A Guilty Ghost Surprised (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Cozy Mystery series) Page 9

  “And look here,” added Badger.

  He shined his torch on the pile of newspapers. All were dated the week of the accident. And every one of them about the accident that killed Aunt Amanda and Bryan; speculation about who did it, asking witnesses to come forward, pleading for any information, in addition to how well-respected the family was, and what they contributed to the community.

  “This is…interesting,” I finally got out. “I wonder what it means? Why would she keep these?” I went through the pile. They were only about the Eadys, nothing else. Mrs. Cuttle’s sole interest seemed to be the accident. Why else didn’t she have other newspapers, only the ones about the accident?

  Badger took the newspapers and folded them in half, stuffing them into his rucksack. “Maybe she wrote something on them. We’ll study them later.”

  I nodded in the torchlight glow, totally freaked out. “All right. Let’s find the dog. Up here.”

  I led the way up the staircase, Badger following. Where was the dog? I shined my light around. The last time, he’d been right behind us. I didn’t want to experience that heart-hammering incident again. Turning left, we slowly made our way down the hall. I stopped in front of the same door where all the activity took place when Simon and I were there before.

  With my heart pounding, I pushed lightly on the door, afraid that it would slam open again. It didn’t. And the green light didn’t race around the room. A woman stood at the window, looking out. She floated above the floor and emitted a green glow. Hearing the door creak, she turned to us.

  “Mrs. Cuttle?” I asked.

  She nodded, wide-eyed. “What do you want?”

  She didn’t ask who I was and I could swear she recognized me. Probably from walking by and staring up at the window so often.

  “Why can you see me?” she asked. “Nobody else can see me.”

  I shrugged. “It’s what I do. An ability I have.”

  Badger stood in the doorway and watched my apparently one-sided conversation.

  Mrs. Cuttle began to pace. Or rather, she floated back and forth a foot above the floor.

  “Why are you still here?” I asked her. “You…” I hesitated. Sometimes spirits didn’t respond well when told they were dead. But she couldn’t cross over to heaven unless she knew, so I asked. “Do you know you’re dead?”

  She turned to me. “Of course I know it. I’m dead, not daft, child.”

  “So why are you still here,” I repeated. I wanted to get the information quickly before she did a disappearing act.

  She continued pacing. “I’m stuck. I don’t know why.”

  Mrs. Cuttle broke eye contact, eyes focused on the floor. Her whole body shuddered and the corner of her lips twitched. No doubt about it. She knew exactly why she couldn’t cross over.“I can help, if you’ll tell me. What’s the last thing you remember?”

  She began to pace more quickly, becoming agitated.

  I stumbled a couple of steps back. Badger pulled me against his chest. The green light that became Sadie Cuttle in an agitated state made herself known, even to Badger.

  “What’s happening?” he said. “What’s going on?”

  The bulldog appeared in the doorway. He cocked his head to the side as he watched Sadie. His head moved back and forth, eyes trained on her.

  “Mrs. Cuttle is becoming agitated,” I whispered, following her with my eyes.

  A low rumble came from the ghost-dog’s throat and his lips began to twitch. His nose crinkled, revealing sharp, white teeth. A dark shadow-like figure emerged through a corner in the wall.

  The dog’s growl grew deeper, louder. He placed himself in front of me, chest puffed out, presenting a defensive stance. He continued to rumble.

  Badger’s grip squeezed my arms tighter.

  “The Shadow - the Soul Collector,” he whispered.

  “Y-yes. I c-can s-see that,” I said, shivering. At least with S.C. here, I knew he couldn’t be anywhere near Bryan.

  A whirling wind roared through the room like a tornado. It grew colder. Puffs of condensation issued from our mouths. Continuing to snarl, with his nostrils flaring, ghost-dog looked like a smoke-breathing dragon. The door clicked shut behind us and dead-bolted, the echo picked up by the wind and added to the chaos. Stink followed, like a room full of rotting corpses.

  Badger turned and yanked on the doorknob to no avail. “What do we do?” he yelled above the cacophony.

  Mrs. Cuttle swirled faster and faster, caught up in the windstorm. The dog barked ferociously, the room grew colder and colder. The odor permeated everything and the shadow filled the room, second by second.

  “Light! We need light!” I yelled.

  The swirling swept up a loud wind and the ghost dog kept up a continuous barking cacophony. A keening moan added to the chaos.

  My numbed fingers lost their grip on the flashlight and it clattered to the floor, rolling across the slightly slanted floor towards Sadie. “No!” I scrambled after it on hands and knees, my hair and clothing whipping up around me. The mad clicking of Badger’s torch followed me across the room.

  “My torch, it won’t turn on!”

  Reaching for my flashlight, I snatched it and retreated back to Badger near the door. “He’s drained it of energy,” I yelled above the noise. I crouched down, clicking my flashlight. After a brief flicker, it came on. I shined it into the corner, and after a tortured screech, the Soul Collector retreated.

  Badger turned the deadbolt and yanked the door open. He grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall.

  At the top of the stairs, dizziness assaulted me. “Wait. Wait.” I lifted my right hand to my forehead, the left clinging to the banister.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” A crease appeared between his brows.

  “I’m dizzy.” My stomach churned. “And sick.” And something else…

  “Come on. Lean on me.” He pulled my arm around his neck and slipped his arm around my waist. I leaned into his shoulder and let him help me down the stairs and through the house. Cold air hit me in the face as we stepped through the back door. I gulped the fresh air like a fish gasping for water.

  “Sit here while I lock the door.” Badger fumbled with the key. Two tries later, the deadbolt jammed home.

  I sat on the bottom step with my head in my hands. Badger came back and knelt beside me. “Are you all right?” He brushed stray strands of hair away from my face.

  I looked up and smiled weakly. “Better.”

  “What happened?”

  “The banister. I got dizzy after touching it and then I had a vision of someone falling down the stairs and landing crumpled and broken at the bottom.”

  “Mrs. Cuttle?”

  “I think so.” Tears sprang to my eyes. “I was so scared,” I wailed, flinging my arms around his neck.

  He held me gently, stroking my hair, whispering, “Shhhh, shhhh,” against my ear. “You’re all right now.”

  Taking a shaky breath, I pulled away, knuckling the tears from my eyes. “I’m sorry.” I sniffed.

  “Don’t.” He shook his head. “Don’t be. I was scared, too.” He smiled.

  “Really?” I looked up at him shyly. I made a fool of myself in front of him so many times. I wondered if he only said that to make me feel better. In any case, he was being kind.

  “Really.” He brushed a quick kiss against my lips. Our eyes met through the dim light, close enough that I could see the amber specks in his brown eyes. I took another shaky breath. He brushed the back of his fingers against my cheek. He gazed into my eyes, then to my lips, and back up. He leaned in slowly, eyes open and brushed my lips again. I leaned into his chest, returning the pressure of his lips. “Indigo.” I pointedly ignored the voice at the back of my mind telling me this is a bad idea. No better than Simon and Riley.

  “Shhh,” I whispered, before kissing him again. “Just kiss me.” And he did, long and thoroughly. I don’t know how long we stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms kissing, but I didn’t
want it to end.

  A nearby whine broke us apart.

  The bulldog sat at our feet, panting and smiling.

  I sighed. Good timing, dude.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hannah’s Suspicions

  Noisy chatter filled the Blind Badger. Sounds of partying reached through the back door as soon as we opened it. Thankfully, people who imbibe find it difficult to make their way down the dark, wobbly passage and so didn’t even think about going into the snug. It was empty.

  Badger pulled the newspapers out of his rucksack and laid them on the table.

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  “Sounds good - I’ll get it.” I took the empty carafe from the side table and headed to the kitchen while Badger started the fire. With meal time over, the kitchen crew had already cleaned up and gone home. The only “person” in the kitchen was Hannah, collecting clean pint mugs to take out front.

  “Cor, it’s right busy tonight,” said Hannah, wiping her hands on her apron before lifting ten mugs in two hands. “Can I get you anything, Miss?”

  I smiled. “No thank you. We’re only drinking coffee.” I lifted the carafe full of water to show her I had it under control, then set it back down. The cool water on my hands felt good, so I let the water run over them.

  “What have you done to your hands, Miss?” asked Hannah, a look of concern crossing her features.

  “It’s nothing.” The episode of dizziness on the stairs raised slight blisters on my hands. The pain was tolerable. Practically nothing.

  “That is not nothing.” Her chilly hands held mine while she stared at the red, scarred, mess. She looked back up at me with a frown. “Who’s been harming you, Miss?” she whispered, like we might be overheard. When, in fact, only I would be overheard - talking to myself.

  I glanced quickly around the kitchen to make sure we were alone.

  “Nobody.”

  She shot me a disbelieving look.

  “Really, Hannah. I’m sensitive to things I touch. That’s all.”

  Her look still said, skeptical, but willing to entertain the idea. Glancing around surreptitiously, she said, “Is it that energy-sucker? The one they call the Soul Collector?”

  “No,” I answered. “Really, it isn’t…”

  “Then who?” she insisted.

  The kitchen door opened behind me and Hannah frowned. She narrowed her eyes and looked back and forth between me and Badger.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?” she accused.

  “No!” I cried. “It isn’t him. I’m telling you the truth.”

  “You can tell me,” she said. “I can help you. I know his type, Miss.” Her chest heaved, completely incensed.

  “What?” said Badger, looking around and seeing no one but me. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Hannah.” I held out my hands. “She thinks you did this.”

  He sucked in his breath. “Bloody hell. You got this tonight?”

  I nodded. “But it’s nothing. I’m fine.” But my stomach began to turn.

  Hannah circled us, gauging the situation. I don’t know what she could possibly do, but I didn’t want to find out.

  “Hannah,” I said, following her with my eyes. “Badger didn’t do it. I swear.”

  She looked slightly more believing, but not completely won over.

  “Come on,” said Badger. “Let’s get something on your hands.” He took the carafe and led me back to the snug, made the coffee and went to retrieve the first aid kit.

  My head and my hands began to ache, but I refused to give in to it. Gingerly, I opened the oldest newspaper and began to read the article. Since I had been in the States at the time, tonight was the first time I read anything about the accident. The more I read, the more my stomach turned.

  Crap. Definitely time to... I jumped up from the bench and lunged for the door, flinging it open and meeting Badger about to come in. I brushed past him and hoofed it down the hall to the ladies room. Choosing the biggest stall, I dropped to my knees and hugged the porcelain, parting ways with the contents of my stomach. Over and over.

  A woman coming out of the next stall, said, “Drinking too much too soon, I expect.”

  Her statement didn’t expect a reply.

  Wiping the back of my hand on my mouth, I struggled back to my feet and leaned against the wall. Tendrils of hair escaped my braid and clung to my sweaty face.

  “All right now, luv?” the woman asked.

  “I-I’m fine,” I answered, pushing away from the wall and going to the sink. I splashed water over my face and rinsed my mouth. I raised my head and studied my face in the mirror. More pale than ever, the dark circles really stood out. I looked like a zombie. I ran more cold water over my burning hands, the blisters getting bigger after handling the newspaper articles.

  Deciding I’d better get back before Badger thought I’d flushed myself into the Ministry of Magic, I left the ladies room. Badger leaned against the wall, waiting outside the door.

  I tried a smile, but it came out pretty feeble.

  He sighed, barely audible against the loud music drifting down the hall. Shaking his head, he pushed against the wall, put his arm around my shoulder, and walked with me back to the snug.

  “What happened?” He opened the first aid kit and took out the burn cream. I noted it had been replaced since the last time I used it.

  I pointed to the pile of newspapers. “Turns out, reading about violence causes blisters, too.” My voice shook. “And nausea. Unless it has to do with Sadie Cuttle’s energy on the newspapers.” I shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  “You look like hell.” He gently dabbed the cream on my shaking hands.

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.” I tried for a laugh, but it came out flat.

  He tipped up my chin and studied my face. He started to say something, then clamped his jaw shut. He busied himself repacking the medicine kit. He handed me a couple of paracetamol. “Here. Take these.” Picking up the kit, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Careful not to touch the newspapers, I circled the table and sank back into the pillows on the bench. I closed my eyes for just a minute…

  “Hello sleeping beauty,” said Badger. “How are you feeling?” He folded the paper back to its original configuration, a feat I never mastered, then threw the stack into the corner.

  I sat up. Slowly. “Great. Thanks. I guess I fell asleep.”

  “I didn’t see anything that could help us in those,” said Badger. “It’s mostly assumptions and guesses about what might have happened, interviews with friends and neighbors. Basically anything juicy to sell tabloids.”

  I nodded. “Yes, it did seriously lack in any real details.”

  “So the blisters, then,” he indicated my hands, “are from Mrs. Cuttle’s energy.” He contemplated for a minute. “I wonder what upset her so, why she saved the newspapers. It’s not like she knew any of them. Did she?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “She could have been an empath, I suppose.”

  “A what?”

  “An empath. People who feel others’ pain very acutely. Sort of like my Psychometry, they take in pain, depression, loneliness.”

  “If that’s the case, why read the newspaper at all? I mean, why put herself through it?”

  I lifted my shoulders. I didn’t have a good answer. “Why do I continue to do it?” I said.

  “You help people.” His answer came quickly. “She doesn’t - didn’t. How could she?”

  Another question I couldn’t answer.

  Hannah drifted through the door, delivering pints of invisible ale and bowls of soup with hunks of bread. It looked so good, I could almost smell it.

  “Here you are, Miss. I thought you could use some nourishment after…”

  “Thank you.”

  She eyed Badger with mistrust, but placed the same thing before him.

  “Twasn’t him? Truly?” she whispered, slanting suspicious eyes at Badger.

  “No
. It really wasn’t,” I answered.

  “Huh?” Badger tilted his head to the side.

  “Sorry. I’m talking to Hannah. She brought us beer and soup.” I tried to persuade him with facial gestures that he should be nice. “Wasn’t that nice of her?”

  His wary face told me he thought I may have been having some kind of seizure with all the twitching and eyebrow raising.

  “Uh, yes. Yes, very nice of her. Thank you, Hannah.” He looked to the left.

  I twitched my head the other way, indicating Hannah’s direction.

  He turned to the right. “Thank you, Hannah.”

  She curtsied and drifted back through the door.

  “She’s gone,” I said. “And I badly wish I could have some of this soup. It looks delicious.”

  “Yeah? I’d be happy just to see it. Or her, or all the other strange things lurking about. I’d like to know what I’m dealing with.”

  “Hmm. Trust me. Not such a good idea.”

  He shook his head. “I feel like I’ve lived with my head in the clouds my whole life. Until my dad died, everything was normal. At least it seemed that way.”

  “So what’s normal?” My life had never been normal, not in the way most people defined it.

  “Mom, dad, brothers, sister. Family get-togethers, picnics. Dinner on the table at six o’clock. What about you?”

  My heart cracked a bit. When I first came here I thought I could lead a normal life. Nobody knew my secret, except Simon and the spirits.

  “Normal? Seriously?” I shook my head. “You’ve seen my normal. I barely remember my mother and my dad worked all the time. The paranormal is my normal.” I didn’t want to look at him, because at the moment, I felt more like a freak than ever. I didn’t have the whole family life and normal things. I wanted it, though. Very badly. “The closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother is Franny.” And now I just sounded pathetic. “But hey, if you can get past all that popping in and out and cold spots, you kind of get used to it.”

  He sighed. “Let me walk you home. You look knackered.”

  I managed a slow, painful shower, careful not to irritate the blisters on my hands too much. Still, I burst a few which stung like hell when they came in contact with the hot water. I let the water pour over me for a long time, the heat finally warming me up after the shock of the accident vision.