They say you know a ghost is near when bloodhounds howl in the night or when you see a flickering shadow out of the corner of your eye. But as I leaned against the white painted rail of my back porch, I knew a ghost lingered behind me because he couldn’t stop talking about his poker hand.
“Four of a kind, aces,” Frankie crowed, laying his cards out on the table for his three gangster buddies, who would have been green with envy if they hadn’t shimmered in black and white.
The snub-nosed ghost across from Frankie tossed his cards down onto the table. “You’re cheating!” he declared, but he said it halfheartedly. He knew as well as I did that Frankie couldn’t be hiding an ace up his sleeve. Spirits could only own what they’d died with and Frankie hadn’t been holding any cards on that hot summer night back in 1933.
“Lucky at cards, unlucky at love,” I teased, gaining a bemused glance from my boyfriend of several months, the handsome deputy sheriff, Ellis Wydell. I drew close enough to smell his spicy aftershave. “I’m talking about Frankie.”
“I figured,” Ellis said, wrapping an arm around me. “You need to find him a girlfriend.”
“I think that’s beyond my pay grade.” I was still getting used to the fact that I could see spirits and talk to them. And that I occasionally hosted poker night. Ghostly matchmaking was a whole other level of weird.
Ellis and I shared a grin and I was just about to lean up and kiss him when the phone in my pocket vibrated.
“I wonder who that could be,” I said, not recognizing the number. If the call wasn’t from a friend or family member, maybe it was a potential client. I’d been trying to get my ghost-hunting business started. “Oh, Ellis. I think this could be it.” I stepped away from him and answered. “Hello?” I asked, over the croak of bullfrogs and the chirping of crickets.
Static clouded the other end of the line. A woman’s voice crackled in the midst of it. “We need you.” Her words sounded hollow, far away.
“Who is this?” I pulled the phone away to take a second look at the caller ID.
“I recognize that number,” Ellis said. “It’s the main line for the Sugarland Heritage Society.”
The group oversaw historic preservation and resided in one of the town’s most treasured old properties. It shouldn’t be open this late at night, on a Friday no less.
The screen on the phone flickered as I brought it to my ear again. “Sorry. I didn’t catch your name.” When there was no response, I added, “What can I do for you?”
The caller didn’t respond, and for a second, I thought I’d lost her. Then the voice came through. “There’s been a murder.”
Seconds later, the police radio on Ellis’s belt went off.
Break-in at the Sugarland Heritage Society. All available officers report to the scene.
We exchanged a worried glance. Before I could tell him what I’d heard, a harsh click echoed in my ear and the line went dead. “Hello?” I demanded. “Hello?”
“I have to go,” Ellis said, backing up a few steps as he unhooked the radio from his belt.
“Woah! Hey!” the gangsters protested as my non-ghost-seeing boyfriend walked straight through their poker game.
He spoke into the radio. “This is Officer Wydell. I’ll be there in five.” He headed for the porch steps. “Sorry, Verity.”
“I’m going with you,” I said, hurrying after him, making sure to bypass the ghosts.
Ellis stopped at the edge of the porch and planted a quick kiss on top of my head. “Not this time. Break-ins can be dangerous.” He gave my hand a squeeze and then took to the stairs. “Let me do my job.”
“It’s a murder,” I said, following him down. “That’s the call I just got. A woman reported a murder. The call came from inside the house.”
He drew his radio out again and cursed under his breath. “Watch your backs. Verity Long just received a call from inside the Sugarland Heritage Society. Caller reported a murder.”
I gave it ten seconds before that was all over town.
“You see why I’m going with you,” I said, trailing him to his police cruiser. Dang. I needed to get my purse.
“Not yet,” Ellis said, turning to me. “The police will be swarming all over the place.” He dug in his pocket for his keys. “This is the biggest thing since the bank murder.”
“Which I solved,” I pointed out.
“You know I think you’re amazing,” he said, with the kind of pride that made me go a bit melty, “but let the police do their job, mortal methods only. I’ll tell you what we find and bring you in as soon as we can.”
“But a murder?” I protested, unwilling to let it go.
“I’ll check it out,” he assured me.
Yes, well, he couldn’t see everything.
“I’ll call you as soon as I have something to tell you,” he said, opening the door and hitting the lights on the cruiser.
He’d better.