Cain made a strangled noise as he spun on his heel. “Speak English, would you?”

  I slammed the drawer shut. “I am speaking English, you nincompoop! It’s not my fault you’re bad at listening!”

  “Darla?” Taliyah’s concerned voice drifted in from the front room. “Is everything okay in there?”

  “Everything’s just ducky.” I locked eyes with Cain and stared him down, trying to match his intensity. “I was just watching something on my mobile,” I lied. “A video of a big ol’ bluenose who doesn’t know how to appreciate what he’s got.”

  “Alright,” she called back after a pause, clearly at a loss about what I was going on about, which was just as well. I didn’t want to tell her I was really in another argument with her stubborn-as-a-mule brother.

  Cain’s nostrils flared as he glared at me. “Is this a joke to you?”

  “A joke?”

  “That psychopath, Irwin, is going to be making an appeal any day now. All he needs is his lawyer to point to these cases as evidence that Irwin was wrongfully accused all along, and he’ll stroll out of prison a free man.” He started his incessant pacing again. “We have to tie Irwin to these recent murders.”

  “Tie Irwin to these murders?” I repeated, shaking my head. “Irwin is still in the can!”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he answered, his whole form rippled, like his spook body was struggling to contain all that anger. “I know he’s got a hand in them… I just don’t know how.” Then he started up his ghostly pacing again. “The biggest case of my career, months of work, and it’s all about to come undone.”

  I gave up on finding a peeler and just grabbed a sharp knife instead. “We’ll figure it out. Irwin won’t walk. He’ll pay for what he did.”

  Cain shot me a look. He clearly wasn’t convinced by my reassurance.

  Knife in hand, I turned my back on him to face the sink. The potatoes weren’t gonna peel themselves, and mister grumpy ghost wouldn’t exactly be any help with them.

  Long slivers of potato peel fell into the sink with every pass of the knife. I started to understand Libby better in that moment. She always got so excited whenever she was making food for people (and Wanda especially) and I guessed I could understand some of that enthusiasm now. Because I was making a supper for Taliyah and her two boys.

  As I peeled the potatoes, I listened with half an ear to Cain’s grumbling, but most of my attention was on the front room, where Taliyah was playing quietly with her kids. The three of them had been regular visitors over the past couple of days, showing up after Taliyah got off work and staying until well after dark.

  Previously, I’d never known Taliyah had any kids. Not that that was such a big surprise because she kept her personal stuff real close to her chest. Turned out, she hadn’t had them long. As she explained it, on her last case, right before she moved to Haven Hollow, she’d come across the boys who were in a bad living situation and once their parents were arrested for drug related stuff, she’d decided to adopt the boys herself. So, they were new to her and she was new to them and somehow, they was all making it work out.

  The boys were blood brothers, one was ten, his name was Jonah, and the five-year-old was Jimmy. Both had sandy blonde hair, big green eyes, freckles and were cute as buttons. Because Taliyah was the protective type, she’d waited to call for the boys (who were staying with her family while she was in the hollow) until she’d realized she was gonna be a permanent fixture here in Haven Hollow. Then she’d brought them out here, but kept their existence so close to the cuff that even Marty, her own cousin, didn’t know nothing about them. I was actually the first person she’d told and I felt right important because of that.

  At first, I’d thought the boys being here was for my benefit, to make sure I was comfortable with Cain in his house, but I’d noticed the tension bleeding out of Taliyah’s shoulders the first time she’d dropped by after I’d taken up residence here. I’d had a chance to clean the place up a little and once she’d taken a gander round the dust-free, spartan living room, the tightness had left the skin around her peepers.

  It had hit me then: I was fairly sure Taliyah Morgan was lonely. With me here, she could pretend, for a little while at least, that she had her brother back. And, in a manner of speaking, I supposed she did.

  My heart went out to her because I understood loneliness.

  I’d been mired in it for a hundred years, until a kind-hearted gypsy and her equally kind-hearted son had blown into my life. But prior to that, I knew the feeling of being so alone—it scoured you from the inside, left you hollow.

  If I could help Taliyah with hers, I would.

  I paused chopping the potatoes up as Cain drifted behind me, muttering to himself, no doubt about how I was to blame for bungling his case. My grip on the knife tightened. His own sister and nephews were right there, in his house, missing him, and the big lug only seemed to care about this case.

  Not that he could interact with them without my assistance, but he could at least hang out in the living, enjoying their presence.

  For a second, I wished mediums could touch spooks as well as see and channel them, because I wanted to smack some sense into Cain Morgan. Too bad I’d feel it if I hit him while he was in my body. It might be worth it if it got him to stop wallowing like a selfish cad and spend some of his incredibly valuable time with his family. Not many spooks got that opportunity.

  Somehow, I doubted getting into a brawl or a shouting match with a ghostie would do anyone any good, so I pushed the thoughts aside and focused on putting the potatoes on to boil.

  If Cain could be distracted from work by his family, he’d already have been in the front room instead of walking through walls complaining about Judas Irwin, lawyers, and Agent Riggs. So, I went with what I knew would work. “Is there any chance this could be one of those, what do you call them, copycat killers?”

  I might not have been no copper or any gumshoe, but I’d spent a lotta time watching families watch television. With the number of mystery movies and copper shows I’d seen over the years, I’d managed to pick up some of the basics.

  Cain took the conversational bait and stopped pacing around the kitchen.

  “No. This has to be the same killer. He has the exact same M.O. as Irwin did. His victims are always brunette women, and usually homemakers. He attacks them in the late afternoon so he can pose them and leave them to be found by their husbands, or housemate in one instance, after they get home from work. And he always takes a lock of hair as a souvenir.”

  The calm, matter-of-fact way Cain ticked off each point made my skin crawl, but I tried not to let it show. It was probably the least grouchy I’d ever seen him. Sure, it was over a murder case and not his adorable nephews in the next room, but I could work with what I had.

  “Wasn’t all that Irwin stuff in the news when it happened? Couldn’t someone else just have found all that out and now recreate it?”

  I eyed the drawers. If I hadn’t found a potato peeler in there, I didn’t have much hope of finding a masher. Cain apparently hadn’t been much of a cook, either. I’d just have to break the potatoes up with a fork.

  Cain crossed his arms over his broad chest and moved to lean his hip against the counter before he remembered that he’d fall right through and straightened up again.

  “It’s possible that another killer could research Irwin and recreate his murders, but not in this case.”

  I looked at him real narrow like. “Why’s you so sure?”

  “There was one detail we made sure never to leak to the press,” he answered as he floated over the area right next to where I was busily tending to the potatoes. Then he peered over my shoulder, as if he were inspecting my work and finding it lacking, as he did with all other things involving me.

  “The killer had a signature,” he continued. “Behind one of his victim’s ears, he’d carve an omega symbol into their skin.”

  I put the fork down.

  Just like that, the smell of buttery potatoes, roasting chicken, and pan gravy turned my stomach. The idea of doing that to another person—killing them, leaving your mark on them like they were just a thing, made me sick.

  When I was sure I could open my mouth without making a mess, I asked, “What’s the Omega symbol?”

  Cain sketched a symbol in the air that looked like an upside-down horseshoe that had been pinched at one end. “It’s a Greek letter. It means ‘the end’.”

  “Oh.” I shook the green beans out of the steamer and into a serving dish and tossed some almond slivers on top. It was a little ritzy for me, but Libby swore by it. “And you kept that secret from the press? So, you could be sure which victims were really Irwin’s?”

  “That, and to try and keep from feeding Irwin’s ego any more than the media already had. They like to give killers catchy nicknames, but doing so just glorifies them, encourages them.”

  “Didn’t they call Irwin the Curtain Caper or something like that?” I asked.

  “The Curtain Back Killer,” Cain corrected me, before swiping a hand back through his hair. If he’d still been alive, it probably woulda stood up in graying spikes.

  “I see.”

  “The Omega Killer—I can just see it now. It sounds like the kind of person who would taunt the police by escalating his crimes to more heinous levels just for the shock value alone.” Cain paused and took a breath as though he’d forgotten he no longer breathed. I didn’t remind him. “They all get arrogant and sloppy eventually, which is how they get caught, but a lot more women would have died. Better to try and keep it low-key in the media and avoid the whole situation.”

  The chicken came outta the oven in a wash of fragrant heat. It smelled wonderful, rich and bright with citrus and fresh herbs, but I’d totally lost my appetite. I set it on the table and turned back to Cain. “So, this last broad, she had the symbol, too?”

  “Yeah. Taliyah showed me the pictures the medical examiner took of the body, and there it was, clear as day. Carved into the skin behind her ear. It’s definitely Irwin.”

  “Yet, Irwin’s still in the pen,” I answered.

  “Right,” Cain responded and didn’t seem to be too concerned about that trifling little fact.

  A chill shivered up my spine and I tried to ignore the feeling as I finished putting dinner out and called Taliyah and her boys in to eat. It was nice having a table full of appreciative diners, but I still couldn’t shake my unease.

  After sitting down and serving myself (after everyone else had taken what they wanted), I mostly just pushed the food around on my plate and wished I had the appetite to eat. Taliyah and her boys gobbled everything up on their plates, which made me feel a little better. Once they were all finished, Taliyah helped me clear the plates, stick them in the dishwasher and then we packed up the leftovers. I still felt cold.

  The day had been long and stressful. I knew no one could fault me for turning in early for some shut eye, but Taliyah and her sons were still lingering, like they were reluctant to go home. An idea popped into my head like one of those cartoon lightbulbs.

  “Taliyah?” I asked as she loomed in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. She looked up at me and I continued, “I really appreciate you spending time with me and making sure I’m settled. But it’s got to be tiring shuttling the boys between Cain’s and your place.”

  An expression flickered over her face, almost too fast for me to register it. Not quite guilt, but something close to it. “Oh. No, it’s no bother. I’m happy to do it.”

  I nodded. We both knew she wasn’t doing it for me, but I wanted to give her the excuse. She wasn’t ready to admit she was hanging around because she missed her brother, and that was okay. Coppers can be real tough-skinned or at least, they wanna look like they are.

  “Still, I know it’s a lot of effort.” I breathed in deep, because I wasn’t sure how she was gonna react to my suggestion. “What do you think about… you and the boys just staying here with me? I don’t want to put you out or nothing, but that way you could spend time here, and I won’t feel so bad about dragging you and the boys away from your home every night.”

  It was a bit weird, inviting someone to stay in the house they technically owned, but the gratitude in Taliyah’s eyes made it clear I’d done the right thing.

  “That would make it easier, yes. Thank you, Darla. I’ll bring some things over for me and the boys tomorrow.”

  “Terrific.” I paused for a moment or two, and then couldn’t stifle my own yawn. “Then, if it’s okay with you, I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

  “Oh, of course. The boys and I will… head home then.”

  I had no idea where the impulse came from, but as I turned to head out of the kitchen, I paused and then turned on my toes, walked back to Taliyah, and threw my arms around her. She just… looked like she needed a hug.

  Her body went stiff and cold and she reminded me of a corpse going through rigor mortis. But, as I hugged her even tighter, she relaxed and leaned into me. Her arms came up around my back and we held on to each other for a few seconds before pulling away. She appeared a bit embarrassed and refused to look me in the peepers but I think she was appreciative of it, all the same.

  “Good night, Taliyah.”

  I heard her soft, “Goodnight, Darla,” when I was halfway up the stairs.

  With the house full of the living, I didn’t have any trouble drifting off to sleep.

  ***

  My breath sawed in my throat, dust choking my pipes as I took in desperate gasps of air.

  I stumbled through the dark house. Only the glimpse of the moon through the tattered drapes gave me any hope of avoiding the dark lumps of furniture spread across the floor. My hip knocked against something heavy, but I didn’t slow down.

  I didn’t dare.

  He was coming. He was right behind me in the dark. I had to keep moving, keep running, because if he caught me…

  My foot went through the floor with a sharp crack of splitting wood. There was no time to brace myself, and I landed with a heavy thud on my hands and knees, legs stretched out awkwardly. The splintered wood felt like razor-sharp teeth sinking into my skin, trying to bite down while I yanked away, attempting to drag myself free.

  I heard his heavy footsteps closing in.

  He was coming.

  The truth beat inside my chest like a second frantic heartbeat.

  He was coming, he was coming, he was coming.

  With a panicked sob, I hauled my leg away from the floor, tearing my flesh free from the broken boards, fingernails scrabbling against the wood.

  He was right behind me.

  I could feel the wash of his hot breath against the back of my neck as I ran for the stairs. The wood creaked and shuddered in the dark. I was terrified the steps would give way and send me flying backward, right into his waiting hands. Somehow, the stairs remained steady beneath me, though a couple sagged alarmingly under my feet.

  In the dark, I misjudged the final step, and caught my trailing foot on the top landing. It sent me sprawling to the floor again, and I scrambled on my hands, clawing my way forward until I could get to my feet again.

  Fingers closed around my ankle, and panic strangled the scream in my pipes. I struck backward, kicking free before the grip could tighten. I stumbled down the upstairs hallway.

  Heavy footsteps on the stairs, coming closer and closer.

  My heartbeat pulsed thick and heavy, like it was trying to pull free and escape my body entirely.

  A doorway loomed in the dark. I ducked inside and tried to shut the door behind me. But the door hung off its hinges, awkward and crooked, and wouldn’t close, no matter how hard I pushed. Brass squealed, unnaturally loud, giving away my hiding spot.

  The footsteps echoed in the hall, loud and heavy. There was no way I could get past him to find better shelter, so I abandoned the still-open door, searching the room frantically with my hands.

  Another door. A closet, this time.

  I didn’t hesitate, squeezing inside and pulling the door shut. I clamped my hands over my mouth, trying to quiet my gasping breaths so they didn’t give me away.

  The footsteps had stopped.

  Was he hesitating, picking what room to search? My hands tightened. My heart slammed against the wall of my ribs, beating so hard it was painful. I waited for the footsteps to pass by, further down the hall. Then I’d be able to creep out and run back downstairs to find a way outside. Dust tickled my nose, and I pleaded with whatever higher power there was that I wouldn’t sneeze and give myself away.

  It was silent out in the hall, but I didn’t trust that silence. It was a trap to make me break cover, I just knew it. I stepped further into the closet, pressing between old, moth-eaten clothing and cobwebs.

  My back bumped into something solid, something warm and undoubtedly not the wall.

  I shot forward, mouth open to scream, and a hand closed over my windpipe from behind.

  Tight. Choking.

  My voice was trapped in my throat, held there by a cruel grip. I kicked backward, thrashing, fighting, but I was dragged further into the dark.

  The first time I’d died, it was instantaneous.

  One second alive, the next, not.

  The grip on my neck, slowly draining away my air, my strength, was slow. My hands grew heavy. My legs felt like they were trapped in cement. Even my heartbeat slowed, sluggish and tired inside my chest.

  There was no moment of death this time, no darkness sweeping over my eyes.

  The dark was there, with me the whole time, as my body faded away. Suddenly, my bones were mist, my skin smoke.

  I’d become a ghost again.

  I caught a glimpse of the faded pink drop-waisted gown I was wearing once more, and if I’d still had tear ducts, I woulda cried.

  The shadows were gone. He was gone. I was all alone.

  Alone in the rotting remains of a condemned house. No one living would ever come here again, I knew that. No families to watch over, no television to keep me company at night, no echoes of life.