Fannie stared at me for a moment. “Why don’t you tell me why it’s so dangerous?”
I shifted uncomfortably. What the heck? If she knew, maybe Fannie would be less likely to open the thing.
“There’s an evil spirit trapped inside.”
She threw back her head and laughed.
Or maybe she’d just think I was crazy, like most people do.
“I know it sounds insane. But there is. A spirit bent on wreaking havoc is in that canister. Anyone releases it and the ghost will be either one, searching for me in an attempt to kill me or two, returning to the house right next door to you to harm the family that currently lives there—including the little girl.”
Fannie's eyes narrowed until beads shone out from under her brow. “That’s a lot of assumptions there.”
“They’re not assumptions. They’re facts.”
Our gazes locked in a showdown. I waited for Fannie to glance away, but this woman was all brass tacks. I folded first.
“Just remember, the canister holds something evil. If you see it. Don’t open it. Find me instead.”
I picked my way across the sea of dead cats to the door. “Enjoy the whiskey.”
She raised a glass. “I already am.”
“How’dit go at Fannie's?”
I threw my purse on the chair at Southern Ghost Wranglers. “Not good. Either she doesn’t have it or she has it and is hiding it."
“Hiding it, I’d say,” Ruth said. “That Fannie Sullivan is a strange one. Never goes to church unless it’s Easter or Christmas and I think she skips Christmas most of the time.”
“Never trust someone who only shows up to service to receive the body of Christ.” Alice tied a ribbon through the holes in a bootie. “That’s what my mother used to tell me.”
I hitched a brow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning they’re only once-a-year Christians.”
I frowned. “Meaning?”
Alice sighed in frustration. “It means they don’t take religion seriously and keep Jesus in their heart every day.”
“No comment.”
Ruth and Alice exchanged a look.
I lifted my hands in exasperation. “What? I haven’t been to church once since I’ve arrived. If I go now, I’ll be a once-a-year Christian. I don’t need that kind of judgment. I’ve got enough to deal with since I’ll be breaking into Fannie's house.”
“Oh no.” Ruth wagged a finger. “Remember what happened the last time you broke into a house? We almost got killed.”
Ruth spoke the truth. Several weeks ago I’d been stalking Susan Whitby’s killer. Ruth and I had broken into a house searching for clues and had found ourselves on the wrong side of a gun barrel. But all turned out okay in the end. We were still alive, weren’t we?
I stroked my chin. “Good point. But I still have the feeling that Fannie is hiding something.”
“And how are you going to find that out?” Alice said. “Have a ghost search her home looking for the tube?”
I shot from the chair and wrapped Alice in a hug. “Alice, you’re a genius!”
She glared at Ruth. “Finally someone realizes it.”
Ruth snorted. “You’re a genius at baking. I’ve always said that.”
