Free southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet by angie fox Page A

mist that should have been her face. I could see right through her. I leaned back as the chill of her washed over me. 
    "Private Baker asked to send a letter." Her lilting voice was sweet, hollow. Haunting. "Will you take it down for him when he wakes?"
    She pointed back toward the bed with the crumpled pillow, and I could have sworn I saw a flicker of light over the bed.
    Keep it together.
    I'd seen ghosts before. I had one living in my house. But these entities seemed…less human. I felt bad for even thinking it. 
    Still, I wasn't so sure I could even speak to Private Baker if he was a wisp of light on a pallet, and how dare I even hesitate when it came to helping an injured soldier? "Yes," I said, before I could change my mind. He was suffering, and I'd do whatever I could. Maybe Frankie would have some ideas on how to connect with the barely-there spirit. If the gangster didn't laugh me out of the building first.
    "See to the men," she said, before she faded into nothingness. Her voice echoed in the air around me. "I'm to help the doctor with an amputation."
    I brought a hand to my mouth. The library had been converted into a field hospital after the Battle of Sugarland. I'd just never given much thought to what that meant. 
    When Frankie showed me the other side, I saw the strongest energies that haunted the space. If I concentrated, I could almost see the outlines of the men on the cots, hear moans and chest-deep coughs. They controlled this space.
    With a creak and a loud slam that shook the building, the front door of the library burst open. I turned, expecting Ellis, or worse, Marshall. But no. The real door remained closed. Two spirits shimmered through the dark wood. A man in a Confederate uniform staggered into the field hospital, half supporting, half dragging one of his comrades. They flickered in shades of ghostly gray. Even still, I could see the man's leg dripped with blood.
    "In here," I said, waving them over.
    They disappeared.
    I dropped my hand to my side. What was I thinking? I couldn't help them. None of this was real. Not anymore.
    Keep it together.  
    I squeezed my hands into fists, welcoming the sharp sting of my nails biting into my palms. That was real. I was real. They were not. 
    And as far as my ghost buddy? At least I'd found Frankie. He sat on the floor near the lobby with a group of bandaged soldiers. They appeared to be playing poker.
    At a time like this.
    I stalked over to him. "What are you doing?" I didn't appreciate being abandoned in a haunted library. Especially for a game of five-card stud. It's not like we had all day.
    The curly-haired soldier on Frankie's right glared at me with his one good eye. The other was covered in gauze. He quickly drew his cards to his chest. "Are you cheating, Frank?"
    "Me? No," the gangster scoffed, as if the mere suggestion offended him. He jabbed a thumb in my direction. "This dame wouldn't know a good hand if it bit her."
    We had work to do. "I don't care about your cards and he shouldn't, either." I gave Frankie a pointed look. "Now are you going to help me out or are you going to sit around gambling?"
    "One more, Stoutmeyer," Frankie said to the dealer. He accepted the card and lazily fingered his hand. The gangster threw a card down and the dealer, a skinny guy with bruises all over his face and a chest full of gauze wrap, laid a new one facedown on the table. Frankie scooped up the card. "I did my job. You're the one who wanted to do some investigating. So why are you talking to me instead of trying to find out what happened?" he pressed. "Ticktock," he added, just to get my hackles up.
    "Fine." He was impossible anyway when he was like this. "I'll do it without you." I addressed his buddies. "Maybe some of you gentlemen can help. I'm investigating a death that happened in this room last night." 
    The corporal on Frankie's left straightened his uniform collar. He didn't appear injured at all. If he hadn't worn a uniform, I would have pegged