Christmas Spirit (The Middle-aged Ghost Whisperer Book 1): (Ghost Cozy Mystery series)

by Morgana Best

  “I wasn’t speeding,” I said. I was horrified to recognize the cop as Stanfield Kelly, although he, of course, did not know I knew anything about him.

  Christina leaned across me. “She was not speeding,” she said loudly. “I’m a witness, so it’s only your word against the two of us, if it goes to court.”

  Kelly looked rather taken aback. The smug look left his face for a moment.

  Christina hadn’t finished. “You don’t have a normal patrol car,” she said rudely. “You aren’t in uniform.”

  “I’m a detective,” Kelly said in a matter-of-fact voice. “I don’t usually pull people over, but I’m sure to do so if I suspect that a driver has drugs in the car.”

  I gave up trying to silence Christina, and shrieked “Drugs?” about the same time that Christina did.

  Kelly nodded. “I recognize you from the party last night.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I was there.”

  “That was a swanky party,” Stanfield said. “This isn’t much of a swanky car.”

  “I was given the ticket as a Christmas gift by a friend,” I said.

  Christina pursed her lips. “You don’t have to explain anything to him! It’s not a crime to get gifts!”

  Kelly’s face edged closer to mine. “You know, sometimes drug dealers drive cars under what they can afford, to make it seem like they have less money than they really do.”

  “Trust me,” I said. “This is what I can afford.”

  “What do you do for a living?” Kelly asked me.

  “Don’t tell him,” Christina said. “He can’t legally ask you that. Don’t tell him anything unless he arrests you, and then only in the presence of a lawyer.”

  I sighed. “I’m a clairvoyant.”

  “A clairvoyant?” Kelly asked me. “You read minds?”

  “Something like that,” I said, knowing it was pointless to explain.

  The man laughed. “I’ve got to tell you, that’s the first time I’ve heard that one.”

  “Well, it’s the truth,” I said.

  “I saw you hand something to Sarah Curtis.”

  “My business card.”

  Christina’s hand clamped firmly over my mouth, and I had to struggle to pull it off. “Don’t tell him anything,” she said loudly.

  “So you gave her your card?” he continued. “You have a business card? To hand out to people when they need a psychic? I need your license, and I need you to step out of the car.”

  “What? Why?”

  He didn’t speak again until Christina and I were out of the car, and standing on the sidewalk. The shopkeeper retreated a little, pretending to sweep leaves again.

  “You know what I think?” Detective Kelly said. “I think you gave her your number because you’re a drug dealer looking for new clients. Maybe she’s already your client. I think you’re high on your own supply, and that’s why you were swerving around and speeding back there.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Christina and I said in unison.

  “Ma’am, if I’m wrong, then you have nothing to worry about. Just stay out of the car and let me have a look around.” Stanfield held out his hand for my purse. “I’ll take that,” he said.

  “You can’t do that!” I said.

  Christina pulled me aside. “He can, you know,” she whispered. “They’re allowed to pull over anyone and search the car if they think drugs are involved. They don’t need any evidence.”

  I was surprised by that. I was also embarrassed, with the shopkeeper’s eyes on me, as well as the eyes of every passing motorist.

  Stanfield sifted through everything in my purse. I was angry, but there was nothing I could do except watch as he went through my things. When he had finished with my purse, he went to the driver’s side door, which was still open.

  He got into the front seat, leaned across the console, and opened the glove box. He spent a few minutes going through the papers there, leaving everything on the passenger seat. Then, as I watched, he made a show of checking under both front seats. He checked in the back, and then he went to the trunk. “Open this, please.”

  I hit the button on my key fob. He lifted up the trunk and rummaged for a while, before shutting the trunk and walking up to me. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You’re free to go,” he said.

  I nodded tersely.

  I watched him walk back to his car and get in. As he drove away, I realized I had been holding my breath. I let it out in a long ragged gasp, and then fought to control my breathing as my heart pounded in my chest so loudly I could hear it in my ears. I got my purse and its contents and spent a minute putting everything back in. I opened the passenger side door and threw my purse inside, and then took the things that had been in the glove compartment and stuffed them all back in. When I shut the door, I turned to find the shopkeeper and Christina standing close to me. I was thankful she had remained silent while I reordered my stuff and my mind.

  “Can you really read minds?” the man asked.

  “That’s not how it works!” I said loudly.

  “Oh,” he said. “Well, I have this friend from a long time ago, and I think he took five dollars out of my pocket once when we were younger, and I’ve never forgiven him. I guess he’s not my friend anymore, but you know, I’m sure he took it, so I just wanted to know if you could tell me he did?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, I can’t help you. That’s not how it works.” I went around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel.

  “The nerve of that cop!” Christina said. “Do you want me to drive? You still look upset.”

  I thanked her and shook my head. I was upset, as well as angry, and a hundred other things. I had just spoken to the man who had killed Alum.

  Chapter 18

  I sat under the honeysuckle vine in the early morning light, seeking solace from my garden. There was something calming about a cup of tea first thing in the morning, sipping hot tea while watching the sun rising over the garden, the air just cool enough to be pleasant in the middle of summer. The fragrance hung heavily on the crisp, morning air.

  Every time I go on tour, I pay a gardener to mow my lawn weekly in summer, and fortnightly in winter, and to check that my automatic watering system is working. This time, I had arrived home to flourishing flowers and even more flourishing weeds. Last year, Constance had nearly killed my big japonica camellia with her so-called expert care, by pruning it to within an inch of its life. This time, I returned home to find a pile of lavender and rosemary bushes that had been pulled and tossed, mistaken by my ‘knowledgeable’ friend as weeds. And this was despite me telling her not to touch my garden in my absence.

  Today, the air was thick with the surviving lavender and the subtle hint of the roses. I smiled as a pleasant breeze stirred the fragrances of flowers. Thank goodness none of my relatives were early risers.

  However, today there was one blight on my happiness. I had not seen Alum for two days, not once since the party. Had he managed to follow his murderous partner or Martin Taylor’s son and associates? If so, surely he would have said something to me first. Yet there was nothing.

  Had he crossed over? Maybe the fact of seeing his partner so suddenly jarred his hold on this world.

  I felt somewhat guilty that I was unhappy with the thought that Alum had gone for good. He was a ghost. A handsome, charming, surprisingly attractive one, but a ghost nonetheless. I remembered seeing the TV show, The Ghost And Mrs. Muir, as a child, and I had also seen the old black-and-white movie rerun. If Alum stayed, was that to be my fate? In love with a ghost, only to be with him when I finally departed this life?

  I shuddered as I realized I had said, or rather, thought, the L-word. Love? I shook my head at my foolishness. Still, at the very least, I did allow myself to admit that I had grown used to his presence. He’d made me feel useful, not just as a medium but also as a person. He had trusted me with his case. He had not seemed disappointed that his best help was a clairvoyant. And what’s more, I could not deny t
hat I was attracted to him.

  Possum meowed insistently at my ankle, butting her head against my leg and pulling me from my thoughts. She sat down at my feet and twitched her tail expectantly.

  “What is it, Possum? Are you missing him, too?” I leaned over to scratch the giant gray and white cat behind her ears. She closed her amber eyes in contentment and purred loudly.

  I smiled as I watched Lily in the garden. She was perched on a fence post, staring down regally like a queen from her ivory tower. She leaped down to stalk a cicada that had trespassed a little too close, her white fur shining as she tried to blend in with the lavender plants. The cat was so intent on her task that she did not even notice that Possum was now stalking her. Possum crouched in wait just a few feet away, wriggling her hindquarters as she prepared to pounce.

  Possum suddenly lost interest in her pursuit. She flicked her tail as she sauntered toward the cottage, pausing after a few steps to gaze over at me expectantly.

  “No,” I said. “You’ve already had breakfast.”

  Possum narrowed her eyes in annoyance as her attempts to lead me to the food failed. She seemed quite cross that her wishes were not going to be honored. She turned and skulked off. Suddenly, she paused with ears perked attentively. She stared straight ahead, her body rigid.

  My heart raced with fright. Snake! I thought. I had several solar-powered snake repellers dotted intermittently around the house and the garden. In fact, I had four times as many as were recommended for the area. Either snake wire or tall Colorbond fencing, flush to the ground and with no gaps anywhere, surrounded my whole property, but there was always the chance that a kookaburra would accidentally drop its prey in my yard. Deadly brown snakes and copperheads were common in this district.

  International visitors often wonder why most Australians in country towns don’t have cat doors on their houses. The reason is snakes. Whereas in other parts of the world a cat would bring home a live mouse as a gift for its human, in the bush, a cat would often bring home a live snake as a gift.

  I only allowed my cats outside when I was with them, for this very reason.

  My heart in my mouth, I hurried over to see what Possum was suddenly so interested in. At first, I could see nothing out of the ordinary. To my relief, the ground was bare.

  As I turned away, a glimmer of motion caught the corner of my eye. It was as if the air were displaced somehow.

  It happened all at once. One second there was nothing, and then with a blink, a figure stood there. I jumped up with a startled cry, sending the two cats scattering across the yard.

  “Hello to you, too!” Alum said with a nervous laugh.

  “Alum!” I exclaimed. A wide smile spread over my face when I saw that he was all right. Well, of course he’d be all right! I scolded myself. Dead is about as bad as it can get.

  Alum appeared to be amused by my reaction. “How did we get here? Weren’t we just…?” His voice trailed away.

  “Where have you been?” I asked, a little embarrassed at the obvious relief in my voice. “I was starting to think you were gone for good.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me that effortlessly.” Alum smiled uneasily as he looked around the garden. “Last thing I remember, we were at the party. We were talking, and then the cops came in. There was a whole lot of chaos right after—and then there was a strange dream, and suddenly here I am.”

  He looked down at Possum, who was staring at him and sniffing the air. After careful study, the cat must have concluded that Alum was not of the food-providing variety. I could almost swear that I heard the cat grumble as she continued on her walk, her tail swishing in irritation. I knew that look well. I needed to keep on the lookout for Possum-sized hairballs in my shoes. She could be very passive aggressive when her demands were ignored.

  “The party was two days ago,” I said.

  Alum frowned. “That can’t be right, can it? It only feels like I blacked out for a minute or two. Care to fill me in?”

  I was confused. Did time pass differently in the afterlife? And what did he mean about a blackout? Could ghosts black out? It was a foreign concept to me, but then again, I knew nothing about ghosts apart from the messages they gave me for their loved ones. Alum appeared to be entirely different.

  “Come around the side.” I wanted to speak to Alum away from the front window of the cottage, just in case one of my guests woke up earlier than usual and saw me talking to myself. I’d never hear the end of it.

  “So he pulled you over!” Alum said, when I had finished filling him in. His hands clenched and unclenched. Finally he took a long breath—or whatever ghosts did that looked like breathing—and gave me a reassuring smile. “You said he saw you talking to the arrested man’s wife?”

  I nodded. I wanted to relive the night as little as humanly possible. “You mentioned something about blacking out?” I asked him, changing the subject.

  Alum looked troubled and crossed his arms. “I guess that’s what you’d call it. One second I was watching the police arrest the man, and then I could barely think straight. It felt like I was on a table. There were masked faces looming over me, doctors perhaps. They were saying my name and saying something or other. I remember wanting them to stop talking and let me sleep. I felt so tired, but I couldn’t make my mouth move. None of me could move. I was trapped, and no one seemed to notice. And then all of a sudden, here I am.”

  I chewed a fingernail. Could ghosts sleep? The table and masked men—doctors?—were puzzling as well. “Do you think it’s a memory from just before you died?”

  “Maybe.” He paused. “Actually, you could be right there. It was terrifying, not being able to move or speak. Having people I never met talking over me. I’d rather it just be some sort of bad dream, not my last living memory.”

  I felt a pang of pity for Alum. No wonder his soul could not move on, if that were indeed the case. I could not imagine that anyone would be able to travel peacefully into oblivion with that sort of trauma imprinted into their very soul. “I’m so sorry, Alum.”

  Alum fidgeted and then waved off the apology. “We don’t even know for a fact that it is. Don’t go feeling sorry for me over a bad dream. I’m here now, and I can help put Brady Wayland’s murderers to justice. That’s a lot more than most people get to do after they die, I imagine. I have you to thank for helping me, too.”

  “Oh no,” I protested. “It’s not as if I’ve managed to do much.”

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Alum insisted. “You’ve handled things really well, especially after the encounter with Kelly. Lesser women would not be out in their gardens sipping tea after the week you had.”

  “I needed to come out and sip tea because of the week I had!” I countered.

  “Who are you talking to?” Rainbow asked me. Before I could answer, she held up a hand. “I know. You were talking to yourself. That’s nice. Everyone should be free to express themselves, even if it does make them look silly.”

  I looked at Luke, who had followed her out into the garden and was pulling blooms from my roses. “Rainbow, please don’t let him do that,” I said.

  Her jaw dropped open. “He’s expressing himself!” she said. “Children should be allowed to express themselves.”

  “Not by damaging other people’s property,” I pointed out.

  Rainbow burst into tears and ran into the house.

  “Stop that, Luke!” Uncle Tim’s voice boomed from behind me.

  Luke dropped his latest rose victim and sprinted after his mother.

  I rubbed my forehead and sighed.

  Chapter 19

  I was ready to call off the whole thing.

  “What did I get myself into?” I asked my reflection, turning my head this way and that to make sure there were no telltale makeup lines. Lily was lounging across my work slacks that I had originally set out for the dinner. “What do you think, Lily? Temporary insanity?”

  Lily meowed in a non-committal fashion, though by he
r expression, I was fairly certain that the feline did not think there was anything temporary about my insanity.

  “You’re probably right.” I fumbled around for my brush.

  It wasn’t a date, not a real date anyway, but it was still the first time since the divorce that I would be having dinner with a man, a live one, that is. I had sworn off relationships for a long time, and the life of a single mother had been a non-stop marathon of chaos, especially when my support network could be counted on one hand with fingers left to spare.

  I smoothed out my dress. I hadn’t been planning on dressing up tonight, but there was a chance that I would have my picture taken. Randal Hamilton had been persistent about arranging this meeting over dinner. It was to be an interview with food present.

  Of course, I wished that the company were a little different. I would have preferred to go to the restaurant with a certain charming detective. I could see us sitting at a table, sharing a nice meal and a bottle of wine. Alum would look handsome dressed up for an evening out. I could hear him complimenting me and telling me about his day. I could practically hear the clink of our glasses as we toasted a lovely evening.

  Of course, all of that was impossible. Alum would never hold a wine glass again. He’d never be able to try out a dish I liked. At best, I would be the strange woman in the corner who talked to herself and laughed at jokes that no one else could hear. We could never hold each other, or even touch hands.

  I frowned and paused at my door. I could not go down that road. I could not deny that there was something there, but I had to be realistic. There was nothing to be gained by fantasizing over a ghost.

  It was best to put those ideas out of my mind as soon as possible.

  * * *

  “You look absolutely radiant tonight,” the reporter said.

  “Thank you.” I was unsure whether he had crossed a professional boundary in saying such a thing, but I shrugged it off. My mind was buzzing with dozens of responses that I had rehearsed throughout the day. I had no idea what sort of questions he would ask, but I assumed they would be the same questions that reporters always asked.