Double, Double, Nothing But Trouble
Janet McNulty
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents within are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or location is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Double, Double, Nothing But Trouble
Copyright © 2015 Janet McNulty
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For any who have found themselves having a horrible week.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
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Chapter 1
Home. The thought of curling up in my own bed warmed me as Greg drove into the apartment complex parking lot and its cars that looked more like tombstones underneath the pools of light from the streetlamps. I tried to stifle a yawn, but Greg had noticed it and smiled.
“Tired?”
“A little,” I replied, still yawning.
“Well, we’re home. You can snuggle in your own bed tonight.”
I grinned, pleased that we were back from Emily’s Bed and Breakfast. Our romantic getaway had been anything but romantic, considering that I kept stumbling upon a dead body with a tendency to disappear the moment I tried to tell someone about it. After spending an entire day thinking I had gone crazy, and becoming a nuisance to those around me, the corpse showed up in Greg’s and my bed. So long to romance. Our entire Valentine’s Day weekend revolved around preventing a ghost named Billy from trying to exact his revenge on one of the employees because he thought that the man had killed him, while solving the mystery of his murder at the same time. Of course, there was one plus to the entire affair: Greg had proposed.
On the way back, we had decided to extend our getaway, stopping in a small town and skating on their outdoor ice rink. We didn’t return until late Monday night.
I glanced down at the engagement ring on my finger, admiring the way the tiny diamond glistened in the pale light. I was engaged. I repeated that sentence over and over in my mind, still not believing it.
Greg parked the car and turned off the engine. We both stepped out and grabbed our bags from the trunk, lugging them through the quiet parking lot and through the door to the stairwell that took us to the second floor. Being so late, I wasn’t surprised that there was no one in the hallway and welcomed its emptiness, filled only by the lights that lined the top of the wall where the ceiling met it.
“Here, let me help you with that,” said Greg, grabbing my suitcase as I tried to get my apartment key out to unlock the door. I didn’t want to wake Jackie by knocking.
I turned the key and opened the door, stepping into the dark interior of my apartment, giving Greg a kiss. Before I had a chance to get all the way inside, the lights burst on and I found myself overwhelmed with shouts of “Surprise!”
So, Jackie hadn’t been asleep after all. Within moments, Greg and I found ourselves pulled into my apartment surround by our friends laughing and clapping us on the back with congratulatory glee.
“Mel!” yelled Jackie as she hugged me and snatched my left hand, holding it, and the ring that was displayed with pride, into the light for all to see. “I knew he would! I’m so happy for you!”
She gave me another hug that almost squeezed the air from my lungs.
“How did you…” I began, but stopped. There was only one answer to my question: Rachel. I glanced around the room and found her standing in a corner away from everyone with a guilty expression on her face.
“I might have, kind of, let it slip,” she said, but only I heard her. “I’ll get those!” She sprang from the corner and seized my suitcase while I watched as it moved on its own to my bedroom.
“Hey, Mel!” Tiny walked up to me and swept me up in his huge, muscular arms in a giant bear-hug before slapping Greg on the back, causing him to stumble forward a bit from the impact. “I was wondering when you two would finally get engaged.” He coughed a little as he said that.
“Are you feeling well?” I asked him.
“Just a little cold.” He wiped his nose with a rag and sniffled loud enough to force any near him to take a step backward.
“Rachel told me the moment he proposed,” said Jackie, handing Tiny a box of tissues as he continued to struggle with his runny nose. “So, I thought maybe a small party was in order.”
“Thanks, Jackie,” I said, stifling another yawn.
“I want to hear all about your romantic getaway,” said Jackie.
“Uh…” I began.
“Well?”
“Maybe I should tell you later.”
“Why?” Jackie gave me an accusatory look. “Don’t tell me that you got involved in murder again.”
“SHHH,” I hissed at her. “Keep your voice down.” I looked around at the others in the room, but they were too busy talking, eating, and drinking to have cared about Jackie’s outburst. “Unfortunately, yes, but I will tell you later, once everyone leaves.”
“I want all the details,” said Jackie. “I swear, only you could get involved in murder when you’re supposed to be on vacation.”
She had a point. I did seem to get involved in a murder case at every turn. “I swear. I’ll tell you later,” I whispered to her.
“You better,” she mouthed back.
I had to hand it to Jackie; she had planned the party out to every detail. Bags of chips, open dip containers, popcorn, smoked sausages, BBQ takeout (brought by Tiny I’m sure), two liter bottles of fizzing soda, and a single, untouched vegetable tray lined our kitchen counter. As I watched people eat, I forgot about my tiredness and listened to my stomach’s nudge about feeding it, even though I wasn’t hungry.
For the next several hours, I mingled and talked with those at that party, allowing guests to admire my engagement ring. Only one person remained absent: Rachel. Putting down my glass of untouched soda, I looked for Rachel and found her in my bedroom, staring out the window with a somber expression.
“Rachel?” I said.
“You should be at your party,” she replied, still looking out the window, her opaque form fading in and out.
“But you’re not there,” I said. “I thought that you might be.”
“I meant to, but…” her voice trailed off and at that moment I understood her solemn demeanor.
When I had first met Rachel, it was after Jackie and I moved into
the apartment, which had been hers before she died. Rachel had been murdered, but before she was killed, she had gotten engaged to her long-time boyfriend, Tom. They had planned on getting married right after they both had graduated, but fate had other plans. I had helped her solve her murder, but in everything that had happened since, I never once considered finding her fiancé and helping her find closure for that area of her life. I had a feeling that even Rachel hadn’t thought about it until now, until my engagement to Greg.
“Perhaps I should send everyone home,” I suggested.
“No,” said Rachel, “this is your moment. It’s just… I’m afraid that in the afterlife you tend to forget about these moments, and I don’t know why, but for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“I think this has something to do with it.” I held up my ring finger.
“I’ll be fine,” said Rachel. “Go and enjoy your party. That should be for the living anyway.”
Knowing that nothing I said would ease her sense of sadness, I left, closing the door to my room to give her some privacy, and vowing to do something for her. It was time I had tracked down Tom so that Rachel could have some sense of closure.
Chapter 2
Tuesday morning arrived with bright sunshine, that glared off the snow, which had fallen the night before, with my alarm clock blaring and me not wanting to get up. Now that the weekend was over, it was time for me to get back to the grindstone. I rolled over and slapped my hand on my alarm clock to shut it up. All I ended up doing was knocking it to the floor, which forced me to crawl out of bed, pick it up, and turn it off. Well, mission accomplished. I was up.
I snatched my towel and ran to the bathroom, running right into Jackie.
“Whoa!” she said when she saw the mangled rat’s nest that served as my hair. I ignored her exclamations and took a quick shower.
As I entered the kitchen (which still remained a mess from the half-eaten bags of chips, tipped over bottles of soda, and spoiled dip that never made it to the refrigerator), trying to unravel my hair with a comb, Jackie handed me a steaming cup of coffee.
“So,” she said, “you were going to tell me about your romantic weekend and how it wasn’t so romantic.”
“A dead body showed up in our bed,” I said, causing Jackie to spit her mouthful of coffee out.
“Only you, Mel,” she said. “I swear, only you would get involved in a murder when you are supposed to be relaxing!”
“It’s not like I wanted to. It’s just… well, the ghost put his body there and then insisted that he knew who the murderer was, even though he never saw the person’s face. Instead, he just convinced himself that one of the employees had done it and spent the whole weekend trying to exact some sort of revenge. I had to work double time just to keep him from committing a murder himself.”
“So, you and Greg found out who did it?” Jackie leaned in, ready to hear more.
“Yes,” I replied, “it was a couple who was there. They were looking for a partner of theirs, who had stolen a ruby from them, and killed Billy by accident.”
“Billy?”
“The ghost.”
I looked at my watch and gulped the rest of my coffee. “I’m going to be late!”
“Not a great impression for opening the store for the first time on your own,” joked Jackie.
“See you at work,” I said and ran out the door. Halfway down the hall, I realized that I had forgotten the store key and charged back to my apartment where Jackie stood in the doorway, holding the key out to me, chuckling.
“You sure you got your car keys?” she called out to me.
“Yes!” I yelled back.
I parked my car on the street when I reached the strip that the Candle Shopped was on and fed the meter a bunch of quarters, hoping that it would buy me enough time until lunch, when I could escape and feed it some more. I was supposed to have been at work by 8AM, my first time opening the store. Mr. Stilton was the one who usually opened the Candle Shoppe, but last week he had decided that it was time to delegate some of his responsibilities. I think he just wanted to sleep in, in the mornings. Coming in early didn’t bother me, other than the fact I was running late, because I needed the extra hours and the extra money.
I shoved the key (which opened both the front and back doors) into the lock of the entrance door and turned it, but it moved too easily. Undeterred by my misgivings, I opened the door and stopped. It looked as though a tornado had gone through there! What had once been pristine, porcelain warmers displayed in neat rows on shelves lay in a heap of broken shards on the linoleum floor. The few magazines we had, catering to people who loved candle making, littered the floor, ripped and torn with globs of melted slush and mud on them. I tiptoed over candles that laid on their side and rolled the moment my foot touched them, trying not to step on the broken warmers and bottles of oil—pools of the slick liquid threatened to trip me whenever I placed my foot down—so as not to crush the glass any further. My fingers found a switch and I flipped on the fluorescent lights, which made the store look like a disaster area, resembling the aftermath of hurricane Katrina more than a quaint candle shop.
Great, I thought to myself. Just great. I had just gotten back from a vacation that involved chasing after a vengeful ghost and returned home to find my place of employment ransacked. My eyes fell on the cash register. The safe! I ran to the backroom and opened Mr. Stilton’s office, heading straight to the far corner where he kept the safe, and any money that had not been deposited yet. I knew the register would be empty. It was emptied every night after closing, but sometimes Mr. Stilton stayed late to work on inventory and was unable to get to the bank before it closed. So, he would place the undeposited finds in his safe.
I turned on the light and stopped when I noticed the safe. It was untouched. I examined it closer, looking for any signs of it having been tampered with, but it appeared that whomever had broken into the store had not been interested in the money. That was strange. Weren’t most break-ins a result of the thief looking for money, or something of great value that they could sell? I turned and saw a massive hole in the wall. Why would the thief be knocking holes in the wall? Was he angry about something?
Pulling myself from my natural tendency to start trying to solve a mystery, I yanked my phone from my pocket and started looking up the number for the local police station, before remembering that I had Detective Shorts’ number programed. Over a year ago, I had gotten into trouble, solving another murder of course, and lost my phone. In an effort to keep my sleuthing under control, Detective Shorts had bought me a new cell phone with his number programed on speed dial.
“Miss Summers?” came his curt, businesslike voice on the other end.
Why was I not surprised that he had my cell number programmed on his phone as well? “Detective,” I replied, “I need you to come down to the Candle Shoppe right away.”
“Is something wrong?” His voice changed from all-business to concern.
“I was opening up today and the entire place has been ransacked.”
“I’m on my way. Do not go inside.”
Too late.
“You’re inside, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“I want you to go outside, right now, and wait for me. I mean it. And don’t touch anything.”
He hung up and I put my phone back in my pocket. I didn’t go outside right away. The hole in the office wall seemed odd and begged for my attention. I poked my head in and looked to my left and my right, trying to make out what I could in the darkness, but there was nothing of interest and despite a few bits of insulation, the wall was hollow. I wish I had my flashlight with me, then I could see inside it better.
My phone buzzed. “Hello?” I answered it.
“Miss Summers, I’m standing just outside the entrance to the store, but you’re nowhere to be found.”
Darn it! I allowed my curiosity to get the better of me again and forgot to make sure that I was outside be
fore the detective arrived. Before doing anything else, I sent a quick text to both Jackie and Greg, letting them know what had happened and not to worry; I was fine. My phone buzzed again with Detective Shorts’ number on the caller ID. I hurried out of Mr. Stilton’s office, through the house of horrors that now made up the shop, and out the door, running right into Detective Shorts.
“Miss Summers,” he said, the annoyed tone in his voice evident, “when I tell you to wait for me outside, I mean for you to wait for me—Outside!”
“Yes, detective,” I said. “I was just… well... there was…” Oh what’s the use? The man knew me too well and nothing I said would convince him that I was not snooping.
Detective Shorts motioned for the officers who were with him to go inside. Their heavy boots crunched what was left of the ceramic warmers while the lights from their cameras flashed at repeated intervals from the pictures they took.
“You were here alone?” asked the detective, his notepad and pen out, ready to take my statement.
“Yes,” I replied, “I was opening the store this morning and saw all of this.” I waved my hand at the mess.
“Did you see anyone as you came in?”
“No.”
“Did you touch anything?”
“Yes. I went into the back office and checked the safe.”
“Was anything missing from it?”
“It’s still there and it’s still locked. It doesn’t appear to have been tampered with.”
“And the cash register?”
“Empty. It’s emptied every night before closing and the money is either put in the safe or deposited at the bank.”
“Did you touch anything else?”
“No,” I said, but my innocent tone betrayed me.
“Miss Summers?”
“I didn’t touch it. There is this hole in the back wall. I never touched it! I just… looked through it.”
Double, Double, Nothing But Trouble (A Mellow Summers Paranormal Mystery Book 10) Page 1
