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  Nothing to Ghost About (Witch Woods Funeral Home Book 2)

  Copyright © 2015 by Morgana Best

  All Rights Reserved

  Smashwords Edition

  Smashwords 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

  Chapter 24

  Connect with Morgana

  Next Book in this Series

  Other books by Morgana Best

  About Morgana Best

  Chapter 1

  The funeral singer had vanished. It was just after six in the evening, and it was uncharacteristically hot for this time of the year. The guests were milling about in a grumpy fashion. Everyone looked depressed, but that was not surprising, given that they were at a funeral, after all.

  The deceased, Alec Mason, was a middle-aged man, a well-known crime figure who had served time for organized crime of the jewelry theft variety. His untimely demise had been caused by a hit-and-run. At the time of the accident, he was unmarried, but had been married three times—in fact, all three of his ex-wives were in attendance. Thankfully, they were so far giving each other a wide berth.

  I was standing at the doorway to the viewing room, keeping an eye on my mother. She was ‘mingling’ as she put it, despite the fact that I had told her no less than seven million times that she shouldn’t be ‘mingling’ at a funeral. It was our job to run the event and to do our best to ease one of the many hardships on those who had recently lost someone close to them. If I did my job well, the family of the deceased should not give me a second thought, at least until the bill arrived.

  Yet my mother did not share my views. She said a good host should not stay on the sideline. Never mind that there was a funeral going on, and not a dinner party, and never mind that my father had left the business to me.

  I watched as Mom approached ex-wife Number Two. She spoke to her for a few moments, before taking her by the arm and leading her over to ex-wife Number One. That woman was standing close to me, so I could hear my mother plainly.

  “Death should bring us together,” she said, “not drive us further apart.”

  I sighed and hurried forward, stepping between the two ex-wives, who looked as if they were about to come to blows. I touched my mom on the shoulder lightly to get her attention. “Mom, I need your help in the kitchen,” I said.

  She turned and glared at me. “Excuse me,” she said to the two women who were still staring daggers at one another. She followed me out of the viewing room, across the entrance hall, and then through the dining room and into the kitchen.

  “Every time you ask for help in the kitchen, you really want to yell at me,” my mother said.

  I nodded. “Well, very astute. Stop trying to get the ex-wives to speak to each other. You do realize this is a crime family? What if they pull out knives or guns or something? This funeral home has had enough bad publicity already.”

  Mom glared at me. “With Pastor Green being on vacation, I need to help his replacement, Pastor Morrison. I can never find that man anywhere! Anyway, Ian said he overheard one of the ex-wives express regrets. I wanted to help them overcome their regrets.”

  I grimaced when I heard Ian’s name. Ian was my mother’s younger and equally religious best friend, or more of a pet really. He followed her around, and the whole thing creeped me out. “I didn’t even know Ian was here.”

  “He’s been avoiding you,” my mother said pointedly. “He thinks you would make him leave.”

  “I would make him leave!” I said, trying my best not to shout. “He doesn’t work here. Speaking of people who actually do work here, at least for the night, I need to find the singer I ordered from the internet. I saw him setting up earlier, but now he’s nowhere to be found.”

  “You know, Ian has a lovely singing voice,” my mother started.

  I lifted my hand and cut her off. “Don’t.” I made my escape and went to find the singer.

  I didn’t see the man anywhere among the guests, and no one answered when I called out his name outside the restrooms. The only place I hadn’t looked was upstairs. No one had been upstairs for a long time. Up there was an apartment in a state of disrepair. As soon as I had some free time, I was going to renovate it so I could move in. Living with my mother was difficult, to say the least.

  I went upstairs to check. “Preston? Are you here?” I called out.

  A man walked around the corner. “Yes,” he said. “Preston was here.”

  That was a strange thing to say, but I ignored it. “Excuse me. No one is supposed to come up here. We need you downstairs. We’re about to begin.”

  “Right, right.” He nodded gravely. “I don’t think I can.”

  “You don’t think you can?” I asked. I supposed the man had stage fright. I really had little sympathy. He shouldn’t advertise himself as a funeral singer if he was prone to stage fright. People were counting on him. Some days everything just worked together to raise my blood pressure—I could almost feel my blood boiling in my veins.

  “I don’t think I can,” he repeated sadly. “No one would enjoy me. Well, you could, I guess. I must say, I’m a little surprised that you’re talking to me. I am new to all of this, though.”

  “You’re new to this?” I asked, my eyes going wide. “The website said all you guys were professionals, with experience!”

  Preston did not respond, but instead stared at his hands, turning them over and then back again.

  I was worried that he was unwell, and stepped forward. “Preston, what’s going on?”

  “I can’t go on. I’m sorry; I simply can’t. I would if I could—believe me!”

  He continued to look at his hands, and then swept one han
d through the corner of the wall.

  I stared at his hand moving through the wall. “Preston?” I said softly.

  “I would much rather go on,” he said. “I love to perform.” Slowly he reached down for my hands, and as I watched, his hands went right through mine.

  Somewhere downstairs, a woman screamed.

  “You’re a ghost?” I asked breathlessly. The fact that he was a ghost meant something was wrong. The scream meant something was wrong. It meant I needed to be rushing down the stairs, but I was frozen to the spot.

  Preston nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  I gasped. “But you weren’t when you got here, were you?”

  Preston shook his head.

  “Oh no,” I said. There was a break in the screaming downstairs, and then it started again. I turned and hurried away from the ghost.

  Downstairs was a scene of panic. People didn’t know what to do. Most people were crowded into the hall, facing the restroom. I shoved my way through the crowd, and found my mother by the bathroom door.

  She clutched at me. “It’s horrible!”

  I stepped into the bathroom. There stood Ian, shrieking. I had been so sure it was a woman, but he was simply hitting a note that not many men could reach. He stopped screaming when he saw me.

  “There’s a body,” he said. “A dead one.”

  And then he fainted. I stepped forward to catch him, letting him fall onto my arms before I bent and deposited him on the floor. I turned and looked. Preston Kerr, or at least his body, was on the floor. I crouched to get a closer look at the man. It looked as though there were deep bruises around his neck. Someone had strangled him, or at least it appeared that way.

  Two men in suits appeared by my side. “We need to get everyone out of here,” one of them said.

  “Get everyone out?” I parroted. I was in shock.

  He nodded. “Yes. The police are on their way, and will need to speak to everyone.” He turned to address the crowd. “Leave this area, but no one is to leave the premises!” he said in a booming voice.

  I said the first thing that came to mind. “The deceased man’s family will be upset.”

  He somewhat pompously crossed his arms. “The fact of the matter is that he is no longer the only deceased man here.”

  “Everyone, please, we’re going to have to ask you to leave,” the other man said.

  It was obvious to me that they were detectives. As the deceased—the official deceased, that is, the man in the coffin—had been a crime figure, and a murdered one at that, I had expected undercover police to come to his funeral. Now they were no longer undercover, but had taken charge. I wondered where they had been when Ian started screaming, given that I’d beaten them to the funeral singer’s body.

  It took a few minutes to get everyone moving in the right direction, but soon the corridor outside the restroom was empty, and everyone was gathered in the reception room. No one was trying to make a break for it, for which I was thankful.

  “This place has been crazy since you came along,” a disembodied voice said.

  I turned to see Ernie leaning against the wall. I always wondered how ghosts could sit or lean, given that they could pass through solid objects. I supposed I’d find out some day—I hoped not too soon. I nodded at him, careful to make sure I didn’t look like I was communicating with thin air.

  Ernie liked to hang around the funeral home and hand out advice as well as bad puns. I met him soon after returning to my hometown. Ernie was old and stooped, hunched over. He looked the same as he had when he died. At least I figured he did, because I didn’t think a soul would choose to spend eternity hunched over like that.

  Ernie was here because he wasn’t satisfied with his death. I had helped Tiffany, a young woman, find out who had killed her soon after I’d moved back. She had gone to the other side, whatever that might be. Ernie wasn’t ready to move on, although I wasn’t sure why. We had never spoken about it.

  “I know,” I said, with my hand over my mouth. “He’s the second person to die since I’ve taken over the funeral home.”

  “You’re supposed to take them after they die,” he said, “not get them killed.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Did you see anything?”

  Ernie shook his head. “I wasn’t around. The new fella’s still inside, but I don’t want to talk to him. New ghosts ask too many questions, and I’m not a people person.”

  “I’ll talk to him, but I wanted to give him some time first.”

  “Who are you talking to?” my mother asked as she crept up behind me.

  “No one,” I said, turning around.

  Mom glared at me, her lips pursed. “You know, we need to have a discussion.”

  “About what?”

  “The dead body. These crazy things happening to you. Perhaps it would be best if you left this all to me. I think a demon might be following you. Ian thinks you might need deliverance.”

  “Huh!” I said loudly. “Tell Ian to mind his own business!” I was about to say more, but the blare of sirens put a stop to that.

  Whatever it was that my mother wanted to say to me about demons would have to wait.

  Chapter 2

  It was going to be a long day. I pushed my way through the crowd and went to the front door, but the two men in suits had beaten me to it.

  I looked between the men to see two squad cars pulling up. Duncan climbed out of the first car. Duncan was the local sergeant, and was married to my best friend, Tara. The three of us had grown up together.

  Duncan nodded to me, but approached the two men. “What happened?” he asked.

  “There’s a body in the bathroom,” one of the suits said in hushed tones. “Murdered.”

  My mother tut-tutted and shook her head. “Why would you think something like that? He probably just passed away. You shouldn’t always assume the worst.”

  The police ignored my mother, and I found myself grateful that Ian was still passed out so I didn’t have to hear that sort of nonsense from two directions at once.

  “It looked like he was strangled,” one of the plain-clothes cops said to Duncan. “I’m going to start interviewing everyone.”

  Duncan turned to me. “I’ll get your statement last. Let me get these people done, and we can send them on their way.”

  I nodded. I left the police to their work, and went to find John, the brother of the deceased who had organized the funeral.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, when I found John. “I know how horrible this is.”

  John shook his head. “Please, this is a horrible tragedy. No one is angry with you. I think everyone can come back tomorrow for the funeral.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I suppose the police will insist on it. It’s probably not every day you’re caught up in a mysterious death here, is it?”

  I wanted to tell him that he would be surprised, but instead I shook my head. “Thanks so much. Let’s do tomorrow then, whatever time’s best for you. I think the police are going to speak with everyone if that’s okay.”

  “That’s fine, I’ll speak with the family and we’ll do tomorrow. Same time, if that suits?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” I said.

  I looked back at Duncan, and I was surprised to see the two undercover officers were now wearing badges and interviewing people. They must have decided there was too much work for the three officers who had shown up, especially with two of them still in the bathroom with the body of the funeral singer.

  My mother was standing in front of me, too close for comfort. “We need to discuss what’s wrong with you,” she said loudly.

  “Mom, I’m not possessed. I promise,” I said wearily.

  She made a snorting sound and crossed her arms. “Why do you always twist my words, Laurel? Don’t be so flippant. I didn’t say you were possessed—I said there is evil around you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That sort of stuff only happens in movies, Mom.”

  “You can
blow me off, but you can’t blow off true evil,” she said in a raised voice. “You were almost killed recently. An evil woman was drawn to you because of the evil that surrounds you.”

  “So I’m evil now?” I said angrily. “I can’t keep up with this. First I’m possessed, and now I’m evil?”

  “I never said possessed!” she yelled. “And you aren’t evil, but there is evil around you. How else could you explain it?”

  “Bad luck, I guess,” I said. It was true that my life since moving back home had been a little more exciting than it had been before, and a whole lot more dangerous.

  Mom took a step closer to me. “You should leave here and go back to Melbourne. You should leave me to run the business.”

  I frowned. “No, Mom. Dad left the business to me. I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with me and the demon within.”

  She threw up her hands in a dramatic display of exasperation. “Oh, for gosh sake, Laurel, he isn’t within. I did not say you were possessed, you silly girl, just followed. Demons are attracted to immoral lifestyles.”

  “Immoral lifestyles?” I asked.

  “Yes. Unmarried, drinking…”

  “Mom, I have maybe one glass of wine a week, if that. I spent all last weekend in pajamas with kittens on the front reading books about pirates and the girls they love. I hardly think I’m living a decadent, immoral lifestyle.”

  “Well, how would I know what you do? You never speak to me about anything.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Okay, Mom. I’m going to go talk to Duncan.”

  When Duncan saw me approach, he waved me over.

  “Can you talk?” he asked.

  “What’s happening with the undercover cops at the funeral?” I asked him, before he had a chance to speak.

  Duncan sighed. “The deceased—the first one, the one the funeral is for—had a criminal record.”

  “Yes, I know that,” I said. “The hit and run was all over TV and in the papers.”

  “Right. He was in town visiting his brother, John, who also has a pretty respectable rap sheet. Well, if that sort of thing would be called respectable.”