Pecan Pies and Dead Guys Read online

  Contents

  Also by Angie Fox

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Series Reading Order

  About the Author

  Also by Angie Fox

  Keep track of Angie's new book releases by receiving an email on release day. It's fast and easy to sign up for new release updates.

  The following Angie Fox titles are also available in print and audio formats.

  * * *

  THE SOUTHERN GHOST HUNTER SERIES

  Southern Spirits

  A Ghostly Gift (short story)

  The Skeleton in the Closet

  Ghost of a Chance (short story)

  The Haunted Heist

  Deader Homes & Gardens

  Dog Gone Ghost (short story)

  Sweet Tea and Spirits

  Murder on the Sugarland Express

  Pecan Pies and Dead Guys

  * * *

  THE ACCIDENTAL DEMON SLAYER SERIES

  The Accidental Demon Slayer

  The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers

  A Tale of Two Demon Slayers

  The Last of the Demon Slayers

  My Big Fat Demon Slayer Wedding

  Beverly Hills Demon Slayer

  Night of the Living Demon Slayer

  What To Expect When Your Demon Slayer is Expecting

  * * *

  SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS:

  A Little Night Magic: A collection of Southern Ghost Hunter and Accidental Demon Slayer short stories

  Chapter 1

  I raised a hand against the blazing summer sun and stepped out onto the back porch of the home that had been in my family for five generations. August in Sugarland, Tennessee, meant hot, humid days, beautiful pink and white bougainvillea in full bloom, and last but not least, a mischievous skunk—one who liked to roam the great outdoors instead of staying inside at this time of year.

  “Lucy!” I tapped her bowl on the top step, waiting for her squat black-and-white furred body to come churning around the side of the house. “Lucy, lunchtime!”

  I could hardly keep her inside. My little girl was on the prowl for young male skunks leaving the nest. In Lucy’s mind, those boys had no manners, and she liked to run them off whenever they wandered too close to her favorite hiding spot under the porch.

  “I have fruit,” I cooed, offering up the bowl. Most days, the mere word had her wriggling in rapt anticipation.

  Bees buzzed. Birds chirped. But no Lucy.

  That was odd.

  I waited for my eyes to adjust to the bright outdoors and scanned the shade between the clay pots of geraniums lining the steps. She sometimes liked to hide among them and then pop out at the young skunks like a carnival funhouse act. The poor little trespassers would jump three feet in the air before hightailing it off our land.

  The way Lucy turned a circle and fluffed her tail after, well, let’s just say she enjoyed it.

  Still, I wasn’t so keen on her antics. One of these days, she was going to get a good spray instead of the last laugh.

  I strolled down the porch steps, my sandals clacking against the dry wood, keeping an eye out for her. No matter how busy Lucy was, she usually came running when it was time for lunch. Today, I had ripe bananas topped with powdered Vita-Skunk. Yum.

  I stopped at the bottom of the steps and peered into the shadowy depths under the porch. No Lucy. I straightened and scanned the yard.

  Of my two housemates, Lucy’s need to get out and about caused me a heck of a lot less trouble than Frankie’s. But causing less trouble than Frankie wasn’t a challenge. Frankie “The German” was a gangster from the 1920s who’d worked hard and played harder. These days he haunted my ancestral home, but during his life, he’d been quite the tough guy about town. He and his South Town Gang had been responsible for a string of crimes stretching from Chicago all the way down here to Sugarland, but it was in our town where he’d breathed his last.

  Not that being dead stopped him from being a pain in my rear sometimes.

  Soon after I’d met Frankie, I learned he could lend me his energy and allow me to step into the spirit world. It was both a blessing and a curse.

  My borrowed ability had allowed me to become a professional ghost hunter when my chosen career as a graphic designer hit the skids.

  My new job kept food on the table and Lucy in skunk treats, but it led to some sticky situations as well. If I was tuned into the other side and some ill-tempered gangster decided to shoot me, the bullet could kill me for real.

  Frankie called it the price of doing business. I called it an occupational hazard. He’d already been shot and killed. I’d rather avoid it.

  Naturally, he’d forgotten to shut off his power last night, so I was vulnerable to whatever the other side decided to throw at me.

  I paused at the bottom of the steps and looked out to the wooden shed past the pond, a place I’d bought just for the gangster so that he—and I—could enjoy a bit of privacy. I half-expected to see a few moonshine runners parked out back.

  Yes, it bothered me. This wasn’t simply a house or a few acres of property. This was my home. This was my family legacy, entrusted to me by my grandma, and she wouldn’t have approved of Frankie’s shenanigans.

  I set Lucy’s lunch bowl on the bottom step and checked under the lush hydrangeas flanking the stairs, hoping to see a sweet black-and-white head emerge from amid the thick green leaves. But she wasn’t there.

  Strange. I sat back on my heels.

  Everything seemed quiet today, which wasn’t always a good sign.

  I smoothed my sundress. “Lucy!”

  She usually came when I called. The fact that she didn’t today had me…concerned. Not worried per se. I wasn’t some helicopter pet mommy.

  Still, one of these days, she was bound to run into a boy skunk who wouldn’t bolt. Then what would she do? I wasn’t sure she had a backup plan in case her posturing didn’t scare the stripes off each and every one of them.

  “Baby girl!” I stood and walked around the side of my home, running a hand along the wall as I went. I’d inherited the historical antebellum house from my grandmother after my mom made it clear she was going to live out her dream of traveling the country in an RV with my stepfather. Last we’d talked, they’d hit the brakes in Washington State, enjoying a much cooler summer than we were having here.

  I searched for a fluffy skunk tail among the native Tennessee wildflowers blooming against the side of the house. The red and orange firewheels, velvety yellow goldenrod, and bright purple chicory grew on their own, and since they were so beautiful, I left them to it. Unfortunately, there was still no sign of my skunk.

  Lucy better not have wandered far. I didn’t mind her tapping into her animal instincts, but I at least wanted to know she was safe.

  Maybe she was snoozing under the apple tree. It was a nice, warm day for it. I needed to stay positive. There was no reason to worry.

  Yet.

  I set off for the apple tree and along the way spotted a ghostly buffalo nibbling at the tall grass where my property met
a soybean field.

  Frankie needed to keep my power off when we weren’t working.

  In the beginning, he’d been reluctant to share his energy. If he used up too much, he’d begin to lose body parts, starting at his feet. The missing parts always came back. Eventually. But it was never fun.

  Ever since he began dating Molly Fletcher, though, a sweet young woman who’d passed away in the late 1800s, he’d had juice to spare.

  Last night, he’d woken me from a dead sleep and asked me to help him cheat at poker. He wanted me to look over his buddy Suds’s shoulder and then tip Frankie off to what cards Suds held.

  “Absolutely not,” I’d snapped, my typical store of grace and kindness at low tide thanks to the very early—or very late—hour. I was a morning person, not a night owl. “I’m not going to stumble around my own kitchen like a fool in order to help you cheat at cards.”

  “I help you all the time,” he’d countered. “And this is the thanks I get.”

  Frankie helped when coerced, and he never did things the right way. I’d told him such, and our conversation had gone downhill from there.

  “Lucy!” I called, scanning the yard.

  Not a creature stirred. Even the squirrels and birds had hunkered down for the hottest part of the day.

  Waves of heat made Frankie’s shed look like a mirage.

  If only.

  I pressed on.

  In the gangster’s defense, it wasn’t his fault we were stuck with each other. My ex-fiancé had given me the urn full of his ashes as an offhand gift, and I’d mistaken it for an antique vase. I didn’t have a lot of decorations in the house, and I’d been determined to make do.

  My first step in cleaning up the old vase had been to shake out the grit in the bottom. Loose, ashy dirt is excellent for garden soil. Only it turned out I’d dumped most of Frankie’s mortal remains under my favorite rosebush. To his dismay and mine, by the time Frankie turned up to yell at me, I’d watered him right into the ground, tying him to my property.

  It had been an honest mistake.

  We’d tried to separate his ashes from the dirt, but it hadn’t worked. For now, at least, Frankie remained stuck here. The only way he could leave was when I carried the smidge of ashes that remained in his urn beyond the property line, usually in the interest of solving a murder. Lately, he’d taken to entertaining his gang and his girlfriend in my backyard, but I didn’t see any sign of ghosts in the shed today.

  And Lucy wasn’t under the tree.

  I stayed well away from Frankie’s shed over on the far side of the water. Lucy wouldn’t be anywhere near it. Lucy had taken an instant and active dislike to Frankie. The gangster pretended he didn’t care one way or the other, but I could tell it irked him. The last place she would be was anywhere near his shed.

  I made my way down toward the pond, my sandals sliding a bit on the grass. Sometimes Lucy liked to paw at the fish that bubbled up to tease her.

  The air down by the pond was so damp it stuck to my skin, but I wasn’t some Johnny-come-lately Yankee. My grandma always said summertime down South gave us girls the kind of dewy glow Northern ladies had to use makeup to get. Plus, the heat made my blond hair curl instead of falling straight. No product needed. Although today, I’d tied it up off the nape of my neck to keep me a little cooler.

  I walked down to the edge of the water and scanned the tall grass for any sign of movement. “Who wants some skunk treats?” I called.

  “Pipe down!” a familiar voice rasped behind me. That didn’t keep the shock of it from nearly pitching me into the water.

  I spun around. “Frankie!” He knew better than to sneak up behind me. Not that he cared.

  He wore the clothes he’d died in: a pin-striped suit and a fat tie. Water dripped from his white Panama hat and ran in rivulets down his sharp, scowling face. To my astonishment, the water disappeared as soon as it fell away from him. It was as ghostly as he was. “You’re blowing my cover,” he snapped.

  “I’m looking for my skunk,” I countered. “Since when does taking a swim count as hiding out?”

  “Don’t be cute.” He whipped the hat off his head and shook the water out, his momentary distraction displaying what he typically tried to hide: the perfectly round bullet hole in the center of his forehead. “Quit prowling around the pond,” he added, planting the hat back on his head. “That investigator is after me.”

  I knew the one. “De Clercq,” I clarified.

  Frankie nodded.

  We’d met Julien De Clercq on our last adventure. He’d been working to take down the mob when he died, and Frankie had been on his hit list. However, after we’d helped him solve his case a few weeks ago on the Sugarland Express, he’d agreed to get the charges against Frankie dropped if we assisted him on a case here in town that had stumped him for nearly a century. It was a good deal as far as I was concerned. “We want him to contact us,” I assured Frankie. “Once we put his final case to bed, he’ll be off your back. He may even go to the light. Play your cards right, and you could get rid of him for good.”

  Frankie glanced over his shoulder as if the investigator would pop up any second. “It’s not that easy. What if we got lucky last time? I mean, if a top-notch detective like De Clercq can’t find the answers, what makes you think I can?”

  “You have me.” It wasn’t bragging. We might have our rough patches, but we did make a pretty solid team.

  He huffed. “If you’re going to talk nonsense, I’m leaving.” He turned and glided out over the pond.

  “Wait,” I said. Naturally, he didn’t listen. “Have you seen Lucy?” I called.

  “Like that skunk would give me the time of day.”

  “Keep an eye out,” I urged.

  He turned to face me, holding onto his hat as he sank feet-first into my pond. “I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that Lucy has not been sleeping with the fishes.” I gave him my sternest glare, but he merely smirked, the water up to his chin now. “I’ll let you know if I spot a swimming skunk. In the meantime, you don’t see me.”

  And with that, he disappeared without even rippling the surface of the water.

  I planted my hands on my hips. Fat lot of help he was. I was truly starting to worry about Lucy. She’d been an injured, wild skunk when I’d rescued her. After she recovered, I’d tried to release her into the wild, but she’d kept coming back. It seemed she preferred the petting and the cuddling and the cuisine. That skunk ate better than I did. If her mission to terrorize the male wild skunk population went sideways, she wouldn’t have any idea what to do. And I’d be lost without her.

  No. I couldn’t think that way. I wasn’t done looking. I started around the pond toward the little patch of blueberry bushes on the other side. If those couldn’t tempt a roving skunk, nothing could.

  The bushes were new as of this past spring, a gift from Lee Treadwell, one of my first ghost hunter clients. His family’s stately mansion had stood uninhabited for decades. Well, uninhabited by the living, at any rate. It housed plenty of spirits, and to say that they’d caused Lee a whole heap of trouble would be understating it.

  In the end, after we’d banished an evil spirit and reunited the ghosts of Lee’s deceased ancestors, Lee had promised me all the fresh fruits and veggies from his garden that I could eat. I’d gladly taken him up on it, and when he offered to plant a few berry bushes at my house as well, I jumped at the chance. Ghost hunting was rewarding, but it didn’t pay much, and my graphic design business had breathed its last thanks to our town matriarch’s poisonous word of mouth. I’d been eating a lot of ramen until Lee came along. And as I drew closer, I saw I wasn’t the only one appreciating our new bounty.

  I rushed the last few steps, so relieved to see Lucy, ninja skunk and blueberry connoisseur, sprawled beneath the largest bush, fast asleep. Her tail twitched as if she were in the middle of a splendid dream, and berry juice stained the white streak under her chin purple.

  I smiled as I crouched down n
ext to her. “Looks like someone went hog wild,” I murmured, reaching out to stroke her soft, fuzzy belly. Lucy didn’t even stir. “It happens to the best of us.” I’d have to put her bowl of bananas in the fridge and save it for dinner.

  I glanced back at the house.

  She seemed comfortable on the ground, but maybe I should pick her up and bring her inside with me anyway. She might wake up on the way there, but Lucy never turned down a cuddle, and once she was inside, she could settle down on my futon to finish her nap. Having her snuggled safe in bed would do more for me than for her at this point, but I didn’t think she’d mind.

  I stretched both hands out to pick her up, only to pull back at the last moment as my cell phone rang. I fumbled in my pocket for it and smiled when I saw the number. It was Ellis, my boyfriend.

  Ellis and I had a sweet, fun, and somewhat complicated relationship, seeing as he was my ex-fiancé’s older brother. It wasn’t as crazy as it seemed. Or maybe it was. But Ellis and I were good together. He was strong and kind, and he had dimples that could make a girl rear back and clutch her heart. But it was more than that. Ellis Wydell was the most considerate man I’d ever met.

  Then there was his brother…

  Beau Wydell was the sort of man who’d been born on third base and thought he’d hit a triple. He’d been charming at first. But he’d also gotten drunk and hit on my sister the night before our wedding and then expected me to marry him anyway.

  Of course, I’d refused. And when I didn’t show up at the altar, he went ahead with the reception and mocked me in front of the whole town.

  Shoving his smug face into our wedding cake had definitely been cathartic. But his highfalutin mother, Virginia Wydell, hadn’t seen things my way. She’d sued me for the cost of the wedding she’d planned, the one that never happened. I’d about lost my house until Frankie came along, and chance led me to take my first ghost-hunting job.