Dead People (19 page)

Cassie’s jaw dropped. Well, shit. Then joy filled her.

This
was why she’d been given the gift. The woman’s sense of exhilaration scattered through the air to her, even as she disappeared into the rays of sun.

“Sylvia?” the man with half a head asked. “Are you playing a joke on us?”

“You know Sylvia has the sense of humor of a gnat.” The first woman clicked the heels of her black shoes together and demanded to be taken to heaven, then repeated it two times.

Nothing happened. She remained standing there.

She glared at Cassie. “Why didn’t I go?”

The glow inside Cassie dimmed. She couldn’t help them all and she’d learned not to blame herself. Usually the dead person had to
want
to go for it to happen. But sometimes she suspected—

Another dead man appeared. “Maybe St. Peter doesn’t have you on his list.”

The others snickered.

The woman glared them into silence and started the routine again. The other men followed suit, their heels clicking like computer keys.

Cassie crossed to the back of the cemetery, dodging headstones. That routine should keep them busy—and maybe get a couple of them out of this world and into the next.

The wind gusted into her face, and she veered toward the corner where thick-branched bushes blocked the wind. Once there, she read the inscription on a granite headstone, MARGARET, BELOVED WIFE, and her lips twisted.

Once they passed, most dead people became beloved to their survivors. Even the ones who’d been murdered by the spouses who buried them.

If she died before her father, he’d ignore her instructions to be cremated. Instead, he’d gush about her over an elaborate headstone while her stepmother and half-brother would try to convince him to follow her instructions to the letter. Cremation was cheaper.

She plunked her butt on Margaret’s headstone and watched a dove land on the yellowing grass below a carved angel two rows over. No doubt someone else’s beloved someone.

A man appeared in front of her, his gray-brown skin the color of an ash tree. His pleading eyes appeared more than a century old, a contrast to his youthful face. From his tattered clothes and hat, she couldn’t get a fix on the age of his life. Rags fit any century.

“Can that really send us to heaven?” His voice was soft and fuzzy-edged.

“Only if you believe.” A spark of mischief made her add, “The power is within you. Use it wisely.” She winced. She sounded like a combination of Yoda and Glinda the Good Witch.

He scratched his forehead, his face one big question. “Then why don’t they all go?”

“I don’t know why it works for some and not the others.”

He glanced at the dancing clickers, three men and the one woman. Cassie glanced too.

“Take me to heaven!” they shouted.

“It could be God doesn’t like being yelled at,” Cassie said. “They’d be smart to thank Him instead.” Or
Her,
but she didn’t want to get involved in semantics with a man who might be older than her great-grandfather.

He whipped off his hat and held it over his heart. “Thank you, mistress. I’ve been here a long, long time and don’t know the way of the world anymore.”

“When did you die?”
 

“Don’t rightly know the date. Me and my wife, we came here before the big war.”

“Which one was that?”

“The War for Emancipation, mistress. My Zora was with child.” Sorrow deepened his voice. “The master was gonna sell her, so we got no choice but to run.”

“Here? Wisconsin?”

“Angels brung us here, angels wearin’ human faces. Me and Zora were took from one house to another. We reckoned this place was far from the plantation, but not too far for freedom.”

Excitement spiraling inside Cassie, she hopped off the headstone. “Do you recall a big house with two towers by a lake near here?”
 

He pointed a trembling finger at her. “You know that house? That’s where Zora and I hid.”

In that instant, she knew what it was that bothered her about the house. She must have sensed the residue from the old spirits. “Did you happen to see inside both towers?”

“Jus’ one.”

She sagged. She’d been so sure—

“The other tower,” he continued, “was where the Mister and Missus slept. It was private.”

“Yes!”
 

He jumped back, his eyes wide.
 

“I’m sorry.” She stopped herself from doing a victory dance. “It’s just that I was in the house, and only one tower is in use.”

“Mos’ likely ‘cause it’s secret. The Mister hid us in it when the two slave hunters came.”

Excitement buzzed in Cassie’s ears. “Did it work?”

His expression crumpled with an age-old sorrow. “They was waitin’ for us when we left the next day. It was me, Zora and Mister. We fought them, but my Zora was shot. She was cryin’ out for the baby while the blood spilled out of her. The next thing I know I was lyin’ in a shallow grave and Mister was shoveling dirt over me, tears runnin’ down his face.” He shook his head. “I knew somethin’ bad happened for a white man to cry over me.”

“Were you…” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Alive?”

“It seemed alive, but I didn’t feel nothin’. It was powerful strange, and I stood up to tell him. The next shovelful of dirt went right through me. Took me by surprise, it did. That’s when I knew I was a haunt.”

“Jesus.” She didn’t take her eyes off his face as it crumpled into lines of sadness. “What happened next?”

“I looked down at my body. Saw it, and Zora too. She was buried ‘neath me.”

Her hand moved to her stomach. The extent of people’s cruelty to other humans hadn’t changed. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t have nothin’ to do with it, mistress. I waited for Zora to join me, but she never did.” He looked down at the earth. “I’m still waitin’. Now I think I better go lookin’ for her.”

Cassie nodded, an obstruction in her throat blocking her encouragement. Words formed in her mind instead.
Take him, take him, take him...

He looked up at the sky. “Please, God,” he whispered. “Please carry me home to Zora and the baby.” He tapped his heels together once...and he faded. The last thing she saw was his eyes glowing with a happiness so bright Cassie blinked.

The wind wafted against her face, carrying his voice. “Thank you, mistress, I’m going home.”

The obstruction in her throat grew, emotion choking her throat shut. She walked out of the cemetery, robot-like, past the clicking woman and men. Three now instead of four, she noticed vaguely.

Joe floated out of the car, looking at her sternly. “Didn’t I tell you the dead people would bug you?”

She slid into the driver’s seat. He floated next to her. She strapped herself in, put the key in the ignition, and turned her head to look at him.

“Luke’s house was a point on the Underground Railroad. I met an escaped slave who stayed in the hidden tower room with his wife.”

“No kidding. How did they get into the room?”

“Huh?” Her mouth gaped open, and she sucked in air.

“You asked, didn’t you?”

“Dammit! I was so involved in his story, I forgot to ask.”

He hooted laughter. She turned the key, punched her foot on the gas pedal, and tore onto the road.

“Don’t lose your cool.” He stopped laughing but still had a grin in his voice. “You won’t be going back, so nothing the ghost told you matters. The idiot with the guitar fired you.”

She eased her foot from the gas pedal. What was she speeding from? Her thoughts? So, okay, Luke had rejected her professionally and personally.

Anyone would feel crappy.

She’d get over it. In a short time she’d agree that being let go was the best thing that happened to her since she caught her fiancé with his pants down, fondling a half-dressed student on top of his desk.

Chapter Twenty-six

Luke stood in the hall outside his bedroom in his jeans, a
Dirty Secrets
T-shirt, and white socks, his head cocked, listening. Something was different this morning. And not anything to do with firing Cassie yesterday. Something about the house was off. Wrong.

Ah. He got it. The house had its own music, the old walls humming, the wind whispering, Erin rustling. This morning he heard the walls, the wind...but no Erin.

Icy chunks of fear speared through his bloodstream. Even as he told himself he was overreacting, that she was probably sulking in her bedroom, the sound in his ears turned into a lion’s roar.

The first time he’d seen Erin looking forlorn and lost, he’d heard the same roar. He wanted to hunt down Vanessa in the overpriced rehab she’d holed up in and shake her until she admitted to the world that she was unfit to raise a guinea pig much less a child.

Instead he’d stuffed down his emotions and tried to make up to Erin for the years they were apart.

But what the hell did he know about being a parent? It wasn’t like he had a normal childhood. He knew he had communication issues—every woman in his life had told him so. And yesterday he really fucked up.

When Erin found out Cassie wasn’t coming back, she accused him of getting rid of her because she liked her.

Maybe he’d acted too quickly. His lousy mood—a hangover from his fight with Erin about the computer—hadn’t improved when Cassie brought the motel owner into his house for a fucking tour.
 

Scowling, he made up his mind to tell Erin he would apologize to Cassie. He plodded to Erin’s bedroom and knocked a rap-tap-tap beat on the door. She didn’t answer.

“Erin,” he called. “Erin. Either you open the door or I will.”

The door was locked. He swore, but softly, so she wouldn’t hear. Then he stomped back to his room, found the key that fit all the locks, and returned to Erin’s room.

As soon as he opened the door, he knew from the silence she was gone. Her bed was made but he didn’t see her backpack. She always carried it to her room.

Panic stirred inside him. The kitchen. She probably couldn’t sleep and was pouring herself a bowl of cereal.

He barreled down the back stairway and burst into the kitchen.

Nothing. No one.

He opened the closet door. Her jacket was gone.

A bus picked her up and brought her home every school day. They lived too far from school for her to walk, and the bus wouldn’t come for another forty-five minutes.

He grabbed the garage door opener from the counter. In his stocking feet, he ran outside and found out the door was already up. Panting, he raced inside and looked at the wall. The spot where Erin’s purple-striped bicycle should have leaned was empty.

Panic swarmed up his throat and buzzed into his head. Hurtling back into the house, he felt his heart slam-dancing inside his chest. Two minutes later, his shoes on, he sat in his SUV and turned the key.

He heard a click, nothing more. He tried again. Same thing. Swearing, he popped the hood and loped to the front of the car to look down at the shining silver engine. A wire stuck out. He glared at it. Damned if he knew where it went.

Who the fuck did this? Cassie. It had to be her.

No. Not her. He pictured her in his mind and saw not anger, but a combination of resignation and hurt. She’d left without an argument, her head high, a proud woman. Watching her go, he’d told himself he had to send her away to protect Erin.

Erin.

At ten years old, she probably knew enough to cut the wires.

He strode around the SUV and went to his 1959 Aston Martin. He opened the hood to look at the engine. Another cut wire.

His Harley sat off to the side, a wire hanging out.

If he weren’t so worried, he’d feel proud of Erin’s enterprise and intelligence. But anything could happen to young girls on their own. He’d heard too many horror stories, and if they happened to his own kid...

The roar started again. Cassie. She must have gone to Cassie. He pictured Erin in his mind, telling Cassie how evil he was. Cassie would believe her without any problem. He wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy. And he had fired her.

He stalked out of the garage. Of all the people Erin had met, why choose Cassie to warm up to? Why not the matronly child therapist in Carmel with her multiple degrees, years of expertise, and voice like butter? Or Tricia with her perky personality and blonde splendor? Why a woman who had more prickles than charm? A woman who communicated better with ghosts than with men.

He yanked open his side door and charged into his house. When he picked up his phone, he was unsure whether to dial the nearest car repair shop, the local taxi...or the Sheriff’s Department.

***

Cassie wheeled her suitcases out of her motel room and found two people waiting for her, one dead and one not.

She preferred the dead one.

Tricia smiled, one side up and one down, as if she wasn’t sure what to do. When Cassie neared her, she hunched over.

“Don’t do that.” Cassie had wanted to say that the first day she met Tricia.