Getting in the Spirit (Violetta Graves Mysteries) Read online

  Getting in the Spirit

  Michele Bardsley

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  1

  “I can’t take it anymore!” I declared as I thunked my serving tray onto the bar top. The empty glasses rattled. Marvin, one of the many bartenders employed by The Mansion Resort & Casino, looked at me in sympathy. He was short, stout, and wore his hair slicked back. He was also in his sixties, as far as I could tell. He had a crooked grin, which just lent to his “made man” appearance. Sometimes old Vegas shone through the gossamer curtains of modern times.

  He absently rubbed water spots from a highball glass with a white towel. “Tough crowd, Violetta?”

  “The worst.” I knew he was referring to the casino customers, but I was talking about the goddamned ghosts. A week ago, I’d gotten upgraded from the nickel slots and now sauntered around the quarter slots, taking beverage orders from drunk asshats, desperate housewives, and cranky old ladies. Some upgrade.

  Plus, there was one cranky old lady I really wanted to kill.

  But she was already dead.

  Laverna Claremont. She’d been on my ass about her last earthly wish to pull the handle on a one-armed bandit. If I did that, she promised, she would move on to the Great Casino in the Sky. Yeah, right. I’d fallen for her ruse once before—and she hadn’t left. She informed me that I hadn’t waited for her to point out the correct slot machine. I informed her that she was a Scammer McScammyPants and refused to be baited again.

  “You need a better bra,” said Laverna. She floated about a foot off the ground and smoked a cigarette. Sorta. Ghosts could manifest however they wanted, especially ghosts who’d been around for a long time.

  In her heyday, Laverna had been a real looker. She’d been in Vegas in the mob days and even dated a few wise guys before she met her husband Robert. Robert had died two years before Laverna, but he’d been a good ghost and exited the earthly plane.

  However, his irritating wife refused to leave her old stomping grounds. Like a lot of hotels, The Mansion was “new” but built on the same property where the Gold Kimono used to be—and that was where Laverna had been when she’d keeled over. So I’d inherited her when I got the job.

  Woo.

  “You look like you’re walking around with two sad sacks of oatmeal.”

  “I think you’re mistaking my boobs for yours,” I said under my breath.

  “Ha, ha. I have breast implants. I was buried tits up.”

  I couldn’t help it. I snorted a laugh.

  “The better your cleavage, the better your tips, so hoist them babies up, honey.” Her low, raspy voice, from too many years of smoking and drinking, grated my nerves. She shimmied her shoulders, jiggling her breasts. I had to admit, those babies were impressive. “Cocktail waitressing is for the birds. You should shake that money maker and make some real green.”

  Oh, God. I turned my back on her, but Laverna reappeared in front of me instantly. With her teased blonde hair, thick blue eyeshadow, inappropriately tight black dress, and orthopedic white shoes, she looked like an escapee from the retired hookers home. I had to bite back a smile. Okay, okay. I liked the old broad.

  Laverna drew deeply on her cigarette and blew smoke into the air. I stopped short of trying to inhale the nonexistent wisps. I was on month three of breaking my bad habit, and you know what? I missed cigarettes. Nicotine was the best stress reliever ever. Too bad smoking would eventually kill you.

  “I’m taking off,” I said. I took my tips out of my apron pocket and handed Marvin his cut. I always gave the bartenders extra. Doing so greased the wheels for faster service. The faster I served drinks, the more money I could make.

  “Thanks, Vie. See you later.”

  My legs ached and my feet throbbed from being on the floor for the last eight hours. My shifts began at midnight and ended at seven a.m. By the time I put my work shit in my locker, got my purse, and clocked out, it was going on eight a.m.

  Ugh.

  I was ready to go home and pass out. For two weeks.

  Stupid adulting.

  When I pulled into the driveway of my sister’s McMansion, I saw her estranged husband’s Mercedes taking up the space in what I had come to think of “my spot.” I backed out and parked at the curb. My piece-of-shit car was so heinous, Darren Dickhead hated when I “blatantly displayed” the car in front of his fancy house. And to me, that was incentive to not only park there, but to make sure my vehicle remained dirty and reprehensible. Not a difficult task considering it was a rolling junk heap that hadn’t seen a car wash in decades.

  If you think I hold grudges, you’d be right. Especially against cheating bastards like my sister’s husband. I was also prone to revenge, which is why my key might have accidentally scraped a line down the Mercedes’ shiny black paint.

  Oops.

  I heard the raised voices before I even opened the door. I was glad my four-year-old nephew, Justin, was at Longview’s Academy for Pre-Kindergarten Gifted Children.

  Seriously. That was the place’s actual name. Back in my childhood days, we called those daycares. After Deidre and Darren officially separated, my sister had enrolled Justin into the School with the Ridiculous Name so that her son had time away from the tension at home and, I guess, to learn shit. Deirdre shared my genetics, so the fact the school cost a fortune and made a dent in Darren’s pocketbook was cold frosting on the revenge cake.

  Don’t mess with the Graves sisters. We will cut a bitch.

  I sucked in a steadying breath and opened the door.

  “I’m hoooooooome!” I sing-songed.

  The argument stopped. I walked into the kitchen and took in the scene. Darren, fists clenched, stood a foot away from Deidre, who seemed to have lockjaw from gritting her teeth. Both of their faces were painted red with fury.

  “You have to move out,” said Darren to me.

  “No, she doesn’t.” Deirdre looked ready to leap on her husband and claw out his eyes. I put my purse and shoes on the granite counter. Darren’s eyes alighted on the stiletto heels, and he ground his teeth.

  “This is my house,” said Darren, his gaze switching back to Deirdre. “And your freeloading sister isn’t going to live on my dime a second longer.”

  “Oh. So you think because you’re the breadwinner, you get to dictate who lives in the house?”

  Whoa. I wish I had popcorn as I watched this drama. I leaned a hip against the counter, arms folded, smiling.

  “You’re damn right,” said Darren.

  “Fuck you,” said my sister. “You don’t get to decide shit.”

  “Don’t you disre—“ Darren stopped and turned an indignant gaze on me. “Do you mind?”

  “Nope.” I widened my smile. Not in a friendly way. More like a happy snarl.

  “This is none of your business.”

  “So what?”

  My response floored him. He was an assistant district attorney. You’d think a trial lawyer would have better comebacks, but I’d made him mute.

  Score one for Violetta.

  Darren pointed a quivering finger at Deidre. “You will do what I want, or I will have your bitch sister removed by force.”

  “Aw,” I interrupted, “you gave me a pet name.
”

  Darren glanced at me, pure hatred burning in his eyes. Then he returned his heinous attention to my baby sister. “Remember, custody of Justin and living in this house are temporary measures. When we go to court for the divorce, you’ll walk away with the clothes on your back and nothing else. Especially not my son.”

  With that brutal pronouncement, Darren spun around and stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

  “Asshole!” screamed my sister.

  Tears fell down Deirdre’s cheeks. Her sorrowful expression made my heart drop to my toes. I wanted to throat punch my idiot brother-in-law. Fucking asshat. Nobody makes my sister cry—unless it’s me. I put my arms around Dee and hugged her hard.

  “If it helps,” I said as Deirdre wept on my shoulder, “I keyed his precious Mercedes.”

  Deirdre choked out a laugh. “That’s awesome.”

  I drew back. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Dee. But if me being here is going to screw up things for you, then I’ll go somewhere else.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I don’t care what fuckface says.” Her words were brave, but I saw trepidation in her gaze. Darren’s threats weren’t empty, and we both knew it. He had all kinds of connections—lawyers and cops and judges. He could, and probably would, make life hell for Dee.

  “If he’s mean to you again, I’ll send ghosts after his ass.”

  Deirdre’s eyes widened. “You can do that?”

  “I can try.”

  She laughed, sniffled, and heaved a breath. “Thanks, Vie.”

  “That’s what I’m here for—hugs and sarcasm.”

  My cell phone belted out the chorus from Baby Got Back.

  “Really?” said Dee. “Shouldn’t Matt’s ringtone be Bad Boys?”

  “The man has a perfect ass,” I defended.

  Dee smirked, and I was relieved to find the defiant spark had returned to her eyes. Good. She was back in fighter mode. Fierce Deirdre was so much better than Fearful Deirdre.

  I dug into my purse and grabbed the cell. My heart tripled its beat. Matt, homicide detective and not-quite boyfriend, had made himself scarce the last few weeks. You know, after he found out that I talked to spirits. I had to out myself to catch a vile serial killer and put to rest the spirits of the children the bastard had murdered.

  I think we were still dating, but I’ll admit I’d been waiting for the “It’s not me, it’s your ghosts,” speech.

  “Hey, Matt,” I said trying to avoid excited-cheerleader voice. Crap. I sounded like chipmunk-on-crack instead. Gah!

  “Hi, Vie. How are you?”

  “Awesome.”

  “That’s good.” He paused.

  I could feel his unease seep from the phone into my body. Oh, no. He was breaking up with me.

  “I don’t know how to say this. I… uh…”

  “Don’t want to see me anymore?” I said. “Fine. I don’t want to see you, either.”

  “Wait. What? You’re breaking up with me?”

  My hurt turned to confusion. “No, you’re breaking up with me.”

  “The hell I am.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Then never mind.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Hello? Matt?”

  “I know I haven’t been around, Vie. I’m sorry. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend time with you. It’s just the life of a homicide detective, okay?”

  “Okay.” My inner lovesick teenager let out an undignified scream of joy. Get a grip, woman. “Then why are you calling?”

  “God. I can’t believe I’m even considering this.” He sucked in a breath. “We have a weird death. Beyond weird. I don’t even know where to begin. I was wondering if you would drop by and see if … shit.” He huffed out another breath and his voice lowered. “See if the guy’s ghost is hanging around.”

  2

  “I don’t want you to freak out,” said Matt as he let me into the back entrance of the Black Dragon Hotel & Casino. The property was a fairly new addition to the Strip. Its main claim to fame was the black dragon wrapped around the exterior of the garishly red building. At certain times throughout the day, the dragon would roar and scare the hell out of delighted tourists.

  “You know I talk to dead people, right?”

  I stepped inside the dimly lit interior. Matt yanked me into his arms and kissed me so passionately, my knees almost buckled. He pulled back and looked at me. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” The silence stretched between us as we gazed into each other’s eyes. My heart skipped a beat. Aaaaaaaaaand … it’s gone. Okay. Not really. I still felt crazy gaga for the man. I’m just not that great with romantic crap. “Um … by the way, why would I freak out?”

  “You’ve seen corpses, but this is different.”

  I’d seen a total of two dead bodies in the last couple of months, and I wasn’t keen on seeing anymore. It was bad enough dealing with a ghost’s death image, which could be gross and disconcerting. I wasn’t sure I wanted to view a stiff with the potential to unnerve me.

  “Are you going to get in trouble?” I asked. “I’ve seen enough murder shows to know civilians aren’t allowed around crime scenes.”

  “True. That’s why we’re making this quick. C’mon.” He grabbed my hand and led me through a room filled with equipment, slot machines, chairs, and other miscellaneous items. We went through another door, down a hallway and into yet another room. It was large and empty, its floor concrete and its walls gray.

  “Why does it smell like pee in here?”

  “This is usually where they stow the animals.” Matt stopped just short of the exit. “Have you heard of David Criss?”

  “Isn’t that the guy who tried to freeze himself in a giant block ice in Times Square?”

  “Yeah. That’s him. He was going to be the new headliner for the Black Dragon. He called himself a purveyor of magical realism.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Bullshit and lies,” said Matt. “The hallmark of an illusionist.” He gestured around us. “This is the prep area for the show. This door takes us backstage—we go straight through it to the main stage. That’s where the murder victim is.” He glanced around. “You … uh, don’t see him, do you?”

  “Nope. This zone is ghost-free.”

  He looked disappointed. “I’ve cleared the scene. The coroner’s been delayed, so the body stays where it is. CSI hasn’t finished processing, so don’t touch anything and don’t move around. You have five minutes before people get suspicious, and I have to explain why my girlfriend is visiting my crime scene.”

  I know this was a serious moment and all, but please note that Matt called me his girlfriend. Yes, I squeed on the inside. Because I am pre-teen with a crush apparently. “What about your partner?” I asked, referring to Detective Joseph Monetti.

  “Joe’s at the hospital. His mother had a heart attack, and she’s in intensive care.”

  “Oh, man.” Poor Monetti. I didn’t know the guy that well, but I still felt bad for him.

  Matt took my hand and led me through the door into the backstage area. I saw a couple of uniformed police officers standing nearby. The tall one with wavy black hair and a suspicious stare caught my attention. His eyes narrowed and his face twisted into a scowl. Wow. Someone needed another hit of espresso. Mean Cop’s gaze flicked to Matt as he herded me past them, and then I was facing a thick black curtain.

  “Good thing you’re wearing sneakers,” said Matt. “You need to put on overshoes.” He pointed down to a gray box filled with blue plastic. I watched as he placed each of his feet inside the box. When he was done, his Converses were covered. “Your turn.”

  I did the same, and soon my worn tennis shoes were covered in the blue plastic, too. Matt pushed back the curtain. We stepped out. The stage was brightly lit—and its shiny black surface was empty. “Is the body invisible?” I asked, only half-joking.

  “Look up, Vie.”

  I gazed
upward.

  Holy shit.

  Holy fucking shit.

  Holy fucking motherfucking shit.

  Pieces of tuxedo-clad human hung in the air like a garish display of party balloons. Except these were floating limbs: legs, arms, and torso. They dangled by thin wire, nearly invisible, and moved as though stirred by a gentle breeze.

  “Where’s the dude’s head?” I swallowed my gorge. Those were words I never thought I’d utter, and thanks to being a ghost whisperer, I’d said a lot of weird things.

  “We haven’t found it.”

  “Ew.” I noted another anomaly. Anomaly? Oh, lord. I was using Deirdre words. Damn her and her addiction to the Investigation Discovery Channel. “Where’s all the blood?”

  “Good question. We think the body was drained and frozen before being separated and displayed.” Matt squeezed my shoulder. “Criss was working on a new illusion called the Puppet Master. Those should be fake body parts. He had a custom built mannequin made in his image. We found it in his dressing room.”

  Not even marathoning Forensic Files with Dee had prepared me for seeing a human puzzle. I pressed a hand against my roiling stomach and tore my gaze away from the horrifying sight.

  “Do you see his ghost?” Matt asked. “I mean if anyone would stick around after dying, it would have to be this guy, right?”

  “I’m the only one here,” said a female voice right next to my ear.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin. I rammed into Matt, who stumbled as he caught me. Then I turned to stare at the girl wearing impeccable make-up, an impossible hairdo, a glittery dress, and an entertainer’s smile. “Hi. I’m Annette.”

  “Hey,” I said. “I’m Violetta.” I straightened and moved away from Matt. I looked over my shoulder and noted his WTF expression. Well, if he couldn’t see her, then she was probably a ghost. Spirits looked like real people to me, and sometimes I couldn’t tell the difference between those alive and those not-alive. “You’re dead?”