Phantoms Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mystery #13

by Connie Shelton

  Ah. I reached for a cookie to keep myself from cracking up again.

  “If you noticed the little wooden box on the shelf . . . the compartments in it contain the basics that a witch needs—eye of newt and such.”

  “And did you have a wand?” I asked.

  Her brows drew together in the middle. “Well, no, of course not.”

  Chapter 7

  I pulled myself from my snug little nest of blankets and was shocked to find that I’d slept close to twelve hours despite the fact that I’d gone to bed with images of Louisa sneaking through a forest in Eastern Europe under threat of death. I found clean jeans and a pullover top and decided a ponytail was the easy answer for my hair. A couple of swipes with the blusher and lipstick and I felt as ready as I’d ever be.

  In the kitchen, Louisa sat at the table with her coffee, newspaper and toast.

  “You look chipper,” she said. “I guess you slept all right?”

  “That bed is wonderful. I may have to steal it and take it home with me.” I helped myself to coffee from the carafe.

  “I’m off to work in a bit, but make yourself at home. It looks like Bethany will be out again. Unless I can find a replacement I probably can’t break away before four o’clock.”

  “Not a problem. I thought I’d explore a little bit more, pick up some gifts to take home.”

  There were two bookshops we’d passed in our strolls yesterday and I thought I could probably find something for my brother’s three young sons there. Better to encourage reading, I felt, than video games. For Drake, one of the clothing stores’ display windows held a selection of men’s wear and I might investigate that a bit further.

  Louisa bustled around the kitchen, putting an apple and a sandwich into a bag to take with her, offering me the run of the kitchen if I wanted to eat lunch in.

  “Choose a nice place for dinner tonight,” I told her. “My treat.” With what I was now saving on hotel costs I should be treating her to gourmet meals every night.

  She hurried out the door, while I lingered over my coffee. I wondered how I would adapt to life in such a home—fitted tightly between neighboring places, a tiny garden outside the back door, the front leading directly to the road—but the small rooms and low ceilings made it amazingly cozy and warm against the damp climate. Last night Louisa had lit the gas fireplace in the parlor while we watched TV and the little room had warmed quickly.

  I took one more glance at the items on her bookshelf, including a peek into the potion box. Fascinating stuff, but I had other things in mind for the day. I stuck the box back in its spot and gathered my purse, umbrella and the little guide map Louisa’s co-worker had insisted I take along yesterday.

  Waterstone’s Books was easy to find and I lost myself in the stacks, picking up the British edition of a favorite American author’s newest book to read in my spare moments during the vacation, then moving on to the children’s section where I spent way too much time stressing over what each of Ron’s boys would enjoy. Eventually I took the recommendation of a young clerk who told me which titles were the hottest things locally for kids. Maybe the boys would be impressed enough to give them a try.

  On to the clothing store where I found a casual jacket I thought Drake would love. Warm enough for our high-desert seasons and dressy enough that he might actually take to wearing it when we went out in the evenings.

  At the checkout desk, I spotted a familiar posture. Archie Jones.

  “Is Dolly’s hand feeling better?” I asked.

  He visibly started, shoving a packet of something that looked like underwear behind his back. His brow wrinkled as he concentrated on figuring out where he’d seen me.

  “Charlie Parker, Louisa’s niece.”

  “Oh yes, quite. Dolly is doing much better, thank you. I insisted she keep the ice on it for a few hours immediately after, you know. The redness is completely gone now, I’m happy to say.”

  The clerk was waiting for one of us to take the lead so he could ring up a purchase. Archie gestured for me to go first. I placed the jacket on the counter and turned back to him. “And her scare? Upstairs in the kitchen?”

  “She’s not mentioned it again. Dolly’s such a trouper, you know. Brushes off those types of things and moves on with her day.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

  I paid for the jacket with a credit card and moved toward the street exit but before I got to the door a table piled with sweaters caught my eye. I paused to imagine a certain forest-green one on Drake and noticed that Archie was conversing quietly with the clerk but his glance edged toward me frequently. Maybe he didn’t really want to get roped into further conversation with me. I set the sweater aside and left.

  I considered window shopping on the way back to Louisa’s house but my packages were becoming heavy so I headed directly there, dropped them off, then went back out. The day had turned nice again, with warm sun and only a light breeze. I took a deep breath and savored the charm of the narrow lane stretching beyond me in both directions. A little pang—it would have been more fun to explore this with Drake. But I was here and he wasn’t, so I might as well make the best of it. At least I was getting plenty of exercise.

  I took off in the direction opposite my accustomed route to the shops and found myself deeper in a small residential neighborhood, on a street that curved steadily to my right. Just before I began to wonder whether I was becoming hopelessly lost a familiar-looking intersection appeared and I realized it was Lilac Lane, where I’d walked a dozen times already and that The Knit and Purl was almost directly across the street from me.

  Dolly was at the front glass, working on a window display. She spotted me and waved. I crossed the narrow road and walked over and she beckoned me to come inside.

  “How are you today?” I asked as the door closed behind me.

  She pursed her lips, about to say something, but changed her mind.

  “I’m fine, thanks.” She held up the hand that had been scalded to show me that none of the redness remained. She pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and glanced around the empty shop. “Be better, though, if I had more customers. Do you suppose they’re hearing about these incidents and that’s keeping them away?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t think so. If anything, having a haunted shop would bring more customers in, wouldn’t it? Well, it would in the States. Hotels and restaurants there seem to capitalize on their ghosts.”

  She raised one angular shoulder. “I dunno. Only seems it’s been slow lately. I let Gabrielle have the day off to go see her sister in Stowmarket. No point in two of us being here. Do you think this display is appealing? Thought the bright colored yarns would draw the eye.”

  “It certainly caught my eye,” I said, in a small attempt to cheer her up. “It’s very nice.”

  She didn’t look completely convinced. “If I could just find out what’s really going on around here. We only moved into this spot about a year ago. I’ve heard of cases where an old ghost doesn’t like a new tenant and tries to scare the occupant away. Makes me wonder.”

  “You could ask Louisa. She’s knowledgeable about which buildings in town are reputed to be haunted.” Personally, I thought it a lot more likely that a human would have an agenda than a ghost. “Maybe the previous tenant left something behind and is trying to come back for it.”

  “Like what? Wouldn’t they walk right in the door and just ask me for it?” She picked up some skeins that she hadn’t used in the window display and carried them to the wall of shelving that held her inventory. “The place was rather cluttered when we took over, especially the cellar. Loads of old empty boxes, some construction materials. We never found anything of value when we cleared it all away.”

  What would someone leave behind that they couldn’t come back and request? My mind immediately went to thoughts of a hidden stash of something—valuables, drugs, contraband?

  “What kind of shop was it before you moved in?”

  “Charity thrift store,
” she said. “You’ve noticed them around town, I’m sure. The Heart Association, the Cancer Fund and such. I think this one was something to do with Alzheimer’s Research.”

  I couldn’t help it. I chuckled. “So there you have it. They’ve forgotten what it was they left behind.”

  Finally, a smile from her. But it faded quickly. Obviously she still believed that anyone coming for their possessions would simply walk in the door and ask. And she could be right.

  “When Archie gets home from his business meeting I’ll ask him to check around in the cellar some more. Perhaps we can figure this out.”

  “A meeting?” I blurted it out without thinking, realizing the mistake when her face turned to ice. “I’m sorry. It’s not my business.” Archie hadn’t been dressed in business attire when I saw him buying new underwear awhile ago.

  “It’s all right.” Her tone stayed a little frosty. “The meeting was really an interview. That’s all.”

  “But—” I stopped. She obviously didn’t know where her husband was. “I understand. And really—I won’t say a word.”

  “It’s not like it’s anything to be ashamed of,” she said, pulling her shoulders straighter. “In these times . . . Besides, he’s been an enormous help in getting my shop set up and all. Really, we’re a team now. I prefer it this way.”

  “Good. That’s great.” I felt my face freeze into a falsely bright smile.

  She covered by stepping behind the register and tamping some papers into a neat stack; I covered by picking up a random candle and telling her I’d meant to buy it yesterday. I paid for the candle and put it into my purse.

  “Charlie,” she said as I turned to leave. “Louisa told me that you are a private detective, in your home city.”

  Oh, god, here it comes, I thought. That inevitable request. That faint hope that I might find the answers to someone’s problems. I recognized the look on her face. What could I say? It would be supremely ungracious of me to turn down the request, having already pulled one social gaffe within the past five minutes.

  “Do you think you could discover what is happening here? In my shop. Why these pranks. Low-key, of course. I don’t want any more patrons frightened away.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” And with that, I sealed my fate.

  Chapter 8

  I set my purse down and perched on a stool near the counter. I could at least ask some questions.

  “You haven’t reported any of these incidents to the authorities?” I asked, knowing the answer already.

  “I thought about reporting a break-in when I found that someone had moved all the wools,” she said, “but I imagined the constable’s reaction. Nothing was missing.”

  True. What crime had really occurred? Malicious rearrangement?

  “The two incidents with the teacups . . . well, had someone told me the story I would have said they got busy and forgot what they’d done, had let time slip away.”

  I nodded slowly, trying to find a logical answer to this. “Okay, let’s assume someone has come into the shop and is using these pranks to cover other activities. Has any other merchandise or money been missing? Have there been any other occasions when something was out of place?”

  Dolly shook her head more vigorously with each question I posed.

  I walked over to the shop’s door and examined it. Not that I’m any kind of expert, but I couldn’t see any marks on either the lock or the wood, nothing to indicate it had been tampered with.

  “Is there another entrance to the apartment upstairs or does a person have to come through the shop?”

  She led me to the street and pointed out a narrow door I’d not previously noticed. The wooden door was painted a glossy black and there was a mail slot in it. Above the door were three small window panes. “There are stairs to the upper floor here. But this door is locked all the time. Archie and I use the inside stairs exclusively.”

  “Do you receive your mail through this slot?”

  “No. Normally the postman carries our personal post in with that for the shop. He knows who we are so he hands me the entire stack—business and personal.”

  I twisted at the knob on the black door. As Dolly had told me, it was securely locked.

  “May I see the cellar?”

  We went back into the shop and she took me through the stockroom and opened another door. A flight of stone steps led downward. She flipped a switch on the wall, illuminating them.

  “I’d better stay with the shop, but take your time. There’s another switch at the bottom which lights up the entire cellar. It’s one large room.” She stepped aside to let me pass. “And, Charlie? Thank you.”

  I reached the bottom of the steps and stared into the cluttered space, unsure where to begin. Most of the single, large room was filled with furniture. Presumably, belonging to Archie and Dolly. Otherwise she would have mentioned that the previous tenant left it. Louisa had told me that they owned a large house on the outskirts of town but it was now occupied by renters. They must have needed a place for their excess furniture and this was it. Boxes were stacked upon dressers; bedding in plastic zip bags sat on a pair of overstuffed leather chairs. The matching sofa was empty except for a couple of neatly folded afghans, which might have been overstock from the shop. One entire wall was hidden by stacks of packing boxes, labeled with household descriptions like “Library - books,” “Kitchen – spare pots and pans” and “Dining Room.” Dolly had probably chosen the items she most needed every day, limiting herself to what the small upstairs apartment could accommodate, and packed away the remaining things.

  The fact that she hadn’t merely sold the excess at the time of the move told me that they must have had plans to eventually move back to the larger digs. No wonder Archie felt the pressure to get back to work.

  To the left of the wall of boxes I spotted something out of place. A section of the stone floor had been lifted and the dirt beneath it looked freshly disturbed, a bit damp. Someone had obviously been digging there but I saw no tools nearby. I stooped to examine the spot but there wasn’t a single gold coin or bag of jewels to be found. I brushed the dirt from my hands. So much for the hope of easy treasure.

  A little farther along the wall an area about five feet high and four feet wide was made of brick. All the other walls were limestone or rock. I touched the bricks tentatively, half expecting a secret doorway to swing open and a mummy or something equally creepy to leap out at me.

  But the bricks were old and the mortar held them firmly in place. I bravely pressed all around the edges but nothing budged so much as a centimeter. I moved on, turning toward another stack of boxes, almost completing my circuit of the room, when a distinctly cold breeze hit the back of my neck.

  Goose-bumps rose and my heartbeat thudded in my ears. I spun to stare at the bricked-up doorway. Nothing looked the least bit different. I reached a hand out toward the source of the chilly draft but couldn’t detect anything. The air in the cellar was again as still as a morgue.

  I shook off the chill and scurried a bit quickly toward the stairs. Flipping off the light I took the steps in doubles and paused at the top, forcing myself to take a deep breath.

  Dolly was talking to a customer and the normalcy of their voices brought me back to reality. Surely the old bricked-in area was completely benign and the freshly dug earth . . . well, there had to be an explanation. I squared my shoulders, flipped off the upper light switch and closed the door as I stepped back into Dolly’s shop.

  “Digging?” she said, as soon as her customer left and I got the chance to ask about the freshly turned earth. “Hm. Archie may have mentioned a plumbing leak a few weeks ago. The man must have left it unfinished. I suppose I’ll have to call him back to repair the mess.” She said it as if reminding men to clean up messes was her lot in life.

  “There’s a bricked up wall, about the size of a doorway,” I said. “Any idea where that goes?”

  “Oh, that. It’s old. Apparently in the Middle Ages there were
an entire series of tunnels connecting various places in town—pubs connected to the abbey and such. Easy access for monks that were supposed to live an abstemious life, I suppose.”

  Secret tunnels and bricked entry ways. Spooky. Next she’d be telling me that Jack the Ripper escaped London to come hide out here.

  “As I understand it, the river flooded a lot of the tunnels one year—heavens, must be at least a hundred years ago. Some kind of storm drainage system was built but the town fathers decided it would be safer to block the tunnels. A lot of them were backfilled; some of those farther from the river, like ours, were probably just bricked up.” She shrugged it off so casually that I had to believe it wasn’t a real concern.

  But what about that cold draft of air?

  Another customer walked in just then and Dolly’s attention was diverted to helping the woman decipher a complex knitting pattern so she could choose the correct amount of yarn for it. When a second woman entered I knew Dolly would be occupied for awhile. I gave a tiny wave and left.

  Half a block down I spotted Archie coming toward me. “Hi,” I greeted. “I hope your interview went well.”

  He came to a dead stop, stared at me in puzzlement, nodded curtly.

  Stupid me. Couldn’t I learn when to stay quiet?

  “Dolly mentioned it. She was hoping . . . Well, never mind.” I started walking again, leaving him standing on the spot. Charlie, just stay out of it. You’ve been asked to investigate a couple of silly things, not to get involved in their business.

  Two doors down from The Knit and Purl was a coffee shop. I stopped in, realizing I’d never paused long enough to eat lunch. I ordered a coffee and eyed the apple tarts in the display case. As the girl behind the counter pulled one out for me I decided to follow a new line of inquiry.

  “Wasn’t there a thrift shop in this block?”

  She pursed her lips, which were coated in an impossible shade of glowing pink. “Yeah, maybe a year ago or so?”