Home for the Haunting 4 by Blackwell Juliet

Author:Blackwell, Juliet [Blackwell, Juliet]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery & Detective, General, Women Sleuths, Fiction
ISBN: 9781101626849
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2013-12-03T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

At least ten teenagers sat in a circle on the floor. Dressed to a one in black, with heavy pale makeup and black eyeliner. There were candles everywhere, and a pentagram had been drawn in chalk in the center of a circle of salt. A Ouija board sat in front of them.

For a couple of seconds everyone froze, and you could hear a pin drop.

A bunch of teenagers were a lot less scary than encountering Sidney Lawrence’s murderous ghost. Especially with an SFPD inspector at my side, with firepower.

“Seriously?” I said. “A Ouija board?”

But then Annette holstered her gun. As soon as she did, the kids bolted, scattering like rats on a sinking ship.

“Stop! Police!” ordered Annette, to no effect. They tore out the basement door, and one or two jumped through an open window.

One young woman, with hair dyed a sooty black, was shoved to the floor by one of her less-than-gentlemanly companions in his quest for escape. Before she could get back up, I put my boot-clad foot, gently but firmly, right between her shoulder blades. Meanwhile, Annette ran outside after the little miscreants.

“I hate it when my criminal cronies leave me behind for the police while they run away, don’t you?” I asked my prisoner.

The young woman under my boot wriggled and swore a blue streak. I was unfazed. When it came to grumpy teens, like cantankerous old men, I wasn’t easily moved.

Simone and Hugh lingered in the doorway, eyes wide and mouths agape. Annette came back a few moments later, winded and empty-handed.

“I caught one,” I said proudly. “She’s a wriggler.”

Annette locked eyes with me, apparently questioning my methods of prisoner detainment. I shrugged and lifted my foot.

The girl stood, dusting dirt from her black lace top and ripped black skirt. Black boots and leather cuffs completed the look. I couldn’t see the point in making sure the black was dust free, though; given the overall gestalt of the outfit, I thought the dirt fit in rather well. I told her so.

Her response was “Screw you.”

“What is all this?” I asked. “What were you kids doing here? Don’t you know breaking and entering is against the law?”

“I thought I would be the one to ask the questions,” Annette interrupted, though her tone was decidedly amused. “What with me having the police badge and all.”

“Be my guest.” I stood back and made a sweeping gesture, like I was being gracious, allowing her to ask the questions of the nonghosts.

“Name,” demanded Annette.

“Raven.”

Of course, I thought.

“Real name.”

The girl was cowed by Annette’s laser cop eyes.

“Rhonda. Rhonda Andersen.”

“ID?”

She shook her head.

“Address.”

The girl gave her an address not far from there.

“What do you know about this place?”

“Some guy murdered his family here a long time ago.”

I glanced over at Hugh, but his expression was as flat as always.

“And?”

“And, like, the anniversary’s totally coming up and . . . they say the ghosts will be here, and we could, like, make contact with them.”

“And did you?”

The girl looked at Annette, clearly stunned that this cop wasn’t challenging the idea of talking to ghosts.

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