“I suppose that would involve talking to him for more than five minutes. I’ve been avoiding that since I presumptuously kissed him,” Charlie muttered. I could see that her face was turning red just at the mention of the kiss.
I grinned. “It might have been presumptuous, but he sure did kiss you back.”
Charlie beamed, “He did, didn’t he?”
“Now it’s getting sappy, and I just don’t like it,” said Paws.
Dusk had fallen by the time we left Charlie’s office to drive to the cemetery. She locked the door behind her, since we were the last ones to leave.
“I wrote an article about this mystery with Haley. It’s ready to go in tomorrow’s paper,” she said.
“I start pet sitting Duchess tomorrow,” I said. On our way into town we had stopped to check on the three Ivy cats. Paws was almost beside himself with wanting to get out of the car and torture them. I refused to let him.
As we made our way into the cemetery, I wondered where the bloodhound ghost dog Funnel was. He usually liked to position himself somewhere near the light, and sure enough, the shed light was on and I could see the shape of a dog plopped on the ground underneath it.
“I hate cemeteries,” said Paws.
“Do you hate all cemeteries, or do you just hate the one run by a dog?” Charlie asked.
“Good question. I’ll have to get back to you on it when I’ve visited more of them,” said Paws.
“I think you might just hate Funnel’s,” said Charlie. For once Paws ignored her.
Funnel had seen us arrive and was loping over to greet us with his tail wagging. Paws was disintegrating into annoyance right before my eyes.
“Good evening. So good to see you both here. It’s been a while. To what do I owe the pleasure?” the dog asked.
“We’re looking for someone who might be buried here. Her name is Haley,” I said.
“Yes. Nice lady. Cares about what dress she wears and all of that frilly kind of stuff. She came in a couple of years ago,” said Funnel.
He might talk slowly and walk slowly, but he had an excellent memory for everybody who resided in his community.
“That sounds about right,” I said.
“She may be doing her knitting circle tonight,” said Funnel.
“He’s probably just going to lead us in circles,” grumbled Paws. “We should probably find someone else to tell us where she is. Better yet, let’s get a map and talk to no one.”
“I hear you judging me back there. I’ll have you know I know exactly where she is. Then again, I think you knew that,” said Funnel.
Charlie covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.
The dog led us to the center of the cemetery, where there was indeed a large knitting circle gathered. One of the women looked enough like Henrietta to make me reasonably certain we had found her sister.
“Good evening. You must be the Witch of Mintwood,” said one of the ghosts. She had short hair and a stocky build and she looked like she’d worked construction in her life. From her tone, I had the impression that she tolerated no nonsense.
I made introductions. “Yes, I’m Lemmi. This is my friend Charlie Silver, and my ghost cat Paws.”
Many of the women smiled at me and nodded. The outspoken one said, “I’m Rebecca. I’m the President of the Knitting Association. What is it we can do for you?”
“We’re looking for Haley,” said Funnel.
From the far side of the circle Haley gave only a small smile, and stopped her knitting. “Were you? Whatever for?” she asked. Then her smile disappeared entirely. “It doesn’t have anything to do with my sister, does it?”
“No. Of course not. Your sister is fine. In fact, our friend might be getting her wedding dress from your shop,” said Charlie.
“Is that right? I hope the shop is doing well. I do still miss it,” said Haley.
“We think it’s doing very well,” said Charlie, searching Haley’s face. The ghost still didn’t look at ease with us.
“Look,” said Rebecca impatiently, “I don’t mean to cut in on the fun and all that. It’s just that we only have knitting circle once a week. We really try to maximize our time. We also don’t like members harassed by grumpy ghost cats.” She glared down at Paws. Clearly Rebecca was a dog person.
“I haven’t been grumpy yet. I could show you grumpy, though. I have a feeling you wouldn’t appreciate it,” grumbled Paws.
“As someone who has seen it, I don’t,” I said down to him.
“We’ve seen you around here before,” Rebecca said. “Not recently, though. From time to time you show up and ask questions. We’ve heard that you’re very effective at solving mysteries.”
Paws peered up at her. “You’re looking at Lemmi, but you should be talking to me when you say that.”
“It’s a team effort,” said Charlie.
“Thank you. I think. I do try to do my job well. My grandmother was a very good witch,” I said.
“I only met her a handful of times. She was always in a good mood, I remember that much. Unless you crossed her, and then watch out,” said Rebecca with a smile.
“Those were the days,” said Paws, sounding like he was talking about chocolate cake.
“Is everything here at the cemetery operating properly? Are there any stories you’d like me to run in the local newspaper?” Charlie offered.
Rebecca pondered. “I think everything is running well. A few years ago we had a problem with vandalism. Lemmi’s grandmother dealt with it quickly. I think the police were also involved. I know you fixed the light on the shed at one point. Stuff like that is of course always appreciated. I don’t think there’s much else,” she added.
“Okay. In that case, maybe we should start talking with Haley,” I said, looking toward where she’d been sitting.
The seat was now empty.
Chapter Eight
The ghosts next to Haley’s chair were busy knitting. Neither would look at me. I glared at Rebecca. The president of the Knitting Association was smiling. “Lovely conversation we had. Sorry to have distracted you.”
“You’re not the least bit sorry,” Charlie sputtered, and she was absolutely right. “We came all the way out here. We have an investigation to conduct. We have to talk to her! How dare you give Haley a chance to get away?” She stomped her foot hard.
A small blonde woman having a temper tantrum was something to see.
Now all the women in the knitting circle looked up.
Charlie glared around at all of them. “Why did she go? Where did she go? I want to know right now.”
“I’m afraid we can’t tell you that,” said Rebecca.
“You can and you will,” said Charlie.
“No. We can’t,” said Rebecca. Her eyes slid in my direction. I wondered if she thought I was about to put a spell on her. Now that she mentioned it . . .
Paws had no such reservations about politeness or magic.
He marched right up to her, reared back his feet, and hissed. She recoiled. Definitely a dog person.
“Stop wasting our time. We have a lot to do tonight,” he said.
“Besides, where could she go? It’s just a cemetery. It wouldn’t be safe for her to go to the real world,” said Charlie.
“Why not? Because of all of the dark ghosts?” Rebecca asked.
“Here we go. I told you not to bring that up,” said Funnel.
“Of course we’re going to bring it up. All of us are terrified. What kind of witch are you?” Rebecca demanded, turning to me.
“The kind that’s trying to do the right thing,” Charlie said through gritted teeth.
“It doesn’t look that way to me,” Rebecca shot back. “If there are dark witches around here, we’re all in danger. Until you figure out where they’ve gone, none of us is safe.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. A number of other ghosts nodded their heads in agreement.
“We had a plan. We’re implementing it,” I said, feeling helpless. How h
ad this meeting gotten away from us so quickly?
“Good for you. I wonder when that will start to work out,” Rebecca said sarcastically.
Charlie just kept glaring at her. Meanwhile, Paws was sinking lower and lower into the ground. He looked as if he was about ready to spring.
“Paws, leave her alone. We have to go find Haley anyway,” I said.
“I will leave her alone when she apologizes,” said Paws. He glanced at me for a moment when he said it, but otherwise he was entirely focused on Rebecca.
“I’ll help you search for her. I doubt we’ll have much luck, though,” said Funnel.
“She really shouldn’t be in the woods. It’s dangerous,” I said.
“She knew that. We’ve been telling the ghosts that. What it makes me think is that she thought talking to you was even more dangerous,” said the dog.
Charlie and I exchanged concerned looks.
The old bloodhound had a point, but it was one that I definitely didn’t want to hear.
As we left the knitting circle with Rebecca shaking her head, Charlie muttered, “Here I was thinking this would be a simple conversation.”
I nodded my head slowly. “I thought that as well,” I agreed. “What fools we were. There must be more to the story if she ran from us and the others helped her.”
“There must be,” said Charlie. “I’ll go back to my research. Maybe talking to her sister tomorrow will shed some light what’s wrong. We could also see if any of her friends are still around here.”
“Rebecca certainly seems to like her. She knew Haley didn’t want to talk to us, and she protected her,” I muttered.
Paws was now stalking angrily along behind us., throwing regular glares back over his shoulder as Rebecca did her best to get on with her knitting. Paws’ fur was standing straight out and shimmering more brightly than usual.
I didn’t usually see him this angry; it was a startling experience.
We looked for a long time, but there was no sign of Haley. Many of the ghosts gave me concerned looks as I passed, but no one offered to help. Finally, we gave up for the time being.
Once we were back in the Beetle, I rested my head against the back of the seat.
“I should have known this was going to be a problem,” I muttered.
“What are you talking about?” Charlie asked.
“I’m talking about the fact that I’ve failed in my duty. I’m supposed to protect the town. I’m supposed to help ghosts,” I said. “My grandmother would never have let this happen. I know, because it didn’t happen under her watch.”
Charlie stayed silent and stared straight ahead at the swirl of trees and sky blanketed in nighttime, a much more peaceful picture than my heart, covered in guilt as it was. I knew her mind was working, even if at the moment she was just letting me vent my frustration.
“We are going to find the dark ghosts,” said Paws when he got tired of the silence. “Now take me home so I can muster a force. Putting on armor won’t happen quickly.”
Charlie glanced at me and tried to give me a reassuring smile.
Home it was.
When we had gone in search of Puddlewood not long ago, Paws had gotten decked out in a full suit of armor. He was now proposing to put it on again as he went searching for the dark witches. I almost laughed.
By the time we got to the farmhouse, many of the other ghosts were waiting for us. Karen was talking with the other tea ladies, and given her facial expression I had the distinct impression that she was planning on giving me a piece of her mind as soon as I was close enough for her to hand it to me.
I wasn’t wrong. She marched right up to me and said, “We have to talk.”
“Why do you get to talk to her first?” Mrs. Goodkeep asked.
“We’ve been over this. I have seniority now. You were stripped of your position. Therefore, when I want to yell at the Witch of Mintwood, I will do so,” said Karen.
I sighed and scrubbed my hands across my face. I wished I was seeing Jasper tonight. Instead I was stuck with this lot.
“Tough crowd,” said Tank, hopping over. He was a ghost rabbit, hated intensely by Paws.
That the ghost cat had offered to work with Tank in finding the dark ghosts told me just what a serious position we were in.
“I have come for our meeting, Sir Paws,” said Tank.
“Why are you calling him ‘Sir’?” Mrs. Goodkeep asked, temporarily distracted from her argument with Karen.
“Because when a cat puts on ghost armor, he becomes ‘Sir’ in my eyes,” said Tank.
“Pity he can’t wear it all the time,” said Gary, a ghost in his thirties who had originally been tasked as my wand’s guardian.
“Karen, see? We’re dealing with the dark ghost problem,” I told her.
She sniffed. “The dark ghost problem has only begun. My tea is getting cold.” She turned on her heel and strode off.
“You’d think once she became a ghost she’d stop using that as an excuse to walk away from conversations,” said Mr. Bone. “I will assist you two in your planning,” he added to the cat and the rabbit.
“Very well,” said Paws.
The ghost cat was being so agreeable, I was starting to worry that he thought the situation was a downright emergency.
Once they had turned away to get ready for their expedition, I made my way inside. Greer wasn’t due home for a while and Charlie wanted to keep working on her article. “I don’t know if I should submit it without having talked to Haley or Henrietta,” she said.
“Might as well. Your information is sound. It might be the strangest case yet,” I said.
Charlie nodded. “And that’s saying something.”
Chapter Nine
The usual hammering was back when morning rolled around. The Wolf Corporation owned the dilapidated house across the street – the Manor Portrait House – and it was now being fixed up by Jasper.
I threw off the covers. Ghost cats help me, I had almost gotten used to the noise by now. It was amazing what you could get used to when you had to . . . and when you had a cute boyfriend, especially when it was that very boyfriend who was indirectly causing the noise.
Downstairs I found a note from Charlie saying she had gone into the office early. Greer was still asleep, but she had also left me a note. It said that she wanted to go back to Henrietta’s.
Now that I had met Haley’s ghost, I wanted to go back too. We needed to find out exactly what had happened to Haley, since Henrietta didn’t think her sister had died a natural death. Haley remembered having a problem, something she didn’t want to tell her sister about, but she couldn’t put her finger on what that was.
As I thought about the day I was facing and the mysteries we were struggling with, another puzzle came to mind. I wondered if Charlie was going actually to start snooping into the strange meetings Mrs. Barnett was hosting at the Daily Brew.
Greer had said to her once, “Couldn’t you just ask Mrs. Barnett what the meetings are?”
Charlie had looked as offended and furious as a wet cat. Greer hadn’t asked again.
I ate a quick breakfast and then headed over to Mayor Clabberd’s house. He had been so worried about having me take care of Duchess, I wondered if he had ever before had anyone take care of her who wasn’t family.
He lived on a quiet, tree-lined street. I rounded a bend and saw a pale yellow house with a perfectly kept yard. There were few shrubs, and I caught a glimpse of a small flower garden, but there was nothing that looked as if it took a long time to manage.
The driveway was empty. As I got out of the Beetle, I noticed a bird feeder next to a window. I wondered if that window was where Duchess spent her afternoons.
The key worked on a side door that let me into the garage, the cleanest space I had ever seen for cars and storage. It boasted a neatly swept concrete floor, new windows, and everything organized to the hilt.
There was a fancy green car parked in one spot, plus few boxes on shelves, and that
was about it.
Charlie had been just as curious as Greer about what the inside of the mayor’s house would look like. I hadn’t even gotten through the garage yet and I couldn’t wait to tell them.
I stepped through into a small, neat, light-filled kitchen, all in a pale pastel pink. Antique-looking tea towels hung off the oven, and placemats were set on the small circular table. There was another bird feeder against the window nearest the table.
There was no cat to be seen.
On the table, on one of the placemats, was a handwritten note. It was in large print, six pages long. It didn’t look like it had been written recently, and there were a few edits that made me think Duchess had a routine that all of her former caretakers had stuck to.
I read the note. Pet owners were particular about their pets, because often their pets were particular. One of my favorite cats to pet sit refused to eat dairy of any kind. Another one loved me forever after I gave her cream cheese.
When I stepped through into the living room, for some reason my heart was pounding.
The living room was much like the kitchen: pastel, everything neat and orderly, and a lot like the mayor’s office at the town hall, with a similar array of expensive-looking wooden furniture. Unlike the office, though, the living room didn’t give me the sense that there was any pompous flaunting going on.
“Duchess?” I called, trying to make my voice sound soothing. I kept calling her over and over, to no avail.
Then I made a cooing noise that often brought cats running. I had noticed, and the note had confirmed, that Duchess was fed in the kitchen. I hadn’t planned on going upstairs to search for her, because that felt like an invasion of the mayor’s privacy.
I did feel like I needed to lay eyes on her, though, because until I did, I would worry. If that meant fishing underneath the beds and in closets, so be it.
I returned to the kitchen.
Mysterious Mintwood Murmurs Page 5
