Ghost Stories (Witch Woods Funeral Home Book 4): (Ghost Cozy Mystery series) Read online

  Ghost Stories

  (Witch Wood Funeral Home, Book 4)

  Copyright © 2016 by Morgana Best.

  All Rights Reserved.

  License Notes.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy from your favorite ebook retailer. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The personal names have been invented by the author, and any likeness to the name of any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book may contain references to specific commercial products, process or service by trade name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise, specific brand-name products and/or trade names of products, which are trademarks or registered trademarks and/or trade names, and these are property of their respective owners. Morgana Best or her associates, have no association with any specific commercial products, process, or service by trade name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise, specific brand-name products and / or trade names of products.

  By this act

  And words of rhyme

  Trouble not

  These books of mine

  With these words I now thee render

  Candle burn and bad return

  3 Times stronger to its sender.

  (Ancient Celtic)

  Table of 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

  Connect with Morgana

  Next Book in this Series

  Other Books by Morgana Best

  About Morgana Best

  Chapter 1

  It was an otherwise pleasant day in the small Australian town of Witch Woods, situated inland in the mountains. The sun was shining on a pleasant scene, a landscape of beautiful rose gardens and fruit trees. Two pet sheep were grazing happily on their lush pasture beyond, and kookaburras were singing in the gum trees. The pleasant scent of star jasmine wafted along on the gentle breeze.

  There was one blight on this happy vista.

  My mother was bending over her mandarin tree with a pruning saw. “I warned you!” she addressed the sapling in a stern tone. “I said if you have bugs next year, out you come! And you have them!”

  “Mom.” I cleared my throat.

  “Laurel.” She seemed surprised to see me, but quickly recovered, and bent over once more to saw viciously at the tree. “I thought you’d be here five minutes ago. I wanted you to meet my first guests,” she said with her back turned.

  I was somewhat concerned, to say the least. Since I had moved out of Mom’s house after finally renovating the apartment above the funeral home, Mom had decided to rent out my old room, as well as the spare rooms, to paying guests. While it might sound like a good idea in theory, I didn’t know how many guests she would keep once they had met her.

  “Mom, if you don’t mind me saying so, don’t try to force them all to go to your church.”

  She swung around, brandishing the pruning saw at me. “How could you say such a thing, Laurel! I would never force anyone to go to my church. What a terrible thing to say! Anyway, I’ll have you know that they’re all theologians.”

  I wondered why a group of theologians would go on vacation together, but I thought it better not to ask her. “That will make for lovely dinner conversation,” I said dryly.

  My mother’s eyes lit up. “Exactly! And here they are now, right on time. Theologians are always timely.”

  I shook my head. There was simply no response to that.

  Three cars arrived, one after the other. The people who got out of the cars didn’t look like theologians, not that I had ever seen a theologian. I supposed I expected someone who looked like an old oil painting of John Wesley or John Knox. To the contrary, they seemed to be about my mother’s age, but were all nicely dressed and were not wearing somber expressions.

  “I’m Thelma Bay, and this is my daughter, Laurel, who owns the funeral home just over there,” she said as she pointed to the nearby building. “She does a wonderful funeral, if you know anyone who has passed away.” She gave me an encouraging nod, while I stood rooted to the spot, embarrassed.

  The theologians introduced themselves, each in turn.

  “I must ask Pastor Green to dinner,” Mom said happily. “I told him you were coming, and he was beside himself with excitement. He has lots of questions for you.”

  They all exchanged glances. The man standing closest to me spoke. “That’s good to hear. Sadly, many ministers don’t like what we write about.”

  My mother shook her head. “What a terrible thing. We are all members of the one body: some feet, some heads, some legs, some hands. Yet we all make up the same body. We should not be at odds with one another.”

  The guests looked confused. “Well, I’m glad to hear your pastor has an open mind,” the man who had introduced himself as James said, while his wife nodded.

  “Yes, Pastor Green is very open-minded,” Mom said. “He even speaks to anti-Calvinists.” She shook her head in disgust. “I told him that your specialty was the Holy Ghost. He’s looking forward to a good discussion of the Trinity.”

  The guests appeared even more confused. “The Holy Ghost?” James and his wife, Jenny, said in unison.

  “Yes,” Mom said. “Aren’t you writing about the Holy Spirit? You said you were seeking the Spirit.”

  James frowned. “Spirits, ghosts,” he said, gesturing to the others. “We’re a writers’ group. Every year we come to Witch Woods for a vacation to do some writing. This year we chose to write ghost stories.”

  Mom’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re not theologians?”

  Chapter 2

  After Mom’s horrible shock finding out that the writers were not theologians, she had decided to go for a road trip to the Gold Coast.

  There were two problems with that. The first was that she was a terrible driver. The second was that she had absolutely no sense of direction. It was the latter that I was currently addressing.

  “But Mom, if you don’t want to use a GPS, I can show you how to use your iPhone,” I said. “Again. I don’t know why you won’t use the Tom Tom.”

  “Quit repeating yourself, Laurel. Anyway, I don’t know anyone called Tom.”

  I bit my tongue. “It’s Tom Tom. To be honest, Mom, I really don’t think you should go on this road trip, not unless you have someone to escort you.”

  My mother’s face lit up. “Escort me? Great idea, Laurel!” She shot me a rare smile and hurried back in the direction of her house.

  I was puzzled, but at least she was in a good mood for once. I turned back to my paperwork, but found it hard to concentrate. I soon caught myself staring out the
window at Basil’s two pet sheep, Arthur and Martha, grazing happily on my land to one side of the funeral home.

  I had been happy of late. The funeral home was starting to be profitable, thanks to my idea of staging celebrity themed funerals. My relationship with Basil, my accountant and now something more, was going nicely. For one, he shared my gift for being able to see ghosts. Better still, he was a good cook, and he could handle my mother. And indeed, the greatest reason for my happiness was that I had escaped from my mother. I had fled from her once before, and had gone to live in Melbourne, but my father died and left the funeral business to me. From the time I had moved back from Melbourne to take over the running of the business, I had been living in my old bedroom in her house, perched on an adjoining plot of land directly behind the funeral home.

  I was now living in my newly renovated apartment over the funeral home. While I would have preferred to live further away from my mother, such as the South Pole or Mars, the distance was sufficient for me to retain my sanity.

  The sound of someone at the entrance brought me to my feet. It turned out there were seven people at the entrance: my mother and her new guests. “I’m giving them a guided tour of the funeral home,” she announced proudly.

  I nodded. I could hardly refuse, because that would make a scene. I was glad I had placed a locked door at the bottom of the steps to my own apartment, as I had no doubt Mom would show the guests my apartment as well. She had no concept of personal boundaries.

  I had not seen the guests since their arrival, so Mom saw fit to introduce me to them once more. “And this is James and Jenny Thorogood,” she concluded, ignoring all six of them saying that we had already met.

  “I’m sorry, it’s Thorogood,” Jenny said. “It’s pronounced thorough-good.”

  Mom rounded on her. “Excuse me?”

  Jenny ignored my warning look and pushed on. “I’m Jenny Thorogood.”

  “You’re not!” Mom exclaimed. “‘There is none good, no, not one!’ Romans chapter three, verse ten.”

  I sighed. “Mom, that’s ‘righteous,’ not ‘good.’”

  Mom folded her arms. “How would you know, anyway? You never go to church. And I’ll have you know, Laurel, that the explanatory notes at the bottom of my Bible page clarify that God meant to say good, not righteous.” She shot me a smug, sanctimonious look.

  Ernie, the funeral home’s resident ghost, materialized behind her. “Your mother’s a complete nutter! She’s a cheeseburger short of a happy meal.”

  I ignored Ernie and addressed Mom. “That’s not very nice.”

  Ernie evidently thought I was talking to him. “Don’t shoot the messenger!”

  Mom was on a roll. “And Laurel, if you ever did bother to come to church, you will know that verse twelve says, ‘There is none that doeth good.’”

  Ernie vanished. I shrugged and took my leave, while Mom was calling scriptures after me. Mercifully, I missed most of it, but it was something about open sepulchers and poisonous asps.

  I walked over to the sheep, but Basil was already there. “I was coming to see you on my lunch break, but I saw your Mom go in, so I came here to escape from her.”

  “That’s the same reason I’m here,” I confessed. “She was giving her six guests a guided tour of my business.”

  Basil pinched the top of his nose. “That’s just it. It’s your business. Do you want me to speak to her?”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but no. I’ll handle her. She’s going on that road trip to the Gold Coast any day.”

  “Is Ian going with her?”

  I laughed at that. “No, that wouldn’t be appropriate, to use her words, but don’t ask me how she’ll find her way.” Ian was Mom’s much younger and equally annoying friend. He had a long-suffering girlfriend, Audrey, who did not go to Mom and Ian’s church, much to Mom’s horror.

  Basil leaned on the top of the fence. “Yes, your mother has absolutely no sense of direction.”

  “With any luck she’ll end up in Perth,” I said optimistically.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” Basil said with a smile. “After she drives for five days, she might realize she’s heading in the wrong direction.”

  I laughed, and fed the sheep some treats. “Anyway, she said she’d get a GPS, but she’s hopeless with technology. She’ll call me every few minutes to ask me how to work it.”

  Basil kissed the top of my head. “How about I take you to dinner tonight, and we can forget about your mother?”

  I readily agreed.

  The subject of Mom’s road trip did not come up again, so I assumed she had somehow managed to find a suitable GPS. A few days later, I was sitting in my office, catching up on the remaining paperwork after a particularly busy week, when Mom called. I answered the phone at once.

  “He’s dead!” Mom said between sobs.

  “Who?” I said.

  “Tom.”

  I paused with my pen in mid-air. “Don’t worry, Mom. I know technology can be stressful. Just get a new one.”

  Mom gasped. “How could you be so heartless, Laurel? Besides, I don’t have any money left after paying for this one. The police will be here soon.” With that, she hung up.

  I shrugged and went back to my paperwork. Mom was always melodramatic. She was due to leave for the Gold Coast the following morning, so I supposed her anxiety over the road trip had come to a head.

  The sound of sirens and the simultaneous appearance of Ernie, the resident ghost, brought me to my feet.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ernie quipped.

  “Not funny,” I said. “It was the first time, but now it’s got old. Anyway, I’ve gotta run. I think Mom called the police because her GPS stopped working.”

  Ernie paled, quite a feat considering he was semi-transparent. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Laurel.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “You’ll find out.” With that, he vanished.

  I sighed and hurried outside to see why the police were here. As I rounded the corner, I saw an ambulance as well. Had something happened to Mom? I rushed along the pathway.

  To my relief, Mom was alive and well, and speaking to Duncan, the town’s sergeant and the husband of my best friend, Tara.

  “What’s going on, Duncan?” I knew better than to ask my mother for a logical explanation.

  Duncan patted my shoulder. “Laurel, I’m afraid there’s been a death.”

  I frowned. “You know it’s a GPS, right?” Surely Mom hadn’t lost the plot so much as to call the police just because her Tom Tom had stopped working.

  Duncan took a step back, a look of shock on his face. “What?”

  “You know, a Tom Tom.”

  “It’s just Tom, you silly girl,” my mother said. “His name’s not Tom Tom. Why are you stuttering?”

  Panic hit me in the pit of my stomach. “Can someone explain?”

  Duncan patted my shoulder again. “Laurel, there’s a dead man in your mother’s house.”

  My jaw fell open. “I’ve already told Laurel that,” Mom said. “It’s her fault.”

  “My fault?” I parroted.

  “Yes, you were the one who thought I was a silly old fool and needed an escort for the road trip. I called an escort agency, and asked for Tom.”

  “Tom?” I thought I would faint; the landscape appeared to be receding.

  “Why do you keep repeating everything I say?” Mom demanded. “I asked the escort agency for a man called Tom, and they said he could be anything I wanted. I said I only needed him to get me there.”

  My jaw dropped. Mom pushed on. “And they said they’d never had any complaints about him.”

  Ernie materialized behind Mom. “He’s naked!”

  “Naked?” I asked without thinking.

  “The corpse, of course,” Ernie added.

  Duncan and Mom, not being able to see ghosts, thought I was addressing them.

  Mom gasped. “How did you know? Tom died in my bedroom,”
she said as she winced, “and to make it worse, yes, he was naked!”

  “Mom, why was he naked?”

  Mom covered her eyes with both her hands. “I’ve never seen a naked man, not in all my born days, and in broad daylight at that. How shameful, dying with his clothes off! I knew I should’ve hired an escort from my church, only when I asked Pastor Green where I could get an escort, he acted weird about it.”

  I ran my hands through my hair in exasperation. “Mom, why was he naked?” I asked again.

  Mom looked genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know. I’m as perplexed as you are. We were supposed to start the road trip tomorrow, but his fee started today. He said he wanted to get to know me. He went up to my bedroom while I made a cup of tea. I did wonder why he needed to look in my bedroom,” she added as an afterthought.

  “I don’t think you should say anything else, Mrs. Bay,” Duncan said to Mom.

  “Why not?” I asked him.

  “The detectives will be here soon.”

  For a moment, I wondered if I were dreaming. This was all so surreal. “Detectives?”

  Duncan nodded. “He was murdered, and the detectives will need to question your mother.”

  I gasped. “Are you sure he was murdered? Couldn’t it have been a heart attack or something?” This was all going downhill rapidly.

  Duncan’s face was grim. “He was definitely murdered.”

  I turned to Mom. “How did he die?”

  “What’s going on?”

  I swung around to see Basil.

  Duncan did his best to explain, while I supplied the extra information. Basil had known my mother long enough to figure out what had happened. In fact, he appeared to have a better grasp of the situation than I did. “I’ll call you a lawyer, Mrs. Bay.”

  “A lawyer?” Mom squealed. “Why do I need a lawyer? God is the judge. I’ll answer to no judge but God. Oh good, Pastor Green and Ian are here, finally!”

  Right behind Mom, I could see the figure of a man trying to materialize. This must be the murdered escort, I reasoned. It took him a few moments, and then he materialized fully. I gasped. Not one stitch of clothing covered the ghost. No wonder Mom didn’t notice how he died; her shock would have been too great.