The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (Charley's Ghost Book 1) Read online

  “I hope you’re happy, Amanda,” Charley said, “interfering with that woman’s work. Maybe now you’ll leave her alone.”

  Not a chance, Amanda thought as she fastened her seat belt.

  “We have more important things to do,” Charley continued, “like keeping you out of prison.”

  He had a point. Discovering Charley’s relationship with Sunny Donovan became far less important when put in perspective by her potential future behind bars.

  Even so, she had a feeling, especially after Sunny’s reaction to meeting her, that the secret Charley and Sunny shared must be important, something way beyond a brief fling between the two of them. The secret, she felt sure, somehow involved her. She and Sunny Donovan had met before. Why couldn’t she remember where and when?

  

  The fear of a future life behind bars with Charley flitting in and out while she sat trapped inside drove Amanda from the house after dark with the excuse of a “moonlight motorcycle ride.” Following Charley’s directions to Kimball’s house, she pulled off the road. It was a perfect night for a ride, but a lousy night for skulking around someone’s house. The moon was full in a cloudless sky. Fortunately trees surrounded the Kimballs’ house...large, graceful oaks, elms, magnolias, cottonwoods and other varieties. The gnarled native mesquite trees were conspicuously absent from the lush setting.

  A large fence with a gated entrance surrounded the property.

  Amanda opened the face plate of her helmet. “Had I known I’d have to leap over a six foot fence, I’d have worn the shoes with springs instead of these heavy boots.” She was actually relieved that they wouldn’t be able to get in. Charley had probably done this sort of thing many times, but she was terrified at the thought of sneaking around someone’s house—especially if that someone was a murderer.

  “Hide your bike in the bushes. I think I can deal with this gate. It’s electronic. Should be sort of like turning on the TV.”

  “This bike weighs over seven hundred pounds. I’m not putting it in the bushes. How do you think I’ll get it out? Are you going to help lift it?”

  “All right, all right. Get it as far off the road as you can and let me concentrate on opening this gate.”

  Amanda moved her bike to the side of the road but did not pull off her helmet, gloves or jacket. She waited, ready to roll, heart pounding, adrenalin pumping, terrified that Kimball would emerge from behind her at any moment or a police car would pull up beside her, lights flashing, siren blaring, ready to haul her in.

  What are you doing here, ma’am?

  Oh, just waiting for my ex-husband to jimmy the lock on this gate so I can get in to spy on your mayor.

  Your ex-husband? There’s nobody here but you.

  Well, yeah, you see, he’s dead.

  Please raise your hands and step away from the bike.

  Jail or the loony bin? Where would they take her first?

  “I did it!” The gate was sliding open so quietly, she wouldn’t have noticed if not for Charley’s exultant yell.

  Great. He’d never been able to get the lid off a jar of pickles when he was alive, but now that he was dead, he could open security gates.

  “Come on,” he urged when she sat unmoving.

  “Charley, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Do you want to stay out of prison or not? I’m trying to help. I’m the one who’s going to do all the work. You can stay hidden in the trees and bushes. All you have to do is get me close to the house.”

  With a sigh, Amanda climbed off her bike, removed her helmet, gloves and jacket and forced her unwilling legs to walk through the open gate, following Charley. No good could come of this. No good ever came of taking Charley’s advice. But she was fresh out of ideas on how to get herself out of this mess Charley had got her into by blackmailing Kimball and getting himself killed.

  “Could you walk a little quieter?” Charley asked as they moved off the driveway and into the undergrowth.

  “No, I can’t,” she whispered, afraid to speak aloud even though they were still a good hundred feet from the house. “I’m wearing motorcycle boots, and I’m still flesh and blood. If you had real feet, you’d be making noise too.”

  “There’s an art to stealth.”

  “Oh? And just why would a man of your high moral standards need to acquire that art?”

  Charley didn’t answer but kept moving toward the large brick house where the driveway curved in a circle. Amanda followed as quietly as she could, the pounding of her heart sounding louder than her footsteps.

  Finally they reached a spot only a few feet from the side of the house. The drapes were closed, but light shone around the edges of a large downstairs window.

  “This is it,” Amanda whispered, so terrified she couldn’t have spoken aloud if she’d wanted to. “I’m not getting any closer.”

  “Let me see if you’re close enough that I can get in.”

  He disappeared, and Amanda stood alone, perspiring in the moonlight in the middle of Roland Kimball’s yard in the middle of the night.

  She twisted around at the sound of rustling in the darkness behind her.

  A small animal? A bird? A serial killer?

  Cricket song burst forth as if sounding an alarm.

  Who knew there were so many noises in the night? How did the animals ever sleep?

  She wrapped her arms around herself, backed deeper into the shadows, and bumped into a solid object. She spun around, ready to defend herself. Ready to die.

  A tree trunk.

  She took a deep breath and told herself to relax.

  Not likely.

  A dark shape swept across the moonlit sky. Amanda’s heart went into triple-time.

  Breeze blowing the trees around.

  Or a ghost.

  She almost laughed at that idea. Now that she’d met one, ghosts didn’t have quite such a scary reputation. Not nearly as scary as the man who lived in that house.

  A mosquito buzzed near her ear, and she slapped futilely at the sound.

  When she got out of there—if she got out of there alive—she might reconsider the idea of spending the rest of her life in prison. It couldn’t be worse than this.

  Finally Charley returned. “Got in,” he announced, sounding pleased.

  “Great! What did you find?”

  “Saw him and his wife sitting in the living room. They didn’t even have the television on.”

  “That’s really helpful. An obvious sign of guilt. I’m out here putting my life in danger and getting bitten by mosquitos and who knows what other creatures so you can watch Kimball and his wife sitting in the living room in front of a dead television.”

  “That’s not all I did. I looked through their closets and cabinets and everywhere I could reach.”

  “How did you do that? You can’t open doors or drawers, can you?”

  “No, but I can go inside things.”

  “So there’s no privacy when you’re around.”

  “Yep.” He grinned as if pleased with himself.

  “Stay out of my underwear drawer.”

  Charley agreed so readily she was certain he’d already checked out her underwear drawer and anything else of hers he could find.

  “Did you see a gun?”

  “No gun.”

  Amanda heaved a deep sigh. “That’s it then. This was a complete waste of time. Let’s get out of here.”

  “No! We’re not done. I need to get upstairs, into the bedrooms, the attic, all the places in this big house where he could hide stuff. I need you to move closer.”

  “I don’t want to move closer. I want to leave. Now.”

  “I don’t think we can do that.” Charley’s gaze moved past her, over her shoulder, toward the driveway where they’d entered.

  Over the thundering of her heart as it tried to beat out of her chest, the sound of her blood rushing past her ears, crickets chirping and mosquitos buzzing, Amanda noticed another sound. An engine and tires on
pavement.

  She turned in horror to see a police car coming down the driveway. A spotlight flashed through the trees then burst across her face.

  “Put your hands on your head and move into the open,” said an electronically magnified voice.

  “You are so screwed,” Charley said, helpful as always.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Amanda lifted her arms above her head and ordered her feet to move forward, to carry her within reach of the police. Images of prison bars flashed before her eyes. Why had she ever listened to Charley?

  Two uniformed officers got out of the patrol car, guns drawn and aimed at her.

  “Stop right there!” the taller one ordered.

  She stopped.

  “Who are you?” the shorter one demanded.

  Amanda opened her mouth to tell them her name, but discovered it was so dry, she couldn’t speak.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” the second officer ordered, holstering his gun and approaching her with a pair of handcuffs.

  Amanda lowered her arms, and the man slapped the cuffs onto her wrists. They were heavy and cold. Though only her hands were trapped, she felt as if the metal encased her entire body, making it impossible to move, hard to breathe.

  The front door of Kimball’s house opened, and the mayor himself stepped out onto the wide porch. “Well, well,” Kimball said. “I do believe that’s Charley Randolph’s widow come to visit.” He walked down the steps toward her.

  “You know her?” the officer standing beside the car, gun still drawn, asked.

  “I met her at the funeral yesterday. Charley Randolph’s funeral. You remember Charley, don’t you?” Damned man looked even more evil in his casual slacks and knit shirt. Every hair was in place, and his eyes were darker and more threatening than the night she’d just been hiding in.

  “I remember,” the officer said. “Always in some kind of trouble. Left town a couple of years ago. Wasn’t surprised somebody finally killed him. Probably a jealous husband. Beg pardon, ma’am.”

  “He hasn’t got any room to talk,” Charley protested. “Smoked my first joint with that guy back in the seventh grade. I could tell you some things about him.”

  Amanda would have told him to shut up if her throat hadn’t been constricted from fear.

  “What are you doing at the mayor’s house in the middle of the night?” demanded the cop standing beside her, the one who’d so eagerly slapped the handcuffs on her.

  “Tell them you were taking a walk,” Charley ordered.

  “What?” she gasped. Great. The first word she was able to speak would make her sound like an idiot, talking to someone who wasn’t there.

  “The officer asked what you were doing at my house in the middle of the night,” Kimball said. His expression as he approached told her he had a pretty good idea what she was doing there.

  “Taking a walk,” she blurted.

  He lifted both eyebrows in disbelief.

  “Is that your motorcycle parked just outside the gate?” he asked.

  So much for the taking a walk story. For an accomplished liar, Charley wasn’t coming up with a very credible tale to keep her out of jail. He’d do a lot better if it was his butt on the line. “Yes,” she choked out. “My motorcycle.”

  “You were riding in the moonlight and saw the gate. The open gate,” Charley continued easily.

  “I was riding in the moonlight and saw the gate, the open gate,” she parroted. It wasn’t a great story, but it was better than anything she could come up with.

  “You wanted to see where the driveway led.”

  “I wanted to see where the driveway led.”

  “Then you saw the house.”

  “Then you saw—I saw the house.”

  “So you stopped to spy on me?” Kimball asked.

  “You twisted your ankle,” Charley said, “and you were resting for a few minutes. Stepped in a hole. He’d better be careful you don’t sue him.” Charley was getting better, more fluent with his story. Maybe he couldn’t tell lies anymore, but apparently there was nothing to stop him from making up lies for someone else to tell.

  “I…stepped in a hole and twisted my ankle. I was just resting for a few minutes.”

  Kimball studied her, his sinister gaze raking her from perspiration-covered brow to uninjured ankles safely encased in motorcycle boots. He smiled, and his smile, full of control and power and absolutely no scruples, was the scariest thing she’d seen all night. “Your ankle seems to have healed quite nicely.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s better. Much better.”

  “It’s okay, officers,” he said, never taking his eyes off her. “You can remove the handcuffs. Mrs. Randolph was taking a stroll to escape the depression of losing her husband. I’m not going to press charges. Thank you for coming out.”

  “You sure, Mayor?” the officer with the gun asked. “Maybe we ought to take her down to the station.” He sounded disappointed, cheated out of what was probably the only arrest he’d had a chance at all week. Maybe all year.

  “I’m sure, Ted. Mrs. Randolph, why don’t you come inside, and my wife will get you something for your ankle.”

  Even as the steel shackles fall away from Amanda’s wrists, she felt tighter, heavier, invisible ones wrap around her chest. Go inside his house? Let his wife get something for her ankle? A knife, maybe? Or a chainsaw? Hiding in the dark had been scary enough. She wasn’t about to go inside that house.

  “All right, Mayor. But if you have any more problems, just give us a call. Be sure and close that gate behind us. You don’t want any more trespassers tonight.”

  The officers got back in their car and continued around the circle drive, eventually heading away from the house.

  Amanda shivered. Suddenly she wanted to call them back. She’d be better off going to jail than stuck there alone with Roland Kimball.

  “Now, Mrs. Randolph,” he said, any pretense of a smile disappearing from his shadowed face, “let’s talk about what really happened tonight. So you say the gate was open when you happened by?”

  She nodded, the movement jerky and uncertain.

  “That’s very interesting. The alarm on that gate went off about ten minutes ago, and when I looked at the video from the gate camera, I saw you walking through.”

  “Damn!” Charley exclaimed. “An alarm and a video camera! I should have thought of that.”

  “Yes, you should have,” she said.

  “What?” Kimball asked, taken aback at her response.

  Amanda shook her head.

  “You’re confused. The pain,” Charley suggested. “The pain of that twisted ankle is awful. It’s making you crazy, and it was his hole you stepped in. This could be a lawsuit. Tell him that.”

  “Sorry I bothered you. Bye.” She turned to leave, but Kimball placed a hand on her shoulder. Amanda halted in mid-step. His hand felt as heavy and metallic as those cuffs had a few minutes ago. Was she going to be murdered there in the mayor’s front yard? Or would he haul her inside and let his wife help him? A bonding activity for their marriage?

  “You’re leaving so soon?” he asked, his voice low, sleek, and dangerous. “But you just got here. Oh, that’s right, you were standing around outside for about ten minutes, weren’t you? Still, that’s not long. And you couldn’t have seen anything because I pulled the drapes as soon as the alarm went off. So why don’t you stay awhile and let’s have that talk you asked for this morning.”

  “Run, Amanda!” Charley ordered.

  Great advice. If only Kimball’s hand on her shoulder wasn’t holding her firmly in place.

  Slowly she turned toward him.

  He dropped his hand and smiled again, aware he was in control.

  “What...?” The word came out a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “You’re the one who wanted to meet with me and talk. You’re the one who approached me at the courthouse and then came to my house. Wh
y don’t you tell me what you want to talk about?”

  The tall front door of his house opened a few inches. “Is everything all right, Roland?” came a quiet female voice. In the moonlight Amanda could see a small, blond woman.

  “Everything’s fine, Catherine. Charley Randolph’s widow was out walking and got lost. I’ll be inside in a few minutes.”

  The woman disappeared back into the house, closing the door behind her. It seemed Kimball had his wife under control too.

  At least it appeared Amanda wasn’t expected to go inside that house. And surely he wasn’t going to murder her if he had told his wife she was there. Maybe she had a chance to make it out of this alive.

  “It’s been great, having this little chat with you,” she said. “But I’ve really got to go. The Randolphs are expecting me back soon.”

  “That’s good,” Charley said. “Let him know there’s somebody out there who’ll be suspicious if you don’t come back.”

  If you don’t come back? She swallowed. “They’ll probably be looking for me by now.”

  “Then I guess we’ll have to cut our little chat short. Amanda—may I call you Amanda since we know each other so well that you would pay me an unexpected visit in the middle of the night?”

  Amanda didn’t want to hear her name come out of his oily mouth, didn’t want the closeness a first-name basis implied. On the other hand, she didn’t want to hear anybody call her Mrs. Randolph. “Of course you can call me Amanda, Roland.” She put her feeling of complete disgust into his name.

  “Very good, Amanda. Since it’s getting late and you need to go, let me just cut straight to the heart of the matter and say that I have nothing you would be interested in. If I once had the object of your interest, it’s long gone now.”

  “You threw away the gun you took from my apartment.” The words escaped from her lips in little more than a whisper. Even though she’d known that was a possibility, had told Charley it was, actually hearing it from Kimball was a cold slap in the face. This man had destroyed her only chance of vindication.

  “I hope you don’t intend to tell anyone that outrageous story your husband told you. You’d only be making a fool of yourself and risking a lawsuit for slander since you have no proof.”