“You can see…” Striker said at the same time.
“Yes, yes.” Albert gave a dismissive wave of his misty hand. “You both can see me, right?”
Heart clogging my throat, I gave a slow nod. Striker did the same. All at once, I didn’t feel so alone anymore. Pandora meowed triumphantly from the window, where she had been watching us from inside. If Striker could see Albert, see ghosts like I could, then maybe he wouldn’t think I was too weird for him after all. Maybe this could develop into something more between us. Maybe… I still had to be sure, had to hear the words.
“So, you can see Albert, right now?” I asked.
“Yes.” Some of the color had returned to Striker’s cheeks, though he still looked as gobsmacked as I felt. “And you can too?”
“I believed we’ve cleared this up,” Albert said, his tone growing impatient again. “Now, if you’ll both pay attention, I have something important to—”
“How long have you been able to see ghosts?” I continued as if Albert hadn’t spoken.
“For as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, it used to scare me senseless. As I got older, I tried to ignore it, hoping it would go away one day. It never did.” Striker exhaled slowly, leaning his hand on the porch banister for support. “And you?”
“Just since my car accident. When I came to afterward, I could see the spirits. At first, I thought I’d gone crazy, but now I’m sort of used to it. No one knows about this except Pepper, though.” I bit my lip, frowning down at my toes. “Well, and now you.”
“Same here. I mean, I haven’t told anyone about this curse except you. And my parents knew, but they’re both gone now.”
“Hello!” Albert’s voice boomed once more, and both Striker and I winced. “Important information here. Someone was after that envelope I was intending to mail. I found it in an old mailbag at home while I was cleaning out my stuff. I might be retired, but it’s still my sworn duty to make sure every letter gets processed.”
“Who was the letter addressed to, Albert?” I asked.
“It was from Helen Warren to a woman named Dorothy Hill.”
“Huh.” Striker scratched his chin and frowned. “Helen Warren, I’ve heard of but not this Dorothy Hill. And that letter had to have been decades old. Why would anyone kill for that?” He shook his head. “Was the stamp valuable?”
“Not that I know of.” Albert attempted to sit on one of the rockers but simply floated through it.
I leaned my hips against the railing, struggling to take in everything I’d just learned. Striker could see ghosts, the same as me. Except he’d apparently been born with the talent—if that was what you wanted to call it—while mine had only happened after my accident. Of course, I didn’t mention the rest of the weird stuff that had come along with my surprise gift and my return to Mystic Notch. Things like that old recipe book that Pepper had said was really filled with old spells. Or the fact I thought I’d seen Evie turn a person into a toad (I was still unclear on that one, though. The EMT had said the smoke inhalation might have messed with my perception of what happened, but it seemed so real). Or the message I’d received from Adelaide Hamilton’s ghost this past summer that had supposedly been from my grandmother telling me to believe in magic. The whole I-see-dead-people thing was bad enough. I didn’t want Striker to think I was beyond crazy.
“Hey,” Striker said, moving closer to me in the twilight. He tipped my chin up with his finger and smiled that sexy little smile of his, the one that always made my toes curl and my knees wobble. “I like that we have this new connection, this secret bond about the ghosts.” His thumb stroked my cheek softly, and I gripped the railing tighter to keep from melting into a puddle of goo at his feet. “You know, when I was growing up, my grandma always told me about these magical gifts that were passed down in my family, and she said I was special. For the first time in my life, I’m actually glad I’m different. Because you’re different too, Willa. You’re truly special.”
My lips tingled, and my breath hitched, my eyes drifting closed as he lowered his head to kiss me. I clutched my fingers into the front of his soft blue T-shirt, rising up on tiptoe to meet him and…
“Right,” Albert said, clearing his throat loudly. Striker and I flew apart like opposing magnets. “Well, this is nice and all, but before you two get all lovey-dovey, you should know that the killer wanted that letter badly enough to murder me for it. Now, go and find him.”
Albert disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving Striker and me to stare at each other in the gathering darkness. Our breaths rasped loudly, and the air suddenly turned chilly. I let us back inside and took a seat on the sofa, staring once more at the paperweight on the coffee table.
“Before Albert showed up, I thought I saw a letter reflected inside that globe.” I pointed to the paperweight, and Striker picked it up, holding it in his palm. I leaned over to peer inside the glass again, but all I could see was the reflection of Striker’s hand. He had some scratches I hadn’t noticed. “It’s gone now.”
He set it back on the table, and I glanced at his hand, wondering what had scratched him. No scratches.
Weird.
Probably just an odd reflection of light from the paperweight.
“So, what’s our next move?” Striker asked, settling back against the cushions and stretching his arm along the back of the sofa. I battled the insane urge to cuddle into his side and instead pushed myself farther back into the corner of my seat. We had work to do.
“Well, when Pepper and I went to see the Schumers today, I got to meet Desmond, Albert’s son-in-law. I also got an earful about him from Pepper, about how Desmond doesn’t like to work and is always trying out some money-making scheme.” I crossed my arms and frowned. “I went to see Barney Delaney afterward. He said that Desmond was in his shop right after Albert died, attempting to pawn off Albert’s rare stamp collection. Do you think he might’ve stolen the letter, thinking it was valuable due to its age?”
“Could be,” Striker said, his expression thoughtful as he picked up a slice of pizza.
“Oh, and did I mention that after I got back to my shop, I overheard Nathan Anderson and Felicity Bates arguing on the sidewalk? It was about a letter too.”
“Felicity Bates, eh?” Striker chewed on his slice. “This wouldn’t be the first time she was a suspect in a murder investigation. Her family isn’t exactly the most upstanding in the community, despite all their money. After all, Felicity’s son is in jail for murder right now. Let me talk to Gus tomorrow and see what’s happening in the investigation.”
“She hasn’t teamed up with you like she normally does?” That surprised me. Usually, my sister used Striker as a sounding board and an unofficial member of her detective squad.
“No, but then, she’s had her hands full.” Striker finished his slice and tilted the box in my direction.
“I’m all set.”
“I better get going. Big day tomorrow.”
I followed as he carried the remains of our pizza into the kitchen and shoved the box in my fridge before grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair where he’d tossed it when he came in. “We’ll have to manage this business with Albert’s ghost behind the scenes, of course.”
“Of course. Gus would think we’re crazy.” I followed him to the door, leaning against the frame as he headed back out on the porch. Striker turned to face me, his gaze falling to my lips once more. He leaned in and brushed his lips against mine for a heart-stopping second before pulling away. He smelled of spicy cologne, and that scent became my new favorite. Heat prickled my cheeks as I did my best to focus on the case at hand and not the tingling awareness now zinging through my system. “Now that we know the real motive for the murder was that letter, hopefully, finding the killer will be easier. If you can just get Gus to follow the evidence Albert gave us, we should be all set.”
“You make it sound so easy. It’s never easy to get Gus to do anything.”
“True, but I have f
aith. You can finagle things so she sees what she’s supposed to. In the end, it’s all about catching a killer.”
“Yep.” Striker paused, his eyes holding mine. “There’s one thing even more important.”
“What?”
“I always knew you were special, Chance, but now we both know that we’re two of a kind.”
13
The next morning, I sat with the regulars again, sipping my morning coffee and discussing the topic du jour: Albert’s death. Pepper had stopped by to join us and pass out some kale-and-pistachio scones—a new recipe she was testing. They didn’t go over too well, and we were all sitting around, politely trying to nibble at them without actually eating any.
I’d not slept well the night before, what with my mind racing with facts about that letter and also the fact that Striker could see the same ghosts I could. His parting words had warmed my heart but also made me nervous. Two of a kind… what exactly did that mean?
Truthfully, I’d felt so isolated since my accident and the appearance of my special “gift.” To find out now that there was someone else who had the same ability, a man close to me whom I liked—okay, more than liked—was both encouraging and terrifying. Encouraging because I now had someone I could talk to about all these weird sightings, someone who would understand how creepy and compelling the spirits were, how I felt obligated to help them even when I didn’t want to or when there might be personal danger involved. Someone who wouldn’t think I was crazy or hysterical or making it all up just to get attention. Unfortunately, knowing Striker was more similar to me than I’d ever imagined was also terrifying because it meant that one of the huge barriers I’d set up between us to keep from allowing our relationship to develop further was now gone.
“I’m telling you, Ruthie said finding poor Albert dead on the steps and then finding out it wasn’t an accident took ten years off her life,” Josiah said, giving a shudder, his tone drawing me out of my thoughts and back into the conversation taking place around me. “The killer might have been right there, and Ruthie could have been in danger. As it was, she said she remembers hearing the squeal of tires as a car took off.”
“You mean the killer was still there when she opened up?” I asked as I pictured the back steps of the post office. The back parking lot faced the front of the First Hope Church. Didn’t Emma Potts or Pastor Foley get in early? If they did, then maybe they’d seen the car drive off.
Josiah nodded. “Yep. Least she thinks so. Heard a car drive off fast.”
“I bet that was scary,” Hattie Deering said, huddling farther down inside her cream-colored pantsuit. She and her sister, Cordelia, were wearing coordinating outfits of baby blue and cream. “It’s a good thing the killer took off when they did, or Ruthie might’ve been next.”
“True,” Josiah agreed. He looked a tad better than he had the day before, some of his color returning to his wrinkled cheeks. His gray hair was combed over the top of his balding head, and he wore his normal brown tweed pants and sport coat. “Ruthie said she figured the murderer must’ve heard her unlocking the back door and that’s what caused ’em to run off.”
Pandora sat beside me on the purple sofa. I reached down to stroke her fur, and she peeked one eye open, her ears twitching as she listened to the conversation.
“Now that Gus has confirmed it was a deliberate act, I hope they start bringing in suspects,” Cordelia said. “I’m betting that Barney Delaney will be at the top of their list, what with the tournament coming up and all.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, armed with the truth Albert had given me last night. Whoever had killed him had done so for the letter, not to win at checkers. “When Pepper and I went to the Schumers’ house yesterday, that Desmond seemed like a shady character to me.”
“Yes,” Hattie agreed. “He’s always been a no-good moocher. In fact, my niece told me that carpal tunnel injury claim of his is completely fake too. Got him out of work on paid disability.”
“But he got a doctor to sign off on it, didn’t he?” Pepper asked, frowning.
“Who knows how he accomplished that?” Hattie said, her tone dripping with distaste. “Much less perform the actual surgery on someone who doesn’t even have carpal tunnel syndrome. Maybe he does have it a little, but I’m sure he’s milking it.”
“Sounds like a complicated mess to me,” Bing said, standing and trying to discreetly wrap the remains of his scone in a napkin. “Too complicated for morning coffee. I’m off to run errands.”
“Ah, Cordelia and I will go with you,” Hattie said, pulling her sister to her feet beside her and eyeing their partially eaten scones. “We’ve got lots to get done today.”
Cordelia looked at Pepper apologetically. “I think those scones need a bit more sugar.”
“And less kale,” Hattie added.
“And that’s my cue to leave as well,” Josiah said, tossing his empty cup and his scone in the trash before heading to the door with the others. “Have a good day, Willa. Pepper.”
They all left in a flurry of bells and talking over each other, leaving my best friend and me to stare after them for a moment. Pandora stretched beside me on the sofa then promptly went back to sleep.
“So you didn’t like your scone either?” Pepper looked at the scone in front of me. I’d taken one small bite and almost gagged. It had tasted like freshly mown grass.
“Let’s say it needs a little work. Less kale was a good idea,” I said. “Maybe kale isn’t a great ingredient for scones?”
“Maybe.” Pepper gathered up the scone remnants and threw them in the trash then changed the subject. “Did you see Albert’s ghost again last night?”
“Yep. He said the killer was after the letter he had.” I shifted my weight and stared down into my cup. “Striker was there too.”
“Oh, did he bring dinner again?” Pepper watched me over the top of her tea, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “That makes what, twice this week already? Sounds like it’s getting serious.”
“You have no idea.” I frowned. “He saw Albert too.”
“Really?” She sipped her tea, not sounding a bit surprised. “Did you happen to share the dandelion tea with him that I gave you?”
“I did, actually. He tripped on his way into my house and hurt his knee. Why?”
“Well, in addition to its pain-relieving medicinal qualities, it also enhances second sight.”
“Second sight?” I halted mid-sip.
“Yes.” Pepper gave me a patient smile. “You know, seeing spirits. Of course, one has to have natural abilities to begin with…”
My suspicions rose higher by the second. I crossed my arms and stared across the table at my best friend, with a raised brow. Seemed last night’s earth-shattering confessions hadn’t been such a coincidence after all. “How convenient you gave me that tea yesterday, then, so I’d just happen to have it around the house when Striker came over and tripped. Did you set up Pandora running in front of him and getting tangled in his feet too?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pepper said, sounding entirely too pleased with herself.
I gazed down at Pandora, who was now wide awake and looking up at me with a cat-who-ate-the canary expression. “And you,” I said, scratching her belly. “I suppose you ran in front of him just to get him inside to drink my tea, eh?”
“Not to change the subject,” Pepper said, though it was entirely clear that was exactly what she was doing, “but a local legend claims that Hester Warren sent a letter from her deathbed to one of her relatives, which contained information vital to preserving the peace and well-being of Mystic Notch. A letter that contains a list of ingredients she buried and hid from evildoers. If that legend turned out to be true and such a letter fell into the wrong hands, it could be very bad for everyone.”
“Albert said the letter was from Helen Warren,” I said.
“Her great-grandniece.” Pepper sighed. “So the legend is true.”
“It could have been just a regular
letter,” I said. “You know, the kind people write just to communicate and let someone know how they are doing.”
But even as I said the words, I didn’t think it had been. Somehow I knew it was the letter in the legend.
Normally, I would have thought that was stupid. What kind of letter could preserve the peace and well-being of a town? But a strange energy vibrated through me as I gazed into Pandora’s eyes, a knowing, a certainty that what Pepper was telling me was true. When I was little, I’d believed in magic. My gram had instilled a sense of wonder in me. She’d told me tales of fairies and magical creatures. Kid stuff. After I’d left the Notch for college, all that wonder had gradually faded away. Then over my career as a journalist, I’d seen enough to dash any belief in fairies and magic I might have had.
Not to mention the bitter divorce and the accident that had nearly killed me. Both those things were enough to make it impossible to believe in the existence of magic. Yet those were the two things that had driven me back to Mystic Notch after Gram’s death.
And now… Pandora climbed up onto my lap to put us face-to-face, and in my head, as crazy as it might sound, I heard her compelling me to believe. Believe in magic. Just like the message Adelaide’s ghost had given me from Gram.
Considering the fact I talked to ghosts on a daily basis, I should’ve been more receptive, I suppose. And given that Striker, a law enforcement officer, sworn to protect and uphold the truth, had confessed to having the same ability, my doubts had taken a severe hit. Maybe magic wasn’t such a far-fetched idea after all.
As if sensing the shift inside me, Pepper leaned forward and placed her hand over mine. “I can give you the ingredients for a charmed tea, one that makes people tell the truth. That way you can ask them point-blank about the letter.”
Still a bit taken aback by it all, I shook my head. “But who would even know what was in that letter or that Albert had it?”
“Well, Desmond, for one.” Pepper sat back and sighed. “Perhaps he’d even seen it when Albert dug it out of that old mailbag. And Desmond is usually in cahoots with Nathan Anderson. If it was the letter from Hester Warren and he told Nathan what he’d seen and they figured out its value, then maybe they decided to steal it and sell it off to the highest bidder.”
Whisker of a Doubt (Mystic Notch Cozy Mystery Series Book 6) Page 6
