The Mint Julep Murders Page 4

  It could be his first step on the road to redemption.

  I let out a breath as I stood in the empty hallway. Leaving that cell felt like an escape even though I didn’t belong in there.

  Now I just had to find Frankie and tell him the plan had changed.

  The hallway was eerily silent. Empty as well. Ellis wouldn’t have left me unless something had happened to take him away.

  But what?

  I nodded my thanks to the guard and tried to ignore the echoes of my footsteps as I walked down the abandoned hallway toward the lobby, my sneakers crunching over dirt and debris. I made a wide berth around the wheelchair and pretended not to notice the wheels squeaking.

  All in a day’s work.

  I had to locate Frankie before he tried to slip back into Scalieri’s cell and unhook him from that table. Frankie loved a good lock. And a criminal challenge. I was halfway to the lobby when a woman’s voice sounded in my right ear. “Excuse me.”

  I turned to see the figure of a nurse in a white dress. Her fair hair was pulled back into a tight twist under her neatly pinned nurse’s cap. Her name tag read Iris Claymore.

  She looked down her nose at me, her gray eyes piercing. “Visiting hours are over. The guard should have told you.”

  I smiled and tried to pretend that I didn’t have a ghostly roommate who might or might not be plotting a breakout at this very second. “I’m on my way out,” I said, polite as you please. “I was just visiting the patient in room 138, Bruno Scalieri.”

  The lines between her eyes deepened. “The guard should have told you that Bruno Scalieri is not to have visitors until the doctor finishes working up a treatment plan for him. He’s sick. Very sick.”

  Didn’t I know it? “I’m trying to help him,” I said, ignoring her quizzical look as she escorted me toward the lobby. And speaking of ghosts who needed a bit of extra attention… “I’m also worried about the patient in room 132. I think he or she feels trapped.”

  Just because Frankie said there was nothing to be done didn’t mean I couldn’t ask a professional.

  Her mouth formed a thin line. “Please keep away from my patients.”

  Perhaps I hadn’t made myself clear. I slowed while she strode straight past 132. “I can see where it might look like I’m bothering your wards,” I explained quickly. “But I’m only asking because I care.” After all, she didn’t know me or my abilities. “I have a way of talking to people, and not just dead people—”

  She stopped cold. “The patients that are left here are the sickest of the sick—the doctor’s most desperate cases.” She ran her fingers over her precisely coiffed hair. “They need professional attention and rest. Not meddling.”

  “See, I’m a professional ghost helper.” It sounded better than hunter.

  “My patients also need quiet,” she snapped. She caught herself and lowered her voice once more. “Your mere presence is upsetting. Your loud noises. Your ‘death floor’ sleepovers. Poor Mr. Rink has begun cutting himself from the stress of mortal beings in this place of rest and refuge.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s awful.” I hadn’t stopped to consider the fallout of Barbara’s grand marketing plan on the ghosts who lived and worked here. “Is Mr. Rink the one in room 132? I’ll talk to the living owner of this place and see what I can do.”

  She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mr. Rink is on the third floor. Not that it should matter to you.”

  It did. It mattered a lot.

  “I’ll try to fix it,” I promised. As soon as I talked Frankie out of letting one of her patients go.

  She drew her shoulders back. “You’ll do no such thing. You’re leaving. Now.”

  “Of course,” I said, keeping pace as she escorted me out, noting her precise walk and the squeak of her shoes on the old linoleum.

  The trick was, I had no hope of talking Barbara out of making money by letting tourists sleep on the “death floor.” But perhaps I could make it less intrusive. No doubt the ghosts would appreciate it if we at least found an unoccupied room.

  “Can you show me the third floor?” I asked.

  She looked at me like I’d just asked to sit in her lap. “Absolutely not.” She continued almost to herself. “Leave it to the living… No manners. No boundaries. You’ve already put me behind on my rounds.”

  I usually had a way with people, but my good nature was lost on the nurse. “Where can I find the doctor?” Maybe he could show me.

  “The doctor is too busy for you,” she snorted, then drew a hand to her chest, as if embarrassed by her candor. “You must understand, the doctor is overworked. He and I are the only staff left,” she said, her voice cracking. “Everyone else has selfishly moved on, and I will not endanger the treatment of the sick by playing tour guide to the curious.” Nurse Claymore had gotten me to the end of the hall. “We must cure these people. Everyone deserves good mental health.”

  I opened my mouth to apologize when a medicine cart shimmered into existence next to her. The top tray held old-fashioned metal syringes as long as my hand, filled with a milky white substance.

  “The patients need their medications at precise intervals,” Nurse Claymore said as if she were reciting a rule book.

  I blew out a breath. “I’m sure they do.” Although I wouldn’t want to get stuck with any of those monster needles. Not in a million years.

  Nurse Claymore reached the ghostly door to the lobby and held it open for me to leave.

  “These are sick people, not sideshow acts,” the nurse said, turning to her medicines. She drew a syringe off the tray. “I trust you’ll pass the word.”

  “I’ll try my best,” I promised her. “I’m on your side.”

  I opened the mortal door, and as soon as I stepped into the lobby, the ghost doors slammed shut.

  “Well,” I said, smoothing my hands over my white jean shorts, “that could have gone better.”

  Although I wasn’t sure exactly what I could have done to improve relations with the nurse. She’d had little time or patience for me.

  The rapidly darkening lobby lay empty except for the smirking guard I’d met on the way in.

  “Charming, as usual?” he taunted.

  I was really starting to dislike that guy.

  “Have you seen Frankie?” I asked.

  “He left out the front.”

  I hoped he wasn’t outside removing the bars from Scalieri’s cell window.

  “Thanks,” I said, heading to fetch my ghost, when a door on the side of the lobby creaked open.

  “It’s compromised, all right,” Ellis said, walking out. He seemed both surprised and glad to see me. “Verity, you’re done. Great. I was just checking out the old superintendent’s office. Barbara was concerned there might have been a break-in attempt last night.” He scanned the lobby. “Where’s Barbara?”

  “I have no idea.” I hadn’t seen her. “But that’s terrible about the break-in attempt.” It was the last thing the ghosts needed.

  “It looks like someone tried to jimmy the window,” Ellis said, clicking off his flashlight. “I’m going to have her file a police report.”

  Here was Frankie trying to get someone out while we had others trying to get in. “Who would want to climb through the window of a haunted asylum?” I wondered.

  “Crazies, copper thieves, antique hunters,” Ellis theorized. “Kids looking for a scare.”

  All possibilities. I surveyed the lobby for anything worth stealing. The art deco lights were pretty neat. The spindles and railing on the stairs to the second floor were ornate and appeared to be made of brass. A dozen or so framed black-and-white photographs of men in suits and doctors in white coats lined the wall up to the second-floor landing.

  “The last thing we need is more live people in this place,” I mused, and as I uttered the words, a black-and-white framed portrait of a man in an old-timey suit wobbled and fell from the wall.

  I rushed for it as it clattered down the stairs.
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  “That was weird,” I said, examining it for damage. It was surprisingly well-built and sturdy.

  “You think he agrees with your assessment of the living?” Ellis asked, only half-joking as he helped me pick up the portrait. It was heavier than it looked.

  “If so, he’ll have to tell me outright.” It was much easier when the ghosts said what they thought in plain English. Well, except for my gangster ghost. More often than not I wanted him to keep his thoughts to himself. “Let’s fix this. And then we need to find Frankie.”

  Ellis helped me hang the man’s photograph on the wall. “Dr. Seymour Anderson. Superintendent from 1917 to 1954,” he read on the plaque below.

  “1954,” I murmured. “That’s when this place shut down.”

  “I saw his name on the desk in the office back there,” Ellis said. “Maybe he’s still in charge.”

  “Maybe.” He appeared stern, with piercing gray eyes and white hair that showed harsh comb marks. Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the rapidly darkening lobby. “Come on,” I said, “let’s get out of here.”

  5

  I opened the front door and nearly ran into an equally startled Barbara barreling in from outside.

  She clutched her chest and reared back. “You scared the bejeebers out of me.”

  She wasn’t alone.

  A thin, middle-aged couple strained to see around her as heavy rain whipped inside. I hadn’t realized how hard it was coming down.

  “Go, go,” Barbara said, ushering them inside.

  “I’m so excited,” the woman gushed, shoulders up to her ears as she unwrapped a mustard-colored scarf from around her neck. She sighed happily, taking in the darkened, dreary lobby as if she’d just stepped into Disney World. “Oh, Tom, I tell you—this place already feels haunted.”

  If she only knew.

  The sky had turned a sickly shade of green-gray. “We’ve got hail coming down,” the asylum owner said, slightly out of breath. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was amused.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said as the hard, round balls cracked forcefully on the stairs behind her.

  “We’re very lucky,” Barbara’s guest said, draping her mustard scarf over the stairway balustrade. “Damp weather can bring on paranormal phenomenon. It makes ghosts stronger.”

  The last thing I needed was a juiced-up Frankie picking locks.

  Not to mention what hail like that would do to my Cadillac.

  Barbara tossed her coat over one of the unlit antique torch lamps and spread her arms like a ringmaster. “You never know what will happen in such a haunted place,” she added, with no small amount of glee.

  As usual, Ellis cut to the chase. “I need to talk to you about your situation,” he said to Barbara. “Your suspicions were right.”

  Her face fell. “Oh no.”

  “Let me show you what I found,” he said, being deliberately cagey around her guests as he led her into the former superintendent’s office.

  “Are you here to sleep on the death floor too?” the woman asked as if we were talking about a ride at Disneyland. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a month. I swear if I see a ghost, I’m going to die. I mean, flat-out die.”

  “I sincerely wish you don’t,” I said, only half joking.

  If she sensed my reticence, she quickly dismissed it. “I’m Joan Burowski, and this is my husband, Tom,” she said about the man who wandered the lobby, looking at the art deco light fixtures.

  “My name is Verity, and my boyfriend, Ellis, and I are just on our way out,” I told her. Even as I said it, I felt guilty abandoning the ghosts on the third floor—especially to this woman. At least her husband didn’t seem so bad. Still, I had to get Frankie off this property before he did anything crazy.

  “We need to leave before the storm really hits,” Ellis said, walking back out of the office with Barbara. “But as soon as we’re out of the woods and I can catch a signal, I’ll call the local authorities and give them the details.”

  Barbara nodded grimly. She’d lost the showman’s flair and was frowning at the news of intruders. I almost felt sorry for her. Until she opened her mouth.

  “Does Verity at least have good news for me?” she asked.

  I glanced toward her guests, who had dropped their backpacks and left them to make puddles on the marble floor. “I don’t,” I said. “At least not right now,” I added cryptically. Mainly because I hadn’t figured out what to tell her yet, and I certainly didn’t want to do a show for Joan and Tom. “I promise I’ll have something for you tomorrow,” I added quickly. Hopefully, when I was on my way back with a silver box for Scalieri.

  Once Scalieri saw it, he’d be eager to make a deal.

  “But—” Barbara began.

  “Don’t worry,” Ellis said. “Verity always comes through.”

  He took my hand, and we were on our way out when a ball of ice the size of a baseball slammed into the steps and shattered.

  “What the—?” I began as Ellis jumped in front of me, taking the impact of the ice shrapnel.

  “Oof.” He lurched back, hard.

  Oh, my gosh. “Are you okay?” Ice clung to his shin where he’d been hit.

  “Fine,” he said, trying to walk off the pain. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea to brave the hail,” he added, eyeing the remains of the ice bomb on the steps.

  “Even the weather is worse on this haunted property,” Barbara said gravely, playing it up for her guests.

  Oh, please. “Ghosts can do all kinds of things”—as evidenced by my gangster and his efforts to rob a bank, open an illegal bookie operation, and lead a prison break—all from the other side—“but a ghost can’t make a storm worse.”

  Still, I wasn’t eager to step out into it. “Let’s give it a few minutes.”

  Barbara took advantage of my hesitation and kicked the door closed with a resounding boom. “Welcome to an evening of mystery!”

  In her dreams. “The only mystery is how we’re going to get out to my car,” I said as an intense wave of thunder rolled across the sky, rattling me to my bones. The way it was coming down, it had to let up soon.

  “I promise Verity’s not usually such a scaredy-cat,” Barbara announced to the group. How would she know? She’d met me less than an hour before.

  She grinned at the scarf woman, who had stripped her outerwear down to an olive green sweater and black jeans. She had her arms out and eyes closed.

  “The ghosts are sending a message,” Barbara’s guest said, a little too delighted for my taste. She waggled her fingers. “You can tell by the tingling in the extremities,” she added.

  “More like a whack upside the head,” I told Ellis, who smirked.

  Joan threw her head back. “Ghost energy hits the fingers and toes first. I really should be lying down.”

  Her companion rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone.

  Barbara grinned. “Maybe you should team up with our resident ghost hunter, Verity Long,” she suggested. “I offer the complete experience here at Mint Julep Manor.”

  Hardly. “I’m not a resident anything,” I said as Joan broke out of her pseudo-trance lickety-split and hurried over to shake my hand.

  Her grip was tight and her fingers cold. “I’m somewhat of an enthusiast,” she confessed.

  “I can’t get a cell signal,” Tom complained.

  “I’m leaving now,” I said. I didn’t care if I got smacked over the head with an ice ball. It couldn’t be any worse than being part of Barbara’s sideshow act. I waved a polite goodbye, dodging Barbara and gripping the handle of the door as an ice ball slammed into the other side with a loud crack. The impact radiated up my arm.

  Ellis and I shared a look. “I think it’s getting worse,” he said.

  “We can brave it,” I said, hoping.

  To be fair, that philosophy didn’t always work out well for me.

  “Let’s…take a look first,” he suggested, motioning toward one of the nearby
windows.

  Darn him and his logical ways.

  The window revealed a mess of hail on the lawn. Wind whipped the trees surrounding the property and lashed my poor avocado green Cadillac. The land yacht was almost the same color as the sky above, its antenna whipping back and forth, its body shaking on its shocks as it was pounded and abused and, ohmyword, was that a crack in the windshield? I’d just gotten it fixed up. “My poor car,” I said, resting my forehead against the cold glass.

  “We can’t go out there,” Ellis said. “Not if the hail is hard enough to crack a windshield.”

  “Or shins,” I agreed.

  His lips formed a thin line. “Even if we made it inside the car, we couldn’t drive in this weather.”

  But I really needed to get Frankie off this property.

  “Hey, there’s Frankie!” I whispered, spotting a ghost sulking behind a storm-whipped magnolia bush near the front of the house. Hail crashed straight through him and bounced on the ground. I waved at him and was glad to see him toss a cigarette and float in our direction. “Things are looking up.”

  “Just watch your back,” Ellis said.

  I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I didn’t have time to ask before my ghost glided through the wall next to me. “Oh, good.” I pinned him close to the window. “Listen,” I said, wary of the guard near the hallway in the back. “You didn’t get Scalieri out yet, did you?”

  “No,” he ground out, digging into his suit coat pocket.

  “Perfect,“ I gushed. Happy. Relieved. “Here’s the scoop—” I began as he shoved a mangled silver instrument into my hand. “Ow.” I let the ghostly object clatter to the floor as the icy burn of it seared through me.

  “That needs to disappear,” he grumbled. “Then it’ll come back fixed.”

  “That was rude.” I shook my hand out. It tingled like I’d just grabbed dry ice. “You could have warned me.”

  “Would you have taken it?” he countered.

  “Probably not.” I rubbed my hand on my shorts. It stung like the dickens. Plus, I preferred it when his criminal tools did not work.