Murder Ghost Foul: The Complete Mystic Springs Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series

by Mona Marple

  “Well, if we can steer away from politics…” The presenter says, antsy.

  “We are living in dark times.” Lavinia ploughs ahead. “Women leadership at the highest levels, the highest levels of business and politics, is the answer. Men have held the control for too long and look at the God-awful mess they’ve got us into!”

  “Well, thank you, some very interesting comments here. Ms Blackbottom, news is just reaching us of a murder in your home town, could you comment on that for us?”

  Lavinia’s face transforms, a fleck of something unreadable, for a moment, and then it passes.

  “A woman has been killed in Mystic Springs. This is breaking news.” The reporter says, a hand to their ear to hear the news being fed to him. “We can confirm that a Ms Emelza Shabley has been stabbed to death. This is clearly awful, awful news, coming straight from a town devoted to women’s rights.”

  “Devoted to women’s rights?” I scoff. “She’s devoted to her own PR.”

  But I want to see her reaction, which I’m told will come right after the adverts, which try to convince me that I should join a new gym, set up my own website, and change my insurance provider. And then, the news returns. Lavinia stares straight in to the camera, her gaze too intense.

  “I’m joined, in a happy coincidence, by Ms Lavinia Blackbottom the fourth, descendant of the founder and first Mayor of Mystic Springs. Ms Blackbottom, we’re hearing breaking news that a woman from your town, an Emelza Shabley, has been stabbed to death. Can we get a comment to that?”

  Lavinia looks at the presenter, and then back at the camera, and then disappears to the right as her body topples from the high stool. A bang can be heard off screen and then the presenter jumps up, reaction delayed, and shouts, we need a medic out here!

  It’s hard to say what’s the bigger news in town.

  Emelza’s murder or Lavinia’s collapse on live TV. As concerned as people are about a murder happening in town, most of the residents agree that this is the first time in living memory that Lavinia Blackbottom has appeared to be anything other than perfectly presented, and so the collapse itself takes up much of the conversation.

  I’ve returned to Screamin’ Beans after Adele insisted that she would be fine with both babies.

  “Soooooooo…” Sage coos as she perches on the seat next to me. Luckily, the coffee house is quiet enough that I’ve got a table for two to myself. Or I did have, before Sage arrived.

  “So what?” I bark. I’m still grumpy with her for her disappearing act.

  “Will you help investigate?”

  “Ugh, you’re still banging on about that? Don’t you ever take the hint?”

  “Wow, you’re in a foul mood.”

  I am, I realise. I’m in a much more foul mood than Sage staying out overnight warrants. What’s wrong with me?

  “You know what I think?” Sage says, not pausing to see if I want to hear her thoughts. “I think all this extra time is bad for you.”

  I sigh. “I think you might be right.”

  “You do?”

  I nod. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe I’m just not used to this free time.”

  “Help me investigate, then. That’ll give you something to do.”

  “I’ll think about it.” I agree. “I’ve got a client appointment tomorrow, that might be all I need to get my mojo back.”

  The client is an out of towner, as most of them are now. It will be the first appointment I’ve had in a week, and I’m looking forward to connecting the person with their loved one. Well, hopefully. There’s never a guarantee that the spirit will show up just because I ask them to.

  “Is anything else going on?” Sage asks.

  “Erm? Noooooo.” I say slowly, struck by how unusual the question is.

  “Oh, good. Well, let me tell you about Wilson Bruiser.”

  I roll my eyes. Typical Sage, feigning interest in me before getting the conversation back to herself.

  “Actually, maybe I would like to talk about me some more.” I snap.

  “You know what, I’m going to go. You’re no fun to be around today.” She says, and that’s it, she’s gone.

  I check on Adele and the twins in the evening and gasp when Taylor opens the front door.

  “I thought you’d be at work.” I say.

  “I did what I had to, I wanted to be home with Axel.”

  “How’s it going? Any news?”

  “Not yet.” He says. “Early days. Want to come in?”

  “I just thought I’d see if Adele needed any help, but if she’s got you I’m sure everything’s in hand.”

  He gives a small laugh. “I’m sure she’d say different, but yeah, I think things are okay. Thanks again for today.”

  “Anytime. Give those babies a kiss from me, yeah?”

  He nods. “Connie, you’re not thinking of investigating, are you?”

  “No.” I say. “I’m enjoying some rare peace and quiet.”

  “Hmm.” He says, unconvinced.

  5

  Sage

  “We need some leads.” Patton says, pacing around the living room of the Baker house. “Morton’s too distracted with his poorly baby, which I’m not criticising him for, but everyone knows that time is of the essence in a murder case. Evidence is quite literally disappearing minute by minute.”

  “Connie said that Lovey Lovegoode was visiting Emelza the night she died.”

  “Lovey Lovegoode? What kind of name is that? That has to be fake.” Atticus says, joining them.

  “Says Atticus Hornblower.” Patton says with an eye roll. “I’ve got the most normal name here.”

  “Sage Shaw is normal!” I object.

  “No it isn’t.” Patton says. “A woman like you shouldn’t have a plain name, anyway.”

  I feel myself smile. He’s still been a little distant with me, since Wilson Bruiser turned up, but I can feel the ice thawing. It’s impossible to stay mad at me for long, I’m adorable.

  “Lovey’s the local historian. He was desperate to get his hands on the journal, Connie says.”

  “Well, that’s motive. And opportunity.” Atticus says.

  “And, even more. The dagger was old. Like, antique old. I bet this guy collects antiques?”

  “I couldn’t say.” I admit. “He might, but we’d have to ask around. Or check his house.”

  Atticus and Patton both look at me with urgency.

  “With permission, of course.” I say. Spirits can’t enter private dwellings without the resident’s permission. That’s the biggest rule for spirits in Mystic Springs. It’s why we all hang out here, in the abandoned Baker house. The rule gets broken occasionally, of course. If you ask me, a murder investigation should allow the rules to be relaxed a little, but it appears nobody is asking me.

  “He won’t give permission.” Patton says. “Morton needs to get a search warrant.”

  “And as slow as he’s moving, any evidence will be long gone.”

  “The dagger was still in her back. Surely it just needs testing for DNA?” I say, thinking back to the gruesome sight of Emelza Shabley, eyes open, on her bed.

  “You’d be surprised how often a killer manages not to leave DNA.” Patton says.

  “I would.” I say. “I couldn’t leave a room when I was alive without leaving stray hairs everywhere.”

  “The trouble is, if there’s no DNA, suspicion will fall on us spirits.” Atticus says.

  “It could be a spirit.”

  “Connie thinks it’s Wilson Bruiser.”

  “Makes sense.” Patton says, too quickly.

  “I don’t think we should give up on Lovey Lovegoode.” Atticus says. “He’s giving a talk tonight in the town hall, maybe some of us should go.”

  “Great idea.” Patton says.

  “I have plans.” Atticus says. “With Mariam.”

  “Me and you then, Sage?” Patton asks, and his smile reveals the dimple in his cheek that I adore. I’d say yes to any invitation from
this man, I think.

  The town hall is full of people who look as if they’re ready to die.

  I mean, not just one foot in the grave. I’m talking about people who have only got their noses left above the soil.

  Barely alive, they are.

  Maybe that’s why Lovey’s keeping his presentation so boring, because any sudden surprises might just kill off his audience.

  Patton and I are the youngest in the audience by at least 80 years I reckon.

  We sit at the back, where a few other spirits have gathered, and I prepare to be bored to sleep.

  If Lovey cares about his topic at all, he’s hiding it well.

  He even breaks off for a yawn in parts.

  I drift off to sleep until Patton elbows me in the ribs.

  “Ouch!” I hiss at him, too loud. At least three people in the audience hear and clutch their chests. I’m joking, I’m joking. Barely.

  “Sorry. He’s wrapping up now, it’s question time.”

  “I don’t think I have any, other than how anyone stayed awake through that!”

  Patton grins. “You’re a heavy snorer, you know.”

  “Get lost, I’ve never snored in my life.”

  “Well, maybe you started in the afterlife.”

  I roll my eyes, enjoying the banter.

  “Mr Lovegoode? I was interested in your thoughts on the claims that Lavinia Blackbottom didn’t found Mystic Springs, after all?” An elderly voice warbles from the front row.

  “An excellent question.” Lovey says. His deep brown skin perspires as he talks. “One that I don’t feel able to comment on.”

  “Weren’t you checking the journal?” The warbler persists.

  “No, no.” He says, flustered. “Any other questions? It’s been a long evening, and no AC in here, let’s call it a night.”

  “That’s odd.” Patton whispers.

  Lovey gathers together his papers as a ripple of dissatisfaction passes through the crowd. The almost dead begin to stand and slowly, oh so slowly, walk up the centre aisle and towards the door at the back. One of them, a tiny woman with an almost bald head, spots me and Patton and shakes her head.

  “They’re everywhere!” She moans, clearly unhappy with her new gift of being able to see the dead.

  “Boo!” I call out, and to my amusement, the woman actually jumps. Like, her whole body lifts off of the floor. Must be the most exercise the old bat has had in years.

  “Sage, careful.” Patton whispers, and he’s so close to my ear that my belly starts to flip again.

  “Are you flirting with me on purpose, Sheriff?” I ask, because the direct approach always shocks the good guys. He blinks at me and doesn’t reply. “Oh, I’m teasing you. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “No, let’s stay.” He says, and for a minute I think he’s wanting to recreate his teenage dreams of smooching on the back row. “Something isn’t right here. He was desperate for that journal, and now he’s trying to distance himself from the whole thing. Why would he do that?”

  “Well, he’d do it if he was the killer.” I say.

  “Exactly.” Patton says.

  “Shall we ask him?”

  “No!” He exclaims. “Let’s just keep an eye on him.”

  Lovey Lovegoode wipes his gleaming forehead with a handkerchief that he pulls from his trouser pocket, then gathers up his belongings and makes a quick exit. I look to Patton for help.

  “Let’s go.” Patton whispers, and we set out to follow the historian.

  As soon as he passes Bill’s, the expensive supermarket, and doesn’t go in, we know where he’s heading. There’s nowhere else to go, once you’ve passed Bill’s, unless you’re heading out of town which would make no sense on foot.

  We trail him, staying quiet and keeping a distance. The evening is sticky with humidity and the roads are empty, people probably hiding indoors where they can run their fans and keep cool.

  “This was so much easier when people couldn’t see us.” I whisper.

  “Yeah, it was an unfair advantage, though.” Patton says. “You can see why things had to change.”

  Lovey crosses the street and creeps across the field, approaching the waggon cautiously, but astonishingly he doesn’t look behind him to check he hasn’t been followed. We keep our distance and watch as he takes out the handkerchief to cover the doorknob and then opens the door.

  “What is he doing? Trying to frame himself? His sweat’s all over that thing.” Patton whispers.

  “No, that one was tartan. This one’s checked.”

  “There’s a difference?” He asks.

  “You’re such a man.” I groan. “How come this place isn’t taped off?”

  “I guess Morton dropped the ball.” Patton says with a grim shake of his head.

  “Well, he does have a sick baby.”

  “It’s no excuse. He should have asked someone else to do it if his head’s not in the game.”

  The door closes behind Lovey and we glance at each other, unsure what to do. Now that we can be seen, it’s not as easy to go up to a window and spy.

  “We’re going to have to have a look.” Patton says, reading my mind. “I’ll do it.”

  I follow him across to the side of the waggon and realise, in daylight, just how intricate it is. “This thing is beautiful. It must have cost loads.”

  “It’ll have been in the family generations. Probably a wedding present originally.”

  “Nice.” I say as Patton approaches the window. I crouch down so I’m not visible. I’m not going to tell Patton this, but when I got married the nicest gift I had was a throw blanket from a department store. From Connie, actually. There weren’t many other presents, or wedding guests. I’d surrounded myself by then with adoring men, and none of them were ready to celebrate me choosing someone who wasn’t them.

  Patton peeks inside the waggon with half an eyeball, moves back, then looks again.

  “It’s okay, his back’s to me. He’s wiping prints away.” Patton explains.

  “He’s what?”

  “Getting rid of fingerprints. It’s what criminals do, he must not have had time last night.”

  “Because he panicked and ran.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Where’s he wiping?”

  “Drawer handles, it looks like he really cased the joint.”

  “Looking for the journal.”

  Patton darts away from the window and grabs my hand, pulls me away from the waggon. “Quick, he’s coming out. Hide.”

  We dart down into the long grass just as the waggon door opens and Lovey re-appears. He glances from side to side, then covers his hand with the handkerchief and closes the door. He walks quickly through the grass, but not so fast as to cause suspicion if anyone sees him. He’s out of sight then, and I rise to my feet.

  “So, we found our killer?” I say with a grin, heady with adrenaline.

  “I guess so.” Patton agrees.

  “We don’t need your help, after all.” I say, just as Connie takes a sip of her coffee. I’ve returned home, walked right to the veranda by Patton, who bid me goodnight with a chastely kiss on the cheek, his musky scent lingering long after he’d gone.

  She looks at me sharply but manages not to spit her drink out.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your help, with the murder. We’ve solved the case.”

  “Who is we?”

  “Me and Patton.” I say with a shrug.

  “You and Patton have solved the murder? Nothing to do with Sheriff Morton?”

  “Well, between me and you..” I say, “he’s been more harm than good. His mind is totally with that sick baby. He didn’t even tape off the waggon as a crime scene.”

  Connie groans. “Tell me you haven’t been out there.”

  “Someone had to investigate, Connie. You made it clear you didn’t want to.”

  She takes a deep breath, composes herself. She’s wearing a t-shirt that shows off one, two, three rolls of stoma
ch flab. A triple muffin top. And yet she still looks better than she did in the tents.

  “You look nice, by the way.” I say.

  She eyes me, then relaxes her shoulders, lets out a breath and meets my gaze. “Thank you.”

  I laugh. “What was that about?”

  “I’m practicing accepting compliments.”

  “Ahh… been getting a few, have you? I told you this was a better look.”

  Her cheeks flush. “Well, a couple maybe. I can’t say I feel comfortable with my body on display like this.”

  “Connie, you look fine. You just need more confidence. And maybe a bit of an upper lip wax.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I knew you being nice to me couldn’t last long.”

  I hold up my hands in protest. “I’m trying to help you!”

  “Anyway.” She says, and now I’ve mentioned it, I can’t stop looking at the light brown caterpillar under her nose. Maybe I can wax her in her sleep. “Who did it?”

  “Oh, yeah, that. It was Lovey.”

  “The historian?” Connie asks. She stands and flicks on the kettle, makes another coffee. “He did it to get the journal?”

  I nod.

  “What’s the plan now? What does Sheriff Morton think?”

  “We haven’t told him yet. We only worked it out tonight. Wanna come over and see his reaction with us in the morning?”

  “Maybe.” She says. “I’ve got a client, though.”

  I shrug. “Your choice.”

  When I go out to fetch the milk the next morning, as if I’m staff, Patton’s on the verandah, sitting in Connie’s rocker.

  “Hey, you been out here all night?” I joke.

  He nods, bleary-eyed.

  “You’re serious?”

  “I was pretty sure we weren’t seen last night but I wanted to make totally sure you were okay. I started walking away but it didn’t feel right. I needed to protect you, and Connie.”

  “Wow.” I say, and my stomach flips. What a guy.