Chapter Five

“I guess the first thing we should do is try to find some evidence that will exonerate Rick McClatchey,” I said.

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

“Well, the only thing that I know was in his home was already collected by the police.”

“That blood you told me about,” Ashara said, nodding.

“Yeah. So I think that maybe the next place we should look is his shop.”

“What shop?”

“His musical instrument repair shop. If his DNA is on it, that’s probably where the killer got the piano wire.”

“And how do you think we’re going to get into that place?” Ashara was looking at me out of the corner of her eye again. Suspiciously.

“Well. I guess we’ll have to go into the shop,” I said slowly.

“Go into?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean break into.” Ashara pulled the car over to the curb and stopped it, then turned in the seat to face me full-on. “Do you know what the police do to black people they find breaking into stores?”

I didn’t answer.

“They put them in jail and throw away the key. And that’s if they’re lucky. If they’re not lucky, the police shoot them. On sight. And then claim that they were attacked.”

“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad.”

Ashara tilted her head, raised her eyebrows, and pursed her lips. “It’s that bad. And you are not going to get my ass thrown in jail.”

“Then we just won’t get caught,” I said decisively.

“Oh yeah? And how do you plan to make sure that don’t happen?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’ll think of something.”

* * *

“It looks all clear,” I whispered, sliding back into the passenger seat—without ever opening the car door, of course.

“You don’t have to whisper,” Ashara said—though she, too, was whispering. “No one else can hear you.”

We were parked about a block from the musical instrument repair shop, a small storefront in the downtown square. At 10:00 at night, everything was dark except for the bar a few blocks away. I had gone into the shop and looked things over. Nothing seemed out of place in any way, as far as I could tell. The front showroom was neat and orderly. The back room had several work benches with tools and instruments in various stages of disrepair scattered across them.

The shop had an alarm system, but it was electronic, so I had been able to disable it fairly easily.

Callie Taylor, Ghost Criminal.

I hoped I had done everything I could do without Ashara’s help.

“Did you remember to bring gloves?” I asked her.

“Yeah. I got them in my pocket.” She patted the side of her jacket.

“Good, then. Ready?” I asked her.

She took a deep breath. “Ready as I can be.”

“Let’s go, then,” I said, slipping out of the car. Ashara’s exit wasn’t quite as silent as mine since she had to open the car door to get out and then close it again behind her. But at least she didn’t slam the door.

We strolled down the sidewalk and ducked into the alley behind McClatchey’s shop. The back door was about halfway down the alley. A dumpster on one side of the door blocked the view of the door from the street.

Ashara reached out for the doorknob.

“Wait!” I said. “Gloves!”

“Oh, man,” Ashara said. Her hands shook as she pulled the gloves out of her pocket and tugged them on.

“Okay. Now. Try the door,” I said.

Ashara wiggled the knob. It moved easily. Then she pushed at the door. It didn’t move. “Locked,” she said. We both stared up at the keyhole to what was clearly a bolt lock about a foot higher than the doorknob.

“We’re just going to have to pick the lock,” I said, nodding emphatically.

“You know how to pick a lock?” Ashara asked.

“No. Do you?”

“What—you think all black chicks know how to pick locks?”

Ashara looked at the door, muttering to herself. I didn’t catch much. Just something about “stupid.” I decided to ignore it.

“Can’t you do something all ghosty and shit and unlock it?” Ashara finally asked.

“What? You think all ghost chicks know how to pick locks?”

Ashara stared at me for a long moment, and then finally grinned. “Okay, okay. Fine. How do you think we can do this?”

I stared at the lock. “Wait here,” I said. I moved through the door and to the other side. On this side, the bolt was a simple twist knob. It wasn’t electric, so it was going to be harder, but maybe I could do it.

I took the ghostly equivalent of a deep breath and held on to the lock, twisting it with my hand, all the while picturing it open, imagining the bolt popping out of the socket in the door frame. Slowly, ever so slowly, the knob began to turn.

After a few moments, I had to stop to take a break.

I popped just my head through the door into the alley.

“It’s working,” I said triumphantly.

“God. Don’t do that,” Ashara said. “That’s creepy, seeing just your head coming out that door. Damn, girl. Go back inside.”

“I just thought you’d want to know,” I said, the smile dropping from my face. I moved back inside and went back to twisting the knob.

Finally, the bolt sprang back.

“Okay. It’s open,” I said, loudly enough so that Ashara could hear me from outside.

Ashara slowly turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. We both waited for a moment, listening for the sound of an alarm.

“I think we’re okay,” I finally said.

“So what are we looking for?” Ashara said, glancing around the workroom.

“I’m not exactly sure.”

“Well, we don’t have all night. I got to go to work tomorrow.”

“Work?” I said. “Where do you work?”

“You don’t gotta sound so surprised. I got a job. I work at the bank. Abramsville First National. I’m a teller at the drive-through window. So yeah, I gotta be at work tomorrow at seven-thirty.”

“I wasn’t surprised. Just curious—it’s not like you said anything about it before.

“Fine,” Ashara muttered. “So where should we start?”

“I guess with piano wires since that’s what that guy killed her with.”

We began by searching the front of the store. Ashara had brought a tiny flashlight with her, the kind that attaches to key chains.

“Be careful with the light,” I said. “We don’t want anyone to see it from outside.”

“I am being careful,” she said. “What do piano wires look like?”

“I don’t know. It was just a wire. He had it wrapped around his hands.”

We moved to opposite sides of the store.

“So you saw him kill her?” Ashara asked.

“Mm-hmm. It was pretty awful.”

“The news said he cut her up pretty bad.” Ashara’s voice was solemn.

“He did. Like a butcher. In the bathtub.”

Ashara was silent for a moment. “How’d you die?” she asked quietly.

“Can we please just look for piano wires?” I snapped. I felt bad when Ashara didn’t say anything, but I really didn’t want to talk about my own murder. I wanted to focus on catching the man who had killed Molly McClatchey.

“Found some,” Ashara finally said. She stood in front of a peg-board display. Coils of wire in plastic bags hung in rows, each labeled with a number—sizes, I guessed.

“These are in bags, though,” I said doubtfully. “Maybe we ought to look in the back workroom, where the bags might have been opened.”

I floated toward the workroom, Ashara behind me.

Just as I got to the doorway, I heard a sound coming from the alley. Then I saw the doorknob start to turn. I frantically searched my mind, but couldn’t remember if Ashara had locked it behind us when we’d come in.

“Someone’s here,” I hissed. “Hide.” I turned around and shooed my hands at Ashara, who stood frozen, eyes huge as she stared at me.

“Move!” I barked out. “He can’t see me, but he can see you. Hide!”

Ashara spun around, took two or three steps, and ducked down behind the nearest large object—a display case holding a variety of musical instruments. She moved to the corner where the counter met the wall, where the shadows were darkest.

“Stay down,” I said. “Don’t move. Don’t even breathe unless I tell you to.”

I turned back around in time to see the door swing slowly open and a figure step slowly through the entrance.

“Oh my God,” I said.

Ashara stared up at me from behind the counter, biting her bottom lip worriedly.

“It’s him,” I whispered, even though I knew the man wasn’t sensitive enough to hear me. “The one who killed Molly.”

Ashara shrank down even further, squeezing her eyes shut.

The man moved into the workroom, looking around, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

A tiny whimper escaped Ashara, and the man froze, his eyes riveted toward the front of the store.