southern ghost hunters 01 - southern spirits (25 page)

Ellis glanced at me, as if he wondered whether or not I could take it. "This is how I met Harry," he said, moving into the hallway. "There's a bedroom on the right and a kitchen in the back." His footsteps echoed off the scarred wood floors. "Anybody home?" he called.

I followed, noticing a small bathroom to the right of the empty bedroom. It was dirty, but serviceable. The bedroom hadn't been used at all. "Why don't they sleep in here?" It didn't have a bed, but it had to be more private than the front living room.

Ellis shrugged, checking out the backyard through dirty windows. "I didn't ask."

My boots crunched over the dirt on the floors. My nose twitched at the reek of mold. "Harry lived here," I said, trying to get it through my head. He'd had no running water, no heat.

"Next door. I got him into the Good Samaritan House," Ellis said, giving up on the backyard. "It looks like we're alone." 

A large burn hole charred the linoleum floor near an open space where a refrigerator had once stood. The floor had melted at the edges.

"We're on a slab, so the floor is stable," Ellis said simply.

"This is where your uncle died."

He was silent for a long moment. "He was first on the scene. He put out the fire with a hand-held extinguisher. Then somebody shot him in the chest."

"I'm so sorry," I told him.

He stood motionless. "Me too."

I slipped my bag off my shoulder and placed it on the counter, careful to step around the charred mark, as if it were somehow sacred. 

Ellis watched me. "Are you getting anything?"

"Not yet." This wasn't an exact science.

Ellis crossed his arms over his chest. "At first I thought someone living here did it. That they mistook my uncle for an intruder or an arsonist," he said. "But at the time, I didn't find any evidence of recent occupation. And Harry insisted there was no one staying here."

That was all well and good, but, "Why do you trust Harry?"

Ellis stiffened, as if maybe he'd wrestled with that very thing. "He didn't have a reason to lie," he said. "He was camping out next door. He was the one who called in the fire."

I didn't like it. "Harry was working with you right before the electricity got turned back on and nearly zapped you. Harry was in the woods yesterday right before I got shoved off a cliff." Ellis didn't react, so I pressed harder. "Come on. You're a police officer. You know how this works. I know it's not fun to suspect people you know, but I'm thinking Harry also has a key to the carriage house."

"I assume he's over there right now," Ellis said.

"Doing what?" I asked. "Digging up your cellar?" Someone had been down there before Ellis and me. I'd seen the freshly turned dirt. I had no clue what may be down there, but someone was certainly anxious to find it.

Ellis stopped in front of me. "You don't know him like I do. I get that he's not the most socially adept guy. It's easy to suspect someone like that."

"I'm only looking out for you." Someone had to. "Harry has been near or present for every potentially deadly incident so far. Now you're telling me he called in the fire that resulted in your uncle's death." It was too much of a coincidence to ignore.

Ellis frowned. "There is absolutely no evidence to suggest that Harry is behind any of this."

"That doesn't mean I'm wrong."

He clenched his jaw. "Let's talk about a little thing called motive. What does Harry get out of it if he kills us off?"

I stood my ground. "Whatever's in that tunnel."

He shook his head. "You want everyone to like you. Just because Harry didn't smile and shake your hand doesn't mean he's up to no good. Some people have a tougher time being friendly."

"Or they're criminals," I shot back.

"He's had a tough life. He works hard," Ellis said, staring me down as if he could convince me by sheer force of will. "If forgetting my manners was a crime, I'd be in jail for life."

I couldn't help but grin a little.

Ellis softened too. "Look, Harry didn't attack either of us. We're helping each other." He watched me carefully. "I'm not an idiot. I've dealt with lots of lowlifes and I've met plenty of people who deserve to be locked up. But trust me when I tell you Harry is one of the good ones. I've got a solid instinct for that kind of thing."

I cocked my head, refusing to back down. "Are those the same instincts you used on me?"

He jerked away as if I'd slapped him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please," I said, following him. "You misjudged me on sight."

"Can you blame me?" he huffed. "After what I saw you do with that cake?"

I glared at him. "I got emotional."

He cracked a smile. "Yes, you did."

I couldn't help but join him. "And you're always so smooth." 

He huffed. "Damn. I know. I didn't mean for it to come out like that." I thought for a moment he was going to reach out to me with his good hand, but he hesitated and seemed to think better of it. 

Smart boy.

"It's okay," I told him, simply because I was used to saying it. Not because it was true.

"Did he hurt you?" Ellis asked softly.

"Yes, but not in the way you think." Beau hadn't gotten physical. The wounds he left went much deeper than that. 

"I'm sorry," he said.

I glanced up at him and saw that he truly meant it. "Thanks." This time, I meant it, too.

I felt a prickling of energy down my spine and I knew in an instant that Frankie had tuned me in to the other side. 

"What's going on in here?" A raspy voice asked.

I turned and sure enough, the old police officer stood next to the charred hole in the floor. He held a fire extinguisher in one hand and his hat in the other.

"We were hoping to find you here," I told him. 

Ellis moved up behind me. 

The ghost shimmered at the edges, the morning light streaming through him.

I didn't think I'd ever get used to seeing the departed, even when I expected them. But I screwed up my courage. I found my voice. This was a gift, an opportunity, and I'd take it as such. 

"Officer Hale," I began, "I hate to tell you this, but we're here because we think you might have been murdered." 

Chapter Eighteen

He wasn't nearly surprised enough. "Who did it?" he challenged.

That broke my heart. "You knew you'd been targeted," I said softly.

He cleared his throat. "I suspected." It was an emotional topic for all of us. He glanced at his nephew. "Every time Ellis came here, it damned near killed me that I couldn't tell him what happened." 

"Your uncle's glad you came," I said out loud. Ellis gave a short nod and moved woodenly to stand next to me. I had a feeling he was still stuck on the idea of murder. It was one thing to suspect, an entirely different matter to have it confirmed by the victim.

Hale took a second look at his nephew. "What'd he do to himself?"

"We were attacked yesterday," I said. "We don't know who did that, either."

 Hale cursed under his breath.

"We need you to tell us more about what happened on the night you died," I told him. 

"Everything you can think of," Ellis added, addressing his uncle. "I've been over and over the reports, but we're missing something."

"Why's he staring over my shoulder?" Hale asked.

Hey, I had to give Ellis credit for remaining calm and upright. I hadn't been this smooth when I'd first run into a ghost. 

"He can't see or hear you," I reminded Hale. "Only me."

"Right," he said, his brow furrowing. "Sometimes I forget. It can get muddy on this side of the fence." 

I hoped I didn't have to find out, not for a long time.

Meanwhile, Ellis jumped right in. "I could understand arson in this neighborhood," he said, addressing his uncle, "but if that was the case, why was someone inside when you got here? Arsonists will watch the fires they set, but they usually do it from a distance. It couldn't have been a burglary. There was nothing to steal in this house." 

Hale stared down at the charred hole between us. "I'd barely finished putting out the fire. It was hell on the eyes." His watered, remembering. He held a hand up as if to block the smoke. "I could see a foot in front of me at most when this flashlight cut through the haze. I thought it was the firefighters so I yelled to 'em, told them where I was. Said I thought I had it." He dropped his hand. "Fucking bastard shot me in the chest."

I couldn't imagine how horrible it would feel, knowing you'd given yourself away to the person who would use that information to kill you. "Did you see who it was?" I asked. When he didn't respond right away, I prodded. "Height, weight, build, clothes…" I'd take anything at this point.

"Nothing," he said, seemingly unaware as a red stain erupted on his shirt. I watched in horror as it bloomed across his chest.

Ellis touched my arm. "What?" he asked. 

I shook my head at him. "Hale didn't see."

Hale grew pale as the blood drained from him. "It was me," he said, staring forward, lost in his thoughts, as if he'd forgotten we were even there. "The bastard wanted me." He stood in an ever-widening pool of his own blood. 

It made me sick to imagine what kind of person could do such a thing. I quickly filled Ellis in, as Hale's clothes and hair began to smoke. Oh my God. He'd burned. 

At that moment, I was very glad Ellis couldn't see his uncle.

"What did you want to tell me the night you were killed?" Ellis asked.

The older officer grunted. "It was the damnedest thing. I'd been pulling out that dead tree by the front of the carriage house, that old oak, and I found a purse inside. It had an ID for a girl listed as missing since the 1960's, one of the cold cases. I went straight to the station and called up her file."

"And?" I pressed.

"By the time records got it to me, it was time for me to go on duty," Hale said glumly. "Then I was killed. When I got enough of my wits about me to go back to the station and look for the purse, it was gone from my desk drawer. They'd cleaned everything out. The only other person who knew what I had was Merle in Records and he let it drop." 

"Merle in Records didn't do anything?" I asked. Surely procedure would have dictated that he pass the information along. "Maybe he took the purse."

Ellis watched me carefully. "Merle died the same night as my uncle. Heart attack."

Maybe not. I tried to remain focused as I quickly relayed the facts to Ellis. We needed to gather all of the information we could while his uncle was here and had the energy to speak with us. It's not like we could call Hale on the phone.

To Ellis's credit, he took it all in stride. "What was the girl's name?" he asked his uncle.

"Joy Sullivan," Hale said, "she disappeared after a high school football game. She also lived on this block. I was here in this kitchen a week ago and I saw her, right out the back window. It was the first time I actually knew she was dead. She's still listed as a missing person."

 My throat tightened and it hit me for the first time what was possible when we opened up communications between the living and the dead. "Joy Sullivan. Did you talk to her when you saw her outside?"

I noticed how Ellis's expression had lit at the mention of her name. "I tried," Hale said to both of us. "She seemed like she was in her own world. I followed her out to the Wilson's Creek Property."

That couldn't be a coincidence. "What was she doing there?"

"Not sure," he said. "I thought she might look for her purse where the old oak had been. Instead, she walked right up to the side yard of the carriage house and sunk straight into the ground."

Dread inched down my spine. "Where?"

He furrowed his brows, thinking. "To the left, as you're facing it."

Into the tunnel. I'd be willing to bet my life.

Hale paused as he went over it in his mind. "I don't even know if she could see me or hear me."

"I think she may have been trying to tell you something," I said to him. "And she had ties to this neighborhood and to your property." I was familiar with only one other person like that. "I wonder if she knew your handyman, Harry." 

Hale drew his brows together. "Why would you ask that?"

Ellis glanced at me. "Harry used to live next door," he said, his tone letting me know he didn't appreciate where this line of conversation was going. "He was on the property yesterday when we were attacked."

Hale's nostrils flared. "He might have been in the report. I didn't get far." I could see his mind turning. "It's worth asking her. I only wish I could have gotten close. Maybe it was the property that made her squirrely. Every ghost that goes near the place gets jumpy. I don't know what it is." He looked from me to Ellis. "The night I followed her, I was attacked inside the carriage house."

"Wow," I said. I glanced at Ellis "The poltergeist went after your uncle, too."

"You've run into it?" the ghost frowned. 

"Unfortunately," I told him. "Do you know which spirit it is?" 

Hale's expression tightened. "It came at me too fast. I tried to ask around about Joy, but the ghosts there avoid me. They see me as an outsider," he said, taking one step toward me, then another. He crossed the blackened hole, his shoes squeaking on the bloody floor. "Watch yourselves. Stick together at all times. It's hard to explain, but in spirit form, you develop ties to places you love. I can feel the building and the land even now. There's some strong emotion tied to that place and it doesn't feel good. It's strong, aggressive." 

He pulled aside his uniform collar. His neck bloomed purple with bruises. They darkened by the second.

Oh my God. "Did it try to hang you?"

Hale drew close. I could feel his cold energy brush against my skin. "It tried to bury me."

"In the ground?" I gasped.

"I fought it off and escaped," he said, his eyes wide with fury. "But it's back there. It's waiting and it's angry."