Crossed, Cursed, & Nearly Dead: E1, Chapter One - Two

Introducing the Triple-D Detectives, Wranglers of the Supernatural

Chapter 1, Oakland Cemetery

Elise Hester Johnson shivered so hard she had to flap her hands to release the pent-up energy. Her blocking spell had kept the ghosts of Oakland Cemetery out of sight as she and her sisters passed through the oldest section of the park. Still, the silent suffering pierced Elise’s heart. The spirits’ grief and enmity were overwhelming.

“Come on, Rona. I told y’all I can’t be here long.” After only a few days in Atlanta, Elise’s Southern accent had resurfaced.

Rona glanced up from the flowers she ogled. A genius, Rona Wainwright was great at many things. Sensing energy wasn’t one of them. In her defense, the profuse blooms covering the centuries-old graves were captivating. Reds, yellows, purples, and blues framed in shades of green spilled from the low walls outlining the cemetery’s narrow lanes.

“Sorry. I can’t help it.” Elise’s new-found sister peered over her spectacles with a bemused grin. “I had forgotten how beautiful it is here.”

Rona was a Master Gardener and could rattle off the name of every plant in the nearly 50-acre park. If they weren’t in a cemetery, Elise might be tempted to ask her to do it. Instead, she peered nervously over Rona’s shoulder at a rogue wraith.

It had followed them since they’d entered the gate. Elise had thought she had exorcised the damn thing, but there it was, studying her and Rona. Oddly, his clothing suggested a more recent era than most buried here. Grabbing Rona’s hand, Elise dragged her away from the fragrant lavender to catch up with Honey.

By the time they reached her in the Druid section, Elise was grateful for the abundance of shade trees. She fanned the front of her shirt and wished she’d brought a bottle of water. The heat and humidity were palpable. Of course, summer in Gloucestershire could be just as steamy.

Honey lifted heavy blond hair from her neck and poked it back beneath her wide-brimmed hat. “I didn’t know famous people were buried here.” She had gone ahead at Alexis’s urging. “Back there, I saw Margaret Mitchell, Kenny Rodgers, and the man Austell was named for.”

“This is the Druid section,” Alexis added through Honey’s lips. Elise had her own hitchhiker and knew how it worked, but it was still strange to hear her triplet’s voice from a thirty-something blond bombshell.

They all gawked at the marble dragon atop the wall, then sauntered down the lane, side-by-side.

Stopping to squint at a faded marker worn by time and weather, Elise declared, “Hope said to look for the plot with the white Celtic cross. It should be planted with flowering quince.”

“More like overgrown with it.”

Alexis had swiveled Honey to the right, where a black, hip-high wrought iron fence barely contained woody quince shrubs. A pair of pink Georgia marble vaults peeked from beneath the bramble, and salmon-red blooms past their prime lent the deadly tangle a festive air.

A mama Killdeer zoomed past Honey, screeching to her babies.

“Oh, shit!” the blonde squealed, diving to the pavement. Then she straightened with a sheepish grin and ducked again when the fledglings flit past.

Laughing at Honey’s antics, Rona and Elise joined her to stare at the impassable thicket below the imposing statue.

“Now what?” Alexis wondered. “Of course, we’re all bare-armed.”

“Yeah, didn’t think of that,” Elise sighed. “Hope said the gems were secreted in the false bottom of an urn. And the urn is beneath that cross.”

“Which is buried under all that,” Rona moaned. “How are we going to get to it? I know from experience quince thorns are gnarly. I don’t fancy being ripped to shreds.”

Honey had edged away and circled to the plot behind the cross. “Maybe we could reach it from here,” she called.

Hurrying to join her, the women tiptoed around a family of Nelsons whose descendants mowed the grass and kept the shrubs neatly trimmed. The ghost whooshed past Rona, who didn’t notice, and settled atop the Celtic cross, one knee over the other, eyes on Elise.

She looked away.

“This feels very wrong,” Rona muttered.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Elise agreed, ignoring the wraith. “But I don’t think we can reach it from here either.”

“Well, hell,” Alexis grumbled. “There has to be a way.” She walked Honey along the boundary, peering into the dense thicket. “I can just make out the back of the cross. At least, I think that’s what it is.” She squatted, then went down on her knees to poke an arm through the greenery.

“I can’t reach it.” Backing out, Honey brushed the smut from her pants. “Too bad we don’t have lopping shears.”

“Let me look.” Rona shouldered her aside.

Carefully peeling the thorny branches apart, Rona inched into the thicket on her hands and knees. “Oh, ow, ow-y!” she yelped, then, “ooo, OWW, it bit me!”

“Something bit you?” Elise squatted, preparing to rescue her sister.

“Yeah. The quince.”

“Oh. Well, do you see the urn?”

“No, but the cross is here. Hold on.” Twigs snapped, and swear words filtered from the bushes, followed by a loud “OUCH!”

“What is it?” Elise called. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I found the urn. Hang on.” More twigs crackled.

A welcome breeze lifted Elise’s hair from her sweaty neck and rattled a nearby magnolia’s thick leaves. She closed her eyes to savor the brief symphony of one of the few tree species she remembered from druid school.

“Someone’s coming,” Honey hissed, and they stood still, heads down until the couple passed.

“Okay, they’re gone. You alright in there, Rona?”

When no answer came, Elise hissed, “Rona?” and was greeted by the sight of her dark crown emerging from the greenery.

“I found the urn and the fake bottom, but there’s nothing in it. Assuming that was the right urn.”

“Was there more than one?”

“Nope. Not that I could feel.” She extended arms covered in angry scratches. Drops of blood oozed from the deeper ones.

Elise tutted and handed her a crumpled tissue from her pocket.

“You try, Elise,” Alexis urged. “I bet you can sense something.”

“Yeah, no.” Elise had forgotten how bossy Alexis was. “I see dead people. Not missing gemstones.” But she could also be persuasive.

“Won’t you at least try?”

Not sure whether the plea had come from Alexis or Honey, it was so disarming, Elise couldn’t say no. Eyeing the welts on Rona’s arms, she sighed heavily. Then, glaring at Alexis, she crouched in front of the bushes. Rona squeezed her shoulder and grinned like she was having the time of her life.

“It’s to your left. I made a path for you.”

Smiling back, Elise wrinkled her nose at Alexis’s smirk. Then, gingerly pulling the tangle apart, she stuck her shoulders inside, clenched her teeth, and tried to remain stoic as thorns tore at her arms and cheek.

“Fuck!” she shrieked, only a few feet in. “Why didn’t I wear long sleeves?”

“’Cause it’s hotter ’n Hades, goofy,” Honey snickered.

Spying the urn, Elise bit back the snide retort on the tip of her tongue and inched toward it. At the base of the cross, the brush was trampled where Rona had rested. Elise crept to it and carefully lowered her body, wincing when pain shot through her hip.

“Ouch!” Ham bawled, and Elise nearly jumped from her skin. “Get this damn thing fixed. You’re retired now, so no more excuses.”

“Where the hell have you been?” she growled at her hitchhiker. “I’ve been calling you.”

“In the Otherworld, scouting for news about Morgan. We promised Emily, remember? What are you doing?” He swiveled her head to look around. “And in a cemetery, of all places?”

Her body shivered.

“Why, Ham, are you afraid of spirits?”

“Afraid? No. But you know I find them creepy. Especially the ghouls. Are you being spiteful because I ghosted you?”

She could feel his mirth at making a funny mingle with her own unsettled chills. “Don’t say that here.” She peered up at the top of the cross.

The wraith was still there, watching intently. Hamilton shivered again.

“You can see him, can’t you?”

“Yes, and I think he can see me too. I don’t like this, Elise. Get me out of here.”

She ran her fingers along the bottom of the urn. “I can’t yet. Don’t be a wuss.” Then, she called to Rona, “I don’t see or feel anything. Where is the opening?”

“On the back of the urn. Against the cross.”

Elise scooted closer, and a thorn jammed into her knee. She bit her lip, wiggled the thorn out, and pressed her thumb against the hole to stop the bleeding. Then, taking a centering breath, she used her other hand to run her fingers around the urn. One edge wobbled. Pushing against it, she felt the bottom spring open.

“Bingo.”

“What?” It was Rona.

“I found it. And you’re right, there’s nothing in here.”

“Do you sense anything?” That was Alexis.

Doing her best to avoid the thorns, Elise hushed Ham’s attempt to say something, settled on her good hip, and peered into the opening. Then, closing her eyes, she felt out with her senses.

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s auntie.”

“What? What is it?” Alexis hissed.

“Shhh.”

They weren’t there, but Elise could see the gems in her mind’s eye. She followed the magical thread as she had taught Cybele, and surprise, surprise, it led to Morgan Foster, the former Head of Security for the Awen Order. Securing the hinged door, Elise turned around carefully and crawled out, sporting her own scratches.

Honey helped her stand.

“What did you find?” Alexis demanded through Honey’s somehow-still-tinted lips.

“Nothing. Or, no gems. Morgan took them.”

Alexis stroked her hostess’s chin. “That makes sense. The emerald was set in Aóme. Or, was. Then, Emily and Mitch found the ruby and sapphire in a pendant and brooch. I bet the diamond is set in a piece of jewelry, too.”

“And, Morgan has it,” Rona huffed.

“Yep. She had a fit when Mitch pulled the brooch from his pocket. Then she completely lost it when he wouldn’t give it to her. That’s why she sent him to the frozen fields.”

A chill raced down Elise’s back. She looked around. The same ghost hovered nearby, half-hidden between the limbs of the sweeping magnolia.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Hopping from the low concrete wall, Elise bolted toward the east gate. The others jogged behind her and were huffing and shvitzing by the time they reached Memorial Drive. Elise would have to whip them in shape if they wanted to be private eyes.

Honey pointed to a restaurant across the street. “I need a drink. How ‘bout y’all?”

“Hell, yeah.” Maybe it would dispel the ick that clung to Elise. Plus, get rid of the haint.

The light changed, and they crossed to enter the boisterous establishment. Elise held the door and searched for the ghost. It hovered at the edge of the cemetery gazing in their direction. But it had not followed. Relieved, Elise hurried after her new sisters.

NO GHOSTS ALLOWED, a prominent sign declared.

“Hey, ‘Leesy!” Alexis crowed, hiking her thumb at it and pretend-swiping her brow.

“Phew, indeed!” Elise belly laughed, surprising herself. When was the last time she had done that?

Then, in the irritating way she’d had when they were little, Alexis snapped her fingers in front of Elise’s nose. “Earth to ‘Lees—WHOA!” Elise had instinctively reached for her sidearm, and Honey leapt backward, hands high in surrender.

Luckily, Elise came up empty. Her gun was locked in a safe at Wren’s Roost, where she and Ham were staying.

“How about here?” the hostess trilled just then.

“Perfect,” grinned Rona.

When she slid into the booth near the back corner, Elise marveled. Despite having just found out her wealthy husband was screwing an intern and wanted a divorce, Rona sat there glowing and ordering drinks.

“We’re celebrating. Bring us a pitcher of margaritas with frosted glasses and salted rims.” It was a command, not a request. But a very respectful, well-mannered one. Elise grinned.

“Works for me.”

Regarding Rona with new appreciation, she slid in beside her and took the menu the hostess offered. Honey smirked and claimed the bench across from them, bouncing her tattooed eyebrows up and down.

While the young girl recited the day’s specials, Elise and Rona struggled not to laugh at Honey’s silly facial expressions. But when the hostess finally left to turn in their drink order, all three grown-ass women dissolved into snickers, giggles, and snorts.

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Chapter 2, La Mañana Rosa

The women disappeared inside the restaurant Sean O’Leary had been surveilling. He wrung his useless ethereal hands and hovered above the cemetery fence, reluctant to enter the establishment. Not because La Mañana Rosa was a front for the Mexican cartel. But ghosts weren’t allowed. Sean, in particular.

And the manager on duty had the sight.

Sean had gotten himself killed over an investigation. Why? Because he refused to turn a blind eye after the muckety-mucks slammed the door on his case. Now, two years later, people were still disappearing off the street at an alarming rate.

Sean had recognized two of the women. They were druids, and one was his sort-of aunt. The one his Da had told him was a badass. Sean could tell from her behavior in the cemetery that she could see him. If he could talk her into helping him, they could finally bring the shitshow crashing down.

But that meant the erstwhile GBI agent had to suck it up and go inside. He bounced up and down above the iron fence, and growled so loud in frustration that the ghosts in the old section heard and took up the ululation.

With their ghoulish accompaniment, Sean crossed over the traffic, steeled his nerves, and squeezed through the door before it closed behind a group of girls who looked too young to be drinking. Then, balking at the noise and gaggle of flesh, he carefully avoided Emilio to thread through the small dining rooms.

When he finally spied the gorgeous blonde with triple-D honkers in the last room near the side entrance, Sean sighed in relief. Then, stationing himself behind a dusty banana palm, he settled in to wait.

☼☼☼

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