The Haunted Beach (Tropical Breeze Cozy Mystery Book 4) (19 page)

The women all turned to him, and Willa said, “I’m entertaining my friends, Rod.”

“Smells good. Could you get me some?” He was unloading the boxed filters on the cooking island. “They were on sale, so I got three.”

Willa’s face grew red. “Darling, do you mind? We’re having brunch.”

“Yeah, well, I gotta eat too, you know. Never mind. I’ll get it myself.”

He got a plate out of the cupboard and went to the long pan sitting across the range top. There was a sheet of aluminum foil sitting loosely over it, and he threw that aside and shoveled out the last few pieces of French toast. Then he dug around and got as much of the sugary glaze as he could get.

“I was saving those last pieces in case my guests wanted more,” Willa said, her voice getting tight.

Taylor and Claire simultaneously declared themselves to be full, very full, might not eat dinner tonight, might not eat for days.

“Really,” Taylor concluded. “Couldn’t eat another bite.”

“See?” Rod said from the kitchen counter where he was eating noisily. “They don’t want any more.”

Taylor turned to give Willa a reassuring smile and was dismayed to see her burst into tears.

“What the hell is wrong with you, woman?” Rod said with his mouth full.

Claire fixed him with a deadly stare. “She just realized she’s married to an asshole.”

He stared at them with popping eyes.

Claire stroked Willa’s arm. “Would you like to come over to my house for a while?” she asked gently.

“No. I’m a married woman now, and I have to learn how to work things out. I’ll handle this.”

“Handle what?” Rod said. “Got some more little secrets to tell me? Let your girlfriends stay and hear it. May as well. You like to put on a show, don’t you?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Willa said.

“It was a lovely brunch,” Taylor said. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Willa said. “Because of Rod?”

“Why didn’t you tell me
before
we got married that you were a goddamn blueblood heiress rich bitch? Why did you have to announce it in front of the whole neighborhood and leave me standing there looking like a fool? Like I married you for your money or something. They could all see that I didn’t know.”

“I – I’m sorry,” Willa said stiffly. “I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. It just came out. What Ben said –“

“Oh, to hell with Ben! This has nothing to do with Ben. You should have told
me,
and you should have told me
before
we were married. I would have signed a prenuptial agreement, but no-oo. You didn’t even give me a chance. You had to make a spectacle of yourself.”

“Goodbye, Willa, and thanks again.”

Taylor grabbed Claire by the arm and marched her to the stairs, as the fight behind them escalated.

Outside on Santorini Drive, Claire said, “Well, they’re having their first fight.”

“How was brunch?” Ed asked without looking up.

Taylor came in and threw herself into a chair, looking pie-eyed.

“Awful.”

“Willa can’t cook?”

“Willa married an asshole.”

Ed lifted his head and looked at her. “Indeed?”

She described the whole debacle. As usual, Ed insisted on hearing
everything
, even the parts that didn’t matter. She was flustered by the time she finished, but she got through it.

After she’d finished, Ed said, “Well, at least one good thing has happened this morning. Teddy has left. Porter and Lily went with him, of course.”

“Oh. Nice for you.”

“Awful for you. He’s at your house right now, making himself at home.”

Taylor made an unintelligible noise and let her head fall back.

“I have decided to continue the investigation here in Santorini. I’m still not satisfied that the police are on the right track. Are you in?”

“If it’ll keep me away from Cadbury House while the crown prince is in residence, yes. Exactly how are you going to continue to investigate? You’d better not get in the way of the police.”

He waved a hand. “My investigations are always sub rosa. Subtle. Did you say something? Don’t mumble, Taylor, it makes you seem confused.”

“Oh, never mind me. I’m just the straight man. So you’re convinced of a haunting now, and you think it led to Dolores’s death?”

“And Peggy Peavey’s, too, of course. Yes, I believe now that there is a flesh-and-blood murderer among us, but I also believe there is a paranormal influence trying to break through. I’ll continue the investigation the only way I can. By spending time in Frieda Strawbridge’s house. At night, of course. No point in involving Ben.”

“Because you know he’d never let us in.”

Ed waved it away. “He probably doesn’t even own the house, as it turns out. Willa probably does, and I’m sure she’d agree to the investigation. I don’t think she’d enjoy encountering her aunt’s wandering shade, the way Dolores did. No, there’s no need to ask her.” He was gazing distantly at Frieda’s portrait, over Taylor’s head.

“That way, she can’t say no. You’re not a stupid man, Ed,” Taylor said, deciding not to mention how quirky she thought he was. “I’m sure it has occurred to you that this flesh-and-blood murderer we have might have been hiding out in Frieda’s house all along?”

“I’m sure he has.”

“You are? ‘He?’”

“Or she. Yes. Somebody has been using that house, whether Frieda still inhabits it or not. Something is going on over there, and I believe it has directly led to two deaths.”

“And yet you want to go into the haunted house and camp out at night.”

“Right.”

“Even if the murderer is still there.”

“Right.”

“Count me in.”

“Right. Michael has a gun, correct?”

“Yes, but without his right index finger, I can’t get at it. I don’t know one end of a gun from the other, so I wouldn’t touch it anyway, but he has it in a gun safe. It only unlocks if he puts his finger on the thingie. If anybody tries to attack us, I guess we can throw the gun safe at them.”

“Really, Taylor, this is not the time for levity. Hmmm. On second thought, I don’t think we need to go armed. Our ghost hasn’t used weapons yet, and I believe we will encounter flight, not fight. After all, we are not a couple of unsuspecting, helpless women, as Dolores and Peggy were that night.” He tapped his pen on the desktop, thinking hard. “If things seem to be getting more dangerous, I think I know where we can get help. In the meantime, I have more research to do, and you will have to leave now.”

He began to type, and Taylor relaxed into her chair and gazed at the picture of Frieda’s ghost hanging on the wall to her right. She became pensive. After five minutes Ed sent something to the printer and looked up. When he saw Taylor he said, “You’re still here.”

“You know, something she said didn’t make any sense.”

“I thought you were leaving.” He glanced at his atomic watch. Yes, he was correct. She should have left five minutes ago. Almost six minutes now.

“I think she was lying. I just can’t figure out why. What difference would it make?”

“Well, you’d better go home and think it over. You have your new guests to entertain, remember,” he added with a sardonic grin. “And I have new information to digest. This could be rather serious. Things are not as they have seemed. He’s been lying.”

“He who?”

“What?”

Taylor stood up. “Trying to talk to you always turns into a vaudeville act sooner or later. Listen, I gotta go. Call me when you put a plan together on the ghost hunt.”

“Be back here at midnight tonight,” he said without looking up.

“Yessir, cap’n, sir.”

Annoyance flitted across his face, but he didn’t stop reading.

She got up and patted Bastet on the head, returning her green-eyed gaze with eyes that were exactly the same color. Then she went around the desk quickly, planted a kiss on Edson’s head and escaped before he could react.

He gazed at Bastet, shook his head, then went back to the computer keyboard.

By midnight, Ed was extremely disturbed about what he was finding out on the internet. The fact that he had hacked into databases where he didn’t belong simply needed to be packed away in a box at the back of his brain and taken out to be dealt with later, if ever. He sincerely hoped that his snooping would never be detected, and if it was, the life-and-death circumstances would bring him a lighter sentence.

It was five minutes to midnight, and a car was pulling into his driveway.

His ghost-hunting kit was always at the ready, so he didn’t need to inventory it. He hoisted the bag and went forth.

The sound of Frieda’s garage door going up was like a howitzer fully engaged in battle, but it couldn’t be helped. They didn’t have a key.

Quickly slipping inside, they put the door down again and waited until the light on the garage door opener went off. After another five minutes, nobody had come to see what was going on at the untenanted house, and they breathed a mutual sigh of relief and headed for the stairs. They went straight up to the third floor and walked into the darkened bedroom. As before, the motion-sensor night light came on, giving the room just enough light to make it look creepy.

Taylor walked toward the portrait, but Ed lingered near the top of the stairs.

“Youth Dew,” he said softly. He didn’t need to sniff delicately to detect the fragrance; it was overwhelming.

He gave Taylor an uneasy glance, wondering if she would be possessed again, and the fact that she was across the room at the critical moment kept him from being able to capture his ghost when it burst out of the bathroom and pushed him down.

Taylor turned to see a shadowy figure flying toward the stairs and disappearing. Without appearing startled by the incident, she walked over to where Ed was still sitting on the floor and knelt down beside him.

“Are we going after her?” Taylor asked.

“No,” he said, strangely calm. “Blast. I didn’t have my camera out yet.”

“That’s why she ran.”

“Yes. I think we missed a chance at catching Frieda’s ghost. But she could only get by me by knocking me down, and now I know what I needed to know. Once again, my paranormal investigation has led to a devastating conclusion. There is no ghost.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Taylor said dreamily. She sat down on the floor beside Ed and gazed through the murky room to the portrait. The steely glaze on Frieda’s draped body stood out in the gloom.

“I’m quite sure,” Ed said, gathering himself up. “She pushed me with her hands. She was warm.”

“Oh, that one,” Taylor said, glancing toward the stairs. “I didn’t mean her. The one I mean is cold. Cold and angry, and as much in this room as the other one was.”

Ed snapped his head around at her, then began rummaging in his bag. When he found the EMF meter and did a sweep, he said, “Oh!” in a very little voice. “It’s – it’s . . . .” He gestured helplessly at the wildly jumping readout.

“Put that thing down,” Taylor said languidly.

“Yes. My camera . . . .” He searched for it, then said,
“Damn!
The police still have it. Give me a direction. Tell me what you sense,” he got his cell phone out as a last resort and began to record. “Where is she?”

“Hmmm? Oh. Don’t you feel it? Can’t you sense her?”

The scent of Youth Dew became overpowering. Ed felt the sudden compulsion to stand up.

“There,” Taylor said, like a child sharing a secret. She was pointing at the portrait.

As Ed watched, his vision clouded, and he felt a profound sense of urgency. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes, and as he did, the mist bloomed and coalesced and drifted toward him. He lost all touch with his senses and the barrage of frantic thoughts tangling his mind was sliced away. It was like a hundred televisions being turned off simultaneously, and he held himself very still for a moment as an icy stillness formed around him.

Then it was gone, and he felt condensation forming on his skin.

“My thermometer!” he cried, falling onto his bag and desperately searching.

“What?” Taylor said.

“That was a cold spot! It was genuine. At least I think so. I need to get a read-out. Where
is
it?”

Taylor gently put her warm hand on his arm. “Ed, what does it matter? Now you know.”

“I don’t just want to know,” he said. “I want proof. How could I not have been ready for this? How could I be caught off-guard?”

Taylor patted his arm. “Let’s go. All of a sudden I could pass out, I’m so tired. I think we’re done here.”

Ed dumped the contents of the bag out on the carpet, frantically searching, but he finally realized there was no point. He wasn’t going to get any readings now. It was over.

The bitter thought that if he’d had his crew with him – yes, even including Teddy – made him feel even worse. He would have been able to record the event if he’d had help. He would have had his proof.

“You don’t really want proof of this,” Taylor said, reading his mind.

He looked up at her, incredulous.

“Proof of Frieda?” she asked. “Proof of this?”

To his dismay and astonishment, he realized she was right.