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Gretchen snorted a laugh. “You do realize that sounds peculiar.”
“It is peculiar,” I retorted, equally as sharp.
I wondered if his condition had been caused because his death was recent, but immediately ruled out the thought. Kipp had been shot only days before he made contact with me, and he didn’t look like Alexander.
After a moment of examining the strangeness before me, I gave up on trying to figure it out myself. “Your daughter asked me to come and find you. Why are you hiding?”
He shook his head.
I scrunched up my nose, gazing over him from head-to-toe, noting something was more off than the off it already was. “Can you talk?”
Again, he shook his head.
“Yes, very weird. You are see-through and can’t talk.” At his nod, I glanced at Gretchen, who had lifted her flashlight enough to see her face. “You’re the witch. Do you know why this is?”
“No.” She frowned. “He can’t talk to you?”
“Doesn’t appear so.”
Gretchen sighed, her gaze lowering to the ground where she slid the tip of her shoe against the grass. When she finally raised her head, sadness swam across her features. “I’m sorry this has happened, Alexander. Can you somehow tell us who did this to you?”
I rolled my eyes. How would he show us if he couldn’t talk? But then I looked at Alexander. His head tilted back as if he was looking at the sky, pondering, before he glanced at me again.
He held up a finger.
“A finger,” I stated.
He shook his head and, even in his current state, he looked frustrated with a furrowed brow and tight set to his jaw. His eyes focused as he lowered his hand, only to raise a finger a moment later.
I considered him, trying to understand his point, and inhaled the murky air around me. The more he repeated himself, the more an absurd thought formed in my mind of a similar action I’d seen as a child. A game my parents used to play. Seeing that he kept doing it, I figured it better to rule it out as ridiculous so we could move on. “Are you suggesting we play charades?”
He nodded.
“What?” Gretchen gasped.
Chapter Four
The bullfrog croaked again and I grumbled a curse. Without a doubt, the confirmation from Alexander showed on my face because Gretchen’s smile died off, and her expression became measured. “Actually, that’s brilliant.”
While I agreed with her, with no other form of communication, this one was a good alternative, but caused a huge problem. “Just so you know, I’m terrible at charades and lose every game. But hopefully I’ve gotten better.” I thought over what he’d shown me, remembering the rules my parents had taught me. “All right. So, one word.”
He tapped his nose indicating right answer with an approving smile. After which, he wrapped his hand around his throat.
“Strangled,” I offered.
Again, he tapped his nose, then he pointed at the ground.
I glanced to where he had pointed, eying the dark water before I turned to him in full understanding. “You were strangled at the swamp.”
He nodded.
“By who?”
His eyes became sad and he shrugged.
I nibbled my lip as a cricket now joined in with the bullfrog and I considered what he had already shown. It didn’t add up. “You didn’t see who killed you?”
He shook his head.
