The Ghost Detective Books 1-3 Special Boxed Edition: Three Fun Cozy Mysteries With Bonus Holiday Story (The Ghost Detective Collection)

by Jane Hinchey

  Charlie Vaughn’s house was not what I’d expected. I guess I’d imagined his home to resemble his parents. Rundown. Messy. Basically, a hell-hole. What I saw in front of me was a quaint cottage painted sky blue with white trim.

  “You’ll look around while I talk to him?” I asked Ben.

  “Of course.”

  “You really think Charlie could have killed me?” Henry asked, once more wringing his hands in distress. “I had no idea he was accusing me of such vile things! Why didn’t he confront me himself so we could sort it out?”

  “Because he’s a coward,” Ben replied. “And by the sounds of things, a bully.”

  “No one believed him,” I offered in the way of consolation. But I understood Henry’s hurt. For a school teacher to be accused of such a heinous act, well, it was simply diabolical. But if Charlie didn’t garner the support he wanted, if he knew people didn’t believe him, would he have taken the next step? Taken things into his own hands and dealt with the problem he perceived Henry to be? “Only one way to find out,” I said out loud, causing Henry and Ben to look at each other in confusion.

  Ben shrugged. “Ignore her. She talks to herself all the time.”

  The driveway had been cleared of snow, the front path hadn’t, so I opted to cautiously make my way up the driveway, mindful of my propensity of falling over. Thankfully I made it to the front stoop incident-free. On the front door was a colorful Christmas wreath, and through the window, I could just make out a tree decorated in the corner. I frowned. Things were not adding up. The woman in the bakery had said Charlie Vaughn was much like his parents—and his parents were dirty, unkempt, and entirely unpleasant people. But Charlie’s house and the Christmas decorations were like nothing you’d find at his folk's house.

  Ringing the doorbell, I waited. Ben and Henry walked on in through the door, making me shudder. Despite being used to seeing Ben walk through objects, walls, doors, my car, it was still an odd sight that sent shivers up my spine, and I wondered if I’d ever get used to it.

  The door opened, and before me stood a boy who I assumed to be Liam Vaughn. A skinny kid with dark hair, gray eyes, and incredibly long and thick dark lashes. He was going to grow up to be a heartbreaker for sure.

  “Oh, hi,” I smiled. “You must be Liam. Is your dad home?”

  “Dad!” Liam bellowed over his shoulder. “Some lady’s here to see you!”

  “How many times have I told you not to answer the door?” Charlie Vaughn shouted back, before appearing behind his son, one hand resting protectively on his shoulder. His eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down.

  “I know you.” It sounded like an accusation, and I had to remind myself not to get him riled. This man could be our killer. “Your folks own one of the lake houses. A vacation home.” Disdain dripped from his voice. Okay, so he wasn’t a fan of people vacationing in Willow Lake.

  “I’m Audrey Fitzgerald,” I said, “and I was hoping to have a moment of your time.”

  He looked me up and down, his gaze spending an inordinate amount of time on my chest before he finished his inspection and raised his eyes to mine. “What you selling?”

  Liam stood in between us, and it wasn’t until Charlie rested both of his hands on his son's shoulders that I noticed the cast on his right arm.

  “You’re injured.” I indicated the cast that encased his arm from the wrist to just below his elbow.

  “Slipped on the ice at work,” he lifted his arm up and looked at the cast, then his eyes snapped back at me. “You one of those insurance assessors? Trying to catch me out? Because I’m not lying about this, it truly is broke, I have the x-rays to prove it!”

  Shaking my head, I backed up a step. He’d stiffened and puffed out his chest, and I recognized the threat. “No, no, not at all. That must be cumbersome,” I pointed to the cast. “Are you right-handed?”

  “Yeah. The kid helps with stuff.” He ruffled his son’s hair affectionately, his belligerence gone as swiftly as it had arrived.

  I smiled at Liam. “It’s good that you’re helping your dad out.”

  “So why are you here, Audrey Fitzgerald?” Charlie asked, drawing my attention back to him.

  “I’m investigating the death of Henry Peterson.”

  Charlie blinked, his mouth dropping open. “That old coot is dead? What happened?”

  “You haven’t heard?” His surprise seemed genuine, but then maybe Charlie Vaughn was an outstanding actor.

  “Nah, been holed up here the last couple of days. Driving is tricky with the cast, so I only head out when absolutely necessary.”

  “So you weren’t at your parent's place in the last day or so?”

  He snorted. “Nope. Until they clean that dump up, I’m not taking Liam out there. No matter how much they beg. The place is a pigsty and a health hazard.”

  It was my turn to blink in shock. I mean, yes, the place was a pigsty, no arguments from me, but for Charlie to take such a stance against his parents was a surprise. It was looking more and more unlikely that Charlie was our killer. Not with a broken shooting arm.

  “I hear you had a beef with Henry. Word around town is you accused him of…” I trailed off, shot a glance at Liam before meeting Charlie’s eyes once more.

  “Go play, Liam,” he instructed. We waited until Liam was out of earshot before I continued. “You accused Henry of molesting you when you were his student. Now I have it on good authority that isn’t true.”

  Charlie went to cross his arms, but the cast got in the way, so he settled on cradling the cast against his chest with his good arm. A bloom of color washed across his cheeks, and I wondered if it was remorse or anger. I hoped it was remorse.

  “It was stupid of me to go along with Pa’s idea.”

  “It was Bobby’s idea to say that Henry acted inappropriately with you? But why?”

  Charlie shrugged. “He never did like Henry, and then when me and Liam moved back and I enrolled him in school, all those memories flooded back, the beatings I got from Pa for bad grades, Pa’s temper that flared whenever Mr. Peterson’s name was mentioned. I…”

  “Lied.” I supplied the word he was searching for.

  “Stretched the truth,” he hedged. “I was kept behind after school multiple times.”

  “In detention. And never alone, there would have been other kids in detention too. Am I right, or am I right?”

  “You might possibly be right.”

  I snorted. Charlie was a slippery one for sure, but maybe not as bad as what the locals thought.

  “When was the last time you saw Henry?”

  He gazed up at the ceiling as he searched his memory. “Gosh, a week or more, maybe?” He blushed again. “I was avoiding him. I felt bad about the fuss I made at the school.”

  “But not bad enough to admit the truth? That you lied and were dragging Henry’s name through the mud for no good reason other than your dad didn’t like him.”

  “When you put it like that, it sounds petty.”

  “Wasn’t it, though? A petty move on your behalf?”

  “It’s okay, Audrey.” Henry appeared beside Charlie, a soft smile on his face. “Take it easy on him. He knows what he did was wrong.”

  “Yeah, well,” I sniffed. “A public apology would be nice.”

  Charlie blanched, and I realized he’d thought I was talking to him when I was actually talking to Henry. But the sentiment still stands. Charlie’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

  I lowered my voice. “I can see that you want to raise Liam right. Maybe raise him differently than you were? And you know, let him see that even as an adult when you do something wrong, there are consequences.”

  “Consequences?”

  “You want Liam to fit in here and have friends? Folks aren’t going to want their kids associating with him if you can’t be man enough to admit that you were wrong in accusing Henry. But they’d be more likely to forgive if you manned up and apologized.” I trailed off with a shrug. “A
nyway,” I smiled, “thanks for your time. Think about what I said. Henry was a good man. He deserves to be remembered as such.”

  Turning away, I carefully made my way back down the driveway to Galloway’s truck. Charlie didn’t close the front door until I’d climbed safely into the cab. To make sure I left? Or to make sure I didn’t fall and need help? I really wasn’t sure what to make of the man.

  “He’s not our man,” Ben said from the passenger seat.

  “Nope.” I agreed. “He wouldn’t have been able to make that shot with a broken arm.”

  “That, and his gun safe is in a shed at the back of the property, and the snow is piled three feet high around it. No-one’s been in there recently.”

  “And I take it no guns in the house?”

  “No guns in the house. Looks and sounds like he’s doing his best to be a good dad to Liam.”

  “He will be,” Henry said. I glanced at him in the rear-view. “What makes you say that?”

  “His house is spotless. Clean and tidy. Liam is dressed in clean clothes. There’s food in the cupboards. And Charlie himself? He’s the manager of the mill. I think he knew when he first left Willow Lake all those years ago that he had to get away from his parent's influence if he wanted a better life for himself. And the way he looked at Liam? That’s love. He’ll do anything to protect his son.”

  “Yet he lied about you molesting him! Why do that?”

  “I think Charlie never intended to ever move back here. But the job with the house and car? He couldn’t turn that down, not now that he has a family to consider. So when he did move back, he had a brain melt. Saw his folks, saw how nothing had changed, probably talked about enrolling Liam in school, and Bobby would have gone on one of his rants against me, and things quickly got out of hand. Charlie fell into old patterns.”

  “But why not fix it? He sounded a reasonable man to me. I know he knows what he did was wrong,” I argued.

  “It takes a strong man to admit that,” Henry said. “Charlie is a work in progress. He needs our support, not our derision.”

  “Henry Peterson, you have a big heart.” Bigger and more forgiving than mine.

  8

  Rather than head straight back to the lake house, I pulled up at Ken’s cabin. Turning off the engine, I sat for a moment, studying the structure similar in shape and size to Henry’s but did not come up to par in the Christmas decorating department. One lone snowman sat adjacent to the path, and a wreath tacked to the door was the extent of Ken’s efforts.

  “I want to check in on Ken,” I said, opening the door and sliding out of the cab. Galloway’s truck was much higher than my Honda CR-V. I practically needed a ladder to get in and out of it.

  “Good idea.” Henry hurried ahead of me, keen to see his friend.

  Just as I raised my hand to knock, the cabin door swung open.

  “I heard your footsteps,” Ken said, his eyes, although partially hidden behind his glasses, couldn’t hide his disappointment. “For a moment, a split second, I’d forgotten. I thought it was Henry.”

  “It is me!” Henry smiled. “I’m still here, buddy.” But of course, Ken couldn’t see or hear him. My heart ached, and my eyes got misty in response. I knew what it was like to lose your best friend.

  With my throat closing up and unshed tears blurring my eyes, I simply wrapped Ken in a hug. We spent several long minutes holding each other on the stoop before Ken eventually pulled away, rummaging in his pocket for a hankie and blowing his nose.

  “Come on in. It’s too cold to stand out here. Can I get you anything? A hot drink?”

  Following him inside, I unzipped my jacket and placed it over the back of a kitchen chair. Coats occupied two other chairs.

  “Coffee would be great if you have it. Otherwise, hot chocolate?”

  “I’ve got coffee,” Ken smiled and busied himself in the kitchen. His cabin layout was identical to Henry’s. Open plan downstairs, bedroom, and bath upstairs. A fire crackled in the fireplace, casting an orange glow, and I automatically stood in front of it, warming my hands.

  “Do you have any idea who could be behind Henry’s death?” I asked.

  Ken paused, midway through spooning instant coffee into a mug. “No. Not a clue.”

  “Not even Charlie Vaughn?” I wondered if Ken knew the rumors that had been circulating. Apparently not, for he replied, “what about Charlie? He only moved back recently, with his son, Liam, after the boy's mother died. Terrible business. But Charlie appears to be doing well for himself.”

  “Oh nothing,” I smiled softly, not wanting to pass on the gossip. If Ken hadn’t heard it, no need for him to hear it from me. It would only upset him, and the poor man was upset enough, his hand trembling as he spooned two heaped teaspoons of hot chocolate for himself.

  “He always was a hot chocolate addict,” Henry grinned, standing beside Ken in the kitchen. “Gosh, it was only yesterday morning when he spilled a cup of it all over himself, soaked his coat. He had to borrow one of mine.”

  I glanced at the two coats hanging over the kitchen chairs.

  “Are both of those yours?” I asked Ken, indicating the coats.

  He shook his head. “No. The one with the red hood is Henry’s, I borrowed it after spilling my drink all over mine.” He paused, remembering. “I stopped by to see if he wanted to come with me out to the woods, I wanted to take some photos, the weather conditions were perfect, and I thought we could do a Santa shoot. But Henry had a doctor’s appointment, so he couldn’t come. But we had a drink together first, only I spilled mine on my coat. Henry wouldn’t let me go out in the cold with a wet coat, so he lent me one of his.”

  “Oh, my God,” Ben and I said in unison.

  “What? What is it?” Ken and Henry said in unison.

  “You were out in the woods wearing Henry’s coat?”

  Ken nodded. “Yes.”

  “Taking photographs?”

  He nodded again. “Yes.”

  “What of?”

  He shrugged. “Just the woods. The trees and the way the snow and ice blanketed them. Animals. Anything that took my fancy, really.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  He shook his head. “Not a soul.”

  I glanced at Ben, who was nodding his head. “I think it’s highly probable that Ken has accidentally captured something or someone with his camera. And that someone has mistaken him for Henry.”

  “Because of the coat.”

  “What about the coat?” Ken asked, confused.

  “Sorry. I have conversations in my head, and I forget other people have trouble following along. But the coat you borrowed from Henry, is it one he wore a lot? Is it one that say, from a distance, someone would see and think, oh, that’s Henry Peterson?”

  Ken paused in carrying the mug of steaming coffee to me. “Why… yes. It was right by the door. Henry told me to grab it. He had a new one he wanted to try out – it was meant to go with his Santa suit. Black with red fur trim.”

  I accepted the coffee from Ken and set it down on the coffee table in front of the fireplace.

  “Is your camera digital?”

  “I have digital and film, but the one I was using was digital, yes.”

  “Can I see it? Can I see the photos you took the day you were wearing Henry’s jacket?”

  He nodded. “I’ll set it up with my laptop, so you’re not squinting at the screen. I haven’t checked them myself yet.”

  While Ken connected the camera to the laptop, I took a sip of my coffee, scalded my tongue, went cross-eyed, but didn’t say a word. Ben danced around, pulling faces and acting like a tool, purely to get me to laugh or do something embarrassing in front of Ken. I refused to be drawn, although I did feel my lips twitch a time or two.

  “Here we go,” Ken announced, taking a seat at the table in front of the laptop. Grabbing my coffee, I pulled a chair up close and joined him. There were a lot of photos. Shot after shot of mounds of snow, branches, the sky, the glistening of a
frozen drop of water on a frozen blade of grass. All very beautiful, if not monotonous.

  “I take a lot, so I can cull them later,” Ken explained. “That’s the joy of digital photography, you’re not going to run out of film.”

  “No danger of that,” I agreed, smothering a yawn. We’d been slowly scrolling through the photographs for at least half an hour when Ben silently snapped his fingers. “Lemme try my thing?” he said.

  “What thing?”

  “With technology. Remember? I can touch a phone—sort of—and see all the data? Maybe I can whip through Ken’s images at a faster pace and find what we’re looking for!”

  “Do it.”

  “Do what? What thing?” Ken looked at me askance, and I smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Conversations in my head again.”

  “Are you schizophrenic?” he asked with concern.

  “No. If you had to put a label on it, I’d say more psychic than anything else.”

  “Psychic? So you… what? Talk to the dead?”

  Before I could respond, Ken’s phone rang. Flipping it open, he answered. I listened to the one-sided conversation while simultaneously admiring the old school flip phone. Sounded like he was needed at the hall in preparation for this evening's concert. I glanced at my watch, surprised to see it had gone lunchtime and was nearing two in the afternoon. Where had the day gone?

  “Sorry, Audrey, can we pick this up later? I lost track of time, and now that we’re down a Santa, I’m on double shift tonight.” His face fell a little at the reminder. I placed a comforting hand on his arm.

  “Not a problem, Ken.” I looked at Ben, my gaze darting from the camera to Ben and back again, trying to say without using words, that he should get a move on and do his thing, see what he could find among the digital data on the camera. Pushing back my chair, I stood, gave Ken one more hug, then let myself out.

  “I’m going to stay with Ken,” Henry called out. I raised my hand in a wave. Got it.

  “I’ll catch up with you once I’m done with the camera,” Ben said. I wiggled my fingers, indicating I’d heard, then climbed into the truck and drove the few yards to the lake house. Everyone’s cars were present, which meant they were all home. I was curious to see what, if anything, they’d discovered.