he was very tidy about it, the complete opposite to Dr. Seleman. Dr. Tamaguchi never went anywhere without a crisp white lab coat that never seemed to wrinkle, a white shirt and gray slacks. He never had a hair out of place.

I never did learn to tell the differences in the research assistants. Ted, Tom, Trey and Whatever were still interchangeable to me.

But Friday was Friday. I was cheered by the thought of a date with Ethan and only slightly stressed about Sunday dinner with my family.

I like a super hot, borderline scalding shower, and my bathroom was a steam chamber. I stepped out, wrapping one thick towel around my body and a smaller one around my hair. When my hand wiped the moisture off the mirror, I peered into Starla’s face.

“Agh! Don’t do that!”

“Someone hasn’t spent enough time on the Stairmaster lately,” she said.

“How dare you? I haven’t seen you since the demon attack and you just show up playing peeping Thomasina in my bathroom?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Get out.”

She pouted. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. Get out of my bathroom. I’ll speak to you in the kitchen.”

“I’ll do what I want.”

“Fine. If you aren’t interested in what the detective had to say...”

“You spoke to him?”

“Kitchen,” I said.

She flounced as much as a ghost can. I didn’t have too much time. I needed to get ready for work. I dressed and combed through my wet hair.

Starla hovered sullenly in the kitchen. “Happy now?”

As if. “Fierro went to talk to Joby.”

“That’s the detective guy? What did he say? Joby, I mean. Did he admit anything?”

“Joby claims you called him from California and that he sent you your stuff.”

Starla is creative when it comes to swearing. I never would have thought to put the words
kangaroo
and
dick
together like that. Not wanting to waste time, I moisturized while I waited for her to finish. Then I pulled out my stand-up mirror from the cabinet and sat down at the table to put on makeup. The light in my bathroom is cruddy, so I always get ready in the kitchen.

By the time she finally wore down, I had on base and blush and was working on my eyes.

“Don’t worry. Fierro isn’t a fool. He knows Joby is lying, but it’s not enough for the warrant. We’re still working on it. I need information. First of all--” I paused to make the dopey, openmouthed face necessary for putting on mascara. “Where have you been for the last several days?”

“I’ve learned a new trick.”

I was almost afraid to ask. “A trick?”

“Watch.” She swiped her hand through my coffee mug. “Shoot.” She did it again. “Dammit! This should work.” She slapped the mug for a third time and it crashed to the floor, splattering the last teaspoon of liquid left over.

“There,” she said smugly. “I’m a poltergeist now.”

I rolled my eyes. “Nice. But you’re not a poltergeist.”

“I am so. I’m haunting them.”

“You’re just an angry ghost. I take it you’ve been haunting Joby?”

“And his little whore. Joby’s so twitchy he’s called in sick to work and Wanda’s gone to visit her mama.”

I recalled seeing Lincoln swat the cup at the police station. “How do you do that anyway?” I puckered up to put on lip gloss.

“I don’t know. I concentrate real hard and think ‘solid.’ I have a talent for it.”

“You shouldn’t waste time playing spook. This is serious.”

“Yeah, my murderer is getting away.”

“I mean it, Starla. If you see the shadows move, run.”

She pursed her lips. “You’re creeping me out.”

“Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean bad things can’t happen to you. You aren’t safe until you cross over. Got it?”

“I’m getting my revenge where I can.”

I put down my mirror and turned to face her. “Fierro has questions.”

She drifted closer. “Like what?”

“Like when exactly did you die? And where?”

“I told you. I was in a car. And it was a Saturday. I died the Saturday before Corinne did.” She sighed. “Joby was so sweet when we started dating. I never had a man so nice. It was two whole months of heaven. Then we got hitched.

“I noticed he was working a lot but didn’t have spit to show for it. Then I noticed my money was missing. I started digging and there it was. Receipts for places we never gone to and for stuff I never got. So I waited and followed him after work. He went right to her place. I watched him go in and I just sat there, getting madder and madder.

“I went up, but I didn’t knock on the door. I had a key. See, me and Wanda used to be roommates. We used to be friends. Hell, I helped her get a job at the bar even though she ain’t got any real skills other than a tight little ass and big floppy tits. They didn’t even have the decency to do it in the bedroom. He was banging her right there on the kitchen table. I started screaming and yelling and I think I scratched Wanda and maybe Joby too.”

“That’s when he strangled you?” It was starting to sound a little like self-defense.

“Naw, I just broke some stuff and left. Joby chased me out to the car and hollered at me to stop. Like a fool I let him in the car. He was all
honey, baby, sugar, I’m so sorry.
He was crying and I started feeling sorry for him. He said,
Let’s go somewhere and talk, darlin’
, and I was so stupid.” She looked around like she wanted something else to break.

“Fresh out of coffee mugs,” I said. “What happened next?”

“I let him drive me someplace. It was dark. I don’t know where we was. Someplace up by the industrial park where the overall factory is. He started kissing me, and I kissed him back and I couldn’t breathe. I fought him, but...” She looked away. Her lower lip trembled. “He put me in the trunk and you know the rest.”

I stood up. “I’ll call Fierro tonight. I’ve got to go to work now.”

She gave me a nasty little smile. “Me too. Joby ought to be good and hung over after last night.”

* * * *

I borrowed the older black hearse after work. Mother couldn’t spare one of the vans because they were busy with bodies. This gave me a little time without Harry breathing down my neck about the condo.

I parked the hearse outside the police station, and the looks I got almost tempted me to leave it unlocked. Even the wild-eyed man carrying on an animated conversation with himself crossed the street to get away from the death car.

I sat there for a minute, formulating a plan of attack, when I realized I had a visitor.

“Good evening there, Miz Portia. Did you come to visit little, old me?”

“Hello, Lincoln. I guess I did. I’m going in to see Detective Fierro. But I’m looking for a little inside information.”

“Are you now? What can old Lincoln help you with?”

“I heard that Fierro was supposed to be a skeptic and nonbeliever, but the first thing I know, he’s beating down my door, telling me he knows I’m clairvoyant and wanting to work with me. I can’t figure that.”

“So Fierro came to you? He ain’t said a word of it ’round here.”

“Really? Not to anybody?”

“Not even his partner, who is Vic Tessler. Ain’t that just like a man? He’s keeping any credit, that’s for sure.”

“Lincoln, have you heard the name Starla Mueller?”

“Now that you mention it, Fierro’s been yammering about her and how he’s all suspicious of the husband. Tessler thinks he’s nuts. Did that come from you?”

“It did. And I asked him not to tell anyone about me. I don’t want to make a name for myself.”

“Gotcha. Life on the QT.”

“Exactly. So you think Fierro’s on the up-and-up?”

“Seems that way. I’ve never known him not to be.”

“Thanks, Lincoln. That’s good to know.”

“There he is now.”

Fierro exited the building from the side, striding for the street. I opened the door and stepped a foot out. “Detective, could I have a word?”

He turned to me, his face weary. Then a small smile as recognition dawned. He looked both ways before trotting over, surprisingly agile for a man his size. I don’t mean to imply that Fierro is fat; he’s big in a solid, NFL kind of way. Today’s suit was marginally better than the upholstery I last saw him wearing. It was a decent fabric, but it still didn’t fit. A man with shoulders like that needed a good tailor.

Fierro slipped in the passenger side and slammed the door, stretching his legs appreciatively. “Lotta room in this old thing. They don’t make cars like this anymore.”

“I finally talked to Starla.”

“What did she have?”

I gave him a rundown of our conversation, minus the sarcastic cracks. He took dutiful notes. Then it was my turn to question him.

“Tell me about Corinne Simpson. Have you got anything on her case?”

He hesitated. “I’m still not completely convinced it was murder and not some kind of accident.”

“I’m convinced, and so is she. Listen, her roommate is living really well. She’s wearing expensive new clothes and such since Corinne died. And she’s being totally uncooperative with Corinne’s Aunt Susie. She practically threw me out of the apartment. And she had a fit when she saw me at...um...at the office.” I hadn’t meant to let the last part slip. Fierro’s expression didn’t change, but he had gone still.

“Tell me you haven’t been playing Nancy Drew.”

“I didn’t mean to. It just sort of happened.”

“You’d better tell me everything you’ve done. And let’s drive for a while in case people start staring.”

I looked out the window. “It’s a little late for that.”

“Just drive,” he said.

As I drove, I told him about rescuing Billy from the pound and demons and Reclaimers and taking the job at Woll Ag. And my search for the owner of the burritos.

To his credit, he listened thoughtfully.

“So you’re thinking what? That the roommate is selling her stuff?”

I shook my head and turned left near Chatterly Park. Kids swarmed the swings and slide in spite of the cold. They reminded me of the Michelin man with their big puffy jackets. “I don’t think Corinne had much worth selling. I’m telling you, Ruth freaked when I mentioned burritos. She’s involved in this.”

“It might not be related to the girl’s death. Could be a sugar daddy.”

“Could be.” I parked and killed the engine, staring at the shrieking children, pink cheeks, glowing eyes.

“But you don’t think so.”

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I almost never cry and the idea of crying in front of Fierro made me angry. I hate to look weak.

“Portia.” He touched my shoulder. “I don’t have any right to tell you not to do this, but you need to understand what you’re playing for. This is dangerous. If someone killed Corinne, you could be putting yourself at risk.”

I swallowed hard. “I have to do this. I made a promise.”

He leaned back in his seat. “So how does this work? Do you get premonitions or what?”

“No, I’m not like Ellie. I don’t see visions or pick up info from objects. I’m not precognitive or telepathic. I just see dead people.”

“Is that all?” he said dryly.

“Pretty much.” He was smiling. “It’s not funny.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“It’s damned inconvenient.”

“I can only imagine.”

“The dead have no respect for anyone trying to have a life.”

“Which is understandable.”

“They eavesdrop and peep on you and show up at the worst times and try to talk in your ear. Some of them aren’t very nice.”

“So these Reclaimers. Where do they take the souls they collect?”

I shivered. “I don’t know. I understand they’re like mercenaries. It depends on who they work for.”

“Do you believe all that church stuff about heaven and hell?”

I was quiet for a long time. It was snowing lightly now, little flakes that faded away as they hit the ground. “I think I do. My mother believes, and she’s been doing this a lot longer than I have. She’s at Mass every Sunday.”

“Maybe I should give church another try.”

“Funny. I’ve been thinking the same thing.” I felt cold and started the engine again.

“So your mother is psychic too?”

“Clairvoyant. All the women in my family are and have been for centuries. It’s sort of the family curse.”

“Sounds like a gift to me.”

“They call it the ‘family gift.’ But we’re not all like Ellie. Mother says she’s proud of her gift, but it’s a big secret with her. She’d freak if she knew I was discussing it with you.”

“She can’t like what your cousin does. You couldn’t be much more public about it than she is.”

“No kidding. Mother hasn’t even told Walter she’s clairvoyant. Walter is my stepfather. They’ve been married since Harry and I were little.”

“Harry is your brother?”

“My twin brother.”

“So is he gifted too?”

“No, just the women, although Harry does have this uncanny ability with women. It makes me wonder sometimes.”

“And your father?”

“Dead,” I said more abruptly than I had intended.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried. Occupational hazard for me.”

“It’s okay. He died before I was born.” According to my mother, but something about the way her eyes slid away when she said it always gave me pause. Maybe Dad was just a rolling stone gathering honey but no moss. “Walter’s been a father to me. So have you discussed me with anyone?”

“I haven’t told a soul. Didn’t want to sound crazy. I haven’t even told Tessler. That’s my partner.”

“I’d rather it stay that way.” The light was fading and the kids gradually thinned away. “What made you believe I was clairvoyant?” I turned to face him. “I thought you were supposed to be the skeptical one.”