When Good Ghosts Get the Blues Page 12

  “Probably nothing you didn’t already know. Can you tell us what you remember from the morning of the murder? Did you see or hear anything?”

  Lucas shook his head. “I was only there for ten, maybe fifteen, minutes. As soon as I was sure Sam had everything under control, I left. I stopped at the bakery and got the cronuts and coffee and came back here to make sure I was back in time for you to wake up.”

  “What the heck is a cronut?” Flapjack asked.

  I ignored him.

  “It’s part of the problem, actually,” Lucas continued. “The police think it’s convenient that I quote-unquote disappeared right before the body was discovered and 911 was called.”

  “What about the coffee shop? Do you have the receipt? Or, maybe someone working there would remember you, if the police showed them your picture?”

  “They don’t open until six o’clock,” he replied, a note of regret in his voice. “So I spent a little time driving around, listening to a podcast. No way to verify that.”

  “Does the rental have GPS? Maybe they could track that and see you’d been driving?”

  Lucas considered it, but then shook his head. “I don’t think it matters, Scar. The police don’t have the pinpoint moment that Bart was attacked. According to their timeline, it all fits.”

  “So, they think you went there, checked some cameras, flew into a fitful rage, and killed a man, then, what? Changed out of your bloody boots and clothes and went to get pastries? It’s insane!”

  Lucas shrugged. “People are crazy sometimes. I’m sure I can only imagine the kinds of things the detectives have seen over the course of their careers.”

  “Where did they find the boots?” I asked. “They never searched this room.”

  “They found them in the security trailer.”

  “And what about the clothes you were wearing? Wouldn’t those have blood too?”

  “My lawyer tried that. They said I could have tossed them, burned them, washed the evidence away.”

  I chewed on my lip, a sick sinking feeling tugging on me.

  “What are you thinking?” Lucas said.

  I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  “Come on. Give me a little credit.”

  “Lucas, it—” I stopped short and looked down at my clasped hands. “I know you don’t want to think this, but there’s really only one person who fits.”

  A haunted look crossed Lucas’s eyes and I realized he’d already come to the same conclusion on his own. “Sam.”

  “He had access to turn off those cameras, and he could have worn your boots. Maybe it was an accident. He might have put yours on, thinking they were his.”

  “There’s just one problem,” Lucas said, his voice quiet.

  “What?”

  “He was in the security trailer the whole time. I saw him when I got to the set and checked in before I went to check cameras and make sure the crew had everything they needed. Hell, I even talked to Bart and tried to bury the hatchet from the night before. When I left, I popped in and said goodbye to Sam.”

  “But you were busy in the house. He could have gone out and come back again before you left. Or maybe it happened after you left. You just said the police don’t have an exact time of death.”

  “He would have had to cross in front of the camera set to surveil the driveway. That camera wasn’t one of the ones shut off. The police will have gone through all the footage. There’s no way they would have missed him leaving the trailer.”

  “Then who?” I exclaimed. “Who did this? That Gilbert guy doesn’t seem interested in anything besides YouTube followers. What do you know about the camera guy, Todd?”

  Lucas downed the dregs of his coffee. “Not much,” he said, setting the mug aside. “Listen, I need to get dressed and go down to the lobby. Brooklyn is on her way here to get back the key for the hotel room the studio had me in and to get my studio ID.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Chapter 15

  Brooklyn was waiting in the lobby when we arrived and stood as soon as she saw us step off the elevators. She offered a professional smile to each of us in turn. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” she told Lucas. “Scarlet, I’m sorry to have to meet again under these circumstances. I hope you both know this is in no way an easy decision and it’s not personal.”

  Flapjack snorted. “Sure, lady.”

  “Hush,” Gwen said.

  “What? It’s not like she can hear me,” he countered, swishing his tail.

  “Let’s sit and we can get everything squared away,” Brooklyn said, gesturing toward the cluster of chairs she’d come from. Her lipstick-stained coffee cup sat on a round table beside the chair and a blue folder was placed next to it.

  Brooklyn sat down and crossed her legs at the ankles. She wore a black pantsuit and looked ready to step into a fancy high-rise boardroom once she finished with us. Her long blonde hair hung at her shoulders and when she tucked it behind her ears, I noted that one detail had been missed: one of her diamond stud earrings was missing. It was immature, but I relished in that small imperfection as I took my seat beside Lucas.

  Brooklyn picked up the folder and then took her seat as Lucas and I perched on the edges of our respective chairs. Flapjack jumped up onto the coffee table and eyed Brooklyn with a surly glare. “You should ask Lucas if he saw her that morning. She told the police she was there doing paperwork, but why? You people do everything on your phones and computers these days. Why would she have needed to be at the set so early?”

  I shot him a disbelieving look.

  He flicked his tail toward Brooklyn, his face impassive. “She’s got to be at least as tall as the dead guy. And I’d bet my fluffy hide that she hits the gym. If she caught him by surprise? One good whack and he’d be down for the count!”

  I scoffed and Brooklyn glanced over at me. “Is something wrong?” she asked, her tone cool and crisp.

  “Allergies,” I said, feigning a sneeze.

  Lucas looked pained. “Can we get this over with?” he asked Brooklyn.

  She opened the folder and produced a stack of papers and a pen. Handing both to Lucas, she straightened. “It’s all pretty standard,” she said. “These documents state that we are terminating our service contract with you and outlines the reasons why. All in legalese, of course. Let me know if you have questions. Once you’ve read it, I’ll need a signature at the bottom. I’ll also need the room key for the company-paid hotel room. As soon as we’re done, I have a check that covers this month’s salary and travel stipend.”

  Lucas’s jaw clenched but he didn’t say a word as he flipped through the documents. Brooklyn ignored me, preferring to watch the hotel patrons coming and going as the daily grind lurched into high gear.

  Meanwhile, Flapjack remained on the table, his tail still swirling around him. “She’s shifty, Scar. I’m telling you.”

  Lucas finished reading and signed the bottom page. “I’m assuming I will get a copy of these at some point?”

  “As soon as I get back to my hotel room. I’ll be sending copies to you and to the studio.”

  Satisfied, he handed the completed paperwork to Brooklyn and she filed it away. He produced the hotel key card from his wallet and gave her that as soon as she closed the folder. “They only gave me one,” he explained as she took it.

  “Very good. And here is your check.”

  He took it, folded it, and slipped it into his pocket without looking at it. “Are we done here?”

  Brooklyn considered him for a moment, something that looked like regret crossing her perfect features. She exhaled slowly and then extended her hand. “I really am sorry to see you go, Lucas.”

  Lucas took her hand and forced a tight smile. “Goodbye, Ms. Skye.”

  Brooklyn inclined her head and then glanced at me. “Ms. Sanderson. I do apologize for all this unpleasantness. If you ever reconsider our offer of piloting your own show, give me a call.”

  “Yeah. That’s so not goin
g to happen.”

  Flapjack snorted.

  “Oh, and by the way, you’re only wearing one earring,” I told her, doing my best Mean Girls impression. “I sure hope the one you lost wasn’t expensive.”

  Brooklyn reached up to touch her earlobe and frowned. “Thank you. I’m sure it will turn up.”

  “Good luck,” I said, turning on my heel to follow Lucas back to the elevators.

  “You should have said she looks like a pirate,” Flapjack said. “Talk about a missed opportunity.”

  “Somehow, I think I’ll live.”

  We did our best to have a normal day, but the unpleasantness from the morning hung over us as we wandered the city streets, and there weren’t enough powdered sugar-coated anythings to banish it completely. After a lackluster dinner, we returned to the hotel and watched part of a movie on TV before Lucas called it a night and went to bed early.

  His snores drifted through the room as I lay awake beside him, staring into the dark room. The ghosts were off exploring the city’s nightlife. Or, at least, that’s what they’d told me they were doing. Lucas made it clear he didn’t want to talk about the case and I didn’t push him on it. If our places were reversed, I imagined I’d be sick of thinking about it too.

  A mental hourglass filled my mind and I could almost hear the grains of sand sliding through it. There were three days left until my return flight to Washington, and I was already dreading it. It would be difficult to leave Lucas under any circumstances, but now, it felt impossible. He had no job, no direction, and his lawyer advised him against leaving the state until the investigation moved its spotlight off him.

  The worries and anxieties tumbled around my head like a solitary shoe left in the dryer. Thunk, thunk, bump. Repeat. Over and over again. Finally, with a heavy sigh, I pushed aside the covers and slipped from the bed. I went to the bathroom and changed into a pair of jeans and a dark sweatshirt. I pulled my hair into a topknot and then went to the living room to grab my purse.

  “Scar?”

  Flapjack sat alone on the couch when I emerged from the bathroom. I jolted and raised a hand to my chest. “You scared me! What are you doing here? I thought you were out on the town, living it up.”

  “I haven’t lived it up for the better part of the last two decades, Scar.”

  I cringed. “Sorry. Didn’t think that one through.”

  “Gwen and Hayward are dancing at some jazz club. It wasn’t my scene, so I came back here.”

  “Hayward was dancing?”

  Flapjack laughed, the sound a mix between a wheeze and a purr. “I’d call it more of a high-speed shuffle, but yeah. I get the feeling a nice, slow waltz might be more his speed, but he can’t say no to Gwen.”

  I smiled. “Seems like they’re back in a good place.”

  “I guess.”

  “Oh, come on, Flapjack. He’s your oldest friend besides me. You can’t tell me you aren’t at least a little bit happy for him.”

  Flapjack frowned. “He’s more fun to torment when he’s grumpy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You really are impossible. Have I told you that lately?”

  “What’s with the outfit? You two going out?”

  I glanced back at the bedroom door. “He’s dead to the world. I was just going to go out and get some air.”

  “Some air, huh?” Flapjack said, raising his dark brows.

  I shifted my weight. “You know, a little walk or something.”

  “In the middle of the night? Alone? In an unfamiliar city?”

  “Since when did you turn into my father?”

  Flapjack waited, not saying a word.

  “Okay, fine!” I scoffed. “I was going to go and talk to Raymond.”

  “The mirror ghost?”

  “Yes! I’m at my wit’s end here and he’s the only clear solution.”

  “What about Lilah? You don’t even know what she’s capable of, Scar. You sure it’s a good idea to go messing around with that ghost? If she finds out, she could come after you.”

  “I’ll have to deal with that when the time comes,” I said, setting my shoulders in resolve. “If it comes. For all we know, she’s parroting some family legend that’s nothing more than patchy folklore and rumors.”

  I moved for the door before Flapjack could throw up any additional obstacles. With one hand on the knob, I glanced over my shoulder. “You coming or not?”

  “No chance I can get you to reconsider? I’ll watch Gilmore Girls with you if that’s what it takes to get you to stay here.”

  I smiled sadly. He must really be desperate. “I’m going, Flapjack. It’s my only shot.”

  He groaned but hopped down from the couch and floated over toward me. “Times like these, I’m thankful to be dead already, so you can’t give me a heart attack.”

  As Gwen and Hayward said, the property on Saint Charles was abandoned but the police tape remained, along with a seal on the front door that made it clear that any trespasser would be arrested. I glanced around the porch, scanning for security. With Lucas gone, I wasn’t sure if any existing cameras would even be up and running. It was possible they already had some new security firm in place, but according to Lucas, the studio had decided to move on to Topeka and drop the renovation efforts on the Saint Charles home. If that was the case, would they bother keeping up surveillance efforts when technically the house was under NOPD control until further notice? It seemed unlikely, but I kept my face tucked away under my hood just in case.

  “Come on,” I said to Flapjack. “Let’s go around back. I don’t want to tamper with this seal.”

  “Scar, you know I’m not the wet blanket type, but this feels … off.”

  He was right, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. His ego didn’t need the boost and besides, we were already here. I wasn’t going to let a sticker scare me off.

  There were half a dozen entries into the house, which alone seemed like a security nightmare. The doors had seals and the windows were locked. Then, just as I was about to give up, I spotted it. The balcony overlooking the backyard had a pair of French doors and one of them was cracked open. “Flapjack!” I whispered. “Look! I think that door is open.”

  He levitated off the ground and soared upward for closer inspection. “It’s open, but Scar, how are you going to get—”

  He stopped short when he glanced over the edge of the balcony and saw me climbing onto a cement planter while reaching for a trellis of ivy. He swore and muttered under his breath but didn’t try to stop me. I climbed the trellis and hauled myself over the edge of the balcony, puffing for air, but in one piece and flashed him a triumphant grin.

  “You’re an idiot sometimes, you know that?”

  “Love you too, fur ball.”

  He glared at me, his silvery eyes shining in the beams of moonlight filtering through the huge oak trees that shaded a good portion of the yard.

  I sighed. “It was one floor up. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, you could have fallen and broken a bone or hit your head. What exactly were you going to tell the paramedics? That you were on a nature walk?”

  “Ugh. You are a wet blanket.”

  I slipped through the open door and pulled out my keychain-size flashlight. It was small but mighty and provided more than enough light for me as I crept through the house. It was eerie being in such a huge space in the dark. Luckily, the layout was simple and I found my way downstairs to the library without too much trouble. I halfway expected Gayle to pop out and scold me again, but she didn’t appear to be at the residence. Or, if she was, she was far enough away that she hadn’t heard me come in.

  “This is it,” I whispered, one hand stilled on the doorknob.

  “Well…? You waiting for a hand-engraved invitation, or what?”

  I pushed open the door and breathed deeply. The smell of dust and old books filled the air, and it was clear the renovation process hadn’t even started in the expansive room. I twirled slowly, shinin
g my light at the wall of built-in bookcases, interspersed every few feet by empty walls where the family had likely displayed their art collection. The only thing left on the walls was a gold-framed mirror hanging over the massive fireplace at one end of the room.

  “That’s gotta be it,” I said, taking a tiny step forward.

  “Swell,” Flapjack said.

  It took concentrated force to get my feet to move. Lilah’s words and the heat in her eyes flashed through my mind, and a ribbon of fear wound itself around my heart.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Flapjack said, stalking toward the mirror. “Yo! Raymond? You got company.”

  I winced but moved a little quicker to catch up with him.

  The mirror twinkled to life, the surface changing to a murky mixture of purple and silver, the same as spirits. Slowly, the particles of color blended together and morphed into the ghost of a man. His face was lean, with sharp cheekbones and a long nose. His eyes appeared sunken in and I wondered if he’d been a prisoner prior to death.

  “R—Raymond?” I stuttered.

  “Who told you my name?” he hissed.

  I swallowed, momentarily debating whether it was safe to give up Lilah’s name or not. Considering his history with her family, I decided against it. “My friends came to see you,” I replied, regaining the strength of my voice. “I’m here to talk about the murder that happened in this library a few days ago. My friends told me you have information.”

  “Then, I’m sure they also told you my price.”

  “I can’t set you free,” I said. “I wouldn’t even know how.”

  Raymond studied me for a moment. “How do you know that? You haven’t even tried.”

  “What does she have to do?” Flapjack asked. “Break the mirror?”

  Raymond chuckled. “If only it were that simple.”

  Something about the reflection called to me and without thinking, I reached out and ran my fingertips along the surface of the mirror. It was cold as ice but just before I took my hand away, I felt a pulse of power flow from the glass. Recoiling, I stared at my fingers, as if expecting them to change color or shoot laser beams. “What was that?”