Dead Man Ohio (A Dead Man Mystery Book 4)

  Dead Man Ohio

  A DEAD MAN MYSTERY

  BOOK FOUR

  T. M. SIMMONS

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  T. M. Simmons, 2012, 2022. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  eBook ISBN: 978-1-64457-345-7

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Afterword

  Before You Go…

  Also by T. M. Simmons

  About the Author

  To

  Miss Molly and Trucker

  Chapter 1

  I almost didn't answer the phone after I glanced at the display screen and saw who was calling: My ex-husband, Jack Roucheau. Our last call had ended on a sour note, and I wasn't sure I was even speaking to him right now. But a movement across my office caught my attention. Great-Grandmére Alicia, a ghost relative who seemed to have appointed herself my conscience, stood beside the window, tapping her foot, an admonishing look on her face. Beside her, Howard, my head ghost, showed off his latest fish catch, lake water dripping on my hardwood floor.

  "Howard, take that fish back to the lake," I ordered aloud, although he could have heard me if I'd used telepathy. Instead of replying, he pursed his lips in a grump, since Howard's a ghost of few words. Then he disappeared, fish and all.

  Ghosts appearing in my home didn't surprise me. I see ghosts. I talk to ghosts. And at any one time, up to ten paranormal boarders share my lakeside log cabin in Six Gun, Texas. Not that they take up much space in their non-corporeal bodies.

  The phone shrilled again, and Grandmére lifted a finger and pointed at it.

  Normally, I was in charge of my supernatural residents, meting out discipline and punishment if they didn't abide by the Alice and Howard Ghost Agreement rules. Each one had signed a copy of the Agreement before I allowed them to live with me. But Great-Grandmére, my own ancestor, was different. She had only sniffed and declined to even read such poppycock. It's only polite to respect our elders, and she was quite a bit more elderly than me—in fact, well over two centuries—so I didn't insist.

  Grudgingly, I reached for the receiver and pushed the green "on" button. Grumpily, I said, "Yes?" instead of, "Hello."

  "Chère, don't hang up," Jack said immediately. "We need to talk about Twila."

  "We agreed to always talk things out a few months ago," I broke in. "When we decided to try being more than friends. Yet you still pull those stubborn silences."

  "We can talk about that later—"

  "That's the point," I continued. "There never seems to be any later—"

  At the sharp tone of my voice, Miss Molly, my Siamese, who was curled up beside my computer monitor, opened one blue eye and glared at me for interrupting her snooze. But I didn't apologize. Miss Molly slept away the biggest share of most every day.

  Then it dawned on me what Jack had said. Something about my Aunt Twila, the dearest person on earth to me next to Jack. Well, next to how I used to feel about Jack.

  "Quit inserting yourself when I'm trying to think," I murmured aloud in response to my mental Jack-thought before I remembered he could hear me.

  "Who are you talking to?" Jack asked. "One of the ghosts you hang around with?"

  "I don't hang with them, they hang...stay with me," I corrected. I looked over at the window. Satisfied at my obedience, Grandmére knelt beside my Rottweiler, Trucker. Trucker lay on his side, offering his tummy for her to scratch and glorying in the sensation. As with many ghosts who had been around a while, Grandmére had developed the ability to materialize well enough to touch things firmly. She was always petting the animals or scratching some spot they enjoyed. I could hear Trucker's rumbles of contentment from where I sat.

  "What were you saying about Aunt Twila?" I asked Jack, bringing my deliberations back on track. "Is she all right?"

  "I don't know." Jack paused and sighed. "You know how private she is, especially about all this hoo-doo stuff you and she—"

  "Dealing with ghosts isn't hoo-doo!" I interrupted again, then loosened my hold on the phone before I crushed it. "You're confusing it with voodoo. Tell me what's going on!"

  Fed up with my strident voice, Miss Molly stalked to the edge of the desk. She jumped to the floor and headed for Grandmére to get her share of attention.

  "Well," Jack began cautiously, "Jess let somethin' slip when we were fishin' yesterday—"

  "You and Jess were fishing? Where are you?"

  Another deep sigh, and I could imagine him closing those deep chocolate eyes in frustration at my continued disruptions.

  "Sorry," I said instinctively, "but what's going on?"

  "I'm tryin' to tell you," he muttered first, then, "I'm actually in Ohio. When you couldn't get away from your work to spend some of my vacation time with me, I decided to come up here and visit Jess. You know he's my best friend."

  Friends, I thought, this time silently. Like Jack and I agreed to try to be, only as a foundation to perhaps building back into a permanent relationship. We haven't even gotten to the friends-with-benefits stage yet. And it's sure getting frustrating….

  I mentally slapped myself in the face and said, "Quit beating around the bush, Jack. What did Jess say about Twila?"

  "I'm tryin' to tell you," he repeated, then went on before I could think of a defense to his runaround accusation that I was the one delaying his explanation. "Twila's been rather absent while I've been here the past couple days. I always enjoy visitin' her, too, y'know. And I was hopin' she'd bake me one of her special meatloaves. She's a damn fine cook."

  "Jack!" I nearly shouted. "What's wrong with Twila?"

  "That's just it. I don't know. And Jess got this worried look on his face when I asked him if she was gonna fry the fish we caught. Not that we caught any, but Jess doe
sn't have an outdoor cooker up here, like I do down home. And Twila's not one to put up with me makin' a mess in her kitchen. She says Jess does enough of that."

  "What the hell is wrong with Twila?" This time I did shout, and every one of my animals, including the other five cats scattered around my office, made a beeline for the doorway. I even noticed a couple of other ghosts, who had been lingering at half-materialization while they eavesdropped, disappear completely. I didn't get a good look, but I thought it was the two kids, Shannon and Rick. A moment later, I was alone in my office. Even Grandmére had gone back to her own dimension.

  "Jess just said that she was busy helpin' out a friend," Jack finally explained. "I got the impression it was another one of those deals where she goes out and tries to take care of some ghost that's causin' problems. Jess told me once that when she gets involved in somethin' like that, she makes it her priority. Like you do with your writin'."

  "My writing is my income," I reminded him for the ten-thousandth time. "And Twila has been helping people with ghosts for as long as she's been alive. Why, she had her first experience when she was five years old, Jack. What's so different about this one?"

  "If I knew, I'd tell you, Chère. And I'm not sure there is anything wrong. Just a feelin' I get from the way Jess is actin'."

  I frowned. "You're not just saying this to try to get me to come up there and be with you, are you?"

  Jack lowered his voice to that soft growl I'd heard so many times, but I battled the thrill that threatened me. After all, we were fighting right now. The barriers weakened though, when he said, "If I thought it would do any good, I would lie to get you here. It would be a lot more enjoyable. But you were pretty clear about needing to finish whatever you were workin' on before you took some time off."

  "It's my income," I repeated. "You know, for things like real estate taxes, utilities, cat and dog food."

  He remained quiet for a few seconds, then almost whispered, "If we both lived in the same house, we could share expenses like that."

  I wasn't about to get into that time-worn argument right now. We couldn't even agree on whether it was time for that or not, let alone if Jack would move in here or continue to try to talk me into sharing his place in Longview, should we decide on a yes. He kept reminding me over and over about the drive he'd have to make—at least an hour each way—and saying that I could work anywhere on my writing. But he didn't understand creative atmosphere.

  Jack might be able to let our relationship problems sidetrack him, but he'd already said enough to get me worried about Aunt Twila.

  "It will take me at least two days to drive up there," I said finally.

  "Can't you fly?" he asked.

  "With a cat and dog? I won't leave Trucker and Miss Molly, although the other cats are fine with a sitter. And—" I added in a childish jibe, "— the ghosts get along fine without me. But you know how Trucker and Miss Molly hate flying. They still haven't forgiven me for loading them in their crates to go to Albuquerque with me a few months ago."

  "I think maybe you should get here as soon as you can, Chère. But I don't like the idea of you drivin' that far alone. Maybe you could ask Granny to come with you."

  "I might just do that," I agreed, pondering the vague nuances in his tone. Prodding him, I asked, "What aren't you telling me, Jack?"

  After a pause, he said, "You know I don't see those things you and Twila chase after often. But...well, when she left this morning in her little red car, there was somethin' in it with her. Somethin' I don't think she was aware of. As soon as it looked over at me and realized I'd seen it, it disappeared."

  "What did it look like?"

  "Nasty," Jack said. "Really nasty."

  Granny and I stopped halfway between Texas and Ohio that next night. It had taken me the rest of the evening after Jack called to arrange a cat-sitter for the other five cats and get packed. As I'd told Jack, the ghosts could take care of themselves, although I'd reminded them that Howard was in charge. Also reminded Howard, and asked him to spit out a few of his scant words to assure me he had memorized my cell phone number.

  It had only taken a few seconds, though, to get Granny's agreement to go with me.

  My next-door neighbor, Granny Chisholm, is tiny, barely five-foot, but full of vigor. A widow in her eighties, she's as hale and hearty as me, more so at times. Deep wrinkles line her face, but some mornings after a late writing night, I noticed furrows plowed on my forehead nearly as substantial. I could only hope that the attractiveness I allowed myself to believe was mine followed me into the ages, as Granny's had. It wasn't only her bright blue eyes, which shone with knowledge and life. Her face still mirrored the beauty that had to have made her one of the most gorgeous Southern Belles in the South.

  Hearing was Granny's only major physical problem. It didn't bother her as long as she remembered to wear her hearing aide, as well as keep the batteries changed. I couldn't blame her infrequent forgetfulness on age, since I suffered periodic bouts of that myself.

  Granny loved to travel, and I could always count on her as a companion for trips with or without Twila. From a large family herself, she had borne several children and her extended family consisted of grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nieces and nephews. One of them could always be counted on to cat-sit and care for our houses while we were absent.

  I called Twila's home as soon as we settled in the motel. I hadn't told her I was coming and had sworn Jack to secrecy. Jack was right about one thing—Twila was a private person. She would do anything for anyone she cared about, but hated to impose for herself, unless she was truly in need. If she hadn't called me for help, she either didn't know about the nasty entity shadowing her or felt she could handle things.

  Jess answered. "Is Twila there?" I asked.

  "Who is this?"

  I kept forgetting that Jess didn't always look at the Caller ID display when he picked up the phone. "It's Alice, Jess. I really need to talk to her."

  "Oh, O.K."

  She practically sighed my name when she came on the phone. "Alice. I hope you and Granny are enjoying the drive. Don't get in such a hurry that you forget to stop and let Trucker and Miss Molly out."

  Obviously, her psychic senses had already picked up on the fact I was on the way. One of these days, I'd quit trying to fool my aunt. Or maybe not.

  "Don't worry," I assured her as I glanced over at Trucker lying beside my bed in the double-queen room. Miss Molly had already used the litter box Granny helped me set up and was sprawled on a pillow on Granny's bed. "You've travelled with my pets and me enough times to know that Miss Molly can set up a howl that will threaten your eardrums if she or Trucker need to take a potty break. I swear, the two of them have a psychic communication as strong as you and me."

  "I wish I could read Jack as well as I do you," she muttered. "What the heck's got his bowels in an uproar so bad that he asked you to come rescue me?"

  I hesitated. "First, tell me what you're involved in up there. I probably shouldn't say this— but maybe you already knew that Jess was worried."

  "I didn't. Well, not really. I've noticed him being a bit grumpy lately, but he's a man. He gets like that. I really haven't had time to sit down and...." Her voice trailed off, and though I waited quite a few moments, she didn't go on.

  "Twila!" I insisted. "Talk to me."

  "Huh?" she said, as though she'd forgotten we were speaking. "Oh, Alice. Sorry. Fact, is, I was thinking of calling you anyway."

  "What about?" I prodded when she fell silent again.

  "Um...I'm not sure if I want to get into it over the phone. You know how things sometime listen in on our conversations."

  That was true. We had to be careful when we chatted. Some of the ghosts we dealt with were advanced enough to use their own telepathic abilities, even to the point of eavesdropping on a phone conversation. Usually, we were able to tell when that was happening, both with our own senses and by hearing a telltale sound over the connection. I hadn't heard any su
spicious noise this time, though.

  "Can you at least give me a hint? So I won't worry so much?"

  "Maybe. Think of the couple other times we've run into interesting situations. Jefferson and Cimarron? Remember?"

  "Of course. But those turned complicated pretty quick."

  "This one isn't complicated, if you know what I mean." I could sense the wink-wink in her tone. Given her warning of a possible listener, I didn't want to tell her about Jack's concern directly. Still....

  "Is it something dangerous?" I asked cautiously.

  "I don't think so," she said, then went on resolutely and frankly, "but to be honest, I don't know...yet."

  "Look, my new car has one of those sync things, which connects my cell phone automatically whenever I get in the car. You can call me and I won't have to pull over to talk."

  "You'll get just as distracted if you aren't holding that phone to your ear," she said. "Or almost."

  "You call me if you need me," I ordered. "Do you hear me?"

  I didn't even bother to chastise myself for being so bold as to actually tell my aunt, the senior ghost hunter of our partnership, what to do. After all, she was only four years older than me. Sometimes I was more right than she was. Well, once in a while. All right, infrequently, but it had happened.

  "What can you do from a few hundred miles away?" she asked with a faint laugh.

  "I don't know, but at least whatever you're dealing with will know you have backup," I insisted.

  "That makes sense," she said, and I inwardly gave myself a point for this being one of my I'm-right times.