Whenever Piper saw the game's card with the candlestick holder, she thought of Simone's cover-up plan and its fatal flaw. There was no schoolgirl to pin the crime on. So, when the police went looking for a suspect who fit the description phoned in, they'd ended up at Piper's house. It was Winnie's bad luck that she was in the house that day, along with the murder weapon—the weapon that was only there thanks to George and his keen ghostly detective skills. Ironically, in trying to solve his murder, George had inadvertently endangered an innocent bystander.
But thanks to Piper's snooping, a little hypnosis, and a whole lot of Nancy Dowd calling in favors, Simone's web of deceit came undone somewhere over the Grand Canyon. Taken by surprise and caught off guard, George's sister had confessed to her crime on camera. Too late, she realized she was trapped, with the authorities awaiting her at the landing site. Simone couldn't have known it was all a bluff put together by Nancy and Piper. The only thing waiting at the hangar was a table full of ham sandwiches and orange slices. But Simone “Sammy” Morrison couldn't have assumed they were bluffing. Desperate and trapped like an animal, her genius mind had kicked in, and she'd quickly formulated a daring escape by parachute. All her years of spending George's money on wildly debaucherous adventure vacations had prepared her well.
Simone's genius escape plan, however, also had a fatal flaw. There were some parachutes on board the Eagle Eye Tours airplane, but they were located near the rear. The green backpack she'd grabbed before exiting the plane wasn't one of them. Earlier that day, Robert Jones had checked out of his hotel and planned to leave the town of Copeland straight after scattering George's ashes. He'd packed his wrinkled clothes back into the same military surplus backpack he used for all travel, and carried the backpack aboard the small plane.
When Simone yanked on what she believed was the ripcord, she expected to see a bright parachute billow above her, cupping the air and gently easing her down to solid red earth. Instead, all that released above her was a billowing cloud of Robert Jones' dirty laundry.
The rocks ten-thousand feet below had served as the murderer's judge, jury, and executioner.
Later that day, a search-and-rescue crew found her remains. They also reported the strangest sight: The vast majority of George Morrison's cremation remains had funneled down perfectly, following Simone's trajectory, and had fallen neatly within a two-foot radius of the dead woman. He had circled her, snared her. The crime scene investigators tried to take photos of the strange phenomenon, but before they could get their cameras set up, a gust of wind swirled in from out of nowhere and carried the ashes away.
* * *
Ever since that day, whenever the wind picked up and blew dust in her eyes, Piper would look around for George.
It wasn't until the one-month anniversary of his death, when she'd given up on seeing him again, that he did visit. Piper awoke in the middle of the night with a strange, electric sensation on her skin. Teddy wasn't on her bed. She heard absolute silence, and then she heard the television in the den click on.
She walked barefoot down the hallway and found George right where she knew he'd be, reclining in the comfy leather chair. He had CNN on the television, showing the latest financial crisis, but he wasn't watching the TV. He was focused on the laptop that Piper had left open on a side table.
George glanced up at Piper and gave her a casual wave before returning his attention to the small laptop screen.
She took a seat on the sofa, next to Teddy, and leaned over to see what George was doing. He wasn't physically depressing the keys, but he was moving his translucent fingers over them, and he appeared to be typing. He'd pulled up an official website created by his publisher. Piper recognized the splash screen immediately.
This new website was for a competition that was open to the public—a competition to determine which undiscovered writer was going to take over the House of Hallows series. The ghost turned to her with his eyebrows raised high under the brim of his cap. He pointed his finger at Piper and then the screen. Piper. Screen.
Piper snorted. “Oh, George. I'm not one of those people who has big ideas about where the series is supposed to go. I could probably write a few chapters if someone figured out the basic plot things for me, but I've got no right entering this contest.”
He held up one finger and smiled. There was more ghostly typing and then he was at a login page for cloud-based data storage. He logged in and clicked the command to change the password on the account. He turned to Piper and gestured for her to take over.
She did, typing in a password she wouldn't forget: noparachute.
And then she was logged in.
“This is your account with everything,” she said breathlessly. She'd asked him about notes before, and he had pointed to the sky. She'd thought he meant heaven, or that the notes were gone forever. But he must have been pointing to a cloud. His notes lived on, in The Cloud of off-site data storage.
“This is all your notes and outlines,” she breathed excitedly. “Everything! Are you sure you want me to see this?”
He nodded. Yes. And then he took over the controls without touching the keys or trackpad, opening the document labeled Final Chapter.
Piper braced herself and began to read.
His plans for House of Hallows were large and ambitious, yet elegantly simple. The ending was brilliant—the sort of ending nobody could predict with certainty, but which made so much logical sense that everyone would insist, after the fact, that they'd known the secret all along. And as Piper reviewed George's notes, she became certain of something. She could pick up where he left off. She could use these notes and bring his story to life. And why not? Somebody had to do it.
After the plane excursion, Piper had worked with Nancy Dowd to bring the news story of the decade to the public. But she confessed, sadly, that she didn't want to stay on as Nancy's apprentice. As much as Piper loved the drama and intrigue of an investigation, she didn't enjoy prying into the private lives of real people. She preferred to stay horrified by real-life horror, and entertained by fictional horror.
And reading George's plans for the finale of the series was exactly the kind of fictional horror she loved. This was her passion. This was her true calling. She would finish what George started. It would be difficult and long, and there would be days she regretted her choice to jump in without a parachute, but it would be profoundly satisfying, and she would love her career the way Winnie did hers. And Winnie would love these new twists and turns in the series.
Piper asked George, “So, Ling really comes back from the dead? Was this your plan all along?”
As usual, he didn't answer.
When she finally tore her attention away from the laptop screen, George was gone from the den.
She jumped up, startling Teddy into a sneezing fit, and ran off to search the house.
She finally caught sight of George standing next to the front door. He was dressed for a long journey, wearing a formal suit, a trench coat, and a fedora. She'd never seen him looking so refined, so ready for the next thing.
“This is goodbye,” she said.
He took off the fedora and held it in one hand as he nodded. There was sadness in his eyes but also hope.
“George,” she said. “I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Did you know that it was your sister who killed you?”
He frowned and shook his head. Piper believed him.
There was another ghost who had helped solve the mystery. George's mother. For the past few weeks, Piper had been visiting the website and messageboards for people sharing their ghost stories. She'd learned that sometimes, when a person was in that twilight state between death and life, a ghost could inhabit their body very briefly. It had been Mrs. Morrison who'd watched helplessly as her daughter committed murder. Mrs. Morrison had taken control of George's nearly lifeless hands, dabbed the blood at the back of his head, and pressed the message onto the phone. She was the one who'd led Piper to the phone, but her manifestation had been so terrifying
, her spirit so consumed by rage and pain, that she'd nearly wiped away the memory. Ghosts could do that, said others on the internet messageboard. When charged up, they acted like powerful magnetic fields did near computer storage drives.
Piper had never seen the female ghost again, so she hoped the woman was at peace now.
George was reaching for the door handle. He wouldn't be able to turn it, and he could simply walk right through the door, but old human habits follow beyond death.
There was just one more question.
Piper asked, “Did you know that the girl you called Coco was a forty-something woman named Pandora?”
His pale cheeks turned pink. Bashfully, he rolled his eyes and then reluctantly nodded.
Piper shook her head and gently admonished him with a tsk-tsk sound. “You're a naughty boy, but it's better than the alternative.”
He grinned and tossed his hat up in the air, ducking forward to catch it on his head.
“Do you really want me to enter that writing contest?”
He gave her two thumbs up. Affirmative.
“I'll do my best,” she said. “I've already got a few chapters going in my head.”
He swiped his hand through the door handle.
“Wait!”
He paused and turned to look at her.
“Can I have a hug before you go? Or if that's not allowed, could I see you one more time in the Cowardly Lion suit?”
In the blink of an eye, he was dressed in the lion suit once more. He walked toward her slowly, furry-costumed arms outstretched. Piper closed her eyes and hugged him. He wasn't exactly corporeal, but he wasn't exactly nothing.
She felt the energy of her friend, and she felt something powerful inside herself awakening as well. She was still young, but she was no longer a child. Life wasn't going to pass her by while she distracted herself with trivialities. Not anymore. She'd waited long enough to find her calling, and now that she'd found it, she was going to hold on with both hands.
In the months that followed, there would be a flurry of changes in Piper's life. Her parents would return from Taiwan and announce they were going to invest in their beloved home town of Copeland through a new multiphase construction project, which included everything from affordable units for families to a community water park, for locals to cool down (when water restrictions allowed it).
Piper would get to know Otis through more dates, game nights, and adventures. Winnie would feel pushed out by the new boyfriend, but she'd eventually come around, even allowing him to tag along as the third wheel on their trips to the Loco Loft for disaster-themed desserts. In January, Winnie would begin dating Otis's best friend, and they would all tease each other over who was the most revoltingly adorable couple.
Piper would get a referral for a different therapist from Dr. Vicki Walsh, and would only get occasional advice from the woman—always for free, and usually at her house over dinner.
Teddy would continue to dig up the yard and keep the local landscapers in business.
Most dramatically, Piper would win the publisher's contest and be awarded the contract to write the next three House of Hallows novels. She would bring Ling the Warrior Princess back from the dead, with a fiery vengeance, a flaming sword, and some new, better clothes.
Once the internet learned of her book contract and connected Piper with the video of her talking about seeing George's ghost, excitement over the next installment would reach a fever pitch. Was this sweet-faced young woman a psychic? Was she taking notes from George Morrison himself? The samples the publisher released seemed to bear the distinctive fingerprints of the deceased author.
When asked these questions during interviews over the coming years, Piper Chen would always decline to comment. “That's between me and George,” she would say.
They would inevitably ask, “Do you still see his ghost?”
She would smile and think, only when the wind blows.
Only when the sun sets each day.
And only when the stars twinkle in the vast Arizona night sky.
* * *
Looking for another great mystery read?
Other Excellent Mystery Books
From Angela Pepper
If you loved this book, you'll love these other fabulous mystery books and series from Angela Pepper:
Stormy Day Mystery Books
A traditional-style contemporary cozy by Angela Pepper. This is a classic small-town cozy with a terrific cast of quirky characters and all kinds of investigation-related shenanigans.
Click here for all the Stormy Day books on Amazon.
Diamond Files Mysteries
A contemporary mystery series featuring the dynamic trio of Derek Diamond, his young protégé with the perfect memory, Abby Silver, and the sniffer dog extraordinaire, Chewie the beagle.
Click here for Diamond Files on Amazon.
Ghost Mysteries of the Southwest
Looking for a gripping psychological thriller that's moody, but not too dark? These books deliver all the thrills with a little spook factor to keep you on the edge of your seat.
Click here for Ghost Mysteries of the Southwest on Amazon.
Wisteria Witches
This hilarious series has been described as Gilmore Girls meets Supernatural. There's plenty of paranormal weirdness, witty humor, romance, and family secrets in this sassy witch series.
Click here for Wisteria Witches on Amazon.
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(PREVIEW SAMPLE)
Stormy Day Mystery Book 1, Death of a Dapper Snowman
Chapter 1
The hand-painted snowman on the vase kept his coal-black eyes trained on me. Sweating and breathing heavily, I was getting my morning workout by pushing the accent chair from one side of the living room to the other.
I stepped back to assess my handiwork. The room was still off-balance and bare. The little snowman looked embarrassed to be there as the sole decorative item in my new-to-me house.
The doorbell rang.
I picked up the vase and turned it around on the coffee table, so the snowman faced the window, and only the painted mountains would be visible to my guest. That tweak made all the difference. One lone Christmas decoration would be pathetic, but a single piece of ceramic art made an elegant centerpiece.
I opened the door and invited in the perky blond real estate agent who’d sold me the place.
Samantha Sweet glanced around the interior as though appraising the value added by my decorating, or the lack thereof. She was frowning. I had a table and four chairs, plus a sofa, accent chair, plants, and lamps, but no curtains, no art on the walls, and nothing personal other than the vase.
“Good start,” she said with enthusiasm.
“I know it needs softening up,” I said. “Everything’s square, and I need more roundness, more texture.”
She said, “Stormy, you could get a pet.”
“To decorate? That seems a bit selfish, to buy a pet just to accessorize my living room. Then again, fluffy white cats and dogs look great with everything. Or should I go brown? What colors are in style these days for pets?”
Her mouth pinched. Sadly, her lack of appreciation for my particular brand of irreverent humor immediately took her off my shortlist for potential new friends. That narrowed my list down to zero, which was a shame. I tried not to let my disappointment seep into my voice as we continued to make small talk about throw pillows and decorating.
She took a seat on the upholstered living room chair, refused coffee but accepted water, and we got down to business.
I’d already bought the house we were currently sitting in, as well as an established retail business on Broad Avenue. Both were sizable commitments, but when managed well by yours truly, they promised to be cash-flow positive. That left me with enough capital to acquire a few more investments, possibly a nice round ten. If I had ten, there’d be secur
ity. Even if a few flopped, the diversity of my portfolio would spread out the risk.
Samantha’s green eyes had nearly popped out when I’d told her my intentions. She was no slouch and had gotten to work immediately, scouring the town for more deals.
For today’s presentation, she had three prospects, each in its own folder. I sat kitty-corner to her, on the sofa.
Samantha opened the first folder and composed herself with a professional smile that didn’t quite extend to her eyes.
Before she could speak, I said, “Pass.”
She gave me a wounded look. “But I haven’t even told you what it is.”
“I can see you’ve only got five sheets of paper in that skinny folder. You and I both know this one’s no good, which is why you’re presenting it first. Classic sales technique. Let’s make a deal. I’ll be honest with you, as long as you promise not to play the usual games.”
Her lips pinched again. She set the first folder aside. “You’re right,” she said. “It was for a micro-brewery they’ve been trying to unload for years. Nobody else wants it, either.”
“I saw it listed online,” I said. “The building has some value, but the equipment’s outdated. The beer itself is decent, but I’m guessing the margins are wafer-thin.” I nodded to the other materials on her lap. “What’s behind door number two?”
She opened the next folder, tipping her head from one side to the other as she handed it to me.
“Katrina Court is a three-story, twelve-unit rental block,” she said.
I closed the folder after a cursory glance and set it aside. “Pass.”
She sputtered, “Bu-bu-but you said you were interested in more residential rentals.”
Interview with a Ghost in Arizona (Humorous Cozy Mystery) (Ghost Mysteries of the Southwest Book 2) Page 19