Spooky Times (Alice Whitehouse Book 1)

by Nic Saint

  That night, I slept fitfully. This whole thing with Gemma had thrown me. It was one thing for a murder to take place, but another for someone I’d gone to school with and had known all my life to be killed. And then there were Fee and Rick’s insinuations about my love life. I didn’t want to become a nun, but I also didn’t want to have my heart stomped on again. When I finally fell asleep, I was awakened again by an angry voice that trumpeted in my ear.

  “Alice! Alice Whitehouse! I can’t believe you can sleep at a time like this!”

  I opened my eyes groggily, and found myself staring at the translucent form of Gemma Weston. The bank teller stood leaning over me, her face a mask of annoyance.

  “Huh?” I muttered. “What’s going on?”

  “What’s going on? What’s going on?” Gemma’s voice had turned shrill. “I’ve been murdered and instead of going out there and looking for my killer you take a nap!”

  I glared at her. “I’m not taking a nap. I’m sleeping. In case you didn’t know, it’s the middle of the night. People sleep in the middle of the night.”

  “I’m not sleeping,” she said. “Do you see me sleeping?”

  “That’s because you’re dead. Dead people don’t sleep.”

  She uttered a shocked sob. “Now you’re just being mean!”

  If anyone was being mean here, it was Gemma. Death had turned her nasty.

  “Look, Fee and I are going to find your killer, all right?”

  Fee and Rick came storming into my room. “What’s going on?” Fee cried. Then she caught sight of Gemma. “Oh, hey, Gemma. So sorry about your… death.”

  “Hi, Fee. Oh, and hi, Ricky.”

  “Hi, Gemma,” Rick said with a yawn.

  Gemma gave Rick a long, lingering look. “Looking good, Ricky. Have you been working out?” She giggled.

  Rick gave her a blank look. “I, um…”

  It reminded me Gemma had had the hots for Rick when she was still alive, always flirting with him when he went to the bank. It drove Fee crazy. I could see Fee was already getting hot and bothered now.

  “So Virgil talked to Chad,” I said, deciding to change the topic.

  Gemma’s face clouded. “So?”

  “So Chad told him you guys broke up over his anger management issues?”

  Gemma uttered a curt, humorless laugh. “Is that what he said? I didn’t dump his ass because he was having anger management issues. I dumped him because he was a nasty drunk and whenever we went out he was either picking a fight with all of our friends or hitting on every skirt in sight.” She shook her head. “I told him to stop drinking and get help but he refused. Said he didn’t have a problem. So I decided I didn’t need that kind of negative energy in my life and broke up with him. Best decision I ever made.”

  “So do you think Chad could be your killer?” Rick asked.

  Her face softened and she streaked over to Rick, touching her hand to his face. “Oh, it’s just like you to be so concerned about me, Ricky.”

  “Hey, no touching my boyfriend,” Fee growled.

  Gemma smirked at her. “What are you going to do? I’m dead, Fee. You can’t stomp my toe now.”

  “I can and I will,” Fee grumbled. And she made a move to stomp her.

  “We’re all friends here,” I said quickly, intervening before we had an incident on our hands.

  “Speak for yourself,” Gemma said, glowering at Fee. “I haven’t forgotten how you tried to steal Chad away from me.”

  “Look, do you or don’t you think Chad killed you?” I asked. I was frankly getting sick and tired of this woman. I didn’t remember her being this obnoxious in life. Maybe death had turned her into the worst version of herself.

  “No, I don’t,” she said adamantly. “Chad might be a horrible drunk, but he would never kill anyone, least of all me. He still loves me. We were even getting back together again.” She darted a quick look at Rick. “Well, maybe. We’d discussed it. I told him that he needed to prove to me that he’d changed his ways before I considered taking him back.”

  “But you told me yourself you didn’t get a good look at the killer,” I said.

  She shook her head. “It can’t be Chad. He’s not a killer.”

  “Well, we’re going to have a word with him anyway,” Fee said.

  Gemma lifted her finger and wagged it menacingly. “Don’t you dare come near my boyfriend, Felicity Bell. I told you before and I’ll tell you again.”

  What was wrong with this woman?!

  “We’re just going to ask him a couple of questions,” I said. “That’s what investigators do, Gemma. They ask questions. And hopefully they’ll lead us to some answers.”

  She didn’t seem convinced. “Just don’t you go and start getting any ideas,” she said. “I might be dead, but Chad is still mine. He’s mine, you hear!”

  And with this, she streaked off, disappearing into my bedroom wall.

  We were silent for a beat, the three of us, staring at the spot on the wall where Gemma had vanished. There was some ectoplasmic slime stuck to the floral wallpaper. Yuck. Now I was going to have to clean that up.

  “Nice person,” Rick said. “Great personality.”

  “Death doesn’t become her,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Nope. Sure doesn’t,” Fee muttered, still scowling.

  She looked like she was about to drop the investigation. Maybe she was even glad someone had finally had the courage to kill Gemma.

  I laughed, and Fee looked up as if stung. “What’s so funny?”

  “You look like you would like to kill Gemma yourself.”

  “Too bad she’s dead,” Fee grunted. “Or I might do just that.”

  “I liked her more when she was alive,” Rick agreed.

  “We’re still going to catch her killer, though, right?” I asked.

  Fee sighed. “I suppose so. Though she doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Nobody deserves to die, Fee,” Rick said seriously. “No matter how obnoxious they are.”

  “You’re right,” she said ruefully. “Of course Gemma didn’t deserve to die.”

  I stared at the spot again. I was starting to see that the sooner we caught Gemma’s killer, the better. For everyone involved. Except maybe the killer.

  Chapter 5

  Chad Harlin lived in a small flat over in the next town of Hampton Cove. When we arrived, firemen were just rescuing an older couple from the third floor, where apparently they’d been trapped when a fire broke out in their kitchen. Chad and the other occupants of the apartment building were all waiting outside until they were given the clear to move back in.

  I recognized him immediately, though time hadn’t been kind to him. Even though it had only been a couple of years since high school, already his skin had the sallow tone of someone who’s had it rough. His eyes were bloodshot and he had dark rings beneath them. He also sported an unkempt growth on his chin that may or may not have been a beard.

  “God, he looks terrible,” Fee whispered when she saw him. “And to think I kinda liked him.”

  I looked up sharply. “I didn’t know you liked him.”

  “I didn’t say I liked him. I said I kinda liked him.”

  “That’s the same thing.”

  “It is not. You have to admit he was kinda cute in high school.”

  “Look, it’s either cute or not cute. This kinda nonsense has got to stop.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right. Have it your way. He was cute and I was into him at some point. But since Gemma stuck to him like glue I never acted on my instincts.”

  “The instinct to kinda jump his bones beneath the bleachers you mean?”

  “Kinda,” she said with a mischievous giggle.

  We walked up to Chad and I tapped his shoulder. He jumped. “Oh, Christ!”

  “Nope. Just Alice,” I said.

  “And Fee,” Fee said.

  He frowned at me. “Alice Whitehouse? I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  Now
it was my turn to frown. “Why? Have I changed so much?”

  He nodded. “I remember you as this ratty little thing. Now you look like… a woman.”

  Wow. Great compliment.

  His eyes swiveled to Fee. “Oh, hi, Felicity Bell. You definitely look like a woman. But then you always did.”

  Oh, goodie. More compliments. “Look, we need to talk to you about Gemma Weston.”

  “Who? Oh, you mean Gemma.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Yeah, some cop came to talk to me yesterday. Um…” He snapped his fingers. “Virgil. That’s it.”

  “You were in high school with Virgil,” Fee reminded him.

  He nodded dumbly. “Sure. Uh-huh. Yeah, he mentioned that.”

  The drink had obviously addled his brain beyond repair. If he didn’t remember Virgil, who was this stringy, awkward guy that stood out like a sore thumb wherever he went, he was far gone.

  “So what can you tell us about you and Gemma?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Hey, I told that cop everything I know.”

  “Well, pretend that we’re the cops and that we’re asking you to repeat your statement.”

  He grinned and pointed a finger at me. “Is that a trick question, Alice Whitehouse?”

  “No, it’s a regular question. Like, a real question.” What Fee had ever seen in this guy I didn’t know. Or Gemma, for that matter.

  “Oh. Right. Great.” He scratched his beard and I swear I thought I saw something moving in there. Cooties, maybe. “Well, what can I tell you?”

  “For starters you can tell us where you were two nights ago between the hours of…”

  Fee looked at me, and I filled in, “Between the hours of seven and eight.”

  “Like I told Virgil, I was at the meet.”

  “The meet?”

  “Yeah, court-ordered, so there’s records and stuff.”

  “I think he means the AA meeting,” Fee said.

  He gave her a big old grin. “That’s right. Hey, you’re smart.”

  “Thanks. So what’s the deal with this anger management thing?”

  His smile vanished. “That’s just a lot of nonsense, man. I mean, look, I hit the guy, but he had it coming, right? He insulted my girlfriend so I had to hit him.”

  “Someone insulted Gemma and you hit them?”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what happened. I told the judge but he didn’t seem to believe me. So he ordered me to take anger management classes, and twenty-four court-mandated AA meetings. Can you believe that bullshit?”

  “I can believe it,” I said curtly. And I commended the judge on his common sense. Though judging from the way Chad was looking right now—and smelling, I might add—it wasn’t doing him a lot of good.

  “Is it true that you and Gemma were getting back together?” Fee asked.

  He broke into a smile again. “Yeah, she decided she couldn’t keep away from the Chadster after all.” He spread his arms. “And can you blame her? Huh? The Chadster is the bomb, man. The ladies just can’t get enough of this hot stuff!”

  Um, yes, they could. But from the looks of things the guy at least hadn’t killed her. He didn’t even have a decent motive, if he and Gemma were hooking up again.

  We were about to say goodbye—and good riddance—to the Chadster, when he called out, “Hey, are you guys trying to find Gemma’s killer?”

  “What gave us away, Chad?” I asked.

  “Oh, just a hunch,” he said. He walked up to us, and got into our faces. Yep. Those AA meetings weren’t working. The man reeked of Jack Daniels. Though more likely he was using a cheaper brand. “You know who you should look into? This old hag colleague of Gemma’s. I know for a fact she was giving her a hard time. Jealousy,” he declared solemnly. “Afraid Gemma was stealing her thunder.”

  “Stealing her thunder?”

  “Hey, Gemma’s a knockout.” He blinked. “I mean, she was a knockout. Before she got knocked out for good.” And while this sunk in, he shook his head, like a punch-drunk fighter. “Anyhoo. You guys find out who did this, all right? Gemma was my girl, dammit. She belonged to the Chadster. And nobody touches the Chadster’s stuff.” Some of the old fighting spirit returned and he tapped my chest. “You find the killer, Alice Whitehouse. You nail that hag.”

  “All right, Chad,” I said calmly, removing his fingers from my chest. “We’ll nail the hag.”

  “Does this hag have a name?” Fee asked.

  A look of constipation came over him, and I understood this was his thinking face. Finally, he gave up. “Gemma always said she was some old hag.” Then he smiled. “Hey, how many hags can there be, right?”

  Not all that many, I assumed. From what I could gather, he could only be talking about one particular hag. Mrs. Merton. She was the only other bank teller at Armstrong & Tillich.

  Fee had come to the same conclusion, because as we hopped into the bakery van, she said, “It has to be Mrs. Merton. She’s got hag written all over her.”

  “I kinda like Mrs. Merton,” I said, buckling up. “She used to give me a lollipop when I was little and deposited my savings into my account.”

  “She never gave me anything,” Fee grumbled, starting up the engine. It coughed to life with a death rattle, and after pumping the accelerator a couple times, the ancient vehicle jerked into motion.

  “So what did you think about the Chadster?” I asked.

  “I think I dodged a bullet there, hon. Imagine me ending up with that guy?”

  “I can see the two of you together.”

  Fee glared at me. “You take that back.”

  “No, I mean it. He was a handsome looking guy back in the day. And you heard how he called you a real woman. Unlike me, who was just a ratty little thing.”

  “Well, you were a ratty little thing.”

  “You take that back,” I said. “I was never ratty. What does that even mean?”

  She laughed. “I have no idea! I think the guy’s brain is fried.”

  “I can’t believe Gemma was getting back together with him.”

  “Why wouldn’t I get back together with him?” suddenly Gemma called out from the back of the van.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sakes!” Fee screamed, jumping the curb.

  “For starters, because he looks like a homeless person,” I said.

  “He does not,” she said peevishly. She drifted to the front of the van and stretched out on the dash, her head popping up behind the steering wheel. It was a pretty neat trick. When I died I was going to try that. “He has let himself go a little,” she conceded when Fee tried swatting her away because she was blocking the view throughout the windshield.

  “You can say that again,” I said.

  “All he needed was a good woman,” she said. “Every man needs a good woman. Without it, they’re just a big mess.”

  “Like the Chadster,” I said.

  “Don’t call him the Chadster,” she said. “Only I get to call him that.”

  “What about Mrs. Merton?” Fee asked. “Is it true you two didn’t get along?”

  “Who could get along with that old pest? Just talk to her and you’ll see.”

  “So do you think she killed you?” I asked.

  Gemma hesitated. “You know? I can see her killing a person, but not with a rock. She’s more the kind of person who would stick a knife in your back, or fetch you a cup of coffee and put poison in it, if you know what I mean.”

  I still couldn’t believe that nice old Mrs. Merton, who’d been so generous with the lollipops, would kill Gemma, though the more time I spent with the deceased bank teller, the more I was starting to feel that whoever the killer was, he or she should probably be commended, not punished.

  We passed the Happy Bays city limit, and tootled on towards the bakery. Fee had to work, so we decided that I would interview Mrs. Merton. See how vicious she really was. And we’d just passed the street where we lived, when I saw one of our neighbors, Mrs. Evergreen, walk her bulldog S
heena.

  “Look there, Fee,” I said excitedly.

  “Oh, I’m looking,” she said.

  “What’s with the sweet old lady?” Gemma asked.

  “She’s no sweet old lady,” I told her. “She’s a serial jaypooper.”

  Gemma laughed. “A what?”

  “She refuses to clean up after her dog.”

  We stared at the woman as Fee slowed the van to a crawl. She looked innocent enough, with her curly white hair and her long black coat. And so did the dog, a brown bulldog that waddled more than it walked. But I knew better, and so did the other members of the neighborhood watch. We’d been watching Mrs. Evergreen and Sheena for a long time, and even though we’d never been able to catch them in the act, we knew that the path she took Sheena for a walk on was always littered with massive turds of poop. For a small bulldog, Sheena had a very healthy digestion.

  I took out my camera. “We’ve got her now,” I told Fee.

  “Go get her, girl,” she said.

  “Ooh, this is exciting,” Gemma exclaimed, clapping her hands. “The neighborhood watch in action.”

  Sheena stopped next to a nice old plane tree and looked up at her master. Mrs. Evergreen looked left. She looked right. And when she seemed satisfied, she uttered a few words of encouragement. Satisfied, Sheena lifted her paw and proceeded to direct a steady stream at the tree.

  “Nothing wrong with that, is there?” asked Gemma. “No law against a tinkle.”

  “Wait for it,” I said between gritted teeth. “Just… wait for it.”

  We were waiting for it, and so was Mrs. Evergreen. Sheena took her time to finish her piddle, and then crouched and got ready for more serious business.

  “Number two is in the hole,” Gemma caroled cheerfully. For a dead person, she was awfully chipper, I thought.

  But she was right. In front of our noses, the tiny bulldog left a huge pile of crap in the middle of the sidewalk. And Mrs. Evergreen? She gave the dog’s leash a yank, and walked on as if nothing happened! Unfortunately, in the ultimate moment, I’d forgotten to press the button on my camera!

  “Did you get that?” Fee asked excitedly.

  “I got it,” said Gemma, and blew out a breath. “Phew. Nasty business!”