Murder Ghost Foul: The Complete Mystic Springs Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series

by Mona Marple

  As I think that, the energy in the room transforms, and I hear Adele’s soft sobs. I glance across at the window and see her go to him and collapse into his arms.

  “Don’t threaten to take my babies away from me.” He says as he wraps his arms around her.

  I watch her body convulse and think, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she talks a good talk. That’s what lawyers do, right? They know how to say the right thing, how to craft a convincing argument. But would she really leave him? Would she take on life as a single mom of baby twins?

  Who knows?

  And why does it matter?

  Because it’s clear, as I stand watching the two of them, as I watch her hungrily reach for the buttons on his shirt and hear him moan, that they’ve forgotten this argument as quick as it started.

  I force myself to look away, and take my chances walking down the path, leaving them to kiss and make up.

  “Connie!” Finian Archbold calls to me from his Bentley GT, idling to a stop. I walk across to him, still feeling flushed from the scene at Adele’s.

  “Finian, how are you?”

  “Excellent, my dear. You really must visit the castle again!”

  “Oh, yes.” I say, confused by the unexpected invitation.

  I note the expensive looking shopping bags draped on the passenger seat, and he follows my gaze.

  “Retail therapy?” I ask with a smile, wondering how it must feel to have endless wealth. Would shopping ever grow tiresome? Surely, the appeal of buying things is only there because there’s a limit to what you can buy? Without that limit… to know that you could literally buy anything you fancied on any day, surely that would kill the fun?

  “Not for me.” He says quickly. “I’m not a shopper really.”

  “Oh.” I say. “Well, it doesn’t look like it!”

  “They’re for Lavinia.” He says, then leans across and drops his voice. “She’s finding it awfully hard since Emelza Shabley’s death, you know. It goes against everything she believes in, a poor woman being killed like that.”

  “Quite.” I say, wondering which version of Lavinia he knows, because it certainly isn’t a version I’ve ever met.

  “A few bits to cheer her up.” He says with a grin, and I notice that one of the bags is from a lingerie shop. Everyone, it seems, has more of a romantic life than I do, even the so-called singles.

  “That’s very good of you.” I say, and then I decide to just come out with it. What’s the worst that can happen? If I’m wrong, he’ll be flattered. “Don’t you already do enough? With the allowance?”

  “Ahh.” He says, and his posture straightens as his chest inflates. “Well, yes. You could say that. But I’m able to do more, so why not?”

  “Why not.” I repeat, thinking I’d like someone to do enough for me, never mind the more on top.

  “You must come back over.” He urges. “Bring your sister. My Tobias would adore her.”

  “She really doesn’t need any more men to adore her.” I snap.

  “Ahh… flighty is she?” He asks with a chuckle.

  “No, she isn’t. She’s married, actually.” I say, and immediately regret it. She’s only been married on paper ever since she died and she won’t appreciate me telling people about it. “Well, when she was alive, she was… erm…”

  “Oh, Tobias too.” Finian says. “Great chance to ditch the deadwood, so to speak, isn’t it?”

  I give a nervous laugh and look at my watch.

  “I’m keeping you. I should have known. Forgive me.” Finian says with an apologetic smile. “Just thought I’d say hello!”

  I smile at him as he roars the engine, gives a little wave, and drives away.

  I have no idea why I looked at my watch. I’ve got no plans and nobody waiting for my return.

  An evening with the TV on, perhaps, watching young and beautiful people with no talent somehow captivate the country because they are young and beautiful. Or maybe I’ll read instead, although my attention span for books has disappeared lately.

  I know something’s really wrong when I can’t muster up the enthusiasm to dive into a new book.

  15

  Sage

  It’s not a date, okay?

  And I’d rather not talk about it.

  Except to say this - I’m sitting, twirling my hair like every good girl learns in Flirting 101, and Patton Davey is giving more attention to that incompetent Sheriff than he is to me.

  And, I’ll say this. He totally made out like it was a date. He was all, are you free? Would you like to have breakfast with me? I know how people get invited to meetings, because trust me, Atticus Hornblower has given me way too many of those invitations over the years. And I try to say no whenever I can.

  So I’m a pretty skilled meeting-dodger.

  This was a date.

  And I’m pretty darn annoyed that Patton has taken one look at Sheriff Morton, tucked in the corner of Screamin’ Beans nursing a strong coffee and a packet of painkillers, and decided there’s no time to waste, we need to discuss the murder.

  There’s nothing to discuss, as far as I can see. Lovey Lovegoode did it and he needs arresting. Which only Sheriff Morton can do.

  “Something’s not adding up.” Patton says through clenched teeth. “I’ve never seen a Sheriff so uninterested in solving a case.”

  “You said it yourself, he’s not a very good Sheriff. And he’s a cheat!”

  “Well, sure, but he’s not even pretending to investigate.” Patton says. “My gut’s telling me something’s wrong.”

  “Your gut’s probably just having ghost-pangs.” I say, because I know mine is. This is the down side of coming out for breakfast. My stomach has convinced itself that it’s hungry, even though I can’t eat and haven’t for two decades. Put it in front of this much bacon and the ghost-pangs are so believable I’m almost tempted to order something. I’m sure Connie would pick up the tab.

  “I’m going to speak to him.” Patton says.

  “Oh, you’re kidding me.” I groan.

  “Coming?” He asks, and he’s in complete work mode now, there’s no way of turning this back into a date.

  “Fine.” I whine. Whining again! This is not good.

  Sheriff Morton doesn’t even look up as we approach, and as we get so close that he feels our presence, he simply holds out his empty mug as if we must be staff.

  “Erm…” Patton says, and clears his throat.

  Sheriff Morton looks up and I see the disappointment on his face. “Can I help?”

  “We need to talk.” Patton says. “Shall we do it here, or?”

  “Let’s go to the station. Give me twenty minutes?” Sheriff Morton says, and he gets to his feet, leaving his empty mug on the table.

  Eighteen minutes later, because if Patton believes one thing it’s that you’re late if you’re on time, we find the police station in darkness and the parking lot empty.

  “He’s done a runner.” Patton says.

  “Why would he do that? He probably just had to run an errand. Maybe when he said twenty minutes, he meant twenty.” I say, arms folded.

  “Nah.” He says as an old pick up truck drives down the main street, a heavy guitar beat booming out of the window.

  “Maybe a call came in, an emergency.” I suggest. I can’t imagine that the Sheriff would disappear rather than speak to us, and I try not to look too smug when Sheriff Morton drives into the parking lot a moment later. “Ah, here he is.”

  “I’ve not got long.” Sheriff Morton says as he unlocks the front door and leads us up into his office. As normal, his desk is a hot mess, and the line-up of empty coffee cups has doubled in number.

  “You really need to hire a cleaner.” I quip.

  “It’s not at the top of my priority list.” He says, sitting with his hands in his lap. “What do you guys want?”

  “We need some answers, Taylor.” Patton says, using the Sheriff’s name unusually.

  Sheriff Morton blinks at us and begins to scr
atch behind his ear.

  “We know who did it.” Patton says.

  “You do?” Sheriff Morton asks, leaning back in his chair.

  “Lovey Lovegoode.” Patton announces. “He has clear motive. He was seen wiping his prints from the waggon. The dagger’s his. We’ve spoken to his ex-wife and know he has a history of violence, he might even have a police record. And we’ve spoken to him. He’s got no alibi. You need to arrest him.”

  “Right…” Sheriff Morton says, slowly. “Sage, you think it’s him too?”

  “Absolutely.” I say.

  Sheriff Morton sighs.

  “I need you to tell me something.” Patton says. “Is there something happening here, something I should know about that means you can’t work this case?”

  Sheriff Morton blanches. “Like what?”

  “Like an outside distraction?” Patton says, his meaning clear.

  Sheriff Morton laughs. “God, no. Look, I’ve made my mistakes, but those days are behind me. I’ll sort this out. Leave it with me.”

  “I”m not prepared to do that.” I say, and my tone stuns both of the men nearly as much as it surprises me. “I’ve been dragged across here too many times to try and get you to do your job. Lovey Lovegoode needs to be arrested today, before anyone else gets hurt.”

  “You were incredible.” Patton says, floating after me like an eager puppy dog. Sure, now he’s interested.

  “Well, it needed saying.” I declare as I head back towards home. Connie should be in, and I want to sit down with her and forget about men and the murder case.

  “I know it’s past breakfast now, but how about lunch?” Patton suggests.

  “Not now.” I say. “I want some time on my own.”

  “Oh.” He says, and his disappointment pushes up against my determination. He’s a good man. I shouldn’t be sulking because he still takes his responsibility as a Sheriff more seriously than Taylor Morton does.

  “Look, I -” I begin, but he shakes his head.

  “It’s fine, Sage. There’ll be another time.” He says, forcing a smile. “I’ll probably go back to Screamin’ Beans, see what else I can hear. If you change your mind, come across? Bring Connie?”

  “I’ll see.” I agree. He floats away and I watch him for a few moments as I stand by the front gate. I must be insane, turning away such a decent man. He continues down the street towards the coffee house, and I watch until he’s out of sight.

  It’s like Connie’s hosting a party and forgot to tell me.

  The noise hits me first, a raucous din of people talking over each other. I’m tempted to slink away to the attic where I can get some peace and quiet, but curiosity wins and I walk through the house, following the noise.

  In the lounge, Connie meets my eyes as soon as I appear in the doorway. Clearly, she’s as happy to be hosting this get together as I am to walk back in and interrupt it.

  Mariam Hornblower sits on the couch, her face a dozen different shades of red, as her father Atticus floats in front of her, in the middle of a lecture.

  “Dad, please!” Mariam interrupts.

  Next to her sits Desiree, Mariam’s partner and boss, and next to her is her son Troy, who looks as delighted to be part of this conversation as any teenage boy would be.

  “I’m just saying you’re rushing in to it all!” Atticus bellows.

  “Rushing in to what?” I ask.

  “Living together.” Connie says, with an eye roll.

  “Erm, I think Mariam’s old enough to decide for herself if she’s ready.” I say. Atticus can be insufferable sometimes. Even his death hasn’t stopped him suffocating his poor daughter.

  “Thank you, Sage.” Mariam says from the couch.

  “Mom, can I go?” Troy asks.

  Desiree nods. “We’ll both go. Mariam, call me later?”

  Mariam gives Desiree a smile but they make no attempt to say farewell to each other under Atticus’ watchful eyes.

  “I’ll see you out.” I offer, and I walk them out to the veranda. “What’s brought all this on? And why’s Connie been dragged into it?”

  “God knows.” Desiree says with a shake of her head. “I think Atticus thought Connie might take his side, or at least referee the conversation.”

  “Do you think it’s because you’re -” I begin, not knowing how to end the sentence without causing offence.

  “Lesbians? Nah. Nobody’s good enough for his daughter. Gender really isn’t part of it. Come on Troy, let’s get out of here. I’ve got a stack of marking to do and I know you have homework to finish.”

  Troy groans, perhaps regretting his eagerness to escape.

  I wave as they walk away, and then listen to my first instinct and sneak away up to the attic, where the heat is stifling but the quiet is delicious. I take a seat on the old leather chair and close my eyes, welcoming the dreams that come.

  Dreams of Lovey Lovegoode being arrested and convicted of murder come to me quickly, and then there’s a whole-town celebration in which I’m brought up on stage and thanked for my detective work. There are talks of a life-size statue of me being erected in front of the police station, and I try to act demure while also making it clear that’s an amazing idea.

  Patton comes to me at the grand unveiling of the statue, which manages to be incredibly beautiful but not quite as beautiful as me, so that people can say for centuries to come, can you believe the real Sage Shaw was even more beautiful than this? Patton goes down on one knee and proposes, promising to give me the happiest afterlife any spook has ever had, and it’s a dream, so it doesn’t matter that I’m already married. I say yes, and pucker up for the kiss I’ve been waiting for…

  When I wake up, it’s grown dark and the house is perfectly quiet. The air is cooler, so I guess it must be evening time. I’ve slept for hours.

  I find Connie on the veranda, rocking in the chair.

  “Hey, sleepy head.” She greets me.

  “Ugh.” I moan. “Why did you let me sleep for so long? I needed to be alert today.”

  “How come?”

  “I gave Sheriff Morton an ultimatum.”

  Connie looks at me wide-eyed.

  “Oh, yeah.” I say, enjoying having her hang on my every word. “I told him he had to arrest Lovey Lovegoode today.”

  “Or what?” She asks.

  “What do you mean, or what?”

  “You said you gave him an ultimatum?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Well, an ultimatum is, you do this or I will do that.”

  “Oh.” I say, distant memories of high school English class returning to me. “Okay, I gave him an order then.”

  “Hmm.” Connie says, and she glances at the horrid man’s watch she insists on wearing on her chubby wrists. “I don’t think he listened.”

  “What?” I ask. “I was very clear with him!”

  “I’m sure you were. But it’s after 8 and I saw Lovey not long ago.”

  “You’re not serious.” I say. I was sure I’d left Sheriff Morton under no doubt that I meant what I said. Maybe I should have given him an ultimatum. “What was he doing?”

  “Going for a walk.” Connie says. “Looked like he doesn’t have a care in the world.”

  “Clearly he knows how rubbish our Sheriff is!” I exclaim. “Get ready, we’re going to go and see Patton. This has gone too far.”

  “It doesn’t make sense.” Patton agrees as we sit with him in a corner of Screamin’ Beans and take in the scent of Connie’s cocoa. “We literally hand him the murderer on a plate, and he does nothing.”

  “He’s useless.” I moan. “Can’t we just arrest him ourselves?”

  “Ya know.” Patton says, ignoring me. “I wonder if he disagrees with our theory and just doesn’t want to upset us?”

  “That doesn’t sound like Sheriff Morton. I thought he’d like the chance to pull you down a peg or two.” Connie says.

  It’s live music night at the coffee house and a petite woman with dyed grey hair (wha
t’s that all about?!) is setting up a microphone, a guitar strung over her shoulder. A group of college kids crowd around her but she moves as if she’s unaware of them, so engrossed is she in preparing for her music.

  “He’s not like he used to be.” Patton says. “He was this big character. In your face, way too confident, just a really arrogant mess. Now it’s like he’s got nothing left in him, no energy or fight or anything. He’s just going through the motions.”

  “Well, he’s too far off retirement to be slowing down. He’s got a job to do and I don’t see him with any other suspects.” I say.

  “As if he could find any suspects amongst the hovel he works in.” Connie quips.

  “Hmm.” I say, the spark of an idea forming itself just out of my reach.

  “What?” She asks.

  “Nothing.” I say, because how can you explain to a person that you think you’re about to have an idea?

  “Are you okay?” She asks as the girl taps the microphone and idly strums her guitar.

  “I just… what was he doing with Lavinia that night?” I ask. “It makes no sense hat he’d be having an affair with her, she’s like twice his age.”

  “She’s not his type, I have to admit.” Patton agrees, reluctantly.

  “She’s planning a big Hallowe’en fundraiser.” Connie says with a shrug. “She’ll probably be sorting out permission to close roads and things, you know how overboard she goes.”

  16

  Connie

  I’m at Adele’s house bright and early. So early that Sheriff Morton is still home, playing daddy and husband before he puts on his uniform and goes off to drink coffee in secret. I try to put the thought of the two of them screaming abuse, and then getting intimate, to the back of my mind.

  “Morning, Sheriff.” I greet. Taylor’s skittish as he flashes me a nervous smile.

  “Hey, morning Connie. I was just going off for a shower, excuse me.”