by Ritter Ames
I pulled him inside and locked the door. He mumbled something about Italian women—not sure what—I was too busy unbuttoning his shirt.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thank you so much for reading Weeping Moon. Like Lella, I grew up in Italy and was well in my thirties when I finally discovered Halloween. Perhaps you would like to take a look at the rest of the Lella York series. It is being reissued with new covers and titles. Gemini Moon is the book that launched the series, followed by Venetian Moon and Desert Moon. I would be delighted if you could visit my website mariagraziaswan.com where you can get a glimpse of my Mina’s Adventure series. Again, mille grazie.
Contents
Newly promoted detective Brenna Sage wants to be taken seriously in her new position, but that’s difficult when she can’t solve a series of robberies in Stephens City. Until she gains a partner in the guise of Marmaduke Dodsworth. While Marmaduke might be better versed in decorum and refinement than forensics and interrogation, he has one decidedly clear advantage: He can walk through walls.
IT TAKES A GHOST
By Karen Cantwell
THURSDAY NIGHT AT Barney’s Corner Pub, I sat alone at the bar nursing a Shirley Temple. I don’t drink alcohol, but I like maraschino cherries. My colleagues at the precinct say it’s a girly drink. Uh, yeah, I’m a girl. Not sure why they think that’s an insult.
I’m not the fraternizing type—not a real people kind of person. I mean people are okay, I guess. It’s not like I hate humanity or anything—I just don’t connect very well. Small talk confounds me. I don’t understand the rules. My reason for hitting Barney’s every Thursday isn’t to chit chat or play pool or socialize with co-workers, it’s because Barney gives us cops a discount on Thursdays. On any other night, my Shirley Temple and large order of cheesy fries would set me back twelve dollars and some change. On Thursdays, I slapped a ten on the bar and got back enough to leave a good tip and throw a couple quarters into my travel savings jar. One day I’m going to quit my job and travel the world.
Waiting for the fries, I stared at the tall, sweaty glass in front of me. With my thumb, I slowly wiped strips of moisture away. Just something to do while I puzzled on a challenging case.
Barney slid a heaping basket of fries beside the glass. “Wake up, Brenna. Time to eat.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” I said.
He laughed. Not a condescending sort of laugh. More of a Santa Claus sort of bellow. “I know. Just a figure of speech. You were deep in thought.”
“Right. Yes, I was.” I pulled the fries closer. “Thanks, Barney. I’m so hungry I could eat a…well, I couldn’t eat a horse, that would be gross. Why do people say that anyway? It really is a revolting thought.” There. That was my stab at small talk.
“That’s probably the point.” He lifted a bushy eyebrow and slid a second basket my way. “Could you eat three Hawaiian sliders? They’re on the house—my way of congratulating you for making detective.”
“Sliders! That’s very nice of you.”
Barney smiled, and then left me to wait on a trio of cops further down the bar. The food was good and my fingers were soon greasy. Halfway through, I had to stop for a break. I licked my fingers then wiped them on the red cloth napkin in my lap.
One of the cops, Jesse Leeks, hollered at me. “Hey, Sage! Maybe that’s too much food for a little girl like you.”
Jesse Leeks had teased me since grade school. It hadn’t improved now that we worked in the same precinct.
Usually I wouldn’t nibble at one of his baited taunts, but tonight an impulse to strike back took me. “That’s Detective Brenna Sage, to you. Or didn’t you hear?”
“We heard,” Jesse volleyed. “We heard you’re already falling down on the job! Can’t solve a simple burglary.”
I had no choice but to hit back now. “Bite me.” Crap. What kind of comeback was that? I might as well have stuck my tongue out too.
“Don’t worry about him,” yelled one of Jesse’s buddies. “He just doesn’t express himself well. He’s really in love with you, Detective.” They all made smooching noises.
Abandoning the imaginative barb game, I gave them the finger. “Blah, blah, blah.”
Thankfully, like a pack of attention deficit puppies, the trio caught sight of a pool game with a pair of busty blondes and panted away with their beers in hand.
After gulping down the last of my drink, I played at finishing the fries, but my appetite had waned. Jesse knew I was having trouble with a case. That wasn’t good. It meant people were talking, and they were talking about me. Maybe I wasn’t good enough for the detective job after all.
I asked Barney for a to-go box. The cheesy fries didn’t heat up great as leftovers, but since I hated grocery shopping, they’d be good enough. I drummed my fingers on the counter, waiting. An eruption of laughter pulled my attention to the dart board corner where a group of firefighters from Station Twenty-One played. I watched with a tinge of jealousy.
When I turned back to see if my to-go box had arrived I found a man in a hat had taken the seat beside me. He rested one elbow on the bar and leaned close, a frown across his face. “That bloke was most surly,” he said, his distinctly English accent taking me by surprise. “I hope you didn’t pay the blinkered duff any mind.”
I eyed the man cautiously. His getup was strangely out of date. The bowler hat on his head and the double-breasted suit reminded me of black and white photographs I’d seen from the turn of the century. Maybe he was one of those people who directed Old Town tours in costume, although he was a little far from Old Town here. I shrugged and set my gaze to the napkin in my lap. “I don’t take anything he says seriously.” Part of me was curious—what was a blinkered duff? Yet, most of me didn’t want to be roped into a conversation with a history freak, so I fiddled with the napkin instead of engaging him any further.
Unfortunately, he didn’t take the hint. “Well, lucky for you, Detective Brenna Sage, I am here to help in your hour of need.”
A comment like that required engagement. I fixed a glare on him. Something about the man was a little off, and it wasn’t just the odd language or the strange costume.
Barney appeared from the kitchen, setting the to-go box on the counter. “There you go, Bren.”
I snatched the Styrofoam container and gave Barney a quick, “Thank you.” Turning my attention back to the weirdo, I raged at him and his tacky come-on. “My hour of need? Seriously? I don’t think so, mister.”
“Brenna,” Barney said, “are you okay?”
I dumped the cheesy fries into the box, slammed it closed, and pushed my stool away to stand. “I’m fine,” I told him. “Just not in the mood for aggressive, horny clowns.” I poked a finger at the man. “For the record, Don Juan, even if I was in the market for a hook-up tonight, you wouldn’t even make my long list. And, by the way, most of the men and women in here are cops, so watch yourself.”
“Brenna.” Barney’s voice was strained, probably afraid I was scaring off customers. “Who are you talking to?”
For a second, I thought Barney was joking with me. I blinked, waiting for him to start laughing, but he didn’t. There was no hidden smile behind that solid, bearded face with the concerned eyes. Barney didn’t seem to see the eccentric, possibly perverted man with the round hat.
Either Barney was crazy or I was crazy. Maybe…we were both crazy? My feet felt frozen to the ground. The scene was almost like one of those dreams where you show up at work without pants on.
“Oh my, I do apologize for my abrupt manner,” the man with the bowler hat said. He stood. “I do believe there has been a misunderstanding. My interest isn’t intimate. Not in the least. You see, I am an unembodied spirit. A soul without the bony structure. Or in simpler terms, I am a ghost. A romantic encounter would be, well, most complicated, to say the least.” He chuckled and waited for my reaction. “I can see you are still experiencing some shock. Please don’t scream or wail or throw your arms about—I assure you I am most h
armless and come with the sincerest of motives.” He removed the hat and bowed graciously. “My name is Marmaduke Dodsworth. I offer my services to you. I think it would be jolly good fun to try my hand at detective work.”
I looked down at my legs—just to see if I still had my pants on.
* * *
THE GHOST FOLLOWED me out of the pub. He talked on endlessly, explaining how he could help me solve the burglary cases.
“Can you solve the case of the crazy detective who sees ghosts?” I asked him on the drive home. “Maybe I should see the department psychologist. You must be a stress-induced hallucination.”
He sat with impeccable posture in the passenger seat, his hat now in his lap. “You may very well be strained mentally, but I am no hallucination. Talk to Sophie. She will vouch for my legitimacy and my character.”
“You’re a character all right.”
“Now see here—there is no reason to make nasty jabs. I might not possess a physical body like you, but I have emotions nonetheless.” He pointed. “Turn here. Down this road.”
“I don’t want to turn here. I want to go home. Home is straight.”
“Sophie lives down this road. I say, miss, do you want to solve this case or not? Lamenting in a pub over sugar-laden refreshments and questionable culinary concoctions is no way to succeed at a task. Turn down this road and speak with Sophie. She will convince you that, not only am I very real, but I can be a valuable asset as an invisible sleuth.”
My hand itched on the wheel. Should I listen to him? Should I turn down the road and find this Sophie person? A big part of me thought I should.
See, I’d been running the possibilities over in my mind since leaving Barney’s. The fact was, my psych evaluation when I joined the police force was about as stable as they come. I wasn’t likely to blow a fuse overnight for no apparent reason. Yes, I was stressed about the case, but I wasn’t cuckoo-stressed. I wasn’t on any mind-altering drugs and knew I hadn’t been roofied in the bar. Other than seeing a man in a bowler hat, no other symptoms were present. No dizziness, blurry vision, or slurred speech. I was in good shape.
And, if I were being entirely honest with myself, this wasn’t my first ghost encounter. When I was ten I saw a lady sweeping the porch of our vacation rental house at the beach. She swept the porch every morning. When I asked my parents why a pretty lady swept the porch every morning, they told me I was imagining things. At the time, I thought they were a little weird for not seeing her. I liked that sweeping lady ghost—unlike this one, she kept her thoughts to herself.
I made the turn.
Marmaduke clapped. “Bravo. Good choice. You won’t regret it. Now, find the brick house with hideously green shutters.”
I slowed my speed and began a house search. “What’s the house number?”
He didn’t answer. Marmaduke Dodsworth, aspiring ghost detective, had vanished.
I stopped in the middle of the road to think things through. The cheesy fries and sliders weren’t digesting graciously. My stomach churned and gurgled. Heartburn was just minutes in my future. What I really needed to do was go home and pop a couple of antacids. Since the ghost had gone flaky on me, I took that as a sign to turn around and do just that. I pulled into the driveway of the nearest house, stopped, and put my car into reverse. Just before backing out, I spotted a pair of green shutters on the house in front of me. Hideously green shutters. The shutters were attached to a brick house. I looked up and down the street, inspecting the surrounding houses. This was the only brick house with green shutters, hideous or otherwise.
Reluctantly, I put the car into park and sat for a moment. Nope. I put it into reverse. Then park again. Then reverse. Finally, annoyed with myself for indecisiveness, I turned off the engine, and climbed out of the car. I learned early on in my police training that even if you aren’t certain about what you are doing, act like you are certain.
I marched up the front walk and rapped on the door. Soon, a pleasant looking man answered.
“I’m looking for Sophie,” I said as if we were old school chums with a happy past.
He smiled. “Sure.” He called back into the house. “Sophie! Someone is here for you!”
Then a shadow of fear crossed his face. “Wait. I forgot to ask: you’re not here to sell us something are you? She says I’m a sucker for salespeople and I’m supposed to send them away.”
“Definitely not here to sell you anything.”
“Good. Last week I bought a five-volume set of dog training books. We don’t have a dog. I don’t suppose you have one, do you? They’re great books.”
I shook my head.
A woman with short dark hair appeared in the doorway beside the nice, now somewhat worried man. When she smiled, I felt somehow that I knew her.
“Brenna Sage,” she said, “this is a surprise. What are you doing here?”
“You know me?”
“Sure,” said Sophie. “From the police station. I was an administrative assistant there a couple of years ago.”
Now I remembered. She’d dated Shane Daniels, a patrol cop. “I sure feel stupid.”
She waved it off. “Don’t. You can’t remember every person who worked there, right?”
“Thanks.” I nodded, not sure how to approach her about Marmaduke.
Sophie cocked her head. “Would… you like to come in?”
Ah heck, just blurt it out. That was my go-to way of handling awkward moments. “You know a man named Marmaduke Dodsworth?”
Her significant other rolled his eyes. “Oh, no.”
Sophie laughed. “I think you’d better come in, Brenna. This could take a while.”
* * *
BY THE NEXT morning, I knew more about Marmaduke Dodsworth than I knew about most of my living friends. At least, I knew what Sophie Rhodes and her fiancé, Cal, had told me. He was from Kent, England, but died in Stephens City while visiting America in the early 1900s. A couple of years ago, he met and befriended Sophie at a bar. That’s right—despite his protest, the guy showed a pattern for picking up women at Barney’s Pub. I would have called him on it, but Marmaduke hadn’t reappeared to share his side of the story. I’d been on edge the rest of the night, half expecting him to materialize at any moment.
As I pushed my way through the precinct doors, I ran my tongue over my teeth and frowned. I’d brushed haphazardly, fearing Marmaduke would suddenly appear in my mirror like ghosts do in scary movies. Being a fanatic for clean teeth, I kept a toothbrush and toothpaste at work. I’d do a better job once I got settled.
I turned down the corridor toward my cubicle and ran right into my boss, Captain McCollough. He was taller than me, a little paunchy, and tan from time spent on his boat fishing. He fished a lot, and when he wasn’t fishing, he was talking about fishing. He had a habit of referencing fish or the “art” of fishing when discussing cases or problems within the department. Consequently, I usually lost interest and rarely understood his point. I tried to feign interest, but I know I didn’t fool anyone, especially Captain McCollough.
Today, he held a case file in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. “Sage, I want an update on those burglaries.”
“Now?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. I guess not. Can I put my things on my desk and pour a cup of coffee?”
“Be in my office in ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
At the end of the corridor I turned and climbed the stairs. Three detectives shared one office on the second floor: Detectives Truman, Barbour, and me. We each had our own desk in our own cubicle, which was nice. Not all police departments could afford the luxury of cubicles. Being the newest in the room, however, I got the cubicle wedged into the corner directly under a vent that blew air with more force than a jet engine.
Worrying over what I’d tell the captain, I was at least happy to find Detectives Truman and Barbour gone. The few minutes of solitude would give me mental space to organize my thoughts and prepare m
y report. Unfortunately, the solitude didn’t last long. When I spun my chair around, Marmaduke Dodsworth appeared out of thin air, giving me the fright I’d been expecting most of the morning.
I looked behind me to make sure no one passing by in the hallway had seen me jump. “Now you show up,” I mumbled with irritation.
The ghost was in a much better mood than I was. “Jolly good day for an investigation! Are you ready to commence?”
I kept my voice low and my eyes alert. Last thing I needed was another reason for people to make fun of me. “Ready for what?”
“I say, no wonder you have not solved this case. Ready for the investigation.” He repeated the last word, enunciating each syllable. “In-vest-i-ga-tion. Ready for what, she asks. My, you do need my services more than I originally theorized.”
My fear of getting caught talking to thin air increased. “You can’t be here,” I whispered. “I have work to do.”
Marmaduke leaned forward. He spoke slowly as though explaining to a small child. “I understand. That is why I am here.” Then he fell backward in the chair and rolled his eyes with a great deal of theatrical drama. “Oh dear, this is laborious, this world of crime solving.”
“Listen, Sir Laurence Olivier, don’t talk to me like I’m stupid. How do you think I got this job in the first place? Smarts and hard work. I graduated first in my class at the academy and my first week in this position I solved a case three other guys failed to crack after several months. So there.”
“You are correct. I humbly apologize. Perhaps it is my excitement at the prospect of being useful once again.”
I heard the sound of footsteps. Truman was talking to Barbour, but coming this way. Four, five seconds tops and we wouldn’t be alone any longer. Marmaduke didn’t seem inclined to evacuate on his own, and I couldn’t keep whispering. I had to move this ghost to another location for a tête-à-tête.