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Non-SW: The Eleventh Hour (PG-13)


Tysyacha

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Ebony only saw figments and shadows, but it was enough to peak her interest.

 

"My my, curiouser, and curiouser this plot seems to get," the girl spoke to no one in particular, looking somewhat confused as her friend Selene seemed to lose it.

 

"I...uh, where'd who go? The shadows? I don't know, but hopefully we can find out," Ebony said, reaching out and supporting her friend, not sure whether the older woman was stable at the moment.

 

Then a voice came from the shadows, and a man walked out, talking about ghosts, and voices, and other things that seemed to only confuse matters. Then he waved about a newspaper clipping and spoke about former guests being murdered. Ebony scowled at the man, releasing Selene she checked her blouse sleeve, and as she thought, the newspaper was still there. 'How'd he get that one then?' The girl thought to herself, looking the man up and down, she simply shook her head in disgust.

 

Ebony simply looked at Selene and shrugged with a look of 'what's he going on about?' on her face.

 

"Sir, please don't sneak up on people like that, there's no telling what unfortunate consequences could occur next time you do," Higz said to the man in a nonthreatening manner, un-clenching a tight fist he'd made the moment he'd noticed the man lurking out of the shadows.

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Corbin slowly emerged from his room again, going over what he had learned... not only had he figured out Thaddeus' real name, but he had sort of almost figured out who had killed Artemis. His suspicion was that chess playing girl... then again he also suspected the host. He locked his room, not wanting anyone to know that he had invaded the host's library. He had slipped the book in a pillow case and then put it on the bottom, but one could never be too careful. His bloodshot eyes darted this way and that, expecting to be shot at or something... something he was expecting. He was a master fencer, so if the murderer would prefer to kill by saber, then he was ready. He also refused to eat or drink /anything/ for the rest of his stay, once again, to be on the safe side. He pulled out a map to the grounds that he had drawn up. The attic had been locked since four, at least... maybe it was open again. He slowly made his way up the stairs and the door swung open easily. He moved in cautiously, moving with the shadows to avoid detection, if anyone else was already up here. He looked over at a glass encased book, key and lock. He slid over and took all of them, and set the key in the lock, but it wouldn't turn... it must not have been a key to that lock. He shoved it all in his pockets and shoved the book into his shirt. He slowly made his way around the attic one last time, trying to make sure he didn't miss anything and he grinned when he came across the suit of a sixteen year old servant. He moved the stuff and looked at it and then gasped. The 'servant' was dead... his or her bones were piled up in the clothes, bleached pure white. His eyes widened and he quickly covered them up. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling that their host was starting to look more like a murderer, seeing as the bones were too big to be a sixteen year old boy's... perhaps when Tad had been a servant here, he had murdered his master... there had been other parties that he hosted that had other people killed at, he knew from reading the book in his room... he looked around and darted out of the attic, shutting the door behind him and running back to deposit the stuff in his room.

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"The shadows aren't just shadows," Shakhmaty told Ebony. "This place really is haunted, and I'm starting to see ghosts. Real live ones, or at least as real and alive as they are purported to be in all the fairy tales and horror stories." She sighed. "You can cart me away to the insane asylum in the morning, or at least take me to the Icecliff City Hospital before I get sent to Bedlam in Augusta. Choose to believe me or not, but I just witnessed the selfsame argument that we read about in the newspaper article on the back of the picture we found. I heard Hiram Coombs and Stanley Rives accusing one another, and that Madame Sudarinya offered to read everyone's fortune."

 

She gazed at Ebony and Higz. "What room in the house would everyone go to in order to have their fortunes read? Madame Sudarinya was using Tarot cards, so there would have to be a fairly large table around which everyone could sit. The kitchen would be too obvious a place, and besides, Coombs' maids and butlers would be trying to work in there. Can you think of anywhere else that guests would go to congregate, besides the living room?" She had a thought. "I think the living room would be too obvious, also."

 

**********************************

 

Henrietta had finally finished washing and drying the dinner dishes. It was half-past seven, and the later the hour grew, the more worried she got. Out of all the guests, the one who made her blood run the coldest was Corbin, the mysterious man who would be lodging in the Violet Room. She'd seen him sneaking around, gathering clues to the mystery of her master as if he owned the place, or as if he already knew every single rule to Faktor's "game"! How dare he! If she had any say about it, she'd throw him out into the cold--

 

No. Henrietta knew that she was not a murderer, and neither was Faktor. The real killer was somewhere in this house, and if she were a gambling woman, she would have bet on one of the ghosts that was trapped here. Not Rives or Taft--oh, no, they were too good-hearted--but the dark apparition of that other Corbin, Donald. He was the seventh ghost, and the seventh guest, that bound this mansion to himself. It was he, and not Madame Sudarinya, who had seduced Tad, led him astray, and led him to the pact.

 

In order to get revenge on his rival, Coombs, Donald Corbin, a trustee of the foundry, had taken Tad under his wing and shown him how to get power.

 

She was sure of it, but who on Earth ever listened to a servant's theories?

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It was time for a new approach. He had to try to communicate with them somehow. He floated over to Shakhmaty and tried speaking her name.

 

"Shakhmaty, Shakhmaty."

 

If she could see these other ghosts maybe she could see him. He even tried an old school ghost trick. he floated down from the ceiling and tried to warn her in an odd way.

 

"Ten little guests went out to dine, One choked his little self and then there were nine."

 

Artemis was getting a little discouraged now, he didn't want to talk to these other ghosts it would creep him out.

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Wolfgang Kohler was late. He hated being late, it was a fine show of his effeciency...and being late wasn't why was he was paid.

 

His booted foot echoed loudly against the icy pathway that led to his newest contract, Benjamin Faktor. The Bank Comittee simply wanted to make a deal with the man, concerning some of the South American stock the Bank had purchased from him. Now, Faktor would either agree to the Bank's terms and allow a deal of great benefit to both...but mostly the Bank. If he disagreed...well, he wouldn't, Wolfgang would make sure of it.

 

He went over to the large door and knocked hard on it for three times. He promised himself that he would keep this one quick and simple.

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Corbin once again emerged from the room and fainted yet again. When he woke up, he rolled his eyes. Damn it... this is getting old. He sighed and layed his head against the wall as he started thinking about what the maid had said about ghosts... then it all clicked. Tad wasn't alive anymore... he was murdered and that's why there were the bones of a servant in the attic. Tad was the only one that was capable of communicating with the others... or perhaps it was Henritta... maybe she too was a ghost, but then... how would she have been able to serve dinner. He shook his head and leaned against the wall... this bit of information would be better dealt with later.

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This time, Shakhmaty heard it. The ghost--pun intended--of a rhyme. A children's rhyme. Ten little guests went out to dine. One choked his little self and then there were nine. What was this? Another ghost? Was this a new one, or one of the phantasms that she had seen in the ballroom? She felt her temples throb. This was getting old--really old, really fast.

 

"I don't know who you are," she said, seemingly to herself. "You don't seem like the ones I just saw, or like Benjamin Faktor. Tell me, are you really a ghost, or some voice I'm hearing in my head to prove I'm going insane?"

 

**********************************

 

Henrietta heard another knock at the door. Good Lord. Who is it now?

 

Once she unlocked and opened it, against the soft and icy breeze of this starlit New Year's Eve, she stared. This visitor brought nothing but bad news.

 

"You're from the Bank, I see," Henrietta said darkly, wiping her large, meaty palms on her white apron. "You're here to swindle Mister Faktor in regards to some South American stocks. I am sorry to say that the master of the house is indisposed at the moment. He is hosting a New Year's Eve celebration tonight, and that means I will let no one in who is not a guest at said party. You are not a guest, and Mister Faktor is not feeling well. Can't you leave a sick and possibly dying man alone?" Henrietta scowled. "Good evening, sir."

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"You're here to swindle Mister Faktor in regards to some South American stocks. I am sorry to say that the master of the house is indisposed at the moment. He is hosting a New Year's Eve celebration tonight, and that means I will let no one in who is not a guest at said party. You are not a guest, and Mister Faktor is not feeling well. Can't you leave a sick and possibly dying man alone?"

 

Wolfgang raised an eyebrow, "Well, if he is indeed dying, it may ease his passing if he hears what I have to say. Oh, and Fraulein....we don't swindle, we're honorable businessmen."

 

He looked at the cold night behind him and wasn't looking forward to another trip through the snow.

 

"And surely you wouldn't deny shelter on such a cold night..."

 

He clenched his fists, and breathed very slowly, watching the white clouds of breath rise up in the air, awaiting the response of the woman.

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Henrietta sighed. "Very well. Come inside, if only for a moment." She paused. Something about this man from the Bank did not seem right to her, although she had no idea what made her think that. Bank men were businessmen, and businessmen kept their mind on business. What harm would it do to let him see Benjamin Faktor? Quite a lot of harm, the middle-aged maid thought. The master wanted to give away his fortune to someone who truly deserves it, who will help him and the town of Icecliff. He certainly doesn't want to lose it all to some banker who only cares about the money.

 

To her newest "guest", she only said, "Sit down. I must go upstairs, to Mister Faktor's chambers, and ask him if he's willing to see you on his deathbed."

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Wolfgang was extremely happy and thankful to be allowed to come inside, the cold was definately no way to have a job done.

 

"Sit down. I must go upstairs, to Mister Faktor's chambers, and ask him if he's willing to see you on his deathbed."

 

He nodded and sat down on a nearby chair, admiring the architecture of the mansion. While he was putting on this act, he was secretly checking the equipment he had brought. He was always heavily armed while on a contract.

 

Wolfgang metally checked the knife in his boot, holdout pistol in his right sleeve, climbing claws on the bottom of his gloves, a small vial of acid and of poison, he also kept a small 2 inch commando knife in a small sheath under his jacket.

 

He was ready if things didn't work out.

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Had his voice changed when he died. Selene didn't even seem to know it was him. He tried his best to make himself as visible as possible. He to picture himself there as if he hadn't been dead, still wearing his black coat and hat. His famous grin was on his face, the same one he died with.

 

"Come on beautiful you already forgot about me? Artemis Black at your service Shakhmaty and even after watching someone die you still look good."

 

Artemis is a ghost now but he's still hitting on Shakhmaty; clearly nothing has changed other that the fact that he can float now.

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((Note: No one is allowed to kill Faktor for real until The Endgame, which isn't here yet. After all, none of the guests have found out how he got his fortune and what must be done to win it--or how to save him and the ghosts inside.))

 

((P.P.S. It's 7:45 PM--fifteen minutes 'til the Wheel of Fortune spins again! PM me if you want to be the murderer or the second victim. Cheers!))

 

Shakhmaty took a hesitant step backward--or, rather, a hesitant stumble backward. "Mister Black! Of course it's you!" She shuddered. The first question that popped into her mind was, "Who killed you? Henrietta?" She shook her head. "I can't believe the maid would poison your dinner, sir."

 

*************************************

 

Henrietta triple-checked to make sure she wasn't being followed. That snake Corbin had been up to the attic--she was certain--and seen the bones of Mister Faktor's prop skeleton in the suit he wore when he'd been the footman of Hiram Coombs at his own New Year's Eve celebration in 1866. The attic was actually on the third floor of the house, but unbeknownst to all, via a secret passageway, one could reach the fourth floor and the Tower of Stars.

 

The Tower of Stars, Faktor's bedroom, showed a million glittering heavenly bodies tonight. It had a thick glass ceiling, completely transparent, so that the blinding sun would wake him up. His vision had been failing for quite a while now, and so that was why Henrietta rang the tiny bell on his door before she slowly entered.

 

"A banker wants to see you, sir," she said humbly, removing the empty tray and the alphabet blocks that lay on it, spelling T-A-D. "I hate him already."

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Quite literally, there was a skeleton in Mr. Reynold's closet. Unpacking had been left to the guest, and it was not a duty to handle before one slept: that was for silent meditation. The skeleton smiled vacantly at nothing in particular, garbed in a suit that seemed a century old, with layers of dust masking the original color. A hat had fallen to the skeleton's lap, where is sat lopsided, waiting to be picked up.

 

Reynolds blinked before closing the closet door. The smell was atrocious, and he was surprised that the stench hadn't pierced through the door into the rest of the room- nay, the whole house! 'A warning, or a clue?'

 

Finished unpacking, Reynolds left the room, smoothing over his sheets before doing so. There was much to explore, and many other closets in which to peer.

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Hearing no immediate response from Ebony, or the ghost of Artemis Black, Shakhmaty put a finger to her lips. "Hmm," she said. "If Madame Sudarinya was reading Tarot cards at Hiram Coombs' New Year's Eve party, perhaps there's a card table in the mansion somewhere. A big one. Maybe there's a game room..." She brushed back her hair again and heard the grandfather clock chime that it was now 7:45 PM. Not too late upon this cold and glittering New Year's Eve, but she couldn't help but have the feeling it was much later. One of the guests had already died--or been murdered, more exactly. Would any of the others survive the night? Would she?

 

Vowing to keep such ugly thoughts from surfacing again, she and her enigmatic new friend wound around the second-floor hallway one more time. One of the doors, this one without any ostentation or markings to let visitors know it led anywhere special, was slightly ajar. Dim light shone out of the crack. The air within the room was surprisingly cool and damp. Aha! A game room. There was indeed a large card table--polished mahogany--and also a felt-covered table for billiards. A dartboard hung on a wall, and a chess table stood in the corner. Slowly, with an air of foreboding, Shakhmaty approached it. The Black King was in check, and there was a rook two spaces nearby...

 

"No. Oh, no." She sat down at the chess table, studying the position as her heart began to race. "This can't be possible. No one would have known. It's..." She sighed. If she and Ebony were going to work together, then she had to tell the truth. There was no use trying to collaborate with someone when you were holding everything back. "I was in check, Ebony," she said softly. "What could I do? When your King is threatened, you either have to move out of the way or capture the piece that is attacking you. I could only have done the former, but then that would have put my opponent, Mrs. Lucretia Claiborne, at a strong advantage. Here's what I did. I cheated to win." She moved her black King two spaces toward her rook, trembling.

 

"I made my King and Rook switch places, like so. This is a dishonest move. You cannot make this move, called 'castling', when you are in check. However, I did that the morning of the Maine Chess Finals, in the final round between myself and Mrs. Claiborne. She let me make the move, but asked to meet me for lunch." Shakhmaty swallowed hard. "There she dictated the terms of my win. I would be champion, and she would never let officials know I cheated, if..."

 

She paused. "...if I would pay her, and continue to do so indefinitely. There is almost no money left with which to satisfy her. If I lose my title, I lose all."

 

Wiping away a tear, Shakhmaty said, "That's the whole of it. That's the skeleton in my closet. And, that's why I want the ten million dollars, friend."

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Corbin stood slowly and knew what he must do... he had to track down Artemis' killer. It was the only thing that would allow him to think in peace. With the killer not having anything happening to him, it was just eating Corbin alive. He growled and slid his hand around the knife attatched to his waist. "I am ready for anything."

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Artemis followed after Shakhmaty and looked around at the game room. He watched as she was startled by the chess pieces that were on the table. He listened to her tale about how she cheated to win and now had to pay this other person back. Artemis Black was a master at cheating people out of things, why out tricking this other chess player would be easy.

 

"You know you did just meet someone whose been turned into a ghost. I'm sure I could visit this friend of yours and "convince" her to stop collecting money for you. As for your previous question I don't think it was Henrietta who did it. Sure she sounds like the most likely suspect but she seems like a kind woman to me. Besides when I became a ghost I heard her speaking about them and here you are talking to me. I think it was someone else, but I'm not sure who yet."

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The maid...or whoever she was, made Wolfgang nervous. There was something very uncanny about the way she did things, and not to mention her behaviour to guests...her conduct was horrible in that way.

 

Wolfgang stood again and began to walk around the room, looking at the paintings and sculpture's that lined the sides of the room. There was something odd about them, none of them were famous, and the artist didn't leave a name. That creeped Wolfgang out, as he assumed that a rich man such as Faktor would line his halls with a wealthier collection of art...these were completely done by an amatuer.

 

But they looked shockingly realistic, as if they were pictures from a camera and not painted.

 

He looked at one painting, something of a man with dark hair and a face of round features. Wolfgang directed his attention elsewhere, but not before returning to the painting. To his surprise, something had changed about the portrait, it was in no way the same...the man portrayed had seemingly...aged.

 

Wolfgang took a step back in sheer surprise, and then moved to examine the portrait closer, closely fingering the paint.

 

This is odd....very very odd.

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The young chess player could not believe she was actually conversing with a ghost. Sure, she was seeing him, yes, very clearly now. However, talking with a ghost was another matter entirely. Smiling with a sweet and yet mischievous air, she turned to the transparent figure before her.

 

"I'd appreciate that, although if you can trick her into getting arrested for blackmail instead of driving her insane, that also would be very much appreciated." She winked her left eye, which was also her "lazy eye". "If you can decipher the identity of your murderer, I think you'd be doing all of us a favor. Although..." She listened to the ticking of the clock downstairs. "I don't know about you, but I have an odd feeling that something's going on..."

 

((The Wheel of Fortune spins again, and I didn't get any volunteers...))

 

BENJAMIN FAKTOR'S MANSION, 12/31/11, 8:00 PM

 

Majordomo Higz, Ebony's dearest and closest companion, had just been minding his own business--and attending to it, nothing more. Coming out of the downstairs water closet after ridding himself of an overly-rich dinner, he thought he saw something odd under a strange sculpture to his right. It was an alabaster obelisk, with no other distinguishing features save its base.

 

THE TOWER OF SUCCESS, it read, by sculptor A. Abraham Corbin.

 

Corbin? Was that any relation to the very Corbin in the house tonight? Higz had no idea, but he did have an idea that something was sticking out from under the sculpture. It was a card: not an ordinary playing card, but a Tarot card. Was it from Shakhmaty's deck, that she had chatted about at dinner before the unfortunate demise of one Artemis Black? Alas, no. The card was way too old, almost crumbling to dust under the weight of Higz' hand. Nevertheless, he managed to get a good look at it: The Devil.

 

Some odd instinct told the Majordomo to flip the card over. It read,

 

"Thaddeus,

 

If you want to know the secret to wealth and power, the one key to undermining men like Mr. Coombs and Foreman Lee, meet me upstairs in the Game Room. This is your one chance, and I hope you will not waste it.

 

D.C."

 

He was about to venture upstairs to the aforementioned Game Room, when...

 

*****************************

 

Shakhmaty thought she heard some noises coming from the living room: first a soft thump, then a few muffled groans, and then some squishy sounds. At first, she was too paralyzed to move, to do anything but sit there and try to figure out what the noises were. Then, once she had recovered her composure, she bolted out of the Game Room without waiting for a response from Ebony. Concealing herself behind a pillar near the railing of the stairway, she looked at what had transpired. No one was in the living room at the moment, save...Ah...!!! Her bowels suddenly turned to water.

 

There lay poor Majordomo Higz, right in the middle of the polished, and now bloody, living room floor. His body had been sliced open from chest to groin.

 

"Ebony!" she shrieked in a very unladylike manner. "Whatever you do, don't--d-don't go downstairs. Majordomo Higz has been utterly--gutted!"

 

The grandfather clock, paying no heed to the corpse, chimed the 8:00 hour.

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Wolfgang's attention was suddenly brought away from the strange portrait by an unusual sound.

 

This unusual sound didn't seem pleasant.

 

He stuck a hand in his jacket and clasped the handle of his commando knife, he began walking towards the sound. He rounded the corner, just in time step in a gooey mess of red.

 

"Ahhh....mein gott......"

 

He looked again at the mess and saw that it vaguely resembled a man....a gutted one that is.

 

He stood there puzzled.

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Henrietta, thinking that she heard some strange noises coming from the direction of the living room, finished putting the good silver away. Once she saw the reason for the sudden series of out-of-the-ordinary sounds, she promptly screamed and fainted dead away. There was one of the partygoers, Majordomo Origen "Higz" Kobald-Gewerk, lying--most certainly dead--in the middle of the floor. Fortunately for Henrietta, when she fainted, she crumpled to a clean space on the hardwood, up against the nearest wall. Out cold, she would probably not come to for a good ten minutes, at the very least.

 

Hearing Henrietta's scream, the trembling Shakhmaty tried to make her way downstairs. Hanging onto the railing for dear life, she crept closer to the area. However, the more she tried not to look at Higz, the more her eyes were drawn to the mess of his body. Vomiting all over herself, she dashed back upstairs and hid in the Plum Room. Time for a bath, everyone...

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Artemis hardly had time to react when he heard Shakhmaty scream. He floated outside to see the Majordomo dead on the ground. If Black were still alive he would have vomited but he was dead...and Tim had taken out his stomach. What struck Artemis as odd was the fact that a powerful guy like Higz could be taken down so easily, and from the front too. He floated over to the body and got a closer look at him. The person would have had to have been someone who Higz wouldn't be suspicious, otherwise there couldn't have been another way to attack him. He looked at the clock and saw that it was 8 now...8.

 

Nine little guests stayed up late, One overslept and then there were Eight. There's no way its following this. Being up at eight certaintly is a late hour and Higz won't be getting up in the morning but this can't prove anything.

 

It was quite odd that he died at 6 and exactly 2 hours later Higz was dead now. He turned around and followed Shakhmaty seeing that only she could talk to him right now. He floated through the door and looked for her.

 

"Nine little guests stayed up late, one overslept and then there were Eight. I don't know if our killer is following an nursery rhyme my mother use to tell me or if its just coincidence. I can't remember the next line right now but I think I know when our killer will strike again...10."

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Had it not been Maine, flies would have begun to congregate over the deceased Higz. The man lay on his side- quite an odd position for a dead man, Reynolds noted- with his 'guts' spilling out. Jacob did his best to avert his gaze, but to no avail.

 

The man's intestines had spilled out, blood seeping quietly from the gaping wound. The little light in the room worked to the advantage of everyone: had they seen the picture in full light, they all might have wretched at the sight.

 

Bypassing the developing crowd- more and more were arriving by the hour, weren't they?- Mr. Reynolds knelt close to the man, careful to avoid the rapidly advancing pool of blood. In the little light, the man thought he saw a slight line across the deceased's throat.

 

Moving closer, the observer discovered the blood oozing from his neck. Stepping back, he surveyed the men and women arrayed before him. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a murdered among us."

 

The silence gave truth to the statement.

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Through the swirling haze of her fear and confused thoughts, Shakhmaty remembered something: Hey, Shakhmaty: six, eight, ten, twelve...

 

"You're right," she told the floating figure of Artemis Black, "and if the other ghosts in this house are any bit as accurate as you are, if we don't find out who Higz' murderer is soon--if he or she wasn't the same person who killed you--we're in deep trouble. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get out of these clothes..." What was she saying? Artemis was a ghost, not a living being anymore! Nevertheless, she was hesitant as she stripped off her vomit-covered evening dress and tossed it into the clothing hamper nearby.

 

Shutting the wicker lid tightly, she opened the closet and saw another dress, this one much lighter and more fit for everyday wear. A white one, whereas her previous one had been black. Shame--all that lobster pot pie gone to waste! Still, she needed a very soapy bath, for she'd not only vomited...

 

"If you would," she told the ghost, "see if there's anyone else here who's sensitive to the...paranormal. If not, tell me what you find around or on Higz' body that might lead to the identity of his killer." A weak smile. "Thank you."

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