Give Up the Ghost Page 22

  Only occasionally will they ask others what they’re doing and usually make some excuse as to why they can’t stay and listen. And because TB didn’t inherit the gray matter his brothers and sister received, there are always remarks about TB’s shortcomings. They’re still insistent my husband made a crazy mistake coming here to study library science when he could be raking in money working for his uncle or “getting a real degree in something important.”

  They’re really wonderful people but after twenty minutes I want to stick a fork in my eye.

  “We have to find Stinky first,” I tell him. “I’m not leaving without my cat.”

  The noise level in the living room rises a notch, someone new has arrived.

  “Why do you distrust Clayton?” I ask TB.

  TB doesn’t answer right away and I’m pretty sure it’s Maribelle’s voice I’m hearing so I exhale the breath I’ve been holding.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust him,” TB begins. “He smells strange.”

  I lean forward and tilt my head so I can get a good look at the man sitting next to me on the bed. “Seriously?”

  “You don’t understand, Vi. It means he’s a supe, but he’s one I can’t figure out and that unnerves me.”

  I shake my head trying to make sense of it. “A supe?”

  He winces. “Crap, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Shouldn’t have said what?”

  He won’t look at me. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

  Turning my enormous body sideways to view my husband better gives me a crick in my neck. It’s times like these when I cannot for the life of me remember being thin.

  “Thibault Jeremy Boudreaux,” I say using my mommy voice, “if you are holding back information from me, like you did with your angelic powers, I will curse you the rest of your days.”

  He hangs his head. “I’m surprised you didn’t sense it too.”

  “Supe? As in supernatural?” Clayton did mention being someone “not of this world.”

  TB still won’t meet my gaze, looking at the floor like a dog caught peeing on the rug. “Forget I said anything.”

  “What is he?” I ask. “And why can’t you talk about it?”

  He sighs and stares off toward the bathroom. “It’s one thing being a SCANC, Vi. Everyone knows about ghosts and a good many people believe in them. The world won’t react too kindly if they knew there are supernatural people walking around. And descendants would rather not let the government, especially the military, know what kind of powers we possess.”

  He finally turns my way, which gives my neck a break. “Descendants don’t talk about any of this, not even to their spouses.”

  “Yeah, I got that. Took another descendant to spill the beans on you.”

  He shrugs. “It’s for the best.”

  I laugh. “I’m about to possibly birth one. I think I should know.”

  He considers this and I realize my husband’s probably regurgitating instructions from his angelic family.

  “For the record, as for Clayton,” he says, “I can’t figure him out, just know he’s one of them. Something earthy and primal, I suspect. But you can’t mention that to anyone.”

  My neck’s about to break so I stand and stretch my back. “But do you trust him?”

  He goes quiet again, thinking it through, and I hear Portia relaying some information in the other room.

  “I don’t know. Right now, I don’t trust anyone.”

  What a world we live in, I ponder. Greed threatening to infiltrate this town, jealousy keeping people from living their dream, fear running rampant, and a man so determined to live forever he will destroy anyone in his path.

  “Tomorrow, we leave this place,” TB states, taking my hands in his and looking up at me with those haunting black eyes. “I need my family to be safe.”

  Fear of losing a child resonates in TB’s gaze and I feel that pain deep in my soul. I think of my darling Lillye, whom we miss with all our hearts, and the twins about to enter this world. What will it take to keep us safe?

  “And I need to give up this ghost talent for good,” I add. “I’m done with being a SCANC and having this danger constantly so close at hand.”

  He stands and pulls me forward, arms wrapped tight around my shoulders despite the two children between us. Thank God for this man, I think as I smell the heavenly scent about him.

  “Just for the record,” I mumble into his shirt. “You smell better.”

  His head tilts against mine and I close my eyes, wish the world would disappear and leave us standing like this forever. Preferably on our darling houseboat in Emma’s Cove.

  But a harsh knock on the door makes up jump. Literally.

  “What are you two doing in there?” Maribelle barks. “We need you out here.”

  TB and I return to the living room to find things looking more like the newsroom. Morgan carries a notebook in one hand, reading information to Nellie while she types furiously on my laptop. I hear Tennessee’s Best mentioned and Nellie announcing, “Wow, that’s good!” Carol looks over both their shoulders and points out a dangling modifier. Portia’s still on the phone, discussing the recent fire, and Sebastian’s on his cell talking to an insurance agent.

  “Community meeting in thirty,” Maribelle tells us.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Everyone’s gathering at the diner to discuss what happened and what to do going forward. Clayton and some of his men will be there too.”

  TB and I share a look. Now it’s Maribelle’s turn to ask “What?” and mine to inquire, “Do you trust him?”

  Maribelle’s been promoting that line of thinking since we arrived. How did I miss Clayton being a suspect?

  But, she surprises me.

  “Of course, I don’t trust him, he wants to put me away. Plus, I think he’s a lousy FBI agent, especially after the events of the past two days.”

  She rubs a nervous hand across her forehead like Lillye used to do when we quizzed her on the alphabet.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I wish the man would go away and leave me alone. But, I don’t think he’s working against us, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I guess we’ll find out tonight,” TB utters quietly.

  Nellie leans back in her chair, arms outstretched in triumph. “Story filed! My editor said they will post straight to the website so the TV stations will pick it up for the ten o’clock news.”

  “Awesome.” Morgan slaps her hand in a high five.

  Nellie glances at Maribelle. “Tennessee’s Best is not going to like me announcing to the world they’re in league with a possible arsonist and a man suspected of murder.”

  Maribelle straightens. “Wait, what?”

  “We couldn’t find much on Dwayne Garrett,” Carol interjects, “but last night a man matching his build with a scar down his cheek was seen outside the chemistry building on campus, hovering around TB’s car. The witness, according to police, said she remembered him because of the scar. He was acting strange around TB’s pickup and she thought he might be trying to steal it.”

  My spirits pick up for the first time this week. “Awesome, that means the police have cause to arrest him.”

  “Well, dang,” Portia says. “They have plenty of cause.”

  “If we can find him,” Nellie adds. “He’s disappeared.”

  “He hasn’t gone far,” Sebastian says. “If he was brave enough to show up at the fire he’s likely to show up again.”

  “Your brother, on the other hand….” Nellie glances at Maribelle as if she’s afraid to say more.

  “Go on,” Maribelle says.

  “My source at the police department, who won’t go on record for this so it won’t be in the paper tomorrow, said the FBI suspects him for two murders.”

  “My parents.”

  Nellie shakes her head. “No, two separate murders.”

  Gunner killed Jack? I search my brain trying to think of a motive.

  “That
’s impossible,” Maribelle says. “I would have known if Gunner had been in the area around the time of Jack’s murder. He wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to….”

  Her lightbulb extinguishes.

  “Clayton confirmed it today,” Nellie says quietly, as if she climbed inside Maribelle’s painful memory and had seen its ugly history. “Gunner is wanted for questioning in both your parents’ murders and your husband’s.”

  Maribelle stands in the center of the room shaking her head. I wonder if she’s shocked at the news or frustrated that it took the FBI this long to turn the microscope on Gunner and away from her.

  We’re all so wrapped up in the revelations that we fail to notice the front door opening. When a gust of night air rushes in, still charged with the rainstorm outside, we all turn to the giant standing in my doorway.

  I can’t doubt this man, not for a second. For cradled in Clayton’s arm is my beloved cat, nestled there like a baby.

  Chapter 15

  I’m standing in the diner with a host of town residents waiting to hear from Clayton and his men, while talking to Aunt Mimi who’s stuck in Branson because of severe thunderstorms.

  “The radar’s showing the bad stuff heading your way,” she tells me.

  I peer outside the diner’s giant window overlooking the lake and view the lightning display in the distance, but nothing too threatening yet.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me. It’s been an insane two days.”

  “I’d be there if I could.”

  Sebastian called her after I left for the newspaper that morning and she attempted to fly into Chattanooga but the storm front derailed her.

  “You really don’t need to be here, Aunt Mimi. In fact, it’s best you stay away. There’s some bad stuff hitting the fan.” And I don’t use the word stuff.

  I hear a strong huff on the other end. “Those are reasons why I need to be there. Sebastian told me what’s going on. Y’all need all the help you can get.”

  I gaze around at the room filled with FBI agents, journalists, Emma’s Cove residents, and my family, all waiting to brief us. Outside, half of Lightning Bug’s finest are scoping the area. I’m starting to rally but am still determined to leave this place, give up the ghost.

  “You can’t leave,” my aunt says quietly.

  I shake my head because I’m convinced the woman can read minds. Is this a witch thing? If that’s the case, I failed to nab that gene.

  “And no, I’m not reading your mind, just know how you think.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “Seriously, Vi.” My hippie aunt turns solemn. “The world needs you and your talents. Don’t give up on the people who rely on you.”

  “My twins need me, too.”

  “And what kind of world will you give them if you let evil win?”

  “A world in which they’re alive?”

  I can hear her sigh on the other end, hear announcements being broadcast on the airport intercom.

  “Yep, my flight’s cancelled. And I’m not sure I can get out in the morning. This storm may be hitting you tomorrow.”

  The meeting shouldn’t take long, I’m thinking, and Clayton has insisted that we hunker down afterward with several agents guarding the houseboat.

  “I’ll be fine, Mimi. Please don’t fly here on my account. Plus, TB and I are planning to go to his parents’ house as soon as we can.”

  I hear her humming on the other end and can’t make out if it’s a tune or an incantation.

  “I don’t know, something doesn’t feel right.”

  “Exactly why I’m heading to Florida as soon as the sun rises.”

  Mimi keeps humming and it’s unnerving.

  “Mimi?”

  She begins so quietly I almost don’t hear her. “We live in a world that’s out of balance, Sweetpea. If we’re not in harmony with the natural realm, we are out of balance with the divine.”

  Not what I’m expecting.

  “It’s so easy to turn people against each other, to raise fear that our neighbors are out to harm us in some way. That way those in power can do what they will, keep us out of balance, smother our magic.”

  She sounds like she’s channeling someone, her voice distinct and plain.

  “Mimi,” I ask, “are you okay?”

  Her voice turns normal again, that old Southern accent hailing from Alabama returning.

  “Oh darling, something’s coming and your running away to Florida won’t help.”

  Now, she’s scaring me.

  “Don’t let fear take over. Stand your ground and face it. You’re not alone.”

  I close my eyes and look heavenward. Finding balance in nature, believing that God is within and you can face anything is all so easy to understand but oh so hard to implement. Like The Secret, that book and movie everyone’s talking about these days. I want to believe that everything I need is coming my way but when I try to imagine it already here, I can’t stop asking how that will happen and doubt creeps back in.

  “I don’t know how to do that, Mimi. Plus, I’m rotund and that doesn’t help with the balancing part.”

  “Sweetheart, everything we need is within and all around us. There is no part of Mother Earth that is not a part of us. Put yourself in the presence of the divine and you’ll find the divine within you.”

  I’ve heard this all before from Mimi, how witches were healers, herbalists and midwives who saw nature as integral to life, used nature’s best to heal others, connect to God or the Goddess and the divine or whomever they saw as a higher power. The word witch dates back hundreds of years to England, meaning “wise one, healer, shaman.” Men worried and jealous of their power corrupted the word and in the process of burning hundreds at the stake moved society further away from nature. Since then, witches took on the hag image, their pots of healing herb power became evil cauldrons, brooms used to maintain hearth and home something to ride in the night, innocent cats their familiars.

  Okay, maybe the cat part is correct.

  But, creating magic, Mimi always told me, comes from within and through the power of connecting with nature.

  “Women don’t realize how much power they have,” she once told me. “Magic happens when we tap into that power.”

  Right now, I don’t feel powerful. My back aches, the twins are kicking, and I have to pee.

  “Spirits and guides are here to help us,” Mimi tells me now. “Don’t be afraid to call on them.”

  I’ll be calling the bus lines for two tickets out of here, I think, but I say nothing, assure Mimi I will do what’s best.

  “Please do. And call me in the morning.”

  I flip my cell phone closed as Maribelle calls the meeting to order. TB, my siblings, and journalism buddies have been huddling around the coffee and donuts but they head my way.

  “I’m going to ask Agent Sheridan explain what’s going on first,” Maribelle tells everyone.

  Sheridan approaches the group but already I feel the tension rise. The women are not pleased that trouble has come to Emma’s Cove, nor are they happy with the FBI’s response.

  “First, we have someone break into our community center and now this?” Kelly shouts out.

  “Where have y’all been?” asks another resident. “You’ve been lingering around since the break-in and you let this guy torch a building?”

  The crowd buzzes with people voicing their disapproval, some blurting out concerns. Sheridan waits patiently for a few moments, hoping the noise will die down, but when the agitation remains, waves his hands and shouts out like an aggravated father.

  “Come on now, let’s try and do this in a logical, non-emotional way.”

  “Oh no,” says Portia at my side. Not what women want to hear.

  The noise level increases and some women start shouting. Clayton places a hand on Sheridan’s shoulder and whispers in his ear. The young agent slouches off and Clayton stands before the unruly group. He holds up a hand and waits for the shouting to stop. Finally,
the crowd grows silent.

  “What my young agent meant is let’s discuss this in an orderly way. If you don’t mind, I’ll explain what happened tonight and what the FBI knows so far. Then we can open it up to questions.”

  Clayton details how Dwayne attacked me in Natchez, and most of the women turn my way. He mentions the scar delivered by my cat and, as if on cue, Stinky lets out a meow and stretches.

  And yes, my cat’s in the room. I tried keeping Stinky at home but he kicked and clawed whenever I picked him up, rushed out the door the minute we opened it. We caught him twice and twice he escaped our clutches. Finally, we gave up and he followed us all the way to the diner, made himself at home once inside, garnering love from pretty much every person there. That and a can of tuna from Patrice.

  Next, Clayton tells the group how they chased Dwayne around the South, knew he might show up here after I spotted him in the Atlanta airport.

  “We almost had him outside Atlanta, but he keeps running one step ahead,” Clayton admits. “And then Viola had a run-in with him in Lightning Bug. After that, as you know, he broke into the community center.”

  “And you’ve been here ever since,” says Patrice. “So, why haven’t you caught him.”

  “He’s not what you think,” I say, dodging a worried look from my husband.

  Clayton sends me a “don’t go there” look too, but he adds, “He’s capable of a lot more than you realize.”

  “Like what?” says the woman to my right.

  I’m not sure what to say, now that I alluded to Dwayne’s powers. But, then I think of Gunner and how some people lack morals, born to display licentious behavior.

  “Dwayne Garrett is the kind of man who doesn’t care about anything except what he wants,” I explain. “He wants to get back at me and he’ll do whatever he can to make that happen.”

  “But again, why can’t you find him and stop him?” Patrice asks Clayton.

  “Some men are cunning,” Portia adds. “Some men are smart enough to evade police and the FBI, even fool their own families. How many times have you seen mass killings and the neighbors are interviewed saying, ‘He seemed like such a nice guy.’”

  “They get caught eventually,” Clayton says. “Think of serial killers, most of whom are smart and cunning as our illustrious lawyer here mentioned.”