Nothing to Ghost About

by Morgana Best

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll go find out.”

  I pulled on some socks and shoes, and hurried to the funeral home. A large man in a black suit stood on the porch. He turned to face me. “Ah, I should have figured you didn’t have to work on weekends,” he said with a slimy smile. He offered me his hand, and I shook it slowly and briefly.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  “Surely you know who I am?” His round, bald head tilted to one side.

  I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry. Have we met?”

  “Your father didn’t speak of me?”

  “I don’t know what your name is,” I said politely.

  “My name is David Dunne.” When I didn’t say anything, he sighed. “I own Dunne Funeral Home in Tamworth.”

  Dunne Funeral Home was a bigger, glitzier, and in my opinion, tackier funeral home that did triple the business of my place.

  “Oh yes,” I said icily. “What can I do for you, Mr. Dunne?”

  “Please, colleagues should call me David,” he said, “especially colleagues I am suing.”

  “Suing?”

  “I thought I would come up and speak with you before our lawyers got involved. You do have a lawyer, yes? But the short version is, I came up with the so-called celebrity funerals first, and as such, you stole my idea, and you’re profiting from it. I plan on getting my cut of that profit, and I’m sure you’ll agree I’m entitled to it.”

  I was furious. “You’re not entitled to anything. You can’t own an idea.”

  “Ah,” the man said, holding his finger up, “so you do admit I had the idea first?”

  “What? No!” I said. “I’m just saying that you can’t own an idea, even if you had it first, which you didn’t. I came up with the idea. Anyway, ideas are not subject to copyright.”

  David Dunne laughed and shook his head. “Your celebrity funerals are disasters.”

  “If you think they’re disasters, then why do you want a piece of them?”

  “It’s owed to me.”

  “I don’t owe you anything.”

  The man stepped forward. “Let me tell you something, missy, your father and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but we respected one another. You’re just a little girl bumbling her way through a business idea of mine, and I’m not going to allow that.”

  “Get off my property now,” I said angrily.

  “I know your type.”

  “My type?” I said icily.

  “Your type. You’re making such a mess of things you can’t keep the business going, so you’re grasping at straws. I did the service for the funeral singer who was murdered here. They came to me, because everyone knows what a mess your place is.”

  That stung. “You’re a bully, and you need to leave,” I said. “Now!”

  The man stared at me for a while, and then he smiled thinly. “You can expect a call from my lawyers.” He left the porch and got into his car. I stood on the top step and watched him drive down the road.

  I went back home, fury causing my body to shake.

  Mom was standing at the door, waiting for me to return. “What was it?”

  “Nothing,” I lied. I went inside and shut the door, but had not gone more than three steps when there was a knock on the door. I hoped it wasn’t David Dunne.

  I opened the door to see John Jones. This was infinitely worse than David Dunne. John was sexist, rude, and boring. When I had first moved back home, my mother had tried to set me up with John Jones. There were no prizes for guessing that John went to her church.

  “Are you ready, Laurel?” John asked.

  I was puzzled. “Ready for what?”

  “Ian’s party,” Mom said from behind me. “You needed a date, and I invited John to be your date.”

  And so I found myself in one of those moods where I was pretty sure I was just going to burn down the house and the funeral home and become a drifter, hitchhiking and jumping trains as I went from town to town, just so I didn’t have to be around my mother any more. I closed my eyes and counted to about one million in the hope that the feeling would pass.

  “Hi, John,” I said when I opened my eyes. I knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue, so I was just going to suffer through John Jones, my mother, and Ian, the birthday boy.

  Twenty or so other people arrived just after John, as did Ian, with a woman I assumed was his girlfriend, the adventurous one. She did not go to Mom’s church.

  “Thank you so much for coming!” Ian said to all and sundry. “This is my girlfriend, Audrey.”

  “Nice to meet you all,” Audrey said.

  I smiled. “I feel like I’ve already met you,” I said before I could stop myself, thinking back to the times I had heard Ian discussing his girlfriend with my clueless mother.

  The woman looked at me strangely, so I modified my original statement. “I mean, Ian has told me so much about you, that I feel like I’ve already met you.” Audrey appeared to be normal, which wasn’t something I could say for Ian, my mother, or John.

  “Oh!” Audrey said. “That’s nice.”

  Ian interrupted her and introduced Janet.

  “Oh, so you’re the one who’s living in sin with Ian?” Janet said. “You’re much better-looking than Ian, and not as weird. I would have thought you could do much better.” She smiled and walked away.

  Audrey froze, a shocked expression on her face. I figured she was trying to decide whether or not Janet’s words were a compliment.

  “Don’t mind Janet,” I said quietly. “She’s nice—she doesn’t mean things to come out like that.”

  Audrey still appeared to be shaken. “Err, can I get you something to drink?” she asked me.

  “I’ll do that,” John said, stepping forward. “This is a date, so that’s my job.” He looked at me. “Punch?”

  “Yes, I’d like to,” I said sweetly. “Right in the head, and hard enough to knock you out.”

  Mom glared at me and reached over, pinching my arm. “Rude!” she whispered.

  “Yes, punch, please,” I said to a confused John. He nodded and walked over to the big bowl on a long table against the wall.

  John stayed glued to me like he was afraid I would vanish into thin air if he took his eyes off me, and to be honest, there was a good chance that I would. At the very least, every ten minutes or so, one of the people I spoke to said something to make me reconsider the whole train hopping drifter thing.

  I huddled into a corner and tried to make myself invisible. I thought about my earlier meeting with David Dunne. I wondered if he’d had something to do with Preston Kerr’s death. The murder had certainly been driving business his way, and he sure seemed like the kind of man who would do anything to come out on top. I had to add him to my list of suspects, the one I went over and over in my head. Still, I was worried he was on my list because I didn’t like him. Anna was on my list for the same reason. But no, he really did have something to gain, and at the very least, I needed to look at him and see if he fitted with any of the other clues. I wasn’t anywhere close to solving Preston’s murder.

  “Laurel,” I heard Mom’s voice screech. “Laurel! Laurel!”

  I reluctantly left my corner and went over to Mom. “Your date has been looking for you, Laurel!” she said loudly. “I can’t believe you abandoned your date! What did I ever do to deserve a daughter like you? I hope one day you have a daughter as horrible as yourself. Then you will realize just how I’ve suffered.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Mom, John Jones is not my date. He never was my date, and he will never be my date!”

  The sound of collective gasps drew my attention. I looked around at Mom’s friends, all of whom were clearly horrified. They at once averted their eyes and whispered to each other. I could make out the words of those closest to me. They were saying I was an ungrateful daughter and a rude woman, and they wondered how Mom managed to put up with me. In general, they were all sorry for Mom. I was furious. She always managed to make me l
ook like the bad one.

  I was about to storm off to my room, but Ian was blocking my way. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by gifts. “It’s time for me to open my presents!” he announced.

  I sighed. It looked as if I would have to stay a bit longer. Perhaps I could go to the funeral home and lie inside a casket. At least no one would find me there.

  Ian gleefully reached for a gift. “Oh, the first one’s from Thelma and Laurel,” he said, tearing the wrapping paper into shreds.

  I thought it was nice that my mother had put my name on the card along with hers. That sentiment did not last long.

  Ian held up a book to murmurs of appreciation. The title was Deliverance from the Demon Alcohol: A How-to Exorcism Book for Beginners.

  Everyone turned to look at me.

  “I thought that would be useful, Ian,” mother said, nodding to me.

  “I rarely drink!” I protested.

  “Those possessed by the Demon Alcohol are always in denial,” a woman standing next to Mom said, and her words drew a chorus of “Amen!”

  Chapter 14

  I knew I needed some answers, and I knew just the place to get them. I made the call.

  “Hairway to Heaven. How may I help you?” The voice was breathless.

  “Katy? This is Laurel Bay, Thelma’s daughter.”

  “Oh sure, Laurel! How are you? Sorry about the wait. I’ve got Agnes under some curlers and I didn’t want her hair to burn. You know, you burn off someone’s hair just once, and it gets all over town!”

  I laughed, because I figured she was joking, but then I wasn’t so sure. At any rate, Katy was the gossip queen in town, and if I had questions, I was willing to bet that she had the answers. “Do you have time to fit me in today?”

  “Have you changed your mind? Do want your hair purple or pink, after all?” Her voice was hopeful.

  I grimaced. “Actually, I was just after a manicure.”

  There was a long silence and I was about to ask if she was still there, but then she spoke. “How’s three for you?”

  “Perfect,” I said.

  When I stepped into Katy’s salon, there was no sign of her. I peered into the salon itself only to see a figure at the back of the room whom I didn’t and couldn’t recognize. Its face was wrapped in bandages, and green goo was finding its way out of the cracks. My jaw dropped. It looked just like an Egyptian mummy. And what was that overpowering smell? It reminded me of stale fertilizer and seaweed.

  Katy appeared. “Laurel, hi. Come this way.”

  I was unable to speak, so I motioned to the mummy. I reached into my purse and found a tissue, which I held firmly over my nose.

  “It’s a facial wrap. You should try it. Have you heard of mud masks?”

  I gingerly moved the tissue from my nose and mouth so I could speak. “Is that a mud mask?”

  Katy shook her head. “No. It’s a horse manure and spirulina face wrap, so it’s the same type of thing as a mud mask. It’s a new service for the salon. It’s great for serious wrinkles around the eyes. We just wrap them away!” She held the door open for me and I hurried in, keen to escape the smell.

  Mercifully, Katy shut the door behind me. “Have a seat.”

  I sat down. “Is that lavender in that oil burner?”

  Katy nodded.

  “Could you bring it closer to me, please?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I have a cold, so I can’t smell anything at the moment.”

  That explains it, I thought. Soon, there was no horse manure to be smelled, only the fragrance of lavender essential oil. I sighed and relaxed into the manicure.

  “So, how are things going?” Katy asked me as she massaged sweet orange oil lotion into my hands. “I saw that terrible article in the Sydney paper. Just a horrid thing that man wrote about you.”

  I nodded. “The local article was a lot better.”

  “I saw that one too,” Katy said.

  “Actually, I was wondering if you knew David Dunne.”

  Kate reached for her file. “Yes, he has a funeral home in Tamworth. He did the funeral for that man who was killed at your place, the funeral singer. What was his name?”

  “Preston Kerr.”

  “Right, I knew it was Preston something,” Katy said. “At any rate, I heard there was a bit of a scene at his funeral.”

  I pricked up my ears. “What do you mean?”

  Katy signaled for me to give her my left hand. “Apparently someone confronted the dead guy’s wife at his funeral.”

  I was about to question her further, when the song track changed. Sure, I knew that Katy went to Mom’s church, but the music so far had been unobtrusive background music. Now the music was different.

  I winced as I heard the blaring words:

  The world is very evil

  The times are waxing late

  Be sober and keep vigil

  The judge is at the gate.

  “Katy, would you mind very much changing the music, if it isn’t a bother?”

  Katy looked taken aback. “You don’t like it?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry.”

  “But it’s your mother’s favorite hymn!” Katy said.

  Exactly, I thought. Aloud I said, “Mom’s version is at least quieter.”

  Katy popped out of the room. Mercifully, the volume dropped moments later. “It’s such a quiet hymn that I always play it at full volume,” she explained when she came back and took up her file once more. “Everyone needs to realize that the world is evil, so that’s why I play it loudly.”

  I grimaced. “Speaking of the world being evil,” I said, silently congratulating myself on the segue, “what was the confrontation at Preston Kerr’s funeral about?”

  Katy’s face lit up. “His wife was having an affair.” Her tone was nonchalant, but not believably so. I could tell she was chomping at the bit to tell me the news.

  “With whom?” I asked.

  “Preston Kerr’s brother.”

  I gasped, and if both my hands were not covered in exfoliating cream, I would have slapped one over my mouth. “Did Preston know?” I figured he didn’t, because he had never mentioned it to me.

  “I have no idea,” Katy said.

  “Who brought it up at the funeral?” I asked.

  “It was her own sister. Can you believe that?”

  I shook my head. “Wow.” Poor Preston Kerr. Not only had he been murdered because he had overheard something he shouldn’t have, but his wife had been cheating on him with his own brother.

  And then something dawned on me. What if his murder hadn’t been caused by what he’d overheard? What if his wife had wanted to be free to carry on with the brother? Of course, divorce would be the easier option, but some people just weren’t wired correctly. My mother was a good indication of that.

  “Did his wife admit to it?” I asked.

  Katy giggled. “Oh no, of course not. She told her sister she was crazy.”

  “But do you think she was having an affair?”

  “I don’t know,” Katy said with a smile. “I just report the gossip. I’m not sure what’s true and what isn’t. Anyway, it’s bad that it’s affecting your business.”

  I jumped, and that earned me a sharp jab to my cuticle. “What do you mean?”

  “Lots of my clients have said that they’re going to avoid your funeral home from now on. They think it’s pretty strange that there have been two murders, and so close together at that.”

  “But Tiffany’s murder was solved,” I protested.

  Katy shrugged and slapped hot towels on my hands.

  Ernie materialized behind Katy and I jumped.

  “Oh sorry. Did that hurt? Are the towels too hot?”

  I hurried to reassure her. “No, that’s fine.” I glared at Ernie.

  “She’s right, you know,” he said. “If the murder isn’t solved soon, you’ll lose all your clients to Tamworth. It’s a dying business.”

  I narrowed my eyes at h
im.

  As Katy buffed my nails with vigor, I formulated a plan. The police had not yet arrested anyone for Preston’s murder. I had every confidence that they would solve the case, but I was fairly certain that I would be broke by the time they did. With people abandoning the funeral home, there was only one thing I could do.

  Chapter 15

  The first part of my plan involved visiting a florist in the next town. The man who served me had big ears, and a bald head that shone under the flickering lights of the ceiling. He gave me the third degree about what I wanted the flowers for, followed by lengthy advice.

  I bought a nice bouquet of Asiatic lilies, snow drops, and gerbera daisies, all in soft pastel pinks. The man wrapped the bunch in pale green tissue paper, and I made my escape.

  As my google search had revealed, Donna Kerr lived just north of that town, right on the outskirts. I pulled up in front of a brick, two-story house, surrounded by expansive gardens. I parked next to one of the two cars in the drive, and made my way to the house, the flowers held in the crook of my arm.

  I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I tried a few more times—still nothing. As there were two cars parked in front of the house, and all the upstairs windows were open, I figured that someone was home.

  I walked around the side of the home, waving the flowers above my head to ward off the magpie that had just dive-bombed me. It took off with a loud caw. My eyes fell on a large fountain in the center of the garden. The headpiece was a large cherub, with a jet of water spraying from the top of its small harp.

  I was so focused on the fountain and the sweetly pungent scent of honeysuckle that I didn’t notice anyone present.

  “Can I help you?” a voice said from the side.

  I whirled around to see a short, red-faced woman. She was buttoning up her blue shirt. A man stood next to her, tightening his belt.

  “Mrs. Kerr?” I asked.

  “Yes, I’m Donna Kerr,” the woman said. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Laurel Bay,” I replied. “Your husband, Preston, was at my funeral parlor the day he was…” My voice trailed away.