If the Coffin Fits Page 14

  She nodded. I left her with some treats and a leash and a poop bag just in case and walked over to the Cold Clutch. Tamara was already sitting at a booth in Monique’s section, a cup of tea in front of her. She really wasn’t the kind of person you’d expect to talk to ghosts. Her hair was gray and short and tidy. She never wore flowy skirts or scarves on her head. I turned over the upside down coffee mug on the saucer at my place and motioned to Monique.

  “Nice to see you, Desiree,” Tamara said, taking a sip of her tea.

  “Lovely to see you, too, Tamara.” I pulled out my notebook and a pen. “Shall we get started?”

  First, we covered how Tamara had gotten started in the Ghost Tour business. “Not everyone has the sight,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. “People aren’t aware of how many spirits are around them. They want to know, but they can’t see them.”

  “But you can?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Ever since I was a little girl. My parents thought I had a series of imaginary friends. You know, how kids do. Then I walked into my great-aunt’s house after she passed and went directly to the empty Folgers can in the back of the cabinet where she’d hidden her diamond earrings. My mother and her sisters had been searching for them for weeks.” She smiled.

  Okay, then. We moved on to the ghosts of Verbena. It turned out they were all over the place. At the schools. In the churches. Standing around on street corners. And they all talked to Tamara.

  “So why do these ghosts contact you?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “People have messages. They need someone to communicate them. Once they know I can see them, they pester me until I deliver them.”

  Yep. Sure. Of course. “What kind of messages?”

  “Oh, you know. Different things. Where a key might be hidden. Who to trust. That they love you. That they’re okay.”

  “How often do you get these messages?” I sipped my coffee, not even bothering to pretend to take notes.

  “All the time.” She folded her hands in front of herself on the table. “I’m getting one right now.”

  “Who’s it for?” I almost rolled my eyes.

  “You.”

  I leaned back and set my coffee cup down very carefully so she wouldn’t see that my hands had started to shake. “You have messages for me?” There was one person who might be dead - or might not be - who I would have really liked to hear from. Could Tamara be talking to my dad?

  Tamara nodded. “I do. I’m not sure. I understand. But something about thanking you for taking care of the stars.”

  Well, that made absolutely no sense. That didn’t sound like Dad at all. “Who’s the message from?”

  “I’m not entirely certain. It’s a woman. I know that. She passed on recently. Her name is a color.”

  I knew a recently dead woman whose name was a color whose business I was all up in. The hair on my arms began to stand up. “Violet? Is her name Violet?”

  Tamara shrugged. “Possibly. It’s hard to know for sure.”

  The stars? What could she be talking about? Then it hit me. Stars. Constellations. Orion. Orion was the hunter in the winter sky.

  My heart raced. I leaned forward. Violet was sending me a message? “Does she have anything else to say?” Maybe she could give us a hint as to who might have shot her up with insulin. Maybe she could tell me who had killed her.

  Tamara tilted her head to one side and looked at a spot over my shoulder. I swiveled around to look. There was nothing there except a view of the pie case. “No,” she said. “The stars are the only thing that’s important. Everything else is trivial, according to her.”

  I rubbed my arms. If someone had killed me and I had a chance to tell someone about it, I’m pretty sure I’d be naming names. Trivial shivial. “Nothing about what might have caused her accident, then? Nothing about any person or people I should talk to?”

  Tamara shook her head then leaned back in the booth. “Sorry. No. She’s gone now.”

  I felt a bit like the air had been let out of me and slumped back, too. “So a lot of deceased people contact you?”

  She smiled like it was a treat. “Yes. Quite a few.”

  “Anyone else I would know?” Could she have heard from Dad? Would she be able to give me some kind of message that could either put my mind at rest or tell me to keep looking?

  “Are you asking about someone in particular?” she asked.

  I was. She knew it, I was sure. She was going to make me come out and ask, though. “Tamara, have you ever heard from my father? Does he have any messages for me?”

  She put her hand over mine. “I’m sorry, but no. I’ve never gotten one word from your father and I tried to reach him.”

  “You did?” Dad had never had much nice to say to Tamara. I wasn’t sure why she would want to keep talking to him.

  “I thought maybe if I could help you find his body, you could have some closure so I reached out to him. Several times. I used the tarot and the runes and the tea leaves. He never answered. I’m sorry.” She really looked as if she was.

  So much for hoping that Dad would let me know what was up with the storage space from the beyond even if I didn’t think he was actually there. “That was nice of you. You didn’t have to do that.”

  She smiled. “I know. It did occur to me that I’d have a little bit of satisfaction in telling him “I told you so” about whether or not ghosts exist. He was so adamant that they didn’t. We argued quite a bit about it.”

  Well, that made a bit more sense. I couldn’t imagine her really wanting to talk to him otherwise. “So you haven’t sensed anything about my father.”

  “No. Not a thing. It’s like he’s not dead at all.” She let go of my hand and finished her tea.

  I had enough for my article so we said good-bye. I saw Michelle sitting at another table as I headed to the door. She was busy typing on her tablet. I walked over to say hello. “Hi, Michelle. What are you doing here?”

  “Meeting a client,” she said, barely looking up.

  I was about to leave her to it when Iris Fiore came in and walked up to the table. “Hi, Michelle.”

  I didn’t miss that I was left out of the greeting. I decided the best—and possibly most annoying—thing to do was to pretend like she had actually said hello to me and was happy to see me. “Hey, Iris! How are you? Has Rose decided where she’s going next year yet?” I asked.

  Iris looked like she might pretend that she hadn’t heard me, but somehow breeding took over. “Not yet.” She glanced at her watch. “Should we go, Michelle?”

  “You’re looking at houses?” I asked.

  “Iris is looking into selling her father’s place and getting something smaller for herself. She’ll be an empty nester next year,” Michelle said as she packed up her laptop. “Might as well be in something that doesn’t require so much upkeep. She’ll probably be able to pull quite a bit of cash out of the house, too.”

  “Sounds smart,” I said.

  Iris smiled tightly at me again. “Michelle?” She tapped her watch.

  Michelle stood, shouldering her bag. “Bye, Desiree. Stay out of trouble, okay?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  I walked back to Jasmine’s office, thinking hard. Jasmine was with a client when I came in. I could tell because she’d put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on her office door. I went outside to my car to wait. It’s a small town. No one wants to see anyone they know in their shrink’s waiting room. I sent Jaz a text so she’d know where I was when she was done with her session. I slid down in the seat of the Element and closed my eyes.

  I must have drifted off because next thing I knew Jasmine was knocking on the window and Orion was leaping up beside her barking his head off. I scrambled out of the car. “It’s okay. I’m okay. It’s all right.” I held him until he stilled.

  Jasmine shook her head. “There is no point in either of you pretending that you haven’t developed a bond. What are we going to do to convince Donna that you need to keep
this dog?”

  “I’m serious about training him as a therapy dog,” I said. “I’m going to sign him up for the puppy training that starts next month.” We walked back into her office. She sat down behind her desk.

  “He is a natural,” she said. “You should have seen him with my client. He just sat down next to him and leaned against his legs. You could watch the guy’s tension drain away.” She typed on the computer for a moment. “First step then is this puppy class.” She pointed at her computer screen.

  “Click the button. Let’s register him.” I reached over her shoulder to do it myself.

  She grabbed my wrist. “You sure you want to do that before you talk to Donna?”

  I sighed. “I have so many things to talk to Donna about right now that Orion is going to have to be close to the bottom of the list.” I walked back around the desk to sit down in one of the big comfy chairs Jaz’s clients sat in. Orion came over and put his chin in my lap. “Do you believe in psychic connections?”

  I told her about how Reita and known the moment Jordan had died and how Tamara hadn’t been able to reach my father in the afterlife. I leaned forward, elbows braced on knees. “I don’t know what to think. I never put a lot of stock in all the woo-woo stuff. But maybe there is something to it.” I looked up to see Jasmine brush something bright off her cheek. “Are you crying?”

  She straightened quickly. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. I, uh, I just have to call Carlotta in a few minutes. Okay?”

  I nodded. “Sure. Thanks for dog sitting. See you later.” I started to get up.

  “Wait, Desiree,” she said. “What are you going to do next?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know where to look next for any connection between Canty Construction and my dad and I’m hoping the federal investigation will turn up something. In the meantime, I need to do a little research for this article I’m writing about Tamara and her ghost tours.”

  Jasmine got up and came around the desk. She put her arms around me and held me for a second. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll pump Carlotta for information to see if there’s anything in the investigation into Canty Construction’s bribes and your dad, okay?”

  “That’d be great.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Verbena Free Press

  October 12

  By Desiree Turner

  Annual Ghost Tour Plans in Place

  The first time a ghost spoke to Tamara Utley she was only seven years old. She didn’t think anything of her dead great-aunt telling her where to find the diamond earrings everyone was looking for. Since then, all kinds of people have contacted Utley to send messages to their loved—and not so loved—ones here on this mortal plane.

  “I generally don’t pass on anything threatening,” she said in a recent interview. “I don’t think it’s nice.”

  She will, however, show everyone the best places in Verbena to contact the spirits. Tickets for her popular Verbena Ghost Tour will go on sale starting on October 17. The tour will begin at the Lawn of Heaven Cemetery and range through downtown Verbena to historic sites and contemporary areas where ghosts have reportedly been seen and heard. Meet ghosts old and new and learn a bit about Verbena history at the same time.

  The final stop will be at the corn maze. Town legend has it that the maze is built each year on top of the site where Iddell McCrary and Jonas Purdy killed each other in a duel over ownership of a horse in 1898. Utley claims phantom neighs can be heard on nights with a full moon.

  Taylor Nieves of Taylor’s Corn Maze said, “Every year Tamara tries to drum up more business for her gosh darn ghost tour by telling people my maze is haunted. It’s not. There’s nothing out there but good old-fashioned dirt and corn.”

  Further research has not been able to prove that either Mr. McCrary or Mr. Purdy actually lived in Verbena at all.

  *

  Thurman Sizemore had died of an infection that had run rampant through his body.

  “They say it started with his tooth,” Olive said as she took her usual place.

  “Really?” Henrietta said. She clucked her tongue. “How bad do your teeth have to be to kill you?”

  “Not even that bad,” Grace said. “Think about how close your mouth is to your brain.”

  Henrietta’s hand went to her cheek. “Remind me to buy floss on the way home.”

  I went to stand next to Thurman’s husband. He was a white man in his midfifties, his head shaved clean. Well, clean except for the very neatly trimmed goatee. He didn’t look entirely comfortable in his suit, although it was pressed and neat. “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  He jumped as if I’d poked him. “Yes. It’s fine. Everything’s totally fine.”

  “Well, let me know if you need anything.” I made my rounds, making sure the guest book was out and the right music was playing. Everything was going smoothly. Everything had been going smoothly lately. I hadn’t screwed anything up. There’d been no fistfights and no one had tried to climb into a casket. The flowers had been set up were they were supposed to be and the right cookies had been placed on the right platters. So why was he so nervous?

  I made my way back to Grace, Olive, and Henrietta. “I guess this is the last time I’ll be seeing you three this week. We’ve had some cancellations,” I told my trio of little old ladies.

  The three of them exchanged some glances. “So we heard,” Grace said and then pressed her lips together in a tight line. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to keep more words from slipping out or showing disapproval.

  Whichever it was, it made me go cold inside. I’d been hoping the mass cancellations were a coincidence, one of those flukey things that happens from time to time. Based on Grace’s expression, that wasn’t the case. “What have you heard?”

  Henrietta looked at Olive, and Olive looked at Grace who unpressed her lips. “Nobody wants to be accused of murder,” Grace said.

  “What?” The cold feeling inside spread to my extremities. A very big uh oh was forming in my brain. A huge uh-oh. An uh-oh the size of a redwood.

  “Well, apparently you accused Iris and Daisy of giving Frank a little nudge into the grave and now you’re running around poking into Violet Daugherty’s car accident.” Henrietta looked up at me, one eye squinted shut as if she was about to start my portrait.

  I sat down next to Olive because my knees felt wobbly. “I didn’t accuse Iris and Daisy of anything! I just wanted to be sure everything was okay before Uncle Joey embalmed Frank.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be okay?” Olive asked.

  I decided to keep what I’d overheard to myself. It seemed stupid now. “No real reason. Just being extra sure. Doing my due diligence and all that.”

  “And Violet?” Olive pressed.

  “I’ve been helping out her cousin since she lives so far away.” No good deed went unpunished, I guessed. “And I may have found a few things that need a bit more explanation. Nate’s not satisfied that it was just a car accident either.”

  They exchanged looks again. “Do you think someone’s been up to no good?” Henrietta finally asked.

  I did. Unfortunately, that person was Violet. “Violet Daugherty might have done some things to make her less than popular.” I traced the pattern on the carpet with the toe of my sensible pump.

  “Dying while unpopular doesn’t make you a murder victim,” Olive said. “If it did, Luke Butler would be a lot busier.”

  *

  When I got home from the cemetery, I found Donna and Uncle Joey seated at the kitchen table. It was almost funny to see them across from each other, their profiles with their Norwegian ski slope noses nearly identical. I probably would have at least smiled, but the expressions on their faces told me that wasn’t such a good idea.

  “Sit down, Desiree,” Uncle Joey said. It was a totally different sounding invitation than the one to grab a plate and start eating roast chicken that I’d had the night before.

  I sat.

  “You have to stop looking i
nto Violet Daugherty’s death,” Donna said, her voice flat. “In fact, you have to stop looking into any deaths.”

  That cold sliver of ice that had been in my stomach since Grace, Olive, and Henrietta had made their comments grew into more of a cube. “Where’s this coming from?”

  “Those cancellations we had? The slowdown in business? It’s all about you and your meddling.” Uncle Joey leaned back in his chair.

  I looked over at Orion. At least now I had a dog to go with my meddling self. “How do you know?” I asked. “Did someone tell you that?”

  “Thurman Sizemore’s husband told me he was relieved that he wasn’t accused of murder before the service was done,” Donna said. “And I had a call from Jackson’s Funeral Home over in Ardilla asking what was going on. That he was hearing rumors.”

  “I don’t have to tell you how bad your timing is for this, Desiree. We’re being inspected.” Uncle Joey looked down at his hands.

  This wasn’t a small deal. This was our livelihood. “What if I’d been right about Mr. Fiore? What if he had been murdered and it was only because of our thoroughness and interest that anyone found out?” I asked. “Wouldn’t that have gotten us good press?”

  Donna blinked a few times and then her eyes narrowed. “This is about all the attention you got for solving Alan Brewer’s murder, isn’t it?”

  “Of course not!” I’d gotten more than a few pats on the back for helping find the person who had really killed Alan Brewer, but it had been nerve-wracking and it had taken weeks for my eyebrows to grow back in.

  Uncle Joey shook his head. “I don’t think it’s an attention thing. She just likes to be the person who fixes things.”

  Donna weighed that for a moment. “I can see that. She had a real thing about fairness the whole time we were growing up.”

  “Hey,” I said. “I’m right here.”

  They turned to look at me as if that surprised them. I wondered how long they had been sitting at the table talking about me before I came in. “Whatever your reasons, no matter how altruistic or well-meaning, you need to drop all this investigative stuff,” Donna said. “Capisce?”