“Fiancé?” said Jillian, her eyes lit up and I knew she had just gotten another idea for an article about me.
Greg must have sensed it too because his face looked as though he wished he could take back his words. “Why don’t you make your career by doing something honest?”
“Telling the truth is always honest,” said Jillian.
“Except when it’s one-sided,” muttered Jackie.
A water bottle appeared above her head and I knew who had done it, even though she remained invisible: Rachel. I watched as the water bottle tipped upside down, dumping its contents all over Jillian and her coat and silk blouse.
“What?” she screamed. “My blouse!” She jumped around, shaking the water from her shirt, her hair dripping, sending streams of water down her face. “You!” she spat at me.
Before I had a chance to say anything, her car, which had been parallel-parked on the curb, moved.
“Your car’s moving!” shouted Rachel.
Jillian turned, forgetting her waterlogged blouse and wet hairdo. Her mouth dropped as she watched her car roll downhill, heading straight for a hot dog stand. “My car!”
Jillian ran towards her car, her heels clicking on the pavement—it was a wonder she didn’t slip and fall on the ice—waving her arms, her bag bumping against her side. She never made it. Her car smashed into the hot dog stand amid shouts and screams of terror, rolling over it before it was stopped by a fire hydrant. Curses flowed from her red-painted lips as she thrashed about in the street.
“E-brakes are so overrated,” said Rachel with a giggle.
“Rachel, did you have to…” I began.
“Yes, I did.” She vanished.
Chapter 11
“I think we need to see Mrs. Waverly again,” I said.”
“Again?” asked Greg, and I remembered that I hadn’t told him about how Jackie and I had run into her earlier that day.
“Right now?” asked Jackie.
“Yes,” I replied. “Besides, I have a feeling that Detective Henderson will be asking me about it soon anyway. And after what we’ve learned about some murder, where she insisted that the convicted individual was innocent, I think we should take her up on her offer for a visit.”
Jackie huffed.
“I’ll buy you some tacos later on,” I said.
“Double stuffed with extra cheese?” asked Jackie.
“And hot sauce,” I said.
“Let’s go.”
I got into Greg’s car, while Jackie followed us in mine, and we drove to Hildegard Heights for the second time today, except this time I was on the guest list.
“What’s your business here?” demanded the guard as we pulled up to the gate.
“My name is Mellow Summers,” I said, leaning across Greg so that I could talk to the guard. “Mrs. Beverly Waverly said that she had me put on the guest list.”
The guard’s face scrunched up in a disapproving look and I would have sworn that it resembled as baby squirrel’s skin more than a human face. He got out his tablet with the list of approved visitors and scrolled through the screen, his frown deepening with each passing second, until he stopped. “So, it seems that you are telling the truth.”
He stepped back into the little guardhouse and pulled a lever, opening the gate and allowing us through. Greg drove through the street, which formed a circle, to the house, with me directing him. As we passed the snowbank that I had plowed into, I glanced at Jackie; she gave me a knowing look, but said nothing, for which I was thankful.
“There’s her house,” I said.
Greg nodded and parked on the side of the road, avoiding the piles of snow better than I had earlier that morning.
As we walked up the curving sidewalk, which had been cleared of snow and was remarkably dry, I noticed the gardener, Donald, watching us, and he was none too pleased to see me or Jackie again; and I think the fact that we had brought Greg infuriated him as well. I knocked on the oak door and saw a shape approach through the diamond-shaped window.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Waverly?” I said. “It’s me, Mellow. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but you said I could visit at any time.”
“Oh, yes, dear, come in.” She opened the door wider. “And please call me Beverly. Mrs. Waverly makes me sound so old.”
“Thank you.” I stepped into the foyer and couldn’t believe that I was able to see my reflection in the floor. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought a couple of friends. You remember Jackie from this morning and this is Greg. We just got engaged.”
I held up my ring finger and wiggled it at her. Beverly’s face lit up when she saw it and she placed her slender hands over her mouth as though she was trying to keep from crying out in joy.
“Oh, congratulations the both of you,” she said.
She led us through the foyer and into a sitting area, walking us past a mirror, which allowed me to see just how frazzled my long hair had gotten from the day’s events. Her sitting room made our mouths hang open. Instead of the normal wood chairs with thin cushions that hurt your bottom after a few minutes of sitting on them, plush couches that you sunk into and over-sized easy chairs with cushions so soft that they swallowed you filled the open room. We each picked a place to sit and my butt thanked me for remembering that it needed some luxury too as I eased into one of the oversized chairs, marveling at how comfortable it was, running my fingers along the soft, velvety material.
Beverly chuckled as she watched our faces go from unsure to pure bliss. “These are comfortable, aren’t they?”
I’ll say. They were luxurious. I found myself wishing I could take one of the chairs home with me and one glance at both Jackie and Greg told me that I wasn’t alone.
“Now, dear,” said Beverly, “why don’t you tell me why you are here?”
I thought about lying and telling her that I had come for a simple visit, but it was clear that she knew I was there for something else. So, I decided that honesty would be the best policy. “Well,” I said, “truthfully, I came to talk about Roger and his fiancé, Brianna.”
“Is he in trouble?” Beverly’s face grew concerned and I was afraid that I might have upset her.
“No,” I said, “it’s just I’m working on something…”
“I thought you might be,” said Beverly.
“I think it might be connected to what happened 20 years ago,” I finished.
A crunch distracted me. I looked over at Jackie as she tried to brush crumbs from her chin and hide the cookie in her hand, which she had discovered on the tiered serving plates on the coffee table.
“Do help yourselves,” Beverly said, waving away any possibility of embarrassment. “The cook makes them, but I can’t eat them all.”
Jackie’s face relaxed and she took another bite of her lemon cookie.
“What happened 20 years ago is a tragedy and not just because poor Brianna died, but because an innocent man went to prison.”
“But according to the police report, and the eyewitness testimony at the trial, he was there when it happened,” said Greg.
“So were a lot of other people,” replied Beverly.
“Mrs.—Beverly,” I broke in, “of all the people present at the time, you were the only one who believed Roger’s story. Why?”
“Because my mother has always had a soft spot where Roger’s concerned,” said a strong voice, forcing us all to turn and face him.
“Edmond.” Beverly stood up and hugged her son. “When did you get into town?”
“A few days ago,” replied Edmond. “I’m sorry that I didn’t come by sooner. I had a few things to clear up.”
“Oh, where are my manners?” said Beverly when Edmond looked at me. “This is Mellow—our resident psychic, you know—her friend Jackie, and her new fiancé Greg.”
“Nice to meet you all.” Edmond paused when he shook my hand. “You are the one I’ve been reading about in the paper.”
“Look, I’m no psychic,” I said, feeling emba
rrassed. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“You’ve nothing to fear here,” said Edmond. “We don’t believe much of what is in the paper these days.”
“Edmond lives in New York City,” said Beverly. “I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like and wish he’d visit more often.”
“I’m here now and intend to stay here for the next several days. Now, you were asking about Roger?”
“Mostly about what happened 20 years ago,” I said.
“Is there a particular reason you are interested?” asked Edmond.
“I don’t really want to go into it,” I replied. “I just think that it might be connected to something I am looking into right now.”
“Ah, so the rumors about you being a private investigator are true,” Edmond said with a pleasant smile.
I chose not to reply. I had never referred to myself as a private investigator, but if he wanted to think I was one, maybe it would work in my favor.
“Well,” said Edmond, “you’ll find nothing but help here. Roger and I were good friends through most of school. We even went to college together, and though I pursued a career on wall street and he chose to have a much smaller enterprise in business, we remained good friends. Roger met Brianna our second year of college and they soon fell in love. It turned out that she was from a prominent family the next town over. What are the odds?
“After graduation, they decided to have their wedding that summer and their wedding was the talk of the town. It is unfortunate that the dinner the night before the wedding—well, party would describe it better—ended the way it did.”
“What happened, exactly?” asked Jackie through a mouthful of cookies.
“Roger and Brianna had an argument. I’m not sure what about, but it caused her to storm away from the party. Roger followed her and they went into the gazebo that was outside the hotel. People saw Roger leave alone, but no one saw Brianna again that night. The police believed that she had been dead a good three hours before anyone noticed she had been missing.”
“And since Roger was the last one to be seen with her while she was alive, he became the prime suspect,” said Greg.
“Yes,” said Edmond.
“But he didn’t do it,” said Beverly.
“Mom,” said Edmond, “I know you want to believe that, but the evidence said otherwise.”
“The evidence is all circumstantial,” said Beverly.
“But the jury…” began Edmond.
“Made a mistake,” said Beverly. “I know it might sound like a typical response coming from an old lady, but Roger could never have harmed Brianna. Someone else must have.”
“Ma’am,” said a server as he walked in, “your appointment is here.”
“Thank you, Jeffry,” said Beverly. “I am sorry, but I’m afraid I have to cut this short.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “It is getting late and we should be going anyway. Thank you.”
“And thanks for the cookies,” said Jackie, brushing crumbs off her lap.
“I hope I’ve been able to help you,” said Beverly, “and don’t hesitate to call me.” She turned to a table with a pen and pad of paper on it, wrote down her number, and handed it to me. “It’s my cell.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Have a good evening.”
Edmond walked us out. “And as my mother said, don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”
I smiled and walked back to the car with Greg and Jackie.
Chapter 12
I had to get to the Candle Shoppe. That was where all of this had begun. Ever since I had walked in and discovered that it had been broken into, my life had gone in a tailspin with a reporter smearing my name and reputation to make her career; Detective Shorts ending up in the hospital after getting shot; and four businesses in total have been broken into, but with nothing taken.
“Where to now?” asked Jackie.
“The Candle Shoppe,” I replied. It was late afternoon and I knew that the sun would be setting soon. Perhaps we could break in after dark.
“I knew you were going to want to go there,” Jackie replied.
“I still have the key.” I held up the store key and waved it in front of both her and Greg.
“All right, let’s go,” said Jackie.
Pleased, I skipped a bit as we walked to our cars. Greg had decided that he would follow Jackie and me to the Candle Shoppe. For the first time all week, I pulled up to the small shopping area and there weren’t any police cars around; just the normal bustle of those who spend their time window shopping or going in and out of stores with packages under their arms.
I parked down the street from the Candle Shoppe and Greg pulled into a space beside me. We hurried to the empty alley where the back door was and I took out the key, ramming it into the dented lock, and let us inside. Though Mr. Stilton had tried cleaning up some on his own, there were still items all over the floor and what had been cleared to form a walking path, lay in a jumbled mess on the desk and chairs.
I looked around, wondering where to start, since I had no idea what the perpetrator would want—no point in calling him a thief since he didn’t take anything. As I scanned the wall and the chipped wood and dust that littered the floor along the floorboards, a dark space caught my attention. The hole in the wall. I smacked myself for being so forgetful. When I had first found the Candle Shoppe like this, I had also discovered a hole in the wall, but without a flashlight I wasn’t able to get a good look inside.
“You shouldn’t be here as you haven’t permission,” said a voice.
We all turned and gasped when we saw the man, whom Jackie and I had always thought was a customer, standing in front of us.
“Only authorized personnel are allowed in this place,” said the ghost without looking at us; I don’t think he saw us in the sense that we think of being seen, as his eyes seemed to look past us.
“We’re sorry,” I said.
“All clients belong in the studio, but you must go”—he pointed at Greg—“because we can only have a duo.”
“Excuse me?” I said, but the ghost disappeared.
We stared at the place he had been, confused about his quip about the studio and only duos being allowed.
“What the heck was that all about?” asked Jackie.
“I don’t know,” I said, “but we need Rachel. Rachel? Rachel!”
No answer. Figures. She always showed up when I least expected it, or wished she wouldn’t; but when I needed her, that as when she decided to play hooky.
“RACHEL!” I shouted, startling both Greg and Jackie.
“What?” said Rachel, appearing before me in a seated position on the desk. “You shout so loud that even the dead can hear you.”
“I think that was the idea,” muttered Greg, garnering a glare from Rachel.
“We saw a ghost,” I said.
“Congratulations,” Rachel replied. “I should think you would be used to that by now.”
“No, you don’t understand. He seems to be one that has been haunting this place for a while, but I’m wondering if he even knows that he is dead. In either case, when he does show up, he speaks in riddles.”
“Oh!” said Rachel, leaning forward. “Why didn’t you say so. Where is he?”
“He just vanished,” I replied. “I don’t know where he is, but I was wondering if you could…”
“Say no more,” Rachel held up her hand, stopping me. “I’ll find him.” She popped out of the room.
I led Jackie and Greg to the hole in the wall, pointing it out to them. They agreed that it made no sense to knock a hole in the wall, since it was mostly hollow on the inside with just a few bits of pink insulation filling its interior. I reached into my purse for my flashlight and cursed for not remembering to stick it in there. Thar was the second time I had forgotten to bring it with me.
Seeing my frustration, Greg found a floor lamp, unplugged it, and brought it over, plugging it into the wall and taking the shade off so th
at the bulb was exposed. He stuck it in the hole and I poked my head inside, looking around as best I could. Even with the light, I didn’t find anything of interest, nothing that would tell me why someone would knock a hole in the wall. There was no hidden safe or compartment.
“I still don’t get it,” I said.
Greg poked his head in the hole while I held the lamp, looking side to side and up and down. “Well,” he said, “there would be no reason for someone who was interested in finding something that was hidden 20 years ago to be looking in this wall.”
“Why?” I asked.
“The wall itself is only ten years old,” replied Greg.
“How do you know?” asked Jackie.
“Well,” said Greg, pulling his head out of the hole, “for starters, the construction of the beams are different. They didn’t build them like this in the 90s. Building codes have changed a little since then. Also, on the support beam here”—he smacked the wall with his fist, indicating which beam he referred to—“has the date of March 13, 2005 written on it. There also isn’t much sign of rot on it. Over time wood used in construction will decay and rot; it’s inevitable, hence why reconstruction is done. These are fairly new.”
“How do you know all this?” asked Jackie.
“I used to work construction,” said Greg. “Did that right after high school until I settled into my more regular job and met someone remarkable.” He pulled me close and gave me a kiss.
“Oh, quit the mushy stuff,” said Jackie, turning away.
“Sorry,” I apologized. I did try to keep such things to a minimum around people and public places. Some things are better done in private.
“You know, you still owe me some tacos,” said Jackie.
“Now?” I asked.
“Problem solved!” Rachel burst into the room with a bag of tacos, from a little pace called Munchies, in one hand and a ghost on her other arm: the one that we had been seeing for the last few years and never realized he was a spirit.
“How did you…” I began.
“I overheard you make the deal with Jackie,” replied Rachel. “Don’t worry, I paid for them with the money I took from your wallet.”
Double, Double, Nothing But Trouble (A Mellow Summers Paranormal Mystery Book 10) Page 9