If You've Got It, Haunt It

by Rose Pressey

  Wind Song sat between us on the sidewalk watching a butterfly that was busy in the pot of geraniums.

  A horse-drawn carriage clomped past with a couple tourists in back. They smiled and waved as they rode by.

  I glanced over my shoulder and noticed that the Ouija board had been moved. It was beside Wind Song. “I knew it was bad to have that thing anywhere around.”

  “What do you mean?” Charlotte asked.

  “Did you move the board?”

  She held her hands up. “I’m a ghost, remember? I can’t move things. I’m dead.”

  “Well, what about all those ghosts who haunt places and throw objects? They do it all the time.”

  “That involves a skill level of haunting that I have not obtained yet,” Charlotte said, looking somewhat abashed.

  “Thank heavens for small favors.”

  Before she could utter a bon mot, Heather returned with her arms full of books. Charlotte mumbled under her breath, but I ignored her.

  “Did you move that board before you left?” I asked.

  Heather shifted the books in her arms. “No, I haven’t touched it.”

  “It’s been moved over here beside the cat.” I picked up the board and handed it to Heather.

  Wind Song meowed.

  “You must have forgotten and moved it?” Heather phrased it as a question, but I knew she didn’t believe it.

  I contemplated her suggestion. I was stressed, as evidenced by the ghost I was talking to, but I was certain that I hadn’t moved that board. Then again, a seed of doubt sprouted in my mind. Maybe I’d been so distracted that I hadn’t realized what I was doing.

  “Well, even if I did move it, I don’t like the thing. It gives me the creeps, so by all means, take it back.” I motioned for her to get rid of it.

  Heather tucked the board under her arm and Wind Song meowed again. “I think she likes the thing.”

  I hated to admit it, but I was beginning to think maybe Heather was right.

  Charlotte groaned. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, here comes that woman. She is so talkative that she gives my headache a headache.”

  Blanche Dickens yelled from across the street, “Cookie. I need to speak with you.” She wore a bright yellow cotton blouse and white pants. Her blond hair was in its usual updo.

  Approaching, she said, “Cookie, Mrs. Henderson’s booth is a mess. I thought you talked with her about what was appropriate to sell at the festival.”

  I pushed back a groan. “Well, I would talk with her, but I have to watch my booth. I can’t leave the clothing unattended.” I gestured around.

  Blanche twisted her hands together. “Oh dear. What am I going to do? She won’t listen to me.”

  “I can watch the things for you,” Heather offered.

  I shot her a glare.

  A pleased smile curved Blanche’s lips. “Perfect. Now will you please go get rid of that picture she painted of a couple smooching with not a stitch of clothing on their bodies?”

  “I’ll take care of it.” I shuffled off toward the church parking lot.

  I weaved through the crowd, passing the funnel cakes and lemonade. It took a lot of willpower not to stop, but I knew Blanche would have a hissy fit if I didn’t talk with Mrs. Henderson. I was the only one who seemed to be able to get through to her. She just ignored everyone else as if she lived in her own little world. The retired art teacher had always been a bit eccentric.

  I decided to take a shortcut through the narrow cobblestone alley that connected Main Street with Elm.

  “What are you going to do? Buy the painting?” Charlotte asked as she kept up my pace.

  I scoffed at her suggestion, but the thought had crossed my mind. I could buy the darn thing, then toss it in the Dumpster in the alleyway on my way back to the boutique. Blanche Dickens would never know.

  I didn’t have a chance to make it to the offending artwork. I turned next to the coffee shop to enter the alley and stopped dead in my tracks. Charlotte froze next to me.

  Amid the trash cans outside the back doors of the Main Street shops, a man lay facedown in the alley. His arms were flung out above his head and his legs were slightly twisted to one side. He wore a dark suit, which looked a little out of place for a spring festival. Most everyone wore shorts and T-shirts to beat the heat. The once comforting smell of funnel cakes and hot dogs wasn’t so soothing anymore. Uneasiness weaved its way through my mind. The brick walls of the nearby buildings seemed to close in on me.

  A surge of panic ran through me as my thoughts drifted back to the private investigator I’d met after the festival meeting. I couldn’t see this man’s face, but judging from his clothes, it was the same person.

  “Do you think he’s okay?” Charlotte asked.

  I ran over to him and knelt down. “Sir, are you hurt? Do you need help?”

  I poked at his shoulder, but he didn’t answer. When I saw his face, I knew for sure it was Edward Andersen.

  “I do believe he’s expired,” Charlotte offered.

  It looked as if he’d been attacked from behind. Blood had pooled under his body. A card lay beside him on the pavement. I reached down and picked it up. It was from Cindy Johnson’s charity. I flipped the card over in my hand. 9:00 AM was written on the back. I looked at my watch. It was just after nine.

  Had he had a meeting with someone? A meeting with the murderer? Would this man’s ghost find me, too? I concentrated on remaining calm, breathing in and out, pulled out my cell phone, and dialed 911.

  “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” the woman asked.

  I pulled together my courage and said, “There’s a man in the alley by Elm and Main. I think he’s dead.”

  “He’s definitely a goner,” Charlotte said.

  “Is he breathing?” asked the emergency operator.

  “No, I’m sure he’s not.”

  “The police are on their way.” Her voice was calm and professional.

  I ended the call. “It must have just happened.” I scanned my surroundings for any sign of movement.

  “Are you okay?” Charlotte asked with a new softness in her voice.

  I wiped my forehead. “I’ll be fine.” Though I wasn’t sure I would be. My legs felt like they were about to give out.

  The sirens sounded first, then the flashing lights appeared. The first officer on the scene didn’t seem to be in a hurry. It was as if he knew the man was already dead. It didn’t take long for a crowd to gather once the police arrived.

  I leaned against the wall, wishing I could be somewhere else, anywhere else. The thought that passing through this alleyway wouldn’t be safe had never crossed my mind. As a teenager, I’d traveled this path many times on my way from the antique shop to the diner.

  “Oh yeah. He was murdered,” Charlotte said, shaking her head in pity.

  “Murdered?” I said out loud without thinking.

  Blanche Dickens pushed through the crowd and stood beside me. Her blue eyes widened, giving her the look of a startled kewpie doll. “Do you think he was murdered?” she whispered.

  “I-I don’t know,” I stammered.

  “Who would do such a thing?” she asked.

  Charlotte appeared next to Blanche. “How the heck should you know?” She was taking advantage of her new paranormal skills.

  “I don’t know,” I said, answering Blanche’s question.

  Gentle pressure glided across the bottom of my legs and I looked down. Wind Song weaved around my legs, then looked up at me and meowed. How had she known where to find me? She must have followed me to the alley.

  Charlotte cleared her throat and recaptured my attention. She pointed. “Look who it is. The detective from last night.”

  I followed the direction of her pointing finger. The handsome Detective Valentine was heading my way.

  Chapter 9

  Cookie’s Savvy Vintage Fashion Shopping Tip

  Use padded hangers for your items

  and acid-free tissue paper for storag
e.

  Detective Dylan Valentine stopped in front of me, taking a pen and notebook from his pocket. “Hello, Miss Chanel. I understand that you discovered the deceased, is that right?”

  I inclined my head at an attempt to respond, but no words came from my mouth. Thoughts jumbled through my mind. If only I hadn’t decided to take a shortcut through the alley. I bet that the dead man would say the same thing if he could. Since I’d been in a hurry to speak with Mrs. Henderson, I’d taken the most direct route. If only I’d gone the long way around through the masses of spring festival gatherers. What if I’d been a little earlier? Would I have stumbled upon the murderer? Would I, too, have been a victim?

  I swallowed hard as I glanced over at the scene of the crime again. The police had draped a white sheet over the body. That was about as final as it got. The cat meowed and pawed at my leg. Was she hungry? If so, her demand for food had come at the worst possible time. She’d have to wait.

  I assumed the detective watched me from behind his mirrored aviator sunglasses, making the odds of me knowing the right thing to say to him unlikely. I knew he was waiting for me to offer some details, but honestly, what could I tell him? I’d found the body . . . end of story.

  “Can you tell me what you were doing at the time?” His velvet-edged voice was full of compassion.

  I tried to steady my trembling hands. “Yes. I was walking through the alley and there he was, just like that.” My eyes widened as I glanced at the body.

  Detective Valentine took off his sunglasses, revealing his intelligent blue eyes. “You were speaking with this man last night. Do you know him?”

  I’d hoped that he’d forgotten that he’d seen me speaking with the private eye.

  “Oh, this could get interesting.” Amusement filled Charlotte’s voice.

  It was like the air had been knocked out of me. I couldn’t lie and say that I hadn’t spoken with the man because the detective had seen me.

  “Yes, I spoke with him. But I don’t know him.” I rushed my words.

  Detective Valentine watched the activities around us. His relaxed demeanor made me uneasy. “What did he want?”

  My thoughts were so jumbled. Surely, I’d put my foot in my mouth.

  “Just tell the truth,” Charlotte pushed as if she’d read my mind.

  A rush of fear ran through me as the full scale of the chilling scene hit me. “The man said he was a private investigator. He wanted to know if I had information about Charlotte Meadows. He’s probably investigating her murder.” That seemed like a safe assumption to me. I glanced over at the sheet-covered body. “Well, he was looking into the murder. He’s not doing anything now.”

  A glimpse of quiet strength flickered in the detective’s blue eyes. “What do you know about Charlotte Meadows?”

  I gave Charlotte a warning glare. Of course, Valentine couldn’t see her, so he probably wondered what I kept looking at.

  “I don’t know anything about her.” The more I talked, the bigger hole I dug for myself.

  Hooking his pen inside his notebook, he said, “Thanks for the information.” He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to me. “If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me. Another officer will be over to speak with you shortly.”

  By that, I knew that I wasn’t leaving the scene any time soon.

  The detective walked over to a group of officers. They spoke for a while and then glanced over at me.

  I wished I could disappear. The crowd that had gathered around the scene watched all of us. I felt as if I was on a stage, but unfortunately my performance wasn’t a good one.

  “That detective is a handsome man,” Charlotte whispered next to my ear.

  I jumped and clutched my chest. “Don’t do that. You scared me.”

  Charlotte flashed a sweet smile as if it was no big deal that she’d almost caused me a heart attack.

  Heather gave a halfhearted smile as she approached from the crowd. “Are you talking to the ghost again?” she whispered.

  I motioned toward Charlotte with a tilt of my head. “Yes. She’s too chatty.”

  “What did the police say?” Heather asked.

  A strand of hair had slipped out of my flower barrette. I brushed it out of my eye and tucked it behind my ear. “He wanted to know why I’d spoken with the dead man.”

  Her mouth dropped. “Why did you speak with him?”

  “Well, he spoke with me first. I don’t know what he wanted to know about Charlotte, but it’s more than a little odd.” Police officers traveled back and forth past us, but I didn’t think anyone was listening to our conversation. I gestured toward the body. “The guy was obviously looking into Charlotte’s death, and then he turns up dead? That’s not a coincidence.”

  Heather fidgeted with the bangle bracelets on her wrists. When her nerves kicked in she couldn’t be still. “I wish I could say it was a coincidence, but I have to agree with you.”

  “Well, look at you two sleuths. Why don’t you do something to help me instead of just talking about it?” Charlotte swept her arms from Heather to me. “I’m in a bit of distress over here.”

  “The ghost is talking again. I have to ignore her,” I said, glaring at Charlotte.

  “Does Charlotte know that man?” Heather asked.

  “I’ve never seen him a day in my life . . . or former life. Well, whatever. You know what I mean,” Charlotte said.

  “She doesn’t know him,” I said.

  Heather’s forehead furrowed. “What if Charlotte’s killer felt the private eye was too close to solving the crime?”

  I blew the hair out of my eyes. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “This doesn’t look good for you,” Charlotte said, pointing at me. “People are staring.”

  “They’re just interested in this macabre scene, that’s all,” I said, trying to convince myself that she wasn’t right.

  She moved closer to Detective Valentine, looking him up and down and following him as he stepped over to the body. He peered under the sheet. Charlotte kneeled down beside the detective and the body. I guess being next to a dead body was no big deal to her.

  “Someone did a real number on that guy. What was his name?” Heather asked.

  “Edward Andersen. At least that was the name on the business card he gave me.” I had stuffed the card in my purse, thinking I wouldn’t need it. I took it out to give it another look.

  “Do you think he was murdered? Or was it just an accident?” Heather asked, craning her neck to read the card.

  “I’d like to say it was an accident, but from what I saw, I don’t think so.”

  Charlotte popped up beside us again. “Well, he certainly didn’t do that to himself.” She tsked. “Such a pity that he had to check out so soon.”

  “So someone killed him?” Heather whispered.

  “Yes, I think he was murdered,” I said.

  The last thing I needed was to be involved in another murder investigation. But as much as I wanted to stay out of it, I couldn’t help but wonder if the death of Edward Andersen was connected to Charlotte’s murder. I needed to get out of this crowd so I could ask Charlotte questions without causing the whole town to think I should be committed.

  Once the coroner had taken away the body, the crowd thinned out. I was still waiting for the police to tell me I was free to leave.

  Blanche Dickens stared at me from across the way. Her lips were curled in a look of frustration—a cross between a grimace and a scowl. I thought she would have forgotten about Mrs. Henderson and her naked portrait, but apparently she still wanted me to get rid of it.

  She hurried over, placing her hands on her hips as she stood in front of me. “Cookie, now that this disaster is over, can you—”

  “I’ll talk to her as soon as the police let me go.” The words slipped out before I thought about what her reaction would be. I regretted that lapse in judgment.

  Blanche leaned in close as if I was about to share a secre
t. “Why won’t the police allow you to leave?”

  There was no point in postponing the inevitable. She would find out the truth soon.

  “Well, I discovered the body, Blanche. They just want me to tell them if I saw anything unusual.” I knew her imagination would run wild.

  Blanche clutched her chest. “Oh, dear. This is dreadful.”

  “Yes, it’s a terrible situation.” Maybe she would let me off the hook after all.

  She scanned the police action. “Well, do go as soon as possible, okay?”

  So much for letting me off the hook. Blanche had recovered from her shock quickly. All she wanted was that hideous portrait removed. I couldn’t say that I blamed her—it was ugly—but there was a time and place for everything.

  After a few more minutes, a young blond officer told me that they didn’t have any more questions for now, but they might need me later. I hoped they wouldn’t.

  Detective Valentine was talking with another officer. He noticed me, though, because our eyes met. He offered a grin, but I turned and headed away from the alley. I’d put Wind Song in the shop, then I’d go deal with Mrs. Henderson.

  My parents had slipped my mind and I wondered if they’d seen the commotion. It would have been hard to miss the crowd and sea of uniformed officers. The thought had barely entered my mind when I spotted my mother’s panic-stricken face.

  “Sweetie, what happened?” she asked as she approached.

  My father was only steps behind her with the same worried expression. It wasn’t easy to convince them that I was perfectly fine. It wasn’t every day that someone discovered a dead body, but if my parents had taught me anything, it was to be tough. As my grandmother had always said, “Suck it up, Buttercup.”

  “You promise you’ll call if you need anything?” my father asked.

  Wind Song pawed at my foot.

  My mother noticed the cat and asked, “Is that your cat?”

  “Apparently she is my cat,” I replied. “Mom, meet Wind Song. Wind Song, this is your grandma.” My mother gave the cat a friendly tickle on her ears.