Spooky Trills (Alice Whitehouse Book 2)

by Nic Saint

  Chapter 28

  “Is this what you were looking for?” asked Hollie sweetly. “Or maybe this?” She reached under the mattress again and brought out a belt buckle. It was shiny gold with shimmering diamonds and looked very expensive.

  “Honey, I don’t think this is such a good idea,” said Merle.

  “Oh, shush,” she said. “They were going to find out anyway. Alice is a real snoop, isn’t she?”

  I was staring at the woman, who was now pointing that gun at me. “But—but—but…”

  “Finally speechless? Good. That incessant yakking was seriously getting on my nerves.”

  “But what are we going to do with the bodies?” asked Merle.

  “Simple. We leave them right here. That one over there is going to be the killer,” said Hollie, gesturing at Cady. “And the others are all victims. Just another college kid gone bunkers. Sadly enough it happens all the time.”

  “But—but—but…” I said, still not fully grasping this.

  “Oh, don’t you see, Alice?” asked Fee. “She killed Banning. For that buckle, I should guess. Isn’t that right, ‘Priscilla?’”

  Hollie smiled. “Of course. Who wouldn’t want a million-dollar buckle? Though you’re wrong about me pulling the trigger. That was all Merle. Though I was the one who found the right mark, wasn’t I, honey?”

  “You sure were,” said Merle appreciatively. “And a great mark he was.”

  “You see, there had been rumors going around for years, about the duck farmer with the million-dollar buckle. So I had to find out for myself. But first I had to become Priscilla, and Merle here had to become Elvis.”

  “And a damn fine Elvis I was, too,” said Merle. “Though I’m mighty glad we can finally leave all that crap behind us now. I’m sick and tired of belting out those horrible tunes, and associating with a bunch of weirdos. Speaking of weirdos, who are we going to shoot first, honey bunch?”

  “I’ll shoot the women, you shoot the men,” Hollie suggested with an evil grin. “Seems only fair to share the work this time.”

  “But what about Banning?” I asked. “He told me you were the love of his life. You—you talked to him!”

  “I did. And wasn’t that a pleasant surprise. Turns out he didn’t have a clue who killed him, which just goes to show he was just as dumb as the rest of those Elvis idiots.”

  “But why did you hang around at the farm?”

  “Merle managed to drop the gun when he ran for the car. So one of us had to go back to pick it up. I was the one least likely to draw suspicion.”

  “You sure fooled me,” I said, still not fully grasping what had happened.

  “Thank you, honey. That’s the nicest compliment a con artist likes to hear.”

  “Con artist? Murderer, you mean,” said Rick.

  “And now if you could all look at the birdie,” said Hollie, and took aim at me!

  And just when I was ready to duck, the door flew open, and Mabel, Marjorie and Bettina stormed in. Hollie yelped, and squeezed off a shot. It went wide and took out a nice Elvis guitar in the corner of the room.

  “Careful, my pet,” said Merle. “That’s a one-of-a-kind artifact right there.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Marjorie yelled, and picked up the guitar and threw it at Hollie, whose gun was knocked out of her hand.

  “Good thing I brought back-up,” said Merle, and reached under his side of the mattress and took out a Sig Sauer P938 and aimed it at Marjorie’s head. The woman squealed. But before Merle could pull the trigger, Mabel had stepped forward and kicked the would-be Elvis in the nuts. “Eek,” he grunted. His eyes crossed, and then he slowly keeled over.

  “That’s what you get for flashing a lady,” said Mabel.

  “Hands in the air!” suddenly yelled a voice from the door. I turned to find that Virgil had joined us, and he was holding his service revolver in his hands, pointing it shakily at no one in particular.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “And what, for that matter, are you doing here?” I added, staring at Mabel, who was picking up Merle’s gun.

  “That was me,” said Fee. “When I realized we might be walking into danger, I gave the bat signal.”

  “Bat signal?”

  “I sent an SMS to Bettina, who signaled the troops.”

  “And I gave the bat signal to Virgil,” said Marjorie. “And a good thing, too.”

  Unfortunately, Hollie wasn’t about to take this defeat lying down. She’d rooted around for her gun, and now rose again, yelling, “You’re all gonna die!”

  “Hollie!” suddenly a hollow voice cried out. “Don’t do it!”

  “Banning?” she asked.

  “Pender?” moaned Merle from the floor.

  The duck farmer suddenly rose up from the bed, a ghostly emanation. “I love you, Hollie,” he said, reaching out his arms to Hollie.

  “And I hate you,” she growled. “I hate your stink. I hate your groping hands. And, most of all, I hate your disgusting wrinkly old body!” Her face hardening, she swung her gun arm around, and in quick succession shot six rounds into the wraithlike farmer. I could have told her it wouldn’t do her much good. You can’t kill a dead person. The shots were all nicely grouped and had taken out a framed picture portrait of the King. It tumbled to the floor, on top of Merle’s head, who groaned some more.

  “Drop your weapon!” Virgil screamed, aiming his gun at Hollie.

  “No, you drop yours,” she said in a low voice, and was about to squeeze off another round, only this time aimed at the cop’s head.

  “No, you drop it,” a new voice boomed from the door. It was Rock Walker, and without waiting for Hollie to comply, he fired one round. With a yell of pain, she dropped the gun and reached for her hand.

  “You shot me!” she yelped. “You actually shot me!”

  “And thank God you did,” I said. I’d never been so happy to see him as now.

  Rock took stock of the scene: Cady, cowering on the floor. Marjorie and Bettina, looking defiant. Fee and Rick moving over to remove the gun from Hollie’s reach. Mabel, eyeing Merle’s package with marked interest. Virgil, who still stood shaking. And me, giving him a beaming smile. He smiled back at me. “Good thing Virgil sounded the bat signal,” he said.

  Then his eyes fell on the spooky figure on the bed, and his smile vanished.

  “Hi, there, Detective Walker,” said Banning. “Looks like you finally got your guy—even though she was my girl.”

  “I’m so sorry, Banning,” I said. “She had us all fooled.” At least he got to move away from the farm. Probably because we finally caught his killer.

  “Yeah. And to think I was going to leave everything for her. And all this time she was only after the money.”

  “Um…” said Rock, his voice a little hoarse. “Who are you, exactly?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Banning. “I assumed you knew who I was. You have seen my body, after all.” He floated over to the cop, hand outstretched. “I’m Banning Pender. So nice to finally meet you face to face, so to speak.”

  Rock stared at the man, automatically brought up his hand, and watched Banning’s slide right through it.

  “Oops,” said the duck farmer. “I keep forgetting I’m dead.”

  “You’re—you’re—you’re dead,” Rock said.

  “Don’t remind me,” said Banning. “It’s not much fun, I can tell you.”

  “But you’re… really dead.”

  “I think we’ve established that,” said Banning stiffly.

  “But then why can I see you?”

  “Who cares? I can see you—you can see me. We’re a merry, merry band. Now are you going to arrest that woman and that man? Because they’re the ones who made me this way.”

  Rock nodded, still looking shell-shocked.

  “It’s all right, Rock,” I said, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Seeing your first ghost is always a shock.”

  “But… he’s dead,” he repeated.


  “Oh, my God,” said Banning.

  Since Rock seemed incapable of pulling himself together, Virgil did the honors and arrested both Hollie and Merle Perarnau. They came willingly, Hollie cradling her hand, and Merle limping after Mabel’s kick.

  It was a sad procession that filed out of the room. I think we were all pretty shaken up that Hollie had turned out to be the mastermind behind the whole scheme. And she seemed like such a sweet person, too. Which just went to show you just never knew. Rock, of course, was still trying to come to terms with the fact that ghosts existed, and Banning with the fact that his lady love was responsible for his death, never a pleasant surprise.

  And me? I was just glad we’d all survived this ordeal. And if I’d known going in that we were going to encounter two dangerous killers, I’d probably have thought twice.

  As I walked down the stairs, I tapped Cady on the shoulder. He jumped. “So was this really your idea? Or was your aunt behind this?”

  “No, she wasn’t,” he said. “Though I was going to tell her eventually. I thought she would have liked it.”

  “She probably would,” I admitted. One more person I’d misjudged.

  Rock fell into step beside me. “I think I owe you an apology, Alice.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, suddenly feeling magnanimous. “Nobody believes in ghosts until they see them for the first time.”

  “I—I should never have doubted you. I see that now.”

  I gave him a reassuring smile. He looked pale beneath his tan. “I’m just glad you showed up,” I said. “You saved our lives.”

  “Anytime,” he said, regaining something of his customary phlegm. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss on my lips, and repeated, more emphatically, “Anytime, Alice.”

  Yowsers.

  Epilogue

  One week had passed since the stirring events at the Happy Bays Inn. Hollie and Merle had been arraigned and a trial would decide their fate. Banning Pender had left this mortal coil, after insisting that his belt buckle be sold and the money divided amongst his three sons. They might be a money-grubbing bunch of losers, but they were still his family, and deserved a second chance. Dorritt wasn’t sharing in the proceeds, nor did she have to. The sale of the farm and her subsequent marriage to Lawton Pacey would see to it that she would never want for anything more.

  Cady Relish, meanwhile, had enjoyed a long and serious talk with my dad, and it was safe to say his Venganza Mierda days were finally over. Dad could be very convincing when he was in his element, and the fact that his chickens weren’t laying had soured his mood to such an extent he’d put the fear of God into Mrs. Evergreen’s nephew. That and the teenager’s near-death experience at the hands of Mr. and Mrs. Perarnau, of course.

  And so it was that we all found ourselves in the garden of my parents’ house, enjoying a nice dinner. The Holy Trinity had been invited, along with Bettina and Mabel’s respective husbands Achilles and Mark, and so had Uncle Charlie and Uncle Mickey. Fee and Rick were there, of course, and so were Fee’s parents Bianca and Peter. Even Rick’s dad Chazz Falcone had shown up, the real estate tycoon complimenting my dad on his excellent cooking, even though it was Mom who’d done the honors.

  When dinner was over, and the apple pie was brought out, much to the delight of the guests, Rock and I excused ourselves, and ambled down to the chicken coop, the pleasant murmur of friends and family the backdrop to our short walk. Dad had even put on an old Elvis CD, so that the King could share in the fun.

  “And? See any more ghosts?” I asked when we’d reached the chicken coop.

  “Nope. And I hope I never will,” he said with a grimace. “Thing scared the crap out of me.”

  “It’s not a thing. It’s a human being.”

  “A dead human being,” he growled.

  “But still a human being. One day we’ll all be ghosts. You, me… everybody.”

  “It’s kinda hard for me to wrap my head around,” he admitted. “When you told me about ghosts that day, I figured you were pulling my leg.”

  “I’ll happily pull your leg anytime,” I said, “but I was serious.”

  He eyed me closely. “Have you always been able to see ghosts?”

  “Not until recently.”

  “So what happened?”

  “No idea, actually. Maybe ghosts figured they needed someone to help them out? Fee and I—and Rick and Reece, actually—used to work for this ghost hunting company for a while. They operate out of New York and help ghosts worldwide. My cousin, who lives in England, still works for them. Harry McCabre.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve got enough on my plate with the neighborhood watch and my two jobs. And it wasn’t a paying job. More like volunteer work. Though I will still help ghosts when I can, and the same thing goes for Fee and Rick.”

  “And Reece.”

  I laughed. “Reece was never really into the whole ghost hunting thing. He’s more… a goofball.” Was this the first time I realized that? Maybe it was.

  “A goofball, huh?”

  “Yup. Not like you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to be a goofball? I could be a goofball.”

  “No, you couldn’t,” I said. “And that’s what I like about you.”

  “My… non-goofballness.”

  “Exactly. You’re a great guy, Rock,” I said, placing my hand on his chest. “And I like you. Like, a lot.”

  “You like me like a lot,” he said with a grin.

  “Like, a whole lot.”

  “I like that,” he muttered, and then took me into his arms and planted a wet kiss on my lips. His hand went down south, and so did mine. And as I trailed along his flat stomach, I thought this man was seriously hot. Like, on a scale of one to ten, a solid twenty. And as the kiss deepened, suddenly a loud clucking sound rang out right next to us.

  “Bwaaaaaaaak!! Bwwwaaaaak bwwaaaaakkk!”

  We both looked up, a little dazedly, and that’s when I discerned a small white globular object peeping from beneath the feathered behind of one of my dad’s chickens.

  “I think… she laid an egg,” said Rock with a laugh.

  “Finally,” I breathed. “It’s about time.”

  “Must be all those good vibrations we’re sending out.”

  “So? Let’s not stop now. Dad needs more eggs.”

  He gave me a lopsided grin. “My pleasure.”

  And then there was more kissing.

  “Bwaaaaak! Bwaaaaakk bwwwaaaak bwwaaaaak!”

  THE END

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  Excerpt from Crime and Retribution (Saffron Diffley 1)

  Prologue

  Marelda slipped her Fiat 500 into the narrow parking space right in front of her friend’s condo. She glanced up as she cut the engine. Curtains were drawn, no sign of life. She narrowed her eyes as she shook her head, a wealth of copper-colored curls dancing about her round face.

  “Big surprise,” she sighed as she angled her large body out of the driver’s seat and out of the tiny but very fashionable car.

  She’d tried texting, calling, and even sexting, but so far no response from her friend. Probably still asleep. She knew no one who could sleep more soundly than Mariana. It infuriated her, though she had to admit she also admired the buxom beauty for the way she could simply shut out the world and retreat into her own little bubble.

  She yanked her pocketbook from the car with an annoyed grunt—the strap had gotten snagged on the handbrake again. The strap snapped and she cursed. And as she stepped onto the sidewalk, her heel broke. God!

  She assessed the damage, slipped off her shoes, and padded along the pavement barefoot. A raw deal on her stockings but she was beyond caring at this point. She blamed it all on Mariana. If she hadn’t ignored her calls and texts and sexts since
last night, none of this would be happening.

  She jammed the key into the lock and shoved open the door. The foyer was as neat and tidy as ever. For some reason, this simply added to her fury. Gah. She knew exactly where the money to fix up this fixer-upper had come from, and she was going to have a nice, long talk with Mariana about it. Well, maybe not a nice talk. More of a lecture. The not so fun kind.

  She stalked up the stairs, and noticed that she’d missed a few spots on her legs when she’d waxed them last night. Her brow furrowed. She was one of those unfortunate people whose hormones were so overwhelmingly male that it took a long time—and a lot of effort—to go through the change. Mariana hadn’t had that misfortune. Contrary to Marelda, she’d looked and sounded like a woman from the very outset of the transition process.

  She reached the second-floor landing and stood there panting for a moment, catching her breath, hands on knees. She finally reached the door, drove the latchkey home, gave it a vicious twist and burst inside.

  “Mariana! What kind of game do you think you’re playing?!”

  When no response came, she darted a quick look at herself in the hallway mirror. Her russet hair lacked luster, and her square jaw wasn’t doing much for her attempts to look feminine. She looked more like the female version of John Cena than Jennifer Lawrence, the kind of woman she’d always aspired to be.

  “Mariana!” she hollered, stepping into the living room. “Where—”

  And then she saw it. On the floor near the kitchen, a well-shod foot was visible. She immediately recognized the sleek red heel. Mariana’s favorites. Jimmy Choos. The ones they bought together at the mall last week. Before they had their big falling-out over Mariana’s spending habits.

  With a gasp, she streaked forward. “Oh, no! Mariana!”

  The moment she rounded the corner and saw the body, she knew she was too late. Mariana Piney, her best friend in all the world, was dead.