Audrey Claire - Libby Grace 01 - How to be a Ghost (9 page)

“Do you have any leads at all in this case, chief?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

He pushed thick fingers through his unruly hair, frowning. “A couple.” He hesitated, and I took a seat on the edge of his desk and leaned toward him. Desperation made me bold.

“Come on, Clark,” I insisted. “You must have other suspects, or are you just harassing me?”

“I am not harassing you, Libby.”

When I said nothing, he grunted.

“It looks like George might have been seeing someone else and that he and his wife weren’t working on reconciliation as everyone assumed.”

I gaped. “How could they keep that a secret? I mean gossip spreads like wildfire in this town.”

He compressed his lips. “I am not in a position to name names at this time.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone.”

The way he eyeballed me said he didn’t believe my lie. I would tell Monica the second I arrived home. I had heard just as everyone else in Summit’s Edge that George and Olivia were separated. Many nights George slept in his office at the hardware store. Those bold enough to ask Olivia about the rumored marital problems had been presented with her icy smile and what I now learned was a cover story. Anyone who spent more than one week in town knew Olivia Walsh guarded her reputation as mayor with her life. A divorce to good Southern folks might be common just like anywhere else in the country, but it was still judged a bit too harshly when it had to do with those in public office. I tried to envision Olivia playing the grieving widow and failed.

“That will be all, Libby,” Clark said. “If I need you, I know where to find you, and uh… Please don’t leave town without notifying me.”

I assured him I had no plans on it. “You’ll let me know what you find out about the camera?”

“Of course.”

I turned away and hurried to the door. Feeling like I had come to the end of my energy, I didn’t bother trying to open the door but faded from view. Clark, who had been looking down at the paperwork in front of him, glanced up and frowned in my direction. I knew he wondered at my quiet exit, but so long as he hadn’t seen me disappear, I figured he would assume his thoughts wandered and he missed my noisier exit.

Oddly enough, as I fazed through the wall, the dispatcher, the same kid I had spotted before and knew now was named Ken, was taking a call from Monica. I knew because he was saying he could not take personal messages for visitors to the station who were not officers. I considered showing myself so I could question Ken, but I still didn’t feel up to it.

Ken ran a hand over his face, and if I knew my friend, Monica was not taking no for an answer. Finally, he said, “Fine. I’ll tell her to come to the library.
Okay
. Jeez!”

He stabbed a button on the console before him and turned back to his book. He might not intend to pass on the message, but I already had it. I left the police station and walked down Main Street a couple of blocks, past the consignment shop Sadie owned, past Gatsky’s restaurant, keeping my gaze from wandering over to the hardware store across the street, and then two blocks over to West First Street where Summit’s Edge’s only library stood.

I floated through the front door, side-sweeping a patron leaving because it freaked me out to pass through people. The small library stretched before me. From the front door, a path led straight ahead to the bathrooms, to the left for the children’s section, and to the right for adults. Just around the corner into the adult’s area, a smaller room served as the audiovisual section where one could sit and listen to music or select from a limited collection of DVDs to borrow. From my vantage point, I saw that there were no children present since school hadn’t yet dismissed, and one man bent over a book in the mysteries aisle. I heard voices but saw no one else.

Monica appeared around the corner, and she scanned the lobby. “Are you here?” she whispered.

The man turned around and stared at her. Monica raised her eyebrows as if he were the crazy one speaking to himself. I smiled and floated over then brushed her arm. She bit off a squeak and spoke under her breath. “Follow me.”

We entered the room she had just vacated, and I found Miles Lucas half draped across a table, moaning, pale silver eyes liquid with unshed tears.

“There was no one there, Miles,” Monica soothed him. “I told you, the police have no reason to arrest you.”

“Have you been listening, Monnie?” Miles whined. He pounded a fist on the table, unsettling a paper cup, which Monica caught and straightened. I appeared briefly behind the man, and my friend met my gaze as if to say “See what I’m dealing with?”

“I know you better stop drinking in here, Miles,” Monica admonished him. “If Jane comes back and catches you, she’s not going to ask questions. She’ll fire your butt quick.”

Monica tried to lift the cup away from Miles, but he chugged the last of the contents. I couldn’t smell the liquid, but from Monica’s concern, I figured Miles was drinking alcohol on the job. I had heard only one other time he had done so, but back then he kept the details of what had upset him to himself. As he moaned slouched in his seat, obviously the stress of the situation had loosened his lips. Good thing Jane liked to take long lunch breaks that extended into a couple hours, and since Miles and Monica were the only library employees on duty and few people came in at this time, we were okay. For now.

“Georgie is dead,” Miles cried out. “Who else are they going to blame but me?”

I wanted to share with Monica what I had learned at the police station, but I couldn’t speak with Miles present. I wished I could ease his mind. Clark Givens was more likely to look at Olivia and George’s lover than poor Miles. Then dawning understanding broke over me. At the same time, Monica seemed to get it.

“Are you saying you were…friends with George?” Monica asked in a low, careful tone.

Miles blinked at her. Everyone knew Miles was gay. He made no attempt to hide it. Never mind the dramatic flare in his mannerisms and speech, the exaggerated care with his clothing and style, his hair, and with everyone else’s. Since Miles often visited the city, people speculated that he hadn’t found anyone to date in Summit’s Edge, but we were apparently wrong.

“He and I were lovers,” Miles admitted. He sniffed and tugged a tissue from his slacks to wipe his nose. “Chief Givens is going to question me about killing him, not Mayor Walsh? That woman didn’t care enough about Georgie to kill him. As long as he didn’t mess up her chances of winning in the next election.”

Monica hummed her agreement, folding her arms over her chest. “That’s true, but maybe she found out about you and George…”

Miles waved a hand in the air. “She’s known about us for months.”

I didn’t think that fact let Olivia off the hook, but I focused more on the rest of what Miles had to say.

“Monnie, Mayor Walsh did it, and she’s going to try to blame me. I wouldn’t be surprised is the chief wasn’t on his way right now.”

Monica rolled her eyes. “Come on, Miles. No one who knows you would believe that.”

“You don’t know the police, and I’ve seen the TV shows that say with pressure from the mayor and the people, the police just dump charges on whoever they want just so they can close the case.”

“The chief’s not like that.”

“Evidence, Monnie, evidence!”

“What evidence?” she asked, annoyance starting to make her voice rise.

Miles didn’t answer right away. He seemed to looking for something, first on the table then under it. I realized he looked for the bottle he had used to pour himself a drink and guessed Monica had taken it away. Miles appeared to accept that he wouldn’t find it and slumped in his seat.

“The note,” he said.

I drifted closer, and he shivered, wrapping slender arms around himself. Miles’s long thin frame, big eyes, blond hair, and handsome face made him as attractive as a woman. I tried to imagine what such a pretty man would see in stodgy older George and failed. Then again, I supposed the selection in our town for gay men might be limited.

“Georgie wrote me a note,” Miles said, his gaze taking on a faraway quality. “When I found out he was dead, I looked for it in my stuff at home. It was gone.”

Monica stilled. “Maybe you forgot where you put it.”

“No, I didn’t do that.” Miles stood up and stumbled toward the door. Once he reached it, he leaned on the panels, dragging in laboring breaths. “I wasn’t going to tell the police about me and Georgie. Nobody knew except me, Georgie, and the old bag anyway. So who would take the note, huh?” He answered before Monica could respond. “The person who wants suspicion away from herself, that’s who.”

He opened the door, and it banged the wall as he stumbled out of the room.

“Tell the boss I went home sick, okay?”

“Miles,” Monica called, but he was gone.

I materialized and floated down to the chair Miles had vacated and touched fingertips to the paper cup. “I wonder why I can touch things but not smell them?”

Monica pulled the door shut and faced me. “You can’t?”

“No. Maybe it’s something I can learn. I have to ask Ian.”

“Ian?” Monica smirked, but I waved her off.

“You and I both know that can never happen.”

“It can if you find your body.” Monica strode over and sat next to me. While I studied the cup for no other reason than it sat there, I felt her assessing gaze. “It could be in a spare bedroom at Miles’s place right now.”

I held up a ghostly finger. “First, there are other reasons besides my body as to why I can’t date Ian.”

“Like what? Is
he
gay?”

Odd that she should happen on my previous assumption. “Two,” I continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “Miles didn’t do it. You heard him. He’s terrified the police are going to blame him because of his lost note.”

Monica did not take anyone’s words or behavior at face value. She flipped a thumb in the air. “
A
, Miles’s mouth was shut like a steel vault the last time we caught him drinking on the job, and we never did figure out what was up with that.
B
, all that we saw just now could have been an act. So, if he’s good at keeping his mouth shut when he’s drunk, why would he spill the beans now?”

I countered her argument. “You would lose it too if you thought you might be framed for murder, Monica, and don’t you deny it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’d cry like a baby, but that’s beside the point.”

I smiled at her and then floated back and forth among the line of four long tables that occupied the room, my hands tucked behind me and head down as I pondered the situation. “Well, Miles doesn’t have a spare bedroom. He lives in a one-bedroom apartment on Memorial.”

“How do you know?”

I shook my head at Monica. “You don’t know? You work with him.”

“I don’t bother about people’s boring details. Plus Miles and I aren’t that close.”

“He calls you Monnie.”

“He gives everybody nicknames from the second he meets them.”

“Hm, true,” I acceded. He had often called me Lib when I already used Libby. I didn’t mind for the most part, but it seemed silly.

“So why did he perform?” Monica insisted.

“Monica.”

“Don’t Monica me. I’m trying to help you, girl, and it’s not going to get your body back acting like nobody would kill anyone. The fact of the matter is someone did kill George, and that person most likely kidnapped you. The question is why.”

“I recognized them?” I suggested.

She nodded. “Bingo.”

I heaved my shoulders. “Okay, consider this. Maybe Miles assumed Mayor Walsh would tell the police about his relationship with her husband, knowing they would suspect him. Especially if she told the police she and George were thinking about getting back together. Then it might look like Miles killed George to keep the mayor from getting him back.”

“Ooooh.” Monica
whooped
, looking too pleased with this scenario. “That’s some drama.”

“And,” I continued, “maybe Miles decided to cast blame first with the picture. Although, I admit, it would be a twisted way to approach it. Who knows how the police will react if they find a note to Miles from George.”

“Not if they find the note
stashed
at the mayor’s house,” Monica pointed out.

I stopped cold. “You’re right! It would look like the mayor found out about her cheating husband and killed him in a rage. I don’t like any of this. I feel like we’re talking about a serious matter as if we’re discussing the weather.”

“Well, do you want to discuss it while screaming at the top of our lungs?”

I laughed. “You make a good point.”

“Yes, I do.” Monica winked. “So, I think we should call Chief Givens and tell him about what Miles said.”

“Wait, Monica.” I approached her and tried grabbing her arm but forgot I wasn’t solid. My hand swept through. “If you call him and tell him all these crazy theories, he might arrest Miles, and I believe he’s innocent. He’s just a scared kid.”

“He’s hardly a kid, Libby. He’s what twenty-five?”

I shrugged. “Let me talk to him.”

“How?”

“Like I’m talking to you.”

She raised an eyebrow, and I looked down at myself. “Well more solid.”

“You can only hold it a few minutes, which reminds me. How did it go with the chief?”

I moaned, hating to be reminded of the interview with Clark. “I think he knew I was lying, but I couldn’t stop. I even gave him a fake relative’s name. I just know he’ll check it out and—”

“Then what? Arrest you? It doesn’t work that way. He has to have solid evidence, which he doesn’t have.” Monica waggled a finger at me. “And he would have something useful if you let me tell him about Miles.”

I checked the clock on the wall. “There’s no time. We need to get Jake from school. Oh no, Miles left. Is Jane back?”

Monica spun on her heel and marched to the door. “If she’s not, I’m locking the door! Jake is not going to be left waiting.”

My heart warmed at my friend’s concern for my little boy. If I knew anything, I knew Monica loved Jake as much as I loved him, and he would be okay in her care. Soon, we left the library with a handwritten sign on the door that said
Be back later
and drove to Jake’s school. I hovered in the back seat, finding it a challenge not to zip right through the rear window, but I was learning fast. When we drew to the line of cars waiting to enter the circular driveway, I went invisible and watched the throngs of kids and parents exiting the building. Bodies jostled everywhere, kids screaming to friends, parents calling to each other. Directing my gaze to the spot where I normally stood while dismissing my kindergartners, I felt a pang of sadness.