Ghost Maker Read online

  Keeping her mind blank, she finished the tea, then leaned back in the comfortable chair and closed her eyes to think. A wisp of memory teased at her mind. Sometime, somewhere, the evil spirit had reacted to the knife. Maybe just a flinch, a grimace, a . . .

  The tinkling of bells rang in her head, and Zach strode through the villa door.

  She sat the chair up. Zach, too, looked determined. More, he gave her a fierce grin, tapped his phone. “I know who the killer is possessing.”

  “Me, too,” she said.

  He headed over to the coffeemaker, started a new pot, then came back to the couch near her. “Where’s Enzo?”

  “With Julianna Emmanuel.”

  “Good. And now we wait.”

  “Waiting is hard.”

  “Yeah.”

  She drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “I’m going with you to the cave, to free the boys.”

  Zach’s mouth twisted. “You’ve got the magic knife.”

  “That’s right. And the will to use it.”

  His gaze went to the windows and he said abruptly, “Always better to play it safe and call in backup. What do you say we brief Rossi? We’ll all brainstorm, see if we can turn the tables and act instead of wait.”

  To her shame, her first reaction was to consider the cost. She’d spent a lot of time with Rossi today.

  How foolish! Lives were on the line, including hers, including Zach’s and the boys’. She lifted her chin and said, “I agree.” Then, before it hurt too much, she pulled out her phone and transferred a good chunk of money to Rickman Security and Investigations. She’d kept a running tally in her head of the amount of time that Rossi had acted as her driver and her self-defense trainer. And she’d previously studied the packet Rickman had given her about services and fees, so she could guesstimate his bill so far. Dangerous circumstances cost a whole lot more, as she recalled.

  “What did you do?” Zach asked, and she told him. He frowned, but didn’t say anything, and her shoulders relaxed since she didn’t have to defend herself.

  A few minutes later Harry settled himself in the corner of the couch holding a mug of espresso. He drank, then stared at Zach and Clare. “Really and truly, a psychopathic phantom who’s possessing someone else’s body?”

  “That’s right.”

  Harry drank again. “Good thing you didn’t try to sell that to your colleagues in law enforcement.”

  “I never would have done that.” Zach’s voice held an edge.

  Harry dipped his head. “You’re the man.”

  “We think he’ll act tonight,” Zach said.

  “Kill?” Harry stopped lounging and sat up straight. “You do, as well as Clare?”

  Clare huffed. “You don’t trust my feelings.”

  “Zach has more experience,” Harry said.

  “Yes, I think he’ll kill tonight. His burial ground was discovered, that will threaten his control of the situation.”

  “But if he can’t bury the boy—”

  “He’ll have a backup plan.” Zach grimaced. “This isn’t his first time around.”

  Grunting, Harry said, “Do you think he’ll leave the body for the cops to find?”

  “No. He’d rather keep the game going longer than taunt law enforcement in a different game. But I don’t think he’ll stay here in the area beyond his pattern—two weeks. I think he’d move after that.”

  Clare swallowed hard.

  “You aren’t calling the cops in on the action.” Harry yet appeared relaxed, his tone conversational, but Clare sensed an anticipatory satisfaction.

  “We have no evidence, and they have a very solid profile, which our perp doesn’t match.”

  “Okay. So you going to drag this out more for me or not? Give me the name of the, uh, current body.”

  Chapter 30

  “Martin Velick.”

  Harry looked blank.

  Zach passed his phone over to the operative, showing him a picture. “He works at the restaurant, Deli Delish, with his parents—or rather, Jonathan O’Neill works with Martin Velick’s parents. Lives with them, too. That probably chafes.”

  “One of the detriments of possessing a teenager’s body,” Clare murmured.

  “That’s right. There are pros and cons. Pros are that he won’t think we’ll look at him as a murderer, particularly since the profile is coming in that he’s a middle-aged man. He’s not physically impressive. And looking like he does makes it easier for him to lure boys and girls into his car and into his control.”

  After studying the photo, Harry passed the phone back to Zach. “I saw him this morning, checking out Clare. But a lot of guys were checking out Clare.”

  “But did he see you?” Zach asked. “Before I came in, I called Deli Delish, and he answered the phone. He’s there right now, but for how long, I don’t know.”

  Frowning, Harry said, “You’re sure he’s the killer? Kind of scrawny.”

  “We’re sure,” Zach confirmed. “I’ve got all the data I can about him. The car accident, his death—the real Martin Velick, poor kid—where he lives with his parents.

  “And you just checked up on him.”

  “I asked how long they were open. I recognized his voice from when I was there with Clare and he served us. I’m hoping I didn’t trip the spook’s trigger.” Zach paused. “From what I understand from the previous case notes and files, Jonathan O’Neill was arrogant, didn’t think cops could find him, though once they found him and he realized he’d go to trial and it didn’t look good, he took the easy way out with suicide. The detective in charge said the man had a whole room full of occult books.”

  “So he might have figured out how to stay in the gray dimension and wait for a new body?” Clare’s voice rose with incredulity. She wouldn’t have been pushed into the New Age, or the occult, or whatever, except for her gift. Would not have chosen those studies at all.

  “Yeah, totally crazy, huh?” Zach shook his head. “I hope that he doesn’t think we’ll look at him, Martin, for the killings. We’re way ahead of him on that. But I do think he’ll want . . . a hit of energy . . . tonight.

  “We’ve got his car, color, model, license plate, and where he parks.” Zach grabbed a map from the coffee table and stabbed his finger at a point.

  “I know that lot,” Clare said. “I helped the Emerson couple transcend in that parking lot.”

  “It serves as parking for the employees of all the stores on this side of the street.”

  “There’s only a low wall separating the lot from the patio area of Deli Delish.”

  Harry stood. “You’re thinking we’ll stake him out. We can wait as long as it takes.”

  “He’ll know your car, I think,” Clare said. “But maybe not Zach’s truck. Though he may recognize all three of us. We could wait for Enzo and follow him.” She shivered. “But that’s too iffy, and could get us to the cave too late.”

  Zach grunted. “He will definitely recognize the energy of the knife if he sensed it before.”

  Clare bit her lip and rose. “I have an additional box of African blackwood for the knife that I found in Great-Aunt Sandra’s trunk. The paper with the box says it blocks magic and communication with the dead.”

  Harry looked aside. “Um-hmm.”

  Hurrying into the bedroom, Clare got the box from the drawer, then went back and drew the silk bag holding the knife from the outside pocket of her purse.

  “Wait, can I see this ghost-killing knife?” Harry asked. When they’d sparred earlier, Clare had used a butter knife.

  Clare untied the knots, pulled out the knife, and removed the blade from the metal sheath.

  “It’s a curved blade and it’s bone.” Harry sounded surprised.

  “Made from the femur of the first Cermak ghost seer,” Clare said. The bone handle seemed to throb in
her palm, and it . . . reassured her. More than the pitiful job she’d done with Harry earlier.

  He met her eyes. “Good knife. You look like a warrior now. You can do it.”

  She stopped herself from asking if he was sure.

  Zach got up and joined her, put his arm around her shoulders, looked down at the knife. “She has before.”

  “Let’s head out,” said Harry.

  At that moment Enzo whisked in, leaping through the window and racing around the room in a cold breeze. His feet didn’t touch the floor.

  “Let’s run, Martin must be moving!” Zach snapped.

  Clare glanced at the clock, 7:16 p.m. “I thought Deli Delish closed at eight p.m.?” That’s what it said on the website.

  You know where the bad ghost is?! Enzo questioned, gasping.

  “Follow Sister Julianna Emmanuel to his lair, Enzo!” Zach ordered.

  No, no, I bring you information!

  Clare let her weak knees stagger her to the couch and sit, clutching the handle of her knife.

  Both men looked ready to rumble. She had the depressing notion that she would never be ready to rumble. She had to psych herself up for any fight.

  “What information, Enzo?” Zach asked.

  Enzo said, The bad ghost could be stronger and able to use more energy than just the physical body has.

  “What!” demanded Zach.

  “That’s not good news,” Clare said.

  “For sure, not,” Harry added, slipping his jacket on, covering his shoulder holster. Clare realized that Harry had heard and commented on Enzo’s remark! She didn’t say anything.

  Enzo loped over to sniff the knife, then the metal sheath, the silk bag, and finally the box. You are all ready! Yes, you will do FINE!

  She was determined, at least.

  Where is the evil ghost? Should I watch him?

  “I’d prefer you split your time between Sister Julianna Emmanuel,” Zach said, checking his ankle brace . . . and the little gun on his other leg. To Enzo, he said, “The culprit is Martin Velick, a young man who works in the restaurant called Deli Delish.”

  Oh! I know that place! Enzo’s forehead wrinkled. Do I know that guy? No, I don’t. Maybe I should run, look—

  “I’d rather you didn’t. He might catch you somehow, and then where would we be? We’re depending on you to do your job,” Clare said. She grimaced. She should have realized that the reason she liked Deli Delish, square in the historic district, was due to having no ghosts trailing around it. She should have recalled that a previous evil ghost—well, that one ate all apparitions—scared phantoms and they stayed away. As this person-housing-a-formerly-dead-specter freaked out the other specters.

  “I agree,” Zach said. He looked at Clare. “Put on your body armor.” Then he sent a glance at Harry. “I want you to do that, too. We’ll stop at the lodge and pick you up.”

  “You’re not wearing yours,” Harry muttered.

  “I’m not wearing mine yet.”

  So Clare put her bare knife into the box, tucked the metal sheath and silk pouch in the outer pocket of her purse, then the box. She went into the bedroom and, thinking of caves, removed her good slacks and put on slightly baggy old jeans. She grumbled all the time she put the vest on. She hadn’t worn it much, and had tried to clean it according to the instructions, but it held a sweat smell. And it smashed her breasts. She hated that. Over the vest, she wore a thick wool sweater, and added a roomy jacket she’d purchased just to cover both up.

  She put her purse in her tote, and took it, put the wooden box containing her knife on top of everything. Zach came in, checked it, kissed her, and got his own body armor on in about a quarter of the time it had taken her.

  See you later! Enzo shouted and shot away.

  * * *

  They drove to the alley and the parking lot where Clare had helped the Emerson ghost couple move on. The space remained large and easy to see both front and back of Deli Delish.

  They sat in Zach’s truck, Clare in the middle with the box containing the knife on her lap. When the time came, she’d yank it from the box and run into the cave and . . . stab at Jonathan O’Neill. Who wore the face and body of an eighteen-year-old.

  That he’d stolen! She reminded herself of that.

  Both Zach and Harry sat with casual alertness, talking about Rickman Security and Investigations and using acronyms and professional language she didn’t totally understand, so she tuned them out.

  But they all knew they waited for a killer to swagger onto the scene, an attempted murder to take place, a nun rushing supernaturally to try to help the child release his body, and a minor spirit confirming the way.

  Time passed. Minute by minute, seconds dripping slower than any droplets of spring water in the town.

  The last patrons of Deli Delish left, and the bell rang as the older Velicks locked the door. They left first, hand in hand and talking quietly, climbing into a new SUV and driving away, with not a glance at Zach’s black truck. They looked like nice people to Clare and that made her heart hurt.

  Martin Velick—or Jonathan O’Neill using Martin’s body, exited the dark restaurant at twenty minutes after eight. Vaulting over the low wall, he sauntered to his gray truck, not looking at any of the rest of the cars in the lot. A couple of the shops remained open for another hour.

  “He’s made us,” Harry said.

  “I believe you’re right,” Zach responded, his face going to granite.

  “That didn’t take long,” Clare commented in a small voice.

  “The question is, will he go to the cave and check on the boys, maybe get his addictive thrill out of murdering one, or not?” Zach murmured.

  Silence reigned in the truck cab.

  “You’re the cop. What do you think?” Harry asked heavily.

  “What would you do?”

  “I’d keep on driving to . . . Vegas, California, anywhere,” Harry said.

  “But you’re not a psychopath with a hunger for murder.”

  “You’re not crazy,” Clare said at nearly the same time.

  “And,” Zach said, as the gray truck passed them, “he thinks he’s special, powerful, that we don’t know who, and especially what he is. He believes he has—gifts—we can’t match or overcome.” Zach waited until Martin’s truck turned into the alley, then hit the ignition and followed. Without turning on his lights.

  They trailed Jonathan-Martin to the end of town and an abandoned property, down a dirt road again posted with No Trespassing signs. The lane narrowed, paralleling a barren rock face on the left. Zach had let the truck fall far back and the minute they’d turned off the main street, he’d shut off his headlights again. No more than a quarter mile in, they found an equally unused dirt and gravel parking lot.

  There sat the gray truck with no sign of Jonathan-Martin. Harry opened the door and slipped out, immediately disappearing into the night. Clare slid to the not-quite-shut passenger door and was stopped by Zach’s hand curving around her biceps.

  “Let him recon the area. He’s the pro.”

  She shifted back and forth, fingered the box containing her knife.

  Harry returned after an eternity, his face and hands dirty, his blond hair covered in a watch cap she hadn’t seen him put on. “There’s a path,” he said quietly, his lips barely moving. “Goes through a crack in the rock face on the hill.” He frowned. “I followed the passage a little. It’s dark.” He looked beyond Clare to Zach. “Worse, it’s really tight for a regular-sized man.”

  Clare’s heart seemed to shoot into her throat and pound there. When she could speak, she said, “I’ll go in.”

  “Not alone,” Zach ordered.

  She raised her brows at him. “If I’m the only one who can go in, I’ll do it. All by myself. You two might be able to take care of Martin Velick, the human. But I’
m the one who can fight Jonathan O’Neill, the revenant.”

  Both guys made disgusted noises. They boxed her in the cab of the truck.

  “He’s ready to kill a child.” She choked. “We must act, and soon.”

  Harry moved aside and Clare hopped out into the night. The wide sky with spangled stars, the crescent moon, were brighter than the truck cab, but the surrounding hills loomed tall and oppressive. She reached into the tote for the flat, collapsible solar light stowed there, and put it in her large left jacket pocket. Good enough to light a cave path.

  She hesitated, then put the knife’s silk bag and metal sheath in her right pocket.

  “We’ll be right at your heels,” said Zach.

  “We’ll follow you ASAP,” Harry said. “If I have to blow the mountain open.” He went to the truck bed and began rustling around in the duffel he’d put back there when they’d picked him up.

  “All right, then,” Clare said, adding the knife box to its sheaths in her jacket pocket. She headed toward a bare place at the edge of the area Harry had gestured to, and discovered a rock path. The dark streak in the rock took on the definition of a crack.

  She’d reached the cliff face when lights flashed, red, blue, yellow, white. “Hold it right there!” A woman barked.

  Clare froze.

  “Jackson Zachary Slade? You’re trespassing in a posted area and driving without lights. License and registration, please. Wait, who’s with you? Stop, you.”

  Realizing the policewoman had seen and called to Harry, not Clare, she let out a breath, and slipped into the crack.

  She was on her own.

  Chapter 31

  Three feet into the vertical crack, she stopped and popped open her solar light, turned it on, and held it over her head. Ten feet into the beige-brown cave, an outcropping protruded right in front of the wall. She’d have to take off her jacket, at least, and maybe her sweater and vest, and sidle sideways for an unknown length of time. Or she could crawl; down near the ground was wider. She eyed the opening. Perhaps Zach could get through, probably not Harry, though.