The First Ghost (14 page)

“The what?” I placed his cup in front of him and seated myself across the table.

“Crimes Against Persons.” He sipped his coffee. “Rape, robbery, homicide. All the violent things people do to one another. This is good,” he said appreciatively. “French roast?”

“Kona. Special blend that I buy at Baer’s Deli.”

“They make the best kolaches in the city.”

“They do.” I leaned back. “You know Baer’s?”

“You kidding me? I’m a cop. I know every donut shop and bakery in the city.”

“I’m guessing this visit has nothing to do bakeries and coffee blends.”

He took a long drink of his brew. “You and your cousin have a lot in common, I think.”

I was wary. “Eleanor?”

“You’ve got other cousins?”

“I do.”

“Well, she’s the only one I know, so that’s how I’m referencing. You look like her.”

I didn’t think so, other than height and hair color, but these are such obvious identifiers that I get that a lot. “People seem to think so.”

“I think maybe the resemblance goes deeper than superficial stuff like being exceptionally tall.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Corinne Simpson shared a room with you at the hospital.” He leaned forward. “Isn’t that interesting? Her being your bosom buddy and all? What are the odds? And then you show up on my doorstep asking all kinds of questions and making accusations about her being murdered. And full of information.”

My mouth was dry. I gulped some coffee. “Quite a coincidence.” The bitter brew burned its way down to my churning stomach.

“And then you call me up out of the blue about another gal, claiming she’s been murdered.”

“Ellie got a vibe.”

“Ellie don’t know nothing about this. She gets vibes off of objects. You got nothing belonging to Starla Mueller.”

“What are you saying?”

“This has nothing to do with Ellie. You never met Corinne Simpson or Starla Mueller. Have you?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Were they alive?”

I stared back. My mouth worked for a minute before anything came out. “No,” I finally admitted. “No, they weren’t.”

“That’s what I thought.” He took a long drink from his coffee.

“So what are you going to do?”

“About what?” He raised his eyebrows.

“About me, I mean?”

“What do you want me to do? I came to you for information.”

I allowed myself to breathe. “I never wanted this. I don’t want anyone to know, either.”

“That you’re psychic?”

“Clairvoyant.”

“There’s a difference?”

“I prefer clairvoyant. I can’t tell the future. I just...I hear things from spirits. Psychic sounds so shady, like I should have an infomercial.”

“I see. And you want it to be a secret.”

I sighed. “I respect what Ellie does, but I am not her. I don’t want to be on TV or in the papers.”

“These spirits contacted you? Is that how it works?”

“Something like that. I swear, I never meant to get involved. First it was Corinne and now Starla. I was in the hospital because I hit my head, and when I woke up, I saw ghosts. Then Starla found me and…you believe I talk to dead people? Ellie said you were a skeptic.”

“I believe it’s the only logical explanation.”

“So yes?”

“I believe you. For now. You’re sure Corinne Simpson was murdered?”

“She thinks so. What I told you at the station is her recollection. She ate someone’s burrito out of the break room and started having symptoms immediately. The heart medicine was probably intended for the owner of that burrito.”

“That’s a good guess. She have any idea who it belonged to?”

I shook my head. “No, she was just hungry.”

“So find the owner of said burrito and we might have a clue as to motive.”

This was the opportunity to tell him about taking Corinne’s job at Wollencroft Agricultural Research, but I didn’t. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t approve, and quite frankly, the money was too good to pass up. “Then again, Corinne had a tendency to graze the fridge. If someone wanted her dead, the burrito could have been a plant.”

“Pretty risky move. Anyone could have eaten it.”

“About Starla Mueller,” I said.

“I went to see the husband, Joby.”

“And?” I prompted. “What did he say? Did he lawyer up?”

“Don’t watch so much TV. I went by to follow up on the missing person report, to see if he’s heard from his wife.”

“Which he hadn’t.”

“Actually, he claims he heard from Starla.”

“But that’s a lie!”

“He claims she called him two days ago from California.”

“What about her stuff? I’ll bet all her stuff was still at their apartment.”

“It’s all gone. Joby claims he gave it to her, that he shipped it to California, but he doesn’t remember the address and he doesn’t know how to contact her. She told him she’s never coming back.”

“Starla is dead.” My face felt as red and angry as my hands.

“I believe that,” he said.

“You do?”

He smiled, and I was reminded of Aunt Bella’s cat whenever a bird flew into the window. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Joby recently made a large donation of women’s clothing to Goodwill. He insisted on a receipt for tax purposes. Oh, and he never received a call from California on his home phone, according to phone records.”

“That proves it.”

“That proves Joby is a terrible liar.”

“But you can get a warrant now, right? You can dig Starla back up.” Seeing the look on his face, I added, “That’s really important to her. She wants a proper burial. And Joby’s ass in a sling.”

“I wish it was enough, but it isn’t.”

“But he lied.”

“Which isn’t against the law. It doesn’t get us any closer to showing a judge probable cause to believe that Starla Mueller is dead and buried near her husband’s cabin.”

“Did you ask him about the cabin?”

“He claims he hasn’t been there in months.”

“This is so frustrating. What can I do?”

“I need information. Starting with, where was Starla killed?”

“In a car. Joby strangled her, put her in the trunk and drove her out there to the cabin. She’s buried under the woodpile. That’s all I know.”

“When exactly did he kill her?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask her when I see her.”

“Can you call her?” He looked around the room as if he might locate her. “Is she here now?”

“It doesn’t work that way. When Starla makes contact, I’ll ask her. Anything else?”

“Where and when and why are a good start.”

“I think I know why or at least part of it. Joby has a girlfriend. I don’t remember her name.”

“A lot of people seem to think murder is cheaper than divorce. Find out about the honey. That could be important.”

We exchanged cell numbers before he left.

My initial flush of excitement faded, replaced by throbbing hands and a frisson of unease. If word of what I was doing ever got out, Mother would trip.

As if on a mother-daughter psychic connection, she called. Intellectually, I comprehend that she doesn’t really know when I’ve done something wrong, but this happens often enough that it’s spooky. Given my family, anything is possible.

“Pick up, Portia. I know you’re there. This is your mother,” she added unnecessarily. “We never finished that conversation.”

I slouched over to the phone and did what I was told. “Good morning, Mother.”

“What was that little crack about working with Ellie during dinner?”

“I never said anything about working with Ellie. I said I was giving the dog to Ellie.” I glanced around to make sure Corinne wasn’t hovering. She still thought I was keeping Billy.

“And why were you over at Ellie’s house?”

“She’s my cousin.”

“You’ve never been close. You two have nothing in common.”

“Okay, I needed an in with the police. I took them what I heard about the girl who died in my hospital room. Only we pretended that Ellie had gotten some vibes. That’s the extent of my working with her.”

This was true. Ellie was still furious over my little stunt with the file. She had agreed to an object reading, but I filed that away as Too Much Information. I didn’t lie to my mother. I just didn’t tell her everything.

After I soothed Mother and convinced her I would not be appearing in any episodes of Ellie’s
Psychic Investigators
show and promised to choke down another desiccated pot roast on Sunday, I hung up and went to start my shower.

Corinne huddled by the commode, a far cry from her high-flying self that had been swooping around. Her eyes were dry, but red and swollen. “What was that thing last night?” she whispered.

I crouched down next to her and wished I could pat her shoulder. How much could I tell her without screwing things up? “That was a demon. I burned it, but it could come back. Better to stay inside and stay hidden. Better still, cross over and let me handle things.”

“Not yet,” she insisted. “I want to go to work with you once or twice. You might need me.”

“That would be fine. We’ll go tomorrow.”

If she wanted to be suicidally brave, who was I to argue?

* * * *

My first day at Wollencroft Agricultural Research started off as any new job. I had a photo ID made, filled out my tax information and Duncan Werner showed me to my cubicle. There were fewer people there than I had expected. Apparently Woll Ag had multiple facilities.

This was a relatively small one since the scientists here did mostly field research. And the field research was done primarily, well, in a field. The first and second floors belonged to the laboratories where research assistants and folks in white coats ran around doing goodness knows what with machines that simply went by acronyms such as GSMC. The secretaries were on the third floor. We provided support to the various scientists, RAs and lab techs as needed. Administrative types were on the fourth floor. Third and fourth floor didn’t mix. Likewise, the first two floors required special clearance passes to enter. There was one place where they all came together: the break room in the northwest corner of the third floor.

Duncan Werner sashayed down the hall and pushed open double swinging doors. “This is where you will take your lunch. Woll Ag is a closed campus, so to speak.” He waved a languid hand at the bank of gleaming stainless steel appliances along the far wall. “There’s a microwave, coffeepot, espresso machine, and a little fridge with sodas and bottled water, which are free. Don’t abuse the privilege. There’s the water cooler, and paper cups are in the cabinet. If you’re a coffee drinker, you can leave your own mug here. You have thirty minutes for lunch. Bring your own or take your chances with the vending machines.”

On the short wall to my right were three machines stuffed with questionable sandwiches, ice cream and the usual chips, cookies, pretzels, fruit bars and gum.

He paused and lowered his voice. “You might want to write your name on your lunch in large letters. We’ve had a problem in the past with food disappearing.”

There were ten small tables with metal and plastic chairs in two neat rows in the middle of the room. Each table had exactly four chairs. Someone had a fetish for symmetry and order.

Next was a tour of the cubicles and introduction to the other secretaries. The cubicles were around the edges in a big square. In the center was a work area with copiers, printers, scanners, etc. There was a single office in the corner with huge plate glass windows. Duncan stopped there and smirked. “That is my office. I’m your supervisor and boss. You work for me, not Dr. Tamaguchi. If you have a problem with any of the scientists, don’t argue. Just take it up with me. I’m confident you won’t have a problem with any of the girls. All of my girls get on extremely well.” He clasped his hands together. “Ready to meet everyone? Of course you are.”

We strolled down the row of cubicles. He touched each ‘girl’ on the shoulder as we passed. Most of the ‘girls’ were at least forty. Some were nearing on sixty. “This is Gayle.” A grandmotherly type smiled behind pince-nez glasses. “This is Beth.” Beth graced me with a sour grimace that probably doubled as a smile. And so it went, on around the square until we got to the last desk. “And this is my secretary.” Since when did a secretary need a secretary? “She does most of the transcribing work and assists me in whatever I need.” She had on a headset and was busily nattering away with her back to us. He tapped her shoulder and she turned. We locked eyes and her jaw dropped.

“This is Ruth.” Duncan stroked his goatee.

“I’ve gotta go,” she said into her wireless set. “What’s she doing here?” She turned accusingly to Duncan, who surprised me by taking a step backward.

“This is Portia, the new girl. She’s taking the vacancy.”

“You mean replacing Corinne? Why? Why her?”

“I’m perfectly qualified, Ruth. Why shouldn’t I be here?”

“Did she tell you that she knew Corinne?”

Duncan glanced around. “Maybe we should go into my office.”

Ruth leapt to her feet and strode down to his office. Her beady eyes were furious. I wondered idly where she got her nice Anne Taylor twin set and pencil skirt. It fit her a lot better than Corinne’s sweater had. If I wasn’t mistaken, her shoes were Jimmy Choo. I ought to know. Cruella had been seriously addicted to Jimmy Choo. If he made it, she bought it.

Duncan closed the door. “Now what is this about? I take it you two know each other?”

“She came to my apartment and forced her way in, claiming to be friends with Corinne.”

Duncan cocked his head, reminding me of Billy. “I’m not following.”

“I did know Corinne,” I said. “After she died, I went to get her dog. I promised to look after him.”

“I told her I gave him away, but she forced her way in.” Ruth’s face flushed. “She was very unpleasant. I don’t know what game you’re running here.”

“There is no ‘game.’ I was keeping a promise. As for working here, Corinne always said it was a good place to work. We didn’t talk that much about it, but I was looking for a new job and there was one open here. That’s all there is.”

“I bet she didn’t tell you she knew Corinne. Did she? Huh? Did you?” Ruth’s eyes had taken on a wild light. She had a fresh haircut, and were those new highlights?