Interview with a Ghost in Arizona (Humorous Cozy Mystery) (Ghost Mysteries of the Southwest Book 2)

by Angela Pepper

  The man said, “I'll tell you, but first tell me what you think he meant.”

  She replied, “Robert Jones wants to take over the series.”

  “Two points for Captain Obvious.”

  The woman sniffed. “Sometimes what's obvious is also true.”

  “You think Robert Jones could handle the series on his own? The man can't get through five minutes of a eulogy without disgracing himself.”

  His wife replied with a casual, knowing air, “He would stay on as editor while the estate recruits another writer to take over. People online are saying someone like Brandon Sanderson, who did such a great job taking over the Wheel of Time series. And he's such an eager little go-getter!”

  “That was different,” the husband said. “Robert Jordan knew he was ill, and he had time to prepare notes, to pass along the torch.”

  “George must have made notes somewhere.”

  “Only in his head,” the man said. “It was probably his insurance policy. Like how I never divulge to you my mandarin chicken recipe!”

  The woman smacked him gently on the shoulder. “You naughty boy.”

  He answered gravely, “I'm half serious. He always was a bit paranoid, even when we were in college. He kept his notebooks in a safe in our dorm room. I tried every combination I could think of, and I never could get in. If he was brave enough to write down his notes for House of Hallows, you can bet they'll never be found.”

  The couple stopped talking when Pandora passed by them on the way back to the table.

  Something must have happened in the washroom, because she was giving Piper a very suspicious look.

  “Is everything okay?” Piper asked.

  Piper took a seat and pulled her chair up close to Piper. She rested one cool hand on Piper's knee and said, evenly, “I know who you are, Piper Chen. I just saw that video of you, talking nonsense about seeing ghosts.”

  “That old thing? I was in shock,” Piper said. “That was just me joking around. I swear I'm feeling much better now. Totally sane.”

  “Does a sane person crash a funeral?”

  Piper smiled feebly and tried to look innocent. “Does a sane person ask a stranger to pretend to be her daughter? Why isn't Coco here today?”

  “She was too upset,” Pandora said. “Not that it's any of your business.”

  “How close was she to George?”

  “They never met,” Pandora said icily. “Coco has plenty of boys her own age to choose from. She has no interest in an old man.”

  “Still, it seems odd that she didn't come today, if she's such a big fan.”

  The woman's hand, which had been on Piper's knee, whipped up and latched onto Piper's forearm like a claw. She leaned closer and spoke in a hushed yet forceful tone, directly into Piper's ear. “Pretty young thing, I'm onto you. You're not just a fan. You're a fanatic. You're the one who broke into my house.”

  “Someone broke into your house? It wasn't me.”

  Pandora's eyes narrowed. “I don't know what you were up to, but I'm guessing it was my robot vacuum cleaner that scared you out of there. It's programmed to come on when I'm out.” She was so close, Piper could smell her sickly-sweet perfume, a cloying vanilla scent. “Scared you off real good, didn't it? Better than a dog.”

  Piper snorted. Robot vacuum cleaners were great, but there was no way one could guard a house better than a dog.

  Pandora said, “Fine, don't talk. But I've got my eye on you, and I've had security cameras installed at my house. Enjoy your freedom while you can.”

  Piper yanked her arm away and jumped up, toppling her chair. The clatter attracted the attention of everyone in the room. Even Pastor Dan was staring in their direction, a look of terror on his face. Hadn't the poor man endured enough drama for one funeral?

  Pandora stood and gave the onlookers a guilty wave. “Sorry, everyone. My daughter is emotional today, but we're okay.” She moved her body to shield Piper from the crowd.

  Pastor Dan raised his hand and said, “Please let me know if I can be of any comfort, ma'am.”

  “Thanks, Pastor!”

  Pandora waited silently until everyone went back to their paper plates of food and discussions of books and death.

  She turned to Piper and growled, “You have thirty seconds to walk out of here quietly, or I'll call security and have you charged.”

  Piper got a visceral memory of being thrown to the floor by police at the Morrison house. She didn't want a repeat of that, so she immediately headed for the door.

  She was outside in twenty-five seconds.

  As she pulled out her phone to call for a ride, a man in a black suit with a white collar exited the funeral home as well. It was Pastor Dan. He froze when he saw Piper and patted his pockets awkwardly, swaying in place.

  “Go ahead,” Piper said. “You can have a smoke. I won't tell anyone.”

  Pastor Dan let out a sigh of relief and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering Piper one, which she refused, before lighting his own.

  “Terrible habit,” he said, letting out a gray puff of smoke. “I limit myself to two per day, and usually in private, but that funeral was cray-cray.”

  Piper giggled. It always made her laugh when pastors or teachers used dated urban lingo when talking to younger people.

  “It was cray-cray,” she agreed.

  He took another long drag. “It's a shame I'll be out of town when they do the spreading of the ashes. It's going to be quite the event.”

  “George was cremated? But there was a coffin back there. And his sister was talking to his body, wasn't she?”

  “He'll be getting cremated later tonight. And then…” Pastor Dan used his free hand to give the impression of something floating up into the heavens.

  “The soul goes to heaven after cremation?”

  Pastor Dan gave her an eager smile. “That depends on what you believe. Where do you think Mr. Morrison's soul is right now?”

  The funny thing was, Piper had given it some thought. When George wasn't around for her to see, surely he didn't just cease to exist.

  “George would be somewhere that's dark right now,” she said. “If you were to tunnel straight through Earth from here in Arizona, you'd pop out in the middle of the Indian Ocean. The closest country is Madagascar. So, all things considered, I'd have to guess that right this minute, he's in Madagascar.”

  Pastor Dan let out a big belly laugh. “From the mouths of babes,” he said. “Madagascar!”

  Piper raised her eyebrows. “Kids say the darnedest things,” she said flatly.

  The doors behind them opened noisily. Pastor Dan dropped his cigarette guiltily and covered it with his foot.

  It was the big security guard. He looked at Piper and asked, gruffly, “Everything okay out here?”

  “I was just leaving,” Piper said, and she beat a hasty retreat.

  Chapter 9

  12:35 p.m.

  Winnie's Car, Halfway to Joeville, Arizona

  “You went to George Morrison's funeral, and you didn't think to invite me?” Winnie took her eyes off the road to give her best friend a searing look.

  Avoiding eye contact, Piper leaned over and fiddled with the stereo controls. They were in Winnie's silver Lexus, driving through the desert. They hadn't discussed a destination, but it was assumed they'd drive to the next town, Joeville, and visit Loco Loft, which served messy, disaster-themed sundaes. The two-floor café was their venue of choice for celebrating milestones, discussing major life choices, and ending diets.

  Winnie made a tsk-tsk sound as she returned her attention to the desert highway. “We had an agreement, remember? If you're going crazy, you're supposed to take me with you.”

  “I promise I'll bring you with me on my next undercover assignment from Nancy Dowd.”

  “Who? What?”

  Right. Piper hadn't seen Winnie since the house party, a week ago. They'd barely spoken until thirty minutes earlier, when Piper had phoned Winnie from a gas station down th
e street from the funeral home. She'd been shaken by the sight of the security guard, and had basically sprinted away from the funeral home until she was safely out of range. After that, she'd felt too sweaty and vulnerable for a taxi. Plus she needed to talk to someone who cared, someone who wasn't a mute ghost or a Boston Terrier. Winnie had been a doll, willing to take the Friday afternoon off from her job working at a nonprofit agency that promoted music classes in schools. “I have plenty of vacation days banked,” she'd said. Of course she did. Winnie was so passionate about her work that her boss had to force her to take time off.

  While they drove past rocky mesa formations and cacti, Piper caught up her best friend on the last seven days' events. The biggest news: Since his death, George Morrison had been showing up inside Piper's house at sunset every day, mutely moping, spending most of his time watching television in the den.

  Piper expected Winnie to put up a fuss over the idea of ghosts being real, but all she said was, “I want to meet him. Even if I can't see him, I still want to be there and say hello.”

  “I'll try to introduce you to George later tonight,” Piper promised. If the goth teen had seen him, maybe Winnie could too.

  They drove as Piper continued her story, relating how she'd met adorable restaurant owner Otis two times so far, yet he still believed she couldn't speak English. Winnie found that so hilarious she forgot to be judgmental. Piper's first meeting with Otis had been on Sunday, the same day she'd encountered celebrity crime reporter Nancy Dowd, who she described as “horrible and pushy, but also an impressive role model.” Piper relayed the strange manner in which she'd gotten the assignment to crash the funeral and interview George's editor.

  “The elusive Robert Jones,” Winnie said. “That guy doesn't talk to anyone. Ever. Even when the publishing house forces him to do promo stuff, he doesn't exactly cooperate. I went to a comic convention where he was on a panel, and he wouldn't give answers longer than three words.”

  Piper giggled. “You went to a comic convention? Are you secretly a cosplayer?” Piper sat up straight in the passenger seat, energized by the change in topic. “Is that why you have a suspiciously high-quality Ling the Warrior Princess costume?”

  “Oh, no!” Winnie cried in mock horror. “Now you know my secret. I'm a giant nerd. It's a good thing I always carry a shovel in the trunk of my car, because I'll have to kill you and bury you here in the desert.”

  “It's not a big deal, Winnie. Lots of people go to comic conventions now. Geek culture is a valid form of culture. You should bring me with you next time.”

  Winnie snuck her a quick frown. “Stop trying to change the subject. What did Robert Jones say?”

  “Way too much, and yet nothing at all.” Piper went on to explain how she hadn't talked to him one on one, but he'd been drunk and rambling during an aborted eulogy speech. Robert Jones had painted George Morrison as a man with a hero complex, a man who genuinely believed a set of books could change the world.

  After a moment of silence, zooming down the straight desert road, Winnie said, “Dianetics.”

  “Hmm. You think George was creating his own religion, like L. Ron Hubbard did? What's it called… Scientology?”

  Winnie said, “There is a spiritual component to the Hallows books, especially the last one.”

  “I thought you quit reading the series in protest of him killing your favorite character.”

  Winnie made a grumpy noise. “I kept going, but I swear I was only hate-reading, so I could make fun of it.”

  “You still kept reading,” Piper said.

  Winnie made another grumpy noise. “Back to the funeral. Why'd you sound so upset on the phone?”

  “Robert Jones getting hauled off the stage wasn't the weirdest thing that happened today.” She reached into her purse for gum to help with the sour taste in her mouth. She took two sticks of sugarless peppermint while Winnie accepted one and waved for her to spill the beans.

  “This woman who runs the fan website figured out I didn't have an invitation with me, so she hauled me into the after-service tea with her, and started introducing me as her daughter. I guess the two of them run the online fan club.”

  “Pandora and Coco Lee,” Winnie said with confidence. “The mother–daughter team.”

  “Do I look like Coco? I heard she's only fifteen.”

  Winnie squinted at Piper and wrinkled her nose. “I probably look more like Coco than you do, but people would buy it, especially if they don't know a lot of us.” She flicked her dark hair back and returned her attention to the dusty road. “What was Pandora like? She's a total psycho online. She tried to troll me into taking down my hilarious reviews.”

  “She's a psycho all right.” Piper rubbed her arm where the older woman had latched on, and described how Pandora had accused Piper of being up to something. “She said I broke into her house, and that I look sneaky.”

  Winnie guffawed. “You did sneak into the funeral.”

  “True, but it was more than that. At first, she acted catty, like I was having… an intimate relationship with George.”

  Winnie snickered. “He is spending all his nights with you. That's pretty intimate.”

  “Gross.”

  “How about Teddy? Is your little man jealous of your new ghost man?”

  “Not at all. Teddy loves hanging out with him. We're a happy little family.”

  “Like a Norman Rockwell painting.”

  Piper shrugged. They drove past a billboard for Loco Loft, the quaint café that was their destination. Would she get her favorite dessert, or try something new? Her mouth watered around her peppermint gum. It was a relief to think about something other than George Morrison, and how she hadn't gotten anything worthy of reporting back to Nancy Dowd.

  For the next few hours, Piper relaxed back into her normal self. They didn't go to the café right away, because it wouldn't be open until three o'clock. The two girls visited the town's new designer outlet mall, which had cobblestone outdoor streets. The mall had been made to look like a quaint European village, albeit one with brand-name stores that seemed magically larger inside than they appeared from the exterior.

  After doing some serious credit card damage, they charged into Loco Loft famished and ready to indulge in disaster-themed desserts.

  Winnie ordered the Titanic, a sundae made with vanilla ice cream, marshmallow icebergs, and a capsizing luxury liner made of gingerbread with colored icing and candies.

  After serious consideration, Piper ordered her usual. The Mount Vesuvius was a molten chocolate dessert in a pool of raspberry syrup flecked with spearmint trees. Streaming out from the center were gummy bears, representing fleeing Pompeii villagers. The dish came topped with mandarin and blood-orange sorbet to represent fire. The citrus flavor perfectly cut through the sweetness.

  When they were done, Winnie patted her stomach. “And thus concludes my diet. Time for more clothing layers. Bring on sweater weather.”

  “I will never eat again,” Piper said.

  “Feel better?” Winnie gave Piper's hand an affectionate pat. “I'm sorry that psycho lady was mean to you today. And that the big, mean security guard looked at you funny.”

  Piper gave her friend a grateful smile. “Don't forget the awkward discussion about the afterlife with Pastor Dan. He used the word cray-cray.”

  “I'd pay good money to see a video of that.”

  They both laughed, and Piper felt a lightness. Her spirits were lifting.

  Perhaps it was the sugar hitting her bloodstream, but for the first time in a long time, she felt something. Ambition. She wondered if this was how Winnie felt about her career, why she was eager to get to work on Monday mornings while Piper slept in and then noodled around on the internet until her friend was off work.

  Something was shifting. Piper Chen, who had previously been vague about career ambitions, was excited about being an investigative journalist.

  The idea was too wonderful and intoxicating to share out loud just yet. Tel
ling Winnie would be like jinxing the possibility. So, Piper remained quiet while her mind spun with ideas for getting an interview with Robert Jones. There were only a couple of hotels in the small town, and he was likely staying at one of them.

  They drove back in comfortable, quiet companionship, speaking only to groan about their full bellies and how they were never going to Loco Loft again. It was an empty vow they had made and broken countless times.

  By the time they reached Copeland, the sun had already set and the air was so cool, they debated turning on the car's heater. Piper rubbed her forearms. November had brought what locals affectionately called “sweater weather.”

  “I promise I'll behave,” Winnie said.

  “Huh?” Piper had been thinking about calling the local hotels to find out where Robert Jones was staying.

  “When you introduce me to George,” Winnie said. “I promise I won't embarrass you or say anything about the bad plot choices he made. Not even that horrible thing with Pelican Island and all those charming peasants being wiped out of existence, in an act of violence that was more senseless than shocking.”

  “Acts of senseless violence are senseless,” Piper said. “That's sort of the whole point he was making.”

  “Oh? Did someone die and make you the expert on interpreting George Morrison's work?” She paused. “Was it him?” She gasped. “Honestly, tell me. Has he been communicating with you at all? You said he doesn't talk, but if he can change the channels on your TV, surely he could type a few words if you point him toward a laptop.”

  “Trust me, I've tried,” Piper said. “But he's only interested in loafing around, watching TV.”

  Winnie snorted. “Sounds about right. That's why his books take forever.”

  “He's still a person,” Piper said, feeling defensive. “He's not a factory robot with a wind-up crank.”

  “But he promised he'd have the next book ready by—oh, snap!” Winnie hit the accelerator, and they zoomed past Piper's driveway without turning in.

  Piper turned and stared behind them. It was dark now, but thanks to the new landscape lighting around the mansion, she could easily see a vehicle parked in her driveway. A marked police car.