Graveyard Shift

ONE

A chill like the touch of skeleton fingers reached under my ponytail and raked the back of my neck, sending an icy tingle all the way from the collar of my white polo shirt down my spine.

A block of ice filled my stomach.

My mouth went dry and I guess when it comes to life and death, lipstick just doesn’t seem to matter so much because before I could remind myself that it would completely destroy the coating of Pretty in Pink I’d applied before I left my office, I caught my lower lip with my top teeth – right before I hauled in a breath that stuttered when it hit the tight knot in my throat and braced myself, arms locked against my sides, chin up and my jaw set so tight it felt as if it was about to snap.

Cemetery visitors who happened to be passing the chapel at Garden View at that moment would have seen the tall redhead standing on the shore of the picturesque little lake behind it and decided right then and there that she looked determined. Controlled. Invincible.

Little would they know that she was actually scared to death.

I’d left my phone on a nearby bench and it rang a couple more times, sending the same tremors of fear through me that had started up the moment the call came in. When it finally finished ringing, I let go of a breath.

That is, until the phone sounded the little chime that let me know I had a message.

I tromped over to the bench and snatched up the phone, all set to delete the message without even listening to it when it vibrated against my palm and rang again. On cue, my hands got clammy and my knees trembled inside the tall yellow rubber boots I was wearing. Yes, I know – so not a good look for me, but I was on the job as community relations manager at Garden View and about to venture into the newly drained and dredged lake to take pictures for the newsletter we sent out to cemetery patrons and visitors.

I didn’t bother to check the caller ID on the phone. I didn’t have to. I’d already gotten six calls that day. And it wasn’t even noon.

I blew out a breath of frustration and told myself to get a grip.

I was the world’s only private investigator to the dead, wasn’t I? I’d faced down murderers and pissed off ghosts. I’d dealt with organized crime bosses, crazed scientists, and even a dead president.

I could handle this.

Before I convinced myself otherwise, I swiped the screen to answer the call.

‘Hi, Mom.’ I started talking even before I realized that my teeth were clenched. As if I didn’t know, as if I didn’t care, I made sure to keep my voice light when I asked, ‘What’s up?’

‘You’re busy at work. You must be. That’s why you haven’t returned my calls, right? Is it g-h-o-s-t-s?’

If Mom had been there, she would have seen me roll my eyes. ‘No, Mom, no ghosts.’

‘No case for us, either?’

There was no

us, but I didn’t point this out as I had pointed it out a couple dozen times since my mother announced that she thought it was a super idea for me, her, and my dad – the ex-con felon – to start a family private investigation business.

The words when hell freezes over came to mind.

Before I had a chance to mention this to her – again – she giggled. ‘No matter! There will always be a chance for another investigation. But there won’t be another chance like this. Pepper, the big bridal fair at the Renaissance Hotel is next Saturday.’

I knew it would come to this. Hence the feelings of dread each time my phone rang.

‘Mom …’ My voice was far more calm than even I expected, and I congratulated myself. Now if only I could talk some sense into my mother. ‘No one said—’

‘But you did say it, honey. You and Quinn. You said you were thinking about—’

‘That we were thinking about it, yes. Not that we were going to do it. Not that we had to plan it. We’re not there yet. We’re talking about …’ I hadn’t mentioned this latest bit of news to my mother, mostly because I’d been dodging her calls for all I was worth. ‘Quinn and I are talking about living together for a while. You know, before we decide to take the next step.’

‘You can say it, Pepper.’ Barb Martin is not given to fits of peevishness, but hey, it was Monday, so I cut her some slack. ‘You can say the words get married. You can say wedding, too, and planning for an upcoming wedding is nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘If I was planning for an upcoming wedding.’

‘You missed your chance.’ Monday might explain the irritability, but no way did it explain the little click of the tongue Mom added to the end of the sentence that told me she had just about had it with me. ‘If you’d gone ahead with the wedding last summer when you had the dress and the minister was there and Quinn was willing and—’

This was something she should have known better than to mention. All bets were now officially off.

‘Crazy man, Mom,’ I reminded her. Maybe a little too forcefully. My voice pinged against the granite walls of the nearby chapel that looked like a Greek temple. It bounced around between the headstones across the road and echoed back at me, sharp and precise. ‘You’re forgetting the crazy man who kidnaped me and told me I had to marry him or he’d kill Quinn. That’s why I was wearing the dress. That’s why the minister was there. I’ll tell you what, that sort of thing tends to sour a girl when it comes to weddings.’

‘Well maybe, but—’

‘But nothing.’ Famous last words, because as everybody knows, the moment anybody says but nothing it means but something. The something in this case was the fact that at the time he proposed, Quinn was drugged and as drunk as a skunk. Sure, afterwards he said he really meant it, all that stuff about love and marriage and happily ever after, but the operative word in that sentence is sure.

‘We need to be sure, Mom,’ I told her and reminded myself.

‘Of course you do. That’s smart, and I know you’re nobody’s fool. It’s the adult way to handle things. But that doesn’t mean we couldn’t just stop in at the bridal fair and—’

‘And what?’

‘And look around. You know, at bridal gowns. You hated your last gown. You told me so yourself and, let’s face it, all that satin and beading and lace … well, it was a little over-the-top. The women in our family, we’ve always been a lot classier than that. You know, more understated. I understand that you didn’t have a lot of choice when it came to picking out a gown,’ she added quickly because she apparently knew I was about to remind her of the whole crazy man thing again. ‘Which makes picking out this next one … this one … this real one, for your real wedding … all that much more important. Think of the fun we’ll have looking at styles and trying on gowns! And while we’re at it, I can try on a few mother-of-the-bride dresses, too. I’m picturing myself in emerald green. What do you think? With my coloring, it seems like a natural, doesn’t it? We both look so good in green. And while we’re at the bridal fair, we might as well check out flowers and caterers and invitations.’ Her laugh drowned out the burr of the lawn mower working somewhere in section twenty-three behind me. Spring is a busy time at Garden View, what with three hundred acres to clean up, grass that’s starting to sprout, and visitors who turn out in droves because they didn’t want to fight the snows of a Cleveland winter to pay their respects to their loved ones and now they’re making up for lost time. ‘We’d have so much fun if we went together.’

‘And we will. We’ll do that. One of these days. Only not yet.’

It wasn’t like I was waving the white flag or anything, but damn it, like it or not, I couldn’t help but picture my mom back when she’d fled town after my dad was convicted of Medicare fraud and landed in the federal pen. All that time in Florida, dodging her friends and her past. All those days of missing Dad. So I’m a sucker. So what of it? I didn’t think it would hurt to throw her a bone.

‘When Quinn and I are ready, Mom,’ I said and just in case there is such a thing as divine intervention or divine retribution, I crossed my fingers. ‘When we’re ready, we’ll go to all the bridal fairs you want.’

It was as far as I was willing to go, concession-wise, and I did not cave further. Not even when disappointment colored her voice. ‘Well, I hope it’s soon.’ Yes, she had the nerve to sigh. But then, it should come as no surprise that I had learned my awesome skills of ducking, feinting, and manipulation at the knee of an expert. ‘You’re not getting any younger, Pepper, and neither am I. And you are my only child. If I’m ever going to be a grandmother—’

I did not take the time to point out that I am not mother material. Or that Quinn, cop with an attitude, would never be anybody’s idea of Father of the Year. But then, I was a little busy choking on my protest.

Mom laughed. ‘I know, I know … you’re not ready to talk about that, either. Not to worry, I’ve got everything covered. I’m taking knitting lessons! Did I tell you? I’m working on the most precious little booties. Wait until you see them.’

My stomach soured. So did my mood. ‘Gotta go, Mom!’ I held the phone at arm’s length and yelled out a snappy ‘Hello’ to no one at all, just to give myself an excuse. ‘The maintenance guys are here. Bye!’

I couldn’t have ended the call any faster. I was only mad at myself for starting it in the first place, and I vowed I wouldn’t get trapped again. Maybe like the very frisky Jack Russell my aunt once had owned, my mother needed to learn that bad behavior would not be rewarded. The next time she said the W word, the M word or, heck, even the Q word, the conversation was over.

I told myself not to forget it and, because I knew it would take my mind off my mother and the wedding that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, I clomped into the drained lake.

It had been a relatively dry spring, but this charming little lake (which if you ask me, is really more of a pond) was lined with three inches of muck. The ooey-gooey stuff sucked at my boots, and I inched cautiously toward the center, convinced that if I stepped too quickly or turned too fast or moved just the wrong way, my boots would stay put and I’d be ankle deep in mud.

The things I do for my job!

Finally, as near to the middle of the lake as I was willing to get, I snapped a few pictures and convinced myself that Ella Silverman, cemetery administrator and my boss, would be as thrilled as thrilled could be with them. But then, there’s not much about the cemetery that doesn’t thrill Ella.

Just to be sure she’d be happy, I turned ever so carefully and took a few more pictures in that direction. As much as I hated to admit it, Ella was right about one thing: the lake wouldn’t need to be drained like this and dredged again for umpteen years. This was a once-in-our-lifetime project and the one and only chance either one of us was ever likely to have to get photos from this angle, thank goodness. Rather than have her tell me she wanted more pictures and I had to come back, I took another dozen.

Done.

I tucked my phone into the pocket of my black pants and maneuvered first one foot then the other through the mucky, yucky, clinging, sucking mud, glancing around as I did to be sure I was headed back in the direction I’d come from. That’s the thing about a lake, see, no matter how tiny it happens to be. The lake bottom is lower than the land around it, and this lake was about six feet deep here at its center. I spotted the chapel roof and kept my eye on it, using it to guide me back.

Which, I suppose, is why I didn’t realize anyone was anywhere around me until I heard a voice.

‘Well, it’s about time.’

I sucked in a breath and a squeal all at the same time and spun around. Or at least I would have if my body hadn’t turned and my feet hadn’t stayed cemented in the sludge. I toppled forward, screeched an appropriate word, and righted myself just in time.

‘Who …?’ I glanced over my shoulder. There was no one but me at the muddy lake bottom. ‘Who’s there? Who just talked to me?’

‘Me, of course.’

The voice was a man’s, calm, matter of fact, flat. It came from somewhere on my right, and I looked in that direction just in time to see a shimmer in the air, like the sparkle of snowflakes in sunshine.

‘You, who?’

‘This really isn’t the time for foolishness. We need to get down to business. I’ve been waiting a long time.’

Careful not to lose my footing, I leaned forward as much as I dared and squinted at the eddy of sparkles.

‘Are you a ghost?’ I asked.

‘I’m the essence of a life.’

‘But I can usually see—’

‘Not this time.’ Though it was impossible to catch a breeze this far below sea level, I watched the sparkles twirl like a tornado and move closer. ‘You can hear me.’

‘I can, but just so you know …’ Again, I glanced around, getting my bearings. The peak of the chapel was over to my right, and I clomped and swoshed in that direction, tossing a sort of hasta la vista wave toward the spooky sparkles as I went. ‘Nice to meet you, but whatever you want, I don’t have time for it. I’ve got this job, see. This real job. The one that gives me a paycheck every two weeks. The one that pays the bills. I can’t go messing with—’

‘It’s important.’

I stopped myself just short of a sigh. ‘That’s what ghosts always say.’

‘I can’t speak for anyone else. Just for myself.’

‘And you are?’

‘Eliot Ness.’

All right, that got my attention. I carefully turned back toward the sparkles, planting my feet in the muck so I wouldn’t go down. ‘The Eliot Ness who—’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ The way he said it, I pictured the spirit with his shoulders pulled back and his chin held high. ‘There’s a memorial in my memory just across the road.’

‘Yeah.’ I looked that way, or at least the way I thought was the way, over to where a dignified and unpretentious granite marker commemorated the life of the lawman who was most famous for being the head of the Untouchables but was once the Safety Director of Cleveland, too. ‘What are you doing here in the lake? What do you want?’

Just for the record, there is nothing more brainless than asking a ghost what its intentions are. (Well, unless it’s pairing navy and black together in the same outfit, but let’s face it, I’m way too fashion savvy for that.) Ghosts, see, always want something. Something from me. And the something they want is always something that gets me kidnaped/shot at/waylaid/possessed by spirits/jumped …

And that’s on an easy case.

‘No! No! Pretend I didn’t say that.’ I waved my hands furiously, as if that would send my dumb question straight to oblivion. ‘I don’t want to know what you want. Whatever it is, I don’t have the time for it. Or the patience. I’m already dealing with my mother, I don’t need to add ghosts into the mix.’ I clomped a few feet toward shore and stopped cold.

That’s because that swirl of sparkles was suddenly right in front of me, blocking my path.

I pulled up short and remembered the lessons I’d learned in my years as PI to the dead. One of the most important ones was that touching a ghost can lead to disasters of the frozen Pepper sort. Did the same apply to ghostly sparkles? I wasn’t sure, but I knew I didn’t want to find out. The last time I’d touched a ghost (believe me, I’d had no choice), I was so chilled to the bone, I couldn’t even grab a cup of coffee without instantly turning it into iced java.

‘Fine. Good.’ I pulled my feet out of the ooze and clomped in the other direction. ‘If that’s the way you’re going to be—’

Now those sparkles swirled two feet in front of my nose.

My shoulders drooped and I grumbled a curse.

‘Is that any way for a girl to talk?’

I hated when I had to give ghosts lessons in the history they’d been too dead to know about, the trends that had passed them by while they were busy being conked out, or social advances they’d never dreamed of, but hey, like it or not (and I mostly didn’t when Ella started jabbering on and on about the famous people who were residents here at Garden View), I knew Ness had been dead for something like sixty years. He needed to get with the program.

‘I’m not a girl, I’m a woman,’ I told him. ‘And these days, women aren’t relegated to the outdated norms of a masculine-centric society.’ Yes, I cringed. But then I was channeling Ella and the frequent lectures she gave me about how things were different for women in the old days, and how much things had changed since she was my age, and how far we still had to go when it came to job equality. I shook my shoulders. ‘What I mean is, I can say anything I want.’

‘Good.’

Not the response I expected, and I guess Ness knew it because a chuckle whooshed through the air.

‘You’re not afraid to speak your mind. And you stand up for what you think is right, even though, I must say, your enthusiasm for such progressive ideas is a bit misplaced. That doesn’t matter. It seems I heard right. You’re the perfect person for this job.’

Heard.

It should have come as no surprise to me that I was the talk of the Other Side. After all, there are plenty of ghosts over there – wherever over there is – and a whole lot of them need help to right wrongs, save their reputations, and solve their problems. Like their murders. But here’s the thing about ghosts: they’re incorporeal and nobody but me can see them, and nobody but me can hear them and talk to them, and they can’t touch things. That means they need some human to do their dirty work for them. That human is me.

I eyed the sparkles. ‘Who have you been talking to?’

It must have been a trick of the light or the way the musty breeze kicked up there at the bottom of the lake, but I swear I saw those sparkles rise and fall in what was almost a shrug. ‘Oh, you know, a few people here and there. Including Gus Scarpetti.’

Gus was my first ghost, and yeah, he was a Mafia don and all, but I still remembered him fondly.

Which didn’t mean I wasn’t mighty suspicious of the recommendation.

‘You and Gus?’ I settled my weight back against one foot and crossed my arms over my chest. ‘I can’t believe a cop and a gangster would—’

‘Sometimes you have to make a deal with the devil to accomplish good things. I needed someone to talk to. About you. And Gus said—’

‘What?’

‘That you can handle the job.’

It was high praise coming from a guy like Gus who’d been nothing but a big ol’ pain in the tushy in the time we’d worked together. ‘The cops had it all wrong,’ I told Ness. ‘About Gus’s murder. I figured out who really killed him.’

‘So I hear.’ Those fuzzy bits swooshed and came back together on my right and now that he wasn’t standing … er … hovering in front of me, I started for the shoreline with Ness at my side.

I hauled myself out of the lake and over to the bench where I’d left my shoes, and I sat down, took off those horrible rubber boots, and slipped into my snakeskin ballet flats (don’t judge me, I got them for a song at a Nordstrom’s sale).

‘So …’ I looked at the swirling bits that were once the celebrated cop who (according to what I’d read about him) had destroyed the bootlegging business in Chicago back in the days of Prohibition. ‘You might as well get it over with. Tell me what you want.’

‘I want you. For a job.’

‘Like I said …’ I got up from the bench, grabbed the yellow boots, and headed toward where I’d left my car. ‘I’ve got a job and if I don’t get back to the office and start doing it, Ella is going to wonder where I am.’

‘Not this job. A real job. A detective’s job.’

Before I had a chance to protest, a big, black car whooshed around the corner from the direction of the monument dedicated to President James A. Garfield and zipped past us. Believe me, when it comes to cars, I’m no expert, but I knew this one was old, and one look at the way the sun glinted off its gleaming surface and I knew it was well-loved, too. It had a long, sleek hood and headlights that were close together, lots of chrome, and wide whitewall tires.

Ness whistled low under his breath. ‘1938 Buick,’ he said. ‘And a real beauty. It’s just like the car—’

‘That brought your ashes to the cemetery.’ I can’t help it. Once in a while some of the stuff that Ella tells me sticks in my brain. And sometimes it just happens to pop out at the right moment. ‘It’s not like I worked here then or anything,’ I told Ness just so he didn’t get the idea that, like Ella, I was a lifer at Garden View. ‘I mean, it was back in the nineties, right? But Ella, well, she loves to talk. You died in Pennsylvania in the fifties and your ashes were kept—’

‘By a relative.’

I was glad he provided this part of the story because I didn’t remember it at all. ‘And eventually your ashes were brought here,’ I said because I did remember that part. ‘There was a big ceremony, bagpipes playing Amazing Grace, the whole deal, and your ashes were scattered over the lake we were just in. I know, I read all about it.’

‘Not all about it. See, those ashes …’ There was no breeze, but the effervescent dust motes that were once Eliot Ness billowed, scattered, and clumped back together, thick and tight, like a thundercloud.

‘Those ashes that were scattered,’ he grumbled, ‘they weren’t mine.’

TWO

‘So your ashes aren’t here, so what?’

Not to worry, I wasn’t talking to myself as I sat behind the wheel of my Mustang and drove