“What?” said Rachel.
Roger stepped forward. “He had a quirk. Gregory always liked to take a few rolls of film from every job and store them someplace for luck. We think that place is in the flower shop.”
“Say no more.” Rachel disappeared.
I stole a quick glance at Roger and Father Hillard. Roger seemed unphased, but he did speak to Gregory’s spirit; Father Hillard seemed calm and interested, despite his reservations about breaking and entering. I think he realized that he had the chance to prove a man’s innocence and decided to take it.
“Are you all still down there?” came Rachel’s voice through the wall furthest from us.
“Yes!” we all yelled back at her.
“Whew!” said Rachel. “Good. This is the third wall I’ve yelled down.”
Really? I hadn’t heard her. There must be some great sound proofing in this building.
“Can you see anything that looks like rolls of film?” I asked.
“No,” replied Rachel, “but there seems to be a little space here that could have held something that small. It might have gotten disturbed and fell down the wall.”
“Wouldn’t the insulation have caught it?” asked Jackie.
“Not necessarily,” said Greg. “And some of the other walls didn’t have a lot of it anyway.”
There was only one way to find out if the film had fallen through the hollow wall and ended up in the cellar. I struck it with the butt of my flashlight. As I tried to hit it again, Father Hillard’s hand seized mine, stopping me.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he said and pushed me to the side. He pulled out a pocketknife and stuck the blade in a loose board on the bottom of the wall that I had failed to notice.
“Uh, should you be carrying that?” asked Jackie.
“Pocketknives have their uses. Will you two help me?” Father Hillard pointed at both Greg and Roger.
They each reached up and grabbed the bottom board where Father Hillard had pried it away with his knife and a yanked it free.
Clink. Clink.
Three plastic, cylindrical containers landed on the ground: they were rolls of film. I scooped them up and held them out to Roger. “We need to get these developed and hope that the film hasn’t been damaged.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” said a stern voice.
We all whirled around. In our zeal to find the missing film, we never heard the two men behind us sneak inside.
“Edmond Waverly?” said Jackie.
I couldn’t believe it either. Though I had a few misgivings about him, he had been more than willing to help me. Donald, Mrs. Waverly’s groundskeeper stood next to him. Both held guns pointed at us and neither of them looked happy.
“What is going on here?” demanded Father Hillard.
“The film. Now,” said Edmond, ignoring the question.
I clung to the rolls of film, determined not to give them away.
“Why?” asked Roger.
“Roger,” spat Edmond. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? You knew that I loved Brianna, that I wanted to marry her, but she chose you. She always chose you.”
“And you killed her over it?” Jackie was aghast and disgusted.
“You’re on these rolls of film, aren’t you?” I said, backing away.
“Ah-uh,” said Edmond, “no sudden movements.”
“Aren’t you?” My voice made me sound braver than I felt.
“I knew you would put it together,” Edmond said. “From the moment I saw that first article about you, I knew you were dangerous. Only a psychic would have found this place. That was why I had Donald try to kill you, but he hit that cop instead.”
A floating board approached Edmond and Donald from behind.
“I was the target?” I couldn’t believe it.
“Well, I guess even a psychic can’t know everything. The film. Now.”
Edmond held his hand out to me.
I tried not to look at the board that hovered in the air and neared him.
“Son,” said Father Hillard, “you don’t want to do this.”
Edmond pointed his gun at him. “Don’t tell me what I want to do. You think I won’t shoot you? Now give me the film!”
Jackie noticed the approaching board as well. She winked at me.
I reached my hand out, pretending to hand over the rolls of film; but dropped to the ground just as the board smashed into the back of Edmond’s head, knocking him over. Jackie dove for another and swung it at Donald, catching him in the stomach, while Rachel struck him in the back. Edmond lunged for me, but Rachel stopped him, throwing him across the room and into the brick wall.
Donald watched as she materialized and his face scrunched up in horror. He ran for the door, but Rachel was upon him in a nanosecond; she seized the collar of his shirt and dragged him to where Edmond slumped on the ground.
“Stay!” she said to him as though he were a dog.
The man’s hands shook as he stared at her, unsure of what to do, but frightened of her just the same.
“We need to call the police,” said Jackie.
“Taken care of,” Rachel said, keeping a watchful eye on both Donald and Edmond.
“How?” asked Jackie.
“It’s not that difficult,” replied Rachel as though it should have been obvious. “You just pick up the phone and dial.”
Sirens sounded and before we knew it, the police barged into the room, yelling at us to throw our hands up. We did. After several moments of confusion, Detective Henderson and her partner rushed in and told the officers to leave us alone, arresting only Edmond and Donald.
“You imbecile!” Edmond roared are Donald. “You should have killed the witch!”
Rachel smacked him atop the head, though no one saw her.
“Oh yeah,” said Detective Henderson, “that’s going to play well at your trial.” She turned to Roger. “Roger Croukman, unfortunately for you, Mrs. Waverly came forward about an hour ago and confessed everything about the break-ins; and I have to take you in.”
“But that’s…” started Jackie, but Roger cut her off.
“I did break into the candle store,” said Roger.
“Detective”—I handed her the rolls of film—“these are from the night Brianna was murdered. Don’t ask me how I know. Just get them developed.”
“You know, I could arrest you for impeding a police investigation,” said Detective Henderson.
“Over my dead body,” snapped Rachel.
Detective Henderson looked all around for the source of the voice, but shrugged her shoulders in the end and ushered us all outside.
Once we had gotten outside into the frigid air—the clouds had cleared and it had finally stopped snowing—I was met by someone I would have preferred to never see again: Jillian Modsen.
“So, Miss Summers,” she accosted me, “what led you to this new development? Your ghostly friend?”
“That’s it,” grumbled Rachel, pulling out a piece of paper with one of Jillian’s articles about me. I have no idea how she had gotten it. Before I could do anything, Rachel had pounced upon Jillian, forced her mouth open, and shoved the crumpled paper into it. People shouted at her to get off and I realized that they actually saw Rachel.
Two officers grabbed her arms and pulled her off Jillian, who coughed and spat up bits of paper.
“I want her arrested for assault,” wheezed Jillian.
“Go ahead!” spat Rachel. “And I’m the one who’s been vandalizing your car.”
I didn’t know what to think as I watched Rachel get put into handcuffs, but she winked at me and I knew, at that instant, that she had a plan. An officer placed Rachel in the back of a police cruiser with Jillian hovering nearby, standing next to the car, gloating at having Rachel arrested. As the officer walked to the driver’s side, he was stopped by the detective. A devilish grin crossed Rachel’s face.
I don’t know how she did it; but while the officer was distracted, Rachel jumped out
of the vehicle, snapped the cuffs on Jillian’s wrists, gagged her, and shoved her into the backseat, shutting the door. The officer finished talking to the detective and got in the car and drove off, never realizing that the switch had been made.
“Have fun!” Rachel called after Jillian and waved.
“Now what?” asked Jackie.
Greg and I looked at each other, but never got a chance to answer her.
“Home,” said Father Hillard, coming up to us after giving his statement. “All of you.”
None of us argued. We got into our cars and went straight home, where I crawled into bed with my throat feeling as though it had turned into sandpaper.
Chapter 17
Several days had passed since discovering the rolls of film. Detective Shorts had been released from the hospital and informed us that the new evidence would exonerate Roger; and he and Beverly would serve minor sentences for the break-ins, probably no more than six months at most. Jillian had been forced to write a retraction to her articles about me. Her boss was not pleased when he found out that she had spent some time in the back of a police cruiser, and he had gotten a mysterious call from someone threatening a lawsuit.
There was just one more thing to do, but unfortunately I had gotten Tiny’s cold. I had managed to get a hold of Tom, despite everything that had gone on, and he had agreed to come over to the apartment.
“So, what’s the big surprise?” asked Rachel, appearing in the living room.
Someone knocked at the door. Perfect timing. I opened it, doing my best not to cough and ignore the burning in my throat.
“I’m Tom,” said the man, standing before me.
“Come in,” I said, trying to disguise my hoarse voice.
He stepped inside, holding his knit hat in his hands. “Look, I don’t normally believe in this stuff, but what you said on the phone…”
“Tom?” said Rachel, her usual playful manner had evaporated. She vanished at first, probably unsure of what to do, but reappeared after a few seconds.
Tom seemed unafraid. Perhaps he was just glad to see Rachel again. “Rachel?”
Rachel hugged him as best she could.
I motioned for Jackie and me to leave, giving them their privacy. I don’t know how much time had passed, but after a while, I collapsed on my bed, unable to take my sore throat anymore.
“Mel, what’s wrong?” asked Jackie.
“My throat hurts,” I mumbled into my pillow.
“Oh no! You got Tiny’s cold!”
Rachel appeared in my room.
“Rachel,” I said, “I thought you would be…”
“We said good-bye,” said Rachel, “And I told him to move on. Thanks, Mel, for giving us a chance to say good-bye.”
She noticed my weak smile. “What’s wrong?”
“She caught Tiny’s cold,” Jackie answered for me.
“Where’s Greg?”
“At work,” answered Jackie.
“Don’t worry,” said Rachel. “I’ll take good care of you.” She disappeared and reappeared moments later with a carton of chicken soup in her hands. “See? I brought you some soup. Oh, and that five dollars you had in your wallet, it’s not there anymore.”
“We’ve got to discuss this whole taking money out of my purse thing,” I moaned.
Rachel ignored my last statement as she tucked some blankets around me. “Now you just get all comfy. I’ll take good care of you.”
That was kind of what I was afraid of.
Look for...
Ring Around The Rosy, Not Another Ghostie
Thank you for reading!
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed Double, Double, Nothing But Trouble. I have enjoyed writing about Mel’s adventures and watching her and her friends grow. I want to thank you for joining me as another of her cases unfolds.
Fans have written me, wondering what other adventures are in store for Mel. Rest assured, that her college days will be far from boring. If you have ideas on what trouble she should get into, or just want to tell me what you liked and didn’t like, feel free to contact me at [email protected] and you can always visit my web page. Feel free to sign up for my newsletter to learn more about upcoming Mellow Summers books.
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Get the entire series
Sugar And Spice And Not So Nice
Frogs, Snails, And A Lot Of Wails
An Apple A Day Keeps Murder Away
Three Little Ghosts
Oh Holy Ghost
Where Trouble Roams
Two Ghosts Haunt A Grove
Trick Or Treat Or Murder
Roses Are Red; He’s Dead
Double, Double, Nothing But Trouble
Ring Around The Rosy, Not Another Ghostie
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Gradpa’s Stories
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Double, Double, Nothing But Trouble (A Mellow Summers Paranormal Mystery Book 10) Page 14
