“We really should get going,” I said to Jackie more than Beverly.
“I understand,” said Beverly. “If you should ever wish to stop by, feel free. My son rarely ever visits me these days and the only company I have is Donald.”
I saw the loneliness in her eyes and felt guilty for having to leave her, but we did need to get to the hospital.
“Perhaps we could later in the week,” I said. “Is there a number we should call?”
“Oh, don’t bother,” said Beverly. “I’m always here. I’ll leave your names with the guard and instructions to let you in at any time.”
“Thanks,” I said, shaking her hand.
I got back in the car, avoiding Donald’s piercing gaze—he did not look happy—and drove away, being extra careful to not run into any more cars or snowbanks.
“Maybe we ought to stop somewhere to get some lunch.”
Rachel popped in the back seat of my car. “Hey!” she said, startling Jackie and causing her to jump.
“Rachel! Is something wrong?” I asked.
“No, everything’s fine,” she replied. “Detective Shorts woke up.”
“That’s great,” said Jackie.
“Your fiancé”—Rachel giggled with excitement about my engagement to Greg—“had to leave for work, so I’ve been keeping an eye one him. Imagine his surprise when he saw me sitting in the chair next to his bed.”
Oh, I could just imagine. “We’ll be by in a bit,” I said, “but we’re going to get some lunch first.”
“OOO—Yums! You should pick up a turkey sandwich on rye,” said Rachel.
“But you don’t eat anything,” Jackie said.
“Not for me!” Rachel huffed. “For the detective. Hospital food is disgusting and tastes bland. He needs real food if he’s going to get his strength back.”
Before I had a chance to respond, she vanished.
“We should go…” I began.
“Let’s eat first,” urged Jackie. “I’m starving.”
I relented. Jackie had a point, and there wasn’t much we could do at the hospital anyway. I headed back to town and decided to go to the sandwich shop that was on the same block as the Candle Shoppe. Actually, it was next door to the hobby store, but had the best sandwiches, which were always made with fresh-baked garlic bread. My mouth watered at the thought of biting into one of their subs.
“All, right,” I said. “Lunch first.”
Chapter 9
I should have known that the moment I had decided to go back to that little shopping strip that there would be trouble. I pulled up in front of the sandwich shop (which was only four stores down from the Candle Shoppe) to be inundated with police cars and their flashing lights once again. Officers walked around, taking notes and speaking to eye witnesses.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” shrieked Jackie. “That’s it. We need to find this person that is causing all of this trouble. It’s bad enough that he broke into the place we work at, but mess with my favorite sandwich place and it’s on!”
I chuckled a bit at Jackie’s outburst. She loved her food, though I was getting tired of all these break-ins as well. I parked the car and we walked over and joined the crowd, listening in on the murmurings that took place. Judging from the way the police and the gathered crowd talked, nothing was taken from this place either. Why? Puzzled about the bizarre robberies, if you can even call them that since nothing was taken, I watched as the police questioned the store owner and any who might have seen something, but no one had. The break-in had taken place in the middle of night, long before anyone would have shown up for work.
“We should go,” I said to Jackie.
“Hey, there’s that psychic!” shouted one individual.
Oh no. This couldn’t be good.
“Why didn’t you warn us that this might happen?” he continued.
“It doesn’t…” I began.
“Because she’s a fake!” shouted another, “just like that article says.”
“That’s enough!” yelled one of the detectives I had seen in Mrs. Waverly’s neighborhood. “There’s nothing to see here, so you all can go about your business. You”—she pointed at me—“come here.”
Great. So now I was in trouble again.
“Detective Nicole Henderson.” She held out her hand and I took it. “Detective Shorts has warned me about you.”
“He has?”
“Look, I don’t know if you’re the real deal and I don’t care, but he has vouched for you, saying that you have been instrumental in helping him solve a few unsolvable cases.”
I kept my mouth shut, not sure where she was going with this.
“Do you have any helpful information about these break-ins?”
“No,” I said.
“Then why are you here?”
“Jackie and I were coming here for lunch. We usually stop here and get some sandwiches.”
“You work at the Candle Shoppe, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“According to the initial report, you were the one who first discovered the break-in.”
“Yes.”
“Have you been able to think of why anyone would want to break into the candle store.”
“No.”
“You were also the one that was involved in the shooting yesterday,” said Detective Henderson.
“Detective Shorts saved me,” I said. “He…”
“It’s okay. I’m not accusing you of anything. My partner and I are now charged with this case, since Detective Shorts in in the hospital. If you can think of anything that you haven’t already told the police, let me know.” She handed me her card. “And you might want to be wary of the local newspaper.”
She walked away, handing me another paper with a front page article about me, complete with a horrendous snapshot of me stuffing a piece of fried chicken in my mouth. Where did she get that picture? I showed it to Jackie. She grimaced and waved me to the car where who both sat and read the new article by Jillian Modsen.
Can’t Even Save Her Friend
Jillian Modsen
A shooting took place near where the series of latest break-ins have occurred and none other than the supposed psychic Mellow Summers was involved. Being in tune with the spirit world, you would think that Miss Summers would have had an inkling that something like this might happen. One must question her abilities, since they failed to save a local detective from being injured. It was he who saved our resident psychic.
If Miss Summers is psychic, one must wonder why those around her are being harmed when she is in a position to warn them. People like her give true psychics a bad name. So, I urge Miss Summers to quit pretending, and tell the truth about her useless abilities.
Jackie slammed the paper down in her lap. “That little… She is smearing you, Mel! You should sue her for liable.”
“I’m not sure if I can,” I said. “Anyway, she has a point: those around me are getting hurt. Why can’t I…”
“Because you aren’t that kind of psychic. You’re just a regular girl who happened to be the only one to speak to a ghost that needed help and you helped her. And ever since, ghosts seem to flock to you. That doesn’t mean you can foresee the future. Good grief. Any idiot should know that psychics can’t just predict the future upon command.”
“I’ll see if Tiny can get Calvin on the phone,” I said. Calvin was a lawyer friend of Tiny’s who helped me when the police had arrested me as the prime suspect in a murder investigation a couple of years ago. “We should head over to the hospital and see how Detective Shorts is doing.”
Since we weren’t going to be getting any sandwiches from our favorite little sandwich shop, we went straight to the hospital. As we walked into Detective Short’s hospital room, I found Rachel, who stood in the center, tapping her foot with impatience.
“Well, it’s about time,” she said.
“Imagine my surprise,” said Detective Shorts, though his voice sounded hoarse and he sti
ll looked pale, “when I woke up and found someone sitting there in that chair, only to have the same person vaporize into thin air.”
I looked at Rachel.
“What?” she snapped at me. “You never said that I had to be visible the whole time. Fine. Can you see me now?”
Rachel materialized before everyone.
“Nope. Sorry. Can’t,” joked Jackie.
Rachel stomped her foot. “How about now?” She made herself as solid as she could and she looked like a real live person.
I glanced at Detective Shorts who arced an eyebrow at me. A metal pan clattered to the tile floor. We all jerked towards the noise. A nurse stood in the doorway (she had been bringing in a tray with Detective Shorts’ lunch on it), except it now lay on the floor in a smeared mess, and a shocked expression was on her face.
“Gh-gh-ghost!”
“Oh, come on,” said Rachel. “This is a hospital. A breeding ground for spooks and you work here. So, you should be used to it by now.”
The nurse ran away, screaming.
“Do I have something in my teeth?” asked Rachel, opening her mouth wide so that we could all peer in it.
“I think it has something to do with you being an apparition,” I said.
At that moment, Jillian Modsen walked in. Can’t I ever get away from this lady?
“What do you want?” demanded Rachel in an irate, and unwelcoming, tone, loud enough for all to hear.
Jillian looked affronted and stepped back a moment because none of us had opened our mouths to speak and she couldn’t see Rachel, who had decided to turn invisible again. Though, she had once explained that some people are so close-minded when it comes to the spirit world that they wouldn’t ever see a ghost, even if one was right in front of them. Jillian struck me as one of those sorts of people.
“I was just coming to check on the good detective here,” replied Jillian.
“Well, you’re not welcome,” spat Rachel.
I glared at her. Was she trying to give Jillian something else to write about?
“You mean that you were looking for a story,” said Detective Shorts, his voice softer than normal.
“I was merely…” began Jillian.
“What is your problem?” I demanded of her, waving today’s article in front of her. “You know I can sue you for this, right?”
“That gets to be a tricky area, Mellow,” said Jillian. “I am just reporting the truth: that you are a self-proclaimed psychic who has failed to stop these break-ins, including the one that took place where you are currently employed, and failed to prevent the detective here from getting shot.”
“I never made such claims,” I said. “And these articles are ruining my reputation!”
“Pity,” said Jillian.
“How would you like to have your personal ghost?” Rachel vaporized next to Jillian, but it appeared that I was the only one who saw her, or heard her. “Or your personal haunting?”
“I’m not concerned about your reputation, Mellow. Just the truth,” said Jillian.
“The truth?” said Jackie. “More like your version of it. You don’t believe in anything paranormal—”
“She will when I’m through with her,” Rachel interjected.
“—and so you plan to destroy someone who is of that persuasion,” finished Jackie, not hearing Rachel.
“Ghosts are not real,” said Jillian.
“You want to make a bet?” said Rachel.
“People like you,” continued Jillian, unaware that Rachel had spoken, “prey upon those so desperate to hear from the other side. I watched as my mother succumbed to such madness. Shoveling out hundreds to even thousands of dollars just so she could hear my father speak again. She went bankrupt. I intend to expose the frauds for what they are.”
“Mel, is no fraud,” said Jackie.
“You’re her friend,” said Jillian, “of course you would say such things.”
“So am I.” Rachel pushed Jillian, but remained invisible.
“Miss Modsen,” said Detective Shorts, his croaky voice stopping our confrontation, “you are not welcome here. I have nothing to say to you, nor do I have a statement that I wish to give. Miss Summers and her friends were invited here. You were not.”
“Very well,” said Jillian, taking her cue to leave.
“And you can take this trash with you,” said Jackie, yanking the paper from my hand and shoving it into Jillian’s.
“How about I make her eat it?” said Rachel, but I shook my head at her. “I can do it when you’re not looking.”
“And next time you do not like something I write,” said Jillian before she walked through the door, “don’t ram bananas, or whatever that was, up my tailpipe. Or put sugar in the gas tank.”
“It was snow you idiot,” said Rachel in a huff with her arms crossed.
“You put sugar in her gas tank?” asked Detective Shorts, after Jillian had left.
“I think you’ll find that it was…”
“Me!” Rachel made herself visible for us all to see. “Totally me. I should key her car next. That’s an awesome idea!”
“Rachel…” I said, trying to stop her, but she vanished before I could finish my sentence. “And she’s gone. Again.”
“We really shouldn’t allow her to do that,” said Detective Shorts.
“You’re welcome to try and arrest her,” I replied.
He laughed a little at that remark.
“How are you feeling?” asked Jackie.
“Sore,” he replied, “but I’ll live. You, on the other hand, I am more worried about.” Detective Shorts looked at me.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I said.
“Sure he doesn’t” scoffed Jackie.
“How far are you in your investigation of the break-ins?” asked Detective Shorts.
“Investigation?” I tried to play innocent, but he saw right through me and gave me that look of his that says he knows I’m lying.
“You already know that the flower shop had been broken into, but so has the hobby store and the…”
“Sandwich shop,” said Jackie. “Now I can’t have my BLT with mustard sauce.”
“The old photography studio,” mumbled the detective, more to himself than to us.
“That’s what that lady, what was her name, Beverly Waverly said,” Jackie said.
“Waverly?” Detective Shorts’ tone changed from curious to very interested.
“Yes,” said Jackie.
“What were you doing in Hildegard Heights?” asked Detective Shorts.
“Looking for the black sedan that the shooter used,” I replied.
Despite the fact that Detective Shorts was hooked up to an IV and wearing the typical hospital gown that did little to cover anything, he still managed to give me a glare that made me quiver; Jackie too. We shrank beneath his reprimanding gaze. “Without backup?”
“Greg was here, keeping an eye on you, but he had to go to work, so Rachel took over.”
“Sometimes I wish I had never met you,” Detective Shorts said.
I looked away, not sure of how to respond.
“Before you, I never once believed that I was under the watchful eyes of a ghost. And my life was much less interesting.”
“You were saying the same thing about…” started Jackie, but she stopped herself. “Never mind.”
“The matching sedan was at a house up the street from Mrs. Waverly and the owner was arrested by a Detective Nicole Henderson.”
“Yes, she transferred in last month from the Los Angeles area,” said Detective Shorts.
“Who’s Roger?” I asked, remembering the name that Beverly Waverly had mentioned.
Detective Shorts frowned. “I shouldn’t tell you because you will just go off on your own to investigate. However, I know that if I don’t tell you, you will go off on your own anyway to learn the truth. Roger Croukman. He was accused of murdering his fiancé the night before their wedding. The jury had decided that the
evidence was enough to convict him and gave a verdict of guilty. I haven’t thought of him in over 20 years. I was just an officer then and had only been on the force for a few years, but I remember being one of the first officers on the scene.
“Roger claimed he was innocent, but all of the eyewitness testimony placed him at the scene and he was the last known person to see his fiancé alive. The Candle Shoppe, the Flower Boutique, hobby store, and the deli, there, were all once part of a photo studio that had taken up that entire strip. Of course, it was 20 years ago. As luck would have it, the man who owned it died the same night that Roger murdered his fiancé. Struck by lightning. The fool loved to film lightning and there was quite a storm that night. He went out into a field with his camera to catch some amazing photography, but he got a little more than he bargained for and was pronounced dead on arrival. Sometime later, his estate sold off the studio and it later became the four little stores that are there now.”
“So that’s why you were a bit evasive yesterday,” I said.
“I didn’t think much about the Candle Shoppe being broken into, but when the flower store was also treated in the same manner, I started to wonder if maybe this was connected. So, I went into the old case files and pulled out anything pertaining to Roger and his fiancé’s murder. He always maintained his innocence. He was released from the state penitentiary two weeks ago. Served his full time in prison. Sentenced to 20 years and he served the full 20.”
“So he did it,” said Jackie.
“Not necessarily,” said Detective Shorts. “I thought so too, but though he couldn’t provide an alibi for the first break-in, he had one for the second occurrence.”
“Well, all four were broken into,” said Jackie, “so that means that if the perpetrator didn’t find what he wants, he won’t be back.”
“I think,” replied Detective Shorts, “that he might. These are not your typical break-ins. Nothing was stolen, nothing valuable anyway. The person might come back, but later, when things settle.”
“Unless we set a trap,” I said.
“No,” both Jackie and Detective Shorts said at the same time.
Double, Double, Nothing But Trouble (A Mellow Summers Paranormal Mystery Book 10) Page 7