Ghost Writer - Pandora Pine Page 0,33

shop on Conant Street. Bertha Craig was a customer of mine. She would come in once a month looking for items with an occult value. If you’d like this cameo, it’s yours for a thousand dollars.” A smirk played around his lips.

In that instant, Cope knew this man had cheated Bertha on the items he sold her, inflating prices on worthless bits of junk because he knew she’d pay. His hands balled into fists at his side. He’d never wanted to punch someone’s lights out as badly as he did now. Cope needed to keep a calm head on his shoulders. If he were a jerk, they wouldn’t get the information they needed.

Crenshaw’s little show didn’t surprise Cope either. He’d learned over time that people tended to get hot under the collar when confronted with things they couldn’t see or didn’t understand. Cope pulled out one of the pages the machine typed by itself. “Read this.”

With a roll of his eyes, Crenshaw obeyed. “What does this little bit of your history have to do with the…” Crenshaw gasped as his eyes darted across the typed page. He looked from Jude to Cope with alarm in his eyes.

“Until I looked those words up on my phone, I had never heard them before. I wasn’t a church person growing up. I sure as hell wouldn’t spend my free time typing them over and over when I had a husband waiting for me in bed.” Cope held out the other page where the song lyrics filled the page.

“You’re saying the typewriter did this? What like some Remington version of Christine?” His voice was tinged with disbelief, but Crenshaw’s eyes told the true tale. He was scared.

“Christine is a work of fiction, Mr. Crenshaw.” Cope used all of his willpower not to roll his eyes. “Spirits, poltergeists, and lost souls are real.”

Crenshaw’s mouth moved, but no words came out.

“Usually, spirits seek me out because they know I can see and hear them. There are several dozen gathered around us right now. People who are begging me to deliver messages to their family or asking me to wreak the revenge they weren’t able to complete before their deaths.” Cope mentally promised the spirits he’d be back to help them as soon as possible.

Crenshaw bristled, but stayed silent.

“It’s highly unusual for there to be a haunting in which I cannot see or sense the spirit. All we need from you is to know who owned the typewriter before my husband bought it.” Cope fished his phone out of his pocket. Hitting the home button, he turned the phone to show a picture of Wolf. “My son sleeps in the next room. If something happens to that little boy and you knew something, but didn’t help us…” Cope trailed off. He could think of a hundred threats to make against the man but held his tongue.

Without saying another word, Crenshaw shoved past Jude and Cope. They followed behind him.

Cope could hear some of the spirits cheering for him and calling Crenshaw an old trout. Maybe Cope would laugh about it later, after the trout in question helped them out.

“Here, this is all I have.” Crenshaw thrusted a dog-eared manila folder at Jude when he stepped through the office door. “Take it. Don’t come back here.”

“Are you sure you want to be left with all of these restless spirits?” Cope found his first smile of the day.

“G-G-Go!” Crenshaw pointed to the front door. The bell started to jingle, but no one had either entered or left the store. “Holy Mary, mother of God!” Crenshaw started to pray. It sounded to Cope like he was repeating the Hail Mary.

“If you change your mind about me coming back to help these spirits cross over, let me know. You know where to find me. I’d love any bits of occult you have too.” Dropping a wink at the frightened man, Cope headed toward the front of the store.

The one thing he’d learned early on was that he was a father first. Nothing on the face of this earth would stop Cope from protecting his son. Certainly not some ridiculous old man who was only interested in turning a buck. He could only hope that whatever the dingy folder held could help them.

16

Jude

Jude felt the anger pouring off his husband as they drove home. It reminded him of the way heat blasts out of an open oven. He had so many questions but wasn’t sure now was the time to ask them.

The