“It’s lovely,” I said, though I really wanted to burn the thing.
“You really think so?” Tammy’s face brightened. “Well, here. They had a two for one special so you can have the other one.” She yanked it out of the bag and shoved it into my hands.
I just stared at the grotesque t-shirt. “Uh, thanks.” I stashed it behind the counter with my purse thinking of a way to dump the thing.
“We can wear them on the same day and look like twins,” said Tammy with a huge smile.
I grinned at her. Not going to happen, girl. I may have little fashion sense, but I’m not that crazy.
I picked up a box of warmers and carried it over to a new set of shelves that had been installed. These warmers had timers on them so people could turn them on and not have to worry if they forgot to turn them off. Also, they didn’t use candles to warm the wax. I compared these to the wax warmers that some women use when waxing their legs, except these were made for the scented stuff.
The door jingled. Father Hillard walked in wearing his collar. He strolled over to the candle section and perused the shelves. I didn’t think priests liked candles.
I finished setting up the warmers and chucked the box out the back door into the alley. After that, I wandered over to where Father Hillard still considered the candles on the shelves. I remained an aisle down trying my best to look like I was busy at work and hoping he wouldn’t recognize me.
“Oh, Father,” said a middle aged woman, with too much makeup. I figured she went to the church. “I was so sorry to hear about Allison.”
Allison? Here’s an interesting bit of news.
“Yes, we all were,” said Father Hillard.
“And to think that she was wanted for a bank robbery in Utah,” said the woman.
HMMM. A gossiper. Not so good for Allison, but perfect for me. I leaned a little closer forgetting that I meant to pretend I wasn’t listening.
“We shouldn’t discuss that here,” said Father Hillard, “Whomever Allison was before she moved here, she was a different person then.”
“Well, yes, but to think she had been hiding out here the whole time. Do you think—”
“Mrs. Smith,” interrupted Father Hillard, “This is a matter for the police. While Allison was here she did a lot of good work for the church and God’s people. We should be thankful to have known her and that she managed to turn her life around. It is unfortunate that someone sought her life. But now she is with the Lord.”
“Yes, but—”
“Need I remind you that gossip is a sin and can cause a lot of trouble?”
“No, father. Forgive me,” said Mrs. Smith.
“It is not I you should seek forgiveness from,” replied Father Hillard. “Now, will you be coming to the memorial service?”
“Oh, most definitely,” said Mrs. Smith. “Allison was a charming girl. I’ll be there at five.”
“She most certainly was.”
Mrs. Smith left. Father Hillard rubbed his temples and glanced in my direction. I turned away abruptly and pretended to be busy. Smooth, Mel, I scolded myself. Anyone could have seen through the ruse.
Sure enough, he came over in my direction. “Excuse me, Miss,” he said, “Can you tell me where I can find some plain, white candle sticks? Long ones. Not the short stubby ones you have over there.”
“Sure,” I replied walking over to the counter where we kept them. Not many people bought them, so Mr. Stilton decided to just keep them off the shelves unless requested. A part of me hoped that the priest hadn’t realized I had been spying, or recognized me from the church. “How many do you need?” I asked pulling out a box of the candle sticks.
“Five.”
I counted out five, wrapped them in paper and put them in a bag. “Anything else?”
“No, this will be all.”
I rang it up.
“17. 50.”
Father Hillard counted out his change and handed it to me.
I put the receipt in the bag and gave it to him. He grasped it, but paused a moment.
“The next time you wish to eavesdrop, please just join the conversation. Or at least, try to act more inconspicuous.”
Damn. Caught. “Wasn’t—” I began.
Father Hillard gave me the “I know the truth” look.
Thinking better about lying to a priest, I changed my tone. “Sorry,” I muttered.
“Forgiven. And I don’t want to see you at the funeral service, Miss Summers.”
“How do you—”
“Detective Shorts told me all about you and your natural curiosity.”
I hung my head. Apparently, Detective Shorts was determined to keep me out of this. So determined that he even used a priest to warn me to stay away.
The door jingled. In marched the janitor from the church heading straight for me with a purposeful gait. He stopped suddenly when he noticed Father Hillard. The janitor fidgeted a bit trying to decide what to do next. I had the feeling he really wanted to see me alone.
“Clayton,” said Father Hillard staring at him, “Something on your mind?”
“No, Father.”
“If you wish to purchase something I am certain this lovely lady here will help you.”
“Uh, no, I’m fine.” He fidgeted some more not liking the situation. He must not have counted on the priest actually being here talking to me. “I need to go.” The janitor hurried out the door and down the street.
“Odd, fella,” muttered Father Hillard more to himself than to me. “Have a good day, Miss Summers.” He left.
I released the breath I had been holding. What the heck was all that about with Clayton, the janitor? I was his target; that much was obvious. But why?
I checked the schedule that sat on a clip board under the cash register. Off at 4:30. Good. I had a funeral to go to.
Yes, I was about to break my promise to Detective Shorts. What can I say? Allison went to that church and the janitor there hung around with someone mysterious who knew her. I needed to find out what happened.
I pulled out my cell really quick. Making personal call from work was forbidden; a rule we routinely broke.
“Hello,” said Greg picking up on the first ring.
“Greg, Mel. I get off at 4:30. Meet me at the church.”
“Why?”
“I’ll explain later. And wear a suit, or something nice.”
“Is this your way of telling me you want to go out on a date?”
“No, but we can do that too.”
Greg’s silence on the other end indicated that he didn’t know if he should be pleased or insulted by my remark.
“Greg, please,” I pleaded.
“All right, I’ll meet you there. A suit, huh? Will you be wearing that mini skirt?” I heard the chuckle in his voice. Men, I swear. Sometimes they only think about one thing.
“Maybe when we’re alone and not at a church.”
“Look forward to it,” he said.
“Stop it you,” I scolded him. “Don’t be late.”
“4:30 at the church. I’ll be there.”
I hung up. Mr. Stilton stood right behind me with his arms crossed.
“Mel, you are aware that personal calls from work are strictly forbidden.”
This just wasn’t my day. Got caught eavesdropping and now I just got caught making a personal call. Yep, I was totally busted.
“I’m sorry, but a friend of mine passed away recently and I wanted to make certain I remembered the correct time for the service.” I did my best to sound convincing.
“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s not—”
“No. No. Jackie is fine, but it was someone we both knew.”
“I’ll allow it this time,” said Mr. Stilton, “But don’t make a habit of it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Four thirty rolled around, and about time too. I really wanted to know who would show up at the memorial service. What friends did Allison have while living here?
I grabbed my purse, clocked out, and p
assed Jackie on the way out as she came in for the closing shift.
“If Mr. Stilton asks about someone we knew that died recently, just go with it,” I whispered to her as I rushed past.
“Died? What?”
I didn’t catch the rest of what Jackie said as I hurried out the door and for my car. Someone bumped into me on the walk. I turned, but his face was covered and he had disappeared before I registered what had occurred. Brushing it off as just the typical crowded walk, I got in my car and pulled away.
Greg waited for me as I parked in the parking lot. Early. I like that. He leaned on the hood of his car arms crossed wearing a button up shirt and slacks. My man cleaned up nice.
“So, what’s this all about?” he asked as I got out of the car.
“They’re having a memorial service for Allison. Maybe we can pick up some information about who she knew and who might have wanted to kill her.”
“Good plan,” said Greg. “Shall we?” He held his arm out for me. Oh, still a gentleman even after a year of dating. Bonus points.
“Greg, you’ll have to go in alone.”
“Why?”
Here came the part I forgot to mention on the phone. “Father Hillard came into the store today and I eavesdropped on a conversation between him and a parishioner. Anyway, he caught me and forbade me from coming to the service.”
“So why are we here?” asked Greg.
“Because he didn’t forbid you.”
“So I am to be your spy.”
“Please,” I begged. “I’ll let you take me to dinner.”
“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”
I gave him my puppy dog look.
“Where will you be?”
“Out here by the car, waiting. Have fun.” I pecked him on the cheek. He hopped up the stairs and inside. I paced around by the side of the church out of sight.
Forty minutes rolled past and I began to think that they should be getting done soon. How long can a memorial service go? I reached in my pocket for my phone. A piece of paper clung to it. Curious, I pulled it out and read it.
Stay out of it or you’re next.
Well, obviously someone wanted me to stay off of the case. I scrunched the paper in my hand and tossed it aside more determined than ever to solve Allison’s murder. Growing impatient, I headed for the church entrance. Carefully, I pulled the door open to listen and find out how much longer they would be.
“Are you here for the service?” A little old lady with sand dollar sized lenses in her glasses stood behind me.
“Oh, no, I—” I tried to pull away.
“Oh, don’t worry dear. You may be a little late, but all are welcome in God’s house.”
“No, I just—”
“Come with me.” She steered me inside and to a pew. For an old lady she had a vice like grip. I tried to pull away, but she refused to let go and the more I protested the louder her insistence became. Finally, I relented and took a seat in the very back.
A woman up front wailed on about what a great person Allison was; so kind and gentle.
“And to think that someone could,” the woman broke down in tears. Someone led her away.
“Anyone else?” said a man at the podium.
A young boy got up and took the microphone.
“I remember Allison. She was the one that convinced me to join the children’s choir. As director—”
I tuned the rest of what he said out, glancing around the interior of the church. The archaic looking artwork was quite pretty. I noticed a choir loft above us in the back. It looked as though it was hardly used.
I turned to my left and there sat Freya, Sarah, and Alana next to me in a neat row. They all stared at me with wide eyes. I jumped slightly startled that they had just shown up.
“We did as you asked,” said Freya.
“Now isn’t the time,” I whispered.
“But we have lots to tell you,” moaned Sarah.
“It can wait,” I said as quietly as I could. “We’re in the middle of a funeral service.”
Ignoring my statement, they continued anyway, talking one after the other.
“That janitor is a bad man.”
“Yeah, I don’t think he is a real janitor.”
Well, that much I figured out on my own.
“He meets with this strange guy every so often, but they don’t get along.”
“They argue an awful lot.”
“I’m telling the story!”
“But I want to tell it too.”
“Well, you can’t.”
“Girls,” I interrupted them.
“We don’t know their names, but they fight all the time.”
“They’re looking for some money and went to this lady’s house to search for it.”
“It was Allison’s house.”
“How do you know?”
“Because her name was on the unopened mail.”
“Oh. Well, they searched Allison’s house looking for some money. Apparently, the other guy knew her and they robbed a bank together, but she turned him into the cops and took the money.”
“Yeah, and he wanted revenge. And somehow the creepy janitor found out about the money and so asked for the other guy’s help.”
I listened as they each told me their story. It sounded to me that the janitor had somehow found out and ran into the other guy, and by mutual agreement they worked together. I had the feeling that partnership wouldn’t last long.
My cell rang. It echoed throughout the church as people glanced in my direction with annoyed expressions. Note to self: when sneaking into a memorial service you are barred from, turn off cell phone. I quickly pulled it out and opened it.
“Hello?”
“Mel?” came Jackie’s voice.
“What’s that?” asked Sarah.
“A phone. Now, hush,” I whispered.
“It is not,” she shot back. “Phones are not that little and they don’t flip open. Plus, it isn’t plugged into the wall so how could it possibly work?” She put her hands on her hips in a “how can you be so dumb” pose.
“I want to see,” said Alana as she snatched the phone from me.
“Hey,” I yelled, trying to get my cell phone back.
“Give it to me,” said Freya.
“No, I want it,” whined Sarah.
The girls juggled the phone between them each reaching for it. I watched as it hopped through midair seemingly by itself. Clumsily, I fumbled in the pew in a vain attempt to retrieve my cell phone. Finally, I caught it.
“Never do that again,” I scolded them.
Their eyes welled up. I didn’t think ghosts could cry, but I was about to discover the opposite. Their wails filled the church attracting so many unwanted glares.
“No, please don’t cry,” I pleaded.
“We’re sorry,” cried Alana.
“It’s okay. Really. Please stop,” I tried to quiet them. Crying children and I do not go well together.
“We’ll never do it again,” said Sarah.
“Promise to not take my phone again and all is forgiven,” I said.
“Promise?” They all looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” they sniffled rubbing their noses and eyes and vanished.
Sighing with relief I turned around becoming aware of people’s stares for the first time. They all looked at me like I had gone off the deep end, except for Greg who rolled his eyes. Father Hillard glared at me and he looked livid.
I scrambled out of the pew tripping over the kneeler which got caught on my foot. Next thing I knew, I lay sprawled in the aisle with a sore knee and an extremely bruised ego. Mortified, I got to my feet running out the door, down the steps and to my car.
Fifteen minutes later people exited the church. Greg hurried over to me. Luckily we had parked well away from the building so no one would see us chatting.
“What happened in there? I thought you weren’t going to come in.”
“It was
taking so long for the service to end so I went to the door to check. Then this old lady with a grip that would shame an alligator pulled me into the church. And you know the rest,” I finished.
“We better get out of here,” said Greg. “Father Hillard intends to call the cops about your little display.”
We got in our cars and headed for home. To be honest, I looked forward to getting home, plopping on the couch, and vegetating for the next several hours. Like that was going to happen.
Greg walked me to my door. More bonus points. Actually he wanted to accompany me inside and make sure I didn’t get into more trouble. A knock sounded on the door. I knew who it was before Greg opened it.
“Miss Summers,” said Detective Shorts.
I was so busted.
“I got a phone call from Father Hillard telling me that a woman, matching your description, was at his church today causing a commotion. Something about you chasing a cell phone floating in midair.”
“I—”
“Don’t bother. I know you were there.”
I slumped my shoulders. Guilty.
“I thought you promised me that you would stay out of this.”
“I did. I will. I just—” I stopped speaking. What could I possibly say? I gave Detective Shorts my word and broke it. I did cause a scene at a memorial service. Let’s face it: I screwed up.
“Now, Father Hillard has refused to press charges, but you are henceforth banned from that church. Now, please, stay away from this.”
“You dropped this,” said Sarah appearing beside him, but only so I could see her, and holding out a piece of paper. The same piece of paper I had tossed. “I meant to give it to you earlier, but forgot.”
I waved her off.
“Well? Aren’t you going to take it?” she insisted.
I grabbed the slip of paper. “Thanks,” I whispered to thin air.
Detective Shorts watched with raised eyebrows. He cleared his throat.
“Please don’t ask me to explain,” I said.
“No dice.”
How was I going to put this? I talk to ghosts and help them solve mysteries. They’re the reason why I keep getting into trouble. “Uh, the ghost of a little girl is here,” I said.
Greg scratched his head, no doubt wishing he were someplace else.
“Ghosts?”
Call the psych ward. “Yes. They come to me and I help them.”
Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 04 - Three Little Ghosts Page 7