Ghost Hunter

Chapter 22

THE ALLEY WAS CHOKED WITH DAMP, GRAY MIST. AN uneasy chill flashed down Elly's spine and raised the hair on the nape of her neck. The close, looming walls of the buildings that lined the narrow service lane cut off much of what little light the fog allowed to filter through. She could barely make out the shape of the trash container across from her. The thick vapor acted like an otherworldly sound absorber, muffling the engines of the cautiously moving cars on the surrounding streets.

"Perfect cover," she whispered to Rose. "No one will see us."

She went forward, unable to suppress an icy prickle of tension.

The fog was a good thing under the circumstances, she thought. So why was it making her so nervous?

She found herself listening intently for the familiar clatter of a garbage can lid or the soft thud of footsteps behind her.

From time to time she glanced down at Rose, watching for signs of the dust bunny's second set of eyes.

Rose appeared alert but showed no indication of alarm.

When they arrived at the opening at the end of the alley, Elly felt a sharp sense of relief. The sensation vanished quickly when she discovered that the cramped street in front of her was disconcertingly empty of traffic and pedestrians. The entire neighborhood seemed to be suddenly deserted.

Hurrying across the pavement, she entered the alley that serviced the next block of shops. Maybe it was just her imagination, she thought, but the fog seemed denser and more ominous now. It had a disorienting effect on her sense of sight and direction. Rose rumbled softly in what seemed a reassuring manner.

She paused at the rear entrance of a shop to check the sign, afraid that she might overshoot her goal.

"Stuart Griggs, Florist," she read aloud to Rose. "Almost there. Bertha's shop is next."

She looked down at the dust bunny and froze when she saw that Rose was staring very hard at the closed door of the florist's shop. All four eyes were wide open, but there was no sign of any razor-sharp teeth.

Rose rumbled softly.

"What is it?" Elly asked. She looked from Rose to the door and back again. "I know you don't like Mr. Griggs, but I wish you wouldn't growl at his door. It's embarrassing."

Rose's attention remained riveted on the door. Something was wrong; Elly felt it, but Rose was not acting as if she sensed a threat.

Herschel's comment about the floral shop being closed, too, went through her head.

Tentatively, she tried the doorknob. It twisted easily in her hand. Rose rumbled again, but there was still no sign of her teeth. She had not gone all sleek and dangerous, either, Elly thought. So far, so good.

She opened the door of the florist's back room. The faint hum of a refrigeration unit vibrated in the darkness. Her psi senses tingled gently. The rich, lush scents of cut flowers and greenery wafted toward her.

There was something heavy and unpleasant blended into the mix of floral smells, something that did not belong.

Probably dead and decaying flowers, she thought. Whatever it was, it made her feel queasy. She had to fight the impulse to turn and run.

The only thing that held her there, poised on the step, was the realization that Rose was still not displaying any indication that she sensed an imminent threat.

"Mr. Griggs?"

There was no answer. She knew then, deep down, that she had not expected a response.

The smell intermingled with the floral fragrances was that of death.