‘Alphonse Gabriel Capone, 1899 to 1947. Nasty scar on his face.’ It wasn’t like Eliot Ness couldn’t see the picture I was checking out on my computer screen, but I pointed, anyway. ‘The two of you, you were like sworn enemies, right?’
‘You’ve been watching too many movies, kid.’ The cloud that was Ness hovered just over my desktop, and I pictured him sitting there on the edge of it, his legs casually crossed. ‘Sure, my job was to investigate Prohibition violations. And Capone, he had quite a bootlegging empire. He made millions. But the fact is, I never even saw Capone in person until he appeared in court in 1931. Then, when he was finally convicted on tax evasion charges, I rode along in the procession of cars that accompanied him to the railway station on his way to prison.’
‘So it’s not like the movies?’
‘Is anything?’ Ness asked, and I guess he knew I didn’t need to answer. I saw the cloud move nearer to the screen. ‘He wasn’t a big man, but he was heavy and powerful. Got his start as a bouncer in a bar back in New York. Back when we were compiling information on him, we figured he was personally responsible for ordering at least five hundred murders.’
I looked at the man in the picture, at his smiling face and pudgy cheeks, and I shivered. ‘And he collected elephants?’
‘And played the banjo. Did you know that?’ Ness chuckled. ‘Doesn’t seem like the type, does he? But he did. In fact, when he was in Alcatraz, he joined the prison band. Imagine him strumming away there on that rock in the middle of nowhere.’
It had been more than an hour since Caleb had left the office and Ness and I had been doing research the whole time. I sat back and rubbed my eyes. ‘I guess all that’s interesting, but none of it tells us how to get rid of his ghost.’
‘Would it help if you could see him?’ Ness asked.
Sure, I’d checked out my office when Ness and Caleb first started talking about a malevolent ghost on the loose. And yeah, I’d checked it out a couple more times as I searched online and read about the life and times of Al Capone. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t look around again. Just to be sure.
Certain we were alone, I turned my attention back to Ness. ‘At least I’d know what he was up to then,’ I told him. ‘And then maybe I could figure out what to do next.’
‘You? Figure out what to do next? You’re a detective, remember, kid. You know what’s going on.’
I did. Or at least I thought I did. When Quinn left he said he was on his way to wrap up the McClure case, and by now, I pictured Cindy McClure in handcuffs, scared to death and singing like the proverbial bird.
‘I guess I should be happy, right?’ I’m pretty sure I wasn’t asking Ness, just talking to myself. ‘Dean McClure’s murder is solved, and Cindy might even tell us what happened to your ashes and then you can manifest and take care of Capone once and for all.’
‘So why the long face?’ Ness wanted to know.
I hated sighing because, like Ness said, I was a detective, and I knew detectives weren’t the sighing types. I sighed anyway and covered it up with a grumble, ‘It’s the whole thing with Wally and the ashes. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Evil ghosts and containment spells and spirits possessing the living …’ The sound that came out of Ness wasn’t exactly a chuckle, it was more of a harumph of skepticism. ‘There was a time none of that would have made sense to me, either. In fact, even when I arranged for that spell to be cast there at Capone’s grave back in the forties …’ Why did I have the feeling he was blushing? And running a finger around the inside of his shirt collar, too? ‘I felt silly for doing it, I’ll tell you that. But I figured what the heck, nothing ventured, nothing gained.’
‘It looks like what you did gain was seventy years of peace. At least when it came to Al Capone.’
‘And now that peace has been shattered.’
‘What do you suppose Wally knows about it?’ I asked him. ‘And why would Wally tear apart his own house looking for the ashes? The only reason is that he thought the ashes were there.’
‘Sounds right,’ Ness admitted.
‘But if he knew they were there, why would Wally have to rip his house apart to find them?’ I drummed my fingers on the desk to the same cha-cha rhythm my heart was pounding in my chest.
‘The answers aren’t in dusty old books,’ I said and wished Caleb was there to hear me at the same time I was glad he was long gone. The man made me crazy.
I grabbed my purse and my raincoat, told Ella I was heading out for an early lunch, and went right over to the hospital where Wally had been admitted when he was taken away from his house, bloody and jibbering.
In the gift shop, I bought one of those big Mylar balloons and I wound the string around my fingers and headed for Wally’s room, holding my breath (well, figuratively, anyway) the whole time.
If Wally liked the balloon and thanked me for being his sweet, believe me, I was outta there.
‘What’s that for?’
When he glared at me from where he was propped up in bed and gave the balloon a death-ray look, I nearly jumped for joy. I tied the balloon to the rail on Wally’s bed. ‘It’s from Ella,’ I said because I figured that way he wouldn’t grab the nearest sharp object and get rid of the balloon permanently. ‘She asked me to come over and see how you’re doing.’
‘Ella, huh?’ Wally had just finished his lunch, and he pushed aside the tray. The bowl of green Jell-O on it wiggled. ‘She called, you know.’
I wasn’t surprised.
‘She said she was coming over here to see me. Why isn’t Ella here?’ Wally demanded, looking past me and into the empty doorway. ‘Why did she send you to waste my time?’
Believe me, if I didn’t have an ulterior motive for the visit, I would have been on the elevator and back downstairs before Wally could spit out the next insult. The way it was, I pasted on a smile and, though I hadn’t been invited, I sat down in the green vinyl chair next to Wally’s bed.
‘I’m the one who found you, Wally. I’m the one who called the paramedics,’ I told him.
He shot me a narrow-eyed look before he glanced away, one bandaged hand picking at the white cotton blanket that covered him. ‘I guess I’m supposed to thank you.’
‘No need.’ Was that my voice, all perky and kind? I only hoped I could keep it up. ‘All that matters is that you’re feeling better. I thought maybe …’ I leaned forward and laid a hand on the blanket next to Wally’s right leg. Hey, he might be old and crabby and maybe even recently possessed, but Wally was a guy, right? And guys always notice when I pay them a little extra attention.
‘I thought maybe you could tell me what happened.’
Wally made a noise from deep in his throat. ‘Don’t remember,’ he said.
‘Maybe I can help.’
‘Don’t see why you’d want to.’
‘Because …’ I almost slipped and told him it was because I cared, but let’s face it, even a guy in a hospital bed with a silver balloon decorated with pink flowers on it tied to the rail wouldn’t have believed that. Wally would know bullshit when he heard it. I guess that meant the two of us had something in common. ‘Ella asked me to,’ I told him, lying through my teeth. ‘She told me the two of you started working at Garden View on the same day. She says because of that … well, because of that, she told me she’s always had a special affection for you.’
He darted me a look. ‘Really? Ella, she said that? Well, isn’t she …’ He coughed away the sudden warmth that tinged his voice. ‘She’s just asking because she’s the boss and it’s what she’s supposed to do,’ he grumbled.
‘She is the boss. And she’s your friend. And she asked me what happened over at your house yesterday, but I couldn’t tell her. Because I don’t know. What I do know …’ My hand still on the blanket, I leaned a little nearer. ‘I think it all started last week. The day that package was delivered to me. You remember, Wally. It was a bottle, and my friend, Quinn—’
‘Made a mess of everything!’ Wally’s top lip curled. ‘Made work for me, that’s what he did. Like I don’t have enough to do around that place. Emptying trash cans and keeping the restrooms clean and picking up after you.’ He shot me a look. ‘You’re messy.’
My organizational skills weren’t what I was there to discuss. ‘You did a great job of cleaning up that mess, Wally. And I was just wondering about it. I mean, when you were doing it, after you were done, did you feel any … different?’
‘Don’t be silly, girl. How can cleaning up a mess make somebody feel any different? Only—’ Wally’s eyes clouded over and his expression went blank and, for a second, I was worried about what was happening and what he might say when he snapped back to. ‘Only I got to admit, I don’t … I don’t know how I felt, because I don’t remember much.’
I gulped down the sudden knot in my throat. ‘You remember coming into my office to clean up the broken glass.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I guess I remember that.’
‘And then?’
‘And then …’ Wally was clearly not a man who was used to sharing his feelings. His ears turned red. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted.
‘You don’t remember …’
‘None of it. There you are, telling me I cleaned up that bottle, but it’s like I said, I don’t know. My brain, it’s all foggy.’
‘What’s the next thing you do remember?’ I asked him.
Thinking, he wrinkled his nose. It was a wide nose and so fleshy it reminded me of a lump of bread dough. ‘I guess I must have … I dunno. I guess I must be working too hard. That’s why I needed a little nap. I’m always working too hard, you know. You people, you always make me work too hard.’
I was almost afraid to ask. ‘So you left my office and you took a nap.’
‘I guess so. Only I don’t remember leaving the office. I only remember that I woke up at three or four. Only you can’t dock my hours,’ he was quick to add. ‘It wasn’t like I was loafing or anything. I was just tired. From all the work I do.’
‘Absolutely. I understand.’ Only of course, I didn’t, so I asked, ‘So is that what happened at your house last night, too, Wally? Did you forget what you were doing? Were you maybe sitting in your living room watching TV and then—’
‘Yeah, that’s it. That’s it exactly. I was in the living room, I remember that part now. And I had this idea that I had to look for—’ Wally’s forehead folded into a million wrinkles. ‘Well, I don’t know what I wanted to look for. I only know that something was missing and I had to find it and it was real important.’
‘And the next thing you remember?’
For the first time since I came in the room, Wally looked me in the eye. ‘You,’ he said. ‘You kneeling over me, asking what happened, asking if I was all right. And then the paramedics came and they carried me downstairs and I had a chance to look around and …’ His left hand was bandaged just like the right, and he passed it over his eyes. ‘What happened to my house, Pepper? Because I’ll tell you what, I sure don’t remember anybody coming in and tearing the place up, but that’s what happened, isn’t it? Somebody ripped my house to pieces.’
‘It’s nothing that can’t be fixed,’ I said, sounding like the eternal optimist I am not. ‘Wally, when the paramedics carried you outside, you told me you were looking for ashes.’
‘Ashes? Did I?’ He considered this. ‘What ashes?’
‘I was hoping you could tell me that.’
Wally was not a man who was used to thinking, so he didn’t give it much of a chance. ‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘The only ashes I know anything about are the ones out in the fire pit. You know, when me and my buddies get together on weekends and do a bonfire in the backyard. Why would I be looking for those ashes?’
This I couldn’t say.
What I could say was that I was feeling like I was at a dead end. My feet leaden and my heart heavy, I got up and headed for the door. ‘Feel better, Wally,’ I told him. ‘I bet you’ll be back to work in no time at all.’
He grunted. ‘Place would fall apart without me,’ he said. ‘And not one person ever notices. It’s Wally do this and Wally do that, and Wally does it all, too, and he never forgets anything except—’
‘Except you did forget, Wally. The day you came into my office to clean up the glass. And yesterday when you were at home, and you don’t know what happened and how your house got turned upside down. Both those times, you forgot.’
‘Yeah, you’re right.’ He wasn’t happy about admitting it. ‘And then there was that other time, too.’
Let’s face it, as statements go, this one wasn’t much.
But it sure packed a punch.
The room wasn’t big so it took me no time at all to get back to Wally’s bedside.
‘What other time?’ I asked him and when he didn’t answer fast enough, I grabbed Wally’s hand. ‘What other time?’
As if he wasn’t used to another person’s touch, or maybe because his fingers still hurt, Wally flinched and one by one, he picked my fingers away from his hand. ‘It’s nothing,’ he assured me.
‘Except it might be.’ I stopped just short of slapping one hand against the bed. ‘Wally, you’ve got to tell me. This might be really important.’
‘I don’t see how.’ He scratched a hand over his ear. ‘It was that same day, that day that clumsy friend of yours broke that bottle in your office. You say I cleaned it up, but I dunno …’ As if filling in those empty hours he couldn’t account for, he paused. ‘I woke up eventually ’cause like I said, I was tired from too much work. And I did a few more things. You know, things Ella asked me to do around the building. I cleaned the employee locker room and straightened those pamphlets out on the shelves in the lobby. That kind of stuff.’
‘And you remember all that.’
‘Sure I do,’ Wally told me. ‘And I remember leaving work, too. Drove home the way I always do. Stopped off at the Dew Drop for a shot and a beer just like always, too. And after that …’
I sucked in a breath. ‘After that?’
‘Woke up at home,’ he said. ‘A few hours later. Only, Pepper …’ When Wally raised his eyes to mine, his were moist. ‘There was … My clothes had blood on them.’
Honestly, I couldn’t tell if I was going to get sick or jump for joy. If Wally was possessed by Capone’s spirit, if he was the one who went to McClure’s to steal the ashes, if McClure was home and got in the way …
Sick won out, and I had to sit for a minute until my stomach settled down and, when it finally did, I was able to cough away the tightness in my throat and say, ‘When you got the blood on your clothes, Wally, you might have taken something. Not that you meant to do it,’ I added quickly because I could see by the way Wally’s lips puckered that he was about to deny it. ‘But you weren’t thinking straight. Just like that morning when you cleaned up the bottle. What you took, Wally, I think it was a box, a wooden box about this big.’ I held my hands out to demonstrate. ‘It had ashes in it, Wally.’
He scrunched up his nose. ‘Why would I want ashes?’
‘It wasn’t you. Well, it was, but …’ I shook off the rest of the explanation because, let’s face it, crabby or not, Wally was a logical (well, mostly) human being, and he wouldn’t have believed a word of what I could have told him. ‘I think you took the ashes home with you, Wally, and you put them somewhere for safekeeping.’ Yeah, I left out the part about how that must have been after Capone’s spirit had left him and about how that same nasty ghost must have shown up again and demanded that Wally produce the ashes and when he couldn’t, how Capone’s energy and Capone’s anger and Capone’s spite drove Wally to destroy the house looking for them. ‘I know you don’t remember, Wally, but it’s really, really important for us to find that little box.’
He shook his head. ‘If it was in my house, I would have found it, don’t you think? From what I saw, I must have looked everywhere.’
I knew this, and this did not bode well for finding Ness’s ashes, but before I could consider what my next move should be, Wally grabbed my hand and held on tight.
‘You ain’t gonna tell Ella, are you? If she finds out I’ve been forgetting things, she might think something’s wrong with me.’
‘Don’t worry.’ I gave him as much of a smile as I could muster. ‘I won’t say a word to Ella. I won’t say a word to anyone.’
OK, this was not exactly one hundred percent true, because now that I finally had a solid theory about the case, I would have to share the news with Quinn. It all made sense, about Wally forgetting and Wally tearing his house apart and maybe even about Wally killing Dean McClure.
If he was possessed …
I gulped down my panic, said goodbye to Wally and, all the way back out to my car, I tried to line up what Wally had told me with what I knew about the strange things that had been going on since the day McClure had brought that bottle to my office. After Ella almost ran me down at the cemetery, she had no idea what had happened and slept the sleep of the dead when she got home. After my mom tried to choke the life out of me, she assumed she’d fainted and had taken to her bed for a few days after, exhausted and confused. After Quinn visited the murder scene, he’d snatched up the fountain pen holder and tucked it in his closet.
They’d all been possessed, and Wally had been, too.
I hated to rain on anyone’s arrest-the-perp parade, but I had to let Quinn know, and I made the call as soon as I got back to my car and, since he didn’t answer, I left him a message.
‘I’m pretty sure Cindy McClure didn’t do it,’ I told him. ‘And I’m pretty sure I know what happened to the ashes. I’ll explain it all tonight.’
Nervous energy being what it is, I worked like a demon that day. I scheduled four tours for the upcoming weeks, talked to Chet Houston about stories for the next newsletter, and even managed to return a bunch of the phone calls that had been piling up on my desk.
The second the clock struck five, I headed right over to Quinn’s.
Yeah, yeah, I know he said six, but I had a key, and I knew he wouldn’t mind if I got there early. As soon as he got home, we could discuss what I’d learned about the McClure case and then get down to dinner and everything that I was counting on happening after.
At his door, I regretted not stopping home to change into something slinky. No matter, I told myself, shoving my key in the lock, with any luck I’d be out of these clothes soon enough and then their relative slinkiness wouldn’t matter.
I pushed open his door and stopped cold.
Quinn’s loft is a wonder. Glass, metal, views of the city, soft lighting, warm wood. I don’t know beans about architectural styles, but sleek and modern always came to mind. Clean and slick and uncluttered. Like his mind.
Except that day, there was something new in the front entryway.
It was as big as an end table and, in fact, since the top of it was flat, I guess that’s what it was supposed to be. Except this table was ceramic.
Hulking.
Gray.
Ceramic.
Elephant.
My heart was already pounding when I realized it was keeping beat to the soft music I heard playing from somewhere inside the loft.
‘Quinn!’ My voice shook when I called his name. ‘Are you here?’ I sidestepped around the elephant – its trunk raised in greeting – and stepped into the wide open great room with its floor-to-ceiling windows, it’s killer view of downtown Cleveland.
And more elephants.
Dozens and dozens of elephants.
There were little stone elephants on the coffee table and more of them lined up on the fireplace mantel.
There was a giant, stuffed elephant on the couch. And a colorful elephant quilt tossed over the back of the nearest chair. An elephant stared down at me, its tusks gleaming and a cartoonish smile on its face, from a painting over the fireplace that had replaced the painting I knew Quinn had paid a bundle for – a sapphire, amber, and maroon splotchy mess that he’d told me was a perfect example of Lyrical Abstraction (whatever that is) and always reminded me of the stuff I’d done in preschool that my mom had hung onto.
Evening light crawled through the windows on the far wall of the room and dappled all those elephants – with all their trunks raised – with gold.
And that music, it kept on playing.
I’d been so stunned by the sudden (and don’t tell Quinn I said it, but I have to add the word tacky) change in decor, I’d barely paid any attention, but now, the plinking, strumming melody wormed its way through my bloodstream and stopped my heart cold.
‘Quinn?’ I called out to him but didn’t get an answer.
But then, I guess that was to be expected because I found him in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed with a faraway look in his eyes.
He was playing the banjo, and he didn’t even pay any attention to me until I was five feet from him.
That’s when he looked up, grinned, and said, ‘Hello, my sweet!’