Probable Paws (Mystic Notch Cozy Mystery Series Book 5)

by Leighann Dobbs

  Probable Paws

  Mystic Notch Cozy Mystery Series Book 5

  Leighann Dobbs

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About the Author

  A Note From The Author

  Copyright

  1

  The somber ambience inside Blake’s Funeral Home was a stark contrast to the cheerful spring day outside. Depressing strains of soft music floated out from unseen speakers hidden somewhere in the muted-green wallpapered walls. The cloying smell of dozens of floral arrangements wafted over to tickle my nose, bringing me just to the brink of sneezing.

  I glanced longingly at the window. The view was obscured by sheer white drapes, but I knew a bright, sunny day was waiting out there. My attention drifted from the window to the casket in the front of the room.

  I hadn’t known the deceased well. Adelaide Hamilton had been a friend of my grandmother’s, and since Gram had died a few years back, I figured it was only proper for me to attend and pay my respects in her absence. Little had I known that would take up a good part of the morning.

  I fidgeted in the hard metal folding chair, resisting the urge to check my watch.

  How much longer would this go on?

  Up front, Reverend Stone, dressed in a black suit and gray tie, droned on about Adelaide Hamilton, who lay in peaceful repose just behind him. His eulogy included a painfully long account of the elderly woman’s life, including how she’d been born in and lived her whole life in our small town of Mystic Notch, nestled in the white mountains of New Hampshire, and had acted as a pillar of society and volunteered at various places, including the historical society and as a school crossing guard.

  I decided to amuse myself by watching the family in the front row. Not that a grieving family should be amusing to watch, but this one didn’t seem very sad. Probably because Adelaide had been an old lady—her death likely wasn’t unexpected. Maybe even merciful if she was ill. Not to mention that they each seemed to have something more important on their minds than the reverend’s monotonous eulogy.

  The first three seats on the left side of the front row were occupied by three adults whom I figured to be Adelaide’s children. They looked to be in their mid- to late-fifties—a little older than me. Gram had been older than Adelaide, and Adelaide hadn’t had kids until later in life, so her children would be about that age. I remembered that Adelaide had one son and one daughter. The second woman must have been the daughter-in-law.

  The dark-haired woman on the end, who I assumed was her daughter, Josie, sat limply in her seat. Poured in, almost as lifeless as her mother in the casket. I couldn’t tell if she’d fallen asleep during the sermon or was on some kind of tranquilizer. Maybe she needed drugs to ease the pain of her mother’s death.

  Next to her sat a platinum blonde who I assumed was the daughter-in-law, Lisa. I vaguely remembered something about the son’s first wife passing away. He must have remarried and, if the cautious looks he kept darting toward the blonde were any indication, she was his second wife. She was dressed in designer clothes. A big honking diamond glinted on her left finger, matched in brightness only by the stones that circled her wrist and possibly the shiny, round bald spot on the back of her husband’s head. As I watched, she leaned over and whispered in the husband’s ear then jabbed a red-tipped finger toward the boy on the other side of him, causing the husband to react like a cowed dog, his head ducking and nodding as he elbowed the boy in the ribs.

  The boy, who had been slouched in his chair, sat up a little straighter and glared across his father at the blonde. He looked to be late teens or early twenties. A grandson? He appeared uncomfortable in his suit, constantly tugging the too-short sleeves down over his wrists. He had a cell phone in his hand, which he glanced down at every so often, but his thumbs busily worked the keypad even when he wasn’t looking at it.

  Next to him sat two girls who I judged to be in their early twenties. I’d come to the wake late and hadn’t had a chance to talk to the family, but I’d noticed these two girls right off because of their striking similarities and differences. They had nearly identical facial features, but where one girl was light and bubbly, the other was dark and sullen. The bubbly girl had long mink-colored hair that flowed past her shoulders. The other’s was the same color but cropped short. The girls must have been the twin granddaughters I’d heard my grandmother talk about.

  Twins ran in the Hamiltons’ family, which brought me to the last family member—Adelaide’s twin sister, Marion. She was seated in a wheelchair at the very end of the row. They’d removed a chair to make room, but it stuck out into the aisle. She was wrapped in a blond-mink coat despite the warm spring day, and she glowered at the casket like a debutant glowering at bird poop that had just splattered her gown. Or maybe her cranky demeanor just made it look that way. Maybe her glower was genuine grief at her sister’s passing. I knew a lot about Adelaide from Gram, as they had been close friends, but I knew practically nothing about Marion. Gram had never mentioned her except in passing.

  The dull droning of the reverend’s voice had almost lulled me to sleep when I heard a rustle from somewhere behind me. Which was odd, because I was seated in the back row. Maybe someone had come in late and didn’t want to make a spectacle of themselves by slipping into one of the empty chairs.

  I looked over my shoulder for the rude latecomer. No one was there.

  “Pssst…”

  I looked again, a jolt of concern running through me as I noticed a swirling mist peeking out from the entrance into the next room. I ignored it. It was probably just glare from the sun, or a mist from the deodorizer plugs I’d seen scattered around, or maybe someone was smoking in the bathroom and the smoke had drifted out.

  “Hey … Willa. Willa Chance.”

  Shoot. I couldn’t ignore my own name. Worse, it seemed I was the only one that had heard it. That, combined with the mist, could mean only one thing. A ghost.

  I half turned in my seat, ignoring the dirty look from the lady beside me. Yep. The swirling mist had formed into a human shape. A tiny old lady. I glanced back up front, rising slightly in my seat to get a glimpse into the casket. No surprise there, the ghost was newly deceased Adelaide Hamilton.

  “Hey, what are you, blind? I’m talking to you.”

  I had experience with ghosts and knew there was no point in ignoring them. She’d just continue to pester me until I let her have her say, so I slunk out of my seat and headed into the next room as discreetly as possible.

  “What took you so long?” Adelaide, or should I say Adelaide’s ghost, glared at me as I pushed her farther into the empty room.

  I glanced back to make sure I was out of sight and earshot. “Hi, Adelaide. What can I do for you?” I knew she wanted something. They always did.

  “’Bout time you came here.” She peered around me, craning her neck to see into the other room. “How’s it going in
there? Am I getting a good send-off?”

  “Reverend Stone is being very … thorough.”

  Adelaide snorted. “I doubt my loving relatives had any part in that.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Adelaide misted and swirled anxiously. “I think most of them might be pretty happy I’m gone … one of them may even have had a hand in it.”

  “You think one of your relatives killed you, and you want me to find out which one.” That didn’t surprise me. Ghosts only ever contacted me when they had unfinished business, and usually that unfinished business included seeing their killer brought to justice.

  Why they picked on me or how they even knew to come to me, I had no idea. I only knew that a couple of years ago, after a near-fatal accident, they started coming, and they would not leave me alone until I helped them. I was sure Adelaide would be no different.

  “Find out which one killed me? No. That’s not what I want you to help with.”

  “Really?” That did surprise me. I’d braced myself for a long investigation where I would have to muster up all my skills as a former crime journalist, but if Adelaide didn’t want me to find her killer, maybe I would get off easy.

  “I need you to find something for me.” Adelaide craned her neck to look into the other room again, her face turning concerned. I was vaguely aware that the reverend’s voice was no longer droning. The service must be drawing to a close, which meant I didn’t have much time to talk to Adelaide. It wouldn’t do to have people come wandering in and catch me talking to thin air.

  “Money?” I prompted.

  Adelaide shook her head. “No. Betty’s recipes.”

  “Recipes?” I wondered if ghosts could be senile.

  Adelaide made an odd face. “Surely your grandmother mentioned Betty’s recipes?”

  Now it was my turn to make an odd face. I’d forgotten, but now that Adelaide reminded me, my grandmother had mentioned Betty’s recipes. In her will of all places. She’d left explicit instructions that I make sure Betty’s recipes go to her neighbor and old friend Elspeth Whipple. I’d looked all over for that darn recipe book but never found it.

  “Oh, so you had the recipes,” I said. “Why would your family kill you over that?”

  Adelaide gave an agitated swirl just as I sensed someone in the doorway behind me. I turned to see one of the granddaughters. The dark, sullen one.

  “Who are you talking to?” she demanded, her brow creased as she looked into the room beyond me.

  “Who, me? No one. I was just looking for the bathroom.”

  She continued to glare at me suspiciously as I pushed past her to exit the room. “I guess it must be out here.”

  I glanced back over my shoulder as I walked away down the hall. The girl still stared at me, but Adelaide’s ghost was gone. Darn it! I’d hoped she’d stick around long enough to at least tell me where that recipe book was, but I didn’t see any sign of her as I elbowed my way through the crowd and out to my car.

  I didn’t worry about it, though. I knew Adelaide would come back sooner or later. Once a ghost had its sights set on me doing something for them, they tended to bug me until they were satisfied. In the past, that had been extremely annoying, but this one seemed like a slam dunk.

  The only thing Adelaide wanted was for me to find some old recipe book. How hard could that be?

  2

  I headed directly to my bookstore after the wake, pausing only briefly to look into the dark windows of The Tea Shoppe, the store that my best friend, Pepper St. Onge, owned. Pepper was away visiting her relatives, and I missed our daily chats. She was the only one who knew about my unique ability to see ghosts, and she would’ve gotten a kick out of hearing Adelaide’s request.

  In my own store, just a few doors down, I could see my gray cat, Pandora, looking out the window. She was glaring at me with her golden-green eyes, holding my gaze with an ability that seemed almost human. Warning bells rang in my head. Pandora did not like being locked in the store alone, and I did so at my own risk. Usually she expressed her displeasure by leaving unpleasant gifts of hairballs and half-eaten mice. Maybe I’d get off easy this time and would open the door to find that she’d merely clawed up one of the arms of my comfy bookstore chairs.

  I unlocked the door and looked in cautiously, my eyes darting around the room for damage. I didn’t see any. Pandora trotted over, looking up at me with innocent eyes that flicked from my face to the cabinet where I kept her treats.

  “Meow.”

  I turned the sign on my door to indicate the store was open and gave Pandora a quick pat on her head. “You were a good girl? Okay, I guess you can have some treats.”

  I grabbed a handful of her favorite salmon-flavored nuggets out of the bag in the cabinet and sank down on the purple microsuede sofa I kept at the front of the shop so browsers could sit and read.

  Pandora head-butted my hand, and I fed her a treat.

  “Merowning.”

  “My morning? It was okay. It was a little weird, as I wasn’t expecting to see a ghost at a wake, though I guess it is appropriate.”

  “Merp.” Pandora clawed at my hand again, and I absently fed her another treat while I replayed the conversation with Adelaide in my mind.

  “Merooo.”

  I frowned down at Pandora. Sometimes her meows sounded like actual words. I’d inherited her along with the bookstore and the 150-year-old house when my grandmother had died. It was the catalyst for my move back to Mystic Notch, where I’d grown up. A move I’d never regretted and had actually been grateful for. The funny thing was, the more I owned this cat, the more it sounded as if she was actually talking to me. It was almost as if we were reaching some sort of understanding and could communicate with each other without words. No, that sounded crazy. Maybe I missed talking with Pepper more than I realized.

  “She did want me to do something, but it was a rather strange request,” I said more to myself than the cat.

  “Maraaooo.” Pandora shot a disappointed look at my empty hand.

  “She wanted me to give a recipe book to Elspeth.”

  Pandora remained silent, still eyeing my hand.

  “I know. Sounds easy, right? But how am I going to get it, and where do you think she would have stashed it?”

  “Probably right in the kitchen.”

  I swiveled my head in the direction of the voice. Two swirly apparitions floated at the end of the poetry book aisle. A normal person might have been startled to see this, but I wasn’t. I was used to them. Along with the cat, the bookstore, and the house, I’d inherited these ghosts. They sort of came with the store. But they weren’t just any old ghosts. These two were the ghosts of prominent New Hampshire residents Robert Frost and Franklin Pierce.

  You might be wondering how I put up with all these ghosts that seem to flock to me, but Bob and Frank were different. They didn’t follow me around. They didn’t pester me to solve problems. In fact, they pretty much restricted their activities to inside the bookstore. Sure, sometimes they liked to prank the visitors by pushing books off the shelves, turning pages while they were trying to read, or sending a cold blast of air at someone, but it was all in good fun. And sometimes they were actually good company.

  They liked to help me mull over problems. I suspected they were bored and lonely, hanging around in between here and the great beyond with no one for company except Pandora and me. So I usually humored them. Like now.

  “The kitchen is an obvious place for recipe books,” I admitted. “But Adelaide made it sound like that book might be something she wouldn’t keep in an obvious place.”

  “Maybe she wanted to hide it in plain sight,” Robert Frost suggested.

  “She said she thought her family members were after it,” I said.

  Franklin Pearce snorted. “No doubt. Why, I remember my gram treated her recipe book like it was gold. Her cooking was worthy of any White House dinner.”

  “My aunt had a recipe for buttermilk biscuits that she sai
d she would give out ‘over her dead body,’” Robert added.

  “Meow!” Pandora voiced her agreement as she padded over to the cookbook aisle.

  “I guess people do prize their recipes. Even my grandmother left instructions about this very recipe book in her will.”

  “That seems a little odd,” Robert said.

  “No odder than leaving me a haunted book store.”

  “Point taken.”

  Franklin fixed us both with a look. “Anyway, my grandma used to stash hers all over the house. Under her bed, the library, even in the outhouse. Maybe you should try looking in those places.”

  “I can’t just go skulking around the Hamilton mansion. I need an excuse,” I said.

  “If Pepper were here, she’d bake up some scones and bring tea over for condolences,” Robert said.

  “Your gram was close to Adelaide. It would be only proper that you make a personal visit,” Franklin added.

  “True. And I didn’t get to express my condolences to the entire family at the wake…”

  Ding!

  I looked down at my phone, which was face up on the table. It was a text from my on-again, off-again boyfriend, Eddie Striker, who also happened to be the sheriff in the next county. My own sister, Gus, was the sheriff in this county, but sometimes she had Striker assist on cases. Needless to say, the investigations I did for my otherworldly friends didn’t sit well with either of them. Thus, the reason that Striker and I were on-again, off-again. Well, one of the reasons. Right now, though, we were on. Very much on.

  Dinner at your place?

  That was it, just four words. Four words that brought a flush to my face and heat to my body. Or maybe that was a hot flash—I was just north of fifty.

  Franklin and Robert tittered, exchanging knowing glances. “Is that your young man?”

  “Yes.” I grabbed the phone and thumbed in my affirmative answer, thoughts of Striker replacing those of Adelaide and her crazy recipe book.

  The bells over the door jangled, and two thirty-something women and a young girl entered the shop. Franklin and Robert disappeared. I pushed up from the couch, shooting a friendly, non-salesy greeting at my new customers as I headed behind the counter. Time to get to work. I had a bookstore to run and a dinner date to get ready for. Adelaide’s recipe book could wait.