The Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum (A Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum Mystery) (24 page)

Reaching up, she raked her fingers through her hair, extinguishing the sparks.

“Oh,” I said.

She folded her arms over her chest. “I really hate you.”

twenty-six

Harper hugged me, the
sequins in her black tank top stabbing through my Paranormal Museum T-shirt. I didn’t mind.

“You’ve done good,” she said.

“Thanks.” I looked around the old courtroom. Women in spring hats gossiped and clinked champagne glasses. Mason and his friend Doug, who’d been our star witness, chatted with Detective Slate, neat in a blue suit and tie.

Mason winked at me. I remembered our
almost-kisses
and my face warmed. I wasn’t sure how he felt about being rescued by a woman.

So I’d told him Laurel did it. We had a real date planned for next week. (Okay, I’m a slow mover.)

Detective Slate turned his soulful brown eyes on me and shook his head.

“I think you’ll have to take down her photo,” Harper said.

I scratched my cheek. “Who’s photo?”

“Cora and Martin’s. She’s at peace now. The photo’s not haunted anymore. Can you feel it?”

I watched Cora Gale, president of the Ladies Aid Society, laughing with my mother. At least the
great-granddaughter
of Cora McBride could breathe a little easier. The mock trial had been a success.
After some crack detective work by Detective Slate and a surprisingly witty defense by Sam the squire, Cora McBride had been acquitted.
The living Cora looked relaxed and happy. As for the dead Cora? Unless the Ouija board in my museum got us a different result, I was calling that case “solved.”

Adele pushed through the crowd, waving. “Congratulations, Mad. It’s the event of the year! Or at least it will be until my tea room opens next week. Getting the Ladies Aid Society to
co-host
the trial was a stroke of genius. And they’ve asked about using the tea room as a venue for their next meeting!” Adele squealed. “I’m no longer a social pariah. Have you heard? Roger’s taken a plea deal. He’s confessed, and I am officially, one hundred percent, innocent.”

“You were always innocent,” Harper said.

A waiter glided past holding a silver tray aloft, and Adele snagged a
mini-quiche
. I passed. My jeans were still too snug.

“But not
officially
innocent,” Adele said. “Or at least, not according to the town rumor mill, which is all that counts.” She shuddered. “It’s been a long six weeks. I still can’t believe my own family’s lawyer did it. Did you have any idea it was Roger?” she asked me. “Or were you just waiting to see who turned up?”

“I suspected,” I said. “He was hanging around the museum too much. And he’d told me he’d never explored it, but he knew all about the spirit cabinet, which is in one of the back rooms.”

“He’s been a friend of our family for years. I still don’t know why he did it.”

“According to the legal rumor mill,” Harper said, “which I hope is more accurate than the town’s, Roger embezzled from some of his elderly clients’ living trusts. He used the money to finance his property purchases. He said he was just ‘borrowing’ the money, and it seemed like he did always pay it back. But it’s still criminal. Christy found out.”

“But why were they in the museum?” Adele asked.

“I doubt we’ll ever know Christy’s motivation,” I said. “But Roger apparently followed her there and watched her let herself inside. He saw the opportunity to get her alone, and he took it.”

“She was up to no good,” Adele said. “Accusing you of threatening her when you hadn’t, cheating with Michael … but she didn’t deserve to die. I’m just glad you didn’t, Mad.”

Roger had claimed he was only trying to scare me when he’d hit me over the head. I didn’t believe him. If I hadn’t moved at the last moment, reaching for that fallen photo of Cora …

Adele’s arms hung at her sides, slack. “But why did he attack Michael?”

I glanced at Detective Slate. Roger had confessed, so I didn’t think it would hurt if I told them what Slate had told me. “Christy had hinted to Michael what Roger was up to. When Michael figured it out, he confronted Roger about everything—the trusts, Christy—and Roger killed him.”

We were silent for a moment. Then Harper took another sip of her champagne. “Too bad you weren’t able to hold this event at the PM.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “No acronyms. It’s the Paranormal Museum, not the PM.”

“Acronyms are hot,” Adele said. “In marketing terms, at least.”

“I don’t care. And I wouldn’t have held the trial at the museum in any case.” Thanks to Laurel’s quick thinking, the fire had been confined to the Creepy Doll Room. The damage in there had been extensive, but the room would open next month as a gallery. “The museum would have been too small, and the courtroom made more sense.”

After the fire, Detective Slate found what Roger had been looking for—a monogrammed business card case. The lawyer had dropped it during his argument with Christy, and when he couldn’t find it later, he decided to burn the museum to destroy the evidence. Slate discovered the card case beneath a rolling shelf in the main room. The case was weighty, and I couldn’t figure out how it had managed to fall under the shelf. I suspected GD Cat.

The cat was back in residence at the museum. Seemingly, he had forgiven me for dragging him from the fire. But there’s no accounting for cats.

I handed Adele an envelope.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

She opened it and pulled out the check, her brow wrinkling. “What’s this for?”

“The museum,” I said. “The value of the contents, plus
present-value
estimates of the first year’s income flow.”

“Why? You already paid me.”

“One dollar isn’t a fair price. This is.”

“But—”

“Just take it,” I said.

“Then I guess I can tell you,” Adele said. “I’ve solved your bathroom problem.”

“Oh?”

“A secret door—a revolving bookcase between the tea room and the museum!”

“That’s …” I didn’t know what to say. Who doesn’t love a secret passage?

“You’re not the only creative person in this friendship,” Adele said.

A cooling breeze lifted my hair, loose around my shoulders. The actress who’d played Cora in our trial drifted past a window, turning a wistful smile on me. The local cosplayers had done a
bang-up
job designing
authentic-looking
Victorian-western
clothing. I smiled back at her and raised my glass, but she’d disappeared behind a cluster of elderly ladies.

Someone tapped my arm, and I turned.

The actress stood before me. Jolted, I blinked.

“I just wanted to tell you how much I loved playing Cora McBride,” she said. “Thanks so much for arranging the trial.”

“You’re, uh, welcome.”

She smiled and moved into the crowd.

I spun, my head whipping back and forth. The other Cora was gone. “Who …?”

“What’s wrong?” Adele asked.

“Did we have two actresses playing Cora?” I asked.

“Two? Why would you have two Coras?”

“Never mind.” I shook my head. There was no doubt a rational explanation.

the end

about the author

Kirsten Weiss writes paranormal mysteries, blending her experiences and imagination to create a vivid world of magic and mayhem. She is also the author of the Riga Hayworth series. Follow her on her website at kirstenweiss.com.