The Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum (A Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum Mystery) (17 page)

A heavy layer of fog hung low over the deserted city streets. I parked in front of the museum, then figured I might as well start the search inside rather than wait for my brother and Brittany. The sooner I found that earring, the sooner I could get home to bed.

Unlocking the door, I flipped on the overhead light and paused as one of the fluorescents flickered to life. The one above the counter remained dark. I frowned at it, willing it to blink on. It blinked erratically, washing the room in flickering, yellowish light. I cleared my throat, uneasy. More was off than the overhead light.

I held my breath, listening. As if expectant, the museum seemed to hold its breath with me.

Shaking off my overactive imagination, I closed the front door, locking it for good measure. Something moved at the edge of my vision. I spun toward it, hands extended like the boxer I wasn’t.

The rocking chair swayed, empty. I gritted my teeth. Because there are no such things as ghosts, I forced myself to walk to it. Black cat hairs sprinkled the wooden seat. I blew out my breath, shoulders sagging. GD must have jumped from the chair when I’d let myself in. That was all. Ghosts. Ha! I’d almost
half-believed
the chair really was haunted. I’d told Harper I didn’t share her beliefs, but when things went bump in the night, primitive superstition ran wild.

The plastic curtains separating the museum from the tea room rippled. My pulse quickened. Even though there was no such thing as ghosts, it wouldn’t hurt to get a move on and find that diamond earring. I’d start where Brittany and Shane had stopped to talk to me—the front counter.

I explored the area around the counter. No diamond winked at me from the linoleum, but the wonky fluorescent above me was not a light to hunt diamonds by. Reaching over the counter, I grabbed for the flashlight. Its weight felt solid in my hand, comforting.

Cold rolled in on a wave of silence.

I went rigid. The cold was unnatural, the quiet uncanny. Eerie. Wrong.

No, I didn’t believe in ghosts, but every primal instinct I had screamed at me to flee. My limbs rebelled. Fear locked them in place, frozen.

Imagination is not always a gift.

The atmosphere thickened, choking me. The quiet stretched, the only sound my own harsh breath, breath I could see in the air. It was a
nails-on
-
a-chalkboard
silence, a deep silence that tightened my throat and made me tremble.

Noiseless, a white sheet of paper drifted off the counter. It alighted on the checkerboard floor, making a slithery, rustling sound. I heard myself take an uneven breath, and the room warmed.

It was over.

Hand shaking, I stooped to grab the paper.

Something whooshed over my head, and pain exploded at the top of my skull.

nineteen

Gasping, I pitched sideways
against the counter, curving inward like a pill bug, my hands protecting my head. Someone big moved past me. The door slammed.

I crouched there, shaking, heart slamming against my ribs. I knew I should move, should run, but my legs didn’t want to obey my commands. My skull was splitting. Lights danced before my eyes.

Footsteps pounded toward me, and I fumbled for the flashlight I’d dropped. But I was clumsy, moving through molasses.

Two Masons crouched beside me, their azure eyes unblinking. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, and more sparks made merry in the museum. Someone had assaulted me, and anger and shock and fear waltzed through my head.

“Where did he go?”

“Front door.”

Mason darted outside. I leaned my back against the counter and let my legs sprawl. The floor was cold. I didn’t care.

I was small. Insignificant. Unimportant enough to hit over the head and throw away.

GD Cat stuck his head out of the Creepy Doll Room. He growled, reminding me that now was not the time to fall apart. I needed to cowgirl up.

“Hey, GD.” I reached a hand toward him. It flopped awkwardly to my lap. So I’d just sit here some more. Cowgirl Maddie was going to have to get her wind back.

Belly low to the ground, the cat slunk toward me. He sniffed my sneakers and pawed the leg of my jeans. Satisfied, he crawled into
my lap.

Mason returned, and I snapped myself back into reality enough to take a good look at him. His mane of blond hair was rumpled, as if he’d recently awakened. The top button of his jeans was undone and the bottom of his white
T-shirt
ruched up, exposing a blond arrow of hair on his washboard abs. His feet were bare. Normally, these details would interest me for all sorts of reasons. Tonight I just felt bad. Bad I’d woken him. Bad someone thought so little of me they’d tried to smash my head in. Bad I hadn’t found that stupid earring.

“Whoever it was, he’s long gone.” Mason knelt beside me and took my chin in his hands. “Someone broke the lock on the back door to Adele’s tea room.”

I shuddered, closed my eyes.

“Hey,” he said. “Look at me.”

Purring, the cat kneaded my thigh with his paws. I opened my eyes, trying to focus. “I am looking at you.”

He swore. “You’ve got a head injury.”

“How can you tell?”

“Your hat is bleeding. You may have a concussion. I’m calling the paramedics.”

“Get away from my sister!” Shane stood in the doorway, fists clenched. Brittany peered over his shoulder.

My hand flopped in a limp wave. “Hi Shane, Brittany. I didn’t find the earring. This is Mason, my upstairs neighbor. Mason, this is my brother, Shane.”

“What’s going on?” Shane took a cautious step inside. Brittany stayed glued to his back, her manicured hands clutching the shoulders of his leather bomber jacket.

“There’s been a
break-in
,” Mason said. “Your sister’s got a head wound. Her balance and coordination are off. It may be a concussion, but I’m no doctor. I was about to call 911 when you arrived.”

Brittany squealed and edged around my brother. In her black turtleneck and yoga pants, she looked like a cat burglar. “A
break-in
?”

“I’ll call.” Shane pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his jacket.

“My hat is bleeding?” It was time I inserted myself into the conversation.

“Don’t worry.” Mason patted my knee and stood. “Head wounds bleed like crazy, but it’s probably not that bad.”

The cat worked his way up my stomach. I ruffled his fur. My arms and legs were working again.

Brittany sized up Mason, her eyes narrow, appraising. The corners of her lips tilted upward. I found myself liking her less and less.

Shane hung up the phone. “They’re on the way. So what are you doing here?”

“I heard someone in the alley,” Mason said. “At first I thought it was just a drunk, but then Maddie screamed.”

“I screamed?” I didn’t remember screaming.

Mason ignored me. “What are you two doing here?”

Brittany dimpled. “I lost a diamond stud earring, and the one place we haven’t looked is the museum. Would you help me find it?”

Mason shook his head. “The cops will likely want to take fingerprints. We shouldn’t mess around in here.”

Brittany ran her gaze over Mason. In our family, taking a girl to the airport meant a serious relationship, so why was she making googly eyes at Mason? I hoped Shane wasn’t too infatuated with her.

“With all the people who’ve been inside the museum,” I said, “I doubt fingerprints will be much help.”

Shane put his hands on his hips, a superhero in blue jeans. “He’s right. We should wait.”

I reached for the white paper that had fallen to the ground and turned it over. Cora and Martin stared out from their photo. I looked at the wall opposite and its row of haunted pictures. One frame hung empty. I’d shown the photo to the reporter that morning, and then Shane had looked at it. Had I left it on the counter? I couldn’t remember, but in my
brain-scrambled
state, something seemed off.

“But what if someone steps on my earring?” Brittany asked.

I looked up. Beneath strands of her
chestnut-colored
hair, something glinted in her collar. “Not much danger of that,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because your earring is snagged in your collar.”

“What?”

Shane peered at her neck. “She’s right.” He parted her hair and unsnagged the diamond stud from her knit turtleneck. “Mystery solved.”

Brittany’s hands fluttered about her. “What a relief.” But her lips pressed tight, as if disappointed.

My butt was growing numb on the cold floor, so I shoved the cat off me and lumbered to my feet.

Insulted, the cat sneezed and stalked away, tail quivering.

“Steady.” Mason chuckled, a low rumble. “You haven’t got your sea legs yet.”

“Good thing we’re inland.” But the floor rolled, and I leaned against the counter.

Someone rapped on the door. Without waiting for an answer, Detective Slate strode inside, his jaw darkened by a five o’clock shadow. Two uniformed cops fanned out behind him, hands on their holstered guns.

Stripping off his blue parka, the detective tossed it on the counter, covering the tip jar. He jammed up the sleeves of his navy
V-neck
sweater. “What happened?”

I opened my mouth to respond.

“Mad surprised an intruder.” Shane draped a protective arm over my shoulders.

I glared at my big brother. It was my museum. I could speak for myself.

The detective arched a brow. “Mad?”

“My sister.”

He looked at me, his
chocolate-colored
eyes unfathomable. “Then maybe she should tell me what happened.”

“I got here around a quarter to midnight,” I said. “Someone surprised me. I didn’t see him.” Lightly, I touched my hand to my head. The knit hat was damp, the spot tender.

“Him?”

“It could have been a her, I guess.” The person had
felt
big, but I’d been cowering on the floor. Everyone’s big from that angle.

“What were you doing here so late?” Slate asked.

Brittany stepped closer to Mason and shivered dramatically. “I lost an earring and thought it might have been dropped here. Since I’ve got an early morning flight tomorrow …” She checked her watch. “Oops, today, I mean. Maddie offered to let us search the museum for it tonight.”

“Can you describe the assailant?”

My cheeks warmed. “No. My back was turned. He hit me with something, and I fell.”

“What did he hit you with?”

I looked around, but I didn’t see any potential bludgeons. Weird. The man who’d killed Christy and Michael had left the weapons behind. My teeth chattered. “By the time I knew what had happened, he was out the front door.”

My brother draped his bomber jacket over my shoulders and rubbed my arms.

“How did he get in?” Slate asked.

“The back door was busted open.” Mason pointed at the plastic drapes. “That’s how I got in when I heard Maddie scream.”

The detective nodded to the two uniforms. “See what you can find.”

They disappeared through the plastic.

“You see him?” the detective asked Mason.

He shook his head. “By the time I arrived, he’d taken off. I went into the street but didn’t see anyone, so I came back to check on Maddie.”

“Anything taken?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “The cash register didn’t seem to be tampered with. But I’d have to look around.”

“Later,” Slate said.

A paramedics truck pulled up, illuminating the room with flashing blue. Two paramedics, a man and woman, hurried into the room, medical bags at their sides.

Detective Slate pointed at me. “Check her out.”

Gently, each grasped me by the elbow and escorted me to the rocking chair. I started to sit, remembered it was haunted, and jerked upward.

“What’s wrong?” the man asked me.

“Nothing.” I sat.

They removed my hat, prodded my head with gloved hands, asked questions, shone lights in my eyes.

“You might have a mild concussion,” the woman said.

Slate walked over. “What’s the verdict?”

“She was lucky,” the male paramedic said. “It was a glancing blow, and that knit hat gave her some cushion. It’s a nasty bump and she’ll need a few stitches. Possible concussion, but she’ll be okay.”

The photo had saved me. I must have brushed against it when I reached over the counter for the flashlight. A chill rippled through me—if the photo hadn’t fallen from the counter at the right moment, I might not have been so lucky. I might have ended up like Christy and Michael.

“You feel up to taking a look around and letting me know if anything seems to be missing?” Slate asked.

I nodded.

He escorted me through the Creepy Doll Room, still creepy but clean. In the Fortune Telling Room, I flipped on the light. The cloth over the round display table in the center had been tugged to one side. “The tablecloth’s been shifted.” I pointed with Cora’s photo to the spirit cabinet. “And that’s been moved.”

The detective knelt beside it. A black scrape in the linoleum marked the trail where the cabinet had been shifted away from the wall.

Slate rose and took the photograph from my hands. “Cora and Martin McBride? What does the photo have to do with this?”

“Nothing. It had fallen to the floor. I was reaching down for it when I got hit.” I wobbled, dizzy.

Slate grasped my elbow and an electrical current seemed to ripple through me. He let go as if scalded.

He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to the photo. “Interesting case.”

I wasn’t sure if he was talking about Cora or the Paranormal Museum.

We returned to the main room, where Mason and my brother joked with the paramedics. Brittany edged closer to Mason, her expression calculating. A blot of worry grew beneath my breastbone. Shane couldn’t be serious about her. Could he? But he seemed oblivious to her admiration of my neighbor, too confident to see that anything was amiss.

“How’re you feeling?” Mason asked me.

I grimaced. “Like someone hit me on the head.”

The female paramedic packed up her case. “You’ll need to go to the emergency room to get stitches.”

I frowned, wondering how much that was going to cost.

“I’ll take you,” Mason said.

“Would you?” Shane asked. “I’ve got to get Brittany back to San Francisco for her flight.”

“If your sister is hurt, we should all go.” Brittany eyed Mason through lowered lashes.

“It’s only some stitches,” I said. “It’s no big deal.”

My brother was quick to agree, shuffling a reluctant Brittany through the front door.

Laurel Hammer edged past them as they left, catching one of her
three-inch
heels on the threshold. Her sequined silver
mini-skirt
barely covered her assets.

“Catch you on a night out?” Slate asked her.

She scowled at me. “Tomorrow’s my day off. Of course I was out. What happened?”

“Break in and assault.” Slate pointed at me with the eraser end of his pencil.

“And why aren’t I surprised to find you in the middle of this?” Laurel asked me.

“Because it’s my museum?”

She lowered her head, staring. “I thought you were just managing it for a friend.”

I clapped my hand to my head and saw stars. Adele. The
break-in
was in her building. “I’ve got to tell Adele what happened.”

“I’ll let Ms. Nakamoto know about the
break-in
,” Detective Slate said. “You go to the hospital and get your head examined.”

Laurel snorted. “So what’s this about, Kosloski? Who broke in?”

“How should she know?” Mason’s Nordic brows drew together.

Laurel reddened. “Within one week she’s been on the spot for two murders and a
break-in
. That strikes me as suspicious.”

“Obviously,” I said, “the killer returned to the scene of the crime.”

She stepped closer, forcing me to crane my neck or get an eyeful of cleavage. “How do you know it was the killer?” she asked.

“Who else would it be?” Was she being willfully stupid or trying to goad me into some admission?

“Teenagers looking for a scare,” she said. “A petty burglar. You.”

“I hit myself on the head? Come on! The killer was here and knocked me down, just like he did to Michael and Christy.”

“Not exactly,” she said. “They died.”

“I was lucky!” I jammed my hands into my pockets, fists clenched. “It had to have been the same person. It’s too big a coincidence. And he came here for a reason, probably to look for something.”

A pulse beat in her jaw. “If you’re suggesting we missed something, think—”

“I’m suggesting there’s more to this than a simple
break-in
!”

Mason draped his arm around my shoulders and gave me a warning squeeze.

I blew my breath out, struggling for calm.