Ghost Hunter (The Middle-aged Ghost Whisperer Book 2): (Ghost Cozy Mystery series)

by Morgana Best

  The next spirit that came through was a rather unpleasant woman who wanted me to tell her daughter that she didn’t approve of her new husband. I was always in a moral quandary as to whether to pass on such messages. Luckily, while I was deciding what to do, another spirit came forward even more loudly. I walked across the stage and came to a stop in the middle of the room. “There is a spirit here called Charlie, who is related to someone in this general direction.” I swept my arm in the direction which Charlie had indicated. “He is coming through very strongly, and he said he was taken by a shark.”

  A woman sat bolt upright. “My husband Charlie was lost at sea twenty years ago in shark infested waters!”

  “He says he’s doing fine, and not to worry,” I said. “He said it all happened very quickly.”

  The woman clutched at her throat. “Did he suffer?” she asked me.

  Charlie told me that he did not suffer at all, so I passed that on to his wife, even though I suspected that his words were not true. That’s what Charlie said to tell her, and I was only there to do as the spirits wanted.

  As I walked back past Christine and Becca, I wished once again that I could come up with a clever plan to trick one of them into admitting that they had murdered the constable. Perhaps they were in it together? That idea had never occurred to me before. I couldn’t think of a possible motive on the spur of the moment, but it was nevertheless a possibility.

  I walked over to the far right side of the stage, and as I did so, to my horror I saw Constance sitting in the back row. She must have bought a ticket before it was booked out, and had not told me. No doubt she wanted to surprise me, although shock is the more accurate word. She smiled and waved to me. I wanted nothing more than to run up and strangle her, or at the very least, have Security throw her out of the building, but I shot her a short smile and continued.

  “I have a Susan here who used to breed dairy goats,” I said. I was about to point to the front row on the right, when a man waved his hand. “That was my mother,” he said very loudly. “She died in a bushfire ten years ago.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said. “But Susan wants me to tell you that she was overcome with smoke inhalation first and didn’t feel a thing. She is proud of you and pleased that you continue to breed and show those goats.”

  The man smiled broadly.

  I felt out of sorts. Even though the spirits were coming through nicely, I just didn’t feel I was in the flow with it. Normally, once the spirits started coming through, I felt happy and in a flow of sorts. Tonight, however, I just felt edgy. I just wanted the show to end.

  At this time, I took my usual ten minute break. I drank some water and ate some chocolate cookies. Once more, my thoughts turned to Christine and Becca sitting in the audience. I tapped my forehead, trying to think of a way to trick whoever it was into admitting to Decker’s murder. Yet try as I might, I couldn’t think of a single idea.

  I checked my makeup in the mirror and then headed back out to the stage for the last session of the evening. The show itself was going well, and I could only hope that Decker would come through and point out his murderer.

  As I approached the stage, I heard someone speaking into a microphone. I was surprised, because there was usually no one on stage during my regular ten minute break. I opened the door to the stage, and to my horror, Constance was onstage speaking into a microphone. I froze to the spot.

  “And some say I am a more powerful medium than John Edward and Theresa Caputo combined,” she announced in a loud voice. “And I am a noted psychic. I have given predictions to royalty. The king of Alaska even gave me his writing desk as a gift because he was so grateful to me for my readings. Now who here would like to ask me a question?”

  I realized I was clenching my fists. I turned around and did the only thing I could do. I headed for Security.

  Within minutes, Constance was being escorted offstage by two muscle-bound security guards. She didn’t appear to mind, and in fact seemed to be flirting with them.

  I was hiding behind a stage curtain, watching. I had given instructions that she not be allowed back in, under any circumstances. I had told them to escort her out of the building and leave her on the roadside.

  As soon as the security guards and Constance were out of sight, I walked back on stage. “My apologies for that,” I said. “I’m afraid to say that she was an audience member.”

  Laughter ran through the crowd. I felt more relaxed without being under the watchful eyes of Constance. If she somehow managed to force her way into my presence in the future, I’m sure she would give me tips on how I should have actually given readings. But for now, I was blessed by her absence.

  Chapter 14

  I was back in the tiny room that served as my dressing room, my head in my hands. One of the venue’s staff members poked his head around the door.

  “There are two very insistent ladies asking to speak with you,” he said.

  I dried my eyes. “I don’t usually see anyone after a show, but I suppose that will be okay.” After all, this could be my last show, so what did it matter anyway?

  As soon as he left, there was a tentative knock on the door. “Come in!” I said.

  To my surprise, Christine Decker stuck her head around the door. “Sorry to intrude,” she said quietly. “I just wanted to speak with you.”

  “That’s fine. Please come in.” I gestured to a blue plastic chair opposite mine.

  Christine sat down, and placed her purse on the floor. As usual, she was immaculately made up, and this time smelled strongly of expensive French perfume.

  “I thought two of you were coming to speak with me?”

  Christine appeared to be puzzled. “No, there’s only me.”

  I shrugged. “Never mind. There must be some mistake.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “Have you been crying?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to admit that I’d been crying, but it would be silly to deny it when the evidence was there. “Yes, I’m afraid I have. I just have some personal concerns at the moment.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Christine said. “I know what that’s like. Anyway, I’ve come to ask if you can get in touch with my husband. I was really impressed with what I saw tonight. There is no way you could have made any of that up. You were quite specific in some cases, with names and dates and all that.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I think I’ve explained to you before that I’m not psychic. And what’s more, I can’t call up spirits at will and make them speak with me.”

  “But what about that young guy, that Hollywood medium?” she asked. “He’s psychic as well as being a medium.”

  “Everyone’s gift is different,” I explained to her. “He is multi-talented, but really I’m only a clairvoyant medium, and I have to rely on the spirits coming forward to me. Sure, I open myself up to them, and I reach out for them, but it’s up to them whether they come through. And in the case of your husband, he only recently passed, and when someone has recently passed they seem to have more trouble communicating with the living. That’s especially the case if they have been murdered.”

  Christine nodded. She seemed to accept my words, but didn’t speak, nor did she make any attempt to leave.

  The silence stretched on until it became awkward, so I thought I had better speak. “Is there anything in particular you wanted to ask your husband?” I said. “I could try to reach out to him.”

  Christine shifted in her seat. “Is he angry?”

  I thought that a strange question. Did she mean was he angry that he was murdered? At any rate, I tried to open myself up to him to see what impressions I could get. Again, there was the reluctance to come forward. It was as if he were shutting me off. “Yes,” I said. “He is angry that he was murdered. I don’t know if that’s what you meant, but he’s definitely angry he was murdered. That’s all I could pick up, though, because he still isn’t coming forward. He’s shut me out.”

  C
hristine leaned forward in her chair. “Did he tell you who killed him?”

  I shook my head. “No, and in my experience, spirits who have been murdered seem to have trouble at first expressing who killed them. It’s also much harder with him, because he passed so recently.”

  With that, she stood up. “Thanks so much, Prudence. I appreciate it.”

  When she reached the door, I spoke again. “Christine, do you have any idea who killed your husband?”

  She looked startled by my question. “No, do you?”

  “Not a clue,” I said truthfully. “I do know that he was stabbed, though.”

  Christine’s mouth fell open. “How do you know that?” she said. “Did Becca Barnes tell you that?”

  I answered her question with a question. “Have the police told you that?” I asked her.

  “No, they haven’t told me a thing. Is my husband coming through now?” She was clearly eager to hear my answer.

  I shook my head. “No, sorry. I’m sorry to say he’s not. That’s all I know.”

  She made to leave, but turned back to me once more. “Please call me if he does contact you.” She fished in her purse and produced a card, which she handed to me.

  Now that Christine had gone, I collected my things, and was about to leave when there was another tentative tap on the door. “Come in,” I said, thinking Christine had forgotten something. To my surprise, it was Becca Barnes.

  “I hope you don’t mind me coming to see you,” she said. “I did ask the man, and he said that you said I could come.”

  “Oh, so that was you!” I said. “Christine Decker just came to see me, but the man had told me that two people were coming. I was a bit confused when she turned up alone.”

  Becca nervously approached me. “Yes, I saw her go in. I wanted to avoid her, just in case she knows what I look like.”

  “So you two have never met?”

  Becca looked absolutely horrified at my suggestion. “No way!” she said emphatically. “If she knew who I was, she’d kill me!”

  “I hope you don’t mean that literally,” I said.

  Becca laughed nervously. “No, of course not, but Christine is a murderous one. I bet she was the one who killed Adam.”

  I let that one slide. “What did you want to see me about? Oh, sorry, please have a seat.” I gestured to the same blue plastic seat on which Christine had been sitting only minutes earlier.

  “Did Adam come through?” she asked urgently.

  I shook my head. “If he had, I would have said so out there.” I nodded in the direction of the stage.

  Becca flushed slightly. “Oh, I thought you wouldn’t want to say in public.”

  I was puzzled. “I’m not sure I understand?”

  Becca pulled a tissue from her purse and carefully wiped her eyes. “I thought you didn’t want to tell everyone that Christine murdered Adam.”

  I scratched my head. “You actually think Christine murdered her husband?”

  Becca fumbled with her purse straps. “You probably think that’s mean of me to say it, and you think I’m only saying it because she was his wife and I was his mistress, but I know she did it.”

  “But Christine said that the police told her that her husband was killed in the line of duty,” I pointed out.

  Becca’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment I could see a flash of something—malice perhaps, or simply just jealousy?

  “That’s what she says,” she said angrily. “Adam was going to leave her for me, and it must’ve been too much for her. I can’t understand why he doesn’t come through and tell you that?” Her voice had risen in volume.

  Here we go again, I thought. Aloud I said, “I have just been explaining to Christine that the spirits choose when they will come through, and whether or not they speak with me. I have no control over it, none whatsoever. And newly deceased spirits have trouble coming through, and that is more so the case when a spirit passed over because they were murdered.”

  Becca’s face now sported two bright red spots on her cheeks. “It’s not fair,” she said again, more angrily this time.

  I was beginning to get a little anxious. She appeared to be verging on the hysterical, and I wondered whether it was just because she had lost a loved one, or whether she herself was the murderer.

  “Christine killed Adam; I tell you! I know she did it! Why can’t the police see that? This whole thing is ridiculous!” She jumped to her feet. “Will the police listen to you?”

  “What do you mean? And please sit back down again, and try to calm down a little.”

  Becca did as I asked. “I’m sorry,” she said with what sounded to be a genuine tone. “I was just so in love with Adam, and right when he said he was going to leave Christine for me, he ends up dead. I don’t believe in coincidences, and I don’t understand why the police don’t see that she killed him.”

  “And what did you mean by asking if the police would listen to me?”

  Becca’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m getting absent-minded because I’m so upset. I meant that there was that show on TV about that medium who went around helping police with cold cases. It was a documentary, not a drama—I mean, it was for real. I think that he was from New Zealand or something, and the police listened to him. And there was that American show, too, that was based on a real medium who helped police with their cases, in real life. Could you help the police with their cases?”

  I laughed bitterly, but then stopped myself as it didn’t seem appropriate in the circumstances. “I wish the police would listen to me,” I said sadly. “This might be the last show I’ll ever do, and it would certainly help with the income, if the police were to put me on their payroll.” I was also thinking that I would have to convince the police that I had heard from Alum when he was in a coma. That is, if I ever managed to find the safe house. It was all getting too much for me. Aloud I said, “If I was someone who was currently helping the police with their inquiries, or I had previously helped them, then I’m sure they would listen to me. But as it is, the police don’t know me from a bar of soap, and they’ll think I’m a crazy person if I go to them with any information. Besides that, Constable Decker’s spirit has not told me anything, apart from the sensation that he was murdered, and he is angry that he was murdered.” I shook my head. “Although that’s to be expected. Surely anyone would be angry if they were murdered.”

  Becca opened her purse and produced a pair of sunglasses. “What about these?” she said. “They were his favorite sunglasses. Can they help you tune in, or whatever you call it?” She leaned forward, looking at me earnestly.

  I took the sunglasses from her. “I don’t do psychometry as such. Oh, psychometry is the method of getting impressions from an object. I don’t get readings from objects, as such, but I can use it to get a leading to a spirit.” I held the object and shut my eyes, trying to concentrate.

  Becca interrupted me moments later. “Do you know who killed him yet?”

  I shook my head. “No, sorry. I don’t. He’s not coming through.”

  Becca wrung her hands. “Is there a chance he will come through at sometime in the future?”

  I nodded. “Sure. It’s entirely possible.”

  She shot me a look of intense concentration. “So you’re saying that Adam could come forward at some time, say even in a week or so, and tell you who murdered him?”

  “Yes,” I said simply, but then I froze. What if Becca was the murderer? If so, I might have just made myself someone that posed a threat to her. I silently berated myself.

  She thanked me and left abruptly, leaving me feeling quite uneasy and still holding a pair of sunglasses. It was almost dusk, and I didn’t want to leave the building in the dark. I gathered my things as quickly as I could and hurried outside the building to try to catch Becca before she left.

  As I walked out to the parking area, I saw Becca walk up to a tall man and speak with him. My heart stopped. It was a tall man who had mugged me. But what wa
s I thinking? The world was full of tall men—I was letting my imagination run away with me.

  I called out, holding up the sunglasses. She turned around and saw me, but did not acknowledge my presence.

  And to make matters worse, the car that she climbed into was a white Toyota. I watched as they sped away.

  Chapter 15

  I’d had a restless night. I was worried about Becca driving the white Toyota, although I knew that white Toyotas were common, as were tall men, but it was the combination of the two and the way she had asked me if I would ever hear from Constable Decker’s spirit that made me quite nervous.

  Was I in any danger from her? I was concerned that I might be, given that she thought Decker might tell me that she was his murderer. But then again, I had already told her that the police wouldn’t listen to me. That alone should make me safe, but I couldn’t be sure. After all, if someone was driven to murder, then they might not be acting logically or thinking things through clearly. Who would know?

  I had fallen asleep on the couch the night before, and I awoke as the sun streamed in the east window of the living room. I stretched my back, sore from lying in a cramped position, and at once Possum and Lily meowed. As soon as I opened my eyes of a morning, they thought that was the signal that breakfast was on the way. And they were right. After a detour to the bathroom, I poured a measure of their favorite brand of cat food into each bowl. I headed for the coffee pot. I had a pain in the small of my back, and I could already feel the beginnings of a headache. This did not bode well for the day.

  There had been no sign of Alum. Did that mean he had fully recovered? And if so, why hadn’t he contacted me? Perhaps my worst fears were right, that he had no memory of me in his conscious state.

  No, that was not my worst fear. My worst fear was that his partner had already found him, and had murdered him. But then again, surely his ghost would appear to me, given that we had a connection. It was clutching at straws to think this way, but it was the only straw I had.