The Ghosts of Landover Mystery Series Box Set

by Etta Faire

“Gate House?” she said. “So you’re a Bowman?”

  “No. The old man I married was.”

  She nodded. “I’ve heard rumors about that place. Always wanted to see it.”

  “I think you’ll like my dog. He’s a lot like Normandy.”

  I helped her back to her room but paused before opening the door. “It’s kind of a coincidence that Mr. Linder had an accident right before he was going to be investigated for securities fraud. Don’t you think?” I rolled my eyes. “That man is in the Bahamas and I’m going to prove it.”

  “I thought that too,” she said. “Until just before Halloween that year. I’m afraid Sam and I were called in to identify Mr. Linder’s remains. His family was nowhere to be found, and I guess the Donovans had refused to do it. They were just too upset.”

  She leaned against the door frame, wringing her hands together, clanking her jewelry again. “Sam told me I didn’t have to go with him. He could identify Mr. Linder alone, but I insisted on going too. You know what? I honestly wish I hadn’t.” She lowered her voice, her face growing paler like she was still seeing it. “I’ll never forget the cold, sterile smell of that morgue, and the moment they opened that drawer. I thought there’d be more of him. When they pulled back the sheet, it was just his big bloated head.”

  I held in my scream. “You were sure it was him?”

  She nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. They said his head likely got wedged between some of the larger rocks at the bottom of the lake as the body was surfacing, causing it to detach…”

  I realized I was curling my lip and holding my breath. I exhaled. “What about Freddie,” I asked, louder than I’d meant.

  She shrugged. “You know, I don’t know. The medical examiner said sometimes bodies don’t surface.”

  The whole way home I tried not to think about it. Linder’s bloated head, and the gruesome way Bertie told me it likely got separated from its body.

  But decapitation was too big of a coincidence for me to dismiss that easily, seeing how that was exactly how Richard had died. And Linder had likely done it to him.

  I couldn’t help but feel back at square one. And the seance was tomorrow. I turned to my empty passenger’s seat, once again cursing the stinky sachets in my pockets.

  Chapter 30

  Compromises

  Hours before the seance, dressed in my fanciest outfit, I sat crouched in front of my laptop at the dining room table, still trying to figure things out.

  I paused the powerpoint presentation and zoomed in on one of the photos on the screen. Mason Bowman was talking to a man in a hat, and I thought I saw something in the sheriff’s glasses. I squinted and turned my head. What looked like infant legs curled into an anchor stared back.

  I practically fell off my chair. “See that? The Knobby Creek logo,” I yelled, pointing to the screen. “That means it couldn’t have been the police boat that was damaged in the accident. Knobby Creek doesn’t service government boats. There would only have been one reason they were called to the lake that night.”

  No one responded.

  “Jackson, did you hear me?” I said as I looked around the dining room for the ghost I knew was here but wasn’t materializing. I hadn’t seen him since the night someone attacked me on Gate Hill, and not only did I have a ton of information to tell him about the case, I also kind of missed him.

  I would never admit that last part, though.

  Catching a glimpse of myself in one of the silver bowls along the shelf in the dining room, I grimaced.

  I should’ve felt powerful in the black designer dress I was wearing. I bought this sucker on clearance last summer with an extra 30-percent-off coupon, and it was, by far, the nicest dress I’d ever owned.

  It practically smiled too, when I pulled it out from between my bulky sweaters and wrinkled cardigans in the closet, as if it were saying, “Finally, these tags are coming off.”

  But I knew I was only wearing it to impress Myles Donovan and the rest of his good ole boys gang. And that rich bastard probably expected everyone to try to impress him with their best clearance-rack stuff, like we were all begging to make the society pages.

  I hobbled toward the stairs in the ridiculous heels I had coupled with the dress, my mind wandering to the consequences of simple life choices. The choice of wearing a professionally cute dress or being yourself in jeans and a t-shirt. The choice to allow yourself to drink a to-kill-ya worm and go to Mexico on a whim or stay off the yacht and live.

  Gloria appeared. “You look cute,” she said.

  I smiled my thanks. “I’m changing. Do you ever regret letting Nettie talk you into so many crazy things?”

  “I used to,” she said, her voice weak, her coloring strong. “I mean, she did ultimately talk me into the night that caused my death, but she also talked me into living a lot more than I would have too.”

  I refrained from saying that maybe everybody needed a bad influence just as my ex-husband appeared in front of the stairs that I was wobbling toward. And I held in a smile. My bad influence.

  “I see your big plan tonight is to bore Myles Donovan into confessing,” he said, motioning to my laptop. “Nothing dazzles potential customers and intimidates thugs more than full-page, powerpoint slides.”

  “I will be presenting evidence, yes,” I said. “But I’ll also have you and Gloria to jazz things up with flying objects and levitating tables for the seance part.”

  Jackson shook his head. “Excellent plan, if I were going.”

  “You can’t seriously still be mad about the privacy recipe,” I said as I walked past him, catching the side of his elbow as I did. A chill sliced through my shoulder, shocking me a little, and I struggled to regain my balance. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to change in the privacy of my own room,” I said, almost twisting my ankle as I hit the first stair. I slipped my shoes off so I could actually make my point without falling on my face.

  But when I came back down in my black skinny jeans and sweater, Jackson was nowhere to be found. Gloria hovered by the door.

  “Guess it’s just us tonight,” she said. “You ready?”

  I shook my head. “Jackson, I know you’re not serious. Stop playing around! Let’s go.”

  No answer.

  “We are going to be late.”

  I only heard his voice. “Oh, now you want me to travel on you. When it’s convenient for you. All other times and you’ve got the fruitcake’s ghost repellent in your pocket.”

  I checked my watch as I grabbed my laptop and gently put it in the backpack I reserved for seance stuff. I didn’t have time for the 50-year-old’s drama tonight.

  “Look, Jackson. I’m sorry. I just wanted more privacy. And truth is, while I do need privacy, I also need you more than I care to admit.”

  He appeared, arms crossed so I could see every crease in his pretentious jacket. “I’m listening. Go on,” he said, like he expected a full-on groveling session.

  I bit my lip and somehow got myself to continue. “There have been several times lately where I’ve regretted not having you around. So, how about we compromise? I only really need the privacy strands along the door frames, and the sachets on important nights with Justin. Other than that, I won’t put them in my pocket anymore.”

  “Because…”

  “Certainly not because I missed you if that’s what you’re getting at,” I said.

  He smiled. “I missed you too,” he replied and disappeared. “Now, let’s go. I feel like being a bad influence tonight.”

  I told Jackson everything on the ride to the bed and breakfast while trying to keep the wheels of my rental from slipping in the ice. My heat had begun making a fun, new “screaming” noise when I turned it on, but that didn’t stop me from turning it on all the time.

  I turned the heat up a notch then waited to talk until it was done screaming.

  “So now, I’m back to square one,” I said. “Linder really did die, apparently. But at least now I know why people have been try
ing so hard to keep this under wraps. Dwight Linder is the murder no one wants to be tied to.”

  “The others are optional?” Jackson replied.

  That’s when it hit me. “The shed,” I shouted. “It burned down the day before the accident. I bet whoever murdered Linder did it in the shed, then burned everything down to cover their tracks.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Jackson said.

  “Nope. But I don’t need to. Not when I’m just looking to trap a mouse.”

  Chapter 31

  Always Know Your Audience

  Paula Henkel rushed around the lobby of her bed and breakfast at breakneck speed, lighting a candle here, directing workers there. The woman was in her element. Her short, spiked, bleach-blonde hair swayed with every movement, making her look a couple inches taller than she was. But Rosalie still towered over her in flats as she sported her “good luck seance dress,” which was basically a humungous gray pillow case with moons glued to it.

  “Only pass around the hors d’oeuvres if I direct you to, and only to those people I direct you to,” Paula said to a waiter when I approached her and Rosalie.

  I looked at my watch. It was almost 7:00, the time on the tickets when the buffet started. Lynette was already filming everything, a large camera on one shoulder, press pass dangling from her neck, like that meant something. She’d been the one to print that out for herself.

  The dining hall was full of fancy tables with mystic dark scarves draped across the ceiling over them, like a Halloween circus tent.

  Dinner guests would be arriving soon, if they were arriving. The smell of garlic shrimp and the little baby quiches I loved took over my senses, and my stomach rumbled.

  “I’m starting to think no one important’s showing,” Paula said just as the door opened and Lila and Myles walked in, dressed like they were heading to a million-dollar fundraiser instead of a seance.

  “I stand corrected.”

  Lila took her coat off to reveal a long, black, Oscar-worthy dress and her grandfather had on a tux. They ignored the entourage of about five people walking alongside them.

  The mayors and their wives walked in next and I got my nervous facial tic again. “You can do this,” I reminded myself. “This was what you wanted.”

  The place was filling up fast, with people I hadn’t really expected to show. It felt a little like they were daring me to say anything bad about them “to their faces.” Another form of intimidation.

  I tried not to think about it and grabbed one of the dinner plates at the buffet while Paula rushed over to every “important” guest, her hand already extended, ready for a handshake like they were royalty. “Welcome. Welcome,” she said, her smile strained and phony. “Plenty of food. Chez Louie, you know. Nothing but the finest for my finest guests.”

  I tried to look away, but Paula pulled my arm to introduce me to Myles and Lila.

  “And speaking of the finest. Carly is the finest medium in all of Landover County, probably the whole state of Wisconsin,” she said. I could barely shake the man’s hand. All I could think about was how we’d already met, face to fist, just a couple weeks ago. I could still taste the blood on my lips after he and his father beat us up.

  “Nice to meet you,” Myles said. He was in great shape for a man of around 80. He didn’t have that arthritic, hunched-over look most men his age sported. But then, the hardest “work” he probably ever had to do was punch a woman 60 years ago.

  “I heard you got into a bit of an accident,” Myles said. “I do hope you’re okay.”

  He leaned into me and whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my cheek. “I just want to let you know my lawyers are here in case things get libelous for anyone. Anyone. I don’t care if every ghost here tells you what they think happened that night. You’d better have real proof to back it up. I just want you to keep that in mind. Court can be so expensive.” He pointed to two bald men in dark suits sitting at the best table in the house. Obviously his lawyers. “Have you tried the garlic shrimp? You must,” he said, moving onto the buffet.

  Dan and Grace rushed over from across the room and asked Myles and Lila to pose for a quick photo.

  “We stopped running the society section when we bought the paper from Grace’s grandmother,” I heard Dan explain to the millionaire. “But we’re thinking about bringing it back, just for tonight, in special memory of Dwight and Frederick Linder. The Linders and Donovans shared many society photos together.”

  Myles smiled. “My father would have been proud to hear that.” He chuckled. “Maybe he is hearing it. You never know who will show up to a seance.”

  They all laughed like seances were a joke.

  Lynette stepped in beside Dan and filmed them. Grace scowled at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Not surprised you don’t know,” Lynette said, pointing to her lanyard. “It’s called journalism. Look it up.”

  Dan turned his nose at Lynette, trying to ignore her, but the camera was pretty much right in his face the entire time. He directed his attention to the Donovans. “We just wanted to thank you personally for the invitation,” he said to Myles, holding his hand up so his face was shielded from the camera.

  Dan’s sleeve fell back against his watch, revealing what looked like a long, red scratch peeking out from underneath it.

  A bear scratch, maybe?

  Could they have seen me give back that notebook?

  I excused myself to the coat check so I could text Justin and tell him to check out Dan Herndon as a possible suspect, see if they owned a large, black truck.

  That’s when I noticed Shelby sitting behind the coat-check counter with a basket full of makeup samples next to her, and my shoulders finally relaxed. I hadn’t even noticed I was clinching up until then.

  “Thank goodness somebody decent is here,” I said. “This place is full of old, rich, and awful.”

  She nodded. “Three things I hope to be someday.”

  “So what happened with Bobby and your ultimatum?”

  She straightened her makeup samples, her eyes tearing up.

  “Nuh-uh,” I said. “He chose his brothers?”

  “All three of them walked out together about a week ago. I haven’t seen him since. He left his own baby. It’s why I’m here, working all the jobs I can get. I gotta pay the rent on my own soon.”

  “He’ll be back.”

  “That’s what my parents say,” she said. “I’m not so sure I want him back after this.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I hugged her then offered to get her a plate of food.

  She happily accepted. “I left Spoony’s so fast to get here, I didn’t have time to eat.”

  I glanced over at the buffet table and knew I’d have to act fast.

  The college kids had started trickling in, and things were getting crowded. About twenty people in torn sweatshirts and jeans grabbed plates at the buffet table. “I didn’t know there’d be food,” one of them said loudly. “Sweet.”

  Paula tried to tug the plates from their grasps, but hungry college kids can be pretty strong. “May I see your dinner tickets?” she asked again and again, like that was going to mean something to them.

  I rushed over during the commotion to help myself, not even caring that Paula was watching me out of the corner of her eye the entire time. She pushed past the college kids and grabbed my arm, pointing to the second plate in my hand. “At a hundred dollars a person, I cannot afford to feed the coat-check girl.”

  I shook myself free of her grasp. “This has already been paid for.”

  “Not by Shelby Winehouse.”

  “Then you should probably tell that to Lila,” I said, pointing to the woman in the perfect up-do who was bouncing over to say “hi” to Shelby. She handed her a full plate of what looked like shrimp, bread, and pasta.

  Paula’s mouth dropped. “What the…”

  “They met at my library story time,” I said, matter-of-factly. “So, go
ahead. Tell Lila what you just told me. Her lower-class friends shouldn’t be eating the good stuff, after Lila’s family paid for every single ticket.”

  Paula stomped off but quickly found her fake smile again when she saw Mayor Bowman and Mayor Wittle with their wives at the buffet table.

  Mayor Wittle looked almost the same as he had 60 years ago. He was a lanky, bald man with a bit of a nervous twitch but nothing that really screamed his age. It was funny how that whole group of equally horrible friends had aged the best out of everyone in town. It was true; only the good died young in Landover County. With the exception of my ex-husband, of course.

  As if on cue, Jackson appeared next to me. “So, how many windows do you want me to break tonight?” he said.

  We both knew he was joking. He didn’t have the energy for that kind of ghostly display. Only experienced, well-charged apparitions like our friend the suffragette could manage something so spectacular, which was good. It was a huge sore spot the last time we’d had a seance here, so it was one of the main things Paula made sure we put in the contract, stating in triplicate that the Purple Pony would pay for the windows this time if it happened again.

  But then, we had technically cancelled that contract when the tickets hadn’t sold.

  “Break them all out,” I said. “But wait ’til the end, or we’ll freeze.”

  I looked around. It was really getting crowded. One of the waiters brought in more chairs from a back room and Paula was busy making sure paid guests got all the best spots.

  At about 8:00, Paula grabbed the handheld mic and introduced the seance by calling out all the distinguished and honored guests she had in the audience, the very ones I was about to call murderers.

  “Saved the best for last,” she said after introducing the mayors and the sheriff. “Myles Donovan and his absolutely stunning granddaughter, Lila.”

  They both half-stood and waved to a mostly standing ovation, minus the college kids who had no idea who the man was, except maybe “that creepy old dude on the wall at the gym.”