W is for Wicked (Paranormal in Manhattan Mystery Book 2)

by Lotta Smith

  “I see. You acted extra carefully,” Rowling commented.

  “Of course, because I had to. Considering that Willow’s been spying on us for Miranda all the while, anyone would have behaved as carefully as we did.” As she spoke nonchalantly, Willow’s shoulders shook visibly. It looked like the maid was the source of information for Miranda, enabling her to crash the meeting at the McCambridge mansion uninvited.

  Wilfred released a resigned sigh. “On the day my mother passed away, Stacy begged us to let her turn herself in to the police. However, after having a talk with the kids that night, we decided to hide the truth. At that time, we believed—no, we wanted to believe that the police wouldn’t find out about what really happened as long as we kept our story straight.” He turned to Wendy, his elder son’s girlfriend, and bowed his head. “I apologize for dragging you into this mess, burdening you to make a false statement to the police.”

  “Oh, no. That was not at all burdensome to me. After all, I’m her friend, too.” Wendy swiped her hands, as if she was brushing off Wilfred’s apology.

  “Wait a moment,” Wyatt chimed in. “Does this mean I was the only one who was kept out of the loop?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Wilma-Diane admitted. “Sorry about that, darling.”

  “Then again, you can’t lie as smoothly as we do, can you?” Whitney pointed out.

  “Come on, Whitney. Be nice to your injured little brother,” Wyatt protested, while pouting and rubbing his foot that had been temporarily pinned onto the floor with my full weight.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Whitney shrugged. “So, how’s your foot?”

  “It—” Wyatt opened his mouth, looking desperate to say something nasty regarding the relationship between my body mass and gravity, but the moment Rowling raised an eyebrow at him, he clammed up.

  Standing by the side of Stacy, who was openly sobbing like a little girl, Wilfred muttered, “I know it sounds both self-righteous and ridiculous, but I can’t help thinking, if only my mother was still alive and I had time to explain everything to her… As the old saying goes, there’s no use crying over spilt milk, but I just can’t help it.”

  “Mandy, can I ask you a favor?” Giselle, who was listening to Wilfred’s words in silence, suddenly lifted up her chin.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Yes, I’ll help you as much as I can.” I nodded to Giselle, feeling happy and privileged to help her. At the same time, I was a tad bit surprised at my own reaction. During my medical education, I often repeated this phrase, Helping people is both an honor and privilege, a gazillion times, like a mantra. Over the years, I became more and more aware that my initial passion was waning each time I repeated it. It seemed like I had only a limited amount of zeal in medicine, which drained away and ran out before I had even made it to graduation, much less residency.

  “Thank you. I need you to relay my words to my family and everyone.” Giselle smiled.

  “Of course, pleasure is all…” I stopped short before finishing the sentence. “What? Me? How?” I gasped.

  “Mandy, did you just develop a speech impediment?” Giselle arched her eyebrows.

  “No, but…” I lowered my voice. “I just can’t step out in front of them and announce, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, now listen to the words of Giselle McCambridge, the beloved mother and grandmother who suffered a premature death. Oh, did I mention that I can have conversations with dead people?’ Can I?”

  “How inconvenient.” Tilting her head to the side, Giselle frowned. After a moment, she said, “Fine. Then could you remove that rosary from Miranda?”

  I casted a glance at the flashy rosary, which was wrapped around Miranda’s right wrist like a poisonous snake. “Okay. I can try,” muttering to Giselle, I approached Miranda Wollf, who looked extra displeased.

  “What do you want?” she hissed suspiciously as I approached her.

  “Hello, look at your rosary,” I said, smiling. “This is beautiful. How stunning!”

  “Oh, you like this?” She glanced at the rosary, slightly lowering her guard. “This is a special rosary, baptized by Master Aurora Westwood herself. This piece is very expensive, so I doubt you can afford it.”

  “Wow.” I sucked in the air like I was totally impressed. “Look at the charm shaped like a spider… ohmigod, he’s wiggling the feet!” In the latter part, I managed to sound truly frightened, mostly because I actually witnessed a huge black spider.

  “What? Where?” Panic oozed out of her voice as I recoiled away from her.

  “There! Oh, no… it’s moving up your arm!” As I gasped, Miranda started flipping her arms frantically.

  “Where’s the spider? Oh my God, I feel its nasty wiggle—now get off my arm! I really hate this old house! It’s not only haunted but also infested with gross bugs! I shouldn’t have bothered coming to this godforsaken place!” She shook her arm even more fiercely, until the rosary dropped onto the floor.

  The moment the rosary lost contact with Miranda’s body, I saw the ghost of Giselle McCambridge jumping into her sister’s body—from the mouth.

  In front of my eyes, the flesh and blood that belonged to Miranda did a full-body shake. For a moment, her eyes became blank like a dead person’s eyes. Then they lit up with so much liveliness, intelligence, and with a touch of humor.

  “Listen, Wilfred,” she said, “I heard about everything, and all is forgiven. I now understand what happened with Stacy, and it was an unlucky accident. Also, I support your decision to stand up for her.”

  “Well… Aunt Miranda?” the current CEO of McCambridge Steel muttered, shying away. It seemed like Wilfred was totally perplexed and didn’t really know how to respond. His reaction was normal considering the previous behavior of Miranda, who had been bad-mouthing every member of his family and his daughter’s friends and trying to manipulate him with nasty accusation.

  “No, I’m not Miranda. It’s me, your mother,” she said playfully.

  “W…what? Mother? But… it’s impossible.” Wilfred’s eyes widened to the point they seemed ready to pop out of his eye sockets.

  “You think so?” Raising an eyebrow and straightening up, she flashed a lively smile. Despite having the body, voice, and the flamboyant attire of Miranda Wollf, she somehow looked like the late Giselle McCambridge, mostly because she was.

  “Mother!”

  “What?”

  “Madame Giselle? Are you… really? Oh my goodness!”

  “Look at the way she’s smiling. It’s Glam!”

  “Does it mean Aurora Westwood was right? Ohmigawd, I thought she was a fraud!”

  It was super impressive that a ghost, who became aware of her own death just some hours ago, was capable of such a huge achievement as to take over her younger sister’s body, but fascination wasn’t the only reaction she inflicted from the crowd at the scene.

  Actually, while the McCambridges and their friends and associates responded with a mixture of shock and surprise, the members of the NYPD had different reactions. Some of them stood there totally motionless, gawking at the woman known as Miranda Wollf speaking as the late Giselle McCambridge. Others ducked to the ground, shaking, and some of them were muttering Hail Mary nonstop.

  “Ms. Meyer, are you really sure that Giselle McCambridge is… well, possessing her sister?” Captain DeLaurentis scurried to my side and asked me. Her expression was unreadable, but assuming from her pale complexion, she wasn’t excited. I took a moment of silence to come up with a good response.

  “Oh, yes. She looks like Miranda Wollf from the outside, but she’s Giselle McCambridge inside,” Rowling volunteered before I could answer.

  “But… that’s outrageous!” Panic oozed out of her voice. “You have to do something about it!”

  “Um… well, actually, it happens to be my first time to see a ghost taking over someone else’s body. And the thing is, I don’t know what to do. So…” I fidgeted with words.

  “Hello? You talk to dead people, but you have no damage-control skills? Ho
w is that possible? This is insane!”

  “Look at the bright side, Captain,” Rowling chimed in, as the captain narrowed her eyes to slits. “So, what’s happening in front of us is totally insane. Then again, teenage kids tend to love things that are insane, including but not limited to your daughter.”

  “Oh… well.” DeLaurentis shut up, took out her phone, and started taking photos of Miranda a.k.a. Giselle.

  “By the way, Wilfred, we need to have a word.” While everyone else was fussing as if someone kicked a beehive, Giselle glared at her son, who stood much taller than herself in Miranda’s body.

  “Um… yes, mother?” Wilfred mumbled uncomfortably.

  “There’s one thing you don’t quite understand,” Giselle pressed on.

  “Oh…?” Wilfred frowned.

  “So, I told you to abandon everything if you wanted to marry Rose. At that time, I told you so because I wanted to know how much you loved her. I was testing the strength of your love. I intended to let the two of you tie the knot if you loved her enough to ditch everything. I was appalled when you said you broke up with her, because you had to fulfill your duty as our child, because you had put such a burden on me. Talk about a disappointment! I have never regarded you as a burden. I always believed that the reason I didn’t have a chance to produce my own offspring was because raising you as my own child was my destiny—and I still believe so.”

  “Mother…”

  “Your happiness was the only thing I cared about. I didn’t really care if McCambridge Steel collapsed. You tend to be too considerate of others. You need to focus more on your own happiness rather than others. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mother. I’m sorry.” Wilfred bowed his head.

  “Very well. From now on, you have to take very good care of Stacy,” Giselle commanded.

  “I will.” Wilfred nodded. “I will.”

  “In addition, make sure you arrange for very good lawyers as Stacy’s defense team. Considering that it was just an unlucky, freak accident, we’ll be able to win her not-guilty.”

  “I will.”

  “All’s well that ends well.” As Giselle declared this, Captain DeLaurentis rested her head in her hands.

  “So, it was an accidental manslaughter, but could it be possible to win not-guilty?” I asked Rowling in a stage whisper.

  “DA won’t like it that they kept silent, covering up for her. Then again, considering the lack of evidence and full back up by a hotshot defense team, it’s possible for any charges to disappear.” Rowling shrugged.

  “Now, it’s your turn, Wolffy.” Giselle turned to Wolfgang.

  “Ow!” Wolfgang, the elder son of the McCambridges jumped about two feet when his eyes met with Giselle’s. “Um… hi, Glam!” He waved at his grandmother awkwardly.

  “About your potential marriage to Wendy, so I said she wasn’t suitable. Then again, I’ve never said anything disrespectful about her body or her family. I just expressed my concerns that a person who is not capable of speaking French, flower arranging, or dressing the tables will not likely function smoothly as the wife of the McCambridge Steel CEO.”

  “Oh… is that so?” Wolfgang wiggled his eyebrows uncomfortably.

  “Yes, I do remember your words,” Wendy responded sheepishly, as she stepped up beside Wolfgang. “I thought what you said was right. Right now, I’m taking flower-arrangement and table-service courses. I’ve also signed up for a language course that teaches both French and Spanish.”

  “That’s so brilliant!” Giselle smiled widely. “I have a hunch you’ll make a great spouse of a CEO. Please take good care of my grandson.”

  “Yes… yes!” Blushing, Wendy nodded, hand in hand with Wolfgang McCambridge.

  I was wondering why French was so important. Giselle must have noticed my confusion because she winked at me, saying, “We usually get invited to the debutante ball in Paris, which makes French an essential tool of communication.” She also proudly mentioned that Wilma-Diane was fluent in French, Spanish, and Cantonese.

  The next person she turned to was Stacy Wilcox, who was still crying her eyes out. “Hello, Stacy,” Giselle said apologetically, which was the first and probably the last time for the commanding ghost to sound remotely sorry. “I apologize for everything—from depriving you of Wilfred and breaking your mother’s heart, and everything else. I’m sorry.” She kneeled down on the ground, using Miranda’s body.

  “Oh no, I’m the one who is so sorry, Madame Giselle! I don’t know what to say… but I’m really, really sorry!” Still sobbing, Stacy dropped down on the ground and, as Giselle hugged her, her sob practically turned into a full-blown bawl.

  “It’s okay. Don’t cry. As you already know, I was an old lady, and I feel like I was meant to say good-bye to this life on that particular night. Maybe I was just waiting for my que to go, and that que could have been anything, but you just happened to be my que. Though I must say it did take an inconvenient and awkward form of a freak accident.” Giselle smiled, stroking Stacy’s back affectionately and helping Stacy stand up. “Anyway, I’m so glad to see my very first grandchild I wasn’t even aware existed. If you please, you can call me Glam.”

  “You know, Glam, although I didn’t get to live as a McCambridge, my life as Stacy Wilcox has been nice.” Her eyes were still teary, but finally, Stacy smiled, holding Giselle’s hand.

  “Oh… I wish I could spend more time with you.” Giselle held her newly acquainted granddaughter in a bear hug. After a while, she released Stacy from her grip. Taking a glance over the grand foyer of the McCambridge mansion and her family, she muttered, “Now I have to go. I’ll miss this house, and I’ll miss all of you.”

  Her last words were surprising to me, bordering on shocking. Just hours ago, she was so adamant about attending all the fabulous parties, international travels, and the debutante ball.

  “Are you sure you’re departing, Madame Giselle?” I asked. I knew I had no such power like resuscitating her from the state of death, but at the same time, I was compelled to do something to help her have a fond memory of her final moment.

  “I’m sure, Mandy. Thank you so much.” Smiling, Giselle in Miranda’s body waved her hand at me, and then she closed her eyes. And the next moment, the ghost of Giselle McCambridge floated out of her sister’s body and dissolved into thin air.

  I felt an unexpected twinge in the back of my eyes, like hot tears were threatening to come out, so I forced myself to smile and waved back at her.

  The moment Giselle came out of her body, Miranda crashed to the floor with a thud!

  “Aunt Miranda?”

  “Are you all right?”

  Some of the McCambridges asked, but none of them offered their hands for help. Miranda’s body twitched, and her eyes were rolled back in her head.

  Marcus Warne-Smith, the butler, called the ambulance, which arrived and hauled Miranda to the same hospital where Giselle expired.

  Stacy Wilcox was escorted to the 19th Precinct of the NYPD as a suspect of an accidental manslaughter case. The three McCambridge kids and Wendy Ruben accompanied her for moral support. As for Wilfred and Wilma-Diane, they went to his office to recruit a team of the best defense lawyers in town.

  As things began to settle, I remained staring at the ceiling in the direction Giselle had gone.

  Captain DeLaurentis approached Rowling, asking for a photo op so she could impress her teenage daughter. After all, he was a semi-celebrity as one of the most eligible bachelors, and it didn’t hurt to show off a selfie with him. On autopilot, I volunteered to be the cameraman, but both the captain and my boss insisted I strike a pose with them in a group photo. I ended up in the center of this special selfie, with one arm around each other’s shoulders.

  After that, the captain left, thanking us for assisting with the case. On leaving, I caught her muttering that she had to phone Hernandez, the head of the FBI’s New York field office, and she didn’t like it. Under normal circumstances, I would have gotten curious,
but this time, I was busy dealing with my own feelings.

  “So, Giselle’s gone?” Rowling, still standing by my side, asked me when the captain left.

  “Yes, she’s gone.” I nodded. Somehow, my heart was being crushed with emotions. Now that the ghost had gone, I felt empty. I missed her.

  “Good job, Mandy. You made her final day,” he said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

  “You think so?” I turned my face away from my boss. Despite the desperate attempt to keep myself from crying, hot tears kept falling like Niagara, and I didn’t want Rowling to notice.

  “Of course,” he said, pulling me close to him until my face was buried in his chest.

  “I’m not so sure,” I mumbled. “She was totally looking forward to the debutante ball in December, and she was looking forward to all the parties, shopping, and…” As I went on, I noticed how much I wanted to help her build a final fond memory.

  While I wept quietly with my face buried in his chest, I half expected an insensitive remark or two from him—like, “Don’t use my shirt as tissue paper,” but he didn’t say anything. He just kept caressing my hair. I was grateful for the silence, and I couldn’t help noticing how exceptionally good he smelled.

  Until someone cleared their throat in front of my right ear. “Hello, Mandy?”

  “What?” Jumping up and pulling away from Rowling, I almost shrieked. “Giselle? What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, come on, Mandy. You don’t need to shout. How many times should I remind you that I’m not deaf?” Giselle winked. “Oh, Mandy, darling, you missed me so much to the point of crying!”

  “No… I mean, yes. W-wh-what are you doing here?” I stuttered, half-happy to see her again, and half-freaking out as the thought of having not just one but two ghosts stalking me crossed my mind.

  “What’s going on, Mandy? Is she back or something?” Rowling asked me, looking in my eyes.