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

  Basil at once put his hands over my eyes. “Oh, my gosh,” he said loudly.

  “What’s wrong?” Duncan and Mom said in unison.

  “Err, Laurel shouldn’t be out in the sun without sunglasses. It’s the glare. She’s had sore eyes lately.”

  “That’s right,” I said, while trying to peek between his fingers.

  Chapter 3

  “This is all your fault!” Mom said with more than a little aggression, pointing directly at Pastor Green who, along with Ian, was hurrying over to us. Thankfully, the naked ghost had dematerialized, for the moment, anyway.

  “I beg your pardon?” he said, looking confused. I suspected that perhaps he was at a bit of a loss as to how a strange, naked man wound up dead in my mother’s bedroom.

  “You didn’t tell me where to find an escort when I asked.” Mom sounded angrier than ever, though I suspected at least part of it was due to the shock. “You kept avoiding the subject and giving me strange looks, and I still don’t know why.”

  “Well, um.” Pastor Green hesitated, and cleared his throat. “You simply asked me if I knew how you could get in touch with, well, with an escort.”

  Ian rubbed his forehead, and I sighed loudly. Pastor Green looked deeply embarrassed, and Mom continued to wear an expression of anger mixed with confusion. “Yes, and you wouldn’t tell me!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

  “Well, that’s because I thought you were referring to the other kind of escort,” Pastor Green explained nervously, avoiding eye contact. “The personal kind. The, uh, very personal kind.”

  “Well, he came alone, so it seems like he intended to escort me there personally. How much more personal could it get?” Mom asked.

  “Very,” I muttered under my breath, hoping this would all be over soon.

  “That is, I didn’t think you were referring to the kind of escort service that literally escorted you to another place,” Pastor Green explained, staring at his shoes and losing more and more subtlety with each passing moment.

  “What other kind is there?” Mom had lost some of her angry edge, but appeared to be more confused than ever.

  “Um, you asked for Tom from an escort service, you see, so I assumed, that is, um...” Pastor Green’s voice trailed off as his face turned a bright shade of red. I’d never seen him nearly so nervous or at a loss for words before. “Rather than taking you somewhere in the world, they take you somewhere... physically. Or rather, emotionally. Through their actions. That is to say, they, uh...” He broke off again, and the explanation was clearly lost on Mom. To be fair, I knew what was going on and his explanation was lost on me as well, so maybe she wasn’t entirely to blame.

  Mom rounded on me. “It’s all your fault, Laurel.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, you told me it was a good way to get directions,” she explained.

  I sighed loudly. “You mean a Tom Tom, right?”

  “Yes, Tom. Are you all right? Why are you stuttering again?”

  Before I could answer, Basil’s hands flew over my eyes once more, blocking my vision entirely. “What are you doing?” I asked, more confused than ever in an already horribly confusing series of events.

  “Trust me,” he whispered. I did, but also appreciated not having his hands over my eyes without explanation, so I pushed them away all the same. Of course, I immediately discovered why Basil had done it. Standing directly in front of me once more was the victim’s ghost, still as naked as he had been when he died.

  I cleared my throat as Basil and I looked at each other nervously. The ghost was jumping up and down to try and get our attention, which, given his nudity, made me want to look away even more.

  “I still don’t understand,” Mom said, and I realized that I had tuned out of the conversation entirely. As far as I could tell, Pastor Green was still desperately dancing around a simple explanation, while Mom was insisting on one as firmly as she could.

  It was hard to blame Pastor Green for not simply coming out and explaining the mistake. Knowing Mom, she’d be even more upset by the truth than she was by the confusion. There was really no easy way out of it for the poor guy, and I thought that I should interject or otherwise change the subject. Still, I suspected that would be especially hard to do with a naked ghost bouncing all over the place, trying to get my attention.

  Before I could think of anything to say, a car screeched to a halt and two men emerged from it. One was tall and muscular, middle-aged, and had a large, bushy mustache. His hair was jet black in spite of his years, though his age was obvious from the deep lines etched across his face.

  The other was slimmer and looked to be younger, with shoulder-length brown hair and some light stubble. “Mrs. Thelma Bay?” the younger man asked, looking directly at my mother.

  “Um, yes,” she stammered.

  “I’m Detective Roy Prescott. This is Detective John Wilkinson. We’re here about a murder,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “We’d like to speak with you in private, ma’am, if you don’t mind.”

  He spoke politely but forcefully. Something told me that when he said, “If you don’t mind,” he meant it as a command. If Mom truly did mind, it was hard to imagine that anything would change. The detectives took her aside to have a private conversation about what was happening. They were interrupted by the arrival of a white vehicle. Five people dressed in blue plastic and carrying equipment hurried inside the house. The younger man, Detective Wilkinson, went inside the house with them.

  The rest of us shuffled about awkwardly while we waited for the detectives and Mom to return. Nobody spoke, presumably for the same reason I didn’t; there wasn’t anything to talk about but awkward conversation or extremely strange questions that nobody wanted to ask, or possibly even wanted answers to.

  After what felt like hours, but was probably about fifteen minutes, Detective Prescott and Mom came back to our group. Prescott appeared to be exasperated, and was rubbing his temples furiously. I could relate. Mom looked somewhat put out, though I imagined that was normal for someone who was being questioned over a murder.

  “This man told me over and over again that I can’t go to the Gold Coast tomorrow. Then he asked me a lot of stupid questions,” Mom said in an exhausted tone. “Is that all?”

  “Not quite, I’m afraid.” Prescott sighed, and then nodded to Wilkinson who had just returned. “I know I asked you before, Mrs. Bay, but we’re still unclear on one point. You hired this escort, yes?”

  Mom nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I did.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying so…” Wilkinson paused to clear his throat. “It’s unusual for a good church-going lady like yourself to partake in something so, um, um....” Clearly, words had failed him.

  “I just needed him to help me, since Pastor Green wouldn’t,” Mom said as she stabbed her finger angrily in the direction of the upset pastor.

  The detectives looked at each other and raised their eyebrows, but said nothing for a moment. “Did you, err, partake of his services?” Prescott asked after a long silence.

  Mom sighed. “I didn’t really have a chance, did I? I had planned to, of course. I had planned out the entire thing, down to each detail. I just needed him to hop in the car and help get me there.”

  “Okay, that’s more than enough information on that,” Wilkinson interjected, much to our collective relief. “What happened when he arrived?”

  “Well, I was understandably nervous, as I’d never hired an escort before. People have recommended those automatic machines, but technology is hard to grasp for somebody my age,” Mom explained, nodding and smiling politely while Wilkinson did his best to hide his disgust.

  “Oh, I didn’t know we were having naked, impeccably-muscular guests,” a familiar voice piped up. I turned to see Ernie standing nearby, rubbing his chin. Why a ghost would need to rub his chin was beyond me, though I supposed it was merely a habit. “Ignoring him for a reason?” he asked me. “Or can’t you see him? Perhaps
he needs to try harder.”

  Of course, neither of us could say anything, given the company we were in. It was bad enough to have a naked ghost wildly flailing about in an attempt to get our attention, but having Ernie here to fuel him on was only making it worse. “Suit yourselves,” Ernie said with a shrug.

  Ian suddenly spoke up. “It’s not quite what you think. You see, Thelma was asking Pastor Green and me for help, but Pastor Green was obviously far too busy, and I have a girlfriend, so we recommended one of the car-mounted ones.” His tone was entirely smug, as if his statement had made sense of the entire matter.

  Wilkinson and Prescott looked shocked, and Ian was seemingly unaware of what he was saying. Unfortunately, he continued. “Well, as Thelma said, she’s not one for technology, so she needed something more hands-on, so to speak. Since she never managed to get there with a machine, she wanted somebody to get her there in person.”

  “That’s enough,” Prescott said firmly, exchanging a shocked glance with Wilkinson. “How did you hire him, Mrs. Bay?”

  “I asked a nice lady I saw downtown standing next to a trailer if she knew where I could get a good escort. She recommended Tom’s agency. She said they were expensive, but worth the extra cost. I called the office number she gave me, though the office lady was a little confused at first,” Mom explained hesitantly, clearly trying hard to think back to what happened.

  “Why is that?” Wilkinson asked, making copious notes in a notepad.

  “When I asked her if Tom was good with directions, she said that he would get me to the Big O, but of course I didn’t want to go all the way to America to see Oprah. I just wanted to go for a road trip,” Mom said simply, “to the Gold Coast.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Prescott asked. “I’m a bit lost.”

  “I bet it was one of the theologians who killed him!” Mom suddenly announced, hands held high. “I have six people staying in the spare rooms here, so it’s obviously one of them. Though why they’d kill poor Tom, I have no idea.”

  “Theologians?” Wilkinson and Prescott shared a glance. “What are they doing here?”

  “Yes, that’s the question, isn’t it!” Thelma snapped. “I thought that they were here to seek the Holy Spirit.”

  “Aren’t we all,” Ian interjected with a sanctimonious smile.

  “Yes, quite so!” Mom smiled, too. “Well, no, I suppose not these six. They’re looking for regular, non-holy ghosts.”

  “They’re ghost hunters?” Wilkinson asked.

  “They write about ghosts,” Mom said sadly. “I had to let them stay, because the Good Book says not to turn away a stranger. That is, in the King James Bible, of course. Goodness knows what the Amplified Bible says!” she added in abject disgust. “God only wrote one Bible, the King James Bible, not those dreadful modern versions that twist His words!”

  The detectives looked at each other. Prescott ran his hands through his hair, as Wilkinson let out a long, pained sigh. “Okay. We have a dead escort, writers-but-not-theologians, and mental imagery that will haunt us to our dying days. Is there anything else?”

  Mom shook her head.

  “Then we’ll get underway. Thank you for your help, Mrs. Bay,” he said to Mom, though I somehow doubted he was sincere. “Now, I’ll ask everyone to move into Mrs. Bay’s house while we question you all.”

  Chapter 4

  The detectives were efficient. They told us all to sit in Mom’s living room and said they would call us one by one. They calmly explained the situation, saying that they were going to question us each privately, and then we would be free to go.

  Basil was still outside, speaking to Duncan. The detectives took Pastor Green and Mom with them first. I wondered why they took both of them when they said they were going to question us individually, especially as Pastor Green had not been in the vicinity when the murder happened. Then I had a lightbulb moment. They wanted Pastor Green to translate for Mom, to explain Mom to them. Good luck with that!

  I had no sooner sat down, than Ian shuffled over to me. “Why don’t you make all our guests a cup of tea, dear,” he said in a patronizing tone.

  “Ian, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times not to call me ‘dear.’ You’re not much older than I am.” I must have said it more loudly than I had intended, because the guests looked at me with shocked expressions on their faces. I took orders, and then hurried to the Butler’s pantry to make everyone some coffee.

  Mom was having her kitchen remodeled, and her first act had been to have a Butler’s pantry installed. Her idea was that she could continue to cook while the rest of the kitchen was being remodeled. I thought it was rather strange that she had taken in paying guests before the kitchen had been done, and I wondered why she had an oven and cooktop in the Butler’s pantry while the very same appliances were to be in the new kitchen itself. Still, there was no point trying to have a logical conversation with her, so I had held my tongue about the whole thing.

  I passed the long-suffering Bryce Wilson, the builder doing the renovation. “You’ve heard about the murder victim?” I asked in passing, and then realized I was talking about it as if it were an everyday occurrence.

  He put his tube of silicon down and looked at me. “Yes,” he grunted. “I hope your mother saved his soul first or he’ll be descending straight to hell, to a lake of fire and brimstone.” With that, he turned back to his work.

  I rolled my eyes. Bryce was from Mom’s church, which was the only reason she had him working for her. His prices were exorbitant, but Mom’s sole requirement for tradespersons was they attended her church. The only reason I felt sorry for him was that Mom kept changing her renovation plans, and he also had to endure the painful process of explaining renovation terms to her. “Would you like a cup of tea?” I asked him. “Or some coffee? The police are questioning everyone in turn, so I’m making tea and coffee for all the guests.”

  “No, thanks,” he muttered without turning around.

  I walked past him into the Butler’s pantry to make coffee for everyone. I put some cookies on a plate and passed them around after I allocated the drinks, trying to distract myself.

  I found it hard to come to terms with the fact that someone had been murdered in my mother’s house, and in her bedroom at that. It was all horribly disturbing, to say the least. I sure hoped the detectives were efficient and discovered whoever it was. If it wasn’t her holier-than-thou builder friend, then it had to be one of the guests, and that put my nerves on edge. They were all still under Mom’s roof.

  As I walked out, I stared at them. Three couples—who would have thought that one or more of them could be murderers?

  Bradley and Bec Musgrave were artistic types, both potters. They were retired, but I had no idea what their respective professions had been. They were brightly dressed, Bradley less so, but they both had the air of an artist about them. Robert and Louise Quinn were retired schoolteachers, and looked pleasant enough. They were more conservatively dressed. And then there were the two who were more talkative than the others, James and Jenny Thorogood. They had not yet retired—James was a therapist, and Jenny was in retail.

  What possible motive could any one of them have to kill an escort?

  No sooner had I taken my seat, than Mom and Pastor Green emerged. “I’m not allowed to speak to anyone,” she announced dramatically. “The detectives told Pastor Green to stop me speaking until after they had spoken to everyone.”

  I suppressed a smile. The poor man had already failed in his duty.

  I handed him a cookie by way of compensation and asked if he’d like some coffee. He said that he would, and I was on my way back to the Butler’s pantry when Basil forestalled me. “I’ll make it, Laurel. You sit down.”

  “Thanks, Basil. I didn’t even see you come in.”

  “I just got here. I was speaking to Duncan.” He walked in the direction of the kitchen, while I sat down once more, this time next to Jenny Thorogood.

  Detective Wilk
inson poked his head around the corner and called to James. He stood up quickly and hurried into the room. Jenny watched after him as he left, looking nervous, though I assumed that was normal enough, given that her spouse was being questioned for murder and she was next.

  “Do you know how he was killed?” she asked me.

  I shook my head. “Not a clue.”

  “How was it?” Ian asked the pastor, who looked more than a little put out. “What exactly did they ask you?”

  The pastor’s face flushed beet red, and he stammered for a moment. “They asked me a bit more about the area, local history and such. I’m sure they knew most of it, so I can only assume I was being quizzed to see if I was exactly who I claimed I am.”

  “They don’t believe that you’re a pastor? But so many of us can account for you,” Ian said.

  Pastor Green shrugged. “I don’t know. I couldn’t really make sense of it all, but I suppose it’s good that I’m not used to questions about murder.” He laughed half-heartedly.

  It was abundantly clear to me that the pastor did not want to explain to all and sundry that he had been called in simply to make sense of Mom’s replies.

  “Why would they ask you about the local area?” Ian said loudly. “It seems more likely that they were asking for a different reason. Did you preach to them, Pastor Green? Did you invite them to our church? If that poor, wicked man had seen the light, now he wouldn’t be burning in hell caused by his own damnation.”

  Mom agreed. “Yes, and without a stitch on. Well, that will teach Satan!”

  “How?” I said, before I could stop myself.

  “Even Satan would be embarrassed by a naked man,” Mom explained.

  Ian disagreed. “No, Thelma. Satan is the cause of all nakedness.”

  “Oh, yes, you’re right, Ian.” Mom was clearly not offended by Ian’s reprimand. “Silly me. Yes, the Bible says to put on clothes of righteousness.” She nodded sagely.