Spooky Skeleton

by Addison Creek

  Spooky Skeleton

  (The Jane Garbo Mysteries, Book 5)

  by

  Addison Creek

  Copyright © 2018 by Addison Creek

  Cover Design © Broken Arrow Designs

  This novel is a work of fiction in which names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is completely coincidental.

  License Notes

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

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  Prologue

  Bert and Buck were two murderous ghosts who fit right in Down Below. Of course, they had promised to leave their murdering ways behind when they moved in down there. As Bert said, “I left it all behind when I died.”

  At the moment, though, they were in trouble—still or again, take your pick—and Jefferson Judge had called me down to his office to discuss the matter. Jefferson Judge was an important figure Down Below, the judge of all bad actions and the one completely good soul who resided amid the muck and scum and rampant gambling and thievery of Haunted House Mansion’s basement. All the other inhabitants of Down Below had moved there because their sneaking ways would be accepted, if not encouraged, in Fudgy Berry’s world.

  The Judge was different. He had wanted to move Down Below not to be disorderly but to keep order. In his opinion, keeping thievery acceptable meant not allowing it to go further than mere robbery. He planned to be the individual who encouraged going only so far, without encouraging anything else. Murder, for example, was not to be tolerated.

  As it turned out, neither was stealing somebody else’s diary and reading it to all the residents of the basement.

  Not long after Bert and Buck moved Down Below, Buck took a diary belonging to Peter, a skeleton who had an office in the boiler room. Peter wore a topcoat and top hat and was delightful. He made it a habit to try to be helpful and protective every time I ventured Down Below, as I had to do from time to time in my relatively new role as liaison between the mansion at large and the denizens of the basement.

  Completely and utterly delighted with himself, Buck read the diary out loud as he floated down every hall and corridor in the place. It took Peter three days to figure out where his diary had gone and what was happening with it, but once he found out, he went to ground.

  Literally.

  He went to a grave and climbed in. He said he planned to stay there until the humiliation stopped.

  Jefferson Judge had ordered Buck to return the diary to its rightful owner. That was done, but then the Judge had to go back and issue another order: Buck was to return all the pages he had ripped out of the diary.

  “When I said return the diary, that meant every page in it. You knew that perfectly well,” he snapped ferociously to a cowering Bert and Buck.

  It was the first time I had ever heard Jefferson Judge get angry. Some of the other ghosts, skeletons, and the like looked a bit guilty, even though they’d had nothing to do with Buck’s antics.

  I mean, not that guilty. Just a little bit.

  I had been called Down Below for the matter of punishment, and we were now sitting in the Judge’s cramped quarters, an office stuffed with books and accompanied by dust. The le-haunt was right at home here, unlike Bert and Buck, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. I was pretty sure that was because Judge had ordered them to stay still, a goal they found exceedingly difficult to achieve.

  Jefferson Judge wanted to be clear that the rules were taken seriously Down Below. He also wanted me to make it clear to my mother that he had passed judgment on the two errant ghosts. Bert and Buck had settled down enough to be floating around quietly, but Jefferson Judge had yet to decide what to do with them.

  We both knew that Buck was the real mastermind of the two of them. “I didn’t know it was a specific rule not to read people’s diaries,” Buck argued for at least the ninth time.

  Jefferson Judge sighed, his angular face looking annoyed. “It’s the sixth rule. There are only seven! It clearly states that you will not harass another member of Down Below. What would you call stealing someone’s diary and reading it out loud, then ripping it up, if not harassment?”

  “I thought it was all in good fun,” said Buck.

  “You get your fun by harassing people?”

  Judge was trying to help Buck get to the logical conclusion, but Buck stubbornly refused to see it.

  “I don’t know why Peter didn’t find it fun as well,” he said plaintively.

  “He didn’t find it fun because everybody was laughing at him. You stole his diary, which was supposed to be private. He didn’t give you permission to take it or to read it out loud. Therefore, he was offended,” Jefferson Judge said.

  “I guess you could look at it that way. Seems like a kind of upside down to me. Seems like you’re fishing to get me in trouble to make a point to up above,” Buck said. He pointed upwards as if to encompass the whole mansion.

  The Garbo witches, a.k.a. my family, were talked about Down Below as if they ate rats for breakfast and hoarded diamonds while ghosts went hungry.

  As the three supernaturals talked among themselves, I tried to recall Buck and Bert’s history.

  Buck had been in his sixties when he died, having been hit by a semi truck as he ran away from a bank robbery. He had come to the afterlife carrying a huge backpack filled with gold, which he took everywhere he went, so that he made a clanging sound as he walked along. You always knew he was coming.

  Bert was his opposite. Bert had died in his forties while running away after a jewelry heist. An elevator had fallen with him in it, leaving his ghostly self with a permanently squished look. Bert, unlike Buck, sat quietly, ready to take his punishment from the Judge. As the really accomplished thief, I suspected that he was the one who had actually stolen the diary.

  “I guess what I’m saying is that I’d rather not be punished,” Bert explained. “I didn’t know what he was going to do with the diary. If he hadn’t walked down the halls reading it out loud, none of this would have happened.”

  “What do you mean none of this would have happened?” snapped Buck. “I’m the innocent party here. Clearly they’re trying to frame me.”

  “If I were trying to frame you, I would alre
ady have succeeded,” said Jefferson Judge. “I’m trying to do something more difficult. It’s called teaching you manners.”

  “Wow,” whispered Buck.

  The longer they spoke, the more apprehensive Buck looked. The idea that he’d have to take classes again had clearly not occurred to him when he decided to move Down Below. Now he was even more upset than he had been before.

  Bert shrugged, as if he was utterly mystified at the notion. To be fair, he was utterly mystified at the notion. “I quit school a long time ago. There was a reason. I didn’t want to learn anything new.”

  “You did an excellent job of that,” Jefferson Judge assured him.

  Bert looked pleased.

  “Please have mercy on me. I’ve never gotten into trouble before,” said Bert.

  Jefferson Judge gave him a skeptical look. “You’ve gotten in trouble often. In fact, you have one of the longest conviction sheets here.”

  “I didn’t need any punishments for any of those convictions, though. I thought it was all fine. I really haven’t done much wrong,” Bert insisted.

  The Judge seemed to be having a hard time taking all of this in. I couldn’t really blame him.

  “What do you think your punishment should be?” he asked.

  “I like to cook. I could do that,” Bert offered generously.

  Jefferson Judge looked like he could barely stand it. “Maybe you don’t understand the meaning of the word punishment. It means to punish. Not to reward. If you are being punished, you don’t get to do something fun,” he explained. “This may give insight as to why you continued to commit robberies during your life.”

  Bert again looked confused. “I guess maybe I don’t understand punishment properly then,” he said.

  “I guess maybe that’s true,” said the Judge. “How about that. So here’s what’s going to happen. From now on, neither of you is allowed to steal anything outside of Down Below. And if I hear that you’ve escalated your activities down here, there will be more punishments. You are not allowed to go on any missions for the next month.”

  Both Bert and Buck were looking at him in extreme befuddlement.

  I was pretty sure it was because they didn’t understand, and not because they agreed. They definitely didn’t agree.

  I was also pretty sure that this whole conversation was leaving the two ghosts in a daze of total confusion.

  “That’s a bit serious. Are you sure?” Buck asked.

  Jefferson Judge was a patient le-haunt, but even he had his limit. He gently put his pen down and glared at the two ghosts sitting across from him.

  “This is serious. That’s the whole point. You got to this point because it’s serious,” he said.

  “I see,” said Buck, in a tone that said he didn’t see at all.

  “Now get out of my office before I decide that the punishment needs to be more severe,” said Jefferson Judge.

  Once the two ghosts were gone, he glanced at me. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I just thought it was important to have you understand that we dispense proper punishment around here when it’s called for. I had a feeling your mother would be concerned about that at sooner or later.”

  “You’re probably right to assume that. She does tend to get concerned,” I muttered.

  It had been difficult for my mother to give me the assignment involving Down Below, though I knew why she had done it. She had done it because Fudge Berry, the mastermind of Down Below, had been causing ever more trouble of late, and my mother knew that I was her best choice for the job of dealing with it.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?” I asked Jefferson Judge.

  He gave a wry smile. “You can certainly let me know if they start stealing things from the mansion.”

  I threw my head back and laughed. That certainly sounded like an absurd notion. Then I thought about how idiotic the two ghosts had just been. Jefferson Judge was looking at me with a completely serious expression on his face. He wasn’t kidding.

  “I appreciate your inviting me down here,” I said. “I have wanted to get to know more of the supernaturals Down Below, and this is a good way for me to do it.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “The way I see it, there’s only one problem with getting to know more of the supernaturals down here.”

  “And what problem would that be?” I asked.

  “Then you’ll know them,” he said.

  Chapter One

  The full moon was always one of the busiest days of the month at the real live haunted house we ran at Haunted Bluff Mansion. Still, there was always time for rumor and gossip, even when we were dashing around working madly. Sometimes the gossip didn’t even center around Haunted Bluff.

  Shimmerfield, the town near which Haunted Bluff was located, was chock full of strange characters and untoward events, not even counting the fact that the Garbo family ran a live haunted house at the edge of town.

  For example, for many years there had been rumors of howling being heard in Shimmerfield. On the night of the full moon, and maybe the night before, a wolf howled late into the night and on into the early morning. Sometimes there were several nights of howling.

  I could never tell exactly which night was the full moon and which was just the night before. Maybe the werewolf couldn’t either, and that’s why he howled for two.

  This month, the night of the full moon was not long after my visit Down Below to see punishment dispensed to Bert and Buck.

  As usual, there was howling. The noise had gone on for so many years without anyone being able to figure out where it came from, or who was causing it, that few folk took any notice of it anymore.

  But something was different this month. From my perch selling tickets to the haunted house, I knew as soon as the baying split the night that it was louder than usual.

  The guests in line stopped to stare at me as if I were the one causing it. I glared at them to indicate that I wasn’t.

  Then, just as abruptly as the eerie noise had started, it came to a halt.

  “Didn’t that sound like it was cut off by something?” murmured a woman in line.

  “Maybe. His voice probably got tired,” I said.

  She looked at me as if she didn’t believe me, and for that I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t really believe me either.

  “You do creepy at this place very well,” she told me as she purchased her ticket.

  “It’s mostly Cookie,” I told her.

  “Your grandmother is the sweetest lady,” she assured me. I wondered if we were talking about the same Cookie.

  The rest of the night was busy. The full moon brought out a bunch of loons in the form of haunted house devotees, some of whom had been responsible for our decision to create a frequent visitor card. There were several haunted house attendees who returned over and over again to see what was new at Haunted Bluff, or to be scared out of their wits by the same old features, and the frequent visitor card suited them perfectly.

  By the time I was free to head to bed, I was nearly toppling over with tiredness. So grateful was I to be in bed that I forgot to take my shoes off.

  At least that was over with for another month, I thought as I drifted off to sleep. No one had been hurt or killed, so I considered it a good night.

  For now.

  Chapter Two

  “Good morning,” said Rose as I opened a bleary eye the next morning. All I saw was a ball of white light.

  “Rose. Gurroff,” I grumbled, feebly trying to move the mansion’s white cat. Her bad breath made me cough. I didn’t even want to think about why her breath smelled.

  Rose was a big cat, and when she wouldn’t budge I opened my eyes a little more to glare at her. She started calmly washing one of her paws.

  “Morning,” I finally said.

  “You’re staying in bed an awfully long time,” she commented.

  “What’s it to you?” I said, closing my eyes, thinking that maybe I could still get back to sleep. I rarely slept i
n, and after the late night I’d had at the haunted house, the very idea seemed appealing.

  “Figured you’d want to be up, given that a murder was discovered in Shimmerfield this morning,” the cat commented casually.

  My eyes flew open and I glared at her.

  “You’re just saying that to make me rush. My bed is warm,” I told her.

  “I wouldn’t joke about murder,” she said.

  “You did just yesterday!” I said.

  She paused for a moment in her washing. “True enough.”

  “Who?” I breathed.

  “You’ll have to get up to find out. I don’t know the details. If you could get me into the kitchen . . .” she said.

  “Out of the question,” I told her. “You know how Audrey feels about cats.”

  “How am I supposed to tell you what happened if I don’t know myself?” she said.

  “I’ll just have to find out for both of us, then,” I said, reaching up and moving the cat off of me. She didn’t grumble this time, she just started kneading the bed at the spot where I’d left her.

  I pulled on jeans and a sweater; mornings were cold at this time of year. Then I put on thick socks and stuffed my feet into slippers. Once I was ready to go, I held the door for Rose.

  She feigned disinterest for only a moment.

  I hurried down the stairs, eager to hear the news. It made for a change to have a murder in the vicinity that hadn’t happened at Haunted Bluff, where we’d had an unsettling rash of crimes in recent months. It would be better, of course, to have no murders at all, and I wondered what had happened this time.

  It sounded like some innocent person in Shimmerfield had been killed, and for a split second I worried about Edmund, our friend on the other side of town. Then I realized that there was no need. He definitely wasn’t innocent, nor was he likely to have been murdered.

  Rose bounded ahead of me down the dull back stairwell until we emerged together onto the grand front staircase.

  Usually I ran into Lizzie right about now. My horrible cousin who lived with us was usually the last one down to breakfast, because she always took so long to get ready. To keep things complicated in the house, she had a crush on Kip, who also lived at the mansion and was in charge of the haunt hunters. My brother Cam and Kip’s brother Corey were also haunt hunters, as was Lizzie herself.