Spooky Business (The Spectral Files #3) - S.E. Harmon Page 0,63
“Badge.”
I showed my shield to her, and she examined it so thoroughly I was tempted to offer her a jeweler’s loupe. “Name’s Darla,” she finally said. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her firmly. “Sorry, but I don’t let any cops in my house.”
“That’s quite all right. I just had a few questions about your friend, Delilah Rose.”
“Can’t rightly say I know anybody by that name.” She tilted her head. “You know, you look familiar. Have we met before?”
“I doubt it,” I said. “You might’ve known her by the name Emma. She signed over a lot of her work checks to you. I’m assuming you cashed them and gave her the money because she couldn’t get a bank account.”
She snapped her fingers. “Now I remember. Hang on a second.” Before I could blink, she disappeared inside the house, slamming the door behind her.
I sighed. “Well, that happened.”
She didn’t allow cops in her house, but I wondered if they were allowed to sit on her dusty-ass porch chairs. I decided to take that risk. There were two sets of chairs, one on each side of the porch. I sat on the side opposite the ghost.
She sent me a knowing smile. “I told you she was annoying,” she said. “The name is Ruth.”
“Rain Christia—”
“I know who you are, honey. Just about every ghost around these parts knows exactly who you are.”
Well, that’s comforting. Before I could ask her to take down my ad from a ghostly Craigslist, the door opened again and Darla tottered out with a folded newspaper. I didn’t bother to hide my groan. “You’re the ghost whisperer, aren’t you?” She asked in a hushed tone.
The year before, some fuckwit reporter had written an article about the FBI using a real-life ghost whisperer. Graycie had been about as thrilled as I was about the coverage. The Bureau did their best to bury the article, and for the most part, their efforts had worked.
“That’s just an old newspaper,” I said dismissively. “You can’t take everything you read in the paper seriously.”
She plopped down in the chair next to me. “That’s just what I’d expect you to say.”
She glanced at the tiny picture next to the article and then back at me. I knew the picture without looking. It was a grainy photo of my profile—I’d been talking to Danny outside of a crime scene. Lucky for him, his back had been to the camera.
Satisfied with her comparison, she folded the paper back up and put it on the arm of her chair. “Mm-hmm. That’s you all right.”
I didn’t think further denials would do me any good. “Let’s talk about the nature of your relationship with Emma Jane.”
“I want you to talk to my husband’s mother,” she said. “She passed on about fourteen years ago. You ask her where the family jewelry is, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“I can arrest you for obstruction, you know.”
“I’m old and curious,” she said with a glint in her eye. “It’ll be an adventure.”
“I’m young and impatient,” I shot back. “This won’t be an adventure you want to go on.”
She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “Then maybe I don’t remember anything.”
I growled under my breath. “I have no way of contacting any ghosts. You can’t believe everything you read in the paper.”
“I don’t believe everything I read in the paper. I believe my own eyes.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You took a seat on this side of the porch, even though the chairs on the other side are better.”
“So?”
“So that’s where Ralph’s mother used to sit everyday for over forty years. Right on that chair,” Darla said triumphantly. “If there is such a thing as ghosts, I’d imagine she’s still right in that chair, watching the world go by.”
Her eyes still closed, Ruth chuckled. “You might as well admit it. She’s like a dog with a bone when she wants something.”
I looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” They asked at the same time.
With both of them on my case, I didn’t have a prayer. I sighed. “This goes no further than this porch.”
Darla smiled. “Do you need to be alone for this to work or can I stay?”
“I’m not giving that girl any of my jewelry,” Ruth declared without opening her eyes. “That’s the end of that.”
“Why not?” I asked. Darla didn’t speak, but her eyes grew wide. She leaned forward in her chair so far I was afraid she might tip over.