When Good Ghosts Get the Blues Read online

  She eyed me for a long moment, before sliding her skeptical gaze over my shoulder where Gwen and Hayward still lingered. “Look, clearly you’ve got some kind of connection to the spirit world, but let me assure you, Raymond is not a normal ghost. You do not want to get involved with him, whatever he might have told you.”

  “Can you at least tell me what he did?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of a ghost being bound to a physical item, like a mirror. Seems like that kind of containment would require a pretty strong will.”

  Lilah snorted, her eyebrows lifting in amusement. “My great-grandmother’s nickname was tronpè Tamara, which, is essentially an old Creole way of saying she was a hell raiser.”

  I blinked. “Your great-grandmother is the one who bound that ghost to the mirror?”

  “That’s right,” Lilah replied. “It was sixty-some years ago. Before my time, but it’s family legend.”

  “Why didn’t she just exorcise him?” I asked. “Seems like that would have been easier.”

  “Perhaps.” She shrugged. “But no one knows what happens to exorcised ghosts. None of them come back to tell the tale. This way, she knew exactly where Raymond was and could rest knowing he couldn’t do any more damage in this plane or the next.”

  “So, he’s been trapped for sixty years? What did he do in the first place? Gayle mentioned something about a little boy falling from a ladder?”

  Lilah’s eyes widened. “You talked to Gayle?”

  I nodded. “A couple of times. She wasn’t there when the murder occurred, but in talking with her about the house, she told me the history of the library.”

  “It was actually my idea to speak with this Raymond,” Hayward interjecting, coming to hover beside me. “Lady Gwen was accompanying me through the home when we stumbled upon the mirror.”

  “He didn’t seem dangerous,” Gwen added.

  Lilah’s eye darkened. “It’s not really up to you to decide that. My family knows his history, the lives he’s destroyed, and there’s no way to free him without causing more damage. I’m sorry this isn’t the answer you wanted, but there’s no way to free Raymond and even if there were, I wouldn’t let you.”

  “Is that a threat?” Flapjack asked, puffing out his chest.

  I held up a finger, silencing him. “Trust me, I know all about mean-spirited ghosts. I’ve seen it all, manifesting, poltergist-ing, general mischief and mayhem, hell, a few months ago I was up against a ghost that was full-on eating souls to try and regain his human body! I’m not some amateur with an EMF detector and a sixth sense. I’ve been doing this practically my entire life and have a healthy respect for what I can and cannot handle.”

  Lilah leaned back in her seat. “If you’re such a pro, then why did you come here asking for help in the first place?”

  “I wanted information,” I replied, keeping my tone firm. “I don’t charge into these situations like some kind of paranormal Laura Croft wannabe. The more I know about a ghost, the better I can proceed.”

  Lilah’s gaze hardened as she stared at me, unblinking. I couldn’t tell if she was sizing me up or trying to hex me. Which reminded me that I probably should have tried to get a read on her particular powers before getting into a verbal war with her.

  Ah, hindsight.

  Hayward cleared his throat. “I can personally vouch for Lady Scarlet and assure you, she is the utmost professional in all things … uh … ghost-y.”

  “What a ringing endorsement,” Flapjack quipped, rolling his eyes.

  “At least I’m trying to help,” Hayward fired back.

  “Oh, yeah, you’re doing a great job. How you ever ran an entire household is beyond me.”

  “Both of you, shush!” Gwen said, surging forward.

  “How about all three of you pipe down?” I snapped. Turning my attention back to Lilah, I pressed my palms together and leaned forward, putting Hayward and Gwen in my peripheral. “Listen, I get that this is a touchy subject and I promise I’m not here to let some monster loose in the city, but I need answers and right now, this Raymond is the only one who seems to have them. Is there anything else he might want? Something else I could use to barter with him for information?”

  “What’s the rush?” Lilah asked. “When I was there earlier, the police still had everything taped off. It looks they are in the middle of things. I’m sure they’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

  “They have her boyfriend locked up in the pokey,” Flapjack answered.

  I glowered at him. “You are so lucky I didn’t bring my omelet pan.”

  Lilah lifted her brows.

  I sighed. “It’s made of iron and portable. Handy when the need for dispersement arises.”

  “Aha.” Lilah’s lips twitched. “I imagine the TSA would have had a few questions for you if you’d tried to get that through airport security in your purse.”

  “It’s cruel and unusual,” Flapjack groused.

  I rolled my eyes. “For the record, I’ve never actually used it on you.”

  “No, you much prefer to squirt lemon juice at me from a distance,” he continued.

  “Oh, yes, you’re horribly abused,” I groaned. “Someone should call the ghost-cat ASPCA.”

  “I get the iron pan, but lemon juice?” Lilah asked, eying Flapjack.

  “He hates the smell,” I explained.

  “Okay,” Lilah said, stretching the word out.

  I buried my face in my hands and barked out a laugh. “I swear, saying all this out loud makes me feel like a complete lunatic.”

  “Oh, girl, this is nothing,” Lilah replied. “You honestly wouldn’t believe the things people tell me when they sit in that chair. Most of the time I can’t figure out if I should laugh, cry, or just make a huge tub of popcorn.”

  I peeked out through my fingers. “Really? I’m not the craziest person you’ve ever met?”

  Lilah flapped a hand. “You don’t even crack the top ten.”

  “Whew.” I exhaled and dropped my hands back to my lap.

  “How is it you can see ghosts anyway?” she asked after a beat of silence. “I get the feeling there’s a story there.”

  A familiar current of worry kicked up and I licked my lips nervously. “I don’t really know. It started when I was around eight. Flapjack”--I paused to point my chin at the Himalayan,--“passed over and came to me as a ghost. Ever since then, I’ve seen them and been able to communicate. I’ve traveled all over and met other spiritually connected, but no one has been able to tell me the origin of my so-called gift.”

  Lilah studded Flapjack. “I’ve got to be honest, in all the time I’ve been seeing them, I’ve yet to meet a ghost animal. Let alone one that talks.”

  Flapjack’s tail swished. “What can I say? I’m one of a kind.”

  “I certainly hope the good Lord broke the mold after making you,” Hayward mumbled under his breath.

  “What about you?” I asked. “From the sound of it, the gift runs in your family?”

  “The women in my family all share the sight. My great-grandparents on my mother’s side emigrated here from Haiti when they were in their thirties. There are a lot of misconceptions about the practice of Voodoo, and of course the truth has to combat with Hollywood’s version. My great-grandmother Tamara wasn’t spending her time making yarn dolls or raising the dead, but she could commune with the spirits and had the gift to heal. She’s the one who opened this shop, actually. It’s been run by my family for decades.”

  “What about your mother?” I asked, remembering that according to Flapjack she hadn’t noticed my invisible posse.

  A pained look flickered across Lilah’s face as she stared down at the crystal orb. “My mother passed away several years ago,” she said quietly. “She put her heart and soul into this place. It would kill her all over again if she saw what it’s been turned into by that woman.”

  “You mean Marla?” I asked.

  Lilah’s eyes darted toward the door. “She’s my step-mother. What my father
was thinking, I’ll never know. He can’t stand to be here, too many memories, but he also refused to shut it down, so after he remarried, he handed the reins to his new wife, and she rebranded it as if it was hers all along.”

  “Yikes,” Flapjack said.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “I’m sure that’s been difficult.”

  Lilah shrugged one shoulder. “It’s the way it goes, I guess.” Her eyes lifted, scanning the crown molding. “This place used to feel like magic. But now, it’s gone, like it died right along with my mother.”

  A heavy pit formed in my stomach and I glanced at Flapjack, unsure what to say.

  Lilah’s gaze dropped back to meet mine, and she offered a tentative smile. “She would hate the glitzy, cheap version of magic and mysticism people like Gilbert Jenkins pedal all over town,” she said, gesturing at my phone that I’d placed on the table between us. “I don’t know why I bothered going to see his little performance today. Color flooded her cheeks and a spark of darkness flickered back to her eyes. “Tricksters like him never change. He gets the money and fame, meanwhile, the people he so-called helps are left with nothing but vague descriptions and empty promises about their futures. He’s a charlatan. A liar.”

  “How did you know he would be at that house today?” I asked gently.

  “I don’t follow him, personally,” she said, “but words travels fast in our circles, so when he posted that he was coming to town to work on that TV show, we planned a protest. Then the murder happened, and I got curious what he would do next. I just happened to see he’d be there today and thought I would go make my protest know, with or without the others.”

  “Well the video was trending, so looks like your message will get heard,” I said, wondering if it would offer some solace.

  Lilah shook her head and then straightened. “The sooner this blows over, the better.”

  “For you, maybe,” I said, without thinking.

  “Right,” she said slowly. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry about your boyfriend. If there was some way I could help, I would. You seem like a good person, and you’re clearly very gifted. Spirits are excellent judges of character, and I doubt you’d have such loyal friends if you were anything less.”

  “There’s really no way she can release this Raymond fellow?” Hayward interjected.

  Lilah shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I can’t allow it.”

  “What if she puts him right back afterward?” Gwen asked.

  I held up a hand. “Guys, it’s all right. We’ll find another way to help Lucas.”

  “I really am sorry,” Lilah said. “If there’s anything else I can do, please don’t hesitate.”

  “Thank you. I’ll keep—”

  A vibration cut off the rest of my sentence and Lilah jolted as my phone buzzed loudly against the table.

  I grabbed the device and went to silence the call before I realized whose name was flashing on the screen.

  “It’s Lucas!”

  Chapter 13

  If there was ever a time to wish for another power, it would have been the frantic minutes following the phone call from Lucas after he told me he was waiting across town at our hotel. All I wanted to do was sprout wings and fly to him. But, being grounded by gravity, I bolted from Lilah’s shop without a word of explanation and raced outside to wave down a cab. In hindsight, I realized I probably looked like some kind of maniac, my arms windmilling around my head as I whooped and whistled for a cabbie’s attention.

  If I ever found myself stranded on a deserted island, I was fully prepped to flag down a rescue plane—complete with fire dance and smoke signals.

  Twenty painfully slow minutes later, I was fumbling with the electronic key card, only to realize I was standing in front of the wrong room when a door opened behind me and I whipped around to see Lucas standing there.

  I ran into his arms and mashed my face against his chest. “How—how are you here? Right now? Are you out on bail?”

  Lucas released me and stepped back inside the hotel room. “Come on,” he said, tugging on my hand. “Not exactly a conversation I want to have in the hallway.”

  “Right.”

  In my frenzy, I’d somehow managed to lose the ghosts but barely gave it a second thought as I followed Lucas inside. He closed and locked the door behind us.

  “I tried to find you,” I told him, my face against his chest as he pulled me into an embrace. “I went to the set and talked to Brooklyn. She told me you’d been arrested and that the studio wasn’t going to let you use their legal team.”

  Lucas held me for a long moment before moving to sit down on the couch. He pulled me down beside him and kept ahold of my hand. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t call you. They wouldn’t give me more than one call and I had to use it to call my brother. I uh—well, this is embarrassing, but I don’t have your number memorized. Otherwise, I would have told him to call you. As soon as I got off the phone, I realized I should have told him to look up your shop and get your cell from Lizzie. I hate that you were left in the dark.”

  I squeezed his hand. “I’m fine, Lucas. It’s sweet that you were worried about me, but what about you? What’s going on?”

  “I was never under arrest,” he said. “I’m not sure why Brooklyn told you that. Maybe the lawyer explained it wrong or she got confused. I was being held for questioning.”

  “For that long?”

  “They can hold you for twenty-four hours under normal circumstances, but apparently, in my case, they convinced some judge I was a risk and they got permission to hold me longer while they searched the hotel room the studio had booked for me. My lawyer about had a coronary trying to get me out. He said they were stalling, trying to keep me as long as they could to get the test results from the blood found on my work boots. They claim to have pictures of my boot print in blood that was found at the scene.”

  “How did it get there?” I asked, my voice small.

  “I have no idea. I wasn’t even wearing those boots that day. They were in the security trailer. I keep an extra set of clothes there in case I get called to the set and I’m in street clothes.”

  “Did you tell them that? I’m sure Sam or any number of staffers could back you up.”

  Lucas nodded. “I told them. My lawyers told them and the judge. They wanted to wait until the test results came back.”

  “And?” I prompted, the pit in my stomach becoming unbearable. It was so big it made it hard to breathe.

  “The blood matched,” he said, the words coming out like the whoosh of an exhale.

  I frowned. “Then … how are you here, again?”

  “My lawyers got ahold of the footage taken from that morning and it was clear I wasn’t wearing the boots. The judge told the police they couldn’t arrest me until they had more evidence. So, I’m here, but it’s on borrowed time.”

  I shook my head. “What were you doing there so early? I didn’t even know you’d left the hotel until Gayle told me she’d seen you there.”

  “Gayle?” Lucas asked, one brow raised.

  “Ghost.”

  “Aha.” He paused and rubbed a hand over his scruff-coated jawline. “I was there to make sure they were set up for the day. After the argument with Bart the night before, I wanted to personally be there to make sure everything ran according to plan.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He gave an impish smile. “I knew it would bug you. I’m supposed to be on vacation and spending my time with you. I figured I’d slip out and be back before you even woke up.” He kissed the back of my hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too,” I whispered. “If you’d never left, none of this would be happening. What are we going to do?”

  Lucas took a deep breath. “I have a good lawyer. She’s not going to let them arrest me until there’s something undeniable. Which, they won’t find, because I didn’t kill Bart.”

  “Well, I know that!” I chewed on the corner of my lip.

  “They
’ll figure it out, Scarlet. The truth will come out.”

  “So, what? We just go back to sight-seeing and stuffing ourselves silly with French pastries and pretending everything is fine? Just erase the last two days from our memories?”

  “If only.”

  Suddenly exhausted, I sagged against Lucas’s chest and blew out a long, slow exhale. “What a nightmare.”

  “Agreed.” He dropped a kiss to the top of my head before standing. “I just got back a few minutes before you got here. I haven’t showered or anything. You want to order in? Let’s say the food at the precinct isn’t quite on par with fancy room service.”

  I laughed and pushed up from the couch. “You shower. I’ll order.”

  “Well, well, the prodigal boyfriend has returned.”

  I grimaced and peered over my shoulder in time to see two fluffy paws step through the wall as if it were nothing but a wallpapered cat door flap. “Right,” I said, turning back to look at Lucas. “Forgot to mention one little thing.”

  Lucas pulled his shirt off and balled it up. “What’s that?”

  Gwen and Hayward popped into view. “Oohlala! Looks like we got back just in time,” Gwen squealed.

  Hayward broke into a coughing fit.

  “The three amigos are here,” I said, casting a meaningful glance at each of them.

  “Seriously?”

  I nodded, still cringing.

  Lucas pitched the t-shirt toward his suitcase and let out a sigh. “When did that happen?”

  “This morning.”

  “And they’re planning on staying?”

  “As far as I know.” I shot a pleading look at the trio. “But I’ll talk to them. You get cleaned up.”

  Lucas lingered for a moment, then ducked into the bathroom, muttering something under his breath.

  The door closed and I frowned.

  “Your fellow could stand to read an Emily Post guidebook or two,” Hayward declared. “I mean, honestly, disrobing in front of company!”

  “Oh, the horror,” Flapjack deadpanned.

  “Newsflash, Hayward, you guys aren’t company,” I replied, crossing the suite to grab the bound volume on the kitchenette counter. It contained the hotel room service menu along with information about their other amenities and local sight-seeing opportunities. I flipped it open and saw a glossy ad for the hotel’s exclusive spa services. For $450 we could have an in-room couple’s massage.