Interview With a Ghost in Arizona
Ghost Mysteries of the Southwest - Book #2
Angela Pepper
| FIRST EDITION |
Chapter 1
Friday, October 28th, 5:29 p.m.
1444 Nanaimo Street
Copeland, Arizona
Childhood Home of Famous Bestselling Author George Morrison
The moon rose as a thin sliver behind Piper Chen as she gave the door a bold knock. She smoothed down her designer skirt while she waited for her favorite author to answer. Her black-and-white Boston Terrier, Teddy, gave her a quizzical look. Would the person behind the door have doggie treats? Teddy smacked his glossy black lips in anticipation. Halloween wasn't for three more days, but to a pampered pooch like Teddy, every day was Trick-or-Treat day.
Piper had come to the childhood home of author George Morrison to meet him in person. Over the summer, they'd become friendly online, and now he was in town, tidying up his mother's estate. He'd generously extended an invitation, so how could she decline?
Piper was a dedicated fan of Morrison's House of Hallows books, and thought meeting the author would be “super fun.” Piper's best friend, however, suspected her online pal was a “silly old fart.” Winnie could be judgmental like that. Which was why Piper planned to drag George to her house party that night and prove everyone wrong.
She knocked again, but the door remained closed. Piper could hear the subtle creaking of movement inside the house. Teddy let out a sharp bark of impatience and pushed at the door with both nose and paw.
The door, apparently unlocked, creaked open.
Piper called in, “Mr. Morrison?”
She and the dog stepped inside uninvited. The house interior was dim, lit only by the streetlamps currently flickering on as the sun's last rays disappeared.
When no one answered, she puffed up her petite chest and said, “George, if you're hiding in the shadows just so you can jump out and scare me, your butt is going to be on the receiving end of a vicious Boston Terrier bite. My personal bodyguard, Teddy, hasn't been fed for hours, and I swear he's part piranha.”
Teddy barked once in agreement.
Piper was about to elaborate on Teddy's protective abilities when something in the shadows moved. A dank, seafood scent wafted to her nostrils. Before she could retreat to the porch step, an assailant struck her on the shoulders from behind, sending her toppling over a low shoe rack. She landed face first and mouth open on what tasted like fifty-year-old shag carpet.
Teddy leaped into action. Literally. He jumped onto his sprawled owner's back and barked at the attacker with the ferocity of ten Boston Terriers.
Piper thought she could hear someone apologizing, but it was difficult to hear anything but her bodyguard's strident barking. The shadows shifted again, and the front door slammed shut. Piper pushed the dog off her back, got to her feet, and ran to the room's window. A silver car pulled out from the curb and raced away. She squinted at the license plate number, catching a few digits.
Teddy ceased his barking. The house seemed to hold its breath. Piper's nerves calmed bit by bit as she walked around the room, switching on lamps. Light. She needed light. Each glowing bulb revealed a living room that would suit a time capsule, with sagging furniture and oversized lamps that matched the era of the shag carpet.
“George? Mr. Morrison? Are you here? I think someone was trying to break in, or—”
She stopped abruptly as her gaze came to rest on a man. He sat in a recliner that she could have sworn was empty seconds earlier.
“George,” she said. An unexpected surge of bashfulness took over. He was, after all, her favorite author, and here they were, face to face.
She gushed, “You look exactly like your author photo.”
The fifty-year-old man blinked and looked down at his clothes—the dark-blue button-down shirt that strained over his round belly, the gray trousers held up by his trademark suspenders, and his broad feet in his beloved New Balance sneakers. Teddy trotted up to George's shoes and gave them a tentative sniff.
George jerked in alarm, pulling his feet up to the edge of his seat. Piper smiled, reminded of the classic cartoon of an elephant frightened by a mouse.
“Teddy's all bark, no bite,” she said. “I was bluffing about him being part piranha.”
Her adrenaline was wearing off, and now Piper's legs felt shaky. She dropped onto a sofa across from George's chair, sending up a cloud of dust. She sneezed. She expected a “Bless you” or a “Gesundheit,” but George said nothing.
“Mr. Morrison, are you okay? Were you hurt? Who was that leaving when I got here?” She glanced around warily and whispered, “Should we call someone?”
The author shifted his body noiselessly, removed his tweed fisherman's cap with one hand, and ran his fingers through his gray hair, stopping suddenly when his hand reached the back of his head. His mouth moved wordlessly. With wide eyes, he gave Piper a stunned look.
“What's wrong?” she asked. “Did someone hit you?”
He shrugged and mutely returned his attention down to the black-and-white Boston Terrier sniffing his trousers.
A chill passed over Piper, giving her goose bumps in places she didn't think possible, including the top of her head. Her shins were aching, with visible red marks from where she'd fallen against the entryway's shoe stand. She'd been attacked. Whether George admitted it or not, something was very wrong at the Morrison residence. Piper retrieved her jewel-cased phone from her designer purse and, for the first time in her life, called 9-1-1.
Ten minutes later, the police arrived. Two male officers entered the house, making friendly jokes about the guard dog on duty. Teddy correctly identified which officer was carrying dog treats in his pocket.
One of the officers took Piper's statement in the living room while the other did a sweep of the split-level home, declaring the upstairs clear before heading down to the lower floor.
Throughout everything, George remained silent, barely moving in his recliner. He was ignored by the police, which made Piper feel sorry for the old man. Here was the greatest writer of his generation, being talked about as though he wasn't even there.
Piper chided the officer. “Ask Mr. Morrison questions directly, would you? He's right here, and this is his family home. No, I didn't see who pushed me down, because it was dark when I got here. I already told you that.” She waved her hands in frustration. “Listen, I don't know anything about what's happening here. Your guess is as good as mine.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh! I smelled something familiar, like what you smell when you walk by a fish market. Whoever pushed me down smelled like seafood.”
The officer nodded slowly as he jotted notes on a paper pad. “The suspect smells like seafood.”
Piper bristled at the sarcasm in his tone. “Don't make fun of me.”
“Calm down, little lady,” he said, a wry grin on his lips. “Off the record, what were you charging the old man? Is it by the hour, or the full night?”
Piper jumped to her feet. “I'm not a call girl. How dare you!”
The officer tilted his big, dumb head to the side, his grin broadening. “No, of course not. You're just a smokin' hot chick who stopped over to visit her much older male friend. Forgive me for jumping to conclusions. I'm just a small-town cop, not a sophisticated young woman such as yourself.” He squinted at her face approvingly. “Where are you from? Korea? China? You Asian girls sure are adorable when you're mad.” He raked his gaze down h
er body. “And those little feet of yours look mighty tasty.”
Piper retorted, “I'm glad you think so, because I'm about to kick you so hard, you'll be tasting my nail polish for days.” She stood up, not to actually kick him—she wasn't that hot-headed—but to leave. She had a party to host that evening, and given the ugly bruises forming on her shins, a wardrobe change was in order.
Piper started toward the front door. The officer who'd gone downstairs a moment earlier came barreling into the room, slack jawed and waxy faced. He blurted to his partner a jumble of words.
Then both of them were yelling, Teddy was barking, and the room began to spin.
A moment later, Piper was face down on the shag carpet again, being handcuffed. She demanded to know why she was being arrested. The officers explained it, but their words made no sense.
She spat the carpet out of her mouth. “How can I be a suspect in the murder of George Morrison when he's sitting right there, alive and well?”
“Where? Ma'am, do you see Mr. Morrison in this room?”
“He's in that brown chair, in the corner,” she said indignantly. “You two need to get your eyes checked.”
One said to the other, “She's in shock.”
His partner replied, “Let's shock her out of it.”
“That's not how shock works,” the first one said, but it was too late. Piper had been hoisted to her feet and brought over to the stairwell.
She looked down the stairs. The world around her went dim, as though she was looking out through a tiny hole in a cardboard box. Lying at the bottom of the stairs leading to the lower floor was the prone body of George Morrison. Lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling. A pool of blood radiated around his head like a dark halo. How could he be sitting in the chair and also dead at the foot of the stairs?
She whipped her head back toward the recliner. The chair was empty now.
The idea was shocking, but there was no other explanation. She'd been hanging out with a ghost.
“Well?” The police officer grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her away from the stairwell. She was grateful to not be staring at the body, but having to look at this man's big dumb face was almost as bad. He demanded, “What have you got to say for yourself?”
“Nothing,” she spat. “Unless you want to hear more about my foot kicking your rear end.”
Teddy barked in agreement. Now he thought they were playing a game. He jumped onto the living room sofa, kicking up dust and twirling in an excited circle.
Piper looked longingly at the door. The officer followed her gaze. “Don't even think about it,” he said.
“Just let me go! If I'd done something wrong, I wouldn't have phoned you dummies, now, would I?”
The big cop made a thoughtful face, shifting his large black mustache from side to side. “Didn't I see you crossing the street by the post office about three hours ago? Wearing a schoolgirl's uniform with knee-high socks?”
“Ugh. In your gross dreams.”
“But you do look familiar.”
She rolled her eyes.
After a few seconds of heavy breathing, he asked, “So, how'd you take out the old man?” He scanned the room, stopping when he reached the fireplace mantel. He left her side to go pick up a single candlestick holder. “Did you hit the old geezer with this? One whack on the back of the head?” He hefted it a few times in one hand.
She was seething with rage, probably to hold back the anguish that was sure to come, but kept herself in check. Calmly, she observed, “Officer, you seem to know an awful lot about what happened here.”
He scoffed and set the candlestick holder back on the mantel, and then he leaned over and examined the empty space next to it. “Where'd you hide the other one? There's a spot here that's missing dust. So, where's the other one? I bet it's the murder weapon.” He turned to Teddy and pointed his finger like a gun. “Play dead,” he said.
Teddy, who was as clever as he was obedient, flopped onto his back, legs stiffly in the air. So much for her vicious attack beast. Piper turned to look for the other police officer, the one who'd had the dog treats in his pockets and had seemed the lesser jerk. He was hunched over, his body shaking as he retched into a plant pot. She was on her own.
She turned, lost her footing, and suddenly she was tipping into the darkness. She was going down the stairwell, her hands still cuffed behind her back.
The big cop leaped for her, grabbed her shoulders, and yanked her back from the brink just in time. He looked rather happy about the save, like he was the hero in this situation, the man who'd triumphed over the dangerous young girl. That grin on his face! The way he enjoyed seeing her trapped and helpless!
Piper saw nothing but red.
She whispered something, quiet enough that he leaned in to listen, and then she whipped her head up, butting his nose with a solid CRACK.
He hadn't been expecting that.
Chapter 2
8:15 p.m.
Copeland Police Station
“Miss Chen, please accept our deepest apologies.” The chief of police stood before Piper, shifting his weight from one boot to the other.
“For what, exactly?” Piper rubbed the red marks on her wrists. “For being tossed to the ground like a thug? Getting thrown in the back of a car that smells like a vomitorium? Or is the apology for your charming men mistaking me for a prostitute?”
The chief's face reddened. “All of the above,” he gulped. “Miss Chen, your parents are respected members of this community, and so are you.”
“And yet I was arrested for no good reason.”
“My men were caught off guard because Copeland is a quiet town. We don't deal with this sort of thing very often.”
“And what sort of thing is this, anyway? Was the death suspicious? A targeted attack? A burglary gone wrong?”
His gaze darted around the interrogation room, avoiding her face. “Miss Chen, I do sincerely apologize for the way my officers treated you. They will both be reprimanded.” He nodded curtly.
“Do you think it was an accident? How long was poor Mr. Morrison dead before I got there?”
The chief backed toward the door. “I'm not at liberty to…” He stopped and sighed heavily. “The truth is, Miss Chen, we don't know yet. The body's on the way to the county medical examiner, and I pray the findings are reassuring. I'd hate to think we have a killer on the loose in Copeland.”
Piper's forearms prickled with goose bumps. “Loose and coming after the only witness.”
The chief coughed and muttered another apology as he scurried from the room.
* * *
9:40 p.m.
Chen Residence
A talkative female officer drove Piper home from the police station. The woman insisted on checking the large house for intruders, “just in case.”
It took her twenty minutes to search every room and closet of the mansion. She commented more than once about what a large house it was for just one girl living alone. Piper didn't live there alone, but her parents spent a lot of time overseas, so Piper had moved into the master suite and her parents' clothes were kept in one of the smaller rooms.
“Your master bathroom is bigger than my whole apartment,” the female officer said. “And it's a two bedroom!”
“Thanks,” Piper said, and, “I'm sorry,” because she really did feel bad that she had so much and others didn't. Sometimes being wealthy sets you apart from other people. It makes you lonely. It causes you to question motivations and doubt who your true friends are. Not that Piper was complaining about being rich, or planning to give it all away. But having money came with problems she was only now learning about, at twenty-one. Without the pressing need to start earning a living, her post-college life had been in free fall. Offers hadn't exactly been flooding in, no doubt hampered by the pedigree of her degree, which had been finished through an internet-based school. Piper wished she could find a career she was passionate about, that brought hope and joy to others. Easier said than
done.
After the chatty officer left, Piper changed her clothes and started getting ready for her party. She gave Teddy a bonus second dinner, since he'd been so brave and valiant, then put him in the pool house to keep him out of trouble. Her night was far from over.
Back in the main house, she poured herself three shots of espresso. It was nearly ten o'clock, the start time of her pre-Halloween party. Thankfully, nobody had been uncool enough to show up early.
She rubbed her temples. Four hours had passed since she'd knocked on the door at George Morrison's childhood home. Her head was throbbing, her ears buzzing. Grief and sadness hadn't sunk in yet. She was still in shock. The silence of the large house had never felt so oppressive. Had she actually seen a ghost? She rubbed the side of her head, where it was tender. She must have struck it on something when she'd been attacked. Did she have a concussion? Would the injury be bad enough to make her hallucinate? A concussion would explain the ghost.
Regardless of whether she'd seen or imagined the ghost, George Morrison would never breathe again or write another book. Her favorite author was dead.
She pulled out her phone and read George's last words to her, sent yesterday at three o'clock: I'll be spending Friday evening digging through old junk at my mother's house. Here's the address. You could pop over later if you dare! I must warn you that I'm an old man who loves reliving his glory days. Brace yourself for some moldy old stories about catching fish and winning bowling trophies.
He'd included the address of his childhood home, as well as a photo of the exterior, taken years ago, before the chokecherry tree had grown to cover the side of the modest home. Mrs. Edwina Morrison, his mother, had moved into an assisted care facility years ago, and the home had sat empty and untouched while George toured the world promoting his hit fantasy series. She'd died two months ago. Now George was gone as well, gone to join both of his parents.
Piper's eyes filled with tears as she recalled her favorite heartbreaking death scenes in George's books. He was such a gifted, emotional writer, with words that magically went right to her heart every time. Her breath caught in her throat. There would be no more House of Hallows books.
Interview with a Ghost in Arizona (Humorous Cozy Mystery) (Ghost Mysteries of the Southwest Book 2) Page 1
