by Lotta Smith
“Sounds familiar?” Rick said. “Perhaps that’s because of a weird death at this shop a few days ago. A customer literally dropped dead while eating a fruitcake or something. At first, it was assumed to be a heart attack or a stroke, but when the coroner opened his body and ran tox tests and so on, it turned out to be murder.”
“Oh, I remember.” I nodded in acknowledgement when he parked the Ferrari at the parking meter, and then my frown grew deeper as I felt something eerie from the store. “Hey, in that case, the poltergeist could be his ghost.”
“I guess so,” Rick said matter-of-factly.
“Hmm… Brian sounds like the better candidate for this gig,” I pointed out. Brian Powers, Rick’s friend from childhood and a real-life, superduper exorcist, was known for his exceptional talent in talking with stray ghosts harassing humans. When said spirits refused to move on to a better place, he was even capable of forcibly removing them from this side of life.
“Except he doesn’t own a security company. Anyway, it’s better to assess the situation first thing to determine the next step. Let’s go inside.” Taking my hand, he led me toward the store.
As he opened the door, the bells hanging from it made resonant sounds that resembled the musical tune of a church chime.
“Oh my gosh!”
The moment we walked in, a young lady with long brown hair holding a tray of beverages shrieked and jumped about a foot above the marble floor. Before I had a chance to fully take in the aroma of butter and the sweet scent of baked goods, the cups holding hot coffee fell onto the floor, smashing into pieces.
I thought I caught something moving quickly at the corner of my eyes, but I wasn’t sure what it was. So, I blinked and squinted at the area near the brunette.
“Are you okay?” Another young woman with short blonde hair scurried to help. She had a garcon apron at her hips and was holding a broom and dustpan. “What’s going on, jumping and shrieking so abruptly?” she asked, collecting the pieces of broken cups and saucers. Then she noticed us and raised her hand, smiling awkwardly before saying, “Hello. May I help you? Sorry about the mess.”
“Hi. We’re having a rendezvous with someone.” Rick offered a dazzling smile, prompting her to blush.
“You must be Rick from USCAB. I’m here,” called an elderly lady sporting a truly smart-looking black pantsuit and huge purple sunglasses a la Jackie O. Sitting at the table in the corner of the shop, she was waving at us. The moment my eyes registered her, I recognized her as Madame Roloff, the same lady featured in Forbes. She wasn’t wearing her signature hat, but she looked as charismatic in person as I knew her in the press. She had a purple crocodile Birkin sitting on the chair by her side that matched her shades. She turned to the girl with the apron, saying, “Rest assured, Harriett. Now we have our help here.”
“Thank you for coming!” Harriett, the blonde, smiled and crouched a little to collect the mess, but she also jumped up just like the brunette girl, letting out a small yelp. “What’s happened?” she muttered, feeling for her butt as if checking for any possible damages.
“Oh my God…,” I muttered, slapping my forehead. That time, I didn’t miss a fifty-something guy in a sport coat and trousers groping Harriett’s behind. Considering the guy looked somewhat transparent and became invisible the next moment, I was almost certain he was a ghost.
And in my opinion, he was a naughty one to harass women by groping them. Still, I wasn’t worried about encountering a not-so-nice ghost. After all, I had Jackie. I was certain she’d cover my back by utilizing her newly acquired expertise in communicating with difficult ghosts. But…
“Hey! How did you do that? Not that I want to grope total strangers, but I’d love to know how to touch people!” Jackie exclaimed and flew over in the direction that the guy went after messing with Harriett.
“What did you see?” Rick asked me, pulling me closer to him as I froze there with my mouth agape.
“I think I just saw a fiftyish guy grabbing her bottom as she bent down,” I replied. “That’s why she yelped, jumping up. You didn’t see that, did you?”
“No, I didn’t see that. If I actually saw the SOB doing that, I’d be kicking him really hard in the ass right now.” Shrugging, he turned to his client. Raising his hand, he approached her table. “You must be Madame Roloff. I’m Rick Rowling, and this is my beautiful wife and the head of Paranormal Cases Division, Mandy. Nice meeting you.”
“What a pleasure to meet you!” Madame Roloff smiled widely. “Dan didn’t say you were such eye candy, Rick.”
“Wow, I’m flattered, but I’m taken.” Rick winked.
“Oh no. Marriage is no competition against the lust and the games we live to play.” She shrugged, prompting me to squirm uncomfortably.
“Except I’m busy lusting after her,” Rick said matter-of-factly, tightly clasping my hand.
“Oh, I’m shocked. Your father is such a playboy, and I thought the apple didn’t fall that far from the tree.” Madame Roloff shrugged.
“So, Madame Roloff, did you call us just to seduce me in front of my wife?” Rick cocked his head to the side.
“No way! I was just kidding.” She broke into a grin, snorting with laughter and extending her hand toward me. “Hello, Mandy. Nice meeting you. Your hubby is the spitting image of his dad’s youth, and I had to try playing with him—to see if my charm could still compete with a young, lovely lady like you. But apparently, I didn’t get to grasp his attention. What a shame. I hate getting old.”
“Oh, Madame Roloff, you’re so funny!” Trying to chuckle as lightheartedly as possible, I hesitated to accept her handshake. Not that I hated her guts so much, or I was too germophobic to do that. I was a little afraid that she might drop dead on the spot just moments after shaking hands with me. I really hated to admit it, but in my previous life as a medical student, multiple patients did that to me, giving me the unfortunate moniker the Grim Reaper, and as the result, I got kicked out of school.
“No offense, Madame Roloff, but…,” Rick interjected, somewhat fidgeting with his words at the end of the sentence.
“Oh, I see. You’re one of those people afraid of germs, right?” Madame Roloff raised an eyebrow.
“Well, actually—” I began to explain, but Rick butted in.
“Exactly.” Giving me a glare that said ‘Let me do the talking,’ he went on. “You have no idea how difficult it was to convince her to marry me. That’s where my reluctance to commit an affair comes from. Also, she’s got something like a sixth sense, and as a result, it’s not easy to do something under the radar. Hey, stop rolling your eyes at me.” He patted my arm as I rolled my eyes.
“You’re both so funny!” She threw her head back and let out a hearty laugh. “Fine, have a seat. Harriett, Meg, why don’t you close the shop for today? You’re not having many customers anyway.”
As instructed, Harriett locked the shop’s entrance door and turned the plate to CLOSED. Harriett asked us what we’d like to drink, but Madame Roloff cut her off, saying, “Don’t waste your time trying to serve them drinks. You’re gonna spill them anyway.”
Then she commanded her and Meg to have a seat at the same table with us. Harriett and Meg followed her order.
“So, let’s get down to business,” Madame Roloff said, introducing Harriett Palmetto as the owner of the bakery, and Meg Clarke as her cousin who worked part-time as she interned with Manhattan Avenue Arts and Heritage Association. “As you can see, this bakery is deserted today. But the problem is it’s been deserted for over a week. Mandy, you seemed to have seen something while Harriett was collecting shattered pieces of porcelain. Can you tell me what you saw?”
I glanced at Rick, not quite sure if I should disclose my special skill of talking to ghosts. I’d read somewhere that rule number one for ghost whisperers is “Don’t tell anyone,” but at the same time, I recalled that we were summoned there as Paranormal Cases Division, and I assumed it was okay to talk about ghosts.
“M
adame, just to be sure, may I ask if you have signed the confidentiality clause?” Rick said abruptly.
“Of course I have. Whatever we discuss during this assignment stays between us—as in forever. Don’t worry about Harriett and Meg. I guarantee their secrecy,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Thank you.” Rick nodded and touched my arm, as if to encourage me.
So I replied, “I saw a fiftyish guy groping Harriett here on her bottom, and then she reacted like she was seriously taken aback by shock.”
“Oh my God.” Harriett’s eyes widened. “So someone indeed touched my bottom? What did he look like? I mean, aside from being a fiftyish guy?”
“Well, he had gray hair with a receding hairline. He was wearing a camel-colored sport coat and a pair of wool trousers in a slightly deeper shade,” I said uncomfortably as she started to frown as I spoke, like she was totally skeptical about me. “Look, I know what I’m telling you wouldn’t be widely accepted as a normal person’s comment, and under normal circumstances, I’d keep my mouth shut, but—”
“Oh no. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she said hurriedly. “But I’m just shocked to hear what we”—she gestured at herself and Meg—“and most of the female customers at this bakery have been going through in the past few days is actually happening. I mean, I’ve experienced it, but the rational part of me refused to believe it. I was afraid that we’ve been having some kind of group hysteria that could have affected the customers. You have no idea how desperate we’ve been for answers. Also, thanks to your description, I know who the ghost is.”
“She’s right,” Meg interjected. “It’s Woody Napoleon. He’s been groping young women’s breasts and behinds. It usually happens when no one is near us. But once, it happened to a customer when some guy was standing behind her, and she slapped him in the face, upsetting him. After all, he was innocent.”
“Okay, so there is a poltergeist.” Madame Roloff raised an eyebrow. “In that case, why does this ghost never touch me? I’ve been here for more than fifteen minutes, but nothing’s happened to me.”
“Oh,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what the right response was.
“Perhaps she’s a tad bit too old for his liking, I guess?” Jackie commented, suddenly appearing by my side, prompting me to gasp in surprise.
“What does Jackie say?” Rick asked me.
“She didn’t say anything useful to decipher the poltergeist thingy. I was just surprised when she popped up from out of nowhere.” I was trying to tell him to back off and quit asking about my ghostly pal’s opinion. After all, you’re better off keeping quiet about the insults to your client, right? I turned to Jackie. “So, how did your conversation with Mr. Napoleon go?”
“He wasn’t very talkative.” Jackie shrugged. “I wanted to know how he touched the ladies here, but nooo, he just ran from me without sharing his method. What a sneaky guy.”
“So much for the expertise to have more effective and meaningful communication with difficult ghosts.” As I muttered under my breath, Rick’s right eyebrow twitched a little like he wanted to ask me some more questions.
Then Madame Roloff asked, “Who’s Jackie?”
“She’s the ghost of a drag queen and my wife’s BFF. She used to be a budding Broadway actor, but unfortunately, she was murdered on the night of the Pride Dance.”
“The ghost of a drag queen? Wow!” Madame Roloff perked up. “Oh my goodness. Rick, do you see her as well?”
“No, I don’t. Unfortunately.” He shook his head. “So, this ghost is harassing young women, driving the customers away.”
“Exactly.” Madame Roloff nodded. “Look, I have a sentimental attachment to this place, and I want to help the Palmettos survive this snafu.”
She went on about how she cherished her childhood as a royal customer at Charmed and Sprinkled. According to her, Harriett had recently taken over the shop from her parents.
“Based on the drop in our business performance, this shop won’t last very long if the customers keep avoiding this place,” Harriett filled in. “And I cannot tell you how much I’d hate to tell my parents when they come back from Maui, ‘Mom, Dad, welcome home! How was the vacation? By the way, we had a customer drop dead while eating my new fruitcake, Nutty Nutcracker’s Christmas Delight, which turned out to be the cause of his death as it had been poisoned with something called aconitine. Also, following the murder, some creepy noise, like a dude letting out noisy burps, started happening, and the female customers started to feel like they’re being groped. And guess what? The customers ceased to visit our bakery and we’re just counting the remaining days of our family business.’”
“Of course you won’t be telling that to your parents. Now, Harriett, rest assured. We’re in the best hands in New York,” Madame Roloff declared. “They should be able to get rid of the ghost.”
“Do you think we should call Brian?” I looked at Rick, whose expression was mostly unreadable, but a small sign of a frown was threatening to manifest at his eyebrows.
CHAPTER 3
“Mandy, where’s the ghost of the late Woody Napoleon?” Rick asked me.
“I can’t see him, even though I feel something ghostly here, aside from Jackie. Perhaps he’s hiding somewhere,” I said. Then I turned to Jackie. “Hey, you followed after him. You know where he went?”
“He disappeared when I almost got him.” She shrugged. “That Woody guy is a damn sneaky ghost. I have a hunch that he didn’t listen to his kindergarten teachers telling him to share and be nice to your friends.”
“Hey, did you call me? Anyone?” A ghost sporting a receding hairline and rather fit physique popped up by Jackie’s side from out of nowhere.
“Hey, you! The ladies here are having problems because of your lowly behavior. You really need to stop groping the women!” Jackie chided him, but all he did in response was let out a loud burp.
“Come on!” I shivered out of disgust. I always detested people who burped, and the way he did it was so gross! No, gross was an understatement. His belching just took the word disgusting to a whole new level.
Woody said, “For your information, I don’t grope all female customers. Okay, so occasionally I’ll pat their asses and boobs just to say hi nicely, but that’s about it. Besides, I never touch old bats like her.” Glancing at Madame Roloff, he burped again.
I squirmed. “Oh my God, you really need to see your gastroenterologist,” I muttered, grimacing at him. “Jackie, why don’t you refer him to a specialist?” I looked at Jackie, expecting her to intervene.
“Unfortunately, I don’t know any gastroenterologists on our side of the world.” She knitted her eyebrows. “But I’ll ask around when I go back there tonight.”
Shrugging at us, Woody looked at Madame Roloff again. “What…? Is she that lady whose caricaturized face with the big hat crowns every Roloff building across the world?”
“You’re right.” I nodded and then turned to Madame Roloff. “Woody says he’s a big fan of yours.”
“I didn’t exactly say that. I meant to say I’m open to listening to her business strategy,” Woody said disapprovingly, but I didn’t relay his words.
“Really?” She tilted her head to the side. “If you’re an admirer of mine, why don’t you leave this bakery for good? I have a sentimental attachment to this venue, and I don’t want Charmed and Sprinkled to close.”
“Hello? You can just buy out this whole building. You’ve got the money to do so, right?” Woody let out a big burp that would have shaken the whole building if he was alive.
As I wrinkled my nose, Harriett said, “You heard that? Something resembling a loud burp? It’s so totally gross. I thought it was my imagination, but Meg hears it, and our customers complained about it.”
“Right,” Meg agreed. “It’s so gross. That’s one of the factors that’s driving our customers away. We’re selling yummy bread and pastries. No one wants to hear loud burps while they shop here, much less
eat here.”
“I think I heard that too.” Rick crossed his arms.
“Ditto.” Madame Roloff shook her head.
“News flash, it’s the ghost of Woody burping,” I announced.
“Hmm, he’s gross, but at least he’s a rare case.” Rick raised an eyebrow. “So far, he’s the first ghost I’ve encountered whose presence I can feel so easily.”
“So, he’s worth observing? Despite being gross?” Madame Roloff grimaced. “Look, encountering ghosts used to be on my bucket list, but why do I feel so disappointed? What a shame. I’d love to hear Jackie singing, but this Woody Whatshisname’s burping? No way.”
“It’s Napoleon, old lady!” Woody snapped at her.
“Hey, don’t burp! Just hold it and swallow it, okay?” I told the ghost as he seemed to be ready to let out another burp bomb. Madame Roloff cast me a questionable glance, so I said, “He says his surname is Napoleon, and he’s demanding some respect. Also, he says you may want to buy out the whole building in order to keep Charmed and Sprinkled open.”
“Okay. Look, Mr. Napoleon, if you want to be treated with respect, you need to have some yourself, understood?” she commanded. “Also, I’ve already offered my help, but Harriett is adamant that she can’t continue the bakery without customers, and I can understand that. Depending on allowance instead of revenue from business isn’t business anymore.”
“Exactly.” Harriett nodded and Meg joined.
Rick cleared his throat. “So, Mr. Napoleon, we’re here to ask you for a favor.”
“Wow, can you see me?” Woody waved at Rick. “What’s your favor about? For your information, I’m not gonna loan you any money.”
I relayed the ghost’s words to Rick, who shook his head, saying, “No, I’m not asking you for a loan. It’s about your existence. By the way, I can’t see or hear you, except for your gross burps.” Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, he went on. “By the way, I’m Rick Rowling, the COO of USCAB, and this lady here is my wife, Mandy. She’ll be our interpreter, as she can communicate with people like you.”
