The Ghost Files 3 Page 3

  I nod and relax. Yeah, whatever. I can deal with this dad-stuff later. If they’d sprung him on me today, not sure what might have happened. I have to face all the messed-up crap surrounding my kidnapping and Dan’s. At least today, I won’t have to deal with a father I’ve never met.

  “Nancy will meet us at the police station,” Mrs. Cross continues. “She wants a DNA sample to run against Mr. Crane’s to make sure you’re his daughter.”

  Nancy Moriarity is my social worker, and some kind of lady. She’s the reason I’m in a good place. She never gave up on me, even when I sabotaged every decent home she’d put me in. Nancy made me understand I had to work hard at school and get good grades if I wanted a way out of the life I was in, and a scholarship to a good school could do that. She gave me a reason to get myself straight. I owe her a lot. Even being so selfish, I do understand what she did for me. Any other social worker would have tossed me in a group home and been done with it.

  “We’re here,” Mary announces, making me look up. The first thing I see is Dan’s beat up old Chevy pick-up. He’s in the middle of ‘fixing it up’, or so he says. It looks like a piece of junk, but he loves that truck.

  “You ready for this?” Mary asks.

  I nod. Time to face the Richards family.

  Chapter Four

  The Charlotte Police Department is as loud as I remember. There are the distant sounds of yelling and phones ringing. The desk sergeant grunts when Mrs. Cross tells him who we need to see. He just waves us toward seats. He’s not someone I recognize. Must be new. Thought I knew all the desk guys.

  After a few minutes, Detective Ross Grady sticks out his head and calls us back. I like Grady. He’s decent for a cop. I personally think he should have been a basketball player. He’s tall, I mean like six-six or some outrageous number. His caramel-colored skin highlights his blue eyes. I can never make up my mind if he’s African-American or if one of his parents was from the Middle East. I’m always too chicken to ask. It seems rude and I don’t want him mad at me. Who else is gonna work to keep me out of juvie?

  “Hey, kid.” He smiles and ruffles my hair like I’m five. “Dan said you were pretty banged up from your fall, but man, you look worse than awful.”

  “Aw, Grady, you know just what to say to a girl,” I reply with a laugh.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite juvenile delinquent.” Great. I know that voice.

  I turn, and yep, there’s Sergeant John Campbell lounging at one of the desks. The Sarge and I go way back. He’d busted me when I first came to Charlotte four years ago. I decide to give him my nastiest smile, the very-toothy one. “Officer Dickhead,” I purr softly.

  “Mattie!” Mrs. Cross sounds appalled.

  “Why am I not surprised to see you?” Sergeant Campbell drawls. “What did you do this time?”

  “I’m not adding to my yellows,” I snark back. “This time, I’m here as a witness.” He gets an even more vicious grin.

  “Your yellows?” Mrs. Cross asks.

  “Her rap sheet, ma’am,” Campbell says. “Mattie has a record a mile long.”

  “A sealed record,” I remind him, keeping the teeth bared.

  He snorts. “Yeah, but you can’t keep out of trouble, girl. Eventually you’ll do something that social worker of yours can’t get sealed.”

  “Lay off, Campbell,” Grady snaps. “She’s been through enough already without you making it worse.”

  Then I try to give the Sarge what I hope is my snarkiest grin, but it falls pretty flat, and I follow Grady through the pit, as I liked to call it. Drunks were slouched in seats along the walls, some handcuffed, most not. The desks were occupied by cops talking to the drunks not currently sleeping it off. “Wow. Club night round-up?” I ask Grady.

  He nods. “Yeah. Bar Charlotte got a little out of hand. Fight broke out and we arrested anyone still knocking it out when we got there. Are you really okay, kid? You’re not your usual smart-mouthed self today.”

  I close my eyes for just a moment and try to focus. I’d been distracted earlier thinking about my parents. I also can’t shake what happened to that girl-ghost. It’s eating away at me. “Just tired,” I say. “Been a long week.”

  “Yeah, for all of us, I think,” Grady murmurs in agreement, shifting nervously and points.

  I look up. Dan is talking to his dad and brother Cameron. I’ve only met Cam once. He’s tall; the blond hair is just this side of shaggy, and his eyes are a bright green. He looks like no one in the family, but then, he wouldn’t, since he was adopted, too. Cameron sees me first and his eyes harden. Oh, yeah. No surprise. He’s not as forgiving as Dan. I can’t blame him, though. I’d be mad at me, too.

  “Mattie, Detective Sara Rawlins is in charge of the case,” Grady says, distracting me. “She’s going to ask you some questions about your mother.”

  “I’m not sure what I can tell her,” I say absently. “I don’t really remember a whole lot.”

  “You’d be amazed at what you can remember,” he assures me. “It’ll be things about where you lived, what your mom did.”

  “The only thing I really remember about my mom is that she tried to kill me when I was five,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. The shakes are back. I gotta sit before I fall. Too late! The knees give way.

  Cameron’s face blanches. Mr. Richards and Dan turn to see what’s caused it. Dan sprints and just barely grabs me before I hit the floor. “What’s wrong?” Dan pulls a chair over from a desk so I can sit. “You look terrible.”

  “Well,” Mary begins and clears her throat. “She…uh…fell in the bathroom at the airport, Dan. The bathroom had ice on the floor.”

  “Ice on the floor?” Grady asks, his confusion obvious. “Somebody spill their drink in there?”

  “Something like that,” I say.

  “Ghost?” Dan whispers and again I nod.

  “It was a pretty nasty fall,” Mary tells them. “She’s been a little shaky since. Probably hit her head again.”

  No probably about it. My hand feels the back of my head and finds the goose egg that’s popped up. “Huh. I guess I did hit my head.”

  Dan’s fingers replace mine and he’s frowning. “Did you get this looked at?”

  “No. After being held for an hour in TSA’s little gray room, I just wanted to get here, get this over with, and go home.”

  “TSA held you?” he asks. “Why?” I give him a glare and he nods. “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh,” I snarl at him, still mad.

  “If I actually thought for a second…” Dan starts.

  “Can we please not fight?” I’m soooo tired. “I just want to go home.”

  “Fighting already, Hilda?” says a voice I hoped not to hear anytime soon.

  Hilda. Just freaking great. Only one person calls me that—Eli Malone. I close my eyes again. What is he doing here? Then I open them, just to be sure. God, it is Eli, looking at me with those same beautiful aqua eyes I remembered from New Orleans. My stomach clenches and I feel a little nauseous. Eli does that to me every time. His dark brown hair shines with toffee-colored highlights, and he has a face that’s simply beautiful. I’ve never used that term in reference to a guy before, but Eli…wow. He’s like some dark angel sent down to torment me. I snort. Duh. He does have Angel blood in him.

  Eli and Dan don’t look as much alike as Dan and Caleb do, but there are similarities in the facial structure. Eli might be two inches taller than Dan, too. Both of them tower over me, though.

  “Don’t antagonize her, Eli. You don’t want another black eye, do you?” Caleb Malone shakes his head. His father, James Malone, stands behind him.

  When Dan gets to his feet, everybody stares. Dan, Caleb and James are copies of one another. There is no doubt in anyone’s mind they’re related.

  “This is new,” Eli says with a frown, picking up my freshly-bandaged hand. His fingers brush my skin. A spark of energy shoots up my arm, making me gasp a little, which puts a grin back on hi
s face.

  “Yeah, it is,” Dan says. “You didn’t have that when we left New Orleans this morning. When did you get that?”

  “Let’s see.” I yank my hand out of Eli’s grasp. “At the airport, when you threw me, Dan. I tried to catch myself and got cut on a piece of metal.”

  “You threw her?” Eli whispers, his voice so soft I would have missed it if I wasn’t so close. “Why the hell would you do that?”

  Several pairs of angry eyes center on Dan, including Mr. Richards. “Daniel, what happened?” he asks, his voice deceptively soft.

  Even Cameron is giving his brother the stink-eye. I think it’s more because Dan hurt a girl than he hurt me.

  “Yeah, well, she hit Meg,” Dan murmurs, his face stricken. “I helped Meg stand, but I don’t remember throwing Mattie.”

  “You hit the little backstabber, Hilda?” Eli grins. “Good girl.”

  “If we’re done with the teenage drama, I’d like to get started,” a woman’s voice announces sharply.

  We turn at the same moment. That’s Detective Rawlins? She looks more like a business executive than a police officer. Her very-smart gray suit highlights smoke-colored eyes. She has a whole lot of red hair piled artfully upon her head. The four-inch heels only enhance the look. I trip in two-inch heels. Any woman who can walk in stilettos deserves just a bit of respect.

  “We’re having fun watching Richards trip all over himself,” Grady says with a laugh. “But if you have to spoil the fun, we’ve cleared conference room one for you.”

  “Agent Malone, I’ll talk to you first,” Detective Rawlins points at James and motions for him to follow her.

  “Agent Malone?” I ask, hackles rising.

  “Yeah. Dad works for the FBI,” Caleb says as he walks over to stand beside Eli. “Did we forget to mention that?”

  “Duh,” I snap. Things just got so complicated. If Mr. Malone is part of the FBI, no way will they go easy on Dan’s mom. FBI? The Malones aren’t just Hunters? These guys track down ghosts who’d gone all vengeful and kill them…again. Granted, they can’t see all ghosts like I can, only those who have gone bad. Their Angel blood allows them to see the evil that springs up in a ghost that goes mad because they haven’t crossed over.

  Shaking my head, I try to relax, but it’s hard to do with Eli standing so close. He makes me nervous, in a good way, but I don’t want to deal with it right now. I’ll talk to Mary about Eli later tonight. She might be able to help me understand the insane attraction I have for him.

  There are so many things I don’t want to deal with right now.

  “Mattie, can I talk to you a moment?” Mr. Richards asks.

  I stiffen. Mr. R is definitely one of those people I don’t want to deal with right now. “Sure,” I whisper and stand. He ushers me to one of the windows overlooking the parking lot. My hands latch onto the window frame and hold on for dear life. My legs are still shaky.

  Mr. Richards has the kindest blue eyes, but at the moment those eyes are sad. I can’t look at him and turn my attention to the street beyond the parking lot. Everything bad happening to his family is my fault.

  “I wanted to apologize to you, Mattie,” he states flatly.

  Huh? My head snaps up and my mouth gapes. Apologize? To me?

  “Dan says you blame yourself for this, but none of it is your fault. What my wife did…” he breaks off and clears his throat.

  “It is my fault,” I blurt. “If I had just let well enough alone, none of this would be happening. Your family would still be happy.”

  “No, Mattie, this isn’t your fault.” Mr. Richards shakes his head. “Does our happiness come before the Malones or yours?” He lifts my chin. “The blame rests solely upon my wife. You wanted to find your family, but had no idea what a hornet’s nest you’d disturb. You deserve to know who you are and where you come from. Dan deserves that truth, too. The Malones deserve their son back.”

  “Dan said it wasn’t my fault,” I whisper. “But I can’t help but feel that it is.”

  “You needed to know from me how sorry I am about all this.” He gives me a hug, making tears prick at my eyes. “You’re welcome in my home any day, Mattie Hathaway. Besides,” he adds with a chuckle and a wink. “You have to give me a play-by-play of your fight with Meg.” My mouth gapes again. Mr. Richards then whispers conspiratorially, “Don’t tell Danny, but I don’t like his new girlfriend. Neither does Cam.”

  “Mattie, I need you,” Grady calls.

  “Go on.” Mr. Richards gives me another grin before I return to the pit.

  Grady pulls a chair to his desk and motions me to sit. “Okay. I thought you might be more comfortable talking to me, Mattie. Detective Rawlins agreed as long as you’re honest.”

  There are several snorts from the surrounding desks. Time for the death-stare. Each detective gets a dose, but nobody’s impressed. Oh, well. I’ve been arrested by several of them and bad-mouthed most of them. I usually lied to them, as well.

  “All right, shut it!” Grady gives everyone his best cop face. It’s enough to quell most of them, at least. “Now,” he says and looks me square in the eye. “Mattie, I realize this is going to be hard. It was a long time ago, but I need to ask you a few questions about your mother, okay?”

  I knew this was coming, so I nod. My hands clench and I fidget. Talking about my mother has always been hard, since it involves remembering what she did to me.

  “Let start with something easy. What was her full name?”

  “Claire Josephine Hathaway.”

  “That’s very good, Mattie. Now, I want you to close your eyes,” Grady says and I comply. “Think about your mom. What do you remember most?”

  “Her hair,” I say. “It was always glossy, even when she was so high she hallucinated. She really loved her hair. I’d watch her brush it over and over.”

  “Very good,” Grady praises. “Now I want you to think of the two of you just relaxing at home. Do you ever remember her talking on the phone? To a friend maybe?”

  “The only people my mom talked to on the phone were her dealers,” I say, opening my eyes. “The only friends she had were the ones who’d supply her with heroin.”

  “Your mother was an addict?” Grady asks, surprised.

  I sigh. Right. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, have seen my mom’s file. Only the North Carolina DHS has that information on her sordid past. “Yeah, my mom was a junkie. She spent all her money on drugs and ignored me most of the time, so I don’t really know anything.”

  Grady presses on. “Besides the drugs, what else do you remember?”

  “We moved around a lot. Mom never really liked to stay in one place for longer than a few weeks.”

  “She kept going back to New Orleans, though?” Grady keeps his eyes down as he writes. “Is that right?”

  As if I’d know! “Look, Grady, I don’t remember. I was just a little kid. I don’t know every single place we moved to, only that we moved a lot. Did we spend a lot of time in New Orleans? Maybe, but I don’t know.”

  “Okay,” he soothes. “Let’s talk about the last place you stayed with your mom. You were five, right? Where were you?”

  “New Jersey,” I whisper, clenching my fists again. “We were on the shore. She took me to the beach a couple times.”

  “Was your mother on drugs in New Jersey?” he asks, eyes kind.

  I nod. There wasn’t a time I can remember when she wasn’t hooked on something. “Yeah, she drank a lot, too. I remember her going from room to room, muttering weird stuff.” I’d forgotten that. It had freaked me out because she was talking to people who weren’t there.

  “Weird stuff?”

  I frown and think hard, closing my eyes again. What had Mom said? “She used to talk about angels and demons. I remember…yeah, she’d draw these strange symbols on the walls. She said they would protect us.”

  “Protect you from what?” Grady asks softly. His voice is soothing, relaxing.

  Like a streaming video, I can
see my mom in the rundown living room of our apartment. She held a can of spray paint, made a figure on the wall, and explained what each symbol meant—and what they were meant to keep out. Mom was protecting us from demons and…and angels? Why would she protect us from angels? Weren’t they the good guys?

  “I don’t know,” I finally say. No way am I telling him all about her seven shades of crazy. “She was all drugged out, not making any sense. Besides, I was only five. I don’t remember much.”

  “Let’s focus on what you do remember, Mattie. Tell me about the last day with your mom.”

  “Why?” I bark, feeling cold horror sweep over me. “Why do you want to know about that?”

  “Because,” Grady answers in a soothing tone, “she did a terrible thing, but we don’t know why. What could have driven her to hurt you?” He nods, eyes still soft. “Please, Mattie, you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

  The room gets quiet. I want to shrivel into the floor. Why can’t Grady do this in one of the interrogation rooms? Why here? In front of everyone? It’s stup—duh. Bar round-up filled all the other rooms with drunken idiots dumb enough to either have drugs on them or hit one of the cops breaking up the fight. I really do have to sit here and tell him everything.

  In order to get through the next part, I do what I always do when thinking about that day—close my eyes and find that quiet place inside that lets me survive the memory. Yes, there it is…the cold and the dark. No emotions clog my brain now. Then I open my eyes. My face stays hard; my eyes go empty, soulless. I’ve seen myself when I get like this. It can be a little scary. In all honesty, I could probably kill someone from this place and it’d never faze me.

  “The apartment was in a little rundown place a few miles from the beach,” I begin in a wooden tone. “It reeked of cigarettes. Mom didn’t smoke, but the smell was everywhere. The carpet was dirty and stained. The walls were bare.. I was hungry. She made me Spaghetti-O’s while I watched SpongeBob. She was having an episode, pacing back and forth, muttering about the painter finding us and how she had to protect me. I turned up the volume because I couldn’t hear the cartoon over her ranting.”