Chapter 8

With Josie's rebuke still ringing in my ears, I didn't go hunting Kierce when I drove Matty to Bonaventure to pick up Paco for his shift. Thanks to a double helping of sleep, Matty had recovered enough that there was no harm in him hosting a spirit. Good thing too. After striking out with Pascal, I was hoping Paco had the scoop on what had spooked the spirits about Kierce, but he was fidgety and quiet on the short drive.

Which gave me time to remember Mrs. Minchin was due back any time now.

I would give her a few hours then call and see if she was ready for a pickup and return.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" I put the wagon in park. "You're usually the calm brother."

He was the peacekeeper. Solemn but kind. He was also a damn fine mechanic.

"You asked Pascal about the creature haunting the cemetery."

"Creature?" I swallowed a laugh. "You mean Kierce?"

"We don't know the proper name for him, but the elders call him the devourer."

The elders were a collective of earthbound spirits interred in 1846, back when Evergreen Cemetery was first established on seventy acres of the Bonaventure Plantation. In 1907, the city of Savannah acquired it for public use and renamed it Bonaventure Cemetery.

"What does it mean?" I considered Kierce's penchant for cemetery strolls. "Is he a vampire?"

True necromancers recognized vampires. Their energy signatures seeped necromantic magic. I wasn't an authority on vampires, but I had met several in New Orleans, and I hadn't known it until they told me so.

"He devours souls, jefa. That's what the elders say. What are we if not our souls? They've posted guards to keep watch, to warn us when he comes." He made the sign of the cross. "You're our protector and our friend. If this Kierce is what they say he is—and they would know—you must force him to leave."

A pang struck me as it became clear battle lines had been drawn, and I was expected to choose a side.

"Has he—" killed wasn't the right word, so I used his, "—devoured anyone?"

He and I hadn't gotten close enough for me to accuse him of spectral murder if I ever wanted to see him again, but I couldn't let down the spirits who depended on me either.

"Not yet." He tapped a firm finger on the dash. "But he will."

"Thanks for the information." I waved to Josie as she passed with a basket overflowing with rhubarb no doubt bound for a pie if she had strawberries to go with it. "You can go on in. I need to make a call first."

"Ormewood?"

"Ormewood."

Delivering bad news while in the safe haven of the wagon was a habit I had developed, and I didn't have to look too deep within myself to understand why. People like us got run out of town when we stepped on the wrong toes. We lost our homes. Our businesses. We left with only what we could carry.

The wagon was the perfect size for three loaners, yes, but I couldn't fathom a scenario where I would need to transport so many at once. No. The real reason why the Suarezes had chosen this model was it gave me and my siblings enough room to sleep in the back. Shoulder to shoulder. It gave us a sanctuary on wheels if we ever needed one.

"I'll keep an ear out for you at home." He opened the door. "Just…be careful, okay?"

The news about Kierce wasn't what I had hoped to hear, but it made sense. What were the odds I would stumble across a fellow taphophile who looked like Kierce and didn't harbor some grim ulterior motive? The spirits had tried to warn me, but I had ignored them in favor of listening to my gut.

With Harrow as an example of just how bad my judgment was when it came to men, I should have run Kierce out of town that first night instead of allowing myself to grow curious about him.

"I will be." I smiled to reassure him. "Thanks."

The wagon rocked when he shut the door, and I sat there, staring out the windshield at nothing.

Maybe it was Harrow thrust back into my life at the worst possible time. Just when things went horribly wrong. Maybe that old hurt, from when I had loved him to every corner of my teenage heart, was what made me so eager to cast common sense aside and linger with Kierce. But even I wasn't so reckless as to allow a flirtation to distract me while he gobbled down spirits.

As much as I dreaded the conversation, I dialed Ormewood's daughter. "Mrs. Covolo?"

"Mr. Farley." The man on the other end of the line chuckled. "I believe you have a wrong number."

"Do you, by any chance, know Mrs. Covolo?"

"I can't say that I do."

"What about a Mrs. Ormewood?"

"Doesn't ring any bells."

"Thank you for your time, sir." I ended the call as my stomach roiled and muttered, "This is not good."

I performed my due diligence. Always. Especially when children were involved. I had called this number, I had spoken to Mrs. Covolo, and I had informed her of Mrs. Ormewood's agenda. She verified the trip was expected, that the kids were cleared to go, and provided her home address as part of her reference.

I could drive to Whitemarsh Island and knock on Mrs. Covolo's front door…

I could also be murdered in my sleep once Matty and Josie found out I had gone alone.

As much as it stuck in my craw to ask for help, I called up Harrow. "Hey."

"Frankie?"

"So many women call that you can't keep us all straight, huh?"

Thanks, brain, for that super helpful mental picture.

A low rumble filled his voice. "What are you talking about?—?"

"I'm calling to let you know the number Ormewood gave me isn't working. I mean, it is. But the man who answered hasn't heard of her. I spoke to a Mrs. Covolo, Ormewood's daughter, and got verification she was aware of the arrangement Ormewood made with me involving a trip with her kids. Maybe I mixed up her number, I don't know, but I have an address on Whitemarsh for her."

"Stay put," he growled the order. "I'll be right there."

"Yeah, yeah." I twiddled with the radio. "I figured you'd say that."

"And, Frankie?"

The local classic rock station was giving me fits. "Hmm?"

"Two women have this number, and you're one of them."

He ended the call while I replayed our conversation over and over on a loop, deciding his disorientation, the roughness in his voice, came from sleep. I must have woken him. I had no idea what shift he worked.

For whatever reason, I had to conclude he had given me his personal number and not his work number. Most likely, he didn't want to leave evidence of his off-the-books consultant where his boss might see.

As to the other woman, that was none of my business.

A hand smacked the hood, and I jumped, almost cracking my head on the roof.

"What gives?" Josie circled to my door and opened it. "You've been out here forever."

"Ormewood gave me a fake number." I couldn't put off accepting it any longer. "Harrow is coming to pick me up, and we're going to drive out to Whitemarsh to check the address she gave me for her daughter."

"I heard Matty grumbling last night we only had one appointment today. I can handle that easy, so don't stress." She pointed a finger at me. "Just promise you won't swing by the cemetery on your way back."

"I promise." I scrubbed my hands down my thighs. "Paco gave me some news I need to digest."

"About Kierce?"

"Yeah."

"It must have been bad." She studied my face. "I hadn't noticed your glow until it was gone."

"I wasn't glowing." I swatted her arm. "I was enjoying a handsome man's attention."

Sure, he was a little odd, but who was I to judge? Most of my friends had been dead longer than I had been alive.

"Psycho killer," she coughed into her fist. "You can do better than a cemetery rando."

"If that were true, I would have done it by now, wouldn't I?"

"You work, hang with Matty and me, and run. To the cemetery. That's it."

"I also hang out with dead people, so there. I have a robust social life."

"Is it a social life if half your friends are dead?"

"You can't discriminate against the dead." I thumped her forehead. "It's not their fault you're alive."

"Do you hear yourself?" She thumped me back. "You need?—"

"A FWB like Armie?" I scoffed at her gall. "You spend more than six months in a serious relationship, not a sex—or produce—on demand arrangement, and then we'll talk."

Our bickering erupted into a tickle fight, her favorite way to settle arguments with me, since she had the reach advantage.

The rumble of an engine ended our match before a clear victor emerged, and we watched as a black pickup rolled in.

"Hello, there." She eyed the vehicle with lust. "Do you know how much fertilizer that bed would hold?"

Rather than park at the service entrance, the truck slid into an empty slot beside the wagon.

"That must be Harrow." He would never get rid of Josie now that she had seen his truck. "Scooch over."

While I locked up the wagon and got my bag, Josie approached the behemoth and knocked on the tinted glass. As the window lowered to reveal an orange-dusted hand gripping the wheel, it became obvious the driver was not, in fact, Harrow.

"Um." Josie waited until I reached her to sidestep and shove me in front of her. "Sorry about that."

"Carter." I nodded to the woman. "I was expecting Harrow."

"He got hung up on an errand." She jerked her chin toward the other door. "Hop in."

Linking my arm through Josie's, I led her a few steps away. "That's Harrow's partner."

"She's cute." Josie stared past me, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. "Get me her number."

"No." I snapped my fingers in front of her nose. "Pay attention."

"Meanie." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Go ahead. You may proceed. Attention is being paid."

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Call if you need me." I checked my watch. "I'm expecting Mrs. Minchin."

"She always runs behind." Josie snorted. "She says an hour and spends at least twenty-four."

"That's what makes her such a good client. One I don't want waiting on service."

"Gotcha." She tugged a leaf from her hair and tucked it behind my ear. "I'll call when she gets here."

"Thank you." I swept my gaze over the shop, wishing I could curl up with a good movie and one of Josie's made-from-scratch chicken pot pies. "Don't burn down the place while I'm gone."

"That was just the one time, and I had no idea taper candles were so dangerous," she protested as if she had never imagined lighting them beneath her towel bars, with fresh towels hanging, while she prepped for a romantic soak with an old flame, could in any way go wrong. "I only use battery-operated?—"

"Nope." I stuck my fingers in my ears. "I don't want to know about your battery-operated anythings."

Spluttering laughter followed me into the cab of the truck as Josie headed for the office.

Carter cleaned her hands with a wet wipe she tucked in a mini trash can the size of a takeout drink cup that fit in the console. "Don't look so excited to see me."

"It's not that." I climbed in with help from a handle and a step. "It's this whole situation."

"Ah." She waited for me to belt in then backed out. "I thought you were disappointed I wasn't Harrow."

"No." I snicker-snorted with a bit too much phlegm. "That's definitely not the problem."

"But it is a problem." She kept her eyes on the road like it might run away if she didn't pin it with her stare. "Personal relationships are hell on an investigation."

"There's no relationship, so there should be a distinct lack of hell."

"If you say so." She waited a few minutes before clearing her throat. "That your sister?"

"Yes." I peered out my window, trying to place where we were heading. "She thought you were Harrow too."

"I thought she hated him. That was a big smile for someone she loathes."

"Do me a favor and don't act like you know Josie. You read a file. That's it." Bitterness crept into my tone that she would judge my family no matter how polite I tried to act. "She saw the truck and hoped to con him into hauling manure for her. She goes through tons of it in her garden."

"Maybe when this is over I can bring her a few loads as a thank-you."

"She would appreciate that." I reeled in my temper. "She also asked me to get your number."

"You already have my number."

"For her."

"Oh." A bag of cheddar puffs materialized from some secret stash. She tore it open with her teeth and popped one in her mouth. "I'm sure you'll be relieved to hear I don't date."

"Women or in general?"

"In general." She flicked on her blinker, leaving orange dust behind. "I do better on my own."

"I hear you." I scanned the parking lot of a sporting goods store as we pulled in. "Single is best."

For a second, I thought she would agree with me. Instead, a wicked grin carved her features. I followed her line of sight to find Harrow pushing a cart full of camping gear toward us. He paused to glower at her, loaded his purchases into the bed of the truck, then knocked on my window.

Carter lowered the glass, putting me face-to-face with him. "Got everything?"

"What do you think?" He tossed a receipt at her. "I'm a cop, not a personal shopper." He nodded to me. "Frankie."

"Harrow." I tugged on the seat belt that had chosen now to choke me. "Nice of you to join us."

"Carter sent me on an urgent errand that turned out to be buying camping gear for her niece."

"Oh, it wasn't that bad." She waved off his complaint. "I picked up Frankie for you, didn't I?"

"Newbies are always gophers." Vi had drummed that into me right off the bat. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," he gritted out and climbed in behind me, close enough I swear I felt his breath on my nape.

"Now I'll take that address for Ormewood." Carter tapped it in her phone, which fed through her truck. "Looks like we've got about a fifteen-minute drive ahead of us. Why don't you fill me in on the way?"

If I found it odd they weren't sharing intel, I didn't say a word about it. I was already in enough trouble, and making this deal to save my bacon wasn't helping me sleep at night. Suspicion Harrow might have been protecting me flickered across the forefront of my mind, but I doused it before it distracted me.

As my past with Harrow and this mess with Kierce had proven, I was terrible at reading men.

Anxiety had tied me in knots by the time we arrived at Mrs. Covolo's address.

"Here we go." Carter turned into a tidy subdivision. "How do you want to play this?"

"I'll go." I unfastened my seat belt before she finished parking. "I don't want to spook her."

"You're not going alone." Harrow leaned forward, his breath warm against my ear. "We don't know that Mrs. Covolo exists. The kids don't, as far as we can tell, but the agitation spell might have muddled the witnesses' memories. Then there's the call that went awry."

"He's not wrong." Carter shot me a sympathetic glance. "We have reason to believe, after reviewing SPD files, your concerns that an agitation spell was cast are valid. Fights broke out up and down River Street. Lots of finger-pointing. No evidence of who or what cast it. It was like a mass hallucination. Everyone saw what they wanted to see. What they most feared? I don't know. Weapons. Theft. Violence. You name it, they reported it."

"They dogpiled on each other like they did with Josie and me?"

"Yeah." Somehow, she already had a hand in yet another fresh bag of cheddar puffs. "That's why it snowballed."

"The spell didn't affect everyone," I said slowly, thinking it over. "Some people ran into shops."

"It would be good to know if they were human or other," Harrow grunted, getting out first.

"Might as well go with him." Carter crunched away. "He'll stand there all day if you don't."

Heaving a sigh, I exited the truck and walked up to the front door. I rang the doorbell and then waited.

"There are two cars in the garage." He pitched his voice low. "There's only one energy signature inside."

"You know that how?" I meant the cars, since the garage door was closed, but the energy comment floored me. "You're using magic."

"I'm aware." Bleakness stole across his features. Concentration? Resentment? Hard to tell. "Let me try."

"Be my guest." I couldn't decide what to make of this new magic-wielding Harrow. He might look like he was constipated when he used his powers, but he did use them. I wondered at the extent of them, but I had a feeling even he didn't know. "Maybe they'll respond to a badge."

Sure enough, he unclipped the shield from his breast pocket and held it to the peephole.

"I'm Detective Harrow with the Savannah Police Department. Can you come to the door, please? I need to ask you some questions."

"Detective."I jabbed him in the hip. "Seriously?"

Granted, I wasn't an authority on stars, chevrons, or patches, but he dressed like the rank and file.

"I'm required to wear the uniform until I'm off probation. Then I can go plain clothes."

"You could have told me."

"I didn't think you'd care if a promotion came with my lateral transfer."

"I don't care." I was floundering, and we both knew it, so I shut my mouth.

Three minutes later, the door swung open to reveal a young man with that fresh from basic look to him. The haircut, the olive-drab tee. Even the way he stood telegraphed military training. I spoke to enough spirits who had served in times of war to spot the subtle tells. And the not-so-subtle ones.

Like the pristine dog tags hung around his neck.

"We're looking for Caroline Covolo." I spoke up when Harrow stepped aside. "Does she live here?"

A slight widening of his eyes, which focused on Harrow, telegraphed his confusion. "No, ma'am."

Doubt swirled through me, but I held on tight to hope. "Are you single?"

For the first time, he awarded me his full attention. "Who's asking?"

"Detective Harrow, SPD." Harrow tapped the badge as he returned it to his chest to draw the guy's focus. "We would appreciate any information you can give us."

"I'm single." His gaze drifted back to me then away. "I've owned this house for three years, but I've been deployed for the last eighteen months. Relationships crumble when that happens, so I broke it off with my girl before I left." He ran a hand over his short hair. "She got married while I was gone."

"I'm sorry to hear that." I attempted a smile, but I could tell I bothered him. "When did you get back?"

"Two weeks ago."

"Thank you." I tugged on Harrow's sleeve. "That's all we needed to know."

"We appreciate your time." Harrow nodded. "Have a good rest of your day."

As the man shut the door, he made the sign of the cross and murmured what might have been a prayer.

At the end of the sidewalk, a few yards from the truck, Harrow turned. "What was that about?"

Rolling a shoulder, I played it off like it didn't bother me. "I have that effect on some people."

Folks with a touch of the blood might not consciously know our world existed alongside theirs, but some got chills in my presence. Others experienced a sense of peace. I wasn't sure why I struck certain people one way or the other. Josie used to tease me it was a premonition. That people slated to die soon got a taste of the tranquility to come while those who would live felt only the brush of death passing them by.

Had she been right, it would have been a marketable skill. One I would have exploited in a heartbeat. But I hadn't been willing to risk the reputation that kept food in our bellies and a roof over our heads on what I couldn't swear were accurate readings. Add to the fact humans were dying from the day they were born and…yeah. The shivers didn't form dates or times in Braille-like bumps for me to read, so I chalked it up to being a useless and unpredictable side effect of being me.

"How deep do you dive on potential clients?"

"This doesn't make me look professional, does it?" I folded my arms across my stomach. "I call. I email. I get contracts signed. But I rarely make house calls. These days, clients want you to show up on their doorsteps about as much as they want to answer a phone when a text conveys the same information."

After digesting that, he came back for more. "How often are the families involved with your business?"

"Nine times out of ten." I lingered outside the passenger front door. "Most spirits only remain until their living family joins them. Then they leave. Ascend. Go toward the light. Whatever you want to call it. The majority of my clients want to buy more time with their loved ones. Two- and four-legged. It's rare for someone to have a wish for themselves strong enough to keep them here."

"What kind of wish?"

"Visiting the Grand Canyon, driving a racecar, bungee jumping. Experiences they put off for too long."

"Bucket list items."

"Exactly."

Whirring, the window lowered behind me, and Carter rubbed her jaw. "We need to go."

"Okay." The undercurrent in her tone made his shoulders tense. "What's wrong?"

Carter slid her tongue along her teeth. "We have another victim."