Spooky Times (Alice Whitehouse Book 1)

by Nic Saint

  “Then it’s time for dessert,” said Mom. “How do you feel about lemon pie?”

  “I love lemon pie,” Rock said, leaning back and placing his hands on his stomach. A completely flat stomach, I couldn’t help but notice. He displayed a wide smile. “You’ve made me feel completely welcome, Demitria—Curtis. Thanks for your hospitality.”

  “It’s the least we could do,” Mom said. “It isn’t every day a new police officer joins the force. You’ll soon find that Happy Bays is the most wonderful little town. We hardly ever get any real crime here, isn’t that right, Curtis? The town pretty much polices itself.”

  “Apart from the odd murder now and then,” I said.

  “Which I’m sure you’ll be more than happy to solve,” Dad said, giving me a wink.

  I smiled for the first time that evening. This was Dad’s way of making it up to me for lying about the police academy thing. He was giving me and the watch carte blanche to solve the Gemma Weston murder. The interaction hadn’t escaped Rock’s attention, as he was eyeing me intently. But then I was starting to discover that there wasn’t much that escaped Rock’s attention. I had the impression he wasn’t just a great guy, but also a good cop. Talk about a killer combination.

  “So when are y’all going to get off your lazy bums and catch my killers?”

  The voice had come out of nowhere, and only three people around the table could hear it. Me, Mom and Dad. We all looked up, and so did Rock. Not because he had heard Gemma, but because he sensed something was up.

  “Um…” I began, casting a cautious look at my mother.

  Gemma was standing in the middle of the table, her waist right where the empty roast chicken dish was, her hands planted on her hips and looking very indignant. “I mean, here you are, eating a nice dinner, gabbing away as if you don’t have a care in the world, and meanwhile I’m out there, being dead, and my killer is getting away! Is that why I pay taxes?”

  Technically, she wasn’t paying any taxes, because she was dead, but I wasn’t about to point that out to the irate bank teller.

  “Um…” I repeated, mentally signaling to Mom to do something before Rock discovered what was going on.

  “You’re all so awfully quiet,” Rock said with a smile. “Is it something I said?”

  “Oh, no,” Mom assured him. “We’re just… saying grace, aren’t we, honey?”

  She gave my dad a shove and he quickly chimed in. “Yep. Saying grace.”

  “Isn’t that something most people do before they dig in?” Rock asked.

  He wasn’t just cute, he was astute too. “We do it the other way around,” I said. “First we eat, and then we thank providence for providing for us.”

  “Oh, I see what’s going on,” Gemma said. “You’re going to ignore me, huh? Well, see if you can ignore this.” And at this, she shoved Rock’s plate off the table.

  We all stared at the plate as it clattered to the floor and broke into pieces. I didn’t even know Gemma could do that. Most ghosts have no idea how to move stuff in the real world. Gemma was learning fast. Or maybe she was simply so pissed off that her mental energy was a lot more powerful than with most people.

  Rock held up his hands. “I didn’t do that.”

  “I did,” I said ruefully. “My hand slipped. It happens.”

  “I didn’t see your hand slip,” he said. “In fact your hand wasn’t anywhere near my plate. Unless I missed something.”

  “I think you missed something,” Dad said gruffly.

  “Honey, can you help me in the kitchen?” Mom asked, getting up so quickly her chair clattered to the floor. She quickly picked it up and nervously headed for the kitchen, me in her wake.

  I gestured to Gemma to follow me, but she stubbornly stayed where she was.

  “We have to handle this,” Mom hissed the moment the kitchen door closed behind us. “Rock cannot find out this family talks to ghosts.”

  “This family? Half this town talks to ghosts, Mom. How long do you think it’ll take him to figure it out? Not long!”

  “Well, he sure as heck isn’t going to find out from us!” Mom said, her voice quaking from the nervous strain. Twin dots of crimson had appeared on her cheeks, and her neck was going all blotchy, like it did when she was about to get a nervous collapse. I had the impression I wasn’t too far removed from one either.

  Just then, Gemma came floating in through the door. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re talking behind my back,” she said nastily, bumping her hip against the kitchen table and sending the empty potato dish clattering to the floor.

  “We’re not talking about you,” I said. “We’re talking about Rock.”

  Her face brightened. “Oh. I like him. He’s cool. And gorgeous. Gorgeous Rock.”

  “He’s also completely unaware that ghosts exist, or that we can see you,” I said.

  “And if you don’t mind, we’d very much like to keep it that way,” Mom added.

  “Why shouldn’t he be aware of my presence?” Gemma asked petulantly. “Maybe he’ll finally go after my killer, instead of stuffing his face with roast chicken.” She stared down at the oven and licked her ghostly lips. “That smelled delicious, Demitria. What recipe did you use?”

  “I… just whipped something up,” Mom said.

  “Liar!” Gemma yelled. “Nobody ‘just whips something up.’ At least nobody I know.”

  “Mom does,” I assured her. “She’s an amazing cook.”

  “Why, thank you, honey,” said Mom. “That’s a nice compliment.”

  Gemma threw a lone potato at me. It hit me smack dab in the middle of my forehead. “Hey!” I yelled.

  “Do I have your attention?” she asked. “Do you agree that the most important thing is solving my murder?”

  Actually, I didn’t. I was starting to feel that the murderer perhaps had done us all a favor. Or maybe Gemma was becoming more and more unhinged the longer she was roaming the netherworld she was currently stuck in. At least I didn’t remember her being this unreasonable.

  “Look, Rock and I are doing all we can to solve your murder,” I told her. “You just have to give us more time. It’s not that easy to catch a killer.”

  She pressed a hand to her brow, closing her eyes with a pained expression. “I keep thinking that if only I could concentrate enough, I could recollect a face or… a clue of some kind. But nothing comes. Absolutely nothing.”

  Suddenly, the lower part of her body disappeared and she heaved a startled scream. “What’s happening to me?!”

  “You’re growing dimmer,” I said. “It’s a natural process. Soon you’ll move on to the next plane of existence and you will leave this world behind for good.”

  She stared at me, eyes wide with consternation. “But I don’t want to leave this world behind. Can’t—can’t you stop it?”

  “No, I’m afraid no one can.”

  “You’re moving on, honey,” Mom said softly. “Moving to a better place. A place where you’ll feel no more pain or sadness. Only bliss.”

  Gemma frowned at her. “How would you know? Have you been there?”

  “No, but I’ve heard stories,” Mom said. “Of people who briefly passed over, and then came back.”

  “Came back? Came back how?” she asked, hope clear in her voice.

  “Because their work here wasn’t finished yet,” Mom said.

  “Well, my work here isn’t finished. I still have lots and lots of plans and ideas. I want to make a trip around the world. I want to invest in real estate and become rich. I want Chad to finally clean up his act so we can start a family of little Chadsters and Gemmas. And I want to grow old and die of old age in my bed!”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen,” Mom said.

  “Ugh!” Gemma cried. “You people are useless!”

  And with these words, she jumped into the wall and vanished, but not before dumping a pile of dishes to the floor. The racket made Rock and Dad come running into the kitchen.

  “Oh, loo
k at that,” Mom said with a nervous laugh. “I’m so clumsy today.”

  I shared a quick look with my dad. Rock caught it and he narrowed his eyes at me. It was obvious he knew we weren’t telling him something. Sooner or later he was going to want to know what it was.

  Yep, we needed to solve this murder and make Gemma Weston move on. Or else she was going to create a whole lot more trouble for all of us.

  Chapter 12

  After a good night’s sleep—this time not interrupted by Gemma’s shenanigans—I woke up bright and early, ready to tackle a new day. I threw off my Minnie Mouse blanket, stepped into my Hello Kitty slippers and checked my Powerpuff Girls alarm clock. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet. Which was just as well, as I needed to check on Mabel, who’d vowed to watch Mrs. Evergreen ‘for as long as it took,’ and decide if we were going to keep up this crazy surveillance twenty-four seven or call off the dogs.

  I quickly showered, brushed my ‘do and swiped a minimal amount of mascara on my lashes—I was meeting Rock again today, and wanted to look my best in spite of my vow I wasn’t the least bit interested in the guy. Then I stepped into my best pair of jeans—the ones with the fashionable holes at the knees—and donned a pink halter top that accentuated my—very modest—assets.

  The problem when you’re built like Goldie Hawn is that men often overlook you for the more voluptuous females that are seemingly everywhere. And since the Reece Hudson disaster, morale at Casa Alice Whitehouse has been lower than low. Even lower, actually. But I wasn’t going to let it get to me. Today was a new day, and I was going to catch a killer and give Gemma Weston the send-off she—and we—deserved.

  “Have you seen my new sneakers?” I asked when Fee shuffled out of her room, looking like death warmed over. “You know, the pink glittery ones? I can’t seem to find them.”

  In response, Fee produced a cavernous yawn and tried her best to open her eyes enough to focus on me. “Why are you up so early? And why are you looking so happy and peppy?”

  “I’m not happy and peppy,” I said. “And seven o’clock isn’t early. For a lot of people it’s actually late.”

  “Well, those people didn’t watch a Breaking Bad marathon,” she said. “You know? If Bell’s Bakery ever goes belly-up, I could go into the meth business. I mean, what’s the difference between cooking meth and baking bread?”

  “I hear meth users are a lot tougher to deal with than bread buyers.”

  “I can deal,” she said. “If it comes to that, I can deal.”

  “Bell’s isn’t going belly-up. Bakeries can’t go bust. It’s just impossible.”

  She gave me a meaningful look, her eyes wandering down from my halter top to my nice jeans, then back up again to my face. “You actually look nice.”

  “Thanks. I guess.”

  She moved closer and took a sniff. “Is that… Chanel?”

  “And what if it is?”

  She grinned. “Up before dawn. Happy peppy look. Chanel. You’re meeting Rock Walker today, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged. “And what if I am?”

  “This is good for you, Alice.”

  “What is?” I asked, pretending not to catch the sage older sister vibe.

  “Going out there again? Entering the dating scene.”

  “I’m not entering the dating scene! I’m just… trying to solve a murder.”

  “One doesn’t exclude the other. This is the twenty-first century. A girl can solve murders and date.”

  “I’m going to interview a suspect.”

  “With Rock Walker.”

  “With Rock Walker,” I admitted. Maybe I had overdone it on the Chanel. “Who happens to be the cop in charge of the case.”

  “And who happens to be a total hottie who likes you.”

  I plunked down on the laundry hamper, pulling a pair of Rick’s Calvin Kleins from beneath my bum. “My mom invited him to dinner last night.”

  “And? How did it go?”

  “It went well, until Gemma Weston showed up and started making a total nuisance of herself.” In a few brief words, I described the horrible scene to Fee, who was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

  “Once you solve her murder, she’ll be out of your hair,” she said. “And now you better get a move on. You don’t want to be late for your date with Rock.”

  “It’s not a date!”

  “It is, too. Now shoo. I need to tinkle.”

  I was going to tell her about the police academy thing, but she ushered me out and I decided that story could wait for another time. I headed down the stairs, snatched my purse from the ottoman where I like to leave it, and stepped from the house.

  My trusty old pink bike took me to Mrs. Evergreen’s street, and when I arrived I saw that we’d missed our chance once again. For starters, a sizable turd was placed right next to the shrubbery where I’d hidden the day before. And to make matters worse, it was also right next to Mabel’s red Mini Cooper, parked at the curb, the mayoral secretary asleep at the wheel, her head resting in a very undignified position against the headrest, her mouth open, her special goggles still perched on her head.

  I rapped my knuckles against the window and she snapped her head up, then grimaced and rubbed her hand against her neck. Ouch. That must hurt.

  She saw me and rolled down the window. “What happened?”

  “You must have fallen asleep. Were you out here all night?”

  “I guess I was,” she said, yawning and stretching, then wincing again as the crick in her neck gave her trouble.

  “You didn’t have to do this, Mabel,” I told her. “I doubt whether Mrs. Evergreen walks her dog at night.”

  “Well, she didn’t come out last night, so I figured she was waiting until I left, so I decided not to leave until she came out.” She sighed. “And then I must have dozed off.” She picked up her phone from the passenger seat. “Shoot. Mark left me about a dozen messages. I better call him.”

  Mark was Mabel’s husband, and worked down at the power plant as an engineer. He must have wondered why his wife didn’t come home last night.

  I tapped my foot, deliberating my next move. Bettina was supposed to come and take the morning shift, but now I was starting to wonder if Mrs. Evergreen really was worth all this trouble.

  I poked my head through the car window again. “Mabel…”

  “Oh, no,” Mabel said. “I know that look. You’re not giving up on me, Alice. The neighborhood watch committee may be a lot of things, but we’re not quitters. We’re going to catch that nasty old woman and we’re going to make her clean up after her dog. This is now a holy mission.”

  She stepped from the car to stretch her limbs.

  “Mabel, watch out!” I cried. But too late. She’d walked right into the big pile of dog doo.

  “That does it!” she cried, stomping her foot in a bid to remove the poop. “We’re not resting until we nail that bitch.”

  Both our eyes were drawn to the front door of Mrs. Evergreen’s house, where just at that moment, as if she’d been waiting inside, the old woman stepped out. When she spotted us, she gave us a cheery wave, and then tripped off, Sheena by her side.

  “You’re right,” I said. “We can’t give up now.”

  We shared a high five. Too much had happened for us to back down now. So when Bettina showed up five minutes later in her yellow Mini Cooper—yes, all members of the watch committee drive Mini Coopers except for me, since I don’t drive, and Fee, since she’s stuck with the bakery van—I told her to stick to our quarry like a hawk. She said she wouldn’t let our side down, and judging from the resolute look on her face, I believed her. This was war and we were either going to get our woman or die trying.

  Chapter 13

  That morning it was my turn to open the gun store. Uncle Mickey was out of town for some convention somewhere, and the fate of Mick’s Pick rested in my hands. Which was fine by me, as the store never got really busy anyway. In fact, I often wondered how Mickey managed to scrape by, e
specially since he had to carry my salary. Admittedly, he paid me a pittance, probably figuring that since I was family I wasn’t going to complain. And I didn’t, since I was grateful my uncles had offered me these jobs in the first place.

  I stuffed my key in the lock and rolled up the security grill with a mighty push. Not that anyone would try to rob Mick’s Pick. The neighbors wouldn’t stand for it. Or the neighborhood watch committee. Though these days we were kinda busy trying to catch Mrs. Evergreen in the act, usually our work consisted of regular patrols, and an intricate network of neighborhood informers—the entire town of Happy Bays, in fact.

  No customers were waiting outside the store, which was just as well, and I entered, dumped my purse behind the counter, and checked the cash register to see if Uncle Mickey had left me enough change and coin rolls to take me through the day. He had.

  Mick’s Pick isn’t just a gun store. Mickey sells everything your nature lover, avid hiker or tourist might be looking for: an assortment of camping supplies, hiking gear and stuff a beachgoer might need. It’s a one-stop shop for your every touristy requirement.

  With a sigh, I started unpacking boxes of new T-shirts and placing them on their designated shelves near the door. And I was just holding up a cute pink shirt and checking myself in the full-length mirror, when the doorbell jangled and a customer walked in. I gave her my best smile and headed for the counter, awaiting further developments. She gave me a hesitant look and stalked up, her eyes flitting across the assortment of guns & ammo placed beneath a thick pane of security glass on the counter display.

  She was a diminutive dark-haired woman of about my age, and only when she gave me a tentative smile did I finally recognize her.

  “Susan? Susan Cooper?”

  The smile became more pronounced. “Hi, Alice. Long time no see, huh?”

  “Where have you been? I don’t think I’ve seen you since high school.”

  “I moved to Boston to go to college, and then decided to stay there after I met my husband.”

  She placed her hands on the counter and my eyes darted to her ring finger. “Nice rock,” I said.