Double, Double, Nothing But Trouble (A Mellow Summers Paranormal Mystery Book 10)

by Janet McNulty

  Tried as I might, I could not concentrate. My mind dwelled on the article in the paper. How dare that woman pretend to befriend me just to write a scathing article. And how did she get a photo of me? That picture looked like it had been taken last night. The more I pondered over it, the more I realized… It had! As I thought back to the séance, it occurred to me that she and Lily must have set up cameras, and probably miniature microphones, around the room to record everything that had happened. This had been planned from the beginning.

  I spent so much time fuming over last night’s events, that I ignored my assignment.

  “Time!” said the professor.

  I looked at my tablet and realized that I hadn’t even started to manipulate the audio file. While others uploaded their new creation to the same site we had downloaded the original file from, I just packed my tablet away in my bag and left. There was no point in uploading my file. I hadn’t done anything with it.

  I burst out of the building into the cold, crisp February air. My romantic getaway with Greg seemed like a distant memory, even though it had only been a few days ago. My quick steps crunched the layer of snow, which had fallen while I was in class, beneath my feet as I gripped my bag close to me, ignoring all those who passed me, staring and pointing in my direction. Great. Now I was famous, and not in a good way.

  My phone buzzed. I looked at it. Jackie had sent me a text telling me to get my butt over to work, now. I quickened my pace and half-jogged, half-walked through the ankle-deep snow. The Candle Shoppe wasn’t far, just a few blocks, from campus. I didn’t mind walking to work once in a while. On days like these, Greg would drop me off at the college and I walked to work to meet up with Jackie, who would give me a ride home. It worked out well.

  As I hurried down the sidewalk, a police car passed me, its lights flashing, though no sirens. That couldn’t be good. It turned right, heading in the same direction as the Candle Shoppe. Not caring if I fell on the ice, I ran the rest of the way to work, pleading with the universe that the Candle Shoppe hadn’t been broken into again. Once I turned the corner, I stopped. Three police cars were parked outside of the flower shop, which was next door to the Candle Shoppe. There had been another break-in.

  Chapter 5

  I rushed to the Candle Shoppe, ignoring the officers that tried to stop me.

  “Mel!”

  I stopped upon hearing Jackie’s voice. “What happened?”

  “The flower shop next door was broken into sometime last night.”

  “What?” I said, shocked that two break-ins would take place in almost the exact spot and in such a short amount of time. “Was anything taken?”

  “It doesn’t look like it,” replied Jackie. “I had only just gotten here when all of the cops showed up.”

  I couldn’t believe it. First the Candle Shop is ransacked, then the flower store next to it is broken into and everything is tossed around. If it wasn’t a thief, in the conventional sense, then who was doing it? None of it added up. Why break into a place and not steal from it?

  “What is going on here, Mel?” asked Jackie.

  “I don’t know,” I said as I watched Detective Shorts question the owner to the flower shop.

  Someone walked through the gathered crowd and past the police that scurried about doing their job. As I watched him, I remembered that I had seen him yesterday, and he was the same man I had seen off and on in the Candle Shoppe since the day I had started working there, but I had never thought about it until now.

  “Do you think he might know something?” I asked Jackie.

  “I don’t see how,” said Jackie.

  “He was in the flower shop yesterday, watching everything as the police conducted their investigation. And I know I have seen him several times in the store. Doesn’t he look familiar?”

  “Now that you mention it, he does seem somewhat familiar. Might be a repeat customer,” Jackie said, paying more attention to the police than the man I stayed focused on.

  “Miss Summers?” Detective Shorts had walked up to me.

  “I didn’t see anything,” I replied, automatically. “I was at the college, but you might try asking…” I stopped speaking when I turned to point at the man I had seen only to discover that he had disappeared; probably run off.

  “I’m not here to speak to you about the break-in next door.”

  My head snapped up. This was new. Most times, Detective Shorts wanted to speak to me about a murder I witnessed, or got involved in because of a helpful ghost, but never to just talk.

  “Walk with me,” said the detective.

  Jackie gave me an don’t-ask-me look, when I glanced at her, shaking her head, while I followed Detective Shorts away from the crowd.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He showed me his smartphone and the same article was on it that I had read earlier in the paper while in the college cafeteria.

  “I didn’t…”

  “I don’t blame you,” said Detective Shorts. “I knew I had seen her somewhere before. Her name is Jillian Modsen. She works for the local paper and has aspirations to be a national news anchor. Somehow, she learned of you and has now fixated on you as a story.”

  “I didn’t know!”

  “Just be careful,” warned Detective Shorts. “Notoriety like this can ruin reputations and lives.”

  An officer walked up to us, calling the detective’s name and he left me standing there alone on the sidewalk. I glanced across the street and thought I saw someone staring right at me, but as I focused on him, he tossed his cigarette aside, shoved his hands in his pockets, and hurried down the walk. I was about to chase after him when Jackie ran up to me, stopping me.

  “So, Mr. Stilton says that we should just take the day off. He’s not going to open today—and who can blame him? Especially with this mess.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Jackie, noticing my lack of interest in the robbery next door.

  I pulled out my phone and looked up the article that Jillian had written about me and handed it to her.

  “That witch!” shouted Jackie.

  I was about to agree with her when my phone rang. It was Tiny. “Mel, here.”

  “Mel?” Oh boy! Tiny did not sound well. “I need you”—a series of coughs interrupted his statement—“to come over here.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Are you all right? You sound terrible.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  “It’s just a cold,” said Tiny. “But come over, please, I need to speak with you.”

  “Be right there.” I hung up. “We need to go to Tiny’s, but first, let’s pick up some chicken noodle soup,” I said to Jackie.

  “Tiny’s? What’s wrong?”

  “He wants to see me.”

  “And the soup?”

  “He’s not feeling well.”

  We said good-bye to Mr. Stilton, who told us to just leave, and got into Jackie’s car. We stopped at a local diner and picked up a quart of their chicken noodle soup to go, before heading over to Tiny’s.

  “Tiny?” I called, opening the door to his apartment, which was above a car repair garage. A fit of coughing answered me. “Tiny?”

  “Over here,” said a hoarse voice.

  I stepped inside his apartment, but Jackie stopped in the doorway. “Come on,” I said to her.

  “I don’t want to get sick,” she said, hugging her arms in close and jumping from foot to foot in an effort to keep warm, despite the frigid wind.

  “You’re going to freeze out there,” I replied.

  Relenting, and turning blue from the cold, Jackie came inside and I shut the door.

  “Hey,” I said to Tiny, who huddled on the couch with a blanket wrapped around him and five boxes of half-full tissues situated around him, along with mounds of used ones. I handed him the carton of soup and a plastic spoon. “Here.”

  “I’m not sick,” protested Tiny.


  Jackie scoffed, voicing her disagreement.

  “Sure you aren’t,” I said, “which is why you are wrapped up tighter than a caterpillar in its cocoon and have a bunch of snot infested tissues on the floor.”

  In a huff, Tiny snatched the soup, popping off the plastic lid, and ate a spoonful.

  “What’s up?” I asked him.

  He plopped his tablet in front of me with this morning’s front page news on its screen, and an ugly picture of me. “And Elise”—he tossed a newspaper at me and I caught it—“brought this in this morning.”

  I grimaced. I knew there was no way I would be able to keep them from seeing it, but had hoped that it would still be a while.

  “I ran into her yesterday when the Candle Shoppe had been broken into. She acted all…”

  “What!” Tiny’s tone told me that he hadn’t known about yesterday’s events, which meant he must have really been sick; it’s the only way he could have been out of the loop.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I should have told you.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Tiny, waving away my concern. “It wouldn’t have done much good. I slept all day yesterday.” He took some more mouthfuls of the steaming soup and I could tell by his facial expression that it helped ease his sore throat.

  “She acted all scared,” I continued, “and I was just trying to be friendly. I didn’t know that she was some reporter. Or that she planned this.”

  “You need to be careful, Mel,” said Tiny. “Judging by that piece, this woman means business.”

  “But why?” asked Jackie; she still stood near the door, not wanting to get too close to Tiny, afraid of catching his cold.

  “Oh, who knows?” said Tiny, releasing a small cough, despite his efforts at trying to suppress it. “I don’t know her that well myself, which means she hasn’t done much to make waves, until now.”

  I frowned. This didn’t bode well.

  “Now, tell me about this break in at the Candle Shoppe,” said Tiny.

  I relayed the details of how I had arrived at work to open the store and found it ransacked, but nothing appeared to have been stolen; and according to Jackie, Mr. Stilton has accounted for everything so far. With each passing second, Tiny’s face became more and more worried.

  “Yeah, but the flower store next door was broken into last night,” Jackie said when I had finished. “And nothing was taken.”

  “Strange thief,” mumbled Tiny.

  “Or thieves,” said Jackie.

  At that moment, the door opened and in marched Elise with her arms full of shopping bags. Jackie took a few and helped her into the kitchen.

  “Thanks,” said Elise. “I got you,” she said to Tiny, “cough drops, nasal decongestants, cough syrup, and some herbal tea.”

  Tiny groaned. “I want a beer.”

  “Not while you’re sick, you won’t,” Elise scolded him, placing her hands on her hips. “And this herbal stuff won’t kill you.”

  Tony grunted in response.

  “Mel, Jackie, good to see you,” said Elise, ignoring Tiny’s grumblings. “What are you two girls up to?”

  “Tiny called about this morning’s article,” I replied.

  “I told him not to bother you about it.” Elise gave him a reprimanding glare and Tiny looked down at his bare feet. “Lord knows you have enough things to worry about. Like a wedding.”

  “Yes, a wedding!” Rachel popped into the room, flinging loose papers everywhere. “I am going to be your bridesmaid! Or the maid of honor.”

  I covered my face with my gloved hand while the others stared at me with a mixture of confusion and comprehension. They had become used to some of Rachel’s antics, but her habit of popping in and out still surprised them, and me, sometimes.

  “Well?” said Rachel.

  “Rachel,” I replied, “I really can’t be thinking about this right now.” I showed her the tablet with the article on the screen.

  “That…” She left.

  “Rachel?” asked Elise.

  “Is gone,” I said. “I feel somewhat sorry for that Jillian.” My mind fiddled with ideas of what Rachel had planned for her, though I must admit that I wasn’t broken up about it.

  “We should probably go too,” said Jackie.

  “No stay,” croaked Tiny.

  “So that they can catch your cold?” said Elise. “I don’t think so.”

  Jackie and I said our good-byes and left, with Elise telling me to not worry about Jillian. With nothing else to do, we went home where I spent the rest of the day and evening catching up on school work, wondering where Rachel had disappeared to.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning I awoke to a gray and dreary day with sleet pelting the glass of my window, making little tick, tick, ticks. I moaned when I remembered that I had to go out in it within a couple of hours. I was so sick and tired of winter and just wanted spring to arrive, or at least the snow melt.

  “Mel, you up?” Jackie knocked on my bedroom door.

  “Yeah,” I replied, my voice still hoarse from having just woken up, “I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”

  “Go? Go where?”

  “Work,” I said, rubbing the sand from my eyes.

  “We don’t have to go to work today, remember?”

  My eyes popped open. That was right. Mr. Stilton had decided to just close up for the next day or two because of the two break-ins. But why would someone break into a place of business and not take anything, much less leave the cash register alone? I needed to know why the Candle Shoppe was targeted. It was where I worked.

  I jumped out of bed and flung my door open, running right into Jackie.

  “Whoa! Slow down there, Mel!”

  “Jackie,” I said, “we need to go to the Candle Shoppe.”

  “And do what, exactly?”

  “Investigate the break-in.”

  Jackie gave me a reproachful look and I couldn’t blame her; I was about to drag her into another one of my private investigations.

  “I still have the key,” I said; and I did, since I forgot to return it to Mr. Stilton during all of the excitement from two days ago.

  “Mel, are you sure you want to get involved in this?”

  “I’m already involved,” I said, throwing on some jeans and a t-shirt. “I’m the one who found the store like that, and yesterday the flower shop next to it was broken into, but nothing was taken. Don’t you find it odd?”

  “Well, I’ll admit that it does seem to go against the parameters of being a thief,” admitted Jackie.

  “And it was the place where we work that was violated,” I continued, hoping that it would be enough to convince Jackie.

  “You do have a point,” said Jackie, “and I would like to be able to go back there without wondering if the same person is going to break in again. I just… something just isn’t right here.”

  I understood her sentiment. I had been thinking the same. “I’ll buy you a gooey, jelly filled donut for breakfast.”

  “With strawberry filling?” asked Jackie.

  “Yep.” Okay, maybe I was being a little conniving by bribing Jackie, but I knew how to get her to come along; besides, she was just as interested in this as I was.

  I rushed out of my room and found a jelly donut floating in midair.

  “Surprise!” Rachel materialized behind it, holding the gooey, sugary goodness in her hand. “For you, my dear.” She handed the jelly donut to Jackie, who wasted no time in shoving it into her mouth.

  “What,” she said over a mouthful of donut when I looked at her with a shocked expression. “I’m hungry. And she did offer.”

  “Rachel,” I said, “where did you get the donut?”

  “From the bakery, of course,” replied Rachel as though the answer should have been obvious. “Don’t worry. I paid for it!”

  “How?” For some reason, I didn’t think she had any currency to pay for such things.

  “With the money I took from your wallet
.”

  What? I seized my purse and yanked out my wallet, opening it to find that the cash I had in there was gone.

  “What?” said Rachel. “You were going to be buying her one anyway, so I did it for you, that way you can get started on your investigation.”

  “Next time, ask.,” I said to her.

  I pulled out my phone and texted Greg to see if he was up. He was. I let him know that Jackie and I were going to the Candle Shoppe to do some snooping and asked if he wanted to join us. Within thirty seconds, a knock sounded on the door and I opened it to find him standing there, bundled up and with his keys in his hand.

  “There is no way I am letting you two go over there alone,” he said.

  I gave him a big kiss.

  “Oh get a room you two,” joked Rachel. “Oh my goodness! I almost forgot. I have somewhere to be!” She vanished, leaving us alone in my apartment, wondering what it was that was so important, that she chose to pass up a chance to do some amateur sleuthing.

  Without delaying any further, the three of us trooped down to the parking area and piled into Greg’s car, arriving at the Candle Shoppe within 15 minutes. I remarked at how light the traffic was, since this time in the morning was usually busy,

  “You should pull into the back alley,” I said, tugging the store key out of my pocket.

  The car slowed.

  “What’s wrong?” I looked up and my hopes of being able to look around the Candle Shoppe without being bothered were dashed. For the third time this week, police cars were parked outside of the strip where the Candle Shoppe was, their red and blue lights flashing so bright that it lit up the dark day.

  “Oh, no. Not again,” moaned Jackie.

  “You should park over there,” I said, pointing at a place across the street that was well away from the police cruisers.

  “It looks like it was the hobby store this time,” said Jackie.

  I opened the car door.

  “What are you doing?” demanded Greg.