Tomb With a View pmm-6

by Casey Daniels

  Tomb With a View

  ( Pepper Martin Mystery - 6 )

  Casey Daniels

  Cleveland's Garden View Cemetery is hosting a James A. Garfield commemoration. For tour guide and reluctant medium Pepper Martin this means that's he'll surely be hearing from the dead president himself. And when she's assigned to help plan the event with know-it-all volunteer and Garfield fanatic Marjorie Klinker, she'll wish Marjorie were dead...too bad someone beats Pepper to it.

  “There’s no savoring the Pepper Martin series—you’ll devour each book and still be hungry for more!”

  —Kathryn Smith, USA Today bestselling author

  PRAISE FOR THE PEPPER MARTIN MYSTERIES

  Night of the Loving Dead

  “Gravestones, ghosts, and ghoulish misdemeanors delight in Casey Daniels’s witty Night of the Loving Dead.”

  —Madelyn Alt, national bestselling author of Where There’s a Witch

  “Sass and the supernatural cross paths in the entertaining fourth Penelope ‘Pepper’ Martin series mystery . . . Pepper proves once again that great style, quick wit, and a sharp eye can solve any mystery.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “[A] well-plotted paranormal mystery that . . . shares some answers that fans have had since we first met this entertaining character, and adds several surprising twists along the way.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “Entertaining and amusing . . . will keep readers laughing.”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  “Pepper is brazen and beautiful and this mystery is perfectly paced, with plenty of surprise twists.”

  —Romantic Times

  Tombs of Endearment

  “A fun romp through the streets and landmarks of Cleveland . . . A tongue-in-cheek . . . look at life beyond the grave . . . well worth picking up.”

  —Suite101.com

  “[A] PI who is Stephanie Plum-meets-Sex and the City’s Carrie Bradshaw . . . It’s fun, it’s ‘chick’, and appealing . . . [A] quick, effortless read with a dash of Bridget Jones-style romance. [Martin is] a hot redhead who always manages to look good . . . and suffers the emotional catastrophes that every woman can relate to.”

  —PopSyndicate.com

  “With witty dialogue and an entertaining mystery, Ms. Daniels pens an irresistible tale of murder, greed, and a lesson in love. A well-paced storyline that’s sure to have readers anticipating Pepper’s next ghostly client.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “Sassy, spicy . . . Pepper Martin, wearing her Moschino Cheap & Chic pink polka dot sling backs, will march right into your imagination.”

  —Shirley Damsgaard, author of The Seventh Witch

  The Chick and the Dead

  “Amusing with her breezy chick-lit style and sharp dialogue.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Ms. Daniels has a hit series on her hands.”

  —The Best Reviews

  “Ms. Daniels is definitely a hot new voice in paranormal mystery . . . intriguing . . . well-written . . . with a captivating storyline and tantalizing characters.”

  —Darque Reviews “[F]un, flirtatious, and feisty . . . [A] fast-paced read, filled with likeable characters.”—Suite101.com

  Don of the Dead

  “Fabulous! One of the funniest books I’ve read this year.”

  —MaryJanice Davidson, USA Today bestselling author

  “There’s not a ghost of a chance you’ll be able to put this book down. Write faster, Casey Daniels.”

  —Emilie Richards, USA Today bestselling author

  “One part Godfather, one part Bridget Jones, one part ghost story, driven by a spunky new sleuth . . . A delightful read!”

  —Roberta Isleib, author of Asking for Murder

  “[A] humorous and highly entertaining expedition into mystery and the supernatural.”

  —Linda O. Johnston, author of Sit, Stay, Slay

  “A spooky mystery, a spunky heroine, and sparkling wit! Give us more!”

  —Kerrelyn Sparks, USA Today bestselling author

  “[F]unny and fast-paced; her sassy dialog . . . her bravado, and her slightly off-kilter view of life make Pepper an unforgettable character . . . The only drawback is waiting for book two!”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “[A] fun cozy with a likeable heroine and a satisfying plot.”

  —Suite101.com

  “Fans of ‘Buffy’ ought to enjoy this one . . . Original, funny, and shows plenty of scope for future books (all of which I aim to read) . . . [A] highly enjoyable debut.”

  —MyShelf.com

  Titles by Casey Daniels

  DON OF THE DEAD

  THE CHICK AND THE DEAD

  TOMBS OF ENDEARMENT

  NIGHT OF THE LOVING DEAD

  DEAD MAN TALKING

  TOMB WITH A VIEW

  TOMB WITH A VIEW

  Copyright © 2010 by Connie Laux.

  All rights reserved.

  For Peggy, Linda, and Stacie, who make our Saturday night get-togethers so much fun

  Of course, there was really a James A. Garfield who was the twentieth president of the United States, and yes, he is buried in a wonderful memorial in Cleveland, Ohio. History records that he did once have an affair with a young woman named Lucia Calhoun. In an attempt to make Pepper’s life more interesting and far more complicated, the ghost, the illegitimate child, the murder, and Mr. Stone’s surprise are all figments of my imagination.

  1

  If I knew Marjorie Klinker was going to get murdered, I might have been nicer to her. Well . . . maybe. Unfortunately, though I have the incredibly annoying “Gift” of being able to see and talk to the dead, I am not psychic. Which means I have no way of predicting the future. That morning in late summer when it all started, I didn’t know what was going to happen in just a little over twenty-four hours, and not knowing it, when my boss, Ella Silverman, informed me that I’d be working side by side with Marjorie, I reacted the way any rational human being would.

  I freaked.

  “But Marjorie is crazy!” I wailed. I’d walked into my office and put away my Juicy Couture bag and the salad I brought for lunch right before Ella showed up, so my hands were free. That was good, because it gave me the opportunity to add a wild gesture that I was certain said everything there was to say about Marjorie’s mental state.

  And Ella? She gave me that look she usually reserves for her three teenaged daughters. The one that has patience written all over it along with the P.S. I’m not going to put up with you acting this way much longer.

  The minute she was in my office, Ella sat down in my guest chair. Now, she popped up, the better to look imposing and boss-like. She should have known that wasn’t going to work on me. I was more than a head taller than her. I was more than fifty pounds lighter than her. I had the curly red hair, the attitude, and oh yes, the style that a middle-aged woman in Earth Shoes could only dream about. Ella may have been the boss, but I had the whole imposing thing down pat.

  This didn’t stop her from folding her hands at her waist and lifting her slightly saggy chin. It was a gloomy Wednesday and the air outside was heavy with humidity and the promise of rain. Ella must have been watching the local weather when she got dressed that morning. Her pantsuit was as gray as the clouds that hung over Cleveland like an untucked bedsheet. Her expression was just as deadly serious. In fact, the only things that made her look a little less like one of those thunderclouds outside were the pink beads she had looped around her neck twice and the nail polish that matched them perfectly, down to the hint of sparkle. “I know you don’t mean that about Marjorie,” she said, and because she mistakenly thought it got to me every time, she added a motherly smile
.

  “It’s too hot for senior citizens to come to the cemetery on tour,” Ella added. “And school hasn’t started yet, so there aren’t any school groups requesting tours, either. That means you don’t have that much to keep you busy, so you can’t tell me you do. This is the best use of your time, and really, it’s such a special occasion. You do agree that the commemoration is important, don’t you?” She twitched away the very thought. “Well, of course you do!”

  Commemoration?

  Like I was actually planning on working that day, I took my time turning on my computer, the better to give my own mental data bank time to reboot. Now that Ella mentioned it, I did recall seeing something in the Garden View employee newsletter about an upcoming commemoration. Seeing being the operative word here, not reading. Since Ella was the one who proudly wrote and edited the newsletter, I couldn’t admit it. At least not outright.

  “The commemoration.” I nodded to convince her we were thinking in perfect harmony. “And Marjorie’s part in the commemoration is . . . ?”

  “Well, she’s offered to chair the event, of course. I mean, I really didn’t expect any less of her. When it comes to President Garfield, Marjorie is something of an expert.”

  Ah, the pieces started falling into place and not a moment too soon. “Oh, that commemoration.” I flopped into my desk chair. After four years of working at Garden View Cemetery, I should have known better, but really, a girl can hope, right? I’d fooled myself into thinking all this commemoration talk involved something exciting, or at least mildly interesting. Just like that, my hopes faded along with my smile.

  Something told me Ella realized it, because her rah-rah smile faded, too. “You do remember the President Garfield commemoration, don’t you?” she asked, dropping back into the guest chair. “You did read about it in the newsletter? And you were listening when we discussed it at the last staff meeting, right?”

  Yes, Ella is my boss, but she’s also my friend. There is only so long I can try to pull the proverbial wool over her eyes, especially when, since my dad’s in prison and my mom lives down in Florida, she likes to think of herself as the calming, mature influence in my life. Ella has convinced herself—with no actual reinforcement from me, it is important to note—that I will someday follow in her footsteps and be the community relations manager of a fancy-schmancy cemetery like Garden View. This puts her in the precarious position of thinking of herself as my mentor. Every once in a while, she thinks she needs to prove it. Every once in an even greater while, I feel as if I have to live up to her expectations.

  I wondered if my expression looked as pained as it felt when I admitted, “I was listening. Just not very well.”

  There’s one thing about Ella: she never loses heart. She proved it when she explained things slow and easy: “The commemoration starts this November. That’s because November nineteenth is President James A. Garfield’s one hundred and seventy-ninth birthday. He’s entombed here at Garden View. Of course, you know that. His monument is usually only open in the spring and summer months, but—”

  “We’re making an exception for that one day,” I interrupted, and Ella didn’t mind. It did her little cemetery-community-relations-manager soul good to know that, once in a while, I did actually listen.

  She nodded. “That day will kick off the commemoration, and it will continue until next year when we celebrate his one hundred and eightieth birthday and the one hundred and thirtieth anniversary of his assassination. Oh, dear.” Ella put a hand to her cheek. “I don’t suppose I should say celebrate. Not when it comes to the president’s death.”

  When Ella’s in full cemetery-I’m-lovin’-it mode, there’s no stopping her. Still, I was duty-bound to at least try. “I have no problem working on this whole commemoration thing with you,” I told her, as perfectly honest as I didn’t always have the luxury of being. “But Marjorie . . .”

  I save my monumental sighs for situations that warrant them. Those usually involve guys. Or the cases I investigate for the dead. Important stuff. Things that affect my ego, my libido, or situations that involve me putting my life on the line. I wasn’t sure where this one fell, but I did know that avoiding Marjorie was crucial, at least to my sanity. It was, therefore, an appropriate moment for a monumental sigh. “How about if I just do all the commemoration stuff by myself?”

  “Isn’t that just like you? What a trooper you are!” Ella said this like it was a good thing. “But you know I’m not going to let you do that. For one thing, it’s too big a job for any one person. For another, tours will be starting up again in full swing soon, and we’ve got to keep your schedule open. I can’t have you completely distracted by the commemoration. And besides . . .”

  I knew what she was thinking, and I bet I was the only one in Garden View who had the nerve to say it out loud. “Besides, if Marjorie isn’t in charge of the whole thing, she’ll make all our lives a living hell.”

  “Well, really, Pepper . . .” It wasn’t much of an argument, but since she’s an honest person, it was the only one Ella could come up with. She didn’t need to say another word; Ella sighed, too.

  Like anyone could blame us? After all, we were talking about Marjorie.

  Let me bring things up to speed here. I’ll bet I’ve never mentioned Marjorie Klinker, right? Well, no big surprise there. That’s because in the great scheme of volunteers who have ever volunteered for anything worth volunteering for (and a whole bunch of things that aren’t), Marjorie is the most annoying, the most irritating, and the most astonishingly aggravating of them all.

  Helping—isn’t that what volunteers are supposed to do? Well, Marjorie’s definition of helping doesn’t exactly match anyone else’s. She’s been a volunteer at Garden View Cemetery since forever, which makes her a fixture in the place, and not a good one. She thinks of herself as irreplaceable, indispensable, and vital to the cemetery’s operation.

  Is it any wonder I avoid Marjorie like the plague? That I try not to think of her, much less talk about her? Marjorie is—

  “She’s really an asset to Garden View Cemetery,” Ella said, finishing my thought, but not the way I would have. “There’s no way our paid staff can do everything we need to do around here. We depend on our volunteers. We need to show how much we appreciate them. They give us their time and their talents, and all that is really important. And of all the volunteers we have, Marjorie is the—”

  “Biggest pain in the butt?” I made sure I said this sweetly. I wouldn’t want to hurt Ella’s feelings. Not for the world. But I couldn’t let her go on thinking these crazy thoughts, either. It was my duty as Garden View’s one and only full-time tour guide to set things straight. “She’s obsessed,” I said.

  “She’s dedicated,” Ella insisted.

  “She’s a know-it-all.”

  “She’s well read. You know she has a burning interest in President Garfield. How many people can say that? How many people know anything at all about him? That makes Marjorie invaluable. Plus with her background as a librarian, I always know her research is impeccable. Nobody knows more about the late president than she does.”

  “That’s because she’s so loony. Come on, Ella, you’ve heard her carry on and on and on. She thinks she’s special because she’s some long-lost relative of the president.”

  “Which is why she’s immersed herself in his life. Really, the fact that she thinks she’s a descendant—”

  “Is what proves she’s really a nutcase, since all the real descendants say she’s wrong and there’s no way they’re related.”

  As well reasoned as it was, my argument was getting me nowhere fast. I could tell because, little by little, Ella’s lips pinched. Pretty soon, I couldn’t see them at all. It was time to pull out the big guns. When appealing to Ella’s softer side doesn’t work, sometimes there’s nothing left to do but tell the truth. “Marjorie horns in when I’m giving tours,” I told her, and not for the first time. Four years of working at Garden View meant four years of having to
deal with Marjorie’s complete and total lunacy. I’d complained before, and each time, Ella had reminded me how important people like Marjorie are to the operation of the cemetery. Ella couldn’t afford to step on any volunteer toes, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t—and wouldn’t—go right on complaining. “She pushes me out of the way to be the center of attention. She corrects me in front of tour groups even when I don’t need to be corrected and—”

  “Marjorie does know an awful lot about Garden View and about our residents.”

  “So you think it’s OK for her to step right in front of me and take over my tours? To grab the microphone out of my hands and tell a tour group that I’m mistaken and that if they’d just listen to her, they could find out the real story on the people buried here?”

  Ella’s laugh was light, but not totally convincing. “Oh, Pepper, you’re exaggerating. Marjorie’s just enthusiastic. She’d never do anything so rude.”

  “But she did. She has. She—” I was sputtering, and it wasn’t pretty, and since I am more interested in pretty than I am in the workings of Garden View Cemetery, I controlled my urge to scream. There seemed no better way to end the Marjorie lovefest than by distracting Ella. And nothing distracted Ella more thoroughly than cemetery business. “You want to tell me exactly what you have in mind for me to work on?” I asked her.

  She saw the question as a surrender when it was really just a stall tactic. Thinking she had the upper hand, she scooted to the edge of her seat. “We’ll set up a sort of staging area in the conference room here in the administration building. You and Marjorie can sort through all the memorabilia the cemetery owns related to the president and catalog it there. I have a feeling Marjorie will want to include some of her own collection, too, and that’s fine by me. You know, she’s amassed one of the most amazing collections of Garfield memorabilia in the country. Together, you’ll need to decide what should go on exhibit, what special printed materials we’ll need, how we should celebrate . . . er . . . commemorate. It’s going to be such a wonderful experience for you, Pepper. And I know you can do it. After all, you were in charge of that cemetery restoration project earlier in the summer and—”