Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 04 - Three Little Ghosts Read online

  By two in the afternoon we landed in Salt Lake City much to my relief. I hate being cooped up in enclosed spaces and planes are pretty enclosed to me.

  Greg got a rental car and put our bags in the trunk. We managed to navigate our way out of the airport easily and headed straight for the center of Salt Lake City. I spent most of the time looking around as I had never been there before.

  “Do you know where the nursing home is?” I asked.

  “Yep,” said Greg, “With my handy GPS. Fairview Retirement Home, please.”

  The GPS flickered on at Greg’s request. “Take the next exit,” said the GPS system.

  “Why do they always give these a female voice?” I said.

  “Why? You jealous?”

  “If you start getting your jollies by talking to a machine, we’re through.”

  “I would never leave you for a machine.” Greg pulled off at the next exit.

  “Turn left at the light.”

  Greg made a left. He followed the GPS’ instructions as it led us straight down a throughway to a not so nice part of town. I looked around as we ended up in an area with garbage all over the place, graffiti covered walls and buildings, and gangs of young kids hanging around who should have been in school. Other rough looking characters strolled in front of us as we pulled to a stop sign giving us weird looks. We definitely did not belong.

  “Uh, Greg, are you sure that that GPS works?” I asked.

  “GPS, we want to go to the Fairview Retirement Home,” said Greg.

  “Turn right,” said the GPS system.

  Greg turned right. We moved slowly up a street with dingy homes in obvious need of repair. Many of them had bars on the windows. It did not look promising.

  “Stop here. You have reached your destination.”

  Greg stopped the car. An abandoned home greeted us. Litter blew across the weed infested driveway. More graffiti covered the house. Broken windows and lack of life signs made it clear that no one lived there.

  “I do not think that this is the retirement home,” I said.

  “But GPS never lies.”

  “Right. Do you have a map?”

  Greg pointed at the GPS in the car.

  “You’re kidding, right? You didn’t bring a map?”

  “With modern technology, who needs one?”

  “Right at the moment I think we do. Though I also think we need to get out of here.” I watched as a gang of teenage, black kids walked up to our car. We were obviously tourists and this was their neighborhood. “Hit the gas now.”

  Greg put the car in drive and pulled away. We managed to find our way back to the main road, but continued to get turned around. I kept insisting he just pull into a gas station and ask for directions. Like the typical male, he insisted he had a map in his head and knew where we were going. His mental map was what got us lost.

  “I’m telling you, the freeway is around here someplace,” said Greg.

  “Just pull over.”

  “No. I don’t like the looks of these people.”

  Eyes watched us as we moseyed down the street at about five miles per hour. I kept hoping that a cop would pull us over. Maybe then, we could not only get out of here, but perhaps figure out where we were. Naturally, when you really want a cop, there isn’t one.

  “You have reached your destination.”

  I stared at the GPS. Was it toying with me?

  “Turn right.”

  “I don’t think that thing works,” said Greg.

  “Turn left at the next light.”

  “What was your first clue?” I asked him.

  “Proceed straight.”

  That’s it. I had had enough with modern technology. I pushed the power button.

  “Please enter your destination.”

  Will it not shut up? I swear that that thing mocked me. I pushed the power button several times forcing it to spew out gibberish. Finally, I ripped the thing off the dashboard and tossed it out the window.

  “You know we have to pay for that,” said Greg.

  “As long as it ain’t talking, I don’t care.”

  I spotted another gas station up ahead.

  “Alright, stop.”

  “What?”

  “I said pull in there,” I told Greg, “We’re getting directions the old fashioned way.”

  “But—”

  “Now!”

  Greg pulled into the gas station parking the car near the entrance to the convenient store. I got out of the car.

  “Hey, you think you can get me some chips?” asked Greg.

  I slammed the door in his face. Chips? In this neighborhood? That boy can get his own chips. I went inside where a pudgy, Hispanic looking guy sat behind the counter watching football and holding a fly swatter. Whap! He smacked the counter as flies buzzed around his head.

  “Missed,” he said. “Help you?”

  I really felt out of place. Maybe I should have written tourist all over me since that is exactly how I came across. “Yeah, can you tell me how to get back to the freeway?”

  “You lost?”

  Whatever gave that away? “I just need to know how to get back to the freeway.”

  “Yeah, head down that way, make a left and keep going straight. It will lead straight to the freeway.”

  “Thanks.” I headed for the door.

  “You need to get out of here fast,” said the guy behind that counter. “Those kids are part of the Black Raucous gang and they do not like outsiders.”

  I tried to leave, but it was too late. My sneakers squealed on the floor as they pushed their way in to the store shoving me back. I suddenly found myself wishing Rachel was with me. She had a way of getting out of tough situations. Though I’m sure the fact that she was a ghost had something to do with it.

  “Let me through,” I said.

  “What are you going to do?” asked one kid brandishing a switchblade.

  “I’ll get my friends,” I said trying to sound tough. I mentally kicked myself for saying something stupid. The only friend at the moment I had was Greg and he was in the car. Besides, I don’t think even he could take on seven people.

  “Oh, the little lady here thinks she’s tough.”

  “Look guys, I don’t want any trouble in here,” said the store owner.

  The man who had spoken to me knocked over a rack with a bunch of bags of chips on it. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Now I really wished Rachel was here. A little girl’s laugh echoed around us. That got everyone’s attention including mine.

  “What the hell was that?”

  The laugh sounded again. I had a sneaky suspicion of who it might be.

  The leader of the gang turned and jumped when he saw a little girl standing in front of him: Sarah. I kept my mouth shut.

  “How’d you get in here?” asked the gang leader.

  “You shouldn’t play with knives,” said Sarah, “Someone could get hurt.”

  The gang laughed.

  “That is the point,” said the leader. He turned to his men. “What do you say fellas?”

  He turned back to where Sarah had been, but she disappeared. Confused, he whirled around to find Alana.

  Another girl’s laughter echoed around us. Freya showed up. “He’s funny.”

  “Why are you threatening our friend?” asked Sarah, reappearing.

  “I wasn’t threatening her. I was just having some fun.” The gang leader eyed each of the girls wondering how they got there.

  “Mommy says knives are not toys,” said Alana.

  “Yeah, well make me drop it.”

  Instantly all three ghosts disappeared. The lights flickered uncontrollably as Sarah, Alana, and Freya took turns appearing and vanishing while laughing hysterically. Nervous, the store owner backed away from the counter banging into the locked case behind him.

  “Yo, all ya’ll stop that,” said the gang leader. “I mean it.”

  Sarah popped in front of him. “Make me.” She gave
him a raspberry before vanishing before him again.

  The gang leader dropped his knife running out of the building with his gang close behind. I waved good-bye to the store owner and left.

  “Where were you?” demanded Greg as I got into the car.

  “No matter. I know how to get to the freeway. Let’s go.”

  “You know, that talking box thing you threw out of the car was fun,” said Alana appearing in the back seat.

  “You mean the GPS?” I asked.

  “She wouldn’t stop playing with it,” said Freya as she and Sarah appeared.

  “Why is it we’re never alone?” asked Greg.

  “How did you girls find me?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I thought ghosts couldn’t travel,” said Greg.

  “Um, Rachel,” I muttered to him.

  “We don’t have to stay at the library. We just choose to,” said Alana, in that I know more than you do voice.

  “Let’s go,” I told Greg.

  In about forty-five minutes we found the nursing home. Greg found a nice shady spot to park the car. Alana, Sarah, and Freya disappeared; though I had the feeling that they were actually right behind us and just remaining invisible.

  “May I help you,” asked the lady at the front desk when we walked in.

  “Yes, we’d like to see Mr. George Farlow,” I said.

  “Are you family?”

  “Yes,” said Greg before I could answer the question. “We are cousins to his granddaughter Allison.”

  “Mr. Farlow has not had a visitor for five years from her or anyone,” said the lady.

  I squirmed slightly. She did not buy our story.

  “Look, I know we haven’t been close, but we have news of his granddaughter,” said Greg in a very serious tone. “Bad news.”

  The lady’s expression changed. Acting as though you are there on family business to deliver bad family news seemed to have had the desired effect. “This way,” said the woman.

  She led us down a long hallway passed a bunch of rooms with vegetative old people. Many of them were very ripe in their years and appeared to be on their last legs. Most just watched TV with vacant expressions. I guess there isn’t much to do when you’re so old you need help going to the bathroom.

  At the end of the hall we finally reached our destination. “Mr. Farlow,” said the woman, “These nice people would like to see you.”

  “I don’t know him.” Grumpy. Definitely grumpy.

  “They have news about Allison.”

  That got his attention. His facial expression changed to one a bit more welcoming. He motioned for us to sit.

  “I’ll be back in ten minutes,” said the woman.

  Greg and I each took a seat next to Mr. Farlow.

  “So, what have you to tell me about my granddaughter?”

  “She’s dead,” I blurted out. I was never any good at delivering bad news and could not see the point in sugar coating it.

  “I thought as much,” said Mr. Farlow.

  “You aren’t surprised?” asked Greg.

  “Why should I be? She disappeared five years ago. Used to visit me every day until she met that Bobby Joe.”

  Bobby Joe? It sounded like a southern hillbilly name.

  “I take it you didn’t like him,” said Greg.

  “Well done, genius. Whatever gave you that idea,” said Mr. Farlow, “I hated that bastard. No good. He had a tattoo going from his neck down his back. Only criminals get tattoos.”

  That didn’t seem fair. Tiny had tattoos and so did most of his crew. Though they did operate outside the law sometimes so maybe Mr. Farlow wasn’t too far off in his assessment.

  “Always getting her into trouble,” continued Mr. Farlow, “Because of him she stopped coming around. When she did visit he was with her. She started wearing fancy stuff. Stuff I knew she couldn’t afford working at McDonald’s, but somehow she ended up with a pair of real diamond earrings and a necklace to match. Said he got them for her.

  “I told her to dump him before he got her into real trouble. But that Bobby Joe was a smooth talker and knew how to manipulate people. Eventually he convinced her to stop seeing me. When I heard on the news about the bank robberies and his photo plastered all over the TV, I knew she had gone too far.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “For what? It ain’t your fault she made a bad decision,” said Mr. Farlow, “At first they couldn’t identify her. But that scumbag gave her up. By then she had gone.”

  “So just the two of them robbed the banks?” asked Greg.

  “Nah,” answered Mr. Farlow, “There were two others. Friends of his. She drove the getaway car. They went inside and took the money. On the last heist, Allison must have had enough. Witnesses say she drove off after the guys put the money in the car, but before they could get in themselves. She got all the money. They got arrested.”

  “Who were the other two?” asked Greg.

  “Harry Scott and Al Gladsdale. All three were incarcerated. Eventually, the police gave up looking for Allison. The police questioned me a bit wondering how my nursing home bills suddenly got paid. I told them I didn’t know.

  “My knees don’t work for shit. Someone else has to wipe my ass. What makes them think I pay my bills anymore? Ever since I got put in here someone else has done it.

  “How’d she die?”

  That was a question I didn’t want to answer. How do you tell an old man that his only granddaughter was murdered because of her connection with a bank robbery? I stared at my hands trying to figure out an answer. Luckily, Greg beat me to it.

  “Peacefully,” he said.

  “Bullshit! She was too young. Tell me the truth now.”

  Well, plan number one didn’t work. “She was murdered,” I said. “Cops don’t know who did it.”

  “And how are you involved?”

  “She’s a detective,” said Greg.

  “Really? Feminism in action,” said Mr. Farlow, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for equality between the sexes. My wife—God rest her soul—could beat the crap out of anyone. Beat it out of me a few times.

  “So you’re a detective. Private? Who hired you to find my Allison’s killer?”

  I really didn’t want to go down this road, but Greg started it. Besides I wanted as much information as I could get. “I don’t discuss my clients. Their names remain with me. Otherwise, I’d be out of a job. The thing is I was present when she died, but I never saw the killer. Because of that, I feel like I need to find him before someone else gets hurt.”

  “Why would anyone else get hurt?” asked Greg.

  “Think about it,” I told him, “Allison gets involved with some bad guys, they rob a bunch of banks, and she runs off with the money. At least three people have a score to settle. And they probably want the cash.” I glanced at Mr. Farlow having momentarily forgotten that he was there. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You’re right.”

  “What happened to the other three?” I asked.

  “Gladsdale died of food poisoning. Bobby Joe was murdered while in prison. Scott, don’t know. He was paroled a year ago and then disappeared.”

  There was our first real lead. The only other one in the robbery. I rose to my feet. “We are sorry for your loss? And we will find her killer.”

  A scream echoed from the main room. Greg and I ran outside to the commotion. Three popsicles floated in midair. I knew who the culprits were.

  A nurse had screamed. She ran past us in the hallway. The three popsicles floated right for us. Just great. I had three ghosts of children who thought they could just help themselves to the food. Though how they planned on eating them was beyond me.

  “Get rid of those,” I hissed.

  “We were hungry,” said Sarah.

  “You’re ghosts. You don’t get hungry.”

  “I was wondering why we had problems eating these,” added Alana.

  “We need to go now,” said Greg.

  Everybody in the
building watched us as we talked to three floating popsicles. I turned and headed for the exit with Greg. Three popsicles followed.

  Chapter 5

  We caught the red eye out of Salt Lake City that night. I didn’t want to stay there any longer than necessary. The three girls seemed to have disappeared, or rather they weren’t making their presence known; much to my relief.

  We arrived back in Vermont just as the sun came up over the horizon. Greg and I grabbed our bags looking forward to going straight home and to bed to sleep. Yawning, I steered my luggage to the exit only to be met by the one person I had hoped not to see: Detective Shorts.

  “Miss Summers.”

  I’d like to know how he did it. How did he always know what I was up to? Either I am an open book, or he is a darn good guesser.

  “Detective,” I said.

  “Want to tell me what you two were up to?” said Detective Shorts.

  “Just getting back from a trip,” I said.

  “A twenty-four hour trip that involved going to Salt Lake City. Next time you want to be inconspicuous, use cash.”

  “Going to Salt Lake City isn’t a crime,” said Greg.

  “No, but the woman who was murdered yesterday was also wanted for a crime in Salt Lake City,” said Detective Shorts.

  He knew his stuff. Somehow, Detective Shorts managed to put it all together and really quick.

  “I need to know who you went to see and what you know,” said Detective Shorts.

  “No one,” I said. I know I should have told the truth, but if I did he would have prevented me from continuing my investigation.

  Detective Shorts closed the distance between us. “Miss Summers, I know you went to see Mr. Farlow. Please, stay out of this,” he whispered to me, “This is a serious case. That woman was murdered by someone who has little regard for life. If you get too close, he will come after you.”

  I looked the detective in the eyes. I knew he cared about my safety. “Look, I know you’re concerned, but you don’t need to worry about me.”

  “Of course I do. You have a knack for getting into trouble. If I have to, I will have Tiny lock you up.”

  That was a good threat. Tiny would do it too.

  Greg and I said good-bye to the detective and headed for the car. We got on the freeway and went straight home.