Give Up the Ghost Read online

Touché has nothing but contempt for Maribelle. It shows in every inch of his body language.

  “Your brother was right. You’re bad news. You take and you take and leave nothing for the rest of us.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I start. “She owns a motel in another town, how does that affect you?”

  Maribelle holds up a hand. “Vi, it’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not.” I feel my blood pressure rising. “This man has everything — reputation, money, a strong following in his field — hell, a Lexus! But he has to take your business away?”

  “I know what you women are doing up there,” Touché adds.

  “What are we women doing up there?”

  Now, my head starts to pound and I’m thinking my blood pressure’s spiking again.

  He points to Maribelle. “Her little coven’s sitting on a gold mine, always has been. We have this reputable company wanting to come into our community and bring us prosperity and she won’t let them in. She wants it all to herself.”

  “Gold mine?” I exclaim.

  I know I’m getting too excited but I want to argue his ridiculous claims. Maribelle sends me a stern look so I keep quiet. Maybe she’s right, how do you refute arguments from a person who’s lost all logical thought?

  We hear noise coming from the front office, sounds like chairs being turned over and men grunting. Suddenly Clayton bursts into the back room, holding a thirty-something man in front, his arm held tightly behind his back next to Clayton’s pistol. The tall lean man resembles Maribelle only slightly, his face marred by acne scars from previous years, his hair stringy and long, hanging down over one eye.

  “Gunner,” Maribelle whispers as I watch my steady friend retreat into a small child.

  Gunner, on the hand, greets us smugly, as if being held by an FBI agent happens every day.

  “Dear Maribelle,” he says with a smile as the words come out cold and menacing. A shiver runs through me and the three fish in my hand vibrate.

  Tears threaten but Maribelle pulls it together. “How could you?”

  “Could what, dear Belle? Tell Mom and Dad lies about you, like you did me? Make them cut you out of their will?”

  Maribelle huffs and I can tell she’s rallying. “I pity you. You’re sick.”

  Not what a psychopath wants to hear. Gunner struggles in Clayton’s grip and lurches forward a few inches while Maribelle steps back. The fear he causes in her makes him laugh. Now, he’s rebounding.

  “I don’t know this man,” Touché throws in. “I have nothing to do with him and what he did.”

  “Shut up, Touché,” Gunner says quietly but with a glare that causes Touché to step back and not say another word.

  “I’d suggest you both take that advice,” Clayton says. “You’ll be hearing your rights as soon as my agents arrive to arrest you.”

  “Arrest me?” Touché is freaking out now. “I’m a prominent member of the community. I did nothing wrong. It was his idea to put pressure on his sister to sell. I had no idea he was going to kill that poor man.”

  “I said, shut up Touché,” Gunner says menacingly.

  “And that Garrett fella, he came up with the plan to burn the building.”

  Gunner struggles to face the good doctor, his countenance turning into anger and frustration. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

  “And you’re a murderer.” This time, it’s Maribelle speaking, tears streaking down her cheeks.

  “You took what’s mine, bitch.” His face contorts into something sinister and I back up, wish to get as far from this evil man as I can. “You lied and then they cut me off. But then they always loved you more.”

  That steel of a spine returns and Maribelle marches forward, gets right in her brother’s face.

  “I never asked for anything from them except to believe me. I had to marry Jack to get away from you and even then they wouldn’t see the truth. I have no idea what you did to make Mom and Dad come around but they finally saw you for what you are.”

  Gunner’s creepy Hannibal Lecter smile returns. “You have no idea what I am.”

  I hear sirens in the distance, know the police will be here soon. This time, I notice Touché’s hands shaking he’s so scared of what’s coming.

  “I didn’t do anything,” he whispers like a frightened child.

  Gunner huffs. “Just a little tax fraud, money laundering, bribing elected officials and accessory to murder and arson.”

  Touché’s eyes enlarge so much I fear for the blood vessels in his brain.

  “I had nothing to do with that man’s murder,” Touché insists again.

  “I know,” Gunner says with that creepy smile, a long string of hair falling further over his eye. “You never had the smarts to pull that one off.”

  Gunner looks toward Maribelle, the smile still plastered on his pock-marked face. “And you! I’m surprised you finally figured it out. You were never very bright, were you, Belle?”

  Maribelle doesn’t react, stands stiff and confident but the tears don’t get the message, continue to slip down her cheeks.

  “What I want to know,” I start, waving the letter opener, “is did you mean for us to know it was you with the three-fish earring? Did you leave it on the dock that night as a message? Or did you want us to turn our attention to Touché and pin the murder on him?”

  I didn’t think Touché could become more agitated but he’s now about to have a stroke.

  “What did you pin on me? I did nothing,” he shouts.

  Gunner’s face never changes, he’s as confident as ever, ignoring me and glaring back at his sister with that knowing smile. “Relax. They have nothing.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Clayton pipes in. “You got a little sloppy.”

  I notice Gunner’s cheek twitch but his smile never wavers. “What are you talking about.”

  “Your DNA was on the earring.”

  Finally, that smile disappears and Gunner turns into a frightened animal, starts cussing and shouting about everyone who wronged him. He spits at Maribelle, struggles to break out of Clayton’s hold, and yells through the reading of the Miranda Rights when Sheridan and the other agents arrive. Once Clayton hands him over, it takes Sheridan and two local policemen to drag his guilty butt to the car. Two more follow holding Touché, but he’s crying too much to make a fuss.

  Clayton pushes us into the alley, away from the chaos and to protect the crime scene. When we’re finally far enough away, he bends forward, hands on his knees.

  “You okay?” I ask, feeling a bit faint myself.

  “Long night,” he mutters to the ground.

  I practice a healing technique Maribelle taught me, rubbing my palms together to produce a nice heat, then applying that to Clayton’s back.

  “Thank you, that feels nice,” he whispers.

  Maribelle, on the other hand, is too busy pacing.

  “So, you’ve been on his trail for a while now?” she asks Clayton.

  Our tree man straightens and rolls his neck to release the tension there. “We’ve been on his trail from the start, but like I said in the diner, you were still a suspect.”

  “But his DNA!” Now, she’s shouting.

  Clayton appears exhausted, from the night’s brutal activities and this conversation.

  “Guys, that DNA crap you see on TV, it’s not real life. We don’t get the results back in an afternoon. It takes a long time. We only found the earring a few months ago.”

  “Still…,” Maribelle insists.

  “And then we had to find Gunner. We knew he was working with Touché and we figured Garrett would show up eventually. This resort idea? Not a new one. Been in the works for a long time. And Touché has had a heavy financial interest in it. The Mayor has too.”

  Maribelle shakes her head, mouth open. “A long time?”

  The two begin arguing, Maribelle heatedly and Clayton too tired to get into it with her. What I keep pondering are the words Gunner shouted at the end.

&
nbsp; “Don’t y’all even care about what Gunner said back there when they were reading him his rights?” I ask them.

  Maribelle finally pauses in her tirade and now it’s her turn to place hands on her knees and study the cement. While Sheridan handicapped Gunner to take him away, years of pain poured from his lips, starting with him being abused at an early age. He shouted at Maribelle, revealing all kinds of horrors inflicted on him by a friend of the family.

  “I had no idea those things happened to him,” Maribelle says when she finally rises. “I know my parents couldn’t have known he was abused by their best friend. There’s just no way they would have let that continue as long as it did.”

  “Certainly explains a few things,” I say quietly.

  “Yes, it does.”

  The night seems darker now, eerie and devoid of sound except for the police scanners in the distance.

  Finally, Maribelle breaks the silence. “I can see why he would have resented me all those years but that doesn’t excuse what he did to me, Jack, or my parents.”

  Clayton does the unthinkable, places a hand on Maribelle’s shoulder and squeezes, waits to see if she repels him. When she doesn’t, leans slightly in his direction, he pulls her into his broad shoulders and holds her while she sobs.

  I slip away, giving them both privacy, and head out to the parking lot where Sheridan relays information to someone on his cell.

  “Crap,” I say to myself. “I forgot to call TB.”

  I pull my phone out of my purse and there’s a thousand missed calls and several voice messages. I don’t bother listening to any, call my husband straight away.

  “Where are you?” he yells.

  “Hello to you, too.”

  “Jesus, Vi, where are you?”

  I explain how Maribelle and I had a hunch about Touché and asked Clayton to check it out, discovered not only Touché in the act of destroying evidence but Gunner Bronagh in the other room. This all comes out after I apologize several times.

  “Apparently, Gunner tried to escape out the front door but it was locked by the fancy alarm system.”

  I hear him exhale for all the world.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I tell him one more time.

  “We were worried sick. You could have been hurt.”

  “I’m with Clayton and Maribelle and surrounded right now by FBI agents. Two people have been arrested. I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not,” TB whispers. “He’s still out there.”

  “I’m in good hands and I’m on my way home.”

  “You don’t understand, Vi.” I hear a door being shut and his voice gets quieter. “My senses are slowly returning, must have been the cleansing we did tonight. They’re not fully restored but….”

  Maribelle was right, that bad mojo in the Village Green has been distorting everyone’s good sense. Dwayne likely stirred it up, driving the residents of Lightning Bug against us, causing Emma’s Cove women to become paranoid.

  “The tide’s finally turning,” I tell him.

  TB doesn’t share in my excitement, turns silent.

  “TB?”

  “It’s not that great, Vi. Dwayne’s still out there. And I feel like he’s getting close.”

  Chapter 17

  After I give TB details on the events of the past hour — leaving out the part about me threatening Touché with a letter opener and Clayton having to pull his gun — I assure him I will take all precautions and come straight home with Clayton as protector.

  I hang up the same time Clayton and Maribelle emerge, Clayton’s arm around her shoulders like a father’s. At least one person goes home tonight with closure.

  We drive back to the cove in silence, traveling through the thick woods that separate the two towns, me in the back this time reveling the intense darkness and quiet so I can keep company with my varied thoughts. We’ve won one battle but another looms and where does that place me? Jack may have transitioned on his own, but he may be waiting for me in the woods. Sometimes ghosts, especially new ones like Jack who lack a connection with our world, need to be informed that their mystery is solved. If that’s the case, what do I do then?

  TB had me convinced we should move to Florida to live within the safety of the Boudreaux angels but my heels are dug in now. Staying put allows him to graduate on time, which was our goal in moving here in the first place, but it will be a tough argument getting him to see my side. He’s determined to keep me and the kids safe, reiterated that on the phone. On the other hand, I’m resolved more than ever to see Dwayne locked up and out of my life. Otherwise, as Emma Harrington said decades before, I’ll be looking over my shoulder the rest of my days.

  Clayton pulls up outside the houseboat and accompanies us like a good date. TB throws open the door and greets us the moment our feet hit the deck. He envelopes me into a tight hug — as tight as he can, considering the acreage between us.

  “I’m fine,” I mumble once more into his chest. “Love you, too.”

  In the meantime, Maribelle slips inside and I hear her own homecoming with Sebastian, a thousand questions from my sister.

  When I finally come up for air, I turn toward my protector. Clayton appears as if he could sleep for an entire weekend.

  “I’ll be right outside,” he says, then heads to his car.

  We thank his back and he sends us a wave without turning around.

  “He’s exhausted,” I say.

  “Tough night.”

  And that’s all I’m getting out of TB because when I send him a curious gaze he shakes his head.

  “One day,” I threaten his back as we enter the house.

  Now, it’s my turn to endure a thousand questions from Portia as Maribelle and Sebastian head to their room. My journalism friends have gone home and TB’s struggling to keep his eyes open.

  “Tomorrow,” I finally say when she starts interrogating me about Gunner. “Let’s do all this in the morning.”

  “Fine.” Portia rises. “But I’m not doing the sofa. Maribelle gave me a key to her apartment and I’m heading that way.”

  “But don’t you worry about…?”

  As soon as those words are spoken, I think of how my sister doesn’t fear anything or anyone. She’s one tough lawyer.

  “He doesn’t care about me,” she says with a shrug. “I’ll be fine. Besides, that cute Agent Sheridan’s walking me to the door.”

  TB clears his throat and sits up and it’s then I realize he had fallen into a deep sleep while we were talking.

  “I’ll get your bags,” he says, blinking.

  “Go to bed,” Portia commands. “Sheridan will take my bags to the motel.”

  Poor Sheridan, I think.

  TB doesn’t argue, rises from the chair and heads straight for the back bedroom. “Good night then.”

  “Big day,” I tell Portia.

  “And how.”

  She doesn’t mention the light, or question TB’s abilities, has suspected something strange about TB since our road trip through Texas, when my husband thwarted a robbery in a convenience store with a flash of light and a gallon of Blue Bell ice cream. She was curious at the time of the incident but I sense she’s come to the conclusion she’s better off not knowing.

  Sheridan arrives and his smile disappears when he sees the giant luggage, but he grabs her bags and the two head out. I lock the door behind her, but I’m too wound up to go to bed so I put the kettle on and grab some of Maribelle’s magical tea. I feel a softness at my ankles and find Stinky rubbing up against my legs.

  “Hey baby. I’d reach down to give you proper loving but there are two people in between.”

  Once I pour my cup of goodness, add lots of local Tennessee honey, I head back to the couch, throw off my shoes and get comfortable. I’m going to enjoy the view, even if the impending storm has blanketed the sky, making it almost impossible to see the water. No matter, the lightning occurring across the cove provides for exciting entertainment. I sip my tea and watch the str
eaks illuminate the sky, while thunder from the west breaks the silence.

  Stinky howls by the door, starts scratching at its base.

  “You’re crazy if you think you’re going out tonight,” I tell my cat. “Use the litter box.”

  I lean to look down the hallway, make sure our bedroom door is open so he has access to his box in the master bathroom. It’s closed, so I place my tea on to the coffee table and slowly rise. And I mean slowly. I do it in phases, lean my shoulders back against the couch, slip my butt forward while my stomach protrudes and give my knees the workout of the year as I swing my arms to accelerate my upper body. I rise in a curve, my shoulders the last to go upright. It’s comical, actually. TB and Sebastian once took bets on how long it would take for me to rise from the easy chair, which believe me, wasn’t easy. Sebastian won. TB was too kind to bet on the longer time.

  I pause once I’m standing, stretching my lower back with my hands, enjoying the feel of a few vertebrae falling into place. Meanwhile, Stinky’s still fighting with the door.

  “I’ll open the bedroom door,” I tell my cat. “Give me a moment.”

  But once I look in Stinky’s direction, I see him. Outside the door’s window.

  “Shit.”

  I’ve been working hard to curtail my use of profanity, something that comes easily in a newsroom but should not be done around children about to be born. But, I can’t help myself tonight. For there in the woods outside my home stands Jack Greene, his eyes pleading.

  Stinky howls again and I move closer to the window, notice a shadow next to my ghost in the intense darkness of this stormy night. In that moment, I surmise what’s happening. Dwayne lurks nearby, waiting for Jack to transition so he can steal his soul and regain his spirit, continue his immortality.

  I have two options here and Dwayne knows it. Tell Jack his murder’s been solved so he can transition or let him ascend into heaven on his own after Dwayne relays the information. If I let Dwayne do the honors, Jack’s soul is toast. If I walk into those woods and tell Jack myself while defending him from Dwayne, my life may be the one in the toaster.

  Naturally, I consider enlisting help but there’s little time and everyone’s asleep. I’m riding high from conquering my fears earlier tonight and feel up for the challenge, although I’m not so stupid to think I will win. Still, deep down inside I know this is my fight, an obstacle I must face.