Hayward burst into applause. “Bravo, Lady Scarlet!”
I shoved the iron bar back into its hiding place and then raked my hands through my hair, roughly tying it back in a ponytail. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I have a delivery to make.”
Lucas and I sat at my consultation table, enjoying an early dinner he’d brought over from the local pub when Sonya and Drea stepped into the shop. Lizzie had gone home for the day—without breaking anything—and so far, Ruthie and Kimberly were leaving me in blessed peace.
“Hello, ladies,” I said as the front door swung closed behind them. I dabbed my lips with a napkin and wiped the french fry grease from my fingertips before jumping up from my place at the table.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Sonya said with an apologetic frown. “Drea’s parents just got in and wanted us to come over and get the order placed for the flowers. They want to hold the funeral two days from now.”
I blinked. “Oh. Wow. That’s fast.”
“They don’t want to be in town any longer than they have to,” Drea responded. She was so different than her flashy big sister. Where Kimberly was boisterous, loud, and borderline obsessed with her looks, Drea was slight, quiet, and kept most of her pretty face hidden behind a curtain of dark, almost black, hair.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Drea. Kimberly was a really special woman.”
Flapjack snorted and Gwen shushed him loudly.
“Thank you,” Drea replied.
Lucas stood up and started to clear the table, throwing all the wrappers and napkins back into the brown paper bag. “I’ll get this out of your way,” he said, swiping away some crumbs.
“Thanks, Lucas. I’ll see you tonight?”
He nodded and shot a quick, muted smile at Sonya and Drea before slipping past them and out the door.
“Here are the details for the funeral arrangements.” Sonya handed over a page torn from a pastel-pink legal pad. “Will that work?”
I glanced over the paper. Sonya was an event pro. She knew the types of flowers and foliage that a florist was most likely to have on hand. I’d need a few things from the floral market, but it was doable.
Drea stepped over to the table and started rummaging in her purse. Moments later, she came up with a checkbook. “I can write you a check for the difference.”
I reached out and set my hand on her arm. “Please, don’t worry about it. The security deposit will be more than enough. I’ll be sure to leave an itemized statement with the delivery. Along with a refund, if applicable.”
“Thank you, Scarlet. But don’t worry about a refund. I know how many hours you’ve likely put into this already.” Drea tucked the checkbook away. “Sonya, I think I’m going to head back to the hotel.”
“Of course. I’ll see you back there a little later this afternoon. I just have a few more errands to run.”
Drea and I exchanged goodbyes and she left the shop.
“Poor thing,” I said, releasing a heavy sigh as the doorbell jangled after her.
“It’s a nightmare,” Sonya agreed. “Her parents are just as pushy and demanding as Kimberly. It’s a wonder Drea ended up being so normal.”
“Any word on what happened to Kimberly? No one seems to have a solid story.”
Gwen had flown in and out of the shop half a dozen times over the course of the morning, each time returning with a different hypothesis as to how Kimberly had met her end. Of course, for Gwen, the theories and speculations were her favorite parts. I was more concerned about the immediacy of whether or not there was some looming boogeyman hiding in the shadows, attacking women in their beds.
Sonya eyed the vacant table. “You mind if we sit?”
“Not at all.”
She took a seat and immediately kicked out of her sky-high heels and began rolling her ankles in small circles. “The details are still coming in, but it seems she had some kind of allergic reaction. An attack, really. As Drea said, it appears Kimberly and Casper had an argument. He left to get some air. She stayed behind in their hotel suite. She ate something that didn’t sit well and by the time she realized what was happening, she was puffed up so badly that she couldn’t even speak. She called 911 but she was impossible to understand. She made it out into the hallway and one of the maids recognized the symptoms and got one of those epinephrine pens. But it was too late. By the time the police got there, she was gone.”
I shuddered as the chilling words painted a gruesome picture in my mind. “Poor Kimberly,” I breathed.
“It’s all pretty awful. Casper came back as the paramedics were trying to revive her.”
Across the room, Gwen made a gulping sound. I twisted slightly in my chair and saw that she was sobbing into Hayward’s shoulder.
I shook my head as I turned back around to face Sonya. “What a tragedy. Especially for Casper, having that argument as his last memory.”
“He’s a mess,” Sonya said with a nod.
“Do they have any idea what caused the reaction?”
“Not yet. The police processed the scene of course, bagged up everything. Apparently Kimberly had quite a few allergies, but according to Drea, no one in the family knew they were that serious.”
“Wow.”
Sonya slipped her feet back into her pricey shoes and pushed up from her seat. “Thank you for handling the funeral arrangements. Call me on my cell if you need anything.”
“I will,” I replied, rising along with her.
I walked her to the door and held it open as she passed through.
When she was a good distance away from the shop, I turned around and addressed my trio of ghostly companions. “Well, I guess now we know how she died. The next question is what the heck she’s still doing hanging around in this realm.”
“More importantly, how do we get her out of it?” Flapjack added.
Chapter 7
“On a scale of one to ten, how weird would it be for me to pack this little omelet skillet in my purse?”
I held up the small iron pan for Hayward and Flapjack to consider.
“I’d rank it a solid seven and a half,” Flapjack replied.
I frowned and put the pan back on one of the stove burners. “Well, it’s the smallest thing I have that’s made of real iron. You know, in case Crazy Cougar and Bridezilla decide to crash my dinner plans.”
Hayward’s lips twitched, sending his bushy, but well-maintained, mustache into a strange dance. “My apologies, Lady Scarlet, but don’t you think it might be a touch peculiar if you were to brandish a small cooking pan in the middle of a crowded dining room?”
“Agreed.” Flapjack nodded. “Once it comes out of the purse, that automatically bumps it up to a full ten.”
“It was worth a shot,” I sagged into one of the painted chairs clustered around my small kitchen table. “Lucas will be here in a few minutes and I don’t want to tell him we have a third, and potentially fourth, wheel.”
“Maybe they’re out somewhere in the fog, having a spooky cat-fight,” Flapjack said, throwing in a few nasty-sounding yowls for effect as he slashed his front paws through the air.
I dropped my chin into the palm of my hand as I braced one elbow on the table. “Maybe.”
“If you ask me, you should be dancing on the ceiling,” Flapjack said. “That Kimberly woman was a royal pain in the rear. You don’t have to deal with her as a client anymore and you’re still getting money for the funeral flowers. It’s a win-win.”
“Flapjack,” I said, throwing a little sternness behind the admonishment. In truth, I had to admit he had a good, albeit inappropriate, point.
“Quite the classy fellow, aren’t you?” Hayward told the smug feline.
Flapjack tucked his head, his eyes glimmering with delight, and then leaped from the kitchen counter to trot back through the apartment. “I think I’ll go wander around McNally’s. It’s their annual swordfish buffet this weekend. Might be some good smells floating around.”
He started to go and
I called after him, “Better hope they haven’t doused it all in lemon!”
Flapjack muttered something as he vanished. Though it wasn’t completely clear, after two and a half decades together, I could pretty much guess what he said. For whatever reason, despite his love of all things fish, he hated the smell of lemons. It was beyond revolting to him in ghost form—and possibly had been in life, I’d never thought to ask—and he often had his favorite sensory experiences ruined by a few sprays of the sour fruit.
Not that anyone felt sorry for him.
As soon as Flapjack was gone, I looked back at the small frying pan. “You’re sure it would be weird?” I asked Hayward.
He gave a solemn nod.
“Fine.” I pushed up from my chair.
“What do you think it’s going to take to get rid of Kimberly?” Hayward asked, following after me as I went down the small hallway to the only bedroom in the apartment.
“Besides putting her back in her body?” I shrugged and came to a stop in front of the mirror over my dresser. I pulled my hair back and fastened it with an elastic band. “I have no idea. New ghosts are always the most difficult. They don’t know what they want or need, and most of them are so angry about being dead that they can’t even be helpful.”
“I can still recall the moment when I first realized what had happened to me.”
I shifted my eyes in the mirror to Hayward. He’d removed his top hat and was passing it back and forth, a nervous habit of his. “What did you do?”
“I woke up in the Vienna Opera House and could see my family in the crowd. I tried to go to them, to see why they were so upset, only to realize that it was me there on the ground.”
“Oh, Hayward,” I breathed, barely able to muster a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
In the years we’d spent together, he’d never told me the account of the moment he realized he was no longer among the living. Most awakening stories were tragic, but knowing how much Hayward adored his family made it particularly gutting.
“It took quite some time to accept the truth,” he continued. He placed the hat back on his brow. “It’s been so long now that it’s hard to remember what it was like to be alive.”
I wondered if that was a small mercy or another layer of tragedy.
“Do you think you’ll ever want to move on? To the other side?”
Hayward ducked his chin and the hat concealed his face so that I couldn’t read his expression. “I don’t rightly know, Lady Scarlet. At one time, I thought that perhaps there was something here worth waiting for, but in light of recent events …”
He didn’t need to elaborate. I realized what—or, rather whom—he had been waiting for.
Gwen.
Hayward had been nursing quite the crush on Gwen since our arrival in Beechwood Harbor. She made him happy and light. Even the polished crispness faded a little when she was around, almost like she was slowly revealing a new version of him, one that was ready to let go of some of his old ways and move into a new stage of life. Err, afterlife.
Sadly, all of that had come crashing to a halt and the formalities and serious tones were back.
“Just give it some time, Hayward.” I didn’t know what else to tell him. What Gwen had shared was in confidence. She’s asked me to talk to him, but I wasn’t sure how to broach the topic without saying too much. “Wait and see how things pan out. And, maybe next time, when you’re interested in someone, you should tell them how you feel. Or else—”
“No matter, Lady Scarlet,” Hayward interrupted. He straightened, thrusting his shoulders back. “Let’s not dwell on such things. You have more than enough on your plate, I should think.”
His rebuff stung but I understood the pain behind it and tried not to take offense. I turned my attention away from him and slipped on a pair of turquoise earrings and a matching necklace. I wasn’t much of a jewelry fanatic; to be truthful, I wasn’t a fan of any kind of accessories. I only owned two purses and less than half a dozen pairs of shoes. My years of globe-trotting had established a habit of minimalism and even though I now had a home base and a fairly spacious closet, I hadn’t changed much.
“What do you suggest I do about this whole mess?” I asked. If there was one way to perk Hayward up, it was to solicit his advice. In life, he’d been the head of a large household, responsible for all manner of problems and duties. Anytime he could revert to that role, he was a happy ghost.
He perked and I smiled at my reflection. “Truthfully, we don’t know that she will continue to be a problem. Do we?”
I tilted my head. “You’ve got a point. I guess we don’t know what she’ll do next.”
The thought was equal parts relieving and terrifying. My nerves were still frayed from dealing with my last haunt-happy harpy. It had all worked out in the end, but I wasn’t in a hurry to deal with another high-maintenance ghost. And if Kimberly was anything, it was that.
Lucas dropped me off at my apartment following our dinner date. Stuffed, sleepy, and a little tipsy, I made my way upstairs and collapsed onto the couch.
“What’s got you so goofy looking?”
I scowled as Flapjack leapt up beside me and started casually grooming himself as he not-so-silently judged me. “I am not goofy. Just happy. I managed a full dinner conversation without interruption, or even a hint of ghost talk.”
Flapjack swiped his fluffy paw across his face. “Which, for you, is a real feat.”
“Exact-ally.” I giggled at my slip of the tongue.
Flapjack sighed. “You’re drunk.”
I shook my head. “Happy. Just happy.”
“Mhmm.” Flapjack eyed me and then curled into a ball and tucked his feather duster of a tail under his chin like it was his personal pillow. Which, I supposed, it was. For some reason, the thought made me break into giggles again.
Flapjack gave a long-suffering sigh and closed his eyes.
I looked around. It was odd to only have one ghost on the premise. Despite Flapjack and Hayward’s near-constant verbal sparring, it was rare to find one without the other. Additionally, Gwen had become quite the fixture in the house and shop below. “Where is everyone?”
“Hayward went out.”
“Out? Out, where?”
Flapjack’s brilliant blue eyes slid open and swiveled toward me. “I didn’t ask. He’s been extra stuffy lately.”
My heart sank. “Show some compassion, Flapjack. He’s having a rough time.”
“Yeah, yeah. He lost his girlfriend, yada, yada.”
I scowled at the sassy cat but didn’t comment on his bad attitude. It wouldn’t do any good anyway. “Have you seen Gwen?”
“Not since this afternoon.”
“Hmm.” I tapped a finger against my lips. “Oh! You know what sounds good! I have a leftover poppy seed muffin from Siren’s Song.” I shoved off the couch and started for the kitchen, wobbling a little.
“Didn’t you just get back from dinner?”
“So? The muffin will help me think.”
“Or at least absorb some of that booze.” he muttered.
“It was two glasses of wine. Yeesh. You sound like Mom.”
Flapjack made his amused sound, a cross between a purr and a sneeze. It wasn’t quite the same as a laugh, but it was the closest he could manage. “We really should go visit her sometime soon. Eh, Scar?”
I frowned as I located and unwrapped the muffin. “Yeah, yeah.”
My mother, Larissa, had called not two nights before to ask the same thing. When was I planning a visit home? Was I going to need to borrow money or was my inheritance still holding out? Had I met any available men?
On and on and on.
“You just want to go scare Fern,” I replied, referring to my parent’s Golden Retriever. He was still alive and well but seemed to have some kind of sixth sense when it came to Flapjack. Whenever we visited my childhood home, Fern went berserk trying to get at Flapjack’s ghost. A fact that Flapjack exploited for his own amusement, teasing an
d torturing the poor thing from dawn to dusk.
Flapjack snorted.
I took the muffin back to the couch and flopped down beside him. He raised his head and wrinkled his nose. “Oh, oops.” I covered the pastry. “I forgot it’s lemon poppy seed.”
“Mhmm. Forgot.”
“You have any idea how we can cheer up Hayward? I need to talk to Gwen.”
“I don’t know why you’re so worried about it. Hayward is a grown man, not to mention he’s been dead for a hundred years. I think he can take care of himself. See, this is your problem, Scar—you always poke around into other people’s business and get too wrapped up.”
I arched my eyebrows. “Says the cat who’s followed me around like a big, fluffy shadow for over two decades.”
Flapjack twitched his tail. “That’s different.”
“Uh huh.”
Before I could lay out a defense for myself, Gwen’s head poked through the front door. “Knock, knock?”
I sat up straighter and dropped the muffin into my lap. “Gwen!”
“Hello, Scarlet. Flapjack.” She shimmied through the door and floated farther into the living room. “Did you get those two ghosts sorted out?”
I shook my head. “Not exactly. But I have it under control.”
“Under control?” Flapjack snorted. “You wanted to take a frying pan in your purse on a dinner date.”
Gwen’s eyes lit up. “With Lucas?”
“No, some Joe Schmo I met down at the market. I decided to play the field a little.” I scoffed. “Of course it was with Lucas.”
Gwen swished her hair. “It’s not that ridiculous of a question. You know he’s not the only man in town interested.”
I sighed. “I don’t want to know.”
“I do!” Flapjack said, flashing a grin at Gwen.
Gwen swooped in and sat beside him. “Well, just yesterday, I overheard Jason Keith asking Cheryl—you know, the blonde who does dispatch—if you were seeing anyone.”
“How would Cheryl know?”
“Oh, Cheryl knows everything. She’s a real gossip hound,” Gwen replied with a dismissive flap of her hand.
Ghosts Gone Wild: A Beechwood Harbor Ghost Mystery (Beechwood Harbor Ghost Mysteries Book 2) Page 6
