Forgotten Spirits Read online

  Forgotten Spirits

  A No Ordinary Women Mystery

  Barbara Deese

  North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.

  St. Cloud, Minnesota

  Copyright © 2014 Barbara Deese

  Cover art by Jake Karwoski, Monster of the Midwest, LLC

  Author photo by Karen Beltz

  All rights reserved.

  Print ISBN: 978-0-87839-768-6

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-87839-843-0

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition: September 2014

  Published by

  North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.

  P.O. Box 451

  St. Cloud, Minnesota 56302

  “It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all . . .”

  –J.K. Rowling

  Acknowledgements

  The No Ordinary Women mysteries did not come into being without the help, support and advice of a lot of extraordinary people in my life.

  Many thanks to all of you who read the manuscript along the way and helped to make it a better book: My wonderful critique group—Wally Roers, Karen Beltz and Ethan Boatner—plus Carolyn Pittman, Mickie Turk, Christine Glendenning, Dorothy Olson, Mary Ross, Mary Murphy and Bob Deese.

  The Twin Cities Chapter of Sisters in Crime has been wonderfully encouraging, informative, and just plain fun. Thank you all.

  A special thank you to Doug Wills, retired commander of the St. Paul Police Department and currently Minnesota State Lottery’s chief of security. Since I have no personal experience in criminal behavior, I have to rely on the experts. If I’ve misrepresented anything in describing a crime scene or police behavior in a murder investigation, the fault is all mine.

  To Corinne at North Star Press. Your actions in bringing this book to print in the face of a huge time crunch were heroic. Thank you!

  To all the readers who have loved the previous books and their characters—Your overwhelmingly positive response is what keeps me writing when I don’t feel like it. By recommending the books to friends and inviting me to your book clubs, you’ve been the reward that makes the work worthwhile.

  And speaking of book clubs, my own continues to inspire and support. Dorothy Olson, Jane Anderson, Kay Livingston, Laura Utley, Linnea Stromberg-Wise, Mary Ellen Hennen, Mary Murphy, Mary Pat Ladner, Mary Ross, Pat Almsted: You are every bit as fabulous as the No Ordinary Women of the books.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  DECEMBER, late 1990s

  The six of them, three women and three men, spilled from the front door of the club, rosy cheeked and laughing. All three women were long-legged and striking. The one with glossy, dark-brown hair was draped in a fringed shawl. One wore a sleek platinum bob and a faux fur jacket. The third one had a pouf of hair the color of a red fox. Shivering in the chill desert air, she knotted her wool scarf over her coat.

  The last of the three men to exit was almost as wide as the door. Swinging an arm over the blonde’s shoulder, he said in his booming voice, “So a blond, a brunette, and a redhead go into a bar.”

  They laughed.

  One of the men had a Burger King crown perched on his head, and three bright lip prints on his cheeks. He was the only one of the six who appeared to be inebriated. “I got one. What do Italians and alligators have in common?” he said, slapping the skinny guy on the back. Before anyone could guess, he said, “They wear the same shoes.”

  They all looked down at his shoes, laughing again.

  “I shouldn’t have had that last drink,” the guy wearing the crown said.

  The brunette nuzzled up to him as they moved down the nearly deserted street. In her heels, she was half a foot taller than her boyfriend. “It’s your birthday,” she said, starting them on another round singing the Beatles’ birthday song.

  The skinny guy in a leather jacket and pointy, alligator shoes drummed on the redhead’s back with his fingertips. When they’d sung a few lines, he slipped his arm around her and pointed to a car parked ahead of them on the street. The yellow Lamborghini reflected lights from the sign above a seedy little bar. “One of these days we’re gonna drive a car just like that,” he said to her.

  She stiffened imperceptibly. “Before or after we buy a house and have kids?” she asked.

  “We’re gonna have it all, my little fox. You’ll see.” He tugged her by the arm and led her to the car. They walked all the way around it, caressing the gleaming metal. “I think I like yellow,” he said, “but we can get it in any color you want.”

  The blonde and the huge man struck a gangster pose against a big, black Cadillac Eldorado parked behind the Lamborghini. She pulled up her skirt to show the full length of her shapely legs and leaned against him. He held a pretend tommy gun across his big chest. The dark-haired woman and the man in the party hat pulled out imaginary weapons and staged a slow-motion gunfight, unable to contain their laughter. When the hilarity wore off, the three couples resumed their decorum and moved on.

  Walking along the street in old downtown Las Vegas, they were nearing the corner where they would split up and go in separate directions, when suddenly, a man appeared from around the corner, running straight toward them, feet pounding and arms pumping. As he whipped his head around to look behind him, he bumped into the shoulder of one of the partiers, causing him to drop a bag, which rolled along the gutter. The running man crossed the street without looking back or losing speed.

  The birthday boy lost his Burger King crown when he stooped to pick up the black insulated cooler bag with both hands. “I do believe that man just gave me a birthday present,” he said, a grin spreading across his face as he showed them the broken strap. But before he could unzip the bag, a long black car screeched around the corner. The six of them froze. Tires squealed. Two blocks ahead, the running man picked up speed. A gunshot rang out. He lurched, and it looked like he might catch his balance, but then his feet faltered, and his momentum drove him forward several ungainly steps before he crumpled on the pavement.

  “Holy shit!” said the skinny guy. The rest of them were speechless.

  The dark-haired woman was the first to act. “Everybody get in my car!” she yelled. “It’s just around the corner!”


  Racing like their lives depended on it, all six of them jammed themselves into her car and sped off. The birthday boy didn’t even realize he was still gripping the cooler in his hands.

  If he could have known how much that cooler would change their lives, he would have chucked it out the window.

  Chapter 1

  Fat snowflakes drifted down slowly, but steadily, whitewashing old dingy snow with a sparkly new layer. Snow outlined red-ribboned garlands and turned shrubbery white around the stately mansions. Had it not been for the cars lining Summit Avenue, this historic part of Saint Paul would look little different from photos taken a century earlier. Picture perfect, and just in time for the Christmas season.

  Walking their dogs, Catherine Running Wolf and Foxy Tripp chatted as they made their way down an increasingly slippery sidewalk.

  Already overheated in thick wool mittens and felted wool hat, Catherine held both leashes in one hand so she could unzip her down jacket. “The guy was just standing on the street below, staring up at your window? You couldn’t see anything that would identify him?”

  “Nope. I can’t even say it was a guy, although the silhouette made me assume it was a man with his hands in his pockets. I think he was wearing a stocking cap.”

  “If he was in silhouette, is it possible he wasn’t even looking in your direction?”

  Foxy stopped. Facing Cate, she said, “When I moved to the other window, I thought his head might have turned.”

  “That’s creepy. How long was he there?”

  “I don’t know. I stepped away from the window and turned off the light. It took me a minute to get up the nerve, but when I crawled back in the dark to peek out the window again, he was gone.”

  Cate gave a little shudder. “I don’t like the sounds of that! What are you going to do?”

  “What can I do? It’s not against the law to stand on the street and look at someone’s house.”

  “But you said you were getting hang-up calls too. Did you check caller ID?”

  Foxy’s reddish curls bounced when she nodded her head. “Of course I did, Cate. It just says ‘unknown caller.’”

  “Maybe they’re robocalls,” said Cate. Carlton trotted along next to her, keeping pace as if he were an extension of his owner. The black lab had been particularly protective of her in the months since Cate’s somewhat reckless decision had inadvertently put herself and others, including both of her dogs, in peril. “Or someone dialing the wrong number.”

  Foxy nodded. “Could be. Each thing is unnerving and can be explained, but together—”

  “I know! It does sound sinister. I’m thinking you shouldn’t stay there.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Foxy said, too quickly. “I’m just letting my imagination go a little nuts. It’s probably nothing.” When Cate began to protest, Foxy pressed her lips together and then said she didn’t want to talk about it any more.

  Cate frowned. “You sure?”

  When Foxy nodded, Cate said, “Okay, but you have to tell me if anything else happens. In the meantime, we’ll just enjoy this gorgeous winter day.”

  Foxy looked around. “It is gorgeous, isn’t it?” Slipping the leash onto her wrist, she scooped up a handful of snow and clumped it into a dense ball. “It’s snowman weather!”

  “What does a Nevada girl know about snowmen?”

  “I wasn’t always from Nevada.” She tossed the snowball at a lamppost. It hit with a dull thwack.

  Cate knew Foxy had spent her childhood a hundred miles or so north of the Twin Cities, in a small town where her mother still lived. Only a few days ago, Foxy had described a recent meal at the nursing home. It sounded like a dismal affair, an easily chewed meal of turkey loaf, mushy carrots, and gluey mashed potatoes with gravy, served family-style at tables of four. After supper, staff had gathered them all in the living room to watch a Perry Como Christmas video. Foxy had been shocked to see her former pastor there—a once powerful force in their small community, now confined to a wheelchair, where he’d dozed off with his head lolling on his chest. The whole scene made Cate grateful her own mother still lived independently.

  They looked up when a horn honked, and watched a car slide through the intersection, unable to stop on the icy road. Other cars fishtailed as they braked to avoid a collision.

  At the corner, they allowed ample time for cars to pass before crossing the street. Mitsy, Cate’s patchwork dog, kept plugging along, but Cate could see she was getting tired. It had been over a year since the dog had sustained an injury while protecting her mistress, but her stamina wasn’t what it used to be. “Let’s turn around,” Cate said.

  Foxy, who’d devoted her life to healing not just humans but their pets, nodded and reached out to touch Mitsy’s flank. “I can do some more Reiki on her.”

  “Would you?” Cate had her own way of communicating with animals, and had seen for herself how Mitsy responded to Foxy’s ministrations. When they arrived at Cate’s house, just half a block off Summit, she invited Foxy to come in.

  Foxy ducked her head. “Thanks, but Bill’s coming over at seven.” She shifted uncomfortably.

  Cate grinned. The whole book club had met Sheriff Bill Harley during a murder investigation. Although they’d come to trust him and even like him, the others were taken aback when Foxy told them last year that she and the Wisconsin sheriff were dating. As soon as they’d asked questions, she’d cut off further conversation by saying, “Would you all mind if we just didn’t talk about it until I sort things out?” That approach, as far as Cate could tell, had only stirred up more conjecture.

  Cate turned to face her, raising her left eyebrow. “He still drives all the way from Wisconsin just for a massage?” she teased.

  Clearly, Foxy wasn’t in a joking mood. “I have a legitimate massage business. We have ethical guidelines, so as soon as he asked me out, he stopped being my client. If I choose to do bodywork on him, it’s as a friend. Just the way I volunteer with the seniors at Meadowpoint Manor.”

  Foxy could be so prickly! Hearing the rebuke in her friend’s response, Cate mumbled an apology. “Wait a sec while I let the dogs in, and I’ll walk you home,” she added. When Foxy began to protest, Cate said, “I insist.”

  * * *

  Standing on the screened porch, the man hunched his shoulders, bracing against the cold. He double checked the address and pushed the doorbell once more. When no one answered, he pressed the two other doorbells and pounded on the door with wind-chapped fists. Stepping over to the front window and standing on tiptoes, he tried to peer through the crack in the drapes, but the room lay in deep shadow.

  Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, slipped one out and wedged it between his lips. Rubbing his hands together, he thought about what it would be like to see Foxy face to face after all these years. She’d probably slam the door in his face.

  He flicked his lighter, and the cigarette glowed as he sucked on it. Immediately he tucked his ungloved hands under his armpits. Wind pierced his clothing, and he knew he didn’t have the stamina to stand on her porch much longer. He hated to leave now, but the light on his gas gauge had gone on while he’d idled the engine in front of her house, and he couldn’t risk running out of gas.

  Exhaling, he watched the smoke curl in the air and turned his attention to the black SUV coming down the block. He’d seen it twice already. This time it slowed and came to a stop, double-parked in front of the house. Realizing the cigarette’s glow made him visible, he stubbed it out on the conveniently placed ashtry when he saw the driver’s head turn in his direction.

  As soon as the vehicle drove off, he slipped off the porch, jumping into his car before the SUV made another pass. Shoulders slumped in disappointment, he went off in search of a gas station and a warm meal.

  * * *

  Up ahead,
Foxy’s building, a once-stately Victorian home, now subdivided into apartments, came into view. When she took her daily walk down Summit Avenue, Foxy never failed to marvel that even though she didn’t rub shoulders with the movers and shakers in Minnesota’s state capitol, her modest apartment was in the same neighborhood as these amazing mansions, including the English Tudor governor’s residence and the Georgian Revival next to it, which was owned by the college women’s club.

  Tonight she’d left lights on, and she could see her black cat, Elvis, stretched out on the windowsill in her second-story window.

  Cate and Foxy walked a little more before Foxy noticed indentations in the snow on the sidewalk and up the steps of her house. They’d been made very recently. Since she shared the house with other residents, footprints in the snow should have caused no alarm, but as soon as she saw them, her hand tightened on the dog’s leash.

  She felt Cate’s eyes on her.

  “I’ll go up with you,” Cate offered.

  Foxy shook her head. “I’m good.” She noticed the concern in her friend’s eyes as Cate scanned her face.

  “Well then, I’ll wait here. Just wave to me from your window so I know you’re okay.”

  Foxy nodded. Molly Pat tugged on her leash. Terrier and owner added their own footprints to the scene as they bounded up the front steps and through the screened porch to the front door, where it took a moment for Foxy to fumble her key into the lock.

  Upstairs, she used her second key to unlock the door to her own apartment, which took up most of the second floor. In fact, for the time being, the studio apartment in the back was vacant, and so she had the whole floor to herself.

  Elvis barely showed his arthritis as he hopped off the sill, almost tripping her as he snaked around her ankles.

  She hung up Molly Pat’s leash, shook the snow from her wool coat and unzipped her boots before putting them in the front closet. After doing her ritual three turns, Molly Pat flopped down on her red plaid dog pillow near the kitchen. Only then did Foxy remember to go to the window. She saw Cate’s upturned face and waved to let her know all was well.