The Haunted Heist Page 4

  Chapter 5

  Maybe I wasn’t the homicide detective’s favorite person, but I didn’t appreciate the withering look he gave me, as if I were something he’d have to scrape off the bottom of his shoe. No doubt he’d have plenty of questions for me, starting with the reason for my presence at Sugarland’s only two murders in recent history.

  This was becoming a bit of a bad habit.

  Heavens. I didn’t know what to make of this place or this crime or any of it.

  It was time for the handsome officer Ellis Wydell to run interference for me. Only he hadn’t arrived at the scene with the others. I strained to see past the three officers who entered with Marshall, hoping Ellis would walk through the door next. Not that these were the best circumstances to reunite with my almost, sort of, we were still figuring it out, boyfriend.

  Instead, a young officer with a military haircut approached us. I recognized him as one of Lauralee’s regulars at the diner. His name tag read Duranja. “You were all here during the time of death?” he confirmed.

  Em drew a lock of hair behind her ear. “I have no idea,” she said, broken.

  “She was,” Stan said, confirming it for her. “We found her hiding out in the bathroom.”

  Em didn’t move, but her features went hard.

  “I was upstairs,” I answered, with a nod to Carla. “I ran down when I heard her scream.”

  He looked to Reggie’s right-hand woman. “And you screamed because?”

  Carla stared him down. “I found…Reggie.”

  Stan gripped the back of the couch with both hands. “I was heading down when Carla screamed,” he said woodenly.

  “No,” I countered. “I was in Reggie’s office with the door open. Stan would have had to pass me to get down here, and if he was heading down the stairs when Carla screamed, I would have been right behind him. He was already downstairs when I got here.”

  “You gotta be kidding me,” Stan protested. “Why would you say that? You think I killed him?”

  “No.” Maybe. “I’m only trying to understand what happened.”

  Duranja motioned to the officer standing outside the open vault door. “Tom, head to the top of the stairs. Make sure nobody else comes down here.”

  He ordered a second officer to make sure there was no one else on the floor.

  “Miss,” he said, motioning to Reggie’s daughter, “please come with me. The rest of you, have a seat,” he ordered, motioning to the reception area. “Stay here and remain quiet. We’ll need to question each of you.”

  Duranja led Em to the row of privacy rooms that people used to view their safety-deposit boxes, the same ones that Jeb had checked. A fourth officer took up position outside the glass doors. I secured a place on the couch next to Jeb. Carla and Stan took the wingback chairs.

  I crossed my legs and clasped both hands around my knee, feeling a twinge in my left shoulder. I ignored it and looked out at the crisp, winter morning, willing Ellis to walk through those doors.

  Yes, I was fully aware that the entire police force couldn’t be in one place, and of course he didn’t realize I’d been caught up in yet another murder, but you’d think since he’d been so instrumental in solving the last killing, they’d want him on the scene this time as well.

  Stan leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees, refusing to look at me, as if I’d—well, I had sort of blown a hole in his alibi. “I wonder what they’ll find in there,” he murmured, glancing at the vault.

  Jeb leaned forward. “I bet they find nothing. Crazy as it sounds, I’d wager cash money the ghost did it.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Carla said to Jeb. “I can tell you what happened. You weren’t paying attention and somebody snuck in and ambushed him.”

  “Who would attack Reggie?” I pressed. “He didn’t have any enemies here that I know of. Did someone follow him down from Chicago?”

  Carla blinked hard as she considered the question. “No. I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Reg. He was one of those people that other people liked.”

  Stan glanced at the hallway where the officer had disappeared. “Carla, you said yourself it felt freezing in that vault.”

  “I noticed it immediately,” I admitted.

  Just then, Marshall emerged from the vault. His ruddy nose had gone pink from the cold and his small dark eyes swept over us, taking in every detail of our small group. “You.” He pointed at me. “No talking.” He approached the group as I slunk back. “All of you, come with me.” He motioned us toward the hallway near the back of the lobby, the one that held the privacy booths.

  “I want each of you to take a room of your own and stay in there. My men will approach you one at a time for your statements.”

  I could see more officers coming down the steps. I hoped Ellis was among them. Marshall held me back as the rest of the group filed into the privacy rooms. “Miss Long, why are you at every scene of trouble in this town?”

  “I’m unlucky, I suppose,” I said, erring on the side of truth.

  He sniffed in agreement. The detective considered me a pain in his behind, which was fine because I felt the same way about him. “Go find a room and wait for questioning.”

  I did so reluctantly, knowing that if Ellis arrived now, he’d have no way of knowing which one was mine.

  We could hear Em’s muffled shouts behind the closed door to the first booth. Carla took the next one, then Stan, and finally Jeb. The wood lining the hallway and the interiors of the small rooms reminded me of the walls in Reggie’s office. I took the fifth and final booth in the row. It was old and small, with a built-in wood desk on the left wall, a single chair, and a frosted window that would make it impossible to see out the door.

  Turned out, it was already occupied.

  I gasped as I came face-to-chest with Frankie.

  “What?” He straightened his tie as I stumbled back. “You act like you ain’t never seen a ghost before.”

  “I’m a little jumpy right now,” I admitted. It hadn’t been the best morning.

  “You see the dead guy in the vault?” he asked, as if we were making chitchat.

  “Dead as in murdered or as in ghost?” I prodded, closing the door behind me. It was a shame when that was a logical question.

  Frankie took it as par for the course. “The bloody banker,” he said, hovering way too close in the small space.

  “That’s my client,” I said, trying to keep my voice down.

  “Was your client,” Frankie said pragmatically. Then he winced in a rare moment of sympathy. “Hey, sorry about that.”

  The shadow of a police officer darkened the frosted glass window of the privacy booth.

  “Never mind that,” I whispered to him. “Did you see who killed Reggie?”

  “Me?” the gangster asked, removing his Panama hat. “Nah.” He scratched his head and with a flourish, replaced his hat. “The place was dead when I got down here.” A smile played on the corner of one lip. “So me and the boys headed upstairs. Got a little caught up with a leggy teller named Sue.”

  He needed to focus. “Did you see who shorted out the security camera?”

  “Nah.” He shrugged. “It’s not like it takes that much energy to do it,” he added defensively. “We just didn’t feel like it.”

  “So a ghost could do that?” I clarified. “This is important.”

  “Of course,” he said, floating through the desk attached to the wall. “But my buddies and I didn’t do it this morning.”

  “I heard something under the floor that sounded supernatural. Are you sure you didn’t make any noise down here?”

  He straightened his tie. “You can trust me.”

  That was debatable. “Can you ask your friends?”

  “Aw, no. I see where this is going,” he said, as if I’d planned this. As if I’d wanted it. “You said you were getting out of the ghost-talking business. You want to be an artist instead.”

  That didn’t seem to be working out. �
�Earlier, I had the feeling you wanted a protégée,” I told him.

  He shook his head. “You’re not talking about hanging out or robbing or stealing. You always want to try to save the world, and you don’t think of the consequences.”

  “Oh, like justice, truth, fairness?” I mused.

  “All pain and no gain.” He held out his hands. “I’m trying to save my skin,” he said, inspecting his silvery glowing limbs. “What’s left of it.” He dropped the cute act. “Look, the more I do this for you, the harder it is to get my energy back. I wouldn’t mind it for the occasional robbery or blackmail.” He drifted away from me, to the back right corner of the booth. “I need to know it’s gonna be worth it.”

  I felt a twinge of guilt. “We’re a team, right? You help me see things. I help you find your gun.”

  “No,” he huffed. “You’re trying to even a score that has nothing to do with you,” he added. “You want to jump in headfirst and solve another murder. This is a guy you barely even knew.”

  That was where he had it wrong. “Reggie was Lauralee’s uncle and I’ve known him my entire life. Besides, I’m not solving anything. I just want to find some clues to share with the police.” It wasn’t like we could ask Reggie. People didn’t return in spirit form right away. Many never came back at all.

  “Fine.” Frankie poked his head through the door next to mine. “Some cop is questioning the bank manager,” he said. “That guy could use a few lessons in putting on a game face.”

  “I don’t mean spying on the police.” And Stan should be nervous. He’d lied about how long he was downstairs, I was sure of it.

  “Now that I helped you,” Frankie continued as if he hadn’t heard me, “what have you actually done to help me find what I need? You haul my urn around like an afterthought.” He stiffened. “Where is my urn, by the way? Do you have it safe with you, or did you leave my only mortal remains behind in some dead guy’s office?”

  “I messed up,” I admitted, ignoring his triumphant look. He was right, I needed to do more. And it had been a mistake to leave Frankie’s urn behind. If we lost the last bit of ashes it contained, I wouldn’t be able to take Frankie off my property anymore. “I’ll fix it,” I promised. “But right now, I need your help.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to enjoy looking down at me, if only because he was hovering two feet off the ground. “So what you’re saying is when I ask you to do me a solid, you’re gonna do it. No more of this when you can, in your spare time, after you’re done browsing the flower shop.”

  “Hey,” I said, holding up a finger. “I already said I was sorry for that.”

  “I can’t even complain to my buddies,” he said with a sniff. “They’d all laugh.”

  “Speaking of your buddies,” I said, taking a seat on the desk built into the wall, “were any of them down here this morning?” I admit my change of topics wasn’t that crafty, but I had to ask. They might have seen something we didn’t.

  Frankie was hardly amused, but he did come down off the wall. He took his time, running a finger through the wooden chair between us. “The South Town boys who haunt this spot stay upstairs mostly.” He shrugged. “I can see why: cash and dames.” I could almost hear one of his buddies hooting and hollering, based on Frankie’s widening grin alone. “But the dead banker?” he asked, growing serious. “Yeah. You only need to look at his body to know who did that.”

  “Truly?” It would be great if Frankie had the inside track. With his help, maybe we could solve this murder mystery before anybody else got hurt. And I’d feel a lot better if I could bring some peace to poor Em. “Who?”

  He paused. “Promise first.”

  Oh, Lordy. “Promise what?” I’d already done a lot for him. A prime portion of my rose garden was growing out of a trash can in my living room for his benefit.

  He pursed his lips. “I want you to help me find my favorite gun.”

  “Done.” I could do that.

  I hoped.

  He grinned. “Your killer is none other than Handsome Henry,” he said, “ace hit man for the South Town Gang.”

  My hope deflated. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I couldn’t tell the police that.

  He leaned closer. “I’m serious, doll. The shot through the heart and the slashed cheek is Handsome Henry’s calling card. He also would have known to blow the camera.” An unseen presence must have said something because Frankie turned and smirked at the air. “I know. Henry is still around, working. How swell.”

  “That’s impossible,” I said, to Frankie and anybody else who might be listening. Nobody was going to hire a dead hit man to kill a live banker. Besides, “I thought everybody in your gang was killed.”

  Frankie’s cheeks darkened at my complete lack of tact. “I was one of the first to go. Maybe some of them got out after me.”

  I hated to bring up Frankie’s death. So did he. With a twinge of guilt, I scooted off the desk. “I’m sorry if that came out wrong.” But still, we needed to reason this out. “If Handsome Henry is still alive, he’d have to be more than a hundred years old.”

  The gangster crossed his arms over his chest. “It ain’t that hard to pull a trigger. Especially when you’ve done it a lot.”

  “But how would an old man get in and out of the bank without being seen?” And I sure didn’t know of any hundred-year-old ex-gangsters in town. Unless he was a ghost. Still, he’d have to be a pretty powerful ghost to kill a man, the kind of powerful that usually signaled a poltergeist. But poltergeists left plenty of destruction in their wake, and the bank itself was untouched. “And what reason could this ghost possibly have for going after Reggie?”

  “Ah, old Handsome never needed a reason,” Frankie mused, nostalgic. “The money was enough. Henry Hagar never turned down a job,” he clarified.

  Of the rare people who could talk to ghosts—and I was the only one I’d ever known—I had to believe there would be even fewer of us in need of a contract killer. No live person had hired Henry, I would bet on that.

  There had to be another explanation. I tapped my black pump as I thought.

  Some ghosts could move things on the mortal plane. I’d seen it happen. And although I’d never experienced it, I’d seen ghosts on television leap into a living body. I stiffened. It had felt ice cold in the vault, and Carla had been freezing as she stood over Reggie. “What if Carla was possessed?”

  “Ew. Yuck.” He stared at me as if I’d gone off my rocker. “I ain’t never heard of a ghost doing that. Do you realize how slimy you living feel?”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Frankie and I had touched once by accident and the results hadn’t been at all pleasant. It felt like walking around in someone else’s wet, cold underwear.

  I paced the tiny room, making the gangster distinctly uncomfortable. “This is none of my business,” I reminded myself.

  I wanted to help. I did. Except the idea of getting involved again, of putting myself in Frankie’s hands, of opening myself up to the other side…it scared me.

  But, Reggie had been willing to stand up for me.

  The people who loved him deserved peace.

  I cringed. If Frankie was right and a ghost did this, then I was the only one who could discover exactly what happened.

  “Do you know where Handsome Henry might be?” I asked Frankie. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to approach him.

  “No you don’t,” Frankie warned. “Henry takes people who ask questions and he uses them for target practice.”

  “But—”

  The door swung open and Officer Duranja stood on the other side. “Who are you talking to, Verity?”

  “Myself,” I said, copping the lamest excuse ever.

  He shook his head like he didn’t believe me. “You’re lucky Marshall is already questioning the guy next to you.”

  Lucky indeed. But not lucky enough. Where was Ellis?

  “I need to ask you some questions,” the efficient officer said, crowdin
g my space as he closed the door behind him. He handed me my purse, which I’d left in Reggie’s office. “We searched it. No weapons. Just…”

  An urn. I got it. “You didn’t shake the urn out or wipe it down, did you?”

  “No…” Duranja answered, as if he’d expected me to perhaps offer an explanation.

  Not a chance.

  He’d have to settle for me telling him everything I knew about Reggie’s death. Except for the part about the ghost. Unfortunately, that could very well have been the most important part.

  He opened his notebook. “Why were you at the bank this morning?” he began.

  I answered his question, and the questions after that. I had nothing to hide.

  “And what was your relationship to Reggie Thompson?”

  “He was my best friend’s uncle.” He was also a person who had chosen to believe in me. I didn’t take his kindness lightly.

  “Are you aware of any person or persons who wished him harm?”

  “No live ones,” I said automatically.

  The officer gave me a funny look.

  “I’m trying to help,” I assured him.

  Even the people who worked with Reggie every day didn’t seem to know who might be after him. More and more, it seemed like a question for the spirit world.

  An ominous feeling crept over me. There was no getting around it: I had to investigate on the other side, no matter what I had to promise Frankie. I’d just have to be smart about it and make every effort count. He might not have the strength or the patience to show me everything I needed to see.

  And there were still plenty of questions right here in the real world.

  “Tell me what happened while the group waited for the police,” Duranja pressed.

  I answered all of Officer Duranja’s questions quickly and completely, although we seemed to wind down our session with more questions than answers. I could sense the frustration rolling off him.

  “We’re done for now,” he told me. “Just stay in town, and keep your phone handy in case we need to call you in for further questioning.”

  I slung my purse over my shoulder, glad for the clank of the urn inside. I had Frankie back at least.