The Ghosts of Misty Hollow

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “Don’t lots of books have similar premises?” asked Emma, trying to comfort Gino, even though common sense told her there was probably a connection.

  Gino raised his face to hers. “So you really think,” he said, his voice laced with heavy sarcasm, “that it’s a coincidence that the author who had a book coming out with the same storyline as one of my old manuscripts winds up dead less than a half mile from where I’m staying, and my assistant might be involved?”

  “No,” Emma admitted, cutting him some slack on his tone. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Frankly, I don’t know what to think.”

  “How long has Leroy been with you?” asked Phil. “Did he know about this unfinished book?”

  “He’s been with me about four years,” Gino told them. “I don’t recall ever telling him about that book, but he might have come across it in my office. I keep it locked in a file cabinet with other incomplete manuscripts and ideas, but he has a key to that cabinet.”

  “What about digital copies?” Phil asked.

  Gino shook his head. “They were on disks, but I deleted them. I just didn’t have the heart to destroy the original printed draft.”

  “If Leroy did steal it,” Emma said, thinking it through, “he could have had the manuscript scanned, then replaced it without you ever knowing. But why would Otis have it?”

  “The thing is,” Phil said as he ran the information through his legal brain, “if he took the manuscript and didn’t put it back and there are no other copies, digital or in print, it could be hard to prove that it was your original idea without a confession from Leroy. Are you sure you never mentioned it to anyone, not even your agent?”

  Gino shook his head. “It was a book I was working on outside of my contracted books. Every now and then I noodle around on a plot that catches my fancy. Most of the time it goes nowhere after a few chapters,” he explained. “It’s like a writing exercise. And sometimes, like with this book, it develops into something with solid potential, so I finish it and my agent submits it to my publisher. It’s like a bonus book. The book I just gave you, the one being released shortly, was developed out of one of those side manuscripts.”

  After a few seconds, Gino pulled himself together with renewed energy and focus, pulled out his phone, and placed a call. “Neil,” he said when the call was answered. “It’s Gino. Can you find out everything possible about a newbie author named William Otis?” He paused. “Yeah, that’s right, William Otis. I think he has a new book coming out called Broken Asphalt. Find out who his agent and publisher are and when the book was bought.” He listened, then shouted into the phone, “Are you kidding me?” The few diners near them on the patio turned to stare, then went back to eating.

  Gino listened to Neil a long time, then said in a lower tone, “Well, you might want to put your lawyers on standby, Neil. William Otis is dead, murdered last night, and somehow it may be connected to Leroy Larkin. And Broken Asphalt may have been stolen. From me.” Gino pulled the phone away from his ear and Emma and Phil could hear Gino’s agent shouting on the other end.

  When the tirade ended, Gino put the phone back to his ear. “No, Neil, I’m not blaming you. You had no idea. I never showed you this book.” Another long pause. “Just sit tight for now, Neil. I’m sure the truth will be out soon enough. The police are investigating Otis’s death, but don’t be surprised if they come calling, asking about him and that book.”

  When Gino ended the call, Phil said, “I’m guessing that your agent was also representing William Otis?”

  “You got it. Neil said he met Otis at a writers’ conference and he pitched him the book. Neil loved it, took Otis on as a client, and sold the book pretty quickly. He said Leroy’s name never came up in all his talks with Otis about the book.”

  “I’m sure he’s afraid you’re going to sue the crap out of him,” Phil noted.

  “Yeah,” Gino admitted, “I’m afraid he is. We’ve been together almost my entire career and I’ve never known Neil to be dishonest. Unless I learn otherwise, I’m going to assume it went down as he said it did. Neil reps a lot of well-known authors. He has too much to lose and is too smart to try something like this. But if he is involved”—Gino struck the table with his fist—“he has every right to be afraid, because I will bury him right along with Leroy Larkin.”

  Gino stood up and took several rejuvenating breaths of the cool clean air. “Now come on, let’s get back to Misty Hollow. I want to talk to Leroy before I hand him over to the police.”

  They were almost to the house when Granny popped into the backseat of the car. “You need to tell Gino something for me,” she said to Emma.

  She turned to look at Granny. “What’s the matter, Granny?” At the same time she saw Phil glance at her in the rearview mirror. Gino noticed nothing, still lost in his outrage.

  “Something weird is going on,” the ghost said with agitation.

  “Did you find something out about William Otis from the Browns?”

  “No, not him. It’s about that Leroy. After spending a little time at the old house, I popped over to the big house to see if any of the Browns were hanging out on the porch. I didn’t see them, but I did see something else.”

  “Like what, Granny?” Emma said with impatience.

  “It looks like Leroy is getting ready to bolt just like Vanessa.”

  Emma looked directly at Gino. “Granny says Leroy is about to take off.”

  • CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE •

  THE car had barely come to a stop in the circular driveway when Gino jumped out. The rental car used by Leroy was still there.

  “He was right here throwing his bags into the car,” Granny said.

  “Wait,” Emma yelled at Gino, remembering Otis. “He may have a gun!”

  Without any indication that he’d heard her warning or not, Gino charged ahead. Instead of heading up the stairs to the house, he trotted around the side to the path that led to the back. From there he headed directly to the guesthouse. Phil hopped out and started for the main house. Emma shouted to him to wait, too, but neither man was listening.

  “Go with Phil,” Emma called to Granny as she took off after Gino. She handily caught up to him with her long athletic legs and they landed at the front door of the guesthouse about the same time, Gino out of breath and Emma barely breathing hard.

  Gino wasted no time grabbing the doorknob and found it locked. Without bothering with a second try, he raised his right leg and kicked the door next to the knob. The lock gave easily. With a mighty push, Emma shoved the larger Gino to the side of the doorway to cover, then joined him. Quickly Gino’s brain understood what she was doing and yanked her behind him. They braced themselves for a confrontation, lethal or otherwise. None came. With caution, they entered.

  The guesthouse was one very large room with a bathroom across from the main door. There was a small kitchenette with a mini-fridge, a two-burner stove, and a microwave separated from an L-shaped combination seating and sleeping area by a built-in counter with two stools. A queen-size bed was tucked into the alcove made by the short part of the L. It was made up but the quilt on the top was rumpled. A love seat, small coffee table, and small upholstered chair filled the seating area. The longest wall had a series of windows and another door, all facing the lake. The door led to a small deck with two painted rockers that matched those at the big house. Although built much later, the guesthouse had been decorated with the same charming antique wallpaper and trim as the main house.

  Emma dashed into the bathroom and came out a second later. “Not a toiletry in sight,” she announced.

  “Looks like Granny was right about him taking off,” Gino said. “There’s not a piece of clothing or personal effect anywhere. Leroy must be up at the house.”

  Gino started to head out the door, but Emma grabbed his arm and repeated her warning. “If he killed Otis, then he has a gun.”

/>   Gino shook off her hand. “Then let’s move it. Phil’s up there.”

  A cold hand of fear grasped her heart and squeezed. She knew Phil could take care of himself, but his bare hands had little force against a gun. She and Gino took off, back up the path to the house and up the steps to the back deck. Way ahead of the out-of-shape Gino, Emma took them two at a time. Finding the French doors unlocked, she burst through them.

  “Phil!” she called, quickly looking around the room. It was empty. From upstairs there was the sound of a scuffle and things breaking. “They’re upstairs,” she yelled to Gino as she grabbed the fireplace poker. She bounded out of the room to the foyer and the staircase.

  “Emma, come quick,” shouted Granny, popping up at the head of the stairs. “He’s got a gun, just as you said.”

  When Emma reached the top, she was disoriented, not sure from which direction the sound of the fight was coming. From below she heard Gino’s heavy steps and turned to see him starting up the stairs, his face flushed and damp with sweat.

  Granny saw Emma’s confusion. “Gino’s room,” she shouted at Emma, then disappeared

  Just as Emma took off toward that wing, a gunshot vibrated through the house. Emma froze, a strangled cry coming from between her tight lips. Then the house was still. She grasped the poker firmly with two hands and motioned to Gino, who was also frozen, to call for help. Slowly she moved forward, keeping to the middle of the patterned carpet runner that covered the midsection of the hallway, but even then the old floorboards faintly squeaked under her feet.

  “I know you’re out there,” called Leroy. “If you want Phil to live, you’ll stay where you are.”

  Granny popped up again. “Phil’s still alive but that creep has a gun on him.” In spite of the situation, Emma sighed with relief.

  “And don’t think about calling the cops,” Leroy shouted from Gino’s suite. “If I see one cop car or hear one siren, he’s dead.”

  Emma turned to Gino, her eyes wide with fright. He was now at the top of the stairs, phone in hand. He nodded his understanding and slipped his phone into the front pocket of his jacket.

  “Come out where we can see you, Leroy,” Gino called out, coming forward to stand next to Emma. “And let us see Phil. We need to know he’s okay.”

  There was some shuffling from Gino’s suite and some curses and grunts of pain. Several minutes later, Phil appeared at the door. He was holding his left arm with his right and was obviously in pain. Blood, dark against his light gray jacket, was seeping from a wound halfway between his shoulder and his elbow.

  Emma started to move forward, but Leroy put the gun to Phil’s head. “Careful,” he said. He was wearing jeans and a navy blue sweatshirt, different clothing than when he’d shown up this morning, and his face was dark with contempt, his large eyes no longer welcoming and friendly as they had been on the first day of their arrival. He seemed like a different person entirely.

  “Please,” Emma pleaded, her voice choked. “He needs help. He’s bleeding.”

  “It’s okay, darling,” Phil told her with a strained smile. “It’s just a scratch.”

  “Put down the fire poker, Emma,” Leroy told her, “and kick it toward the wall, out of your reach.”

  Emma, who had forgotten that she was holding the poker, looked at it a long time before complying. Placing it on the floor, just beyond the runner, she put a foot on it and shoved it away from her and Gino. It hit the side floorboard with a metalic thunk.

  “Great,” Leroy said, infusing his voice with forced perkiness. “Now how about you two going downstairs, single file? Phil and I will be right behind you. If you so much as stumble, Phil dies and you right after him.”

  They walked, as directed, down the stairs, single file, taking each step carefully until Gino and Emma were at the bottom and Phil and Leroy halfway down. It was then Emma caught sight of Granny. She was hovering nearby, angry and agitated. “Leave Phil alone,” the ghost shouted at Leroy.

  “Head toward the library,” Leroy told them, “but move slowly and stay in my sight. When you get there, sit on the sofa facing away from the windows.”

  Again, Gino and Emma complied. Once they were seated, Leroy and Phil moved closer. “Sit down, Phil,” Leroy ordered, “next to Emma.”

  Gino moved over and made room for Phil to sit between them with Emma on Phil’s left. Once Phil was settled, Emma turned in her seat and started fussing with his injury. When she started to help him out of his jacket, Leroy again cautioned them about any sudden moves. They took it slowly, not just to appease Leroy but to be careful of Phil’s injury. Gino helped to remove Phil’s good arm from the jacket on his side. Then Emma gingerly pulled the jacket free from Phil’s injured arm, with him using his good arm to help. Phil gritted his teeth and made deep guttural sounds as they worked to rid him of the jacket. Sweat beaded on his bald pate and his eyes narrowed to slits.

  Once the jacket was free, Emma did her best to make a compress out of it and press it against the still bleeding wound. Phil grunted with pain. Gino started to get up.

  “Not so fast,” Leroy said.

  “There are clean dish towels at the bar,” Gino explained. “I just want a couple to stop the bleeding.”

  “Sit back down,” Leroy ordered Gino. “I know where they are. I’ll get them.”

  Still keeping the gun trained on them, Leroy slipped over to the bar and retrieved a few clean and folded dish towels. He tossed them to Emma, but they fell short and landed at her feet on top of her muddy boots. She bent down to retrieve them. Working quickly, she unfolded one that hadn’t hit her boots and refolded it into a square, thick bandage. She pressed it against Phil’s wound over the sleeve of his knit shirt, which was soaked with blood. He flinched.

  “Hold it there with your good arm,” she told him. Once the bandage was in place, she went to work on another towel, folding it lengthwise into a long strip, but it was too bulky to tie.

  Emma handed the towel to Gino. “Can you tear this into strips?”

  Without a word, Gino took the cotton towel and tugged on it until he was able to get a rip started, then he tore it into long narrow strips. As he got each one done, he handed it to Emma, who tied it around Phil’s arm to tightly secure the square bandage. She used three strips before she was satisfied that it was secure and tight enough to stop the bleeding.

  “Nice work, darling,” Phil said, giving her a smile and a light kiss on her cheek. He still held his left arm with his right, but no longer had to hold the wound.

  “Aww,” said Leroy, sarcastically. “Isn’t that sweet?”

  “You leave them alone!” yelled Granny. She made a run at Leroy, but only succeeded in passing through him. As she did, Emma saw him shiver as if caught in a draft.

  Emma wanted to talk to Granny, but couldn’t openly. It also wasn’t helping that the ghost was so worried about their safety, she wasn’t thinking about how to help. Emma looked down and noticed the photo album that Fran had left open on the coffee table, and got an idea. But first she had to get Granny’s attention. She gave it several tries, but Granny was so angry with Leroy she wasn’t giving Emma much thought.

  “That’s him,” came a voice from near the fireplace. At first it startled Emma but she quickly caught her reaction by fussing some more over Phil. Cutting her eyes toward the hearth, she saw Blaine Brown. “That’s him, Emma,” he repeated, pointing at Leroy. “He killed the man in Nana Abby’s kitchen.” Emma dipped her chin slightly to let him know she’d heard him.

  “Leroy,” Emma began, “we know who William Otis is and that you probably killed him, but what I don’t understand is why you didn’t take off right after we left this morning. You’ve had hours to get out of here.”

  “What are you waiting for, Leroy?” Gino said, his voice solid and authoritative. “Did you hang around to kill me? To make sure I couldn’t tell anyone about th
e theft of Broken Asphalt?”

  Surprise skittered across Leroy’s face, but he quickly checked it.

  Seeing he hit his target, Gino continued, “Yeah, we looked up Otis and he was very chatty on his website about the premise of his first novel. It sounds very much like one I wrote years ago, long before you came to work for me. One I keep in the file cabinet back home.”

  They could see Leroy thinking, measuring his options. “That gives you a motive for killing him, Gino, not me. Did you lure him here, then kill him?” Leroy chuckled. “Sounds like a bad plot in one of your trite, overblown books. At least you could have waited until these two were gone.” He paused. “Or maybe you were using Emma and Phil as decoys, giving yourself an alibi.”

  “Like you used your trip to see a friend near Boston?” Gino shot back. “I know you never went there. In fact, you’d be surprised at what I know.”

  “You know nothing,” Leroy snapped with contempt. “You have your head so far up your ass, you didn’t even notice your wife was running around with that jerk Brindisi, making you a laughingstock.”

  “I knew about that,” Gino said quietly. “And about her other indiscretions.”

  “When I found Leroy, he was upstairs ransacking your room, Gino,” Phil said.

  “My room?” Gino asked with surprise. He looked directly at Leroy. “Were you looking for another manuscript to steal, Leroy? I’d think after all these years you’d know I don’t travel with them, except my current one on the laptop.”

  “He was looking for money,” Phil said. “He’d found it just before I found him. It’s stuffed in his jacket pocket.”

  Emma again tried to make eye contact with Granny, but the ghost wasn’t paying her any mind.

  “Oh, I get it,” Gino said sarcastically. “Leroy here knows I always carry a wad of cash when I travel, not a bundle but a couple thousand for emergencies.” He looked at his assistant again. “It’s not enough you stole the book, you have to steal my petty cash, too? Didn’t Otis pay you enough for the book?”