by Rose Pressey
Charlotte glided in front of me. “I told you he’s not here. Why are you knocking?”
“To be polite,” I said.
“Just open the door,” she urged.
I shook my head. “I can’t just open the door.”
“She’s a pushy ghost, huh?” Heather said.
“Well, you’d be pushy, too, if you had been murdered,” Charlotte said.
I reached out and twisted the knob. Sure enough, the door was unlocked. I looked back at Heather. She motioned for me to go forward. I lifted my shoulders, stuck out my chest, and marched forward. Okay, it was more like I inched into the kitchen, but I digress.
A clock ticked in the background and water dripped slowly from the faucet. The counters were clean. No dirty dishes or leftover food were visible.
“This is so wrong on so many levels,” I whispered.
“Oh, stop being a chicken.” Determination flashed in Charlotte’s eyes.
My anxiety increased and I figured a panic attack was near. “I don’t even know why we’re here. What are we looking for?”
“I want you to find the papers I signed for the loan.” Charlotte surveyed the kitchen.
“Don’t you have a copy?” I asked.
“I doubt they’re still at my house. I’m sure the beneficiaries got rid of them. They couldn’t wait to get rid of my belongings.” Charlotte couldn’t hold back the anger in her voice.
She did have a point. Only a few pieces of furniture had been left at her house. It had all been eliminated as if she’d never been there in the first place. Her lawyer had wasted little time taking care of that little detail.
“What did she say?” Heather asked.
“She wants us to look for some loan papers she signed for Bud,” I said.
“Where do we start?” Heather took in the small kitchen.
“His office is at the back of the house. That’s where he keeps all his papers.” Charlotte started across the room.
Heather and I followed.
“I hope you’re right and he’s not here,” I whispered to Charlotte.
The silence was nerve-wracking as the three of us made our way through Bud’s house. Only the sound of our footsteps and breathing could be heard. We were like a bunch of bumbling burglars. We weren’t very good at breaking and entering, but that was okay with me. I didn’t want to be good at it.
When we reached the dining room, Heather stopped. She picked up some magazines from the table and waved them through the air. “Hey, look what he reads. It’s the Enquirer and People magazine. Apparently, he likes to keep up with the celebrities.”
“Will you put those down, please? We can’t touch anything,” I said.
Heather tossed down the magazines and we continued on to the living room—the scene of the earlier offense when Bud had been so obnoxious.
I hoped he didn’t show up and catch us. I wouldn’t be able to handle that again. I’d have to say something a little harsher. I figured Charlotte wouldn’t put up with it either. She’d do something worse than pinch him on the butt. I glanced over at her. She was scowling. I assumed she was thinking about Bud, too.
Much to my chagrin, Heather stepped into the living room.
I went after her, grabbing her arm. “We shouldn’t be in here. We need to find what we came for.”
As we weaved around the tall DVD tower, Heather stumbled and fell right into it. The thing crashed to the floor with a bang and all of the DVDs went with it.
I took Heather’s arm and helped her up. “Are you okay?”
She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
We peered down at the mess on the floor. It was not good . . . at all.
Charlotte tapped her foot. “You know that all of those were in alphabetical order, right?”
I blew hair out of my eyes “You’re kidding me.”
“No, I’m not kidding. You have to pick them up and put them back just the way they were. If you don’t, he will know that someone was in his house.”
I motioned for Heather to help me. “Okay, we have to pick the movies up and alphabetize them.” I explained why.
Heather and I sat on the rug, grabbed DVDs, and sorted them into piles.
“Which ones do you have?” I asked.
Heather flashed the copies of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Sixteen Candles. She crammed the movies onto the shelves.
“No, no, no,” I said, taking one from her. “Goonies goes before Weekend At Bernie’s.”
“What’s with this guy’s fascination with all the eighties movies?” Heather asked.
“The eighties was his favorite decade,” Charlotte said.
“I gathered that much,” I said.
“Y’all are terrible at this.” She gave a wave with her hand.
“I can’t help it. I’m in a panic. I can’t think straight right now. How am I supposed to organize all of these when I’m worried about being caught?” I picked up a couple cases.
“It’s making me nervous, too.” Heather gathered an armful of DVDs.
“N is after M,” Charlotte pointed out.
I released a deep breath. Okay, I had to calm down if I was going to finish. The more panicked I felt, the longer it would take to clean up our mess.
Finally, all of the DVDs—at least one hundred or more—were back in the tower, A to Z. I hadn’t bothered to count, but there were a lot. I stepped back and perused our work, scanning them to make sure that they were in order. As far as I could tell, we’d gotten it right. I took a deep breath. I never wanted to see that place again.
We had barely stepped out of the room when a loud bang sounded. We froze on the spot.
“I wonder what that was?” I asked, looking from Heather to Charlotte.
Heather scanned the room. “I don’t know.”
Charlotte glided across the room. “I don’t know, either.”
“We should check it out, I guess.” I was already thinking up excuses in case Bud had come home. He would probably think I’d come back to his house for a date.
Ignoring my desire to avoid the living room, Heather and I rushed over to the living room window, Charlotte right behind us. I eased back the curtain, peeking outside. I wasn’t sure that I would be able to see if Bud had pulled his car into the garage, but I didn’t want to go back through the house and open the door leading to the garage. Maybe we should have just hidden in a closet, but with my luck, he would have come home and I would have to stay in the closet all night until he left the next day.
“I don’t see anything,” Heather whispered.
“Me either,” I said. “I guess it was nothing. If it was Bud, he would’ve been in the house by now, so I guess we’re safe.”
Charlotte leaned against the wall. “You two looked like a couple of scared cats.”
Yeah, like the noise hadn’t startled her as well.
“Look, that watering can fell off the porch. It must have been the wind,” Heather said.
“Come on. Let’s finish what we came here for.” Charlotte signaled for us to follow her.
When we reached Bud’s office, I paused. The door was closed.
“You’d better hurry before he returns.” Charlotte tapped on the door.
“You didn’t tell me he would be home soon.” I didn’t hide the apprehension in my voice.
“Well, I have no idea where he went. I’m a ghost, not a psychic. That’s your friend’s job.” Charlotte smirked.
“What did she say?” Heather asked.
I decided not to relay the message. “She doesn’t know where Bud went. He could be home at any time.”
Heather peeked in the bathroom across the hall. “Let’s just look around really quick and then get out of here.”
I opened the office door and hurried into the room, scanning the space. It was sparsely decorated with a desk, a chair, and a bookshelf that held more photos of Bud. He looked especially happy, posing with Mickey Mouse at Disney World.
“I did
n’t know they had adult size mouse ears.” I leaned in for a closer look.
“Bud’s a big Disney fan,” Charlotte said.
“Where do I start?” I asked.
“Start with the desk and have Heather look in the file cabinet,” Charlotte ordered.
“I’ll look here,” I said, pointing to the desk. “You look over there.”
We searched in silence. Well, except for Charlotte. Every time I picked up a paper that wasn’t what she was looking for she said, “No.” I picked up another paper. “No,” Charlotte said again.
I dumped papers onto the desk, causing one to fly out of the stack.
“What’s that?” Charlotte slipped to the right.
“Which one? This receipt for men’s hair cream?”
“No, that one.” Charlotte directed again.
I grabbed the next paper and studied it. Heather abandoned the file cabinet and joined me.
“It looks like an insurance policy.” I tapped the paper with my index finger.
Charlotte stepped closer. “What does it say?”
I showed her the paper. “It’s in your name, and he’s the beneficiary.”
She was already dead and her color was pale, but I swear her face drained of the little color it had. Heather’s eyes widened. I couldn’t believe that we’d discovered an insurance policy that Charlotte hadn’t known about.
“He must have tricked me into signing it. My signature is right there on the policy at the bottom. I never would have signed that.” She crossed the room to the windows and peered out.
“When do you think this happened?” I asked.
“How did it happen?” Heather asked.
“The only papers I signed were for the loan. Considering we can’t find those papers, I’m guessing that I was really signing for an insurance policy.” Charlotte faced us again.
It was a good thing she was a ghost. Otherwise she would have worn a path in the rug.
“Take that paper with you.” She closed the distance between us.
Following her order, I stuffed the paper under my arm. “Let’s get out of here. This is making me nervous.”
As I passed the desk, I noticed something sticking out from a drawer. Its cotton fabric looked familiar. I opened the drawer, reached down, and picked up the white fabric. It had tiny pink embroidered flowers on the corners.
“What did you find?” Heather asked.
I held up the handkerchief and Charlotte gasped.
“It’s a handkerchief just like the one we found on the floor at Charlotte’s house,” I said breathlessly.
“Do you think Bud left it at Charlotte’s house? Maybe it’s the same one,” Heather said.
“No way,” Charlotte said. “He never used handkerchiefs.”
It finally hit me. “I know where this came from. It’s sold in packages of three in the shop down the street from me, Hortensia’s Haberdashery.”
“Are you sure?” Heather asked.
I folded the handkerchief. “When it comes to fabric, I have a photographic memory.”
“Hey, maybe if we can find out who bought the handkerchiefs, we’ll find the killer,” Charlotte said. “I know Hortensia’s. I shopped there a lot.”
“Thanks for going there instead of shopping at my place.” I closed the desk drawer.
Charlotte reached the office door. “Really? You are worried about business at a time like this? Besides, I told you I didn’t want to be seen in clothing that used to belong to someone from town.”
“I’ll have you know that vintage and thrift shopping is very trendy,” I said.
Charlotte huffed. “That doesn’t matter right now. We have to focus on the task at hand.”
I clutched the white handkerchief in my hand and headed for the door. We couldn’t get out of the house fast enough for my taste.
Outside, I looked around the neighborhood as I walked down the sidewalk. Luckily, I didn’t see anyone. My fingers were crossed that no one had seen us.
“I can’t believe we went into his home when he wasn’t there,” I said as I climbed behind the wheel of the Buick. Its smooth leather seat had never felt more comforting.
Heather reached in her purse and pulled out black wayfarer sunglasses. “Just think of it as if we thought he was home and wanted to say hi so we walked on in.”
“Well, bless his Disney lovin’ heart, he left the door open. If he didn’t want anyone in his house, he shouldn’t have done that,” Charlotte said.
We’d only made it a short distance from Bud’s house when I noticed a familiar dark sedan following me. “I don’t want to panic y’all, but that car with the men from Cindy’s house is behind me again.”
“That’s not a coincidence.” Heather whipped around and looked at the car. “What do you think they want?”
“I bet it has something to do with Cindy taking that money. They probably saw your car and think you are involved with her scheme,” Charlotte said from the backseat.
“I don’t want them to catch up to me and ask. I’d rather not talk with them at all. Do you think they are the ones leaving the messages on my blog?” I glanced over at Heather.
She lowered her sunglasses to the tip of her nose. “I don’t know how they would possibly know about your blog.”
I glanced back at the black car. “Yeah, that doesn’t make sense. How can I get rid of them?”
Heather shifted in the seat. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, y’all are ridiculous,” Charlotte said. “If you make enough turns, you will lose them. Didn’t you notice the New York license plate on their car? They aren’t from around here. You should take the long way back to Main. They won’t know their way around these roads.”
“Well, that’s a good point, Charlotte, but why didn’t you tell me that you noticed their license plate?” I said.
She leaned forward from the backseat. “You didn’t ask.”
“Apparently, their license plate says they’re from New York, so the plan is to take them around the back roads,” I explained to Heather.
Heather changed the radio’s channel to eighties rock. “Good plan.”
“Why thank you,” Charlotte said, then smiled.
I turned the big steering wheel on the Buick and navigated several turns. I sped up and cut the wheel, making a sharp left-hand turn, then immediately turned to the right. The little subdivision was like the Bermuda Triangle. I used to take piano lessons from a lady who lived in the neighborhood. It had taken me years to figure out how to get out of there.
“You know, I kind of feel bad for them. They may never get out of here.” I chuckled.
“It serves them right for following us,” Charlotte said.
My fingers were wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly that I thought I might not ever get them off. I had to tell Detective Valentine about the new discoveries. But since he’d told me to stay out of the investigation, I wasn’t sure how he would react. Breaking into a man’s home wasn’t exactly staying out of it. I’d have to find out what the insurance policy meant and who the men were before I laid out my findings to the gorgeous detective.
We made it back to the shop without the men in sight. I’d managed to lose them before making it to the Sugar Creek. But try as I might, I couldn’t shake my worries about what would happen next.
Chapter 28
Heather’s Heartfelt Tip for Getting Rid of an Unwanted Ghost
Use garlic. It’s not just for vampires any more.
It repels all kinds of nasty spirits.
As soon as I climbed out from behind the wheel, Charlotte said, “We have to go to the boutique down the street.” She pointed at Hortensia’s Haberdashery. Its turquoise awning irritated me, as usual.
I locked the Buick’s door. “Why? It’s my competition,” I said with a frown.
“She sells new clothes.” Charlotte waited for me on the sidewalk by the pot of petunias.
I shoved my keys in my handbag. “Yeah, but it’s still clothing. M
ore people need to wear vintage as far as I’m concerned.”
“Right now, I don’t care if everyone runs around naked. We need to talk with her.
I joined Charlotte on the sidewalk. “Okay. Don’t get all tangled up. We’ll walk down there, but I doubt she’ll have anything to share with us.”
“Where are you going?” Heather asked as she got out of the car.
“Charlotte wants to go to Hortensia’s Haberdashery.”
“I’d love to go with you, but I need to open the shop. You’ll call me if you need anything?” Heather asked.
I reached out and hugged her. “Thanks for everything.”
“What? I didn’t do anything.” She grinned.
“You were there for moral support. You stuck your neck out for me and I appreciate that.”
She smiled. “What are friends for? Besides, I know you’ll do the same for me someday.” She headed down the sidewalk toward her shop.
“I hope that neither one of us ever has to do that again,” I called out in her wake.
Charlotte and I headed down the sidewalk toward Hortensia’s. I’d only been to the shop a couple times. To be honest, it was a nice place. Its owner Winona Sam—there was no actual Hortensia; Winona just liked the name—had a lot of beautiful items. I bought new things sometimes. I wasn’t against a modern purchase. But for me, wearing clothing that had been through so much history made it feel special.
Sparrows and robins chirped in the trees, purple and white petunias stood at attention in the pots lining the sidewalk, and the sun shone down. It was a lovely day, but a lovely day for a murder investigation? No day was good for that.
We reached the door, which had a glass panel with the store name etched on it among a floral motif. The sign above the door read OPEN.
I looked around before entering. I wondered if anyone would spot me and think I was talking to myself. “I’ll talk to her, but try not to say too much in my ear, okay? It’s distracting,” I said to Charlotte.
“I was never known for my subtlety,” Charlotte warned.
I was learning that.
I stepped into the shop and looked around at all the new items. It was hard to believe that someday these pieces of clothing would be considered vintage. Her shop was decorated in shades of turquoise and cream. It was very shabby chic with paint chipped furniture and white rose arrangements around the room.