southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet Read online

  Well, at least I could watch history being made. Again. I joined the last of the audience filing into the long benches and began working my way up, hoping to find a single seat…anywhere. I was craning my neck, distracted, when the last man on earth I wanted to see climbed up behind me and blocked my escape.

  "You look gorgeous today, Verity." He had that slight, sweet, humble-if-you-didn't-know-him Southern drawl that made me want to punch him in the face.

  I straightened and turned, already knowing what I'd find. "Beau."

  Beau Wydell appeared quite harmless on the surface. Tall, with Matthew McConaughey good looks and a self-effacing charm that had bedazzled plenty of women over the years. He'd sure fooled me.

  My ex-fiancé tilted his chin down and treated me to a shy smile, as if he didn't have a care in the world. And why should he? He was the one who'd cheated on me, lied to me, and then made me look the fool when he tried to force me to show up at our wedding. That was the day after he hit on my little sister, by the way. She'd gone to get another bottle of wine for our suite and he'd trapped her in a corner to paw at her. I didn't dare mention that here. No one knew. So far, Melody had stayed clean of this and I intended to keep it that way.

  I'd told him the wedding was off. He'd waited at the altar anyhow, in front of the whole town. He'd made it appear as if I'd stood him up, and I became persona non grata to just about everyone who ever mattered to me.

  "Please leave," I said, knowing I'd have to face him sooner or later, my heart racing all the same.

  He shrugged. "The way I see it, you're standing in my family section."

  I was? I almost dropped my popcorn. "Then I should leave," I said, trying to figure out a way to make it around him. We had folks on the seats above, watching us, along with several packed rows underneath, straining to hear.

  Lord have mercy.

  "It's all right if you sit by me, darlin'," he said, drawing closer.

  "I'd rather set my teeth on fire." Before today, I hadn't seen or spoken to Beau since he'd invited me to join him at our reception. The whole town was there, he'd said, enjoying our five-course sit-down dinner. Dancing to the ten-piece band his mother had insisted we hire. Consoling him. Assuring him he was better off.

  He'd sent me photos of the cake.

  I'd snapped. That he would play the victim, that he would humiliate me like that after what he'd done… I'd like to plead temporary insanity, only I knew exactly what I was doing when I drove straight to the Hamilton Hotel, marched right into my almost-reception, and plastered Beau's face straight into our almost-wedding cake. Only I hadn't counted on everyone taking pictures. And videos. Not to mention the way I'd slipped on frosting and fallen on my rear.

  I needed to escape. Now. Maybe I could shimmy under the seat and drop down to the ground below. Would I even fit? My luck I'd get stuck. Then we'd have more embarrassing pictures of me for Beau's Facebook page.

  His mouth tipped into a slow smile. "Are you going to make another scene?" he asked, smugly, as if he'd read my mind. "Can't say that I don't enjoy your moxie."

  His words hit me like a bucket of cold water. My outburst at the reception had consequences. Beau's mother had sued me for the entire cost of the production she'd orchestrated. I'd had to sell everything I owned. I'd darn near lost my family home. Half the town still thought I was crazy.

  No. I would not let Beau Wydell humiliate me again.

  A cry erupted from the crowd around us. "Sit down," the woman behind me hissed. "The Yankees are coming. For real this time!"

  I sat, next to Beau Wydell, and tried not to cringe as our shoulders touched.

  He took it as an invitation and leaned his lips toward my ear. "I'm kind of glad we got stuck like this, darlin'. We should talk."

  "Don't call me darling," I said, keeping my voice down and my eyes on the town square. "We have nothing to say."

  The camera crew from the History channel sprang into action. I focused on the drama of the advancing army, on our outnumbered, outgunned small-town militia as they were pushed back, on Miss Emily Proctor's dance classes, ages five through sixteen, as they danced in front of the limestone buildings of our town square, dressed as red and orange flames.

  "I'm sorry about what my mother did to you."

  He actually sounded sincere, and I felt my cheeks redden. I glanced up at him. "What about what you did?"

  He huffed out a breath. "You know I didn't mean that, sugar." His fingers inched toward mine on the bench. "I'd had a couple of beers. Your sister looks a lot like you. I made a mistake." He shrugged. "It happens to a lot of guys."

  "No, it doesn't." I folded my fingers in my lap. "And you didn't have to embarrass me later."

  "Hey," he said. "Look at me. I was hurt." He appeared so sincere a girl would be tempted to believe him. If you didn't know him. "I didn't hear that my mom sent you the bill until after I got back from our honeymoon."

  And then he'd done nothing to stop her when she unleashed her team of lawyers.

  The Yankees were now overrunning the square. Our men were trapped, flanked, through no fault of their own. I knew exactly how they felt.

  "Excuse me!" a woman protested on Beau's left side as someone knocked into her popcorn, scattering pieces.

  "Sorry," a familiar voice called back. "Pardon me," Ellis said as he shoved past his brother. I hoped it wasn't an accident that he stepped on Beau's foot.

  I scooted over as far as I could to make room.

  "What the hell?" Beau protested as Ellis squeezed in between us.

  I'd never been so glad to see him. "Shouldn't our sheriff be protecting the town?" I asked. It was too late to save me.

  Then again, having him here did make me feel stronger.

  "It's all going well," he said, pragmatically. "The whole place is on fire. There's hand-to-hand fighting in the streets. They'll be talking about this for years." He angled for some space and elbowed his brother in the process.

  Beau elbowed back. "You're an idiot, Ellis."

  Everyone watched as the Yankees pointed a cannon and fired on the Sugarland Library. Well, most everyone. Virginia Wydell sat six rows down, her platinum hair pulled back into a girlish ponytail, her pearl earrings large, and her eyes hard as she glared back at us.

  Fun day.

  My ex leaned over his brother as if he weren't there. "I miss your back rubs," Beau murmured to me.

  Ellis stiffened. "You realize she dumped you, right?"

  "Oh, look," I said, "one of the Yankees just lost his uniform pants. He really should have worn a belt." Or laid off the hooch. "I wonder if that will make it into the documentary."

  Both men ignored me. They were too busy glaring at each other. Of course Beau had no idea about Ellis and me. If I wanted to be perfectly honest, even I didn't even quite understand what was going on between us. It had begun innocently enough.

  But now, seeing the two brothers together, I was starting to realize I may have started something I didn't quite know how to finish.

  Ellis and I hadn't gotten to the back rub stage. We were barely at the dating part. We'd fought for our lives together and had gotten close. Too close, maybe. Then we'd enjoyed one very nice, very quiet dinner a few miles out of town. He'd brought me daisies, and I'd baked cookies and pretended it was no big deal. He'd said they were delicious.

  It had been wonderful.

  Until now.

  Beau groaned. "Can you move out of the way, Ellis?"

  "No," Ellis said simply.

  Oh, brother.

  I'd never been so glad to see the Sugarland militia push the Yankees back and save our town.

  We watched the two colonels, a Wydell and a Jackson, shake hands, as they did once a year. The patriarchs of the two families put aside their differences to lead the militia, a moment of cooperation before they went back to hating each other. Everyone in the grandstand stood and cheered. The cameras rolled.

  Beau leaned past his brother to get to me. "I don't care if my family thinks y
ou're bad for me. Let me take you out tonight."

  "No," Ellis and I barked out.

  Virginia Wydell looked ready to climb over six rows to get to us.

  Suddenly shimmying underneath the grandstands wasn't looking like such a bad option.

  Ellis cleared his throat. "I love you, brother, but sometimes you don't have the sense God gave an ant. What you had with Verity is over. You need to give up."

  Beau shook his head, rueful. "You have no idea. You never kissed a girl like her."

  Maybe I could just whack my head on the metal bleachers and hope to forget I'd met either one of them.

  "I've got to go," I said, sliding past the brothers, ignoring it when Beau ran a hand up my leg. Ew. I was done—with this, with him, with the whole blessed day. I had no more celebrating left in me. I was heading home. By myself, mind you.

  And if I had a wish left in heaven, nobody would follow me. Then again, if wishes were fishes, I wouldn't be eating ramen for dinner tonight.

  Chapter Two

  I HEADED STRAIGHT home to the antebellum house my grandmother had left me. It stood on the outskirts of town, on what had once been a working orchard. Over the years, my family had sold the land around the house, piece by piece, so that the rows upon rows of peach trees and even the grand front drive had given way to tidy bungalows lining the long road to the main house. Today, the surrounding front yards and porches sat vacant. No doubt the festival kept my neighbors occupied.

  When I spotted the white columns of my house, I felt that fist in my chest ease just a little. This place was safe. Mine.

  Sure, my home had seen better days. The paint on the front steps had chipped in places, and the roof over the veranda drooped like an elegant, aging Southern belle. But the freshly washed dollhouse windows sparkled, and the lilac bushes lining the front walk smelled like heaven. I ran my fingers along the leaves and blooms, my sandals clacking against the brick path.

  No place had ever felt more like home, especially when a furry little skunk dashed out from under the white painted porch.

  "Lucy!" I greeted her.

  She waddled, her body churning as she ran. I met her halfway, kneeling to let her nuzzle my palm as I stroked her soft head and white striped back. I tried to pick her up, but she was too excited. She turned in circles before flipping over into a backward somersault and popping back up.

  "Good girl!" I crooned, not because it was a particularly smooth trick, but because she'd done her best. A while back, I'd tried to teach her to roll over like a puppy dog, but it turned out she didn't have that kind of coordination and this was what she'd taken from the lesson. She seemed so proud every time she did it. Plus, I had to admit it was rather darling. "You want to go inside with me?"

  Lucy loved hanging out under the porch, but this time, she came eagerly into my arms. Even skunks needed girl time. "How about we find you a treat?"

  She wriggled and grunted happily. Lucy understood the word treat. She was actually due for a Vita-Skunk supplement, and when I sprinkled the added nutrition onto a bit of chopped banana, it became the Holy Grail of skunk happiness.

  I cuddled Lucy close as we slipped past the cheery yellow front door, but two steps inside the house, a violent chill seized me. Lucy let out a squeak as we walked straight through it and into my sunny, warm foyer.

  "Heavens to Betsy, little girl, what was that?" I brought a hand up to still my galloping heart while Lucy sniffed the air.

  I'd never felt anything like it.

  Dust motes glimmered in the light pouring in the widows. The hardwood floors gleamed. Nothing seemed amiss.

  I held her close. "I don't see anything." We glanced left into the empty front room, and right into the equally bare dining room. I'd sold every stick of furniture in the place to pay off my debt to Beau's mother, and the house felt cavernous without its customary antique decor. At least that made it easy to see that Lucy and I were alone.

  The skunk buried her face in the crook of my arm, her cold nose coming to rest on the inside of my elbow. "Come on, baby," I cooed. "You'll feel better after you've eaten something." We continued down the hall, only to run smack-dab into a cold spot more raw than the first. "Oh, no. That is it." I held Lucy close, trying to shelter her as best as I could. "Will someone tell me what is going on?"

  I saw nothing. No shadows. No wayward spirits. Of course that didn't mean there wasn't an ornery ghost skulking about. My back stiffened. "Frankie," I warned. I had only one place of refuge and this was it. He'd better not be up to anything.

  My home had been blessedly ghost-free—quite a feat in the South—until last month when I'd accidentally trapped the spirit of a 1920s gangster on my property. Frankie "The German" wasn't exactly easy to live with, but it was my fault he couldn't leave. I'd tied him to my land when I'd emptied his funeral urn out onto my rosebushes. At the time, I'd believed my ex-fiancé had given me a dirty old vase, long overdue for a rinse with the hose. And perhaps a fresh flower. But as it turns out, there's a reason why ashes are customarily scattered to the wind, or at least spread out a bit. When I poured the entirety of Frankie's remains in one spot and then hosed him into the ground, the poor gangster had become quite stuck.

  I stroked Lucy's head. "Frankie, I know you're around here somewhere." I scanned the high walls, covered in white flowered paper, up to the original Greek revival–style moldings. "I'm not in the mood for games."

  He shimmered into view next to the gilded light poking from the wall, overlooking the dark square on the wallpaper where my grandfather's portrait once hung.

  Lucy wriggled deeper into my embrace. She wasn't particularly fond of ghosts.

  Frankie appeared in black and white, his image transparent enough that I could see through him if I really tried. He wore a 1920s-style pin-striped suit coat with matching cuffed trousers and a fat tie. His shoulders stood level to my line of sight, which would have made him unusually tall for a man of his time, if he weren't padding his height by floating a foot off the ground.

  He used his ill-gained height to full advantage as he glared down at me with those sharp features that made him look every bit like the killer he was. "You think I'm playing a game?" he asked, twirling a white panama hat in his fingers. He cocked his chin. "'Cause I'd give anything for a laugh, princess."

  My gaze traveled to the neat, round bullet hole in the center of his forehead. He noticed and, in one smooth movement, slid the hat over his wound with a cocky flick of the wrist. "I didn't get to go to no Cannonball party," he huffed. "I got to tramp around making cold spots all day."

  That could actually prove useful come summertime, since I couldn't afford to run the air-conditioning. Still, I'd upset him and I could see why. "I'm sorry. If I knew how to unground you, I would." Right now, the only way he could leave my property was if I took his urn with me. A stubborn spot of him lingered, one that hadn't quite rinsed away. No doubt our situation was unusual. "It's not exactly something we can Ask Jeeves."

  The ghost drew closer, blocking my way. "What about that idea you found on Google last night?"

  Lordy. I never should have let the ghost watch me do an online search. "Not everything you read on the Internet is true."

  He watched me expectantly. "It looked legit to me. The thing had graphs and numbers, and you could see how he separated the dirt from the ash."

  I stepped around him and headed for the back parlor. "It was a fifth-grade science project, and I got the distinct impression the kid was winging it." That kind of trick might be good for a school assignment, but this was Frankie's afterlife we were talking about. I could tell by the slight chill in the air that the ghost hovered right behind me.

  "Hey," he snapped, "we don't know until we try it."

  True. Enough strange things had happened around here lately. Perhaps this was one more that would work out in an entirely unexpected way.

  I turned to face him. "All right," I said, I ignoring the victorious grin that flashed across his features. It wouldn't hurt to
at least attempt an ungrounding. "But we'll need to borrow supplies." I didn't have much of anything in the house. "Once my neighbors return home from the festivities, I'll start making some calls. Just…try to keep your expectations realistic."

  Frankie punched the air with his fist. "You know what the first thing I'm going to do once I get out of here?"

  'Um—" I wasn't quite sure what he did before.

  "Nothing." The ghost swept his hands to the sides, as giddy as I'd ever seen him. "I'm going to wander around and go wherever I want and do nothing."

  All right, then. Everyone needed a goal. "Good for you."

  The corner of his mouth turned up. "Or maybe I'll rob one of those newfangled armored cars."

  "Frankie…" Forget it. He was happy. No sense reminding him that he couldn't touch money, much less spend it.

  He was still chuckling to himself as he faded away.

  At least we had a plan.

  I kissed Lucy on her soft little head. "Thank you for being so patient." I eased her onto the kitchen floor and set about fixing the most delicious banana skunk treat ever.

  We always split the fruit—she didn't eat much—and it was an indulgence for me, too, since I wasn't going to buy fresh produce for myself. I only stretched my budget to keep Lucy healthy.

  I watched her tail swish as she chewed. In spite of everything, I really was lucky. I had a house, a pet who loved me, friends.

  Even if my ghost buddy was eager to escape.

  That evening, I set about calling my neighbors and gathering the supplies for a fifth-grade science project. We needed measuring cups, an aquarium net, Tupperware. I was heartened by the way my neighbor Stuart even offered to deliver his grandson's old kiddie pool to my backyard. I'd told him I needed to give Lucy a good scrub-down, which made me appreciate the gesture even more.

  Some folks—believe it or not—had a bias against skunks. As if Lucy had ever done anything to them.

  Never mind.

  We'd start Frankie's ungrounding tomorrow, which should make the ghost happy.