Star Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 3) Read online

  STAR

  Walk

  Book 3 of the Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Series

  Melissa Bowersock

  Copyright © 2017 by Melissa Bowersock

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in an online review or one printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  First Printing

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover image by coversbydesign.net.

  ISBN-13: 978-1546519232

  ISBN-10: 1546519238

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  People often ask me where I get my inspiration. The easier answer is where don’t I get inspiration from, because I get it from everywhere. It can come from a song, a look, a line in a movie, a scene on the street as I’m driving by. Absolutely anywhere.

  For this series, however, it’s a slam dunk. I was contacted a while back by a woman at the Travel Channel who asked me if I’d be interested in being on a show called The Dead Files. It’s a reality show where a female medium and a male investigator find and then clear ghosts from haunted buildings. They were going to be investigating a property in Sedona, Arizona—near me—and the woman said they often used authors as experts because authors “know how to tell a story.”

  Well, count me in. Filming the show was a great experience and a lot of fun, and I often thought about the dynamics of this pair of investigators, Amy Allan and Steve DiSchiavi. One day, doing what writers do, I began to think, Hmm, if I were going to write a series like that, how would I do it? Next thing you know, I had my characters, I had the relationship and I had ideas for several of their haunting cases. The rest, as they say, is history.

  Now, publishing the third book of the series and working on the fourth, I’d like to publicly thank the Travel Channel for reaching out to me, inviting me into this fascinating real-life constellation, and giving me the idea that became Sam and Lacey. I think both series—The Dead Files and the Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery series—are winners. I hope you do, too.

  Books by Melissa Bowersock

  The Appaloosa Connection

  The Blue Crystal

  Burning Through

  Finding Travis

  (No Time for Travis Series Book 1)

  Being Travis

  (No Time for Travis Series Book 2)

  Fleischerhaus

  Ghost Walk

  (Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud

  Mystery Book 1)

  Skin Walk

  (Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud

  Mystery Book 2)

  Star Walk

  (Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud

  Mystery Book 3)

  Dream Walk

  (Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud

  Mystery Book 4)

  Dragon Walk

  (Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud

  Mystery Book 5)

  Demon Walk

  (Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud

  Mystery Book 6)

  Goddess Rising

  Lightning Strikes

  Love’s Savage Armpit by Amber Flame

  (Originally published as The Pits of Passion)

  The Man in the Black Hat

  Marcia Gates: Angel of Bataan

  Queen’s Gold

  The Rare Breed

  Remember Me

  Sonnets for Heidi

  Stone’s Ghost

  Superstition Gold

  STAR

  Walk

  Melissa Bowersock

  ONE

  4962. There it was.

  Lacey pulled her car into the driveway of the gray stucco house and parked. Typical L.A. home: ranch style, nice lawn, a magnolia tree front and center. Above the roof line, she could see two palm trees jutting up from the back yard, probably near a pool. Not a mansion, but in this day and age, no slouch, either.

  She picked up the pizza she had just bought, the box still warm. Holding the envelope in her left hand, she slid it underneath the box and climbed carefully out of her car. She walked casually up the driveway to the front door and rang the bell.

  It took a minute, but then she saw movement inside the front windows. The dead bolt on the door clicked heavily as it was unlocked, and the door opened several inches. A heavyset man, fifties and balding, stared at her.

  “Pizza delivery,” she sang out cheerfully.

  The man pulled the door open wider and stood in the doorway. “I didn’t order a pizza,” he said with a frown. “You’ve got the wrong house.”

  “Oh? Gee, I’m sorry. Let me check the address.” She juggled the pizza box and pulled out the envelope. Reading the note scribbled on the front, she said, “Is this 4962 Roxbury Place?”

  The man crossed his arms. “Yeah. But I didn’t order any pizza.”

  “Oh, well, okay.” She shrugged. “In that case, Mr. Warren, I’ll just leave this with you.” She set the envelope atop his folded arms. “You’ve just been served. The D.A.’s office would like to talk to you about your business practices. Have a nice day.”

  Before the man could react, she turned and headed back toward the driveway. Halfway there, she heard the front door slam so hard the windows shook. She just chuckled to herself as she slid back in her car.

  That’s what you get when you try to duck me, she thought. Refusing registered mail, hiding out during the day. We’ll see how lawful your escort business is. In court.

  She backed out of the driveway and turned her little car toward home, satisfied with the day. Served the subpoena and now she didn’t have to cook dinner. That’s what she called a win-win.

  Back home in her apartment, she got out her toaster oven and set a slice of pizza inside to warm as she fixed a glass of iced tea. She was already thinking ahead to tomorrow. She’d file the affidavit of service, then she had some background checks to do. The ever-varied chores of a private investigator.

  Sliding into a dining room chair with her pizza in hand, she was annoyed by the ring of her phone. She grabbed the phone, fully intent on ignoring the call until she’d eaten. The caller ID startled her.

  Calif St Prison.

  What the heck? Was this about a job? Her pizza forgotten, she hit the talk button.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Lacey. Nice to hear your voice.”

  She went cold. It was not nice to hear his voice, not after these last fifteen months, not ever.

  “Hi, Derrick,” she said frostily. She’d be damned if she’d ask him how he was.

  He chuckled softly. “Still mad at me, huh?”

  She huffed. “You might say that. What do you want?” Her, mad? Just because he lied to her, and the entire LAPD, about his extracurricular activities? Just because he turned his job as a vice officer into a million-dollar drug ring? Why ever should that bother her?

  He heaved a sigh. “I don’t blame you. I know I screwed up big time. And you know I’m sorry.”

  Sorry you got caught, she thought. She wasn’t giving him anything.

  “Okay,” he said, acknowledging her stony silence. “But the thing is, I need to see you. Can you come out here to Lancaster? It’s important.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Come out…?” The state prison in Lancaster was two hours away. A four-hour round trip. A half a day to see someone she never wanted to see again. “You’ve got to be kid
ding.”

  “I’m not,” he said quickly. “Listen, it’s about my mom. I need your help. She needs you. Lacey, you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Please. I need you to come out here.”

  Lacey shook her head. Her brain had seized up so completely, it was hard for her to kick start it into motion again.

  “No,” she said finally. “That’s crazy. I haven’t seen your mother in two years. There’s nothing—”

  “My sister’s put her in a home,” he said. “I’m worried about her. Lacey, I know you. You loved my mom. You wouldn’t turn your back on her if she was being abused. No matter what I did, you wouldn’t hold it against her.”

  Lacey fumed. Derrick was partly right; she had cared for his mom. But she’d put all thought of the family aside after he’d so casually upended her life. When he’d disregarded both their relationship and their careers in law enforcement.

  “Please, Lacey.” His voice was low with contrition. She’d never heard him beg before. “Please. Not for me. For her.”

  Lacey rolled her eyes and looked down at her forgotten pizza, the cheese congealing as it cooled on the plate. She got mad all over again.

  “I’d have to apply for a visit,” she argued. “It could take weeks. Can’t you just—”

  “It won’t take long. With your background the vetting will go quick. Come on, Lacey. Please? I need you. Mom needs you.”

  She felt like throwing the phone through the window. Gritting her teeth, she searched for any other good reason not to do this. She couldn’t come up with anything except that she didn’t want to. It didn’t seem like enough.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said finally.

  “Okay. That’s good, Lace, that’s good. You think about it. I know you’ll do the right thing. You always do.” He paused, but if he thought she would respond to that blatant flattery, he was wrong. “So what kind of work are you doing now?”

  “Private investigator,” she said coldly.

  “Really?” His voice brightened. “That’s great. I’ll bet you’re good at it. Got your license and everything?”

  “Yes.” Part of her wanted to tell him to go to hell, but another part wanted him to know she’d landed on her feet. That she was still fighting crime in her own small way. That she hadn’t given up the life just because he’d managed to shunt her off on a side track.

  “That’s terrific,” he said. “Congratulations. I hope it’s going well for you.” He paused again. “You seeing anyone?”

  There it is, she thought. The question she’d been waiting for. The one that was over the line.

  “That’s none of your business,” she said. “Look, I need to go now.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he agreed immediately. “I understand. No problem. But think about what I said, okay, Lacey? I’m depending on you. Really I am.”

  “Goodbye, Derrick.” She hung up the phone before he could say anything else and piss her off even more. But just the sight of her forlorn pizza was enough to do that. She sighed. Might as well just nuke it and be done with it. She was hungry. Hungry, pissed off and torn.

  She hadn’t thought about Margaret Nelson in ages. It was true, she and Derrick’s mother had established a good rapport. There were times when Derrick grumbled that his mother liked Lacey more than she liked him, and Lacey could just about agree with that. But the woman had lived in a retirement community in Orange County, an hour and a half as the crow flies, and once Derrick’s criminal activities came to light and their life together fell apart, staying in touch with Margaret became less and less of a priority. Lacey hadn’t felt terribly guilty about it; after all, Margaret still had her daughter, Allison, to comfort her in her son’s enforced absence.

  And now it sounded like Allison might not be the doting daughter they all thought she was.

  Lacey munched on the twice-reheated pizza and fired up her laptop. Just for grins, she went to the website for the California State Prison and navigated through to the application form. No getting in to see an inmate without a stringent background check. She wasn’t worried about that. She’d kept her nose clean. She knew any amount of vetting would find no issues.

  But she still wasn’t sure she even wanted to consider this.

  Her phone vibrated on the table beside her laptop. She picked it up and checked the name suspiciously.

  Sam Firecloud.

  She let out a sigh of relief and pressed the talk button.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey back,” Sam replied. “How you doing?”

  “Pretty good. How about you?”

  “I’m okay,” he said. “But what do you mean, ‘pretty good’?”

  Lacey leaned an elbow on the table and cupped her chin in her hand. She’d forgotten the way Sam could almost read her mind. She didn’t think he could really do that, but it certainly seemed like it at times. His communicating with ghosts she could handle; having her mind be an open book to him was something else.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” she hedged.

  Sam waited. She could picture his copper-colored face, expressionless except for his stubborn black eyes.

  “Hell,” she said, surrendering. “My ex just called. He wants to see me. Wants my help with something. I need this like a hole in the head.”

  Sam remained silent for a moment longer. “This is the guy in prison?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “Apparently his sister has moved his mother into a home, and he thinks there may be some abuse involved. He wants me to check it out.”

  More silence. Every time this happened—Sam re-emerging after weeks of no contact—she had to get used to him all over again. Conversations with the half-Navajo were never like conversations with other people. Sam entered into discussions the way he did everything else: thoughtfully, slowly and deliberately.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked finally.

  “I don’t know.” She ran a hand through her loose red hair. “His mother’s nice. We always got along well, and I’d hate to see her in a bad situation, but hauling my butt out to Lancaster, seeing Derrick again… I don’t know.”

  “Well,” he said carefully, “you don’t have to decide right this minute, do you?”

  She grinned at the phone. “No, I don’t. Thank God. But what’s up with you? I know you don’t call just to chit chat.”

  She heard his quiet chuckle. “Got a call for a job. You up for it?”

  Lacey sat up straighter in her chair. “A haunting? Where at? What’s the story?”

  Now Sam laughed out loud. “You wouldn’t be getting bored with your normal P.I. stuff, would you?”

  “Not usually, no, but compared to a haunting, you win hands down. Come on, give. What’s the deal?”

  “It’s an older house on Laurel Canyon. Guess it’s had its share of Hollywood celebs in its history, but the present owner’s not too happy about the ghosty stuff she’s experiencing. Wants me to find out what’s behind it and clear it out.” He paused. “You in?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m in.” Lacey didn’t hesitate. “When do we do the walk?”

  That soft chuckle again. “Saturday morning, of course. I still have to haul my butt to work, unlike some people I know. Pick me up at nine.”

  Lacey feigned frustration. “When are you going to get a truck that’s dependable?”

  “Hey, you don’t get rich being a medium,” he said. “At least not without your own TV show.”

  “There’s a thought,” Lacey mused. “Maybe this owner will have some connections to Hollywood producers. We’ll have to ask her.”

  “I’ll leave that to you,” he said. “I’ll be busy tuning into ghosts.”

  “All right,” she said, laughing. “See you Saturday.”

  “See you then.”

  Lacey hung up the phone, feeling more buoyant than she had for ages. There was no denying the pleasant jolt she got from working cases with Sam. Watching him connect with unhappy spirits, researching the history behind the location,
puzzling out the events. Not only did they frequently bring criminals to justice, but they also helped those unfortunate souls find the peace and closure they needed to move on. What could be better than that? It certainly nourished her own spirit.

  She set her phone down and glanced back at her laptop. The page still showed the application for a visit with an inmate.

  Nope, not today, she thought. She didn’t want to destroy the good mood by plunging back into the morass that was Derrick.

  Not today.

  She closed her laptop and went to take a shower.

  ~~~

  TWO

  Saturday dawned cool and clear, a perfect spring day. A brief rain earlier in the week had washed all the smog and soot out of the air, leaving L.A. sparkling and fresh. Lacey sang along to her own private collection of songs as she drove to Sam’s.

  As soon as she parked in front of his one-story apartment building, he was out the door. Long black hair tied back in a ponytail, he looked sleek in his blue jeans and dark red t-shirt.

  “What are you listening to?” Sam asked as Lacey pulled out into traffic.

  “Roberta Flack. What’s it to ya?” Lacey grinned evilly at him.

  “Don’t you have anything more current?” he asked.

  “Hey, I grew up listening to this. She’s my mom’s favorite. But I also have some Gordon Lightfoot.”

  Sam pulled a face but his disapproval was not going to dampen her mood.

  “And what’s this crap about staying current?” she asked. “You with your Magnum P.I. DVDs.”

  Sam knew when he’d met his match. “Touché.”

  “So where are we going?” she asked.

  “Take the 101 through Hollywood. Get off on Ventura and we’ll take that to Laurel Canyon.”

  “Roger, kemo sabe.”

  It had been months, maybe years, since Lacey had been to Hollywood. Zipping along the strands of freeways that lay like limp spaghetti across the land, she noted the Hollywood Bowl on one side, the iconic Hollywood sign on the other. The land of dreams.