Don't Wake the Dead Page 9

  It seemed that laughter was an excellent outlet after an adrenaline overload.

  Mal took a drink from the water bottle he kept in the console then put the vehicle into gear. Before he could pull out onto the road, I threw out a hand.

  “Wait!”

  He stomped on the brakes, jolting us all forward against our seatbelts.

  “What is it?”

  “Do you see that?” I asked, squinting as I peered out the windshield.

  “There’s someone standing on the side of the road, about a hundred feet in front of us.”

  Mal stared in the direction that I pointed. “I don’t see anyone.” He began to inch the van forward. “Tell me when to stop.”

  When we were finally close enough for me to distinguish that the figure was a man, I told him to stop.

  “You can’t see him, right?” I asked one more time. After I got a chorus of no’s from the men in the car, I sighed. “He must be a ghost.”

  When I opened my door, Mal put a hand on my arm. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to go talk to him,” I replied.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  I shot him a sidelong glance. “It’s not as if you can hear him. Or he can hurt me.”

  Mal returned my look with one of his own. “I’m still going with you.”

  “Fine, but don’t interrupt when I’m talking to him, okay?”

  He nodded in agreement.

  “Let’s go then.”

  Chapter

  As we approached the spirit, I could see that he was very agitated, pacing back and forth in short steps, his eyes glued to us.

  “Oh, thank God you stopped,” he stated. “I’ve been trying to get someone’s attention for a long time. Everyone just keeps driving past me. I need your help.”

  I immediately began to wonder if the man knew he was dead. His words implied that he didn’t.

  “What can I do?” I asked.

  The man looked at me, but directed his words to Mal. “I need you to help me get back to town. I wrecked my truck.”

  Mal couldn’t hear or see him, so he merely stood there, his hands folded in front of him, staring at a point over the ghost’s head.

  “Hey, man, I’m talking to you,” the ghost bellowed.

  “He can’t hear you,” I stated.

  That got his attention. “Why not?”

  I evaded the question, because I didn’t want to just blurt out to the guy that he was dead if he didn’t already know that. The one time I’d made that mistake, the woman in question had wailed and moaned for hours about her lost and wasted life. My intention to help her had floated away on a sea of ghostly tears.

  “He’s deaf,” I lied. “I’m Zoe Thorne. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Hank Murphy. Listen, my truck is totaled and I need to get to town. I’ve got to tell the sheriff that someone tried to kill me.”

  Shit, the longer he spoke, the more I came to believe he had no clue that he was dead.

  “Of course, Hank. I see your head is bleeding. Do you remember what year it is?”

  “What does it matter?” he asked belligerently. “Someone just tried to kill me!”

  “I’m just concerned that you might have a major head injury. If that’s the case, we need to take you to the hospital first before we take you to the sheriff.”

  “It’s 1996! Can we go now?”

  He’d been dead for at least twenty years. I wondered how long he’d been roaming this lonely stretch of back roads, just waiting for someone to stop and help him.

  The thought made me sad. I also regretted that I would have to be the one to tell him that he hadn’t survived the accident.

  The moon was full, the light bright enough for Hank to see my face. He must have glimpsed the remorse in my expression, because he took a step back.

  “Something isn’t right,” he stated, shaking his head.

  Simultaneously, Mal’s phone rang. I had to give him credit. He didn’t answer it, but he did pull it out of his pocket and shut it off. Hank’s eyes dropped to the device, growing wide.

  “What’s that?” Hank asked, pointing to Mal’s smartphone. Then he looked at us closely. “What’s going on?”

  I took a deep breath, mentally preparing my answer, but I never had a chance to speak.

  Hank twisted his head to look behind me. “Who are they?”

  I glanced back and saw that Stony and Blaine had decided to film our interaction with Hank.

  The ghost began to back up from us, lifting his hands. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” he asked.

  His voice sounded calm, but his eyes took on a wild look I recognized. He knew he was dead, he’d known all along, he just didn’t want to admit it. Denial could be more powerful than evidence if the spirit was stubborn enough.

  “Hank, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  He shook his head slowly. “This can’t be happening. It can’t.”

  I moved toward him, inching forward. “I want to help you. That’s why we stopped.”

  Hank hesitated, blinking rapidly. “How long have I been…dead?” he asked, his voice cracking.

  “A while,” I evaded. I didn’t want to upset him more than I already had.

  “How long?” he barked, his voice rising.

  “Twenty years,” I answered. “It’s 2016.”

  Hank’s expression morphed into one I was all too familiar with. He looked defeated and grief-stricken. “My wife,” he whispered. “Oh God, I never got to tell her how much I loved her. I never got to say good-bye.”

  “I’m sorry, Hank,” I repeated, hating the apology because I knew it wouldn’t help.

  Nothing would help, but moving on to the next plane. Heaven or Hell, I didn’t know. I couldn’t remember what was out there, only that there was…something.

  The lost expression faded and his eyes fired. “Someone killed me,” he stated. “Someone wanted me dead. You have to find them and make them pay.”

  “Of course. I told you I want to help you.” And I did. I wanted to help him find peace. If he did, then he could leave this world behind. “In order for me to do that, I need you to tell me what happened.”

  His eyes lost focus as he stared into the distance. “It was late. I was driving home from work at midnight. It was so damned dark. I heard a car coming up behind me. No, not a car. A truck. A big truck. It was loud and fast.”

  He paused, his eyes still locked on the trees across the road.

  “What happened, Hank?” I asked softly, not wanting to break his concentration.

  “They shot at me. I heard the gunshots, saw the muzzle flare. They managed to hit my back windshield. That’s when I lost control of my truck. I went down into the ditch and hit a tree. It was like the world ending, so loud and violent. Then everything went black.” His eyes moved back to me. “I guess I was thrown from the truck because when I woke up, I was lying on the ground in front of the mangled front end. I could see the other truck parked on the road and there was a man standing nearby. I think I reached out to him, begging him to help me. As he came toward me, I thought he was going to save me. Until I saw the rock in his hand.”

  I swallowed hard, knowing where the story was going.

  “I don’t remember anything after the first hit, and then suddenly I was standing here on the side of the road, hoping someone would stop and help me.”

  My heart ached with pity for this man. All these years, he’d been desperate to get help, to find the person who killed him.

  “You’ll find out who did this to me, won’t you?” he asked.

  It wasn’t the first time a spirit had asked me to seek justice for them, but it was the first time I couldn’t say no. I didn’t know why, but the urge to give him closure, to help him find peace, it was too strong to ignore.

  “Of course I will,” I answered.

  The relief on his face once again tugged at my heartstrings.

  “My name’s Henry Jacob Murphy,” he
stated. “But everyone called me Hank.”

  I grabbed my cell phone from my pocket and opened the note application. I entered his name.

  “When was your birthday, Hank?” I asked.

  “June third. 1971. My wife’s name is Patricia Murphy. Everyone calls her Trisha.”

  I nodded as I took down all the information.

  “If you see her…” His words trailed off as if he was searching for the right thing to say. “Tell her that I always loved her, even when I acted like an asshole.”

  Though I was sure Trisha knew that, I replied, “I will.”

  He nodded. “I’m always here,” he said. “Can’t seem to go anywhere else.”

  I wanted to reach out to him, but I knew it wouldn’t make any difference. He wouldn’t be able to feel my hand anyway.

  “I’ll find out what happened, Hank, and then I’ll come back.”

  He looked doubtful.

  “I will. You have my word.”

  “A person’s word doesn’t seem to mean much anymore,” he responded.

  “Mine does. I never promise something unless I intend to keep it.” I paused. “So, I want to tell you this. I promise to come back and tell you everything I discover. I’ll do my best to find out who did this to you, but I can’t promise to carry out retribution for you. If I find out who it was, I’ll go to the police and make a report, but I’m not a tool for vengeance, Hank. I never will be.”

  He winced, but nodded. “I understand. You have a life and I’m sure you want to keep it.”

  He was absolutely right. I wasn’t about to risk my life or deal with any legal ramifications by chasing after his murderer. I wanted to help him, but I drew the line at vigilante behavior.

  “Thanks, Zoe Thorne,” he said.

  Before I could reply, he disappeared, dissipating in the night breeze like smoke.

  For the first time since I began speaking to Hank, I felt my shoulders relax. I took a deep breath and exhaled hard.

  “Is he gone?” Mal immediately asked.

  I realized that my new boss hadn’t spoken once since we got out of the van and I appreciated his restraint. Looking at the way he was bouncing on his toes now, I realized that it must have been killing him to stand there in silence.

  “Yes, he’s gone,” I answered.

  “So, are we going to solve a murder?”

  I stared up at him. “I guess so.”

  Chapter

  I barely slept after Mal and the guys dropped me off at my house. A little after five a.m., I gave up hope on getting any shut-eye and went downstairs to make a pot of coffee. Teri was quiet. I didn’t even feel her presence.

  As I drank my coffee, I thought about Hank Murphy and his plea for help. I wanted to find out what happened to him, but I wasn’t sure where to start.

  So like any other modern human being, I opened my laptop and pulled up the Google search engine.

  I searched for information on how to investigate a murder. After a half hour and two cups of coffee, I realized, with a great deal of frustration, that I wasn’t getting anywhere.

  After drinking another cup of coffee and eating a bowl of cereal, I had an idea. I sat down at the kitchen table and typed in how to investigate a cold case.

  I read page after page, until I finally had to stand up and stretch because of the stiffness in my back. As I raised my arms above my head, I noticed that the sun was shining brightly through my kitchen windows and glanced at the clock.

  I’d been reading for over five hours and I was still in my pajamas. The coffee in my cup was stone cold and my stomach rumbled. I decided to make myself a sandwich and then take a shower before I continued my research.

  Before I could do either, my doorbell rang. Curious, I walked through the house and peeked out the narrow windows that ran alongside the door. It was Mal.

  Because he’d already spotted me peeking out at him, I cracked the door. “Hey, what’s up? Is something wrong?”

  He frowned at me. “You texted me earlier and told me to come by around ten.”

  It was my turn to scowl. “No, I didn’t.”

  Instead of arguing, Mal pulled out his ridiculously huge smartphone and pulled up his texts. “Here.”

  My eyes narrowed as I read the message. I knew what happened.

  “Come on in,” I invited, opening the door. Then I turned and stomped to the staircase. “Teri, get your see-thru ass down here!”

  When I faced Mal again, his eyes were on my legs, which were bare due to my short boxer-style pajama bottoms. I suddenly felt self-conscious as his eyes moved up my body to my face. In the spring and summer, I wore camisoles and girlie boxers to bed, as my room seemed to be the hottest in the house. I’d completely forgotten my lack of coverage when I’d opened the door.

  “Yes, my loud-mouthed mistress,” Teri answered sardonically, appearing a few feet away from me.

  “Have you been messing with my phone again?”

  She folded her hands in front of her and attempted to appear innocent. She wasn’t very good at it.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I glowered at her. “Teri, you can’t go around texting people from my phone! Remember what happened when you messaged that guy on Facebook?”

  “He wouldn’t really have cleaned your toes with his tongue. He was just lonely.”

  “Teri, he sent me pictures of his junk with a bow tied around it! I still have nightmares!”

  “Well, it’s not like Mal would do something like that,” she replied defensively.

  She shrugged. “Maybe, but at least he’s here now and looking you over like he wants to put his hands all over you if he can only figure out where to start.”

  I was relieved that Mal couldn’t hear her as a hot flush worked its way from my chest to my scalp.

  “Don’t do it again,” I snapped.

  “Fine,” she sighed, waving a hand as she drifted up the stairs. “You should be grateful I’m trying to get you a man. It’s been years, girl.”

  I shook my head at her words and turned toward Mal. “I’m so sorry. That text wasn’t from me, it was from Teri,” I stated lamely.

  “I gathered as much,” he answered dryly. “Did I wake you?”

  “Uh, no. I’ve been up since five, doing research.”

  His eyes lit up. “On Hank Murphy?” he asked.

  “Not exactly. I’m researching the best ways to investigate a cold case.”

  “That’s a good idea,” he replied, his eyebrows lifting. “I have my laptop in the car. Wanna work together? Maybe grab some lunch?”

  I glanced down at my outfit. “Can you wait a half hour? I need to get ready.”

  “Sure. I’ll go grab my stuff and do some investigating online.”

  As soon as he walked out the door, I bounded up the steps and into my bedroom. I tried not to think about the fact that Mal was downstairs in my living room while I was naked in my shower. It felt weird to have a man in my house, waiting on me.

  I caught myself taking special effort with my hair and make-up and forced myself to go through my normal routine rather than primping. This weird attraction I felt toward Mal needed to be my little secret. We might work together, but he was paying my salary, at least until the end of the month. That meant he was my boss, even if it was temporary. In my mind, hitting on the boss was never a good idea.

  Exactly thirty minutes later, I came downstairs to find Mal staring at his computer, a look of intense concentration on his face.

  “Find anything?” I asked.

  His head came up. “Not yet. Just some articles on the accident. I emailed you the links.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I know it’s early but are you ready to eat?” he asked.

  “Sure. Where do you want to go?”

  “Are there any good Mexican restaurants around here?” he asked.

  There were a handful of eateries in Kenna, one of which was fantastic Tex-Mex.

  “Yep. I’ll drive
,” I replied.

  The cantina was downtown, sandwiched between the post office and the hair salon where Jonelle worked. When we parked and climbed out of the car, I saw my friend cutting a woman’s hair at her station near the front window. I waved to her and she sent a pointed look from me to Mal.

  I shook my head at her and led Mal into the restaurant. Since it was just after eleven, the place was almost empty.

  After we sat down and ordered our meal from the waitress, the back of my neck tingled. I immediately recognized the feeling and discreetly scoped out the small dining room.

  A man sat in the corner. He appeared to be several years younger than me, caught between the gawkiness of his teens and the filling out years to come with his twenties. As soon as our eyes met, his flicked away as if he was embarrassed to be caught staring.

  “Everything okay?” Mal asked, bringing my attention back to him.

  “Yeah, yeah. Everything is fine.”

  As we sipped our drinks, we discussed where to begin our investigation of Hank Murphy’s death. Mal suggested contacting the local law enforcement. For a moment, I forgot myself and grimaced.

  “Something I said?” Mal asked.

  “Sorry. It’s just that the sheriff isn’t too…fond of me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Let’s just say he doesn’t think I’m a little eccentric like most of the town does. He thinks I belong in an institution.” I couldn’t believe I’d admitted that to him, but he made me feel comfortable so the words tumbled out despite my usual reticence.

  Mal’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Has the man talked to you for more than five minutes? That’s all it would take to realize that you don’t have any mental issues at all.”

  “Unfortunately, he had to come to my rescue the first time I raised zombies in a cemetery.”

  Eyes wide, Mal asked, “How old were you when this happened?”

  I shrugged. “It was my senior year of high school.”

  “So, based on what he saw in the cemetery he thinks you should be locked up?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “That’s fucking ridiculous,” he argued. “I’m sure you were scared out of your mind. He shouldn’t have frightened you further.”