A Guilty Ghost Surprised (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Cozy Mystery series) Page 8

  “What is it?! What’s going on?” yelled Simon.

  “I-I don’t know. I-I think we’ve been bombed.”

  Silence.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  The door rattled.

  Simon and I looked at each other. I treaded lightly to the door and pressed my ear against it, then jumped back.

  “Indigooooo,” called a familiar voice. “Are you there, child?”

  “Franny? What in heaven’s name…?” I pushed through the door, Simon at my back.

  Franny stood just outside in the hall. “There you are, dear. I wanted to inform you that the watchers have arrived.”

  “The wha…?” I peeked around her to see spirits bustling to and fro. Some carried blankets and linen. Some carried trays. All glided up and down with purpose. All Victorian, by their style of dress. Childish giggling echoed through the hall. “Franny, what are all these spirits doing here?”

  “They’re here to protect Bryan, of course. I’ll not let that soul snatcher anywhere near him! I’ve organized it all, dear. We’re working in shifts. He won’t be left alone for even a moment.”

  And neither would we. I sighed.

  “What is it?” said Simon. A premature wrinkle creased his brow.

  “That bombardment we just heard was the recruits arriving. We’ve been invaded.”

  “Sorry?”

  I shivered. “Feel the chill? We’ve been invaded by spirits. They’re here to protect Bryan until we can figure out how to send him back.”

  Complete understanding transformed his face. We both knew what it meant. Chaos would reign with so many ghosties hovering about. We’d better solve this mystery. Quickly.

  We bundled into our coats and scarves against the dark and drizzly evening. I dug my hands into my pockets and glanced around before leaving the yard and stepping into the halo cast by street lamps.

  Simon looked at me with raised eyebrows.

  I shook my head. I didn’t see or feel anything, so we set off down the street, dodging puddles. After being followed the other night, we wanted to be extra careful.

  A few blocks later, we reached Mrs. Cuttle’s house on Quixley Street, dark and forbidding. We shared a do we really want to do this look and then stared up at the house for a long minute.

  Sighing deeply, Simon said, “Come on, then.” He led the way up the path and circled right to a latch-gate. Going through the gate, we made our way around to the back. Through the darkness, I spied a stairwell leading down a half level. Treading carefully, we sifted through leaves and other debris to reach the bottom. Clearing an area in front of the door, I lifted the doormat and retrieved the key. I’m not gonna lie, my hands shook a bit inserting the key into the lock. I’ve never purposely gone into a haunted house before. Although technically, I guess we lived in a haunted house, even if the ghosties were only Bryan, Franny and Cleo - and maybe the poltergeist dudes in the attic.

  The kitchen was situated a half-level below ground. I located a light switch near the door, but it didn’t work. I wished we’d thought to bring a flashlight.

  “Wish we brought a torch.” Simon echoed my sentiments. We whispered like thieves in the darkness, knowing perfectly well we shouldn’t be there in the dead of night.

  “Me too. Come on, let’s get this over with.” The sooner we got out of there, the better. The air was stale, tomb-like. I took firm hold of Simon’s elbow. We treaded lightly. I ran my hand along the long island in the kitchen as a guide. When visions filled my head, I jerked my hand back. Random visions would not do at all.

  Our eyes strained to see through the gloom. I brushed a hanging cobweb away from my face as we made our way down a short hall. Our boots echoed like legionnaires marching through the silence. I shivered and peeked back over my shoulder for anything lurking behind us. An eerie quiet pervaded the house. We came to a door and stopped. Simon glanced back at me, his wide eyes glowing through the dusky gloom.

  “Go ahead,” I whispered, giving him a little nudge.

  “Whatever happened to ladies first?” he mumbled under his breath. He pushed through, into a formal dining room. Past tense. Not so formal with items of cutlery and pieces of broken china littering the table. Dust and cobwebs covered every surface. It looked like someone went through the china cabinet looking for the best pieces, as indeed, the cabinet stood half empty.

  Skirting carefully through the dining room, we traversed another hallway leading into what looked like a living room. Two sofas, two chairs and a rocking chair sat next to a pile of newspapers. Wires and cable protruded from the wall where a television used to be.

  To the right, a set of stairs with a rickety banister led to the next level. Since the upper window was where we always spotted spirit activity, we went up.

  “This way,” said Simon, moving to the left toward a room that overlooked the street. With fingers raised to the door, it slammed open against an inside wall before he could touch it. I screamed at the sudden violence and clung to Simon. I wasn’t going to mention it, but Simon screamed every bit as loud—and girlish—as me.

  A green light flew rapidly around the room, trailed by a flash of black. Acute fear emanated from the room. Standing open-mouthed and watching, we didn’t have time to think about what might happen or what to do, when a deep growl erupted behind us. Jumping apart, Simon landed against the hall banister and me against the wall. The bulldog ran into the room, chasing the eerie lights in circles.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here,” yelled Simon. He grabbed my arm and pulled me down the stairs, through the hall, the dining room, another hall and finally the kitchen, slamming the door behind us. We ran around the house and down the street.

  Chapter Eleven

  Suspicious Minds

  We escaped the haunted house unharmed, yet the more distance we put between us and the house, the more I thought about going back. Bravery oozed from the bulldog, but that flitting green spirit, Mrs. Cuttle, had been terrified. I stopped and grabbed Simon’s arm. “We have to go back, Simon. That spirit is frightened out of her wits.”

  He stared at me wide-eyed. “She was frightened? If I recall correctly, we beat feet out of there, double-time. I don’t know what creatures live there, but they clearly don’t want us there. And who am I to argue with the spirits?”

  “Simon…”

  “You’re crazy, you are, if you think I’m going back in there.”

  Everything looked better on a Friday, unlike Monday.

  I didn’t really want to think about last Monday when I witnessed Badger happily hugging another girl. Even if she was just a friend. His bachelor status should serve as a reminder to me that he could see who he wanted. He didn’t need any more complications. And you, Indigo Eady, are definitely a complication. I lived with ghosts, spoke to ghosts and had a dark entity after me. Not to mention the Psychometry that resulted in me and others getting hurt in my efforts to escape the situation or dilemma. Trust me, many situations and dilemmas dwelt in the notches of my sixteen-year-old belt.

  We made our way to the Blind Badger. I felt safe leaving Bryan with the watcher-ghosts. We went down Quixley Street, the quickest way to the village and the Blind Badger. We met Mrs. Dibley again, coming down the sidewalk. She was going our way, so we walked a bit with her. The conversation naturally turned to Sadie Cuttle.

  “I sure do miss Sadie,” said Mrs. Dibley. “We used to have tea in the afternoons, and walk into the village together to do our shopping. Now I do it alone.”

  “You were great friends, then,” I said.

  “Oh yes. We knew each other for years. Even so, Sadie suffered terribly from loneliness. She drank a bit in the evenings when she got to missing her husband. He passed away years ago, but some loves last forever, like Queen Victoria and Albert.”

  I nodded. The poor woman just wanted someone to talk to, being lonely without Mrs. Cuttle.

  Mrs. Dibley continued. “Of course, sometimes she drank too much. Even started hallucinating the week before s
he died. She claimed her house was haunted.”

  “When did she die, exactly?” I wondered how long Mrs. Cuttle had been hanging around since her death.

  “Three years last January 14th,” said Mrs. Dibley. “Three long years,” she added.

  A tingle crawled up my spine to the base of my skull. I chewed my bottom lip. What could it possibly mean?

  We took leave of Mrs. Dibley at the market square.

  Simon opened the pub door and I preceded him inside. I waved to Claire and Charlie behind the bar. Charlie waved briefly, busy getting ready for the Friday evening crowd. Claire’s speculative gaze followed us down the hall. I wondered what she could be thinking. Perhaps she wondered about the friendship between me and Badger? Concerned, maybe? She couldn’t know about the investigation. Could she? Perhaps we should take the murder map home tonight…

  Simon worked on starting a fire in the snug grate while I collected water from the kitchen for coffee and tea. Riley piled leftover lunch sandwiches onto a plate, along with pickles.

  She smiled. “Hiya. Glad you’re here. Can you take these back for me? I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  “Sure.” I filled the coffee and tea carafes with water.

  “Indigo,” she began. “About the other night…”

  “Funny thing about nighttime,” I said. “I couldn’t see anything.”

  “Thanks.” She tucked a small order pad into her apron and disappeared through the swinging door. Badger came through on the back swing.

  “Hi.” He smiled.

  I smiled back, glad the awkwardness of a few days ago seemed to be gone. Glad we were friends. Glad his moodiness hadn’t stuck around long.

  “Can I help?” he asked, coming to stand next to me. His hand touched the small of my back lightly. I tingled from the base of my skull to the bottom of my toes. In a good way, not the creepy spirit way.

  “Thank you.” I handed him the two carafes, then picked up the plate of sandwiches with both hands and backed my way through the door. Badger followed me to the snug. Cappy, just arriving, opened the door for us.

  “Just in time, I see,” said Cappy. “‘ere, let me ‘elp.” He laid the plate of sandwiches on the table while I took the carafes from Badger to make tea and coffee.

  “I think we should take the map home tonight,” I said, over my shoulder. “Your mom may be suspicious. She watched us when we arrived this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that, too,” added Simon.

  “Can’t blame her, really,” said Badger. “The last time we met at the snug on a regular basis, we got ourselves into trouble.”

  “We sure did, didn’t we?” Cappy smiled, like he had had the time of his life. And maybe he did. We all did, in a way. We did something remarkable. We solved a murder. And put ourselves in all kinds of danger and nearly got killed ourselves, if you wanted to get picky about the details. And maybe Claire did want to get picky. We’d have to be careful.

  Simon and Riley sat next to each other as they both recorded information. It would have looked strange if they hadn’t. But they carefully avoided meeting eyes or inadvertently touching. They were uber polite, too. I wondered if anyone but me noticed.

  With the murder map rolled out on the table, Riley filled us in on Michael Potter’s employee file. “He has a terrible driving record,” she said. “He was actually on probation at the time of the accident.” She passed the report around the table. “He hit a parked car in a lot, side-swiped another car parked along a residential street, and rear-ended another car at a stop light. All while on the job.”

  Simon read through the report. “I see they did a thorough sweep of his police cruiser, looking for any evidence of his involvement in our accident,” said Simon. “They didn’t find anything.”

  “Yes,” said Riley. “But the question is, do we believe it?”

  “I don’t.” Cappy, of course, didn’t have to think about his answer.

  “Why did they leave this information out of the official report?” asked Badger. “If truly innocent, why not include it?”

  “Because it muddies the water?” I said.

  “Or,” said Simon, “because the information contained in his employee file is all lies, and they’re just covering their arses. He was a bad driver with three on-the-job accidents already under his belt.”

  “And that could have opened them up to a slew of wrongful death lawsuits,” I added.

  “Right, and they can’t afford that added to their already tarnished reputation,” added Badger.

  “So what do we do?” asked Cappy.

  “If there’s been a cover-up, I doubt we could uncover it. The police know how to correct the damage and avoid forensic detection,” said Riley. “Unless someone talks.”

  All eyes turned to me.

  “What?” I said. I certainly hadn’t held back any information at this point.

  “Robbie seems to like you a lot,” Riley observed. “He’d do it for you, if you asked him nicely.”

  Badger frowned.

  So did I.

  “Do what?” Alarmed, I wasn’t quite sure what she suggested.

  “Ask him to snoop fer us, o’ course,” said Cappy. “Subtle inquiries into Michael Potter’s work ‘abits, encouraging gossip about ‘im, that sorta thing. There must ‘ave been gossip at the time. Coworkers will ‘ave wondered why all the interest in ‘is car.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t ask Robbie without telling him we’re investigating. Surely we don’t want him to know.”

  Nobody had an answer to the dilemma.

  “Let’s keep it in mind, shall we?” said Riley. “If our investigation turns in that direction, then we’ll pursue it.”

  I sighed inwardly and sent up a muttered thank you heavenward. I didn’t want to ask D.S. Robbie O’Boyle to spy for us. It would certainly be my last resort. Besides, I don’t think he’d do it anyway. Not unless convinced of his fellow officer’s guilt, or a reasonable doubt existed.

  Hannah, our nosy spirit serving girl, poked her head through the door and looked under the table. Once sure the ghost-dog wasn’t there, she floated through and set invisible mugs of ale on the table. She drifted around to read the murder board, playing with Simon’s hair as she did so.

  Simon swatted her hand away, as if shooing a stray fly or other annoying insect.

  “Is there any news from forensics on the paint samples?” Riley asked Simon.

  “Nah. It’s a slow process. They’re shorthanded with all the budget cuts, too.” He swatted away Hannah’s hand again.

  “But we do have something else to report,” I said, looking at Cappy. “We were followed on Tuesday night when we left here.” I filled him in on what happened. Leaving out that extra bit of information, of course.

  “We’re making someone nervous, then,” said Cappy. “Who could it be?”

  Riley checked our list of suspects on the murder map. “Skip Shepard, the breakdown driver, or Scott Durdle, the drunk guy in the blue van.” She looked at me pointedly. “Do you think it could have been Robbie O’Boyle? Maybe he’s suspicious about what we’re doing, like last time.”

  I shook my head. “No. It wouldn’t be Robbie. He wouldn’t have been hanging around with those hoodlums.”

  “That’s true,” said Simon.

  “I think we all need to be aware of our surroundings,” I said. “The situation could have been dangerous, but it wasn’t. Whoever they were, they went out of their way to get away from us.”

  Badger looked skeptical. “All right. But let’s be careful. Don’t travel alone, especially Riley and Indigo.”

  “Anything else to report?” asked Riley. “We’re running out of options here. At least until we get the forensics report back.”

  “Well,” I said. “There is something I need help with.”

  Simon shook his head.

  “What?” said Badger.

  “The dog. Remember the bulldog?”

  He nodded.

  “I want to
cross him over - he followed us home one night. And you know, what with Cleo there, and the house already in chaos between Bryan and Franny, it’s not a good thing.”

  “What’s happening with Bryan and Franny?” Riley asked.

  “They’re fighting over the telly and Bryan’s watching scary stuff and getting scared and keeping us up all night,” said Simon. “Not to mention jumping into my bed with cold feet.”

  “I thought you two looked tired,” said Badger.

  “Completely knackered,” said Simon.

  I nodded.

  “I’m in,” said Badger.

  “Not me,” said Cappy, wide-eyed. “I don’t want to meet no ghosts, thank you very much.”

  “I’ve already been there,” said Simon. “Doors slamming open, weird lights flying about the place, the ghost dog barking and running around. I’m out.”

  I smiled at Badger. “So? Have you changed your mind yet?”

  He laughed. “No, I’ll do it. But you owe me one.”

  “No problem. Thanks.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Good Timing

  Since spirits became more active at night, Badger and I headed over to Mrs. Cuttle’s on Saturday night. We entered the same way Simon and I had a few nights before, except this time, we remembered flashlights. I meant torches.

  By torchlight, we discovered the full extent of the dilapidation. A shame, really, as its former beauty was apparent.

  “Wow, look at this place,” said Badger, shining his torch around the living room. It must have been grand at one time. Looks like somebody turned it over, though.” He stopped next to the rocking chair and flashed his light on the pile of newspapers. “Took all the good stuff and left the junk. Hey, look at this.” He picked up the top newspaper and blew the dust off.

  Tingling ran up my spine. Badger and I exchanged looks. I took the paper from him and shined my flashlight on it. Simon and his family made front page. Our family. And the entire article featured the accident details.