Tombs of Endearments (11 page)

It was what Damon wanted. And exactly what I wanted, too.

Wasn’t it?

I asked myself the question as I tucked the candle into the crook of my arm and grabbed the guitar, and I was still wondering why it unsettled me as Damon and I rode the elevator down to the lobby in silence.

Back outside in the late morning sunshine, I didn’t head for my car. Instead, I crossed to the far end of the property where the parking lot overlooked the lake. I set the candle and the guitar down on the waist-high wall that surrounded the lot and glanced down to the water, some twenty feet below.

Maybe I wasn’t as tough as I liked to pretend I was. When I asked Damon the question, I didn’t have the nerve to look at him. “Are you sure?”

“Hey, baby, you’re not changing your mind about helping me out, are you?”

Maybe Damon wasn’t as committed to heading to the Great Beyond as he claimed to be, either. There was an undercurrent of emotion in his voice, and anxious to understand what it was, I turned to him.

I was sorry I did. Regret shimmered in his eyes and in the smile he gave me. Was it for the life he’d led? Or because he’d been shackled to this earth long past his time? Or was there some other reason he was sorry to leave? Someone he was sorry to be leaving behind?

My heart lurched, but before I had a chance to say anything, Damon spoke.

“It’s time,” he said.

“I know.” Which didn’t explain why I was so reluctant to make the final move. “It’s just that—”

“What?”

I bit my tongue. It was better to keep my mouth shut than to tell a guy who’d been dead since before I was born that I was going to miss him.

Rather than take the chance of confessing my feelings and looking like a chump, I did exactly what I was supposed to do—I threw the candle in the lake. Damon stepped up to the wall, and side by side, we watched the candle bob. In my head, I imagined that Damon’s spirit was doing the same thing, hovering in some unnamed space between this world and the next.

The candle finally went under the water. And Damon?

I gave him a sidelong glance.

Damon didn’t flutter or fizz or fade.

As one, we turned our attention to the guitar.

“I don’t think you can just toss it in,” he said. “I mean, someone might fish it out. Or it could just sink to the bottom and stay there and maybe that would mean I’d have to stay here, too, at least until it rots away.”

He was right. I picked up the guitar, and maybe I was a little emotionally strung out and maybe my imagination was playing tricks on me. I swear I could feel Damon’s essence in it. I closed my eyes and cradled it, close to him in a physical way for the first time.

But hey, strung out or not, I knew the feeling couldn’t last, so I clutched the skinny end of the guitar in both hands, backed up, and brought the guitar down on the wall as hard as I could.

It shattered, and the
boing
of all the strings snapping at once echoed through the parking lot. A
couple of people getting into their cars not far away stopped and stared and pointed.

I didn’t care. Before anyone could stop me, I scooped up the pieces and tossed them into the lake. The guitar was the last connection Vinnie had to Damon. There was no way he could channel him again, no way he could hold Damon’s spirit to earth, and I knew it. I knew I couldn’t watch Damon fade and blur into nothingness, so I kept my eyes on the water, watching until I saw every last fragment of guitar sink.

“Well…” Big points for me, I was pretty good at fooling myself. Even though I was talking to nobody but me, I managed to sound like my throat wasn’t clogged with emotion. “That’s that. It’s over. It’s done. Damon’s—”

“Still here.”

When I heard Damon’s voice behind me, I jumped and squealed.

As if he was just as surprised as I was, he looked down at himself and held his hands out to examine them. His left hand was still washed-out, but other than that, he looked the same as ever.

Okay, so it wasn’t the most politically correct thing to say to a dead guy who was hoping to move on to the trip of all trips, but I couldn’t help myself. I blinked and stammered, “What the hell are you still doing here?”

Much to Ella’s delight, I stayed late at work that
day. What Ella didn’t know was that I wasn’t combing through the cemetery files looking for more immigration information like I said I’d be doing. I was down at Damon’s grave, and he and I…well, we were trying to figure out why he wasn’t wherever he should have been now that Vinnie’s power over him was gone.

We got nowhere together, and when I finally gave up and went home and thought about it some more, I got nowhere alone. Except, of course, for the nagging and uncomfortable feelings that kept me awake half the night—the ones that made me wonder what the hell was wrong with me. And why I wasn’t sorry that Damon hadn’t crossed over.

By the next day, I was so tired of thinking (and feeling what I had no business feeling about a dead guy), that my brain hurt. “It doesn’t make any sense.” I dropped my head down on my desk. It helped with the pounding. “Vinnie’s not holding you here anymore.”

“Unless he is, and he’s lying.”

This was, of course, one of the first theories we’d discussed the night before. Now, as then, I dismissed it. I sat up, and because my hair was loose, I shoved it out of my bloodshot eyes so I could look across my desk to where Damon was sitting in my guest chair. “I believe him,” I said. “Don’t ask me why. But if he’s really sick like he says he is, if he really gave away all his money…It’s pretty clear that Vinnie’s trying to turn over a new leaf. And he does feel really guilty about the channeling. You saw how upset he got when I told him what it was doing to you. It seems impossible, but it all adds up. I believe him.”

Damon sighed. “So do I.”

All of which, of course, put us right back where we started.

I didn’t dare breathe a word about what I’d been thinking the night before. I mean, about how maybe it wasn’t so bad that Damon was sticking around after all. But I didn’t dare not mention it, either. If I didn’t say anything, and if Damon had already thought the same things I was thinking, then I’d not only look obvious, but stupid, to boot.

When I brought up the subject, I wanted it to sound less like an obsession and more like an oh-yeah-I-forgot-to-mention-this-P.S., so I moved around the piles of papers on my desk to make it look like I was busy. Since I wasn’t known for my filing skills and there were plenty of papers and plenty of piles, I had a good excuse for not meeting Damon’s eyes. “I don’t know, I think maybe there’s nothing we can do. Maybe…” Was that me sounding like a love-struck teenager? I gave
myself a mental slap and gulped down my mortification. “Maybe you’ll just have to stick around for a while.”

“Pepper…”

It wasn’t Damon saying my name, it was the way he said it that forced me to look up.

I don’t think I ever knew exactly what
bittersweet
meant until that moment. Because that’s what the smile Damon gave me was, gentle and warm at the same time it was filled with emotion so sharp that I sucked in a breath and collapsed back in my chair, as if a hot knife had sliced my heart into little pieces.

“Wish I could stay around.” He didn’t elaborate. All he did was hold up his left hand.

I could barely see it. Or part of his arm.

I don’t panic easily. At least not unless I have a really good reason. This was a really good reason.

I sat up straight, and my brain froze. All I could think about was what might happen if I didn’t help Damon cross over before he disappeared completely. If he was never allowed on the Other Side, and he disappeared from this one…

A terrible vision filled my head. It was of a lonely place where the spirits who didn’t belong anywhere spent eternity lost and all alone. Yeah, I wanted Damon to stick around. For purely selfish reasons. But not at that price.

I slapped my hand against the desk and stood. I hoped that moving around the office would kick my brain into gear, so I paced to the door and back again.

“We’ve got to do something,” I said. It was an understatement, but I couldn’t think of anything
profound. “It was easy with my other cases,” I grumbled. “Gus and Didi both had unfinished business, and once we finished it, they were able to go to the Other Side. But you died of an accidental overdose. Everyone knows that. But if you’re still here, maybe you do have—”

Call me slow. Or maybe I was just so caught up in thinking Damon was going to vanish, and then so relieved when he didn’t, that I hadn’t been able to think straight.

“Unfinished business.” Damon and I said the words together, and now that we were finally getting somewhere, I hurried over to my desk and sat back down.

“If the overdose wasn’t accidental then maybe what’s holding you here isn’t the channeling. Maybe you’re being held here—”

“Until we find out what really happened that night I died.”

“Shit.”

At my vehement reply, Damon raised an eyebrow. “This is good news, isn’t it? I thought this was exactly what we were trying to figure out.”

“It is. But you see what it means, don’t you? I’ve just talked myself into another murder investigation.”

The most logical place to start was with Vinnie. I bought myself some time by telling Ella I needed another trip to the County Archives. It wasn’t a total lie. Number one, because I did need more information if I was ever going to add to all those files Ella had pulled out. Number two, because the
County Archives was in the same direction as Vinnie’s Gold Coast penthouse. Sort of.

With Damon riding shotgun, I headed back to the suburb of Lakewood.

I only had to endure a couple of winks and one comment from the doorman about how he bet Vinnie Pal couldn’t wait to see me again. It was a small price to pay for being allowed up to the penthouse unannounced. A short while later, I was in the wide, elegant hallway that led to Vinnie’s apartment.

The door was open.

“Hey, Vinnie!” There was no loud music playing that morning, so when I toed the invisible line between the apartment and the hallway and rapped on the door, I figured Vinnie would hear me. “It’s me, Pepper. Can I come in?”

I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard a muffled response.

I took it as an affirmative and stepped inside. Except that it was messier, the place looked like it had the day before: pizza boxes everywhere, coffee cups and beer cans (open and empty) strewn all around, and of course, the cutout of the naked woman. But there was no sign of Vinnie.

“Vinnie?” I tried again, louder this time, and again I heard what sounded like a muted reply. It came from Vinnie’s magic room.

I headed that way, and at my side, Damon grumbled his disapproval.

“Vinnie didn’t lie to us,” I said, reminding him of what we’d both decided back at the office. “He’s trying to go straight. He promised not to channel
you again. Nothing’s going to happen to me if I go in there. He’s not messing with magic anymore.”

“What if he is?”

I paused, my hand on the doorknob of the magic room. “I’ll open the door, but I’ll stay out here. And if I see anything weird, I’ll run.”

I yanked open the door. And I did see something weird. And I did run. Only not away from the magic room. In fact, I raced into the room and dropped to my knees.

Right next to where Vinnie was lying on the floor, moaning.

“Vinnie, are you all right?” After what Vinnie had told me the day before about his cancer and how much time the doctors told him he had to live, I assumed he’d taken some medication and gotten dizzy. Or had an attack of some kind. Until my eyes adjusted to the dim light in the windowless room and I saw the knife sticking out of his chest and the stream of blood that gurgled up around the edges of it and flowed to the floor.

“Holy shit!” Instinctively, I jerked away. But just as quickly, I had a full-blown attack of guilt. This was not the compassionate way to respond to a dying man.

And I knew beyond a doubt that Vinnie was breathing his last.

His eyes fluttered and opened. I couldn’t tell if he was able to see me or not. Still, a smile touched his lips. “Must…already be…in heaven,” Vinnie said. “You’re an angel.”

“Or not.” To prove it, I grabbed Vinnie’s hand and held on tight. “What happened?”

He managed to shake his head, but when he moved his lips, no words came out.

I told myself to get a grip and promised Vinnie help was on the way. I rummaged through my purse, grabbed my phone, and made the 911 call. When I was done, I took Vinnie’s hand in mine again.

“It’s going to be okay,” I told him. I was lying, but let’s face it, at a time like that, a little white lie provides a whole lot more comfort than the truth. “The paramedics will be here in a couple minutes. They’re going to take care of you, Vinnie.”

He rolled his head to the side and looked to where Damon was kneeling on the floor opposite me, and I don’t know where he found the strength, but Vinnie raised a hand in greeting.

That’s when I knew for sure that Vinnie didn’t have much time. One thing I’d learned in the paranormal PI game was that when living people (other than me) see a ghost, it means the end is near.

With that in mind, I knew I had to get Vinnie to talk.

I cradled his hand in both of mine. “What happened?” I asked him. “Who did this to you?”

“Who?” Vinnie drew the word out in one, long syllable. His voice was like the whisper of the wind. His chest rose and fell, and so did the knife stuck in it. It was too terrible to watch. And too horrifying to take my eyes off.

Even as I knelt there, frozen with horror, Vinnie dragged in a shallow breath and let it out slowly.

Then he went perfectly still.

“Vinnie?” I poked his shoulder with one finger,
but he didn’t respond. “Vinnie, just hang on. They’re coming to help.” I heard the pulsing sounds of a siren out in the street. “Just a couple more minutes, Vinnie.”

But it was too late.

Vinnie’s hand still in mine, I sat back on my heels. “What’s going to happen?” I asked Damon.

He shrugged. “Since I never crossed over, I can’t say for sure. Unless Vinnie’s stuck here, too. By the look of that knife in his chest, I’d say he’s got some unfinished business for sure.”

No doubt, but before I had a chance to wonder what it meant and how I’d be involved, something weird happened.

As if a white light had been turned on behind it and its glow seeped through the plaster, one of the walls of Vinnie’s magic room began to shine. Little by little, the light intensified until I couldn’t see the wall at all. I squinted and covered my eyes with my hand.

That is, until I saw Vinnie rise out of his body. He walked over to the wall, and at the place where the light was its most blinding, he paused and turned. Smiling, he raised his hand and waved goodbye.

Right before he disappeared into the light.

I don’t know how long it took. I only knew that while it was happening, I didn’t move a muscle. I stared at the light, filled with emotions I didn’t understand and couldn’t name. I do know that it was all over by the time the cops and the paramedics burst into the apartment and hurried down the hallway and into the magic room.

That’s where they found me, kneeling on the floor next to Vinnie Pal’s lifeless body.

Word of a celebrity’s death travels fast.

By the time I answered questions from the cops, filled out forms for the paramedics, and made my way downstairs, there was a crowd gathered out in the parking lot. I counted four vans from local TV stations and a dozen or so reporters. One of them was talking to the doorman, and believe me, I made sure I snuck out of the building so he didn’t see me. I didn’t want to be fingered as the last person to see Vinnie Pal alive. Not on the six o’clock news, anyway.

By the time I got back to Garden View, I felt as if I’d been wrung out and hung up to dry. I dragged myself out of the car, fully prepared to hightail it to my office, shut the door, and hide out for the rest of the day.

I was on my way to do exactly that when I saw the ghost hunters gathered around one of the cars parked in the lot. They were listening to the radio.

“Did you hear?” Brian, the chief dork, accosted me where the sidewalk met the parking lot. “Vinnie Pal is dead.”

I stepped around him. “I heard.”

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

I knew, all right.

It meant that though the Lakewood cops who came in response to my call told me I was free to go, I was in for a whole bunch more questions, a thorough background check, and a close examination of my motives and what, exactly, I’d been
doing in Vinnie’s apartment when he met his untimely end.

It meant that I wouldn’t get rid of the memory of that knife sticking out of Vinnie’s chest any time soon. Or, from the looks of it, the bloodstain on my good gray linen pants. Sad but true, and another thing I’d learned thanks to being PI to the dead: Blood does not easily wash out of natural fibers.

Of course, the news wasn’t all bad. I’d learned something helpful, too. I knew for certain Vinnie couldn’t have had anything to do with Damon’s death.

How?

No murderer could possibly cross over that quickly. Even one who had tried to buy his way into the Promised Land.

None of that was information I was willing to share with Brian, so I shrugged in response to his question.

“It means there’s even more reason to find evidence of Damon Curtis’s ghost,” he said, and how anyone could look so excited about a murder, I couldn’t say. Then again, Brian wouldn’t spend the next I-don’t-know-how-many-years trying to fall asleep with the image dancing through his head, the one of blood and knives and the way a person’s face gets chalky just before he buys the farm. “Vinnie’s mysterious death is really going to add to the Mind at Large mystique. Hey, maybe we can even find Vinnie’s ghost!” This was, apparently, a new thought, and anxious to share it with his fellow dorks, Brian hurried over to tell them.

That’s when I realized that one of the dorks looked awfully familiar.

Dan Callahan didn’t stay with the group to hear what Brian had to say. His hands tucked into the pockets of his black leather jacket, he strolled over, and even though he gave me a smile, I couldn’t help but notice that his gaze dipped down to the bloodstain on my pants.