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

him for a cute farm boy. "Were we here last night?" he asked the others.
    "That's a tough one." The man on Frankie's right shrugged a shoulder, not bothering to look up from his cards. "What year is it?"
    "1973, I think," the corporal said.
    I started to correct him when the dealer interrupted me. "More than a hundred years since the battle and the town still remembers us."
    "More like one hundred and fifty," I said, "but let's stay on topic."
    "This one here is a real war hero," he said, jabbing a thumb at the young soldier who couldn't have been older than his late teens, or late 170s, depending on how you looked at it. "Lost his head taking out the Yankee cannon position."
    The corporal gave an embarrassed shrug. "I put it back on." He touched a hand to the longish dark hair curling at his neck, as if to make sure his head stayed put.
    "Thank you for your service," I said. I appreciated it. I did. "One of the volunteers for our Cannonball in the Wall event was killed last night. A woman named Darla. She died right over there." I pointed to the place where I'd found the body. The display table had faded away and in its place, I saw flickering streaks of white and yellow light shining up from the floor. "Oh, wow."
    "Would you look at that?" The corporal tossed his cards down and joined me, earning a collective arggh from the group behind us. "Soul traces. She is new." He cleared his throat and seemed embarrassed. "Not that I didn't take you on your good word." He edged closer to the death scene. "Sometimes, it's hard to focus on anything outside the game."
    "You gonna play or what, Owens?" the dealer groused.
    He waved them off. "I fold."
    "Thank you," I said. I'd needed someone like him to care.
    "My pleasure," he said, before he averted his eyes and took a sudden interest in the floor.
    Pops of red pierced the white and yellow soul traces. "What are those?" I asked.
    "I'm afraid it means your friend Darla did not die easy," he said, a touch of sadness in his voice. "It's most likely a crime of passion. See the purple?" He pointed to the floor. It oozed over the hardwood like blood. "She passed away there on the floor or it wouldn't cling like that."
    "Oh," I said, moving to take a closer look.
    "Don't touch it," he said. "It'll give you a blistering shock." 
    I'd take his word for it. "You tried it?"
    "Only once," he said with a shudder.
    "What are the shadows?" They swirled like smoke, just out of reach of the light. 
    "Anger. Hers, from the look of it. See how it mingles with the light? Poor girl didn't want to go."
    Amazing.
    I turned to him. "So you can actually look at a place where someone died and learn things about how it happened?" The implications were enormous. I could use an assistant like that. 
    "You can do it as well," he said, as if my excitement embarrassed him. "If it's a recent death."
    I didn't know if I wanted the responsibility. Although it didn't seem as if I had a choice.
    I turned back to the group on the floor. "Did any of you see what happened to the woman who died?"
    The one-eyed soldier furrowed his brows. "I think we were at that sock hop last night." 
    "We haven't done that since the '50s," Owens corrected. 
    "I almost feel bad about locking the beast in the basement now," Stoutmeyer said. "Almost."
    He and the one-eyed soldier laughed. 
    "You have animals in here?" I asked, a little taken aback. 
    Owens cringed. "No. He died in the battle, same as us, but he's damaged and angry. He's banished to the basement most of the time." The baby-faced corporal watched the flickering streaks of white and yellow light, Darla's soul traces. "The beast insisted he saw a man use a bayonet on a lady," he said. "She had a discovery that would change everything. We told him he was wallpapered."
    "What?" I asked, not catching the slang.
    "Wouldn't put it past a Yankee," Stoutmeyer added.
    "Now I wonder," Corporal Owens mused.
    "He might have killed her himself," the man with the bandaged eye insisted. "I