The Ghost and Mrs. Mewer (A Paws and Claws Mystery Book 2) (19 page)

“Holmes, would you take the boys over to the Ouija board table?” asked Clementine. “They’ve been itching to play with it.”

“Sure thing. C’mon fellas. Do you know any ghosts you want to talk to?” The twins ran to the table with Holmes on their heels.

Clementine crossed her arms, still clutching her old stuffed dog. “I trusted you, Holly. I can’t believe you went to Dave and blabbed about my problems.”

“Sorry, Clementine, but you’re angry with the wrong person. I didn’t say a word to Dave.” I glanced over at Oma, but didn’t rat on her. If I had to bet, I would put my money on the interim mayor of Wagtail running to the police about Parker Colby.

“You obviously told Holmes.”

“Did not! Everyone knows that you’re divorced. What’s the big deal about that?”

A long sigh shuddered out of her mouth. “It’s that stupid Parker Colby. He has me on edge. Look at him over there pretending he doesn’t see us.”

He was leaning against a tree, casual and unconcerned.

“Did Dave talk to him?”

“Says Parker has a clean record. Dave asked him to stay away from me.”

“And Parker said?”

“Some kind of garbage about being attracted to me.”

“You’re still beautiful. Maybe he was serious.”

“Oh, puh-leeze! Not you, too. I’m a divorcée with three small children and not a . . .” Clementine winced. “And more problems than anyone can imagine.”

“Is there something I can do to help?”

“Find someone to rent the space where Putting on the Dog used to be. It’s one of the biggest storefronts in town, just sitting there empty. If we had a tenant, it would produce a cash flow again, which would be such a big help.”

“Parker said he was looking for an office for his dog magazine.”

She shot me a dirty look. “I want him to
leave
town! Not to stick around.”

All three of her children ran back to her clamoring for her attention. She addressed each of them, oohing and aahing in excitement with them.

Her daughter handed me Trixie’s leash. “Trixie was very good. She was the first one to find a bone!”

Why did that not surprise me? “Thank you for taking such good care of her.”

Clementine gave me a little wave. She joined Mr. Huckle, and they started across the street with the children.

“Who was that?” Ben had sidled up to me.

“An old friend, Clementine Wiggins.”

Ben watched her fade into the night. “Very attractive.”

And acting very peculiar.

Holmes loped up to us. “Ben, would you mind giving me a hand loading the coffin into Doc’s golf cart? It’s a little heavy for some of the scouts.”

Ben readily agreed. I hoped the scouts were stronger than Holmes thought, because Ben had trouble lifting a heavy briefcase.

With the ghost hunters and scouts pitching in, we made short work of cleaning up.

The general consensus was that there wouldn’t be sufficient time to stop for dessert at a restaurant, because the ghost hunters and their new pals, Ben and Holmes, had to be at Aunt Birdie’s in about an hour and a half.

Holmes prodded me. “I bet there’s dessert in Oma’s magic refrigerator.”

I bet there was, too. “Let’s go back to the inn. I’m sure I can find something yummy.”

Trixie shook like a wet dog when I removed her leash in the lobby of the inn. “Are you glad to be able to run around with Casper?”

She answered by trotting over to her new friend.

Eva crooked her finger at Ben. He followed her to the cat wing. Holmes saw them and hurried after them.

What were they up to? I couldn’t help tagging along.

Eva unlocked her room.

“What’s going on?” I whispered to Holmes.

“Eva promised to show us the flashlight trick.”

Ohhh.
I wanted to see it, too. It had been astonishing when I saw it live at the Wagtail Springs Hotel.

Holmes closed the door behind us, and Eva fetched a flashlight.

She held it out to us. “Care to examine it?”

Holmes opened it and looked inside. “Just a battery-operated flashlight. Looks ordinary enough to me.”

“Are there any ghosts known to inhabit this room, Holly?” asked Eva.

“No. This is the new wing. It was built in the last few years.”

Eva grinned. “Okay. I’m going to turn out the lights. Is everyone ready?”

She placed the flashlight on the dresser and turned off the overhead light. “If there is a spirit in this room, please acknowledge your presence by turning on the flashlight.”

We waited. Seconds ticked by. Suddenly, the flashlight turned on.

Ben gasped, “Cool!”

I understood why—it was quite impressive.

“Thank you,” said Eva.

The flashlight went out.

“Is your name Goober?” asked Eva.

The flashlight flicked on immediately.

When it turned off, once again she thanked the ghost. “Goober, have you ever murdered anyone? If so, please turn on the light.”

This time it took a little bit longer, but the light turned on again.

Eva was laughing when she hit the switch for the overhead light.

“How did you do that?” asked Holmes. “It seemed like Goober was really here.”

“Watch the flashlight,” she said.

Oddly enough, it flicked on again. Eva picked it up and unscrewed the top. “There are two tricks here. The easiest is to screw the top on just enough to make a loose connection. The light is turning itself on and off because because the top isn’t attached properly. The connection breaks and it goes out.”

“What’s the second trick?” asked Ben.

“Timing your questions right. Sometimes the light comes on faster than a ghost hunter expects. Of course, that’s when he has to make a joke about the ghost being eager.”

“Are there other tricks that are this easy?” Holmes tried the flashlight trick, screwing the top on and off until he thought it was just right.

“You’ll probably see some tonight. Feelings are difficult to disprove. Sometimes I can find a draft in a spot everyone claims is cold because of a spirit presence, but it’s nearly impossible to explain being touched on the shoulder or the sensation of being watched.”

“I thought some people are more open to spirits,” said Holmes. “Like my grandmother Rose. She’s seen them her whole life.”

Eva nodded. “Obviously, I can’t see what they’re claiming to see. It’s fascinating to me that every culture has spirits and ghosts. Sophisticated cultures and primitive tribes—they all share in the belief of the supernatural.”

“Doesn’t that support their existence?” asked Holmes.

“There are a few things that everyone on this planet has in common. One of them is death. It only stands to reason then that all peoples need to develop a mechanism to cope with that.”

I wanted to listen to more, but everyone was in a rush tonight to get over to Birdie’s to hunt for ghosts at her house. “I hate to leave this conversation, but I have to find some desserts. Excuse me.”

“I’ll be there to help in a minute,” called Holmes.

I walked through the dining area to the official inn kitchen. If luck was with me, I might find an entire cake or a platter of lemon bars. I opened the walk-in cooler to look around. Eureka! Cupcakes! Some had chocolate icing with candy corn pumpkins on top, others had white frosting with spiderwebs. A few even had black Halloween cats on them. I retrieved a cupcake stand and loaded it up, thinking that I hadn’t seen the black Halloween cat toy in a while. Trixie must have lost it.

Holmes stuck his head inside the door. “There you are. What can I do?”

“Carry this into the sitting room for me? And then come back for the cups?” I loaded a tray with cups, saucers, dessert plates, spoons, and napkins, and added a couple of dog cupcakes and some fishy-smelling kitty treats for Twinkletoes and Mrs. Mewer. On another tray, I added creamer and sugar.

Ben wandered in as I was making coffee. He adjusted his glasses. “Holly, I think I might have been wrong about you moving here.”

I looked over at him in surprise.

“I thought you were out of your mind to move to a remote place where everything revolves around pets. There’s not even a Starbucks!—which I still think is nothing short of barbaric. But I’m really enjoying the ghost hunters. Maybe they’re not typical Sugar Maple Inn guests, but they’re smart and interesting. I guess I’m starting to see what you like about Wagtail.” He looked around. “Where are your dog and cat?”

“They’re not allowed in the official inn kitchen. It’s the way Wagtail meets the state regulations. People food is prepared in kitchens where animals are not allowed.”

He frowned at me. “I’ll have to check on that. It doesn’t sound right at all. They shouldn’t be in dining areas, either.”

“Leave it alone. They worked it out long before I came here. I mean it, Ben. Don’t start trouble.”

He nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly. He brightened up. “Hey, are you coming with us to Aunt Birdie’s tonight?”

Why did it bother me so much when other people called her Aunt Birdie? I guessed she must like that title, but somehow it made me suspicious. When had she gotten to know Ben that well? She’d made a point about being Miss Dupuy to Felix. “No, thanks. I need to get some sleep. While you guys snooze tomorrow morning, I’ll be up and about.”

I handed him the tray with the creamer. “Take this and give it to Holmes. He’ll know where to put it.”

“Like it’s so complicated that I can’t figure it out?”

I ignored his sarcasm, poured coffee into a pot and trailed along to the sitting room, where I made the rounds pouring coffee.

Ben surprised me by being so comfortable that he looked like he belonged to the Apparition Apprehenders. I watched him engaging Felix and Eva in a lively conversation. What happened to my boring ex-boyfriend? The one who didn’t believe in ghosts? Suddenly he was eager to stay up all night and go with them to Aunt Birdie’s house? The Ben I knew would have rather curled up with a book in the privacy of his own home.

And then it hit me. Maybe
I
was the staid one. All these people were excited about staying up most of the night to search for ghosts. I had seen my own great-grandfather’s book fly off a table at Aunt Birdie’s house for absolutely no good reason, yet I was much more interested in going to bed. But I cut myself some slack because I hadn’t had more than a few hours’ sleep since I arrived.

Tomorrow I would lighten up.

After they left for Birdie’s, I dutifully lugged everything back to the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher and turned it on so the cook wouldn’t have to deal with dirty dishes in the morning. When everything was tidy, I took Trixie out to the doggy potty.

Stars shone bright in the velvety sky. There wasn’t a sound in the night. No wind, no voices, no ghosts, no cars, no barking. Just a peaceful night in the mountains.

We headed upstairs to our quarters. Twinkletoes and Mrs. Mewer were waiting for us, watching TV. I’d been here for days, and I still didn’t know where the remote was. I used the button on the TV set to turn it off and headed straight to bed.

*   *   *

With the ghost hunters entertaining Aunt Birdie and no one screaming in the middle of the night, I finally managed to get a decent night’s sleep. In the morning, I was uncharacteristically energetic and ready to get going.

Trixie opened her eyes briefly before rolling over to continue snoozing. I peeked into the kitchen, where steaming tea awaited me. With a bite of chocolate croissant in my mouth, I opened the cat door for Twinkletoes and Mrs. Mewer.

I popped in the shower, blew my hair dry, and pulled on a black-and-white houndstooth dress. I fastened the narrow black belt at the waist and slid into black suede flats. I stepped outside on my balcony while I fastened silver earrings on my earlobes.

The sun shone on Wagtail. The usual early birds ran or walked with their dogs and cats. A few people sat on park benches enjoying coffee. In spite of Mallory’s death, I was brimming with happiness at being in Wagtail.

When I went inside, I found Ben lounging in one of the cushy chairs, drinking coffee and noshing on chocolate croissants. Trixie sat on the huge footstool trying out all her best begging faces. She raised a paw, but it had no impact on Ben.

“How can you sleep with all these animals around?” Ben grumbled. “The cats clawed at the door until I opened it. Then they jumped on the bed, over the bed, over me, played tag, ran through the apartment, and returned to stare at me. Kind of like they’re doing now.”

Twinkletoes and Mrs. Mewer sat on the hearth. Mrs. Mewer yowled a loud complaint.

“They were trying to tell you to feed them.”

“Ohhhh.”

They shot to the kitchen ahead of me and rubbed against my legs while I spooned Cheesy Chicken into two bowls.

Trixie ran back and forth between them and Ben, unsure where she might score a snack.

I coaxed her away from the cats with a crunchy dog biscuit.

“Does that old fellow bring you coffee every morning?”

“Mr. Huckle delivers tea to me. And he’s off two days a week, so it’s not every morning.”

Ben yawned and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I thought you were insane to move here. But you’ve got it pretty cushy. This apartment is four times the size of my place. And you never have to cook. You just walk into a kitchen and help yourself.”