The Case of the Sinister Spirit (Jane Gallows Witch Private Investigator Book 1)

by Leighann Dobbs

  Jinx had scarfed down his food and was now sitting on the couch across from me, licking his paw and rubbing it behind his ear. “There are probably some clues to the killer in the barn. O’Hara wouldn’t know a clue if she fell over it.”

  “I suppose we could go back over to the barn tomorrow. I have the ghost vanishing cream. If I rub that all over the barn, that might get rid of the ghost. If there even is a ghost. That still won’t help O’Hara find the killer, but at least if there’s a malicious ghost around and we can get rid of it, that’s one less thing to worry about.”

  “‘We’? What’s this ‘we’ crap? I was talking about you. You can go look for clues. I’m going to be spending the day napping. I’m exhausted from tonight’s activities.”

  Chapter Six

  The streets of Hallows Crossing were peaceful the next morning as I made my way to the brick mill building in which my office was located. Birds chirped, butterflies flittered, and puffy white clouds floated lazily in the cerulean blue sky above. One would never know a brutal murder had occurred the night before.

  I was almost at my building when the peaceful scene was shattered by an ear-piercing shriek.

  “Jane! Jane Gallows! Wait up!” I turned to see Connie Steele, the head—and only—reporter for the Hallow Crossing Cackler racing down the street toward me, waving her notebook over her head.

  “Oh no. See you inside.” Jinx made a beeline toward the entrance to the building.

  “Jane, can you fill me in on the Bud Saunders murder? I heard you were involved.”

  Connie stood directly in front of me. She was only five foot four, so I towered over her by three inches. Her flaming-red hair was sticking out in all directions, as if she’d been running her hands through it all night long. Her wrinkled lips were pursed. Her beady eyes were eager for information.

  “I wouldn’t say I was involved.”

  She fished a pair of turquoise plastic readers out of her cleavage, slid them onto her nose, then squinted at her notes. “Well, the police report says you were discovered at the scene of the crime with the body.”

  “I wasn’t discovered with the body. I had a meeting with Bud, so I was the one that found him, and I called it in.”

  She waved her hand in the air. “Minor details. I also heard there was some involvement with ghosts.”

  From the sounds of things and the look on her face, Connie was salivating to write a juicy article including murder, ghosts, and possibly me. Visions of Hightower going ballistic when she read such an article in the Cackler ran through my head. Even though the town thrived on its reputation of harboring witches, goblins, vampires, and ghosts, Hightower would not be happy for the tourists to think a ghost was running around murdering people. She’d already made it clear that somehow she was blaming my family. I couldn’t let that article be printed, so I reached into my bag for some chocolate.

  “No. That’s silly. There’s no murdering ghost.”

  “Oh really? Lots of people have reported seeing the ghost out by Bud’s.” Connie leaned toward me and lowered her voice. “I’ve also heard whisperings that there is a serial killer on the loose.”

  “Serial killer? Only one person has died.”

  Connie shook her head. “Not people. Mice. Three mutilated mouse heads were found in town last night. It’s the work of someone demonic, I tell you. And you know what they say. These types of unstable miscreants start with animals and escalate to humans. In fact, that would be good to put in my article.”

  I popped a piece of dark chocolate bark into my mouth. The silky texture and sweetly bitter flavor swirled on my tongue as I brought my mind into focus. While Connie rambled on about her article, I cast the fugget-about-it spell. Bingo! Judging by the way Connie’s face went blank, I’d hit my target dead on center.

  “Now what was I ...” Connie’s brows mashed together as she tried to remember what she’d been talking about.

  “You were asking about Bud Saunders’s obituary.” No harm in steering her in another direction.

  “That’s right. Do you have any remembrances of him you want me to put in there?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t really know Bud all that well.”

  Connie frowned. “Oh, that’s odd. Somehow I thought you did.” She tapped her head with the end of her pencil. “Oh well, must be getting forgetful. Never mind then. You have a nice day.” She spun around and waddled off back toward the newspaper office.

  I’d averted a crisis for the moment, but I knew my spell wouldn’t last long. My magic was limited, and I couldn’t cast spells with staying power like Tess and Liz could. Sooner or later, Connie was going to remember about the murderous ghost and the mouse serial killer and put it all in print.

  All the more reason to figure out who done it and put the rumors to rest.

  “Someone bump off your client already?” Moe Sharp stood in the middle of my office, wearing a trench coat and a fedora. One thing about Moe, he was a snappy dresser. I wondered where he got his wardrobe. Did ghosts have closets?

  “I suppose you could say that. How did you know?”

  Moe pointed to the window, which was cracked open. He’d overheard my conversation with Connie.

  Jinx let out a snore from his spot on the couch. How did he fall asleep so fast? The cat could go from wide awake to dreamland in five seconds. I wish I knew his secret.

  “You think he chiseled someone?” Moe asked.

  “Chiseled?”

  “Yeah. You know. Conned. Swindled. Maybe he was into something and got chilled off because he crossed someone,” Moe said.

  I thought about that for a second. Bud hadn’t seemed like the kind of guy that was swindling anyone. “I don’t think so.”

  Moe tilted his head. “Well, how was he offed? Chopper squad?”

  “Huh?” Moe often forgot that I didn’t understand shamus-speak. Detective lingo had moved on since 1948, and communicating with him could be a bit challenging at times.

  “Yeah, you know, a bunch of goons come in with guns and…” He mimed shooting up the place with a machine gun.

  “No. People don’t really do that these days.”

  “They don’t? Shame. Used to be a great way to get rid of a lot of enemies at once,” Moe said. “Well, was it a Harlem sunset?”

  “Moe, could you use English? I don’t know what these words mean.”

  Moe flapped his hands in exasperation. “Knife. Was he killed with a knife?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, I give. How was the guy killed?”

  “Pitchfork.”

  Moe let out a low whistle. “That’s a new one on me. What a way to go.” Moe hitched his hip onto the corner of the desk. “All right, so give me the deets.”

  I told him everything I knew about Bud’s death. When I was done, he looked out the window for a few seconds and then turned to me. “You think it was about the cabbage?”

  At my confused look, he added, “Money. The treasure. Do you think someone killed him for the treasure that is buried on that property?”

  I’d almost forgotten about the treasure. “Tell me more about that.”

  Moe shrugged. “I don’t know much. Back in my day, I remember some sort of incident when people came digging for that treasure on the Dunbuddy property. Seems there were a couple of people that didn’t want each other getting it. Big shoot-out.”

  “A shoot-out? Maybe one of the victims is the ghost.”

  “Nah. They survived. Treasure was never found though.”

  “Do you think there’s really a treasure buried there?”

  “Heck if I know. Doesn’t matter what I think though. If someone else thinks there’s treasure there and Bud got in their way, it might have hastened his demise.” Moe drew his hand horizontally across his neck to illustrate.

  “What about the ghost? Did anyone see a ghost on the property back then?”

  Moe shook his head. “Everyone said it was haunted by Mary the witch, but I don’t recall anyone ac
tually seeing her.”

  “Okay, well, where did the people think the treasure was buried? Near the barn?”

  “Barn? There’s no barn on that property.”

  Things had changed a lot in town since Moe had walked the streets.

  “Well, there’s one now. And that’s where Bud was killed.”

  “Near as I remember, the treasure was supposed to be near a tall oak tree, but who even knows if that tree’s still there?” Moe cast a wistful glance at the window. “If only I could leave this office, I might be able to show you.”

  I felt a pang of sympathy at the look of longing that passed over his face. For some reason, Moe was stuck in this office. It was as if there was an invisible force field at the door. He had tried to leave plenty of times, but whenever he got to the door it was as if he smacked into a wall. He hardly ever tried anymore.

  “So you still gonna investigate?”

  “Got nothing else to do.”

  Moe nodded in approval. “That’s good. Private eye code of ethics: never leave a job half done.”

  Well, at least Moe approved.

  He got up and started pacing the room. “Now, you gotta do some real old-fashioned gumshoe work. Work the streets. Talk to the neighbors. Look for clues. In my experience, there’s always someone who saw something. And that dame outside the window here said people reported ghosts. Ghosts or not, find out exactly what they heard and saw. Maybe it wasn’t a ghost at all.”

  I glanced at Jinx, still fast asleep on the couch. I wasn’t gonna wake him, since he’d already said he wouldn’t be coming. I slung my tote up on my shoulder and headed for the door.

  Moe called after me, “Put the screws to them, Red. Don’t leave no stone unturned.”

  Chapter Seven

  No one was at Bud’s, so I parked in the driveway and headed straight to the barn. The only evidence a murder had occurred was the yellow crime scene tape draped around the area where Bud’s body had lain. The quiet stillness inside the barn was eerie. The boards creaking as I stepped on them made me jump. The smell of dry wood, old hay, and tangy copper churned my stomach.

  I wondered if Bud’s ghost would be here. He’d been murdered, and that was certainly unsettling. I focused myself on feeling the spirits that might be in the barn, the ghost vanishing cream in my hand, but nothing came. It was almost as if this whole ghost business was a fabrication.

  If Bud hadn’t been killed by a ghost, that meant he’d been killed by a human, and humans left clues. I decided to look around outside first.

  The knee-high grass tickled my bare calves below my denim capris as I walked the perimeter of the barn. Bud hadn’t mowed out by the barn in a long time. In fact, it looked like he hadn’t done much in the barn in ages. The inside indicated the same. No workshop, and he didn’t have any farm animals, not even a barn cat. In fact, it looked like it had been empty for decades. But if that was the case, what had brought Bud out to the barn last night? From the way he’d acted in my office, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t have gone out there looking for the ghost.

  I slowly made my way around the barn, scanning the grass for clues. Around back, I noticed a path in the grass. It reminded me of the path that led from our house to Agnes Newman’s house. Agnes had beaten down that path by coming over and spying on us time and time again. Had someone else beaten down a path to Bud’s barn? And what was at the other end of it?

  The path led to woods at the edge of the property. The woods were dense with leaves and foliage, and I couldn’t see what was on the other side. Only one way to find out.

  I followed the path.

  Inside the woods, it was a little cooler and a little darker. The path was clearly evident, though, and I cautiously picked my way along it. Chipmunks scurried across the trail. A blue jay flew down from a tree across the path and landed on the other side with a raucous caw. As I got further in, I could see a clearing ahead. It looked as if there was a house up there.

  Click!

  I stopped in mid-step, my heart skidding against my rib cage.

  “Put your hands up and turn around real slow.”

  I did as told, turning to face a man that looked to be about Bud’s age. He had a crackly, weathered face and dark, suspicious eyes. The shotgun he was pointing at my chest gave me the impression he wasn’t happy to see me.

  “You’re trespassing.”

  “Sorry. I’m a friend of Bud’s, and I was just over at his barn.”

  The man scowled. “A friend of Bud’s. I don’t think I ever heard him mention any young redheaded friend.”

  “Oh, are you a friend of his too?” I asked.

  The shotgun didn’t waver. “Sort of. Live over there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the clearing. Was this Bud’s neighbor that my uncle had mentioned? The one he was having the feud with?

  “Charlie Henderson?”

  The suspicion in the man’s eyes deepened. “How do you know my name?”

  “Bud mentioned you,” I lied. “I’m Jane Gallows.”

  Recognition flittered across the man’s face, and he lowered the shotgun. “You mean you’re related to Gladys and Wanda?”

  I nodded, hoping his experiences with my aunts had been favorable ones. That wasn’t always the case.

  “Oh, well then.” He lowered the barrel of the gun, and I started breathing normally again. “Thought you might be one of them treasure hunters.”

  “Treasure hunters?” So it really was true.

  “Yeah. Didn’t you hear the rumors? Treasure over on Bud’s property.”

  Charlie started walking toward his house, and I followed even though he gave no indication he wanted me to.

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” I said. I was actually trying to feel him out. From what my aunts had said, Charlie and Bud had feuded. They weren’t really friends. Why would Charlie lie about that?

  “Thanks.”

  Charlie was a man of few words, but he wasn’t denying that they had been friends.

  “You still following me?” he asked without turning around.

  “Well, yeah. No. I mean, I just want to give my condolences.”

  By now we had spilled out into his yard, and I could see he lived in a rickety old cabin with a big front porch loaded with junk. A table was set up in the yard, and it looked like he had some sort of project going on. I squinted to see what it was. A dollhouse?

  “Okay. You’ve given your condolences. Now get lost.”

  But I didn’t want to get lost. I wanted to find out more about Charlie’s friendship with Bud and the supposed treasure. And my dad always said that one sure way to get people to open up was to talk about their hobbies. “Did you make that piece on the table over there?”

  “Yeah. What of it?”

  “Oh, nothing. I was just admiring it. It looks wonderful.”

  That softened him up. He led me over to the table. “Doc says it’s good for me to work on these miniatures. Keeps the brain sharp. Keeps the dexterity in my hands.” He wiggled his fingers. He had large hands. Just the right size to wield a pitchfork.

  Now that I was closer, I could see that it wasn’t actually a dollhouse. It was just one room, like a scene or vignette. I looked down on a perfectly scaled miniature living room with a sofa, a chair, a credenza, even a little tiny rug in the middle of it. One of the figures had fallen over.

  “One of your little people fell over.” I pointed.

  He scowled at me. “What are you, daft? That didn’t fall over. That’s the murder victim.”

  “Murder victim?” My voice came out squeaky and tight because panic was squeezing my throat shut.

  “Yeah. This ain’t no dollhouse. This is a replica of one of Hallows Crossings’ most interesting murders,” he said proudly. “That’s what I do. Murder scene replicas.”

  I stepped back a few paces.

  “Oh, that’s an unusual hobby.” My desire to pump Charlie for information suddenly became much less important than my desire to not be the starrin
g victim in his next replica.

  “Yeah. Gonna have some on display down at the Hallows Crossing Historical Museum, seeing as some of the murders are historical. Oh, don’t worry though, I’m not doing one of Bud’s.”

  That was a relief. Then again, maybe he didn’t need to do one because he’d actually been the one that murdered him.

  “So I guess you must have visited him a lot.” I turned to indicate the path worn through the woods.

  “Not really.”

  “But you were friends.”

  “Yeah. Well, we were sort of friends. Known Bud since I was a kid. These properties have been owned by our families for a few generations, so we grew up next to each other. So did our daddies. And just like our daddies, Bud and I didn’t always get along. Fact, we spent our whole lives going back and forth between being friends and enemies.”

  This was not comforting. What if this was one of the times Charlie and Bud were enemies? Maybe Charlie and Bud had had a falling out over the treasure. Oh, that reminded me…

  “You said you thought I was a treasure hunter. Have there been a lot of people here looking for treasure?”

  “Not a lot. But I seen a few of them over at Bud’s property more than once. I thought you were one and was going to scare you off.”

  “So there really is a treasure buried over there.”

  Charlie laughed. “Ain’t no treasure over there. Don’t you think someone would have dug it up by now? But I saw over the internet that old rumor had resurfaced again, and then when I saw that crud-box-brown Dodge parked around here more than once, I figured the treasure hunters had come.”

  “Whose car is that?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Got no idea. Some out-of-towner. That’s why I figured it belonged to the treasure hunters.”

  “Really? Did you see the car there the night Bud died?”

  Charlie screwed up his face. “I don’t quite recall that, but I don’t always notice everything from over here. Maybe you want to ask Minnie Wheeler and Sophie Liberty. They live in the house across from Bud. Those two ladies keep a pretty good eye on the neighborhood. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to get back to my little scene here.”