Ghost Walking (A Maggie York Paranormal Mystery Book 1) (7 page)

“No, no, not at all,” Annie said. “Actually, I’m kind of relieved.”

“Relieved? Are you kidding?”

“My grandmother has the sight. And think of all the haunted buildings around town. Maggie, it’s normal in New Orleans. At least to us natives.” Annie grinned. “My family goes back to the city’s founding. You should hear my family tree.”

Maggie leaned forward. “It that true?”

“Sure.” Annie’s grin broadened. “What? You think I’m nuts now?”

“Why haven’t I heard this before? We’ve known each other five years.”

“As you’re finding out, it isn’t something you share with non-believers. You’ve openly scoffed at the paranormal stuff, so I just left out that part of my life. It’s not like I’m a full-fledged practitioner of witchcraft, just a few herbs and a crystal or two.”

Maggie’s mouth dropped open. “You do that? Dalia gave me some things.” Relieved to have someone she could talk to, she recited a list of the items in her bag.

“I’d love to see them. Let’s get our dessert to go and take it to your place.”

Twenty minutes later, they sat on the floor in the middle of Maggie’s living room with a carryout container of chocolate lava cake with two forks sitting between them. Laid out in front were the candles, sachets, protection stones, and crystals from Dalia’s bag.

Annie took a forkful of cake, licked her lips, then picked up the crystal, a multifaceted pyramid that reflected an array of colors. “This is beautiful. Did you know you can cleanse your spirit by holding it in one hand and visualizing good energy flowing from it through your body and out the other hand?”

Maggie shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t know you did either.” Why hadn’t she suspected this side of Annie? Setting her dubious heritage aside, a cop was supposed to be perceptive, even intuitive. But she’d totally missed this facet of her best friend?

“These sachets smell so good.” Annie closed her eyes and held one of them to her nose. “This one will make you sleep like a baby.”

A knock on the door interrupted them. Maggie jumped, wondering who would be here at this time of night. It was after eleven. Did ghosts knock?

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Annie asked.

“What if it’s Hurst?” Maggie whispered.

“I don’t think they can make any noise.”

“Oh, good point.”

She got up and looked through the peephole. A brown jacket. Not a black and gold hoodie. She left the door on the chain and opened it a crack. “Yes?”

“It’s Detective Brandt. Are you OK?” His face appeared in the opening.

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” She hesitated but finally unlatched the chain and opened the door a few inches. She didn’t invite him in—not with her nagging suspicions and with Dalia’s things spread over the floor.

“I called your cell. When you didn’t answer, I drove by and saw the light.”

“Sorry, I didn’t get back to you, but I was out for the evening.” She saw his eyes flicker behind her and moved to block his view. “I have company. Is this important or can we talk tomorrow?”

His eyes were shuttered now. “It’ll keep, now that I know you’re fine. Goodnight. Sorry to bother you.”

“No bother. I’ll call you in the morning.” She watched him walk away, then closed the door.

“That was sweet of him, but you weren’t very welcoming,” Annie said. “Wish I had a hunk like that checking on me.”

“You have Charlie.”

“Yeah, but he’s more the lovable Teddy Bear type, not Mr. Dark Intensity.”

Brandt was that. But what lay underneath? Maggie narrowed her eyes. A conscientious cop checking on the welfare of a victim, or something else? Something more menacing? Or more personal? She lifted a brow, both intrigued and wary. What would he have said or done if Annie hadn’t been there? She needed to know a whole lot more about Detective Brandt.

She turned to Annie. “How would you like to put your investigative reporter skills to work for me?” That was a polite way of referring to Annie’s ability to breach any online database and discover things about people they didn’t know themselves. Some people called it hacking. Annie thought of it as research.

“Doing what exactly?”

“Learning everything you can about Joshua Brandt. A total background check.”

“Checking his bf potential?” Annie’s mouth twisted in doubt. “Or do you really think he’s a dirty cop? That would be a waste of a beautiful man.”

“The point is…I don’t know.”

Annie shrugged. “Sure, I can do it, but it’s kind of outside my realm of human interest articles.”

Maggie snorted. “Nice try, Miss Innocence. I know you’ve hacked a lot of places I don’t officially want to know about, but I trust you to dig deep. Besides, he’s a human of interest to me.”

“Maybe in more ways than one?” Annie asked slyly.

Since her friend had brought it up twice, Maggie didn’t duck the personal issue this time. “He’s in charge of my case. He’ll be around, and I have to know if I can trust him.” She couldn’t deny the strong chemistry that sparked between them, but hormones weren’t always a reliable judge of character.

CHAPTER SIX

Brandt shook his head as he left Maggie York’s apartment building. Well, that was a brush off if he’d ever seen one. Her eyes were cool, guarded, almost suspicious. She hadn’t looked at him that way when he last saw her. Maybe she jealously guarded her privacy and resented him bringing casework to her home. He could understand that. Whatever the reason, York definitely hadn’t been pleased to see him.

She’d kept her body angled to prevent him from seeing into her apartment, but his added height was a bonus. Her visitor had been a petit, chestnut-haired woman. Cute, pixie face. But it was the paraphernalia on the floor that surprised him. He wouldn’t have guessed York was into the spiritual stuff. Crystals, candles. But this was New Orleans. Who wasn’t? Except for him.

He gave a deep sigh, more concerned than he should be over her lack of trust. The woman intrigued him—OK, she was hot—but he had to put that on a back burner. She might be a cop, but she was also a shooting victim. Vulnerable on some levels, definitely deserving of justice and protection. He needed to maintain that perspective. Anything else would be overstepping the line.

He settled into his unmarked car, puzzling over her sudden wariness. It still bothered him.

* * *

Even though it was Saturday, he went into the office the next morning and followed up with Maggie by relaying the autopsy report on Hurst and his girlfriend.

“Nothing much in it we didn’t know. They were shot with a 9mm. Approximate time of death was forty-eight hours prior to discovery. No other signs of trauma.”

“So Monday evening. That was right after the fingerprint identification.”

“Your point?”

“None. Just noting it.”

He didn’t believe that. Did she suspect a cop was involved? Or someone in the lab? A leak perhaps?

“Well, I have to run,” she said. “Thanks for the call, detective. I really appreciate it. I hope you’ll continue to keep me informed.”

“I’ll do what I can.” He disconnected and leaned back in his desk chair. Definitely something had changed. She’d been matter-of-fact, almost to the point of curtness. Maybe this was a sign of the instability he’d been warned about. In any case, it was a good reminder to keep his distance.

He spent the next few hours running down associates of Hurst, including Mick, the black guy the bartender had mentioned, checking out the gym where Hurst had spent several mornings a week, and looking through the tip file on the York case. A few items caught his attention—nothing big—but he made a to-do list for follow up. By mid-afternoon, he stacked the files on his desk and left for the firing range.

Three shooting lanes were already occupied, which left seven open at the police-only firing range. Brandt chose a space two down from the nearest officer. He wasn’t being unfriendly, but in his opinion, the small dividers allowed too many ejected casings to reach the next pod as flying missiles.

He’d completed three rounds with his Beretta and two with his backup Ruger, when he felt someone watching. He glanced over his shoulder and recognized York’s former partner, Ray Coridan. The other detective’s jawline was stiff, and he looked like a man with something to say. Sure enough, Coridan pointed to the earmuffs, then the door. The invitation was plain.

Curious, Brandt nodded. He shot one more round with the Ruger, then packed his gear. Coridan was waiting outside the door.

“Nice shooting,” Coridan said. “You must spend a lot of time at the range.”

His words were friendly enough but clipped, as if hurrying through the formalities.

“A fair amount.” Brandt waited for him to get to the point. It sure wasn’t his shooting ability.

“You took Maggie back to the courtyard.”

“It was helpful for me to understand what happened that night.” Where the hell was this going?

“She’s not ready. I talked to her afterward, and she was shaky. Maggie’s come a long way, and I don’t want some hot shot from back East to hinder her progress.”

Coridan’s stance had gone from casual to bulldog as he talked, his chin jutting out. Why was he so bent out of shape? Were he and Maggie an item? Brandt felt a twinge of regret. It might explain her coolness. Still, he hadn’t heard a relationship hinted around the office. But then he wasn’t exactly part of the gossip line.

He ignored the hotshot crack. “I just talked with her this morning. She seemed fine. Why the attitude? Is your interest personal?”

“You bet it’s personal. She’s my partner and deserves a chance to get past this. It won’t happen if you keep hounding her.”

Hounding? Coridan’s reaction seemed over-the-top. But he could see how York would bring out a man’s protective instincts. Maybe he’d feel the same if she were his partner.

“Look, Coridan. I have no intention of adding to her trauma. But I’m treating her like any other victim and asking her to help to the extent she can. That meant a trip to the scene. It’s over, and I don’t foresee going back. Satisfied?”

The other cop snorted. “Far from it. She can’t help you. She doesn’t remember anything. Just leave her alone.” He spun on his heels and walked away.

Brandt shifted the gun bag on his shoulder. Coridan didn’t understand human nature very well. By warning him off, he’d just upped Brandt’s interest. And given him more questions to think about.

* * *

Maggie had run two miles that morning and was on her second cup of coffee when Annie called. “Hey, girlfriend.” Maggie set down her mug. “Thanks for keeping me company last night. It was good to do something fun for a change. I’m in a great mood today.”

“It was fun, but you’re making me feel guilty for calling. I, uh, started the research on Brandt, and it didn’t take long to find one part of the story. It’s not good.”

Maggie’s heart plummeted. She’d hoped to hear something that dispelled her suspicions. “OK.” She reached for the coffee pot and rewarmed her mug. “Tell me the worst.”

“It’s an article from a Boston newspaper in January of this year about a BPD detective arrested for possession of heroin. The officer was Joshua Brandt, a seven year veteran of the major crimes unit.”

Shocked, Maggie nearly spilled her coffee. That was the last thing she’d expected to hear. Drugs? He didn’t look or act the type.

“There’s a grainy photo of the arrest,” Annie continued, “but it’s him. I’m sorry, Maggie. It looks like your hunky cop is a druggie.”

Maggie blinked, thinking hard. “So what’s he doing here…still a cop and not in jail?”

“Maybe he made a deal to get off with probation, or they dropped the charges in return for his cooperation. Don’t they do that sort of thing?”

“Sometimes. But our captain would never hire a felon, convicted or not. And there’s no way he wouldn’t know about this.”

“I’ll keep digging, but it doesn’t look good.”

No, it didn’t. Maggie sighed deeply, disappointed, even feeling betrayed. She’d been drawn to Brandt, opened up to him. Just more proof that she couldn’t trust anyone, even herself. Her instincts were off.

“Thanks, Annie. Call me if you find anything else.”

Maggie disconnected and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. She propped one elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. And she thought about his deceiving steel-blue eyes.

* * *

Maggie spent the weekend practicing the skills Dalia had taught her. She was getting better at meditation and visualization, although she preferred to think of it as focusing. The large crystal sat on her nightstand, and two of the sachets were under her pillow to encourage good dreams. To her surprise, something must have worked. The nightmares stopped.

Monday and Tuesday she returned to work with Dalia during the morning and talked with Annie every day. While her reporter friend dug for details, Maggie checked online police records and discovered the drug charges against Brandt had been dismissed four months later. Neither Annie nor Maggie could find any explanation…but he hadn’t been reinstated on the Boston police force. That smacked of a deal or a technical out.

By Wednesday, Maggie decided there was only one way she might get the truth, and she called Captain Jenson. He seemed pleasantly surprised to hear from her until she asked about Brandt’s arrest.

“Where’d you hear that rumor?” he demanded gruffly.

“It’s not a rumor. It was in the Boston paper, and I found the arrest online. Charges were dropped. I want to know why.”

“I can’t discuss another officer with you.” Jenson’s voice was curt. “This is none of your business, Maggie.”

“I disagree…as long as he’s assigned to my case. I have a right to know if he’s reliable.”

“Then I’ll tell you. He’s reliable.”

“Not good enough.”

The captain released a sharp hiss. “I’m trying to cut you some slack because you’ve been a good officer and you’ve been through a bad time, but don’t push me on this. Whatever happened to Brandt in Boston is behind him. Now if you want to talk about something else, I’d be happy to, but otherwise this conversation is over.”