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

by Angela Pepper

  “George is the one with something to say,” Nancy said into the microphone. Her voice sounded different, as though it was being pinched by the altitude. “I'm only here as the messenger.” She carefully unsealed the plastic bag. Using a clean handkerchief as a glove, she pulled out the old telephone and held it up. “Simone Morrison, or should I call you Sam? Do you recognize this as the downstairs phone from your childhood home?”

  Simone crossed her arms. “How should I know? It's just a phone.”

  Robert drunkenly jeered, “Get to the point! This speech needs a good editor!”

  Pandora glowered silently in her seat.

  Carl made a choking sound. He opened a paper sick bag and leaned forward, using it.

  Nancy continued her presentation. “Please note the dark stains on three of the keypad's numbers. Those smears contain George Morrison's fingerprints, captured in his own blood. In the moments before he succumbed to his injuries at the foot of his stairs, he had the presence of mind to touch his fingers to the wound at the back of his head. Do you know why?”

  Nobody dared move a muscle, let alone guess.

  “To leave the world a note,” Nancy said. “Three numbers. Two-six-seven. But you can ignore the numbers. It's the letters underneath the numbers that comprise the final word written by George Morrison, his generation's greatest writer.” She coughed into her fist. “Can anyone…” More coughing.

  Robert offered her the flask, but she waved it away.

  Finally, she wheezed out, “Can anyone here decode the message?”

  Rob, who'd been leaning forward with the flask, put his face right up to the phone. “It's not two-six-seven,” he said. “He must have punched it in as six-seven-two, which would spell R-O-B. His last message was my name!” Robert sounded excited, and happy. He turned to the other passengers, beaming. “There you have it, folks. George's last wish was for me to take over the series and finish his work!”

  Pandora jumped up. “You idiot! It's seven-two-six. And that spells P-A-N. His final message was meant for me!” She was smiling, laughing, and crying all at the same time. Holding her hands over her heart, she said, “George's final wish was for me to write his biography, his life story. He pretty much told me that, right before he died.”

  Carl got up and put on a pair of reading glasses. “Let me take a closer look at that,” the Realtor said, holding his hand out. Nancy Dowd, who was still coughing, handed the phone to him, cradled in the handkerchief. “The code spells C-O-P,” he said. “That's me. Carl Otis Plummer. Now, why the heck would George leave me a message?” He seemed genuinely intrigued.

  While Carl looked at the phone, Nancy took a seat on the crew bench next to Piper and said, her voice hoarse, “Don't freak out.”

  “Too late. I've been freaking out since we stepped on the plane.”

  Nancy nodded. “You didn't let me finish.” She coughed and rubbed the red patch on her upper lip. “Don't freak out, but you have to take over.”

  “What are you talking about? You're doing great.”

  Nancy grimaced. Her upper lip was swelling before Piper's eyes. Nancy croaked, “My voice. Can't talk.” She continued in a scratchy whisper. “There must have been peppermint oil in the spirit gum we used for the mustaches.”

  “You're having an allergic reaction?” Piper started to get up. “There must be an EpiPen on board. Don't worry, Nancy, I'll get you something, and I'll alert the pilot for an emergency landing.”

  Nancy yanked her back down and pressed her face up to Piper's. “It's not life threatening,” she croaked. “I'll be okay. Just can't talk. You have to take over. Now or never. We'll never get this group together again.” With one swipe, Nancy pulled off Piper's mustache, glasses, and hat.

  The passengers, who'd been paying attention, let out an appreciative murmur and began to applaud. They thought this was part of the show!

  An elderly man in the back row shouted, “Speak up! Use the microphone!”

  A woman next to him asked, “Who's that supposed to be?”

  Another woman in the fifth row said, “That's Coco Lee! From George's fan club!” The woman waved at Piper. “We met at the funeral. Remember me?”

  “Of course,” Piper said. It was the dotty older lady who'd gotten Simon's addiction wrong.

  Piper looked straight at Pandora Lee and said, “You could say I'm as much Coco Lee as anyone can be.”

  Pandora stared right at her, eyes blazing and mouth a tiny dash.

  “Got a problem with that?” Piper offered the microphone to Pandora.

  The woman's tightly clenched mouth all but disappeared. She didn't take the microphone.

  “Tell the truth,” Piper said. “Tell everyone here how you've been catfishing them.”

  Through gritted teeth, Pandora spat out, “I've done nothing wrong.” She paused to give it some thought. “Well, nothing illegal.”

  Piper didn't need the microphone to be heard in the small cabin, but she kept it near her mouth because it gave her a sense of control. “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is actually Piper Ophelia Chen. I'm not Coco Lee because there is no Coco Lee. She's an imaginary character, as fictitious as Ling the Warrior Princess. Our friend Pandora here made her up.”

  Someone in the back asked, “Why?”

  Someone else chuckled and said, “Why not? It's more fun to be a precocious fifteen-year-old girl than a sad, middle-aged single woman.”

  Another person said, “I thought all the fake fifteen-year old chicks on the internet were played by hairy old men!”

  Someone made a lewd joke that only the back rows could hear, and that set off the back half laughing. Piper noticed there were a few other flasks floating around in addition to Rob's.

  Pandora whipped around and made a hissing sound, like a snake. “All of you, shut up! You don't know anything. George and I were lovers, and you'll never take that away from us.”

  Someone in the back snorted. “You're not his type, sweetie. George liked them fresh faced.”

  Pandora put both hands on her hips. “He liked me just fine, especially when I wore my schoolgirl uniform. You're all just jealous because I can pull it off. When I tie my hair up and do my makeup just right, I can pass for fifteen!”

  In the front row, Simone gasped in shock. “It was you!” She began to shake with emotion. “You little slut! You whore!”

  Pandora whipped around to face George's sister defiantly. “Don't you dare play the slut card on me, you depraved sex addict. Oh, I know all about you, Sammy. George told me all about it, past and present. How you two used to play house together, and you forced him to do things he didn't want to do. And how you threatened to tell the world it was the other way around if he didn't cut you in on the business. He lets you write a few pages here and there so you can feel good about yourself, and then he writes you a big check and you blow it all trying to make yourself feel better than the filth you are!”

  “You were in his bedroom!” Simone was still shaking. “On the day he died! I heard you two, and I thought you were… I thought you were Coco.”

  Pandora said, “Fine, so I was there that day. And I always let him call me Coco, because it was our little game. But I didn't have anything to do with his death.” Pandora looked over at Nancy Dowd and spoke gravely. “You've got to believe me, Nancy D. I don't know what happened to my sweet George. Whatever it was, I wasn't there!”

  Piper spoke into the microphone, and her voice came out over the speakers at a booming volume, “And that's why you killed him.”

  All eyes turned to Piper. She glanced over to the spot next to the plane's door, where Pitbull had been sitting. He wasn't there. He was over at the back of the plane, doing something with the intercom system—turning up the volume, apparently.

  Piper continued. “Simone, you heard your brother having sex in his childhood bedroom with a girl you thought was fifteen. You went crazy with jealousy, or anger. After she left, you confronted him. Something went wrong, maybe you lost your temper
, or maybe he egged you on, but things got ugly. You reached out for the nearest thing, which was a candlestick holder, and you hit him.”

  Simone looked around the cabin with wild eyes. She didn't deny it.

  Rob, who was still holding the phone, held it up as though making a case for the other passengers. He said, “Six-two-seven also spells S-A-M, his nickname for Simone. That's what George was trying to tell us when he punched these numbers. He knew he was dying, but he also knew his sister would clean up the scene before she called the police, so he couldn't do something obvious like write her name on the wall.” He shook his head in admiration. “The man was a genius.”

  Carl, who'd been quiet, said, “He was a difficult client, but only because he was a genius.”

  “She tried to frame me,” Pandora yelled, pointing at Simone. “Someone broke into my house and left behind this hideous metal candlestick holder. I figured it was just kids, playing a prank. I threw it in some random dumpster because it gave me the creeps. It was giving off a real voodoo vibe.”

  “So why'd you go back for it?” Piper asked. “I already know you and Robert were searching the dumpster for something.”

  Robert waved his hand politely and answered the question. “She told me she'd accidentally thrown out some priceless family heirloom.”

  “She lied to you,” Piper said, nodding. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Robert continued, “We bumped into each other in the town's main bar one night, and she told me this whole sob story. But now I can see right through her lies. The whole time we were digging around in various dumpsters, she kept feeding me liquor and peppering me with questions about George.” He took his eyes off Piper and gave Pandora an appreciative nod. “Is that your scheme? You've been pumping people for information ever since the moment he died, haven't you? All for your unauthorized biography!”

  Carl fist-pumped the air. “I knew it!”

  Pandora's jaw dropped indignantly. “Duh!” She glowered at him. “But at least I didn't murder him!”

  Everyone turned to look at Simone Morrison.

  Simone, who'd been frozen stiff, suddenly yanked the phone from Rob's hands. She stared at it as everyone watched in stunned silence. Then she stuck out her tongue and licked it, spreading her saliva all over the number pad, smearing the markings. For good measure, she then threw the vintage phone onto the floor of the cabin and stomped it to plastic smithereens.

  Once she'd stopped, Piper asked the killer, “And how does that stale ketchup taste?” She smiled. “You didn't think we'd bring the real evidence up here, did you?”

  Simone took in this revelation without reacting. She slowly returned to her seat and composed herself. She mimed zipping her lips shut. She wasn't going to say another word.

  “That's fine if you're done talking,” Piper said. “Once we land, the police will be waiting to escort you to a nice, secure location where you can meet with your lawyer. You can explain to them how you knew Pandora was at the house that day, how you were there spying on your brother.” Piper broke eye contact and looked up at the rapt audience. “Folks, in case you're wondering, this aircraft is equipped with multiple video and audio recorders. For your safety, of course, and also to be used as evidence.”

  There was a commotion, a sudden movement, and then something the shape of a hockey puck hit Piper on the chin. She staggered backward, landing on Nancy's lap. She leaned down and picked up the puck-like object. It was a lid. From the urn containing George's ashes.

  Simone was at the door of the plane, using the metal urn to strike the lock on the door. Something snapped, and the door slid open a crack. It was a slider, barn-door style, so the door could be opened during flight for skydiving. The cabin depressurized with a force that sucked the air from Piper's lungs and made her temporarily blind. Debris was swirling everywhere in the cabin, and people were screaming.

  When Piper managed to blink away the streaming tears, she saw Simone struggling to pull an olive-green backpack from the wall of the cabin. She got the backpack and strapped it on.

  Pitbull's voice came on over the speakers. “Ma'am, step away from the door!”

  But she didn't. Instead, she tossed George's urn over her shoulder as she shoved the door the rest of the way open. The urn bounced around the cabin as the plastic liner unfurled, releasing the gray contents.

  George was loose. His ashes were everywhere, like an angry dust storm, a haboob from Hell.

  But he was dissipating quickly, being sucked away.

  The airplane's door was now fully open. The square patch of bright-blue sky was surreal. It was as though someone had punched a hole in this chaotic reality and beyond it was peaceful sky. Everyone, including Piper, continued to scream as the howling wind tore at the passengers. The bright-blue doorway darkened and then was bright again. More screaming. The plane tilted, and the punched hole that had been sky became a fiery orange and then a russet red. That was the ground. Were they crashing, or turning?

  Pitbull's voice came over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain in your seats with your seat belts fastened as we make an emergency landing.” Someone screamed about shutting the door, but the pilot cut them off mid-sentence, already anticipating the request. “Okay! Yes, we'd love to have that door shut as much as the rest of you, but that might not be possible until we land. So sit back, hold on tight, and enjoy the ride.”

  Hold on tight?

  Piper realized with a sudden shock that she'd been standing when Simone had gone for the door. How was she still inside the plane? She looked down and saw a pair of legs wrapped around her waist. Nancy Dowd was strapped into her own seat with a harness, and she'd managed to secure Piper—for the moment, anyway. Piper wasted no time getting herself wedged into the neighboring seat and strapped into her own harness.

  The cabin howled as they soared toward their emergency landing.

  It was too windy to communicate, so Piper could do nothing but obey the pilot. She held on tight and tried to enjoy the ride.

  The speakers crackled, and Mad Dog came on again. “Folks, this is your captain speaking. There's been a small change to our itinerary today. We will be landing sooner than anticipated, but not without one more view, like you've never seen it before. Have a look to your left for an unobstructed view of what you came here to see.”

  On the other side of the open plane door was one of the Seven Wonders of the Natural World.

  Piper had seen the Grand Canyon before, but she'd never seen it quite like this.

  She kept looking for the bright plume of Simone's parachute opening, but couldn't see it. When she finally tore her gaze off the spectacular canyon view, she noticed that Robert Jones had his mouth wide open, his head bobbing back, and his hands slapping his knees. He appeared to be howling with laughter.

  Piper turned to check on Nancy Dowd, who was in duress but still able to breathe, and then shouted at Robert Jones, “Why are you laughing?”

  She never had gotten that interview with the man, but this one question would turn out to be the most important part of the story that she and Nancy would reveal to the world. This part was, so to speak, the kicker.

  Robert Jones wiped the tears from his eyes and grinned at Piper. The wind was still whistling through the open door, but she could hear him as he shouted his answer. “I'm supposed to be flying back to New York right after this,” he said. “I don't travel much, so I don't have a suitcase. I usually stuff my clothes into a green army surplus knapsack.” Piper followed his gaze to the hooks on the wall of the cabin, the hooks that were now empty.

  “That wasn't a parachute that Simone grabbed,” Piper said.

  Robert said only, “I'm going to have to buy some more underwear.”

  Chapter 22

  After that day on the plane, Piper worried she'd never see her friend George again. His killer had been brought to justice. Swiftly.

  George Morrison had been a gifted genius, but his sister had also been crafty in her own way. She
nearly got away with murder. It wasn't clear to investigators if she'd been planning to kill George for years, or if it had been a crime of opportunity, a sudden impulse during an argument, when she'd grabbed for the candlestick holder and struck without thinking. She might have felt justified in the killing, believing her brother had been interfering with a young girl. Simone had seemed more surprised than anyone that Coco was only a fictional character, played by her “mother,” Pandora, in a plaid skirt and pigtails.

  Pandora Lee had been up to her own scheme—namely, getting close to George so she could write a tell-all memoir. She'd been lucky to walk away with her stories as a free woman. If Pandora's robot vacuum cleaner hadn't scared off Simone before she could cover her tracks, Pandora wouldn't have discovered the planted evidence inside her home. The police would have shown up, searched the place, and Pandora might have gone down for the crime. A judge or jury might have readily convicted Pandora for the crime, believing that a grown woman who posed as a fifteen-year-old girl online might be capable of other wrongdoings, including murder.

  Once the police knew where to look, the evidence fell into place correctly. Simone's phone records revealed she was the helpful anonymous “neighbor” who'd called the police tip line to tell them a young Asian schoolgirl had been the last one to see George. Lab testing on the candlestick holder revealed George's hair and blood, as well as Simone's DNA, along with Otis's prints, as well as barbecue sauce, bits of cornbread, and various other things typically found in a restaurant dumpster. Otis had been both horrified and delighted at his involvement with the case, claiming after the fact that the candlestick holder had communicated with him, giving him the strong feeling he should wait before cleaning it. After learning this, Piper had teased him about his dumpster-diving ways, and he had teased her about being the town's ghost whisperer. They'd enjoyed many fun dates together, walking Teddy and driving to neighboring towns to visit flea markets like an old married couple, and they would continue getting to know each other.

  It was hard sometimes to talk about things other than the murder case. The murder and its aftermath would continue to loom large over the coming years, but they would find a way to make it work. As for the bubble tea, Piper was pleased to discover Otis kept it on hand simply because he loved it. He couldn't get enough of the sweet tapioca pearls. They would invite Winnie and his best friend over to his place for bubble tea and board games, including Clue.