Charlie Harmer and the Lady In Red: Charlie Harmer, #2

By Brendan Detzner

A ghost is a dead person with a job. Charlie Harmer's is about to get a lot more complicated. Ever since the big commotion last year, Charlie's boss has had one big rule: nobody living talks to the dead, and nobody dead talks to the living. Charlie's job is to keep an eye on things and smooth over both sides of the great divide, to make sure nobody does anything stupid. 

One problem. A sweet kid with a punk rock haircut just accidentally cast a magic spell from a bunch of old liner notes, and thanks to an ancient contract, he's entitled to ghostly help figuring out who murdered his girlfriend. The boss wants this wrapped up quickly, so she puts Charlie in charge. Give the kid what he wants, keep it quiet, wrap it up as soon as possible. 

One more problem. There's another player on the board, a very special lady who's been keeping a very low profile. Someone Charlie won't see coming. Someone who's going to make the trouble last year look like a beach vacation. Someone who's been keeping a close eye on our friend Mr. Harmer… 

Brendan Detzner is the author of White Rabbit Society, Beasts, Scarce Resources, The Monster Hunters, Millersville, and a lot of other stuff. The first book in the Charlie Harmer series is called Charlie Harmer Takes A Ride. Stories featuring Charlie have also appeared in the Book of Dead Things anthology and the Pseudopod short fiction podcast.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brendan Detzner
• Release date: Oct 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393219439

Book preview

CHARLIE HARMER AND THE LADY IN RED

by Brendan Detzner

PART ONE

#

It was getting cold. Eric had been worried he wouldn't get any closer to the city before the sun set, but something strange had happened, something he couldn't name that had come down and carried him where he needed to be. He'd walked and walked, north up Route 59, skipping from grocery store parking lot to gas station while the wind pressed against the backs of his legs. The clouds were dark and low in the sky, and lined the horizon so that they looked like mountains. For a while, he could pretend that he was back in Colorado, or dreaming.

A black BMW pulled over just in front of where Eric was walking and the passenger side window rolled down. A woman in a red dress was behind the wheel. She had a ribbon in her hair that was the same color as her dress. Eric didn't know why she'd be all dolled up like that on a Wednesday afternoon—maybe a wedding, but you don't pick up a homeless person on your way back from a wedding.

She offered him a ride. Too good to be true, but he didn't have any money and he was alone. Nothing to lose. He touched his fingers to the cross around his neck as he got in. She asked about his tattoos, and his ponytail, and his beard, and his boots that were held together with duct tape and glue. His whole life, one topic after another—she wanted to know if he was what he seemed to be. He'd heard stories about rich women looking for adventure, but even if stories like that weren’t mostly bullshit, he didn’t think that was what was happening right now. Nothing about this felt right, but Eric resisted the urge to pass judgment. Eric had met old guys who'd been on the road so long that they weren't bragging when they said they barely remembered any other life, and he'd felt the scared-rabbit vibration behind their words when they made their speeches about Babylon or the straight world or the nine-to-five world or whatever it was that they wanted to call it. The angrier they were, the more fragile they sounded.  

Eric didn't want that for himself. He could bend so that he wouldn't break. He could wait and see.

She wanted to know what he did for work. Eric had been a fisherman, he'd worked on cars, he'd been a valet, he'd tended bar, he'd sold drugs on a modest scale. He'd done carpentry too, but he saved that for last and ran past it quickly. He didn't want to talk about it. Telling stories gave him an opportunity to look around. The interior of the car was too clean to be real.  Cleaner than a rental, cleaner than the model in a showroom, cleaner than a picture in a magazine.

Have you ever broken the law? Aside from the drugs. Have you ever stolen or hurt someone?

It was a blunt question, but not one he had any problem answering. No, he hadn't. Eric could tell the truth. There was nothing in his life he had to lie about. It was something he held close to his heart.

You don't live around here.

He told her that he didn't live anywhere.

What's your favorite place that you've been?

Colorado. The town where he'd grown up. All the places he'd been, he'd still never seen anywhere so beautiful.

Do you like living the way you do? Have you ever thought about settling down?

There was an approved answer to that question. He lived his life the way he wanted to. He was free. People who worked sixty hours a week doing nothing were suckers, they were dead. Around other people without a home, you said these things because to not say them was to insult not only yourself but the people you were with, people whose goodwill you might have to rely on. Outside the circle, you said them in self-defense. You had to be proud, you had to stand tall.

But not Eric, not now. He couldn’t say why, but he felt safe and he felt like talking.

Yes. I have thought about doing something else. Sometimes I like the way I live, and sometimes I don't. And sometimes I think about what it would be like if my life were different. Everybody does that, right? Everybody wonders. But you have to keep moving forward. You just have to.

The lady in red pulled into a gas station. She said that she had to step out for a moment and that she'd be right back. She parked the car and left Eric alone with her purse. It just sat there in the middle of the driver's seat. When she came back, it was still there, and so was Eric. He hadn't touched it.

You're an honest man, aren't you, Eric?

It wasn’t really a question.

She dropped him off a few miles down the road. He spent the rest of the evening panhandling by the on-ramp.

#

Eric didn't want to stay outdoors if he could help it, but he was tired. He found a spot out of sight in the bushes near the highway. He could tell he wasn't the first person to find this place—the trash was piled neatly in a corner—but there was no one here tonight. He got what passed for a good night's sleep. In the morning he was rested but still cold, still hungry.

He went out looking for a McDonald’s or a Dunkin’ Donuts, someplace warm he could sit, eat a sandwich, and drink coffee for a little while. He went north. The buildings were closer together than they had been, drawn together by the gravity of the nearby city. He didn't think he'd have to go far to find what he was looking for. He went a long way. It seemed impossible that he hadn't passed a McDonald’s by now, and there was a voice in the back of his head that told him that he'd gone past one without seeing it, but he couldn't believe that. You don't fail to notice a warm place to sit when you've been out in the cold all night.

Yet here he was, still walking. There were old houses with big front porches lining either side of the street; it was the kind of neighborhood where people like him got arrested. Eric was about to turn around, but just then he saw an old woman carrying a bag of groceries up a flight of wooden stairs. She took it slow, and put her grocery bags down after each step, but even so Eric was sure that she was going to fall and hurt herself at any moment.

She was half a block away. He could get there in time if he ran now, but that would be a stupid thing to do. Homeless guy running at an old lady, neighborhood watch, police, jail. And there was a good chance that she was a sensible person who wouldn’t actually want a man who hadn't bathed in five days anywhere near her person or her home. Eric knew he should turn around and go back the way he'd came.

The old lady reached back down for her bags. It had rained yesterday. Eric wondered if there was any ice on the steps. From there, it ceased to be a decision.

She heard his footsteps. He was still catching his breath as she turned around to face him. The tendons in her neck didn't seem like they could possibly be strong enough to support her head and her fluffy winter hat and her thick plastic glasses.

Excuse me, ma’am. It looks like you could use some help.

She gave him a quick but intense head-to-toe glance. She did not seem surprised that he was there.

I suppose you're not wrong. What is your name?

Eric Austin, ma’am.

Nice to meet you, Eric. I'm Marliss. It does seem like I've bitten off more than I can chew. I'd appreciate the help.

Eric stepped through the open front gate of the fence surrounding Marliss' house.  He took the groceries from her carefully. He noticed that she had red-and-black marks on her hands, something splitting the difference between bruises and scabs, but he tried not to stare, tried to put them from his mind. She was old and if she had some kind of health problem, it was none of his business.

The front door had three locks. She unlocked each one, opened the door, and stepped out of the way. From there, it felt like he was on tracks. Somehow he was in the kitchen, somehow he was sitting at the table, somehow he was being served lunch. It had been a while since he'd had a real, eat-until-you're-full meal. He was worried that he'd clear out her fridge if he didn't control himself, but once the food started coming he couldn't stop shoving it into his mouth.

Cold cuts, stew, pasta. She said it was all just leftovers.

Thank you so much. This was delicious. He'd already said that twice, but he didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t eat anymore; he was pretty sure he’d rupture an intestine if he tried.

Nothing from Marliss. She could've been planning to murder him behind those glasses and he'd have no idea.

This is a beautiful house, Eric said

Marliss nodded her head very slightly. Water in the desert. He tried to find a way to keep that line of conversation open. He hadn't been lying; it was a nice house. It might be a little more accurate to say that it had been a nice house once, but it still had good bones.

One weird detail: there wasn't any trim along the floor. Just a bare edge at the bottom of the drywall. He pointed it out and Marliss started bobbing up and down like a spring-powered toy.

Contractors are crooks. I'm tired of having those people in my house. I'm on a fixed income, I can't have people stealing from me.

And again, he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to talk about, but again, he had nowhere else to go.

I grew up in the carpentry business. It was what my dad did, all my brothers.

Is that what you do now?

Not usually. It's been a while.

Do you need a place to stay, Eric?

Marliss, you've been awfully nice to me already.

Not for charity. I need someone to finish installing the trim. Room and board, from now until the time you're done.

Eric was going to politely turn her down, but she hadn't actually asked a question, which made it hard to say no.

This will work out fine, Marliss said. I have all these leftovers to work through, anyway.

He should say no. But he was full. It'd been so long since he was full.

Sure, he said. That sounds great.

Just like that.

#

It wasn't just the living room. There wasn't a single piece of trim left anywhere in the house. It had all been ripped out; there were holes in the walls where the nails had been.

He wasn't sure what had happened. Marliss wasn't talking. He got the sense that it wasn't something she wanted to get into.

The job took three days. She let him wash his clothes in the machine in the basement, and she fed him every day. Bacon and eggs in the morning, roast beef at lunch, pasta carbonara with real ham for dinner. He'd forgotten what it was like, to be this full and this clean all the time. It made you feel like a different person.

By the end of the second day, he'd noticed a few other things around the house that also needed fixing. He made a list—not for him, but for when she hired a real carpenter. At the very least someone needed to install a ramp in front so she didn't have to climb stairs all the time. Marliss took a quick look at it and asked him how long everything was going to take. He was about to tell her that he wasn't the guy she wanted, but when he looked her in the eye the words wouldn't come. He gave her a number. If you wanted me, and I'd think about if that's what you really want to do...

She took the deal. Just like that, he was going to be staying until the end of the month.

French toast, beef stew, roast duck. Quiche, pizza, shrimp gumbo with thick chunks of sweet pepper soaked in juice. Every day.

Eric saw every corner of the house, basement to attic, as he worked his way through his list. Aside from the tools in the basement, there wasn't a lot there. Marliss didn't have any pictures, no sports trophies, no childhood bedrooms. She never talked about her life. She never talked about anything except the house, and the news, and the weather. And she was perfectly comfortable just sitting in her chair in the living room and not saying anything at all.

There was one time Eric couldn't sleep, and had gone downstairs in the middle of the night. He'd planned on taking a walk around the block. When he passed through the living room on his way to the front door, he saw Marliss, sitting in her chair. She wasn't wearing her glasses, and without them the shape of her face seemed to change. There was less of her. She was perfectly still. For a long moment, Eric wondered if she were dead.

Where are you going to go when you're done here?

Usually when Marliss talked, she put her sentences together slowly. She seemed to be moving things out of the way as she travelled from one part of her mind to another. Not tonight.

I don't know, Eric said. I usually figure something out.

You could go anywhere, Marliss said. It wasn't a question, and Eric didn't disagree. Where do you want to go?

He knew. It took him a while to say it out loud.

#

When everything was done, Eric packed a bag. He didn't want a long goodbye. He didn't want to seem ungrateful; he just didn't know what he'd say.

He was going back home. He didn't have to stay once he arrived. If his family were assholes, all he had to do was walk out the door and stick his thumb out. But he'd know that he'd tried. And maybe it would go well, maybe he’d be surprised.

He could have done this any time in the last few years. There'd been nothing stopping him, nothing but momentum. All he'd needed to get his head together was a few days in a row with a full stomach and a warm place to sleep.

Marliss intercepted him on his way out the door. She appeared from nowhere like a cat and was suddenly blocking his way. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a white envelope, folded neatly in half.

No, you don't have to do that. That wasn't part of the deal.

She didn't move. He took the envelope. Carefully, like it might explode. He took a quick peek inside and almost blushed.

Thank you, he said. For everything.

She moved out of his way and looked down at the floor.

You did a good job.

He sent something to her, and she didn't send back. It was like she was talking about someone who wasn't even there. Eric waited for a few seconds, hoping for an understanding that wasn’t going to come. He turned around and went down the ramp to the sidewalk, and headed back towards the expressway from there.

He didn't know what exactly had taken place over the last few weeks. He never would. It was okay. That was how things went sometimes.

#

Marliss went back into the house. She closed the door behind her, and did the locks one at a time, and her face did not change as each one snapped shut. She sat in her chair and waited.

The doorbell rang. Marliss got up, looked through the window, and saw a woman in a red dress standing on her front porch. She closed the curtains and sat back down. The bell rang a second time, but that was all. After that, the woman in the red dress just waited.

The sun went down. Neither of them moved. The streetlights came on. Marliss got up. She undid the bottom two locks but left the chain in place as she opened the door.

She told the lady in red that she couldn't do this anymore.

Let me in, the lady in red answered. We'll talk about it.

Marliss' hands