The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion

Table of Contents

“I love this series. Pen and Jack are such likable characters . . . This series is so well written . . . I highly recommend this book and the complete series.”

—
Spinetingler Magazine

 

“Cleverly devised . . . starring an offbeat combo.”

—
Midwest Book Review

 

 

“A beguiling and bewitching mystery that will enchant readers . . . Alice Kimberly is a talented storyteller.”

—
The Best Reviews

 

“Combining elements of cozy mysteries with detective noir, throwing in a bit of the paranormal, this is a series that will please any mystery fan.”—
The Romance Readers Connection

 

 

“A deliciously charming mystery with a haunting twist!”

—Laura Childs, author of
Death Swatch

 

“Quindicott’s enigmatic townspeople come alive in this quirky mystery, and readers will eagerly anticipate future installments—and the continuing easy banter and romantic tension between Jack and Penelope.”—
Romantic Times

 

“Ms. Kimberly has penned a unique premise and cast of characters to hook us on her first of a series.”—
Rendezvous

 

“Part cozy and part hard-boiled detective novel with traces of the supernatural,
The Ghost and Mrs. McClure
is just a lot of fun.”—
The Mystery Reader

 

“Charming, funny, and quirky . . . He is hard-boiled in the tradition of Philip Marlowe and she is a genteel Miss Marple . . . An explosive combination. Alice Kimberly definitely has a hit series if the first book is anything to go by.”

—
Midwest Book Review

 

“What a delightful new mystery series! I was hooked from the start . . . I adored the ghost of Jack . . . Pairing him with the disbelieving Penelope is a brilliant touch.”

—
Roundtable Reviews

 

 

To read more about the Haunted Bookshop Mysteries
or the Coffeehouse Mysteries, visit the author’s website at
www.CoffeehouseMystery.com
.

 

THE GHOST AND MRS. McCLURE

THE GHOST AND THE DEAD DEB

THE GHOST AND THE DEAD MAN’S LIBRARY

THE GHOST AND THE FEMME FATALE

THE GHOST AND THE HAUNTED MANSION

 

 

ON WHAT GROUNDS

THROUGH THE GRINDER

LATTE TROUBLE

MURDER MOST FROTHY

DECAFFEINATED CORPSE

FRENCH PRESSED

ESPRESSO SHOT

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

THE GHOST AND THE HAUNTED MANSION

 

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the authors

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / January 2009

Copyright © 2009 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

eISBN : 978-1-440-65828-0

 

BERKLEY
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PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY
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PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA)
Inc.

 

 

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Once again, the author tips her fedora to
Wendy McCurdy, executive editor,
and
John Talbot, literary agent.
Class acts from start to finish.

 

And a very special thank-you to Allison Brandau
for her valuable editorial input.

Don’t you see . . . if everyone rushes off at the slightest sound, of course the house gets a bad name. It’s too ridiculous, really, in the twentieth century to believe in apparitions . . .

 

—The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
by R. A. Dick
(a.k.a. Josephine Aimée Campbell Leslie)

PROLOGUE

“So you’re a private detective,” she said. “I didn’t know they really existed, except in books.”

—The Big Sleep
, Raymond Chandler, 1939

 

 

 

Third Avenue Lunchroom
New York City
September 10, 1947

 

“WHAT’S GOOD TODAY, Birdie?”

“It’s all good.”

“You say that every day.”

“It’s all good every day.”

Jack Shepard tossed his fedora onto the dull green counter and stifled a yawn. It was close to noon already, but he’d been on a tail much of the night.

One more cheating Charlie
, he thought,
only this time Charlie wasn’t stepping out on his Park Avenue wife. This genius came all the way from Pittsburgh to sample the side dish.

Jack had been hired by a PI in PA who didn’t feel like riding the rails all the way to the Big Apple. Jack filed his report by phone and collected his dough by wire. Now the job was over.

At least the case was open-and-shut, which was fine with Jack now that he’d lost a night’s shut-eye over it. Anyway, he had a payday in his pocket, he’d earned a night off, and he was hoping to spend it with something a whole lot softer than a whiskey bottle.

Jack dragged out a fresh deck of Luckies, shook one clear. While Birdie went for his coffee, he lit up and took a drag. Someone had left a
Times
behind and he skimmed the page one headlines—“Butter Rises to 90 Cents a Pound,” “Truman Hails National Guard,” “Long Island Fire Kills 8” . . .

“So what else is new?” Jack turned on his stool and cased the rickety wooden tables.

Same old tired crew, except for the little twerp from that Midtown blab sheet. Most days, Timothy Brennan drank his lunch at the hotel bar up the block. The newshound only showed here when he was down on his luck—or angling for a story.

“Hey, Shepard,” Brennan called from across the lunchroom. “What do ya know, what do ya say?”

To you? Nothing,
Jack thought.

The last time he’d answered “a few questions” for Tim Brennan about a case he was working, the little punk put it in print. Jack figured “off the record,” “in confidence,” and “private” were words the little snot-nosed scribbler had failed to learn at that upstate college. Brennan got a bonus for his article. Jack nearly got killed. So he made sure Brennan got an extra-special bonus from Jack personally: a nice black one around the vicinity of his eye in the blab sheet’s back alley.

“Why aren’t you at the Mayfair, kid?” Jack called. “Lose on the ponies again? Or was it the fights this time?”

“Got a hot tip, Jack?”

“Yeah, you’re a degenerate gambler. Quit while you’re behind.”

“Thanks but no thanks, Shepard. I’ll stop up to see you later.”

“Sure, you do that,” Jack called.
’Cause I won’t be there.

“So what’ll you have today?” Birdie asked as she poured his coffee.

“Your Blue Plate.”

“Wow, a big spender.”

“Yeah, two whole bits for roast beef and smashed potatoes.” Jack threw her a wink.

Birdie was new behind the counter. Jack liked her butter-scotch curls and bluebonnet eyes. Only one thing bugged him: She grinned too much—like those Square Jane cheer-leader types who didn’t have a clue how the world really turned. For all their giggling, Jack found them about as much fun as a sober sunrise. But the last few days, Birdie had started glancing at him with a different kind of smile, flirty little flashes that promised a grown woman might be smoldering somewhere beneath that pink, frilly tent of an apron, one that came out when the sun went down.

“You’re missing a real catch here, you know,” Jack told her. “I just got paid.”

“Is that right?”

“Sure. And I got big plans for us tonight. Interested?”

Birdie arched a blond eyebrow. “My friend Viv warned me about you, Jack Shepard.”

“Viv?” he said, considering Birdie’s bountiful curves—what he could see of them, anyway, on his side of the counter. “You mean Vivian Truby? The cocktail waitress at the Mayfair up the block?”