Ghost On Duty (Destiny Bay Cozy Mysteries Book 2)

by Winters, J. D.

  “You bet I do. And I’ve taken a vow of detachment from now on. No more death in my future.”

  She looked at me wisely. “Ah yes. We all wish for that one.”

  “No, I mean it. I’ve had it with these people who clutter my day with their corpses. I could just kill them!”

  I glanced around quickly to make sure no one could overhear my outrageous and very silly talk. Jill was, after all, my oldest friend, and my best friend too. I could talk trash around her, things I wouldn’t want anyone else to hear me saying. It was nice to feel that comfortable.

  But was it wise? I wasn’t so sure about that one. At least Dante hadn’t shown up to give me his reprimanding looks.

  “Want to go with me to the Victorian Village meeting tonight?” I asked her. “It should be exciting. Lots of arguments and maybe a little yelling and screaming.”

  “What about?” She definitely looked interested.

  “About whether or not to allow the law suit to stop the pageant to go forward now that Ned is gone. Originally it was planned as an organizational meeting. The pageant starts in a few days and there are still loose ends to tie up. But now…” I shrugged. “Who knows what the winds of December will blow in?”

  Jill was watching the door to her café. “I know one thing they’ve blown in. Lance Mansfield. The man behind the entire operation you’re supposed to be shepherding.”

  I turned to look. I’d heard about Lance but I hadn’t met him yet. He looked nice—blond and preppy. I would have given odds he’d graduated from USC in business management.

  “I’ll introduce you,” Jill said, calling him over.

  I watched his response. He turned, smiling in a friendly way at Jill. When he looked at me, his eyes widened and so did his smile. He wasn’t bothering to hide the fact that he liked what he saw.

  Chapter Four

  It was nice having an attractive man be ostentatiously admiring after the week I’d had with McKnight blatantly turning his back on me and Captain Stone suspecting me of murder. Funny what a little appreciation did for my outlook on life.

  He sat at our table and Jill went off to get him a black coffee, while he and I chatted about the pageant and how important it was to the town.

  “I can’t pretend to be sorry that Ned is no longer going to be a problem for us,” he told me after I’d explained my unique contribution to what had happened the previous day.

  “The captain told me that there’s still a chance the community may vote to let the lawsuit go forward.”

  “Yes, there is.” He shook his head, more in sorrow than in anger. “That’s why we have to work the vote tonight. We’ve got to stop that movement in its tracks.”

  I nodded, sure he was totally right. He just looked so sure of himself.

  “I do have a personal reason to want it to go on,” he admitted, smiling as Jill placed his cup of coffee in front of him, gave me a wink, and went back to work the counter with her barista.

  “Years ago my family owned a huge swath of the coast here –even the cliff-side area where Ned Barlow fell to his death. The property was handed down by generations of Mansfields, starting in the nineteenth century. Rancho Verde and the Victorian Village are all we have left. And we don’t even own them outright.”

  Somehow, sitting there talking to the man, I felt the tragedy of it all. “What happened?”

  “My father did his best, but we fell on hard times and had to take the property public, taking on shareholders. Ned bought up a controlling interest in the Victorian Village project. He seemed to hate everything it stood for, and yet he wanted to control it. My father fought him until the day he died. It was quite a shadow over his happiness those final years.”

  “What a shame.”

  “Lately Ned’s been trying to break the contract in the trust that holds the Village together.

  I frowned. “You know, I’m not totally clear on what the contract includes.”

  “It’s pretty simple, really. The consortium still owns the land. People who wanted to participate in our project were given an opportunity to lease the land and their house itself, for fifty years, starting in the Nineties. When they do so, they agree to participate in the Christmas Pageant every year. You agree to make your home available for the Victorian House Tour in December, and you agree to decorate your home and put on some sort of program-be it a skit or a tableau or even a musical event, during December when the tours come through and when the general public is allowed access. The theme is something from Charles Dickens’ writings. Most people use A Christmas Carol as their guide.”

  “So you could have a skit about the ghost of Christmas Past, or that sort of thing?”

  “Yes. We welcome a Marley or a Tiny Tim. Whatever the homeowner’s inspiration. Tom Torres, one of our members, does an old Fezziwig so well you’d swear he was an old British gentleman instead of a handsome young Puerto Rican. Many have formed community groups of up to twenty or thirty people who come to perform every year. It’s a huge draw and a chance for everyone in the local area to participate.”

  “I know. My Aunt Bebe is a member of the Riser Family Choir. They’re planning to sing Victorian Christmas Carols from the gazebo in front of the Riser house. They’ve been practicing for weeks. She loves doing it.”

  “Wonderful.”

  I couldn’t help it—I was a fan. “You know, this just seems like such a great idea. How could anyone be against this?”

  “Well you might wonder.” He looked sad. “It’s a town treasure, if you ask me. And I’m very proud my family initiated it.” He smiled down at me in a very sweet way. “I’m glad to hear your enthusiasm. Let me give you a tour of the preparations tomorrow. Would you like that?”

  We discussed a time and where to meet and he left, giving me that sweet smile again. Jill giggled and began to chant, “Mele has a boyfriend, Mele has a boyfriend.”

  I socked her in the arm, just like I used to do when we were roomies, and we made plans to join up for the meeting that night.

  “You ought to come by for dinner,” I told her. “Bebe is trying out a new Kalua Pig recipe. It should be yummy.”

  “She’s not going to put the pig in the ground, is she?” Jill said, wrinkling her nose. “Like they do at luaus?”

  “No, silly. This is a regular oven recipe.”

  “Okay then. What time do you want me?”

  The three of us had a good time at dinner. We talked and laughed and told silly jokes. Then Jill made the mistake of asking Bebe why we didn’t have a Christmas tree and for a moment, I was afraid that had wrecked the mood. Bebe seemed strangely affected by this decision of whether or not to have a tree and her emotions seemed very close to the surface in a way they hadn’t seemed just a day or so before. I didn’t get it. But Jill made another joke and we moved on and the moment was over.

  We were almost late for the meeting and had to sit toward the back when we got there. But we were pleasantly full of Kalua Pig, even though Bebe claimed to be disappointed in it.

  “It was too dry,” she kept saying.

  “But the taste was good,” Jill said. “And the texture of the meat was great.”

  Bebe nodded thoughtfully. “I think I’m going to work on developing a sauce to go with it.”

  A woman sitting behind us leaned forward.

  “You’re Mele Keahi, aren’t you?” she said. “I’m Sue Hatchet. Peg is my sister. I want to apologize to you for what happened at Mad for Mocha yesterday. My son Andrew was there with her and he told me about how she behaved. She gets a little crazy where Ned Barlow is concerned.”

  “Oh, no problem,” I said with a smile, looking at her and wondering how someone so pretty and put-together-looking could be a sister to the Peg I’d seen the day before. “We all have our crazy-making buttons, don’t we?” I gestured toward the crowd. “Do you have a house in the Village?”

  “Yes we do,” Sue said. “Peg has been staying with us but she’s about to move down and stay with our brother in
Ventura. We really think she should get away from all this hub bub over Ned’s death.”

  “Absolutely,” I answered, though that made me remember Peg’s claim that someone should shoot the man. Why had it seemed so personal? That was one of those questions that you couldn’t ask a family member, and the meeting was being called to order anyway.

  We turned in our chairs and I looked around the room, noting that most of the people I knew in town were attending. Jill was looking around, too, and she spotted Captain Stone.

  She elbowed me and nodded toward him. “What’s he doing here?”

  I looked over at where he sat, even further back than we were, and he gave me a nod. “I think he’s here to keep an eye on me,” I said softly, half joking. But then I realized that might be true. “He thinks I might have killed Ned Barlow. He wants to watch my every move in case I give myself away.”

  “Ah, he’s on to you,” she teased. “The North Destiny Bay Reaper.”

  But Lance was beginning to speak and we turned our attention there. He began with a short statement of regret for Ned Barlow’s demise, not mentioning the murder angle, and going right on to announce that though he was gone, his issue lived on—and needed to be fought tooth and nail. Then he opened up the floor to other speakers.

  I was surprised to hear so many people speak out against the pageant. At first I tended to write them off as the usual curmudgeon folk who loved to oppose anything that made other people happy. Sometimes it was like Destiny Bay was their lawn and they wanted the kids to get off it. But there seemed to be a few serious ones as well.

  And finally, the real reason became clear. It seemed there was a developer who had offered large bonuses to be divided among those who voted to break the contract—and, in effect, dump the pageant—if the vote was successful. Of course, that would mean all the people in Victorian Village would have to look for a new place to live. But they would have a tidy little fortune to make that process comfortable.

  It seemed to boil down to whether these people thought living in a special place and being able to put on the pageant every year was something to be cherished—or they just wanted someone to show them the money.

  In other words—the usual.

  People went up and spoke, pro and con. Bebe made a nice presentation and pointed out how many jobs depended on the income from the pageant. That was when I realized mine was included. No pageant, no job for me. No official orchid and townwide admiration. Hmm.

  By now everyone was milling around and Jill and I went over to the snack table to grab some cookies.

  “Peanut butter chocolate chip, my favorite!”

  We each took two and dropped them into our pockets so we wouldn’t look greedy. As we were doing that, a little boy of about ten brushed by me and put a piece of paper into my hand. I stared at it for a moment, not sure what it was or why, and by the time I looked up for the kid, he was nowhere to be seen. Jill turned my way and I instinctively put the paper into my pocket with the cookies rather than show it to her. I’m not sure why, but somehow I knew it was going to be something I would want to look at in private before I showed it to anyone else.

  Jill introduced me to a surfer-type named Bobby who was brash and funny. A transplant from Australia, he had an amusing story about how Ned had tried to get him arrested for selling souvenir pageant tee-shirts online.

  “I’ve been dreading what he was going to try to do to me this year,” he said, looking cocky. “I’ve had to change where I stash my stuff I’m selling twice to keep away from Nosy Ned. And now, no worries. So whoever took care of that little problem for me, good-on-ya!”

  Everyone in our little crowd of onlookers gave a cheer for Bobby, but Jill gave me a look and whispered, “Ned had every right, you know. There is an official vendor and Bobby ain’t it.”

  “So he’s selling knock-offs?”

  “I don’t know for sure exactly what he’s selling. There are rumors of things that are actually illegal. But Ned was furious that he seemed to get away with it year after year.”

  I looked at her sharply. “But…he wouldn’t have killed Ned for that reason, would he?”

  She shrugged. “Who knows? Australia was once a penal colony. You gotta watch ‘em.” She gave a snarky laugh. “It seems that someone was mad enough at Ned to do the deed.”

  She pointed out a lovely older lady sitting near the podium, along with a middle-aged man who looked like he could use a drink. The lady had an elegant way about her. She wore her blond hair pulled back from her beautiful face and her dress was ivory with an overlay of lace. Altogether classy. The man beside her—not so much. He had the look of an attorney unhappy with his choice of profession.

  “Lance’s mother,” Jill said. “Mayellen Mansfield. And his uncle Frost.”

  I made a face. “Did you say, Frost?”

  She nodded, eyes dancing. “That’s his name. And don’t ask if it’s short for Forrest. It’s not. Interesting, huh?”

  Maybe. But I was getting anxious to see what the note I’d been handed had to say. A favorite customer of Jill’s came up to talk to her and I backed out of the circle, going to the side of the room and pulling out the paper. A quick glance was all I needed.

  “Meet me at the fountain in 10 minutes-alone,” it said. “I know who killed Ned.”

  I stuffed the paper back into my pocket. My heart began to pound. I looked around for an exit.

  “Are you okay, Miss Keahi?”

  I jumped, heart pounding even harder, and I knew my face was turning beet red. The captain was looking at me with narrowed eyes and one raised eyebrow, a picture of suspicious skepticism.

  “Oh!” I put my hand over my heart and tried to catch my breath. “I…I…” I steadied myself. “It’s just so hot in here,” I adlibbed. “I think I’ll go sit down.”

  His leer made it obvious he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t say another word and I got back to my seat in time to see Lance announcing that the vote had to be postponed two days, as feelings were running so high, a period of quiet reflection was needed before such an important decision could be made.

  He got roundly booed for that, but I thought he had it about right. Plenty who had spoken had seemed more emotional than logical. A couple of days space and time might do everyone some good.

  In the meantime, I had a date at the fountain.

  I looked around. Bebe was talking to a circle of friends. Jill was flirting with a muscular young man. Lance was defending himself as a crowd gathered around him, everyone yelling at once. I didn’t see the Captain any longer. Maybe he’d already left since the vote had been postponed. No one seemed to be paying any attention to me. I rose from my chair and slipped out the side door toward where I’d noticed a fountain when we’d come in.

  A blast of cold air hit me in the face, making me shiver. The lights from the meeting hall didn’t penetrate to the outside courtyard, but I could make out the fountain and hear the water tinkling. I didn’t see anyone else.

  I hugged the shadows. I was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of coming out here to meet someone who wouldn’t name themselves, someone who claimed to know who murdered Ned. What if it was the murderer himself? Wasn’t this just a little careless, tromping out into the dark? I started a path around the outer edge of the area, staying in the shadows and making almost no noise.

  There was no one else there. I had to face it. I swore softly, because I really had been interested in who might have sent me that note. And I was even more interested in who might have killed Ned. Now it looked like I wasn’t going to get to know either. Another minute of waiting, and I gave up. Turning to go back in, I ran right into a hard male body.

  “Oh!”

  I didn’t shriek exactly, but I did come close.

  “Hey.” The man caught me to his chest and held on as though to trap me. “Mele, it’s me.”

  I caught the hitch in my breath and looked up at what I could see in the pitch-black night. “Detective McKnight?” I squeaked,
feeling silly that I still didn’t know his first name.

  “Yes, it’s me. What are you doing out here?”

  “N…nothing,” I lied. “I just came out to get some air. It’s so hot in there.”

  I was trying to pull out of his grip but he wasn’t letting go.

  “Listen to me, Mele,” he said sternly. “If you’re thinking about snooping into this murder investigation, think again. The captain already has you tagged as a problem. He’s not a guy you want to mess with.”

  I drew myself up, wishing it wasn’t so dark so he could see how outraged I was by his attitude. I mean—he’d been acting like he had forgotten who I was and now he was going to give me advice on getting along with his arrogant boss?

  Think again, cutey pie. You may be handsome, but I’m not one to flip for the next chiseled chin. Just move on and let me be.

  That was what my face would have told him if only he could see it. And I might actually have said some of it out loud if something hadn’t rustled in the bushes at the far side of the courtyard and he hadn’t reached for his weapon. I gasped, and he pulled away from me and headed over to take a look.

  Chapter Five

  “Possums,” he called back as he waved his flashlight around in the brambles.

  “Oh.”

  Okay, so that had been his flashlight, not a weapon. I guess he didn’t feel as threatened as I did out there in the dark. But right now, he was one of the things threatening me, and I wanted to get back to where the crowd was. Safety in numbers and all that.

  I heard Jill calling me and I took the opportunity to slip back into the meeting room and find her. Let the good detective crawl around in the dirt on his own. The meeting was over, my informant hadn’t shown up and I was ready to get out of there.

  “Where were you?” Jill asked curiously.

  “I’ll tell you all about it in the car,” I promised, looking around for Bebe.

  I found her talking to a nice looking young man in hiking gear with a backpack and a walking stick.