Christmas Spirit (The Middle-aged Ghost Whisperer Book 1): (Ghost Cozy Mystery series) Read online

  “Oh.” I felt my cheeks burn as I walked over to the computer. “What do you need me to look up?”

  Five minutes later, I was stressed. “Are you sure you don’t remember just a little more?” I gazed at the computer screen in frustration. Even with his help, I did not find anything different from my search at the airport. Plus, no matter how hard I searched, I could not find any news about Alum being shot.

  Alum explained that away by saying that the police had likely put a gag order on the media. “Sorry, I wasn’t on social media, either.” He leaned over my shoulder to stare at the screen. “In my job, I had to keep a low profile.”

  I was out of ideas. His spotty memory barred us from a lot of information. “Did you have a wife? Do you remember her maiden name? Maybe we can track you down through your connection.”

  Alum gave a pained look as he leaned away from the screen. “No wife. I did once, but that’s ancient history.”

  “I’m sorry.” I regretted the question as soon as I saw the look on his face. “Children?”

  He shook his head a second time. “I wanted kids, but my wife didn’t. She didn’t want to ruin her figure. She was a model. Said she had to maintain her appearance for her work. I went along with it. Modeling isn’t a lifelong occupation. I figured we could just wait until she was ready to settle down, but then she took off with a photographer. Took the house and about everything she could latch her claws into.” He shook his head ruefully. “After that, I just felt too old to jump back into that world, you know, the dating scene. It seemed like a lot of fuss.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again.

  Alum gestured to a photo of me with my kids and my ex-husband, Todd. “Looks like you made out all right,” he said. It was a picture taken years ago, when we were all still a happy loving family—when I thought we were a happy loving family. Alum must have noticed my expression. “I’m sorry. I said something I shouldn’t have.”

  “No, you’re fine.” I forced a smile. “Constance put that photo there.” I shook my head. “I’ve asked her not to, but she was the one who took the photo. I’ve known Constance for years. It’s like a running joke between us. I always explain to her that I don’t want a photo of Todd in my house, but she insists I should have it.” I grimaced. I was going to have to have yet another talk with Constance. I would also have to take scissors to the photo and remove Todd. “It was a long time ago. I’ve been divorced for years now. In fact, it all started when Todd fell off the roof and broke his ankle. That’s when I started my shows. Someone had to make money.”

  Alum nodded. “Sounds reasonable enough. Gotta eat. Gotta keep a roof over the kids’ heads. I take it he didn’t like it much?”

  I stared at my hands in my lap. “No, especially not when I was gone for days. It didn’t help that his friends and family made comments. You know, talking to spirits was evil, and that kind of thing. Most of them thought I was making it all up.”

  It also hadn’t helped that my shows brought in more money in one weekend than he made in a pay cycle. The sheer numbers of people who came to hear me speak for the dead exceeded every expectation. The resentment in his eyes every time he insisted on knowing the numbers was gut wrenching. I had nearly decided to quit when he filed for divorce.

  “My son is married now,” I added. “He and his wife teach in Dubai. I’m very close to both of them.” I smiled as I gazed at Mark’s photo, but then my eyes fell on the little girl in the picture. “Sabrina doesn’t even speak to me anymore. She blames me for our family falling apart. Her father has made it his life’s work to keep her angry with me. I thought that when she went to college, she would be away from him long enough to think for herself, but...”

  I shook my head at the sour memory. That happy family in the picture had crumbled so easily to one man’s nastiness. “Maybe they were right, though. If I hadn’t spent so much time away doing these shows, maybe it never would have happened.”

  “Nonsense!” Alum said sharply. His hand reached out for mine, but passed straight through it. “You tried to take care of your family as best you could. There’s no shame in that. He’d have found something else to complain about.”

  I shrugged. “I’d like to believe that.”

  He gave me a reassuring smile. “Then do.”

  Just my luck, I thought. My first serious conversation in ages with an attractive man. He’s so nice, too.

  And as dead as a doornail.

  Chapter 5

  So much for time off before the onslaught of the relatives. I had been planning on rest and relaxation, but now it looked as if I had to spend my spare time reading up on Brady Wayland’s murder.

  I made myself a cup of coffee and took it into my living room. There is nothing like the scent of freshly brewed coffee first thing in the morning.

  I sat on the couch and watched the steam rise from my coffee, yawning away the last bit of tiredness. The morning sun was harsh, so I walked over to draw the curtains on the window that face east. From the northern window, I could see the birds at my feeder, raucous cockatoos fighting with each other on top of the feeder, and the brightest of green budgerigars swooping in between them for some of the grain. A wild duck with her three ducklings nestled together under my camellia tree.

  My fat gray and white cat, Possum, stood on the windowsill and watched the birds. She would have loved to escape outside and murder one for a snack.

  “No you don’t,” I said to her, but she ignored me. I sighed and leaned back on the couch, placing my feet on the coffee table in front of me. It was a sturdy pine box I had bought from a bargain store, and I had chalk painted it and dry brushed it. Now I would have time for chalk painting, and maybe find some more furniture bargains I could upcycle, if the murder case didn’t intrude too much.

  I shut my eyes. The murder case. Just my luck. The first man I had ever been able to talk with easily, and he was dead. He was rather good-looking, too. For a dead man, I reminded myself for the umpteenth time. I shook my head and pulled my laptop onto my lap. I opened as many articles as I could find on Brady Wayland, and not one of them brought up the fact that it might not have been a suicide.

  And then I found a video. With anticipation, I moved my cursor to the play button and clicked it. It was an all-too-short clip of a woman being interviewed by a reporter. She said that her brother, Brady Wayland, would not have committed suicide. The text beneath the video said that her name was Amanda Wayland.

  I closed my laptop and set it aside. So, Brady had a sister. I had no idea how that would help, except for the fact that she insisted that his death was not a suicide. It only took me moments to find her address online.

  And so, an hour later I found myself on a lonely cul-de-sac. There were only eight houses on the street, four on each side. The road itself ended at a chain link fence, with an overgrown field beyond. I pulled over outside the driveway.

  Amanda answered within seconds of me knocking. “Yes?” she asked through her screen door.

  “I was hoping to talk to you,” I said. “My name is Prudence Wallflower.”

  I was going to say more, but she cut me off. “Have we met?”

  “No, but I saw you on the news. I was hoping to speak with you about your brother.”

  “Will it ever stop?” Her tone was angry, and she began to shut her door. When it was almost shut, she spoke again. “You reporters are all the same. Get lost!”

  “Wait,” I said sharply.

  For some reason, thankfully, she paused.

  “I’m not a reporter,” I said quickly. “I’m a clairvoyant medium. I want to help find the truth about who killed your brother.”

  The door opened a little more. “A clairvoyant medium?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I tour the country with my live show. I communicate with spirits, and pass on messages from those who have passed over.”

  “I know what a medium is,” she snapped at me. “I don’t believe in it.”

  Still, she hadn’t shut the do
or, so I pressed on. “Please, let me come in and speak with you. I won’t take up much of your time. I truly want to help.”

  Amanda seemed to weigh my request. “Fine,” she said after a lengthy delay. She pulled open the door and then reached forward and pushed the screen door open as well.

  As I stepped in, I could smell bread baking. It gave the place a homey feel, despite the fact that there was very little natural light. The dark, heavy curtains were drawn, and the only light emanated from a dim lamp in one corner. The television was on, but the sound was muted. Even by the light of the television, I could tell that everything was spotless if not rather garish. I wondered why she chose to sit in a darkened room.

  Amanda crossed to open the curtains at the large window by the door, and light flooded in. I blinked as it reflected on the huge pink chandelier hanging just inside the door. “Would you like coffee?” she asked in a tone that suggested that she did not want me to accept.

  I shook my head. “No, thanks. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” Now that I could see her properly, I studied her. She was good looking and well groomed, even though she had not been expecting guests. Her clothes were on the tight and revealing side, and I wondered vaguely if she had ever been a Penthouse Pet. There was an overtly sensual air about her, and her furnishings were all over-the-top glitz and glam.

  Amanda sat on a chair at right angles to mine. “I recognize you now. I’ve seen you on TV. So, you can see things?” she asked warily.

  “No, not really,” I said. “I can often communicate with the souls of those who have departed.”

  She leaned forward in her chair. “Can you talk to my brother?” she asked urgently.

  I frowned. “No, he’s not coming through. I must explain—I can’t choose the souls I speak with. I never initiate anything; it’s the spirits who choose to speak with me. Right now, I cannot pick up on your brother at all.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to help?”

  I hesitated. “It’s just that I saw what happened to your brother on the news, and I felt as though suicide wasn’t what had really happened. I wanted to speak with you. I’m sorry, there’s nothing more than that. It’s just feelings.”

  Amanda sighed. “My brother was going to play a criminal in a film. The famous cocaine dealer, Martin Taylor. You’ve heard of him?”

  I nodded.

  “He started hanging out with Martin Taylor’s son and his friends, you know, for research. The night before he died, he called me and said that he’d found out something. He sounded scared.”

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  “He didn’t tell me any details. He said it was better if I didn’t know. But he was scared about something, and the next day, he was dead.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I told the police, but they didn’t take me seriously. I just know he didn’t kill himself.”

  I nodded, at a loss as to what to say next. This lead was turning out to be a dead end, no pun intended.

  Amanda stood suddenly and hurried from the room. She returned with a plain brown coffee mug. “This was Brady’s. Well, he used to drink out of it when he visited me.” She handed it to me. “Can you get the vibes off this?”

  I took the cup and shook my head. “No, I’m a clairvoyant medium. I don’t do psychometry.” Amanda’s expression was blank, so I continued. “Psychometry is getting impressions from things. I can’t do that. Sometimes holding something of the soul of the departed does help the soul come though, which is not the same as psychometry. Well, it’s not helping with your brother,” I added. I held the coffee mug and concentrated, turning it in my hands, but nothing happened. “Perhaps if I go to his old place of residence.”

  Amanda shook her head. “The police still won’t let anyone in there. That in itself makes me think they consider it to be a crime scene, but they’re not telling me anything. Hang on a moment.” She left the room once more, and this time returned holding a photograph.

  I took it from her. It was a log cabin surrounded by eucalyptus trees, as well as wattles in full golden bloom. The roof was tin and sharply sloped. A porch stretched across the front of the cabin. On it were two bright pink rocking chairs, which contrasted shockingly with the serene beauty of the landscape.

  “That’s our family’s cabin,” Amanda said. “We went there as children, and our parents left it to Brady in their will. It will be mine now. I’ve never liked it. I’m spending some time out there at the moment, cleaning it up a bit so I can put it on the market as soon as probate is through. If you go there, do you think you could sense Brady? He loved that place.”

  I hesitated. “Is it far from here?”

  Amanda shook her head. “No, it isn’t. I can write directions for you. Brady kept the keys under a potted daisy right by the steps.”

  I took my leave, and headed for the cabin. Amanda’s directions were easy to follow, and soon I was turning down a dirt trail. Just as I was opening my door, there was a phone call.

  “Hi, Clara, oh sorry, Rainbow,” I said in one breath, and then held the phone as far away from me as I could. After a few moments, I gingerly put the phone closer to me. “Where are you? What is that ghastly screeching sound?” I asked.

  “That’s just Luke,” she said cheerfully. “He’s angry because we’re not at your place yet.”

  I held the phone out again as her words were followed by more ear-piercing shrieks. When I put the phone back to my ear, I realized that Clara was halfway through telling me something. “And that’s why Christina and Uncle Tim are traveling in another car.”

  “I see.” I had no idea what she’d said first, but I figured Christina and Uncle Tim were traveling in another car because they didn’t want to arrive at my house with industrial deafness. “How far away are you now?”

  “Three hours,” she said. “I have to go. Luke asked me not to speak to you any more.” With that, she hung up.

  Note to self: buy ibuprofen in bulk.

  Chapter 6

  The cabin was just as it looked in the photos. The hideous pink chairs sat outside the front door, but that was the only jarring note in the landscape before me. I could hear the murmuring of a little creek that ran below the cabin. Two kookaburras screeched a warning that a human had arrived in their environment. The air smelled dry, yet fragrant with the pungent scent of the overhanging eucalyptus trees, and the dying brown grass crackled under my feet as I walked to the cabin from my car.

  I spotted the potted daisy at once. It wasn’t doing well. In fact, it was dead. No doubt Brady hadn’t been out to the cabin for ages before he was killed, and it was obvious that there had been no rain for some time. I gingerly tipped over the pot, knowing that at least one redback spider would be under it. I was right. The hideous thing clung to the bottom of the pot. My reaction was to squeal and hurl the pot away from me.

  Redback spiders were nowhere near as deadly as funnel web spiders, and, in fact, there had been no reported fatalities since the introduction of antivenom decades ago. Still, they gave a nasty bite. On the upside, they were not aggressive. I picked up the key and walked up the steps.

  I paused at the door to see if I could sense Brady. Not a thing. I shrugged and turned the key in the lock. It was a cute little cabin, with barely any furniture. There was no dust, so I assumed that Amanda had been cleaning it as she’d said, it ready to sell at the first opportunity. It was just the sort of cabin I would like to own, but I could never live out here with two cats. They would create havoc with the wildlife, and themselves be in danger from any manner of venomous snakes that were known to live in the district.

  The interior was rudimentary but charming. It was open concept, with a countertop that represented the kitchen up at one end, and a double bed next to a sofa down at the other end. Natural light flooded in through plain glass as well as stained glass windows. I stopped to admire the leadlight workings of the two native flowers, waratahs and kangaroo paws, and then crossed the room to open the back door. Behind it w
as a tiny bathroom, the walls of mud brick, and containing just a hand basin, shower, and a toilet complete with two fat green frogs——live ones—sitting on top.

  There was no electricity out here, which explained the number of candles sitting on top of the combustion stove. I figured that the refrigerator was powered by gas tanks. Still, I was not here to do a property inspection; I was here to make contact with Brady. And it seemed that Brady did not want to come through.

  I walked back outside to sit on one of the garish chairs, after first tipping it over to make sure its bottom didn’t harbor any redback spiders. Black cockatoos flew overhead, making their unnerving cries that always made me shudder. The region’s indigenous local Koori peoples said that the call of the black cockatoo forecast rain, and I hoped that was true. A fox sauntered along the edge of the bush right in front of me, either oblivious to the fact I was there, or simply not caring.

  I sat for a while, trying to focus on Brady. I had no sense of the man, and I doubted I ever would. If he were going to come through, he surely would have by now. My thoughts turned to myself. The cabin had a romantic feel to it, and that made me somewhat sorry for myself.

  Christmas was coming up, and that time of year always made me sad. I used to be a hopeless romantic, but now I was just plain-old cynical. I was in my fifties, and alone just before Christmas. I was fully aware that lovers would be at home in this cabin. Instead, I was alone, and here simply to find out what had happened to a dead man.

  I went back inside, and as soon as the door shut behind me, I had an impression. Brady was there, but he had not come through fully. There was a sense of foreboding, of anger and pain. I reached for more, but the impression remained on the periphery of my senses. I focused as hard as I could, but he did not come forward. I clutched at my stomach as a wave of shock and anger coursed through me. I knew what it meant. Brady had indeed been murdered.

  And then, there was something else, a word that came through clearly. Cyclops.