Free Givin' Up The Ghost (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Mystery) by Gwen Gardner Page B

steps down from the ceiling. We followed him up through an attic and
out a door onto the roof. He held a finger to his lips.
    “Come on,” he whispered. Crouched low, he ran through a
labyrinth of passages and chimney pots across the rooftop. Badger and I
followed.
    The rooftop was like entering a different world, one where
glowing eyes blinked out of dark corners. After a few minutes, Cappy brought us
up short, and ducked down before approaching the far wall. We did the same.
Voices drifted up from the alley below, on what must have been the next street
over from where we entered. We peeked over the wall and spied two men standing
in the narrow alleyway, talking.
    “They got away,” said the taller of the two men, “do you
think they suspected we was followin’ them?”
    “Nah,” said the shorter, potbellied man. “How could they? It
were dark and raining, weren’t it?” He said it like the other man was
simple-minded. “Let’s get outta here and report in.”
    The tall man wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Do we have to?”
“The boss ain’t gonna like this.” They walked away down the alley.
    “Come on,” said Cappy, “we’ll talk inside.” We made our way
back over the rooftops to the apartment. I was completely lost and glad that
Cappy was there to guide us. 
    Back inside, we walked silently down the hall, passing once
again the closed door with the muted television sounds.
    “Are your parent’s home?” I asked.
    “I live with my grandmother,” Cappy answered. “She’s
watching the tube. We can talk in the kitchen.”
    Sitting in the tiny kitchen with hot mugs of tea, Badger
asked, “Do you know who they were?”
    “Yeh,” said Cappy. “Those two are bad news, they are. The
short one is Billy Radcliffe, and the other one is ‘is brother, Ralph.” He
sipped his tea. “What does that lot want with you two, anyway?”
    Neither of us answered.
    “I get it,” said Cappy, shrugging. “None of my business,
right?”

    On Wednesday morning I jogged through the village, keeping
away from the ginnels (that would be alleys in American English), when I
ran into Cappy with a group of boys crossing the town square. He wore jeans and
a red sweat-jacket. The hoodie hid his face, but I recognized his frame and
slight hunch.
    I sprinted across the square, calling his name.
    He turned and waited for me. The other boys stared
curiously, but Cappy said he would catch up with them and they moved on.
    Slightly breathless, I said, “I wanted to thank you for last
night, for coming to our rescue. I know you didn’t have to, and I appreciate
it.”
    “No problem,” he answered. “Always willin’ to help a damsel
in distress.” He was cocky, but the look on his face was dead serious. He
pushed his hands into his pockets and looked around. “‘Sides, I owed you one,
like, for that ‘eads up you gave me the other day.”
    “Oh, that. No big deal.” I shrugged.
    “How did you know?” he asked, tilting his head.
    Cappy was a street-smart kid. If my vision came true, then
of course his curiosity about me would be aroused.
    I looked around, played with a thread on my coat, cleared my
throat. “It’s a secret.”
    “You can trust me, ya know?” he said. “Just because I ‘ang
around with that lot,” he jerked his head in the direction of the ragtag crew
of boys, “don’t mean I ain’t trustworthy.”
    I believed him. “All right, then. But what I tell you has to
remain a secret. No one else can know. Not any of your friends. No one.”
    He nodded in agreement.
    “I have the second sight,” I said. “When I shook your hand
the other day, I had a flash of what might happen, in my head, if you went to
the park.” 
    He was silent.
    Rainwater dripped from the eave overhead. Muted
conversations drifted from across the square. A burst of laughter erupted from
the Blind Badger.
    And still Cappy didn’t say anything. He only looked at me
and waited for me to continue.
    “I’m psychic, but I’m