Ghost Stories (Witch Woods Funeral Home Book 4): (Ghost Cozy Mystery series)

by Morgana Best

  I had selected some scented candles, a lemongrass and cedarwood, a citrus, a mountain berry, five West Indian lime and coconuts, a sweet pea and jasmine, and several vanilla and brown sugar candles. I knew they would add a delightful fragrance to the room.

  Basil came back from the kitchen and enveloped me in a tight hug. “I don’t know if this is going to work, but it’s worth a shot,” he said over the top of my head.

  I held him closely, running my hands over his muscled back. “I hope we do find out some information, anything that would give us a clue as to a motive.” My voice was breathless, but before I could say anymore, Basil bent his head over mine.

  My lips parted, and I could taste his breath. The sound of smooching broke us apart. Ernie appeared in front of me, hovering.

  “Could you please land?” I said. “You know how hovering creeps me out.”

  “You know how kissing freaks me out,” Ernie countered.

  Frank appeared and blew me a kiss, much to Basil’s obvious annoyance.

  “Everyone be on your best behavior, please,” I said in my sternest lecturing tone. “The guests will be here any minute.”

  “Where’s your mother?” Ernie asked me. “I can’t imagine she’d approve of ghost stories.”

  “She’s at the weekly church Ladies’ Night,” I said. “She has to be there, because she runs that group.”

  “Is she likely to come back early from this group meeting?” Basil asked me. My mother had often returned home from her groups because she had trouble getting others to attend. “No, Ian’s going to this group. It’s a prayer group, so she doesn’t mind if only the two of them turn up.”

  “I thought it was a women’s group?” Basil said, frowning.

  I held up my hands. “I know that. Don’t ask me. I don’t understand the workings of my mother’s Ladies’ Night, or her mind, for that matter.”

  “What’s the subject?” Ernie asked.

  I sighed. “They’re praying against women’s rights.”

  Basil made a strangling sound, while Ernie materialized and then dematerialized a split second later. “You’re kidding!”

  I shook my head. “You know what Mom’s like.”

  “And you’re trying to keep her out of prison because...?” Ernie said.

  I laughed, but then realized that Basil and Ernie looked solemn. “I don’t actually like her at all, but she is my mother.”

  They looked unconvinced. At any rate, I was saved from further explanation as the six guests arrived together.

  “Your mother isn’t coming, is she?” Bec asked me, her voice trembling.

  “Absolutely not,” I said. Just to be sure, I went out into the foyer and locked the door to the building.

  “We’re safe now,” I said upon my return, just as a crack of thunder made everyone jump. The lights went out. “Never mind, we have plenty of candles.”

  “I’m scared, and I’m a ghost,” Ernie said, while Frank winked at me. It was going to be a long night.

  Basil had brought lots of snacks, and had placed them all around the long table. I also had wine, because Basil thought it would loosen people’s tongues.

  After everyone had eaten, Basil spoke up. “As you know, I thought it would be fun for us all to collect here and tell ghost stories. A thunderstorm makes a good backdrop.”

  There was a murmur of agreement. “I’ll go first,” Bradley said. “I’ve always been interested in the ghost of Frederick Fisher, the ghost who solved his own murder.”

  A hush settled over the group, as Bradley continued. “In the middle of winter, 1826, Fisher had a drink with some friends at the Campbelltown pub and then went home. He was never seen again. His best friend, Worrell, told everyone that Fisher had gone back to England, and he also said that Fisher had given him all his property. People were suspicious. Worrell was arrested, but was never prosecuted. A few months later, a farmer by the name of John Farley had been out drinking, and was on his way home when he saw Frederick Fisher sitting on the rail of a bridge, right near Fisher’s land. He asked Fisher where he’d been, but he didn’t respond. As Farley got close, he realized it wasn’t a solid figure, but in fact a ghost.”

  I trembled, and Basil put his arm around me. I spoke to ghosts most every day, but tales told in the dark still scared me.

  “Farley, the farmer, was terrified,” Bradley said. “The ghost of Frederick Fisher pointed to a certain spot at the creek. Police searched the creek and found Fredrick’s body buried in a shallow grave. Just before he was executed, Worrell finally admitted he killed him. The whole event was actually reported in collections of ghost stories assembled by Arthur Conan Doyle.”

  “So this is a true story?” Basil said with obvious disappointment. The candle flames flared and then flickered softly.

  “Yes, it’s a famous story. It happened at Campbelltown, not far from Sydney.”

  “Your boyfriend’s theory fell flat there,” Ernie said, hovering behind Basil. “Hardly anything autobiographical in that.”

  I waved him away, and then wished I hadn’t when everyone looked at me. “A fly,” I said lamely.

  “Fremantle Prison in Western Australia has many ghosts,” Bec said. “It’s no surprise that it’s haunted. It was built by convicts after 1850 and then later became a prison. Almost fifty people were executed there. Lots of owls mysteriously appear on every hanging anniversary.”

  I exchanged a worried look with Basil. I hoped all the ghost stories weren’t factual.

  Bec’s voice filled with enthusiasm. “In 1936, the Fremantle lunatic asylum opened. They say it’s the most haunted building in the entire southern hemisphere. Women who go in there feel their hair pulled, usually women with red hair. A lot of people report that their cameras suddenly stop working.”

  I shot Ernie a dark look as he hovered above Bec, making fake ghost noises, and pretending to pull her hair. I didn’t even know if he could see me glaring at him, given that it was so dark.

  “American soldiers were stationed there at one point,” she continued softly. “They reported being touched by invisible hands. Even today, people hear loud footsteps approaching, but don’t see anyone. There was one instance where doors repeatedly shut and opened over the entire building, all at once. There were lots of witnesses to that. And then there’s the famous kissing ghost.”

  Frank apparently decided to get in on the act. He hovered over to me and puckered his lips. Basil tried to swat him away, but his hands passed through him.

  “Stop!” I snapped.

  Frank drew away.

  “Sorry,” Bec said.

  I hurried to explain, as best I could. “No, it wasn’t you. Sorry, I’m um, a bit scared,” I lied. I could hardly say that the ghost of an escort was trying to kiss me.

  “The famous Sydney Quarantine Station is extremely haunted,” Jenny said. “It was used as recently as 1984. Any ships carrying people suspected of having a contagious disease placed people in quarantine there. It’s an island in Sydney Harbor, you know,” she added.

  I nodded. “I’ve seen some ghost documentaries about it. They run paranormal tours there. You can even stay overnight.”

  “You could run paranormal tours, here, Laurel,” Ernie said. “Only I don’t know how to move stuff or make normal people hear me.”

  “Are you saying I’m not normal?” I asked him.

  “Of course not,” Jenny said, horrified.

  I waved one hand in the air. “Sorry. I was just thinking out aloud.”

  All six guests nodded. “Ah yes, you were thinking you were talking to your mother,” Jenny said. “Anyway, there are at least fifty ghosts there. Visitors are often pushed by unseen hands. You know, perhaps we should hold a séance tonight!”

  “I don’t know,” Louise said nervously.

  Jenny laughed. “It would be fun, by the candlelight and in a thunderstorm. Is anyone there? Is anyone there?” she said in a fake moan.

  A crack of thunder heralded the door being flung
open. An apparition appeared in the doorway. We all screamed.

  Chapter 12

  “Janet!” I managed to squeak. “What are you doing here?”

  “Working late,” she said, as she stepped into the room. “And you never pay me overtime. Why did you all scream? What are you all doing?”

  “We’re telling ghost stories,” Basil supplied, “or rather, James and Jenny, Robert and Louise, and Bradley and Bec are telling ghost stories.”

  Janet nodded, and then took a seat at the table. “Yes, Thelma told me that some heathens were staying with her.”

  I winced. Janet was nothing if not forthright. “Why aren’t you at Mom’s church meeting tonight?” I asked her.

  “No one in their right mind goes to your mother’s meetings,” Janet said. “I bet Pastor Green wishes she’d go to some other church and drive them nuts instead of all of us. Anyway, I’ll join you.”

  “You won’t go to hell?”

  Janet snorted at me. “Hardly. It’s not as if you’re conducting a séance.”

  Jenny shot me a look, or at least, I assumed so, given that the only light was supplied by flickering candlelight. “I’ve been on a paranormal tour to the Monte Cristo Homestead in Junee,” Janet announced loudly. “Do you know where that is?” Before anyone had a chance to speak, she pushed on. “It’s in country New South Wales, near the old highway between Sydney and Melbourne. I didn’t see anything, but other people on the tour said they saw ghosts. Lots of people have seen mysterious lights.”

  “What sort of lights?” Bec asked her.

  “I mean full-on lights,” Janet said. “Once the current owners were driving home and saw their house was lit up like a Christmas tree. Every single room had blazing white light pouring from it, very bright light. When they reached the house, the lights all suddenly went off. That’s happened a few times. Lots of people have seen it. Of course, they’re not really ghosts. They’re demons.”

  I kicked Basil under the table. I didn’t want Janet to ruin our slim hope of finding out anything about the guests that could lead to solving Frank’s murder. He nodded, but before he had a chance to come up with anything, Janet spoke again. “I’ve seen the Min Min lights, too.”

  I am sure everyone in the room knew what the Min Min lights were, but Janet explained, anyway. “They’re those mysterious lights in the outback. I’ve seen them up close.”

  There was a murmur of surprise around the table. Janet pushed on. “I was once dating a drover and I went camping with him for a week, in the outback. We had separate tents, of course, just in case you’re all thinking I’m the Whore of Babylon. I left the campfire to take a bathroom break, and then I headed back to the campfire. Only it wasn’t a campfire, it was a Min Min light, but I didn’t know at the time. I followed it for miles before Mick found me. You know, I was close to the campfire, and this Min Min light looked just like the glow of a campfire, only it kept moving in front of me. Mick said many people go missing because they follow the Min Min lights. I knew not to follow one, of course, only I didn’t know that’s what I was doing. There’s a scientific explanation for them, I’m sure.”

  I shivered. I had always been intrigued by the Min Min lights. I’d heard people say they could move around in circles, and change direction at will. They could speed, or go slowly. Scientists had tried to explain them away as refracted light, but the lights had followed, and reacted to, people. Many thousands of people had seen them, and I knew that some were associated with causing static electricity and also a strange smell.

  “My story is about the big prison at Maitland,” Bradley said, breaking the silence. “We’re going to drive to Maitland when we leave here and do one of the tours. Did you know that Maitland has the longest acting prison in Australia, and sixteen men were hanged there. Countless numbers of ghosts have been reported.” He stopped speaking and nodded wildly, clearly carried away with excitement. “We’ve booked in for the Ghost Hunting 101 Night. You get to use real ghost hunting equipment.”

  I decided to ask them straight out. “So all your stories are about actual ghosts? No fiction? For some reason, I thought you were all writing fiction.”

  “We’re a writing group,” Robert said, “and we usually do write fiction, but this time, we thought we’d do some research on actual ghosts.”

  “So your fiction is always about ghosts?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “Not exactly, but we all write horror fiction.”

  “Yes, we all attended a large Melbourne writers’ group for some months, and then the six of us ending up spending time together when we realized we were the only ones interested in writing horror,” James explained.

  “I’ve been to Jenolan Caves,” Janet blurted out.

  Everyone turned to stare at her. I was not surprised by her segue, but I was the only one. “Is it haunted?” I asked her.

  “Of course!” Janet shook her head at me. “Why else would I mention it?”

  I could think of several reasons, but I held my tongue.

  “I didn’t see any ghosts, because ghosts don’t exist. Ghosts are actually demons,” Janet said in a matter-of-fact voice.

  Both Ernie and Frank looked offended.

  Janet stood up. “The demons run riot there, turning lights on and off, and rattling security gates, and pretending to be ghosts. I suppose there are more demons there because the caves go miles underground, so they’re further away from God in heaven.”

  Everyone was struck speechless. Just then, lightning flashed behind her, giving her an eerie blue aura. The air crackled.

  The front door slammed.

  I grabbed Basil’s arm. “I locked it!” I squeaked.

  Janet leaned close to me. “I left it unlocked it when I came in,” she whispered.

  I continued to cling to Basil as we heard steps marching toward the reception door.

  It opened. I held my breath.

  “Out, foul demons!” Janet yelled, as a boom of thunder reverberated around the room.

  Chapter 13

  Mom and Ian stepped into the room.

  Janet breathed a sigh of relief to see them, but I would have preferred demons.

  “The detectives have falsely accused me,” Mom said, her face white. “Laurel, I tried to call you several times. What were you doing? Where were you?”

  “We were all chatting, and my phone was turned off,” I said, annoyed with myself for being defensive.

  Just then, the lights came back on. Mom and Ian sat next to Janet. The six guests all fidgeted, all clearly embarrassed. “We should go now,” James said.

  I stood up, intending to show them to the door. “Thanks so much for coming.”

  “It was, err, fun,” Jenny said lamely.

  “I’m going, too,” Janet announced. “I’ll show them out, Laurel. This time I’ll lock the door.”

  We waited until we heard the front door shut. “What happened, Mom?”

  Mom twisted her white lace handkerchief in her hands. “The detectives told me about the murder weapon. They came to my house and forced me to go with them to be questioned.”

  Ian dared to interrupt Mom. “Thelma called Pastor Green, who sent her a lawyer.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” I said.

  Ian pursed his lips. “He was a lawyer from our church, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said with more than a hint of sarcasm. Pastor Green was one of the good guys, but Mom and Ian would not allow anyone who didn’t go to their church to do anything for them. Their cars were always breaking down, because they went to a substandard mechanic who attended their church. “Is he qualified?”

  Ian appeared to be affronted. “He’s just out of law school and was doing contract law, but we’ll hope and pray.”

  “I don’t need a lawyer. I have justice on my side,” Mom said primly, “and even more, I have the Great Judge.”

  “All right, then!” I said quickly, hoping to forestall her from going into one of her usual rants. “Did the dete
ctives say what the murder weapon was?”

  “It’s just a bunch of nonsense,” Mom said crossly. She made a big show of blowing out the candles. “If God wanted us to have candles, we wouldn’t have electricity. Only New Age heathens, and witches use candles; may they burn in hell!”

  Ian’s cheeks puffed up. “Suffer not a witch to live!” he said dramatically.

  I rubbed my temples and fought the urge to say something horrible to him, perhaps even strangle him. Instead, I addressed Mom. “What’s nonsense?”

  “Hat pins!”

  “Hat pins are nonsense?”

  “Stop twisting my words, Laurel!”

  Basil leaned forward. “Precisely what did the detectives tell you about hat pins, Mrs. Bay?” His tone was steely.

  Mom’s eyes darted from side to side. “Tom was killed by a metal hat pin with an enamel coating. They said it was a vintage one.”

  My jaw fell open. Mom had never given such a straight answer to me. I nudged Basil with my elbow.

  He took the hint and continued his questioning. “Was it one of the hat pins they took from you?”

  Mom shook her head. “There was a missing hat pin.”

  “Did the detectives find it?” I asked her.

  “Of course not, Laurel!” Mom snapped. “I said it was missing.” She avoided looking at Basil as she spoke.

  “I’m just trying to help you, Mom,” I said through gritted teeth, shooting a threatening look at Ian in case he felt duty bound to defend her.

  Mom jumped to her feet. “I can’t do anything right, Laurel! I always say the wrong thing!” She burst into a bout of fake sobbing and hurried from the room, Ian hard on her heels. I rushed past them to unlock the door. I wanted them both gone as soon as possible. I wasn’t in the mood for more drama.

  “No good deed goes unpunished,” Basil said dryly, as I leaned back against the door, locked once more.

  “Would someone have to know what they were doing to kill someone with a hat pin?” I asked him. “I mean, would they need to have medical knowledge?”