The First Ghost (23 page)

I sat down and tried to work. It was no good. I couldn’t concentrate, so I marched myself into Duncan’s office.

He was busy at his desk and didn’t look up. I stood there with crossed arms. “I’m getting a weird vibe.”

Sighing, he took off his reading glasses. “Close the door.” I did. “You don’t read the paper.”

“No,” I said. “It’s depressing.”

“Plenty of other people do. Something you want to tell me about Ruth’s murder?”

A knot of tension formed in my shoulder. “Like what?”

“Like you stumbling over Ruth’s body? And that photo of you being all chummy with the detective who searched us? What the hell is going on?” He lowered his voice. “Are you under cover? You could tell me, you know. I know the agency didn’t send you to that job interview. I called Stephanie and she’d never heard of you, but when I checked your references, they were good. So who are you?”

In my experience, secretaries are the worst gossips God created, but I needed Duncan on my side. “I’m not police, but I am helping the detective.”

Duncan raised his sandy eyebrows. “Go on.”

“Listen, Fierro, that’s the detective, is going to ask you some questions, but I have a few of my own.”

Duncan sat back and picked up a pink message slip. “Detective Fierro? As a matter of fact, he called earlier.”

“Who did Ruth usually type notes for?”

“She worked for me.”

I shook my head. “She typed notes. I’ve seen her do it.”

“The girls aren’t assigned to anyone in particular.”

“The scientists all have their pets. So who did she usually type notes for?”

He steepled his fingers and stared for a moment before reaching a decision. “I suppose anyone could tell you. Tamaguchi usually gives his notes to Ruth. She’s the only one who can read his writing. Seleman gave his work to Corinne. Ball and Harrison do their own.” He ticked off the rest of the scientists and secretaries on his fingers. He still spoke of Ruth as if she was alive.

Ruth typed for Tamaguchi? I could have slapped my forehead. In my mind I had Ruth stealing secrets from Seleman’s research and attempting to poison him so no one would discover. I had imagined her sleeping with the buyer, who then had Ruth whacked once she was no longer useful. But Ruth didn’t type for Seleman. Had she been selling Tamaguchi’s notes? I considered the possibility of in-house espionage. Maybe Tamaguchi had a reason to get rid of Seleman and Ruth. They could have been stealing from him.

“What type of research do they do?”

Duncan arched his eyebrows again. I needed to learn that trick. “Hybridization. New strains of textile producing plants. More drought-resistant. More prolific. More disease-resistant. It’s the new frontier in agriculture.”

“And there’s money in making new types of plants?”

“Big money. Billions. It’s intensely competitive. Even within Woll Ag they compete against one another.”

“You mean they don’t work together?”

“Not at all. Each one works independently. That’s why they get funny about who types what. Ball is so paranoid, she writes everything in code. She won’t use the secretarial pool for a letter to her dentist. Don’t let the false bonhomie fool you. No one is a friend in this business.”

“Knock knock,” said an overly cultured voice with a hint of a British accent. I wasn’t surprised it belonged to Ken Tamaguchi, who looked like an ad for
Upscale Tennis Today
. He was wearing whites and carried a racquet. As he got closer, I noticed that the racquet seemed different.

“Do you play tennis?” I asked.

He looked surprised, like a bug had spoken to him. “Squash,” he said before turning away. “Do you have a moment, Duncan? I have an issue to discuss.”

“Not now, Ken.” Duncan stood.

“This won’t wait.” They both turned to look at me. I know when I’m being dismissed.

* * * *

Morning was a miracle: cold, but bright and sunny. After weeks of gray skies, it drew everyone outside. I felt like I had too many balls in the air, so I called in sick. Let them fire me. I wasn’t in the mood for Woll Ag. I gassed up the hearse and returned it to Mother.

Mother was with a client. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Finklestein.”

Mrs. Finklestein was dead. She was also very angry. “How dare he? My poor Levi should not have to put up with such nonsense.”

“I am so sorry. He isn’t usually here. Hopefully, he’ll be gone after his funeral. I assure you, it won’t happen again. Rest assured that your Levi will be allowed to grieve properly.”

I jingled the keys. Mother looked up at me, perilously close to tears. “Excuse me, Mrs. Finklestein.”

From down the hall came the thunderous strains of Beethoven’s Fifth being butchered on the organ. Boris played like a fiend at a breakneck pace.

“I’ve got a migraine coming on.” Mother put a shaky hand to her forehead. “I’m so glad you’re here. I need help.”

“What’s going on?”

From the other side of the wall came the sound of a crash followed by maniacal laughter. “Dear God, I hope that wasn’t Mr. Potter’s ashes,” Mother said. “I agreed to bury Bartholomew Biddle. He still won’t cross over. I’m hoping that after tomorrow he’ll move on somewhere else.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“What can I do?”

“I hate to get you involved.”

“But?”

“But his niece brought over a key. I need you to go down to his house and pick out an outfit. I was going to have Harry do it, but he’s tied up and we have to bury Mrs. Finklestein today. Walter is at the airport picking up a body that was shipped. The sisters are as busy as can be. I can’t leave. Lady Hildegard won’t come out of hiding. Boris won’t play anything other than Beethoven. I never thought I would long to hear
Roll Out the Barrel
.”

“I’ll go,” I said. “I don’t mind.”

Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you. Thank you, Portia.”

I pocketed the key to Biddle’s house and got back in the hearse. Biddle must have been listening in because he was waiting in the passenger seat. I resolved to ignore him.

He leaned over the seat and leered at me. “I’d love to give you a personal tour of my house. You were too afraid to come and visit me before.”

I kept my hands on the wheels and my eyes straight ahead as if I couldn’t see him. He got closer.

“I know you hear me,” he crooned directly into my ear. “I’m so close you can almost feel me.”

I gritted my teeth and kept staring ahead.

“You would have liked my house. We could have been friends. We can still be friends.”

I parked in the street and walked purposefully to the front door. The two-story Cape Cod had been neglected for a long time. Faded blue paint peeled off in strips, and the smell went beyond musty.

According to Harry, Old Man Biddle had lain dead in the house for three days before anyone found him. The kitchen smelled of old fish.

“Don’t you want to ask about my wives? Hmm? It’s what everyone wants to know about.”

A quick look around assured me that downstairs only contained the kitchen, a den, and a room crammed with junk. No bedroom and no clothes here.

Biddle followed me down the narrow, dim hallway. He zipped ahead and spun around. We were eye-to-eye. “You want to know where they are? What I did with them?”

“Are they here?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“So they aren’t here.” I passed him and headed for the stairs.

He swooped closer. “They might be. I didn’t say they weren’t.”

“I don’t believe you killed anyone.” The first door I opened was a half bath.

“I did. I murdered them.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I think they both left your sorry ass. You just wanted people to think you were a killer.”

“Oh no, they didn’t. No woman ever left Bart Biddle. I killed them and three girlfriends nobody knows nothing about. So there.”

I felt sick. “I’m calling bullshit on you. You’re all talk and you always were. You’re nothing more than a dirty old man.”

Bitch,” he snarled. “I’d have killed you too, but I’d have made you beg first.”

Having eliminated the other doors, that left the room at the end of the hallway as his bedroom, his lair. He was dead, I reminded myself. He couldn’t do a thing.

He whispered in my ear all the way down the hall. “Where could they be, Portia? Under the stairs? The basement? Back yard? Under the floorboards? In my room?”

I flung open the door and stepped over the rat’s nest of magazines and food wrappers. I reached for the closet door.

“In the closet? Hmm?”

I ignored him and selected a pair of pants and a shirt. Reaching a decision, I faced him squarely. “If you did all that you claim, why not go down in history as a serial killer who got away with it? It’s not like they can do anything to you.”

He pulled back. “You’ve got a point there.”

“Why not claim your fame? Why not let them have the bodies? Otherwise you’ll be forgotten, a nobody.”

His eyes glittered. “Maybe I should. Follow me.”

I put the clothes I had selected in a hanging bag. “Like I said. I’m not interested in helping you.”

“You know you want to.”

“I don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t.”

“You’ll follow me. You can’t help it. You know you will.” He zipped down the stairs. I had no choice but to go after him. I had to go down the stairs to get out.

“In here,” he called from the back of the house. “I’m by the back door.”

I stuck my head in the room. “I’m leaving.”

“No! Wait. Let’s play. Guess where they are.”

I walked to the front door. I wanted him to tell me, but I wasn’t going to play his guessing games. It wasn’t worth it. I put my hand on the front door, but a foul smell stopped me.

I turned back to Biddle. “You’ll have to give me a clue. How many bodies total?”

“Five,” he said with a grin. “Five bodies are somewhere on the property.”

“Names,” I said.

He wagged a finger. “First you have to guess.”

“No, I get three clues. That’s only fair.” The goatish smell grew stronger.

“Oh, all right. My first wife was Helen. The second was--”

“The girlfriends,” I said. The stench was almost overpowering. “I need their names.”

“Okay, Katherine and Lorna.”

“You said three.”

“I lied. One wasn’t a girlfriend, just a hooker I picked up. I don’t know her name. Holy shit! What is that?” His eyes grew wide.

The demon was fast. Biddle didn’t have a chance to move before it had him. Grasping him with claws and fangs, it bit deeply into his neck like a vampire and sucked. I’ve never heard anyone scream the way Biddle did. His voice was high and hysterical. The demon shifted its hold and bit him on the opposite side of his neck.

Biddle’s scream turned into a hoarse gurgle. He struggled in the demon’s hold, but the claws had impaled him. He reminded me of a fish on a hook, thrashing, growing weaker and fainter. Finally the screaming stopped and the only sound was the horrid sucking noise made by the demon’s mouth. Biddle faded to an insubstantial wisp.

The demon released the pale husk that had been Biddle. The old man’s image flickered and then dispersed. He was gone.

The demon sneered at me. Sated, it oozed out the doorway and was gone.

I couldn’t think of anyone who more deserved to be eaten by a demon, but I was disappointed Biddle hadn’t told me where the women’s bodies were. They deserved a decent burial in hallowed ground.

Harry was home when I handed off Biddle’s clothes to Mother.

“About time you brought the hearse back,” he said.

“You never use that old thing.” I dropped the keys in his hand. “And...er...problem handled,” I said to Mother. “Things should be more peaceful around here.”

“What problem?” Harry asked.

“Problem client,” Mother said. “Really? He’s gone?” She looked at my face. “You look a little pale. Did he give you a bad time?”

“I’m fine. I think I’m quitting my new job.”

“Not working out?”

“Just not for me. I’ll go back to the temp agency.”

“You can fill in here whenever you want.”

“No, she can’t.” Harry had his hands on his hips. “Portia, you can’t quit your job until we get the mortgage for the condo.”

“She can use Mahaffey-Ringold as her primary employment.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to this,” I said. “I never said I definitely would buy the place with you.”

“You have to. It would be good for both of us.”

“I’ll help pay the down payment,” Mother said. “It’s my Christmas present to both of you. I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

“But Billy comes with me. Love me, love my dog.”

“I thought Ellie was taking that dog,” Mother said.

“Change of plans. I’m keeping him.”

“Bring the dog. This will work. I’ll get us something to celebrate with.” Harry bounced out of the room over Mother’s protestations that it was working hours.

“You must really want him to move out,” I said.

“I think Walter and I have earned some alone time.” She lowered her voice. “How did you ever get Biddle to cross over?”

“I didn’t.”

Harry burst in carrying wine and plastic tumblers. “This is all I can find.”

Mother gave me a quizzical look.

“Demon attack,” I whispered in her ear.

* * * *

Harry took me back to the train station. As we hurtled along he smirked.

“What?”

“You’re lucky she doesn’t read the papers.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re lucky that Mother doesn’t read the newspapers. I do.” He changed lanes abruptly, passing a Volkswagen Beetle.

“Oh.” Not witty, but all I could think of to say.

“Did you really find a dead person?”

“I was helping someone get stuff from her niece’s apartment.” I omitted the part about Corinne also being murdered. “We found this girl I worked with dead in the bathroom. Don’t tell Mother.”

“Is that why you’re quitting?”

I clutched the armrest as he merged on the freeway. “Part of it. The rest of what I said was true. I don’t like the people.”

The car in front of us was too slow for Harry. He laid on the horn and whipped to the right, then back into his lane, nearly separating the car from its bumper. “But you stuck it out with Cruella de Vil for years.”