“Of course, I do.” Emily started the car and shot a glance of curiosity over to her companion. “You’re the only person who would know for sure. Why wouldn’t I trust you?”
“No reason at all.”
Mrs Pettigrew suddenly sat forward and grabbed at Emily’s arm, the fingertips disappearing until she jerked her hand back. “I wonder if this is the thing keeping me here. If we find the killer and solve the crime, perhaps I’ll move on to a better place.”
Emily bit her lip against the words that wanted to come—or a worse one. She needed to keep these dreadful thoughts from popping up inside her head. Had they been this terrible before the accident or was it the bang on the head that had turned her into a grouch?
“I hope the police don’t make me come with them when they go to arrest Gregory.” It would be terrible to stand and point the finger, condemning someone she didn’t know to life in prison. “Although, I guess they don’t usually invite a witness along for the ride.”
“No, they don’t. And you’re not a witness.”
“I am to you. Since I’m the only person who can see you in this form, I think it counts. I’m your locum eyewitness.”
From the corner of her vision, Emily saw the ghost roll her eyes, but she clamped her lips into a firm line and concentrated on the road ahead of her. No matter what the haughty ghost next to her thought, Emily would play an important role in seeing justice done.
For the first time in a long while, she felt useful. No, not just that. Necessary. Vital.
“What are you smiling about? I tell you I’ve been murdered, and you’ve been grinning ever since.”
“I’m just thinking how nice it’ll be to sleep in my bed tonight without you staring at me.”
Emily pulled into the police depot carpark and chose a spot. With nothing but the police vehicles there, she was spoiled.
“What are you doing?” she asked as Mrs Pettigrew strode toward the station. Emily heaved herself out of the car, locking the door behind her out of habit, though it must be the safest place to park in town. “I’ll go in by myself.”
“But…” The ghost’s face twisted. “I have to explain everything to the officers.”
“I’m doing that. You stay in the car unless I come calling for you. Or wait outside and look in through the window if that suits better.” Emily crossed her arms when Mrs Pettigrew’s lip pooched out. “Don’t sulk. I can hardly concentrate on telling the police everything if you’re hanging around, chatting in my ear. They’ll think I’m mad.”
“Make sure you explain it carefully, then.” Mrs Pettigrew sat on the bench outside the entrance. “I don’t want my chance at justice to go down the pan just because you don’t know how to talk to people.”
A retort almost slipped out of Emily’s mouth, but she clamped her lips shut. Standing outside the station, arguing with somebody no one else could see, wouldn’t make a good first impression.
“I’ll try my hardest,” she said instead since that was the truth. “And I’ll try not to be too long.”
The door to the station had a large handle and when Emily put her hand on it, all the doubts in the world beset her. What was she doing? The men inside wouldn’t believe she could see ghosts! By telling them the truth she’d probably wind up locked in a room at the psychiatric hospital for the night.
She flicked a glance at Mrs Pettigrew. On the other hand, if she didn’t tell the police the truth and get rid of the ghost, she might well end up in the same place.
With a deep breath, Emily pulled on the handle and walked into the air-conditioned lobby. She walked straight up to the counter before her courage could abandon her and placed both hands palm-down on the varnished wood.
The officer who walked over to her was young, in his mid-twenties, maybe.
“I need to report a murder,” Emily said and watched as his eyes opened wide. “My friend Cynthia Pettigrew was killed a few weeks ago. Her stepson Gregory Pettigrew is the murderer.”
An hour later, Emily bitterly regretted her impulsive decision. She should have waited until she had something more to go on than the word of a rich ghost.
At least she’d caused a great amount of jollity to be had by the officers on duty. After being taken into an interview room to explain the details of her case, the first officer, PC Perry, couldn’t wait to open the door and called out to his friend. “Hey, Mitchell. I think the lady in here is friends with your favourite tipster, Crystal.”
While Emily frowned, not understanding the reference, the second officer scanned her from head to toe, shaking his head dismissively. “You’re part of the psychic brigade too, love?”
“I’m nobody’s love,” Emily said through a throat that had tightened to the thinness of a straw. She walked out of the room. “I’m here to report a serious crime.”
“Go on,” Officer Perry urged her. “Tell PC Mitchell how you know the details of the murder.”
“I’ve been haunted by the ghost of Cynthia Pettigrew. She told me who murdered her a few minutes ago, and I rushed here at once.”
When the two men burst into outright laughter, Emily stamped her foot. A movement her hip made her immediately regret. That wasn’t the only thing she was regretting by then, of course.
“Stop laughing. This is serious.” She banged her fists on a nearby desk and stared at the men from under a frown so deep, everything appeared shadowed. “I’m reporting a murder and it’s your duty to investigate it.”
“I thought we didn’t need to,” the first officer said, trying to hold his expression in a neutral position. “From what you said, we just need to take this ghost’s word for it and get down to the house to arrest the man right away.”
“That would be ideal,” Emily said with a gasp of relief. “If Gregory is left alone, thinking he got away with this dreadful crime, then there’s no telling what he’ll do next.”
She realised her mistake again as the two men once more exploded into renewed laughter. Their giggling sounded like the hyenas on the wildlife shows on television. Either that or the piercing cry of the human teenage girl.
“Who is your superior officer?” Emily demanded, snapping her fingers to gain PC Perry’s attention. “I want to speak to your sergeant at once!”
“I wouldn’t recommend that. Sergeant Winchester is less likely to take your report in as good a spirit as we have.” Perry tilted his head to one side. “It’s a crime to waste police time, you know. If you want to escalate this ridiculous accusation, you could be facing jail time or a hefty fine.”
“There’s nothing ridiculous about my accusation.” Emily felt tears of anger and shame prick at the corners of her eyes and shook her head to drive them away. “Murder is the worst thing that can be done to a person. No matter how I came by the information, you shouldn’t dismiss it. The man might kill again.”
An office door at the back of the large reception space suddenly opened. A heavy-set man with a glower on his face peered out. “What’s going on out here? Why’re you all making such a racket?”
“Sorry, Sarge,” PC Perry said, giving a stiff bow. “We’re dealing with a strange complaint, but I think we’re almost sorted.”
“No, you’re not. Neither of you is listening to me, you’re too busy having a laugh.” Emily moved around the side of the cubicle to get a better look. “I’m here to report a murder and both of your officers here have acted disgracefully.”
“She’s a nutter, Sarge,” PC Mitchell hurried to say. “Friend of Crystal’s.”
“I don’t know anyone called Crystal. Why do you keep saying that?”
“There’s no need to raise your voice.” The sergeant skewered Emily with a steely stare. “Who’s been murdered?”
When PC Perry opened his mouth to answer on Emily’s behalf, the sergeant flicked a hand at him to silence the response. “I want to hear it from the lady.”
Although her legs were now shaking, Emily straightened her spine and looked the man straight in the eye. “Cy
nthia Pettigrew was murdered. Her stepson Gregory is the killer.”
The man didn’t respond for a second except to pull his bushy salt and pepper eyebrows together in thought. “The coroner ruled that one accidental death.”
“Well, it wasn’t.” Emily wrung her hands together, the palms sweaty. “It was a murder.”
“Come through here.” The sergeant disappeared into his office, leaving Emily to follow him into the room.
Her stomach took a joy ride, rising up and twisting before plummeting back into place. The inside of the office was a mess of whiteboards, filing cabinets, and paper. Open case files sat on top of his desk, a situation he soon remedied while waving Emily into a chair.
“Sorry about those lads out there. This is a hard job and we see a lot of the worst of people, so they take their fun where they can get it.” He sat heavily in a swivel chair that groaned under the weight. “It can be harsh on the receiving end.”
“I came here to report a serious crime, not to be made fun of.”
The man nodded and pulled at a drawer, an effort that took a few goes. The cabinet made a horrible squealing noise of wood on wood before it opened. He flicked through the suspended files hanging there, giving a satisfied grunt as he pulled one out. “Here we go. Mrs Cynthia Jane Pettigrew nee Morland. Cause of death, an accident.”
Emily leaned forward, peering at the mess of lines and drawings. “Can I see that?” she asked as if the words would make sense to her. Perhaps she should have let the ghost come inside and let her read over the sergeant’s shoulder.
Not that it mattered. The man shook his head and snapped the manila folder closed before shoving it back into the overcrowded drawer. It took him the same effort to close it as it had to wrench it open. “No, you can’t. It’s an official file.”
“Just because the coroner made a ruling doesn’t mean it’s the truth.” Emily gave a sharp nod. “He’ll just need to reopen it, while you investigate my concerns.”
“Except you haven’t told me your concerns. You’ve made an accusation.” The sergeant clasped his hands together and peered intently at Emily. “Do you have any evidence of this crime?”
She opened her mouth, and he held up one hand.
“Apart from the word of a ghost?”
Emily snapped her mouth shut again, a slow heat building in her cheeks. “No. I don’t have evidence.”
As a satisfied expression crossed the sergeant’s face, she snapped, “I thought that was your job. Aren’t you even going to try to investigate this matter?”
“We have, and so has the coroner. We’re both satisfied there’s nothing suspicious about this death and the case is closed. To reopen it, we’ll need a lot more than just the word of someone who believes she can talk to ghosts.”
“I’d like to see the coroner’s report,” Emily said, folding her arms across her chest. “I think it’s the least you can do.”
“No, the least I can do is what I’m about to, which is nothing. If you want to get hold of that report, fill out an official information act request and forward it to the office.”
Emily’s mouth set in a determined line. Yes, she’d do that. She’d get the report and prove these laughing fools wrong.
Except you can’t even read the report, let alone fill it out.
“Would you be able to help me with that?” Emily asked in a small voice. Her fingers reached up to trace the line of her scar. “I had an accident. It interferes with some tasks.”
The sergeant looked at her with pity. He scrawled something on a note and Emily felt a sense of despair. She clenched her hands together hard and tried to think how to say the same thing again without losing every last scrap of her dignity.
“Take this to the library tomorrow.” The sergeant held out the note to her, smiling when she took it. “The librarian will be able to take you through the whole process, including filling out the form for you. She’s used to it.”
The tears from earlier were back. Emily sniffed them back and stood up, nodding to the sergeant. “Thank you. I’ll be back later with more information.”
“Not information. Evidence.”
She nodded again. “Okay. Evidence.”
Chapter Seven
“Well, that was embarrassing,” Mrs Pettigrew said by way of greeting as Emily walked out of the station. “I could tell from the view through the window you made the wrong impression.”
Emily’s temper exploded. “I didn’t give them the wrong impression. It was you who did that. Until I mentioned the intensely irritating ghost who won’t leave me alone, they were taking me seriously. You’re the one who caused all the amusement. Now, they couldn’t care less if you were murdered and neither could I!”
She slammed her car door, the action giving her so much satisfaction Emily wished she could open it up and do it again. Nothing stopped her, so she did.
“Quiet! Those officers will hear you making all this noise and come out to see what’s happening, then you’ll look even more of a fool.”
“Worse than a woman who believes she can talk to ghosts?” Emily tried to jam the key into the ignition and seethed when it skittered all the way around instead. “You’re probably not even there. You’re probably just a figment of my imagination who thinks I deserve to be punished even more than I have been.”
She stopped short, eyes widening as she stared out the windscreen. “Am I already dead? Is that it? I’m in hell and this is the diabolical punishment Satan is inflicting on me for a life lived in sin.”
“Don’t be foolish. You’re just as alive as I—”
Mrs Pettigrew cut herself off, folding her arms and staring out the passenger side window.
Emily snorted in amusement. “You were saying?”
“How about you drive us home for the night and we can pick up this confusing conversation in the morning?”
“No. I want to go back to work. There’s a heap of boxes there with a multitude of stuff from your life inside. If you’re real and you genuinely were murdered, we should start there.”
Mrs Pettigrew didn’t offer a better suggestion, so Emily drove the short distance to the charity shop. During the day, its large downstairs windows appeared open and welcoming. In the gloom of night, they were eyes, cavernous and hungry.
Emily hunched her shoulders as she walked inside the shop. She didn’t know if being here after hours broke the terms of her employment, but she knew Pete wouldn’t like it. She navigated in stumbling steps using only the lights from the streetlamps outside the store.
“Boo!” Mrs Pettigrew yelled as Emily opened the upstairs door. For a second, she held a hand up to her racing heart, sure it was about to explode. When it settled, she wished the ghost had solidity, so she could give her a satisfying thump.
“Won’t someone see the light up here?” Mrs Pettigrew asked as Emily turned on the light and she gave a shrug in response.
“Perhaps. But I need to be able to see and I don’t have a torch on me. How about you?”
“Oh, yes. I have torches stashed everywhere.”
“I meant about seeing in the dark, you nincompoop.”
“No. Being dead hasn’t granted me any superpowers I know of.”
“Except extreme annoyance.”
Emily mumbled that last under her breath, but Mrs Pettigrew heard. “In truth, I was far more irritating when I was alive. That and looking beautiful were my only skills.”
“Pity you can’t help me with these boxes,” Emily exclaimed as she manhandled one onto the floor. “Why does everything you owned weigh an absolute tonne?”
Instead of responding, Mrs Pettigrew gave a strangled cry. Emily stood up, taking a step towards her before she realised the ghost was staring straight at her own portrait.
“That seems to be a common reaction to the painting,” Emily said with a chuckle. “When Gregory saw it in the passenger seat, he screamed so loudly I nearly died of a heart attack on the spot.”
“Why were you driving around w
ith my portrait in the car?” Mrs Pettigrew asked in an annoyed tone. “In fact, what are you doing with this at all? Nathaniel commissioned this for my thirtieth birthday. It should be hanging in his study or the grand hall.”
“It turned up in the first box.” Emily lowered herself to her knees. “I guess the household couldn’t wait to get rid of it.”
She winced as the words came out of her mouth. Even for a snippy conversation that was one step too far. When she turned to Mrs Pettigrew to apologise, tears glistened in the ghost’s eyes.
“I said I was annoying. Perhaps I hadn’t understood until now, they actually hated me.”
“I’m sure that’s wrong.” Emily sat back on her heels. “Gregory made a show of disdain, but it didn’t last long. He really misses you. Hilda was a tougher nut to crack but even she appeared to think of you with some fondness.”
“Probably thinking of how glad she was I’m dead,” Miss Pettigrew snapped, back to her usual self. “Where’s the frame gone? Have you sold that already?”
“No.” Emily shuffled over to the painting on her hands and knees. “It came with the replacement frame already on it, although I could see at once it wasn’t the original.”
“They kept the frame and tossed away the painting.” Mrs Pettigrew’s voice was so low Emily had to strain to hear her.
“I originally assumed the owner sold it when they were on hard times. I suppose that’s not likely though, is it? Were you and Nathaniel hard up?”
“Not enough to sell off a five-thousand-dollar frame. I thought it was a downgrade to settle for only two million because of the prenuptial agreement.”
“You were getting a divorce?” Emily frowned at the news. “I guess it explains why so many of your possessions ended up here.”
“I guess.” The ghost sighed and floated over to the dormer window. “It’ll sound stupid, but I still thought Nathaniel loved me. When I asked for a divorce, it was really to get something I wanted that he refused to pay for. Instead of giving in, he agreed to end the marriage so quickly I was insulted.”
Charity Shop Haunted Mysteries Page 5
