“I do. There’s a book. Betty’s Recipes, she called it. If you find that book, I just know we’ll be reunited again.”
“Mewit!” Pandora couldn’t help but let her excited meow squeak out. Both Striker and Louis frowned down at her then turned their attention back to each other.
“That seems a little far-fetched,” Striker said. “A recipe book? How do you know it’ll help? And just what am I supposed to do with it?”
“I don’t know. Not everything is revealed to us here in the afterlife, you know. Just bits and pieces. But one thing I know is that you have to find that book!” Louis swirled in agitation.
“Okay, calm down. I’ll help if I can, but just where am I supposed to look for it?”
“Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t really need a detective, would I? All I can say is she would have kept it near to her …” Louis’s voice faded as his misty figure dissolved into droplets that fell to the ground.
Striker straightened, the take-out bag in his hand. He rubbed his forehead and sighed, muttering under his breath. “Damn ghosts. You’d better not come back during my date, old man. I’ll go to the afterlife just to kill you again.”
Striker cast a furrowed-brow glance at Pandora. “What are you looking at?”
“Mew!” Pandora trotted off toward the house, satisfaction bursting in her chest. She didn’t break stride as she slipped in through the cat door. Running past the living room, she only gave a cursory glance at the round glass paperweight on the coffee table. It had been a gift from Elspeth when Willa first moved here. Little did Willa know that the seemingly innocent paperweight could contain vitally important images. But tonight, no images were inside it, so she continued upstairs to Willa’s bedroom, where her human was in a pitched battle with her unruly copper curls.
Pandora jumped up onto the dresser beside Willa, sat on her haunches, and proceeded to clean her face with slow, dainty movements. She focused hard on looking cute, hoping her cuteness would prompt Willa into dumping some of the Chinese shrimp she could still smell wafting in through the open window into her cat food bowl.
While Willa struggled with her hair, Pandora sighed with contentment. Retrieving the recipe book was going to be easier than she thought. With Striker on the case and Adelaide’s and Louis’s ghosts pushing things along, Pandora’s job was practically done for her.
5
“Dammit!” I tugged at my red curls, hoping to tame them into unified corkscrew spirals, but no matter what I did they ended up springing into a messy bird’s nest.
“I don’t know why I bother,” I said to Pandora, who was sitting on the bureau, washing her face as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
“Food’s here!” Striker’s voice called out from the kitchen, jerking my attention back to the mirror. Shoot! I wasn’t ready. I made one last attempt with my hair then grabbed my mascara and swiped a few lashes. That would have to do.
Pandora leaped off the bureau and beat me to the kitchen, where Striker already had the white containers open. Their spicy fragrance drifted toward me, making my stomach pinch. He turned from the cupboard, where he was pulling out dinner plates. His gray eyes lit up in a genuine smile that crinkled at the edges and melted my heart.
“You look great,” he said, his deep voice inducing more melting, but now of other places besides just my heart.
“Thanks. You do, too.” My pulse kicked up a notch. Striker was wearing a plain gray T-shirt, which would have been uninteresting on anyone else. But the way his broad shoulders and muscular chest filled it out made it very interesting indeed. We stared at each other for a few magical seconds before the moment was broken by Pandora’s annoying meow.
She was sitting beside her cat bowl, looking pointedly from the empty bowl to the Chinese food boxes on the counter and then back again.
“I get it. You want lobster, right?” I said.
“Meow!”
I picked a few juicy lobster morsels out of one of the dishes, wiped off the sauce, and dropped them in her bowl. Pandora immediately focused her attention on the lobster and ignored Striker and me as we filled up our plates and sat down at my table. I was happy to see Striker had already filled two crystal glasses with wine.
We dug into our food. I had jumbo shrimp and crab Rangoon, which I dipped into the duck sauce. Sweet, tangy, and crunchy, my three favorite factors in food. Striker got to work on a big plate of beef and broccoli. We chatted about our day. I was careful to avoid any mention of Adelaide Hamilton for fear of conjuring up her ghost.
Not mentioning Adelaide didn’t work, though, and right in the middle of my second jumbo fried shrimp I saw the wispy beginnings of a ghost forming.
“Psst...”
Adelaide hovered by the refrigerator, posturing and gesturing to get my attention. I shifted in my seat so as not to look at her directly and did my best to ignore her. Maybe she would go away.
“Is something wrong?” Striker raised a brow but kept munching.
“No. The food is delicious.” I beamed a reassuring smile.
“Over here!” Adelaide floated over behind Striker. “Are you blind?”
I closed my eyes and tried to telepathically wish Adelaide away.
I might have said something out loud, because Striker asked, “Did you say something?”
“Yes. I asked how the rice was.” Covering for myself quite cleverly, I thought.
I didn’t dare look directly at Adelaide, but I could see her put her hands on her hips and make an annoyed face out of the corner of my eye. She floated over to the table next to me, and my anxiety levels escalated. I didn’t have a good feeling about what she was about to do.
Her ghostly hand snaked out toward my wine glass, brushing against my arm as it tapped the glass, moving it slightly. I felt a cold chill. Did Striker feel it? Had he seen the glass move? I glanced up at him, but he was focused on his food. The glass moved again, this time making a scratching sound on the table.
Striker looked up, and I grabbed the stem to cover the movement. “This wine is good.”
“Moscato. Your favorite.” Striker flashed me one of his charming smiles, but I was too chilled from Adelaide to melt this time. The fact that he remembered my favorite wine did earn him points, but I was too distracted by the tug-of-war on my wine glass to think much about it.
The glass was growing incredibly cold, and I noticed a thin sheet of ice starting to form on the wine. A freezing pain shot to my fingers. I jerked my hand away, and the glass flew off the table, splashing wine all over my new lavender silk shirt before smashing to a million pieces on the floor.
“Shoot!”
“You okay?” Striker looked concerned.
“Yes. Fine. My shirt might not be. I better go see if I can save it.” I glared at Adelaide on my way to the bathroom.
“I’ll clean this up for you,” Striker called after me.
Adelaide followed me into the bathroom, and I slammed the door shut, whirling on her. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” I hissed.
“I had to do it. You weren’t listening to me,” Adelaide said.
“Did it ever occur to you that I was on a date and this could wait until the morning?”
“No, and besides, don’t be selfish. You’re on a nice date, and my Louis might be lost to me forever.”
I dabbed at my shirt with a facecloth and wondered if I should use water. Silk and water do not get along, but it was already wet with wine. “Louis is your husband?”
Adelaide nodded. “He died forty years ago. I never remarried, you know. Loved him too much. I always thought that when I passed, he’d be here waiting for me.”
I kept scrubbing. Maybe I should turn the hair dryer on it. “He isn’t?”
“I can’t find him anywhere. I’ve run into old friends, family. Not Louis.”
The scratchy tone in her voice stole my attention from the wine stain. Was she crying? I looked up to see that her face was all puckered. My heart clenched. I didn’t even know
ghosts could cry.
“I guess he didn’t wait for me …” A sky-blue tear slid down her misty face.
“Ohh … don’t cry. Are you sure you’ve looked everywhere?” I dropped the facecloth and tried to pat her shoulder in a comforting gesture, but my hand slid right through her. I pulled it back quickly, holding it to my chest. It was half frozen.
Adelaide was unconcerned about my wounded hand. “Well, that’s the thing. I’m in a holding pattern. A limbo of sorts. I can’t see all that is beyond because I have unfinished business.”
“The recipe book?”
“Yes, please find it, Willa … you’re my only hope.” Her tone was desperate.
Ugh… I hated being someone’s only hope, even if that someone was a ghost. “Fine. Where do I look?”
Adelaide turned around suddenly, her face scrunching in dismay. She started to fade like a snowy television station. She spoke, but her words were distorted. I thought she said something about Daisy.
“Daisy? Adelaide, stick with me,” I begged.
“Can’t. Gotta run … but I’ll leave you with a warning. Watch out for my family… some of them cannot be trusted.”
“Which ones?” I yelled, but too late. She was gone.
I finished drying my shirt and returned to the kitchen to see Pandora batting at something as if she were playing with an invisible friend. I was afraid Adelaide had appeared back in the kitchen, but as I turned the corner I was relieved to see nothing but thin air.
“ … me alone.” I caught the tail end of Striker whispering to Pandora.
“Are you talking to Pandora?” It was odd because while his head was turned in her direction, it appeared that he was looking at a spot several feet above the cat.
Striker whipped his head around. “Huh? Yes. Pandora. I was talking to Pandora. She’s acting crazy.”
My eyes dropped to Pandora sitting on the floor with what looked like a smirk on her face. She made a little meowing noise that sounded almost like a chuckle then stood and turned her back, flicking her tail as she sauntered out of the room. She was starting to act more and more like a person every day.
I sat back at the table. Striker had cleaned up the mess from the shattered wine glass and poured me another. I picked it up and inclined it toward him. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” His smile was a little tight, not as charming as usual, and there was something wary in his eyes. I silently cursed Adelaide. She’d made me act funny, and now Striker was probably regretting coming over in the first place.
We finished and cleaned up, but the damage was done. Striker was acting distracted. I was on constant lookout for Adelaide’s ghost, and my leg was throbbing. Though almost healed from an old car accident, my leg still hurt when I got stressed. I guess Adelaide’s ghost had affected me more than I’d thought. I grabbed the tube of Iced Fire from the basket on my counter then sat at the table and hiked up my pant leg, massaging the pungent peppermint salve into my leg.
“Leg hurt?” Striker asked.
I nodded.
“Let me do that.”
Striker poured me another wine and pulled a chair up in front of me then picked my leg up gently and placed it in his lap. Soon his massage and the wine were doing their trick. I hadn’t seen a wisp of a ghost in over an hour, and I was feeling a lot more relaxed. When his capable fingers worked their way up my leg, I started to feel hopeful that the night could be salvaged after all. I could tell by the look in Striker’s eye that he was having the same thoughts.
And now I was more determined than ever to find that stupid recipe book so I could get rid of Adelaide before she ruined too many more of my evenings with Striker.
6
The next morning I was in good spirits as Pandora and I trotted toward Last Chance Books. Down the street, the dark windows of Pepper’s Tea Shoppe brought on a pang of loneliness for my friend. I would love to bend her ear about Adelaide’s recipe book and my date with Striker. Though the date had ended well, I still sensed that Striker had something on his mind. Then again, if I mentioned that to Pepper, she’d probably try to fix it with one of her teas, which she fancied had magical properties. My jury was still out on whether or not the teas could “make things happen.” The one time she tried to use her tea to bring Striker and I together had not gone as planned.
The bookstore regulars, Bing, Josiah, and twin sisters Hattie and Cordelia, were already lined up outside the front door. I’d inherited the quartet of senior citizens along with the bookshop. They’d been meeting at the bookstore first thing in the morning with Gram to gossip about town events for over forty years. Who was I to stop a tradition like that? Besides, I liked their company, and they brought the coffee.
We’d missed our meeting the day before, as Adelaide’s service had taken precedence. Since I’d gotten to her service late, I hadn’t had a chance to do much except for nod a greeting at Bing. Hattie and Cordelia had been there, too, dressed in matching burgundy polyester pantsuits. I hadn’t seen Josiah, though. Maybe he didn’t attend. Maybe one of them would have some insight as to where I could find this Daisy person Adelaide had mentioned.
“Morning, everyone!” They returned my cheerful greeting, moving aside to let me unlock the big oak door that was the entrance to my bookstore. I opened it and gestured for them to enter ahead of me. Bing, last in line, handed me a Styrofoam cup as he brushed past. I flipped the little plastic tab, watching the steam curl out of the top as I let it cool before sipping. Pandora rubbed against Bing’s ankles, then after he obliged her by bending down and scratching her behind the ears, she hopped up into her plush cat bed in the large storefront window and snuggled in for the day. The others took their places on the purple microsuede sofa and chairs.
“Such a shame about Adelaide.” Hattie opened the conversation.
“Indeed.” Bing nodded and swiveled his head to look at me. “You left the service suddenly yesterday. Were you feeling ill?”
“No. I just had to get back to the store.” I looked down at the rim of my coffee cup, my cheeks burning at the lie. I was no good at lying.
“It’s a shame she died so young.” Cordelia glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “And maybe not naturally.”
Josiah leaned forward, elbows on thighs, with his Styrofoam cup cradled in both hands. He scowled at Cordelia. “Now, what are you going on about? She was eighty-something, and I heard she had cancer.”
Cordelia shrugged. “Eighty-something is young. And besides, her doctor said she was putting up a good fight. She was in remission.”
“You think her death wasn’t natural?” I asked.
“Well, it did seem kind of sudden,” Hattie said. “We just saw her down at the Cut and Curl last week, and she was getting a new permanent. Does that sound like someone who’s dying?”
“What does Gus think?” Cordelia asked me.
“I don’t know. I don’t think there’s an investigation, so she must think it was natural.” I hadn’t seen my sister, Gus, at the service. Maybe she didn’t feel as if she had to keep up Gram’s obligations as I did, or maybe she was busy working. Her job as sheriff kept her busy. Either way, if she had suspected foul play, she would have been at the service. My mind flew back to Adelaide’s suspicions that someone in her family had done her in. But that wasn’t really my problem. My problem was getting that darn recipe book.
“Do any of you know of someone named Daisy that Adelaide would’ve been friendly with?” I asked.
The four of them exchanged blank looks and shrugs. They shook their heads.
“Daisy? I don’t think we had a Daisy,” Bing said.
“We’ve all got all kinds of other flowers though. There’s Lily Mae Whitaker and then Rose Claremont and Ivy Schute.” Cordelia ticked the names off on her fingers.
“Ivy isn’t a flower, it’s a vine,” Hattie pointed out.
“Well, anyway, there’s no Daisy. If there were, Josiah would know about it, wouldn’t you?” Cordelia looked at Josiah
, who nodded his head. Josiah was the former postmaster in town. He knew everything about everyone and where they lived. He also kept abreast of town happenings by still hanging around the post office during the day even though he’d retired almost twenty years ago.
“Why do you ask?” Bing appraised me thoughtfully with sparkling blue eyes.
“Oh, no reason. I just thought Gram mentioned someone named Daisy, and I didn’t see her at the services yesterday.” Another lie. This one was easier. Maybe I was getting better at it.
Bing pressed his lips together. “No. I don’t remember any Daisy, but maybe Adelaide had friends I didn’t know about. I wasn’t that close to her. What about you, Hattie and Cordelia?”
“Not really. I mean, we were in the ladies’ auxiliary together back in the fifties, and there was the fondue club in the seventies, but we hadn’t seen a lot of her lately,” Hattie said.
“Now I guess we won’t be seeing her at all.” Cordelia’s voice softened sadly.
“Hopefully her death wasn’t too sudden and she had her affairs in order and said everything she’d wanted to say to her loved ones,” Bing said.
Josiah snorted. “Well, at her age I should hope she would. Speaking of which, I better get back to the post office. We’re discussing the rules of the annual checkers tournament, and I want to make sure I have my say.”
He got up to leave, and the others drained their cups. Disappointment washed over me. I had hoped I could find this Daisy person, retrieve the recipe book, and be done with Adelaide by dinnertime. But no one had heard of a Daisy, and between the four of them, my regulars knew everyone in town. I might’ve misheard Adelaide, though. Her voice had been fading out, her words garbled. Maybe she’d said something else, but what? Dusty? Lazy? Hazy? I’d either have to wait until she reappeared to get more specifics or hope something clicked into place during my search for the book.
“Come on, sister, I want to go by the cemetery and put some flowers on Adelaide’s grave.” Hattie tugged Cordelia off the couch.
Probable Paws (Mystic Notch Cozy Mystery Series Book 5) Page 3