The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (Charley's Ghost Book 1) Page 7

  “Yeah, but you have to admit, getting somebody to pay you, even once, for something you don’t have is damned good.”

  “Tell me, Charley. Tell me how you did it.” He was running on ego now. He’d tell her the story, though she’d have to figure out for herself how much of it was true.

  “I was still living in Silver Creek. It’s a small, hick town, and I wanted to get out of there, move to the big city. So one night I was in an alley when—”

  “What were you doing in an alley?”

  “Hanging out.” He shifted, sinking into the mattress slightly. “Until my date’s husband left the bar. Anyway, I was hidden in the shadows when I saw this big black Cadillac pull down the alley. Like I said, Silver Creek is small. Not many Cadillacs around. Kind of strange to see one in that part of town, going down a dark alley, so I kept still and watched.”

  Charley was getting into his story, his eyes sparkling, his voice exuberant, his body rising about an inch off the bed. Amanda tried to ignore that little oddity.

  “My patience paid off. The car pulls up next to a trash bin, and His Honor, Mayor Kimball, opens the door and gets out holding a plastic bag like from a grocery store. He’s not ten feet from me, so I can see he’s got red spots on his white shirt.” He paused and leaned forward. “Blood?” Another pause, and he leaned back. “So I stand there watching, not moving a muscle, knowing I’m about to see something important.”

  “Are we going to get to the point of this story before I die of old age and join you hovering over that bed?”

  “That’s very touching, Amanda, that you plan to join me in bed after you die.”

  Amanda scowled.

  Charley lifted his hands, palms out. “Okay, okay! So Kimball tosses the bag into the dumpster, and it makes a nice solid clunk when it hits the side of the bin. Something small and heavy in that bag. Add that to the red spots on his shirt, and this story is getting real interesting. Kimball looks around, acting suspicious, then he jumps back in his car and speeds away. I figured whatever His Honor tossed into that dumpster, I needed to have it.”

  “Mr. Fastidious, climbing into a garbage container? Wish I could have seen that.”

  “It wasn’t exactly my idea of fun on a Saturday night, but I had a hunch it might be worth it. I grabbed hold of the handle of the bin and hoisted myself up. Fortunately, it was almost full, so I was able to reach that little plastic bag by just leaning over. I pulled up, and it fell out.”

  Charley paused.

  Amanda took her cue and supplied her line. “What fell out?”

  “A gun. I reached to pick it up, when suddenly my date’s husband comes charging out the back door of the bar, grabs my legs and yanks. He’s a big man, but I fight him off. Had to run all the way through the town, though, and that kind of took my mind off His Honor’s throw-away.”

  Charley had just told her the town was small, so all the way couldn’t be very far. She let it go since he was in the zone of his storytelling.

  He crossed his legs and dangled his arms over them. Casual, relaxed—floating several inches above the mattress.

  “The next day, big story all over the news, murder in Silver Creek. Local woman, Dianne Carter. Looked like a carjacking. Happened in a secluded spot out by the lake. Her husband said she’d left to go to the grocery store about eight o’clock that evening and never made it back home. Word around town was that it was some druggie passing through, some guy who maybe saw her at the grocery store, forced her into her car, made her drive out to the lake, took the cash from her purse and shot her. But I wondered.” Another pause.

  Amanda obliged him. “Okay, I’ll bite. How did you link the mayor in the alley with the lady at the lake?”

  “It was obvious. Kimball’s a few years older than me, but everybody knew him. He was the rich kid, class president, most likely to succeed, all that stuff. Dianne wasn’t rich, but she was popular. Homecoming queen, head cheerleader, the girl next door that every guy wanted to be with. In her senior year, she started dating Kimball. They were the king and queen. Everybody thought they’d get married, but something happened when they were at college in Austin. They both came back, married other people and never spoke to each other again.”

  Amanda waited, knowing Charley would get to the point eventually. He loved being the center of attention and milked every opportunity.

  “So after I saw the story in the newspaper, I got to thinking about Dianne’s death and Kimball’s visit to the alley right around the time she was killed. It would have been great if I could have got Kimball’s gun, but when I went back, the trash had already been hauled off.” He sighed. “Luck was not on my side. I didn’t have anything except a theory. But, fortunately, I’ve always had the ability to make my own luck. I called Kimball. Couldn’t get through to him, of course, not an important man like him. I left a message telling him I had something he’d dropped the night before. Anyway, long story short—”

  “A little late for that, isn’t it?”

  Charley ignored her comment. “He met me in a bar, and I told him I had the gun he’d tossed into the trash, the gun he used to kill Dianne. I told him unless he paid me twenty-five thousand dollars, I was going to take that gun to the police. He paid me, but I couldn’t give him the gun because I didn’t have it, so I left town. Everything was fine until a couple of weeks ago.” He drew in a deep sigh. “You left me and filed for divorce and I had to get my own apartment and pay a lawyer, so I needed money.”

  “My fault, of course.”

  “I didn’t say that, but if you’re feeling guilty—”

  “I’m not.”

  “Anyway, I needed money. Kimball’s getting ready to make a bid for governor, so I called and told him I wanted another payment.”

  Amanda groaned. “Oh, Charley! That was crazy.”

  “Yeah, I guess, but I was desperate. Kimball was pretty upset. He said he’d only give me more money if I gave him the gun first this time.” Charley shrugged. “I couldn’t very well give him what I didn’t have. I thought I’d better just let that one go so I never called him again. A couple of weeks later, he slipped right past that lousy lock on my door and walked into my living room wearing motorcycle leathers and a helmet. He said my neighbors would think it was me, and he could get away with killing me. He wanted that gun. I told him I left it at your apartment. That’s when he forced me to call you and tell you to bring the gun. And if you’d brought the gun like I asked you, I could have given it to him and I might still be alive.”

  Amanda sprang to her feet, hands on her hips. “You are not going to blame this one on me, Charley Randolph! If I’d showed up with that gun, he’d have killed you anyway. This whole thing is totally on you!”

  Charley lifted his arms in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay! Anyway, you showed up without the gun. I tried to keep you out of my apartment. I was trying to protect you. But you shoved your way inside.”

  “I wanted to see what you had in there that you were so anxious to hide from me. And you know what I saw? Nothing! No mysterious stranger. No Kimball.”

  “He was behind the door. I got you out of there before he saw you and killed you. I saved your life, and here I am. End of story.”

  “This is not even close to the end of the story! The cops think I killed you. I could get sent to prison.”

  “Well, Amanda, it’s not like you didn’t threaten more than once to kill me.”

  “And you deserved to be murdered by me, but that didn’t happen because somebody else beat me to it, and I shouldn’t have to go to prison for something I didn’t have the pleasure of doing.”

  Charley brightened. “Well, now I’ve told you the real story, you can tell the cops and they’ll arrest Kimball. Then you’ll be safe, thanks to yours truly. Presto, white light, angel wings and all that good stuff.”

  Amanda covered her face with her hands. Insane as it sounded, this must really be Charley’s ghost. Surely her imagination couldn’t create a conversation so totall
y Charley.

  She took her hands from her eyes. “Did you not hear what happened this evening when I tried to tell that cop about somebody stealing my gun?”

  “Yeah, I heard, but you were trying to tell him I wasn’t dead. You have to admit, Amanda, you sounded a little crazy. I’m not surprised the man didn’t believe you. You tell him the whole story, and everything will be just fine.”

  “Why, of course. All I have to do is tell the cops that the Mayor of Silver Creek, a respected man running for governor, killed his former girlfriend, then killed you and stole my gun because he thought it was the gun he used to kill his former girlfriend, but it isn’t.” She waved a hand through the air. “No problem making that story believable, especially if I tell him the ghost of my ex-husband swears it’s true.”

  Charley grimaced, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. “Okay, maybe there are still a couple of things you’ll have to work out, but I’ve done my part. I’m outta here.” He looked around the room expectantly. “Yep. I did my good deed, redeemed myself. Time for me to move on, get my wings.”

  Amanda followed his gaze, half expecting to see a bright light of some sort, even if it came from a blazing fire accompanied by the smell of brimstone.

  No light. Charley didn’t vanish, didn’t even fade.

  His smile became a little strained. “I don’t see any tunnel of light.”

  “And I don’t see any less of you.”

  He shifted, sinking a couple of inches into the bed. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”

  “Great! How am I ever supposed to get rid of you? I can’t even threaten to kill you now because you’re already dead.”

  Charley clutched his heart. “Amanda, you wound me. Here I am, staying around just to help you, and you don’t appreciate it.”

  “You’re staying around because you can’t leave.” She rose and strode across the room. “At least get out of my bedroom. This may be my last chance to sleep in my own bed for the next twenty-five years to life.”

  Charley walked dejectedly into the living room. His feet remained a few inches above the floor, but the motion of movement vaguely resembled walking.

  Amanda turned away, making a conscious effort to also turn away from the insanity of the last few days.

  Sleep was elusive, but finally she slipped into slumber. Her dream self was riding her Harley over amazingly smooth brick streets, dodging pop-up Charleys, when someone shouting in the next room brought her to full consciousness.

  Kimball? Come back to kill her?

  She grabbed her kitchen knife and dashed into the living room to find the television blaring with Charley sitting on the sofa, beaming happily. “I turned it on!” he said.

  Amanda held her hands over her ears. “Turn it off!” She dashed across the room and hit the control button. Silence filled the room.

  “I was bored,” Charley said. “I tried to turn on the TV, but my hand just went right through the remote control, and I got so frustrated with this whole situation, I thought I was going to explode. I didn’t, but the TV did. Pretty cool, huh?”

  “No, it is not cool.” Amanda turned to go back to bed.

  “Hey, come on! At least turn it on low so I can have something to do.”

  “No!”

  “I’ll turn it on myself,” he threatened.

  Amanda grabbed the remote and turned on the television, adjusting the sound to low. Death with Charley wasn’t going to be any easier than life had been.

  

  An insistent chiming woke Amanda to bright sunlight streaming through her bedroom window. She had somehow managed to get a few hours of sleep, but now her cell phone was pulling her back to reality.

  She retrieved it from the night stand and checked the name. Her father. She felt a chill of anxiety. “Dad?”

  “Good morning, Mandy.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I just talked to Brian.”

  Amanda’s heart clenched. Last night she’d made a smart-mouthed crack about going to prison for twenty-five to life, but now it wasn’t funny.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry, Mandy. The police found evidence that your bike had been tampered with. Your accident was no accident. Somebody almost killed you.”

  “I’ll call you right back, Dad.” She stabbed the button to disconnect the call. “Charley!”

  Chapter Eight

  “I swear I didn’t do it!” Charley came down the outside stairs behind Amanda, his movement a simulation of walking though producing no sound on the wooden steps.

  Amanda continued her clattering descent from her apartment, on her way to meet with Brian Edwards to talk about this latest development. “I know, I know,” she tossed over her shoulder. “It was Kimball. Kimball killed you. Kimball stole my gun. Kimball jacked up my bike. Kimball’s responsible for global warming. Does Kimball even exist? I can’t believe you’d really do something to my motorcycle. That’s low, even for you, Charley Randolph, lowest of the low.”

  “It was Kimball!”

  “And you know that because you have special knowledge now. It’s a ghost thing. Fine. I’m going to Silver Creek to meet this Kimball and confront him and demand to know why he jacked with my bike.”

  “No!”

  The genuine panic in Charley’s voice stopped Amanda on the last step. She turned to look at him, a wry smile moving onto her lips. “So I was right. He doesn’t exist.” She shook her head. “You almost had me believing you last night.”

  “Amanda!” She whirled around to see a slim, dark-haired man standing in the open door at the side of her shop. “You’re back.” Dawson smiled up at her. The sunlight bounced off the lenses of his glasses and added to the impression of benign happiness her assistant exuded.

  You’re back? Was he talking about Charley’s return?

  Amanda cast a quick glance up the stairs behind her. Charley was nowhere to be seen. Dawson must be referring to her return, not Charley’s. His expression should have told her that. Dawson had never been fond of Charley. While he was too polite to say anything derogatory, he was too open to be able to mask his reactions. He wouldn’t be smiling if he’d seen Charley.

  “Dawson, hi. Yes, yes, I am. Back. Sort of. I’m sorry, I have to meet with my lawyer this morning, but I’ll be at work this afternoon. I hate to ask you to keep holding down the fort, but would you mind just one more morning?”

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind. But—well, can you spare just a few minutes? There’s somebody here to see you.”

  “Somebody to see me?” Her heart triple-timed. The culpable Kimball? Did he exist after all? Had he come to finish her off, just as Charley warned?

  A short, frumpy woman with a cap of silvery hair stepped out of the shop from behind Dawson. She wore a simple cotton dress of small white polka dots on a dark blue background. The style made her small, slightly-overweight frame look stocky, solid and capable. She clutched a square black purse in both hands, and her expression was even more joyous than Dawson’s.

  “You must be Amanda,” she said with a wide smile.

  “Let’s go, Amanda.” Amanda gasped at the sudden sound of Charley’s voice in her ear. His tone held an edge of hysteria. “Appointment with your lawyer. Remember?”

  Nobody seemed surprised to see him. Amanda looked from the woman to Dawson to Charley then back to Dawson.

  “Let’s go!” Charley urged. “Now!”

  “No!”

  Both Dawson and the woman looked confused.

  “Yes, you are,” Dawson said.

  “I’m what?”

  “You’re Amanda. Are you all right?” Concern flickered across Dawson’s guileless features.

  “They can’t see me,” Charley said. “Let’s go.” Cold shivered through Amanda’s arm as Charley tried to take it.

  “You can’t see…?” Amanda’s question drifted off as she motioned vaguely behind her.

  Dawson’s concern increased, became more
of a surge than a flicker. “Amanda, why don’t you come inside and have a Coke? That always makes you feel better.”

  The frumpy woman rushed forward and took her hand. “It’s all right, dear. Come inside and sit down for a few minutes. You’ve been through a lot.”

  Amanda looked into the woman’s plain, kindly face.

  Charley groaned.

  “I’m your mother-in-law,” the woman said. “Irene Randolph. Charley’s mother.” She took Amanda’s arm on the opposite side from Charley and guided her toward the shop. Her touch was soft warmness rather than the cold chill Charley’s had been. “I heard you were out of the hospital, and I wanted to meet you. I couldn’t find your phone number, but I called your shop this morning, and your assistant said I should come on over. I wish we didn’t have to meet like this, but it can’t be helped.”

  Faced with a live mother-in-law on one side and a dead almost-ex-husband on the other, Amanda couldn’t find the will to protest. Sitting down and having a Coke seemed like a really good idea, a sane, normal action.

  “It’s going to be okay,” the woman said in a soothing voice as if she sensed Amanda’s tension. “You lost your husband and you were in a terrible accident. You need some time to recover.” The woman sensed the tension but didn’t have a clue as to the cause of it.

  Amanda let her mother-in-law lead her through the shop toward the small office at the back. Motorcycles and parts spread around the room were in a surprising semblance of order. In her absence, under Dawson’s care, order had gained ground. Dawson’s unrelenting determination to create structure everywhere was reassuring.

  In the small, windowless office, Amanda sank onto one of the folding chairs. A clean camshaft lay at her feet.

  She jumped at the sound of a pop hiss.

  “Coke. Sorry.” Dawson handed her a red can.

  “Thanks.” Amanda lifted the can and took a long swallow of the cold, bubbly liquid.

  Charley’s mother appeared on the other side, offering a rectangular plastic container.

  Amanda blinked. “Cookies?” In the midst of Charley’s murder, the appearance of his ghost, the sabotage of her motorcycle and her near death, this woman, her newly-discovered mother-in-law, was pushing cookies.