Wicked or Treat! (Paranormal in Manhattan Mystery: A Cozy Mystery Book 16)

by Lotta Smith

  “That’s a good point.” Detective Rochester gave him a thumbs-up, prompting Sophie to giggle ever so happily. She had a tendency to find a ton of humor in raised thumbs for some reason that even Jackie couldn’t fathom. I thought it was normal for my little daughter. Kids tended to find humor in ordinary things. When I was little, I used to find it extremely hilarious whenever people sneezed, which was absolutely unbelievable because by the time I became a teenager, I found other people’s coughing and sneezing unbearably gross.

  “I know it’s the husband who killed her, but that’s all I can manage. Between other cases, I’ve asked around about this one, but with a high-stake death benefit and no physical evidence to suspect a murder, the precinct wouldn’t issue funds or manpower for further digging. When I got a call from you, it was like a godsend. Nothing’s as helpful as interviewing the victim herself. She should remember if she’s been murdered, had an accidental fall, or committed suicide.”

  “Right.” Rick nodded. “Mom seems to believe the victim was murdered. So, where’s our victim? Also, it seems like Mom’s been pretty quiet.”

  “Well—” When I opened my mouth, the loud screech of a brake being pulled sounded, followed by a huge crash.

  “What the—?” Rick clutched me and Sophie protectively in his arms. I looked back and found a crashed bicycle with a courier company’s name on it lying on the sidewalk about three yards from us, and a cyclist spread-eagled another yard away.

  “Mah!” Sophie exclaimed, smiling happily as the bike courier guy looked around, muttering, “What the hell?”

  “Come on, don’t ever use the H-word in front of a little child!” Jackie chastised him, even though he wouldn’t be able to hear her.

  “Are you okay? That was so scary, wasn’t it?” Rick cooed at Sophie, who kept on laughing, saying, “Waah!”

  “What the…?” Detective Rochester looked at me. “What did he stumble upon?”

  “Nothing, I guess,” I replied. I wasn’t looking at the cyclist when the accident happened, but I had a hunch about someone inflicting it. “The good news is I think I’m looking at the victim you’re searching for, Detective.”

  Beside the cyclist, a brunette woman in her mid-fifties was floating. “I told you it’s dangerous to ride so fast, remember? Sidewalks are meant for people who are walking, and you’ve got to be courteous and careful of people with disabilities, elderly people, little kids, and babies. You should be thankful that you didn’t end up hurting anyone!”

  Apparently, she ignored the fact that the cyclist himself was bleeding from his elbow.

  “She’s so right!” Clara joined in a heated tone. “You should definitely stop being so reckless on a bike! Reckless cyclists are even worse than reckless drivers. At least cars are insured for accidental damages to pedestrians.”

  Completely ignoring the cyclist who’d just had a crash, Detective Rochester asked me, “Do you see her?”

  “Yes, I do.” I indicated to where the cyclist lay groaning. “She’s over there, about five yards from us. She’s busy lecturing him about the hazard of speeding on a bike on the sidewalk.”

  “Okay.” He nodded.

  “Hello? I’ve got skinned elbows and a damaged ego, but I’ll be fine, thank you,” the cyclist grunted as he squinted at the detective and me.

  “Do you need an ambulance?” Rick asked him halfheartedly, smiling as Sophie clasped his index finger with her littler hand.

  “No, thanks.” He got on the bike again and sped away.

  “I have a hunch that guy’s going to suffer from a bigger crash sometime in the future,” Jackie predicted, shaking her head. “Cyclists aren’t known for their smartness. They love to talk about exercising to train their muscles and staying fit, but what they don’t understand is they don’t need to bother with the muscles when their more important body parts, such as the spinal cord, are messed up.”

  “You’re right, Jackie. That’s the point those exercise gung-hos never grasp. Without the properly functioning spinal cord, you can’t move your muscles with your own will, even if your heart and brain are fine. In my opinion, some conditions are far worse than death. Being dead is one thing, but having clear consciousness without a functional body is a totally different story,” Clara agreed.

  “I see. That’s a really profound perspective.” Jackie looked thoughtful for a moment. “In retrospect, I might have been lucky that I died immediately when I was stabbed.”

  “Jackie, don’t say such a sad thing,” I objected. “I wish I could have seen you when you were alive, and so does Rick.”

  “Really?” Her lips parted, showing a perfect set of pearly whites.

  “Of course. Rick, you wanted to see Jackie when she was still alive, right?”

  “Of course.” He read my face and nodded immediately. “I would have loved to see you in the flesh. I wish I’d visited Broadway and enjoyed the shows you were starring in. I mean it.”

  “Oh my word, I’m so thrilled! It’s like you’ve accepted me as a part of your extended family.” Cupping her face with her hands and beaming, she bounced in the air.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said sternly, prompting her to gasp, but then I explained, “Jackie, you’re a very important part of our family. You always have been.”

  “Yes. Mandy’s right,” Rick agreed, even though he couldn’t see or hear our daughter’s ghostly auntie’s reactions.

  Sophie said, “Woo!” as she extended her hands toward Jackie. It was like she knew exactly what we were talking about and she agreed with us.

  “Ooh… Mandy, Rick, Sophie, I love you! All of you!” she shrieked and held us all as if we were in a group hug.

  Detective Rochester cleared his throat to break up our heart-warming family moment. “Um… I really hate to interrupt, but can you try talking to the victim?”

  “Oh, sure, Detective. Can you wait here while I talk to her?” I said as I glanced at the ghost.

  CHAPTER 3

  After handing Sophie to Rick, I took a step toward the ghost of a middle-aged woman in a muumuu with loud floral prints—maybe it was a summer dress, but muumuu seemed like a more appropriate term to describe it. Sophie took a keen interest in the ghost. Babbling something, she extended her arms toward me while still in her daddy’s arms.

  “Sophie wants to say hi to that lady,” Jackie said.

  “Okay,” I agreed. “Rick, can you pass me the stroller so I can bring Sophie with me, please? She’s interested in meeting her.”

  “Really?” At first he didn’t seem thrilled, but then he placed the stroller in front of me and helped Sophie sit. “Are you ready?” As he talked to her, fastening her strap, she giggled and clapped her little hands. “Good. Be careful, the both of you.”

  “We will,” I said and approached the ghost, pushing the stroller and talking to our daughter. “We’re good because Daddy’s gonna cover our backs, right?”

  “Your mommy’s so right!” Jackie chimed in. “He’ll always have your backs. You’re such a lucky girl, Sophie.”

  “Wee!” Sophie squeaked.

  The ghost who’d been busy scolding the reckless cyclist noticed us. “Look at that! A baby and a young mom. How adorable! You know, I used to push my kids in a stroller when they were her age.” Smiling, she turned to Clara. “And that drag queen is sorta cute.”

  “Thank you so much, ma’am!” Jackie gushed at her.

  “You’re welcome. I love your dress!” The ghost in a muumuu winked at the ghost of a drag queen, who was sporting a witch costume in shocking pink.

  Things couldn’t get any more surrealistic.

  “Oh, that’s my granddaughter Sophie, daughter-in-law Mandy, and their friend Jackie.” Clara beamed. “Everyone, come here!”

  “We’re here.” I waved at her, then smiled as Sophie flapped her little arms. “Hello, ma’am. As Clara just said, I’m Mandy and this is Sophie,” I greeted the ghost, offering a polite smile.

  “Nice to see you all,” she said li
ghtheartedly.

  “It’s so lovely to introduce my granddaughter to my friend,” Clara exclaimed. “That’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but I’d given up on the possibility in the past. At least, I thought I’d given it up.”

  “Ooh, talk about dreams come true,” the woman said enthusiastically. “I have a son who’s a teenager, but I’m envious. I’ve heard a ton of horror stories about mean daughters-in-law.”

  “Oh, that must be horrible.” Clara shook her head sympathetically. Then she looked at me. “But I’m glad my stepson married such a sweet lady.”

  “Yes, Clara. You’re so lucky!” Jackie enthused.

  “I agree,” the ghost in a floral muumuu said.

  With a close look, I realized she had a huge gash on the left side of her face and blood had smeared that side of her upper body in brownish red. I looked at Sophie to see if she needed to go back to Rick to be soothed, but she was babbling and giggling—even though she was drooling and wetting her bib. I wiped her mouth and chin with a gauze handkerchief.

  “Your daughter is adorable.” She looked at my Sophie fondly. “How old is she?”

  “Thank you! She’s eleven months old.” Then I cleared my throat. “Both my husband and I are with the security company USCAB, and I’m here to help the police.”

  “I’m Jackie, a special assistant to Mandy,” Jackie chimed in.

  “Okay, so you’re a detective.” Her eyes widened.

  “Sort of, but a police consultant would be a more appropriate term,” I clarified.

  “So, what do you want to know?” the dead housewife asked eagerly.

  I glanced at Clara, who gave me an encouraging nod. “Well, there was a death by fall in this neighborhood back in August. We’re looking into the case.” I didn’t say, “Hi! So, you died from a fall back in August. How did that happen?” because sometimes, ghosts didn’t have clear memory about how their deaths happened. Also, some of them tended to be dense enough to forget they were dead in the first place. Asking questions in a cryptic way was one of the most important survival skills in dealing with dead people. When provoked, they could become dangerous.

  When she said, “Oh, that would be me,” I was taken aback.

  “Oh?” Having nothing that sounded sophisticated to say, I let my jaw drop as it wanted to.

  “Are you talking about someone else?” She tilted her head. “I happened to have died in August by falling off the balcony of my own residence.”

  “Oh… really?” Even though I knew how she died, meeting a ghost who discussed her own death was hard to come by. “What’s your name?” I asked, just to be sure that we were meeting the right ghost.

  “I’m Christina Hepburn. My name sounds like that of a movie star or supermodel, doesn’t it? I might have gotten slightly bigger than when I was in my twenties, but back then I was a pageant queen and won a ton of crowns.”

  “Wow, how fabulous is that?” Jackie’s eyes widened. “I wanted to participate in a beauty pageant, but in my heyday, they only allowed born females. What a shame. The news says now that transgender men and women are welcome to participate in the Olympic games with the gender of their choice.”

  “Oh really? I didn’t know that,” Clara commented. “Still, if a female wrestler decides she’s actually a man and undergoes gender adjustment treatment with steroids and everything, then decides she’d rather be a girl, I’m sure she’d be really strong as a female wrestler. It’s a total loophole to abuse steroids.”

  “Hmm, maybe you’re right.” Jackie furrowed her eyebrows and turned to me. “Mandy, what are your thoughts?” Before I could answer, she turned back to the other ghosts. “She was a medical student before she joined the FBI. I mean, she used to be a special assistant with the feds before she married her boss and joined USCAB with him.”

  “Wow, what an interesting career path!” Christina exclaimed. “So, what do you think about allowing loopholes for athletes to use steroids?”

  “Steroid abuse never leads to a happily ever after in the long run, so we don’t need to worry. It’s best to avoid using those types of drugs unless you have a condition like an autoimmune disease and your doctor prescribes them,” I replied.

  “I see.” Christina nodded. “Encountering someone who can see people like us is rare enough, but who’d have imagined that I’d be discussing topics like transgenders, the Olympics, and steroids? If a psychic had predicted this to me, I’d have that person ruled out as a total whack job.”

  She let out a hearty laugh, joined by not just the ghostly duo but Sophie as well. Just to be polite, I tried to join the party, but all I could manage was a dry chuckle. When Clara invited me for this occasion, she said this was going to be a great case to prep me for returning to work. I hadn’t really started working working, but I was already feeling lost and unsure about how I used to do my job—much less how to do my job right then.

  “Mandy, I have a question,” Christina said abruptly. “Are they detectives? I mean, that really dashing guy with brown hair and that heavyset guy in the gray suit?”

  “The one in the gray suit is a detective, but the other one is with USCAB,” I replied.

  “You know what, Christina?” Jackie said excitedly. “Rick, that devastatingly handsome guy with brown hair, is her husband and Sophie’s daddy.”

  “Seriously?” Christina’s arms flew up in the air. “Oh my goodness! Maybe I should go to him and say hi.”

  As she attempted to fluff her messy, blood-caked blonde hair, Clara shook her head. “Unfortunately, they can’t see or hear people like us.”

  “Oh… what a shame.” Christina pouted.

  “So, can you tell me about the situation in which you died?” I took out a voice recorder that I’d been using since I started interviewing dead people. “With as much detail as possible, please?” I lowered my voice, noticing Sophie was nodding off.

  “Clara, you mentioned that you have resources to decipher my death. Your son and daughter-in-law are who you meant, right?”

  “Exactly,” Clara answered. “The thing is you look really damaged and hurt, with the bloody gash and everything. Having wounds that don’t go away after your death is an indication that you have something needing closure.”

  “Hmm, okay.” Christina furrowed her eyebrows. “But the way I died is so absurd. Like I said, I was on that balcony, and the next thing, I fell off it. My brain froze and I was unconscious when I fell, and I wish I was lucky enough to be unconscious all the way down. But noooo, I regained consciousness when I hit the ground. When I literally slammed onto the pavement, it hurt like I’ve never felt before, but the pain lasted for only a moment.”

  After parroting her words into the recorder, I asked, “What made you fall off the balcony in the first place?”

  “I was standing on a stool to water my plants, and all of a sudden, I felt dizzy. And the next thing, I was in a freefall to the pavement. Believe me, it was waaay more thrilling than riding one of those fast and furious rides at Epcot,” she said, flapping her arms for emphasis.

  “Can you describe the dizziness you felt?” I asked. The mention of her dizziness had switched on my inner medical-doctor button; I had to know if she felt lightheadedness or vertigo. When I was a med student on clinical rotations, if I forgot to clarify with the patient about the types of dizziness, I was scolded by the attending physicians. Having been traumatized with a series of episodes in which yours truly got yelled at, threatened to be flunked, or the attending shook his/her head as if they were looking at a hopeless idiotic creature, I’d made a habit of digging in with some ailments when most people just nodded and went on with the next topic.

  “I think I’d had a sudden episode of Meniere’s disease,” Christina said nonchalantly. “Women of my age tend to be extra sensitive to many ailments, especially the ones involving the nervous system.”

  “I can imagine that.” Clara nodded sympathetically. “I had many ailments and suffered from multiple sclerosis, and the complica
tions killed me in the end.”

  “Oh, you had multiple sclerosis?” Christina’s eyes widened. “I’ve seen a TV show about that. They say it’s a really tricky illness.”

  “It is.” Clara nodded. “New drugs are being developed, but I haven’t heard about many success stories with them. But at the same time, I’ve heard about a singer who’d suffered from lung cancer or something like that, and she achieved a complete recovery with an experimental drug that had killed ninety-nine patients before her.”

  “So, Christina, you believe vertigo got you killed, am I correct?” I chimed in, prompting Rick and Detective Rochester to exchange glances. The two men—especially the detective—looked a little disappointed as they listened to my words.

  “Why do they look so upset?” Christina watched them closely. “Did you really suspect that I’d committed suicide?”

  “To be honest, I’m just an interviewer, and I don’t have all the information. But the case file says your husband mentioned you’d occasionally seemed slightly down before your death,” I informed her.

  “That sounds like I was depressed.” She tilted her head and then her eyes widened. “Oh my God! Are they thinking that I’d killed myself?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Clara informed.

  “Me? Suicide? No way!” Christina let out a hearty chuckle.

  “She looks too cheerful for someone who purposely ended her own life,” Jackie whispered into my ear.

  “But you’re not denying that you acted slightly depressed, are you?” Clara asked cautiously.

  “Well….” For the first time, Christina fumbled with her words.

  Jackie opened her mouth as if she was ready to pepper Christina with questions, but Clara patted her arm, silencing the flamboyant ghost.

  Christina shut her eyes tightly and then opened them, repeating the process three times. After a moment, she sighed. “All right. I’ll spill the beans, as I don’t want to be remembered as a woman who killed herself. Here’s the thing. It looks like my Matt had been having an affair.”