by Rose Pressey
“Sometimes she’s just too predictable,” Charlotte said.
Wind Song jumped up onto the counter and I gave her a treat. “There are more where that came from, Wind Song. All you have to do is answer our questions.”
I placed the Ouija board on the counter in front of her. Then I set the planchette where she could reach it easily. For good measure, I gave her another treat. She gobbled it up, then licked her paws.
I got right to it. “Wind Song, are you my Grandmother Pearl?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t just ask it right away. You should ease into the question.”
“It’s a little too late now, isn’t it, Charlotte? You should’ve told me that first.”
“I didn’t think I had to tell you everything.”
Wind Song placed her paw on the planchette.
I watched her closely. “Here we go.”
She was finally going to answer my question. I would know once and for all if Wing Song was my grandmother.
The bell over the door jingled, and Wind Song immediately moved her paw, as if she knew we wouldn’t want to be caught. A customer entered and I knew we would have to wait. The woman walked across the floor, taking her time looking through each rack of clothing.
Normally, that would’ve made me happy, but I wanted her to get out of there so I could get my answer. I felt guilty. Finally, she left and didn’t even buy anything.
“At least now we can get back to the question.” I looked at Wind Song once again. “Are you my Grandmother Pearl?”
Wind Song reached out, placed her paw on the planchette again, and started moving it. My stomach did a dance. I knew where she was moving the planchette. Yes was on one side of the board, no on the other. The only reason she would be moving to the left side was if her answer was yes.
Sure enough, that was where she stopped. Charlotte and I gasped at the same time. I didn’t hesitate to grab Wind Song in my arms and hug her tight. Then I plastered a few hundred kisses on her face too. I’d loved the cat before, but now even more.
“Oh, Grandma Pearl, are you okay?” Tears rolled down my cheeks.
“Get yourself together, Cookie. You’re ruining your mascara.”
I tried to compose myself and placed Wind Song back on the counter. Should I call her Grandma Pearl? I was happy and sad at the same time. I had to do something to help her. I couldn’t let my grandmother be stuck in this dimension as a cat when she needed to move on.
“How did this happen?” I said.
“I think we know how it happened,” Charlotte said. “Cookie, I’m so happy for you.”
I knew it looked as if I wasn’t happy—I had tears in my eyes—but I was. Seeing my grandmother again was the best feeling. But if my grandmother was inside of the cat, where was the cat’s spirit? I had so many questions. “Wind Song, er, Grandma Pearl, where is the cat’s spirit?”
She placed her furry paw on the planchette and moved around to the letters. Finally, she spelled out that the cat was with her inside the body.
No wonder she liked that tuna delight so much. “Don’t worry, Grandma Pearl. I’ll help you.”
“Why are you talking so loudly, Cookie?” Charlotte asked.
“Well, Grandma Pearl was hard of hearing before she passed on.”
“I think you’re hurting the cat’s ears. You might want to turn it down a notch,” Charlotte said.
The cat started moving the planchette around the board again. She was saying something else. The next thing I knew, she had spelled out that she wanted to stay.
“Do you enjoy being a cat?” I asked.
That question didn’t receive a response.
“Cookie, don’t ask ridiculous questions,” Charlotte said.
I checked the time. “Isn’t it time for you to meet Sam?”
“I still have thirty minutes.”
“I didn’t know there was time in the other dimension.”
Charlotte checked her gold Rolex watch. “Well, there’s time here isn’t there? I told him I had to help you.”
“Lucky me,” I said.
“You are too sassy.” She placed her hands on her hips.
“I got it from my grandmother.”
Wind Song meowed.
The door opened and Dylan walked in. He tossed his hand up in a wave.
“He seems awfully happy today,” Charlotte said.
“Good morning.” After placing a box on the counter, he leaned forward and in one smooth movement covered my mouth with his. His mouth was strong, but his lips gentle.
“True romance,” Charlotte said as she watched us.
I could do without the audience. “What’s in the box?”
“It’s for you. Open it up.” He motioned.
“Oh, a present. I love gifts.” Charlotte hurried over.
I quirked an eyebrow.
“Go ahead.” He motioned again.
Even after opening the top, the box was too tall for me to see inside. I stretched up on my tiptoes, pulled the box a little closer, and peered over the edge. The vintage items that Hunter’s grandmother had given Juliana filled the box. Without thinking, a squeal of delight escaped my lips. All the items were there. Even the turquoise hat that everyone had wanted because either they thought it was worth a lot of money or they thought money was hidden inside.
I looked at Dylan. “Why did you bring this?”
“The stuff is yours now,” he said with a smile.
“Are you serious? Why?” I asked as I took out one of the sweaters. It felt like Christmas morning.
“The stuff is gorgeous,” Charlotte said.
“Juliana’s family wanted you to have it. They are so thankful for your part in capturing Juliana’s murderer.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say thank you,” Dylan said.
“Send them a thank-you card,” Charlotte said.
I sorted through the items. “As much as I would love to keep them, I don’t think I should.”
“Why not?” Charlotte and Dylan asked at the same time.
“Who should have them?” Dylan quirked an eyebrow.
“I want to give them back to Hunter’s grandmother.”
Dylan shook his head. “That’s not possible.”
“It’s not?”
“Nope,” Dylan said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“We had to arrest her too. She was part of the scheme to steal the money in the first place.”
“What about Aunt Regina?”
“She’ll be charged for her part in teaming up with Hunter and Victor.”
“I knew it!” Charlotte said.
I wanted to laugh at her reaction but didn’t. I simply looked at Dylan and smiled.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank my editor Michaela Hamilton
and my agent Jill Marsal.
Much love to both!
Don’t miss the ghostly fun
in the next Haunted Vintage mystery
IF THE HAUNTING FITS, WEAR IT
Coming soon from Kensington Publishing Corp.
Keep reading to enjoy an excerpt . . .
Chapter 1
“Come one step closer and I’ll kill you,” I said.
The giant black hairy spider didn’t listen as he scurried toward me. I ran in the opposite direction. The creature was the size of a rat and probably would have survived any attempts to extinguish it. The best option for me was to let him run off into the little dark corner he came from. I’d grab what I came into the attic for and we’d both be happy. We’d call a truce and just leave each other alone.
Running a vintage clothing shop was not without its hazards—such as the aforementioned spider . . . and mice. That was what I got when I crawled around old places looking for treasures. Vintage clothing was my thing. When I spotted a circle skirt, a great pair of pedal pushers, or a fabulous pair of wedge heels, my heart skipped a beat. A vintage discovery truly was an adrenaline rush. I’d turned my
passion into a career when I opened It’s Vintage Y’all, my little boutique in the charming small town of Sugar Creek, Georgia.
I wore a 1950s Ruth Starling flower patterned dress. It had tiny rhinestone buttons down the front, a full skirt, and a darted waistline. Perfect for spring, the dress was the bee’s knees. On my feet I wore pale yellow wedge heels with a small bow across the vamp. Wedges were my favorite and the color brought out the buttery gerbera daisies in the dress.
An ad for vintage clothing for sale had led me to this old attic. At least it had a small window on the other side of the room, allowing a small amount of daylight to seep inside. It was a typical attic with exposed beams, cobwebs, and stacks of boxes. An old dress form stood in the left corner by the window. Every time I glanced up, I thought the thing was a person staring at me. Maybe that explained the creepy feeling I had.
I’d been told quite a few great vintage pieces were stored in the old trunk located in the middle of the cramped space. The new owner had found the items when she’d bought the house and said I could just take whatever I wanted. The words were like magic to my ears. I was willing to deal with almost anything for free vintage, even fighting a bear . . . or a bear-sized spider. Mostly, I was looking for hats.
The trunk groaned as I opened the lid. Layers of dust whirled to life. My eyes widened when I spotted the red 1940s boater hat. It had a narrow brim with a small red veil. Perched on the edge of the brim was a velvet flocked bird with feathers in matching red hues. I was in hat heaven. As I sifted through the trunk I found more treasures. There must have been at least twenty hats, all equally fabulous.
When I looked up from the old truck, I gasped and fell back onto my butt. A sixty-something woman was standing in the corner of the room, her stare locked on me. She wore a black silk crepe mid-length dress. On her hands were delicate white gloves. Discreet pearl drops dotted her ears and a matching necklace encircled her neck. The 1940s tilt hat was made of black cellophane straw, the crown encircled with black grosgrain ribbon. She completed her outfit with simple black pumps and a matching pocketbook.
I found it odd that her hat looked so much like the ones in the trunk. Had she taken one of them? I hadn’t heard her enter the room. Maybe I’d been so consumed by the finds that I didn’t notice. Had she been there all along? On my feet again, I stood behind the trunk with the hats still in my arms. Since the woman’s frown sent a clear message that she wasn’t happy to see me, I used the trunk as my shield. It created a nice barrier between us.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
Before I could answer, another voice chimed in. “Cookie Chanel, come down from there. I’m not going in. I don’t want to get my outfit dirty. Besides, I may be a ghost, but I’m not going in that spooky place.”
It was not the time to deal with Charlotte Meadows. She was a ghost that refused to leave my side. Ever since I found her at an estate sale, she’d been stuck on me like flies on honey. She’d been attached to her killer wardrobe, but now she was affixed to me.
I looked at the corner again. The black-clad woman wasn’t there. “Where’d you go?”
I looked to the other side of the room. She was there. Was she playing games with me?
I focused my attention on her so she couldn’t get away. “I’m sorry, but the woman downstairs said these hats were available.”
She shifted the pocketbook from her right arm to her left. “They’re my hats and they’re not available.”
That was a bummer. I started to put the hats back in the trunk, but I noticed something odd. The lower half of the woman was completely see-through. Why hadn’t I noticed that sooner? The longer I looked at her, the more solid she became.
Unfortunately, I knew exactly what that meant. Oh no, not again. Why did it happen to me? I enjoyed helping the ghosts, but it confused me. Why me?
I had to let this woman know she was no longer in this dimension. Were the items in the trunk hers? Considering the gorgeous outfit she wore, I’d be willing to bet that was the case. I could understand why she was so concerned about the things in the trunk.
I picked up a hat. A ghost wouldn’t keep me from taking what had been offered. “You do realize that you are a ghost?” I asked as I filled my arms with the hats again.
She glared at me and said, “Well, that’s neither here nor there. They’re my hats.”
So she did know she was a ghost.
Charlotte poked her head through the door. Literally. “What seems to be the problem, Cookie? Hurry it up. I don’t want to have to come all the way in there.”
Before I even answered, she spotted the woman across the room. Suddenly, Charlotte had no problem with setting foot in the attic. She popped in and stood beside me with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She was pretty territorial about me, as if I were her own personal psychic. Charlotte was dressed in a white tailored pant suit and a beige silk tank that peeked out from under her jacket. On her feet, she wore nude-colored Christian Louboutins with five-inch heels. One perk of being a spirit was Charlotte got to wear whatever outfit she thought up in her mind.
She tapped her foot against the floor. “And who is this?”
“Not that it’s any of your concern, my name is Maureen Weber.” She stared at Charlotte. “Who are you?”
“I’m Charlotte Meadows. That’s all you need to know.”
I could see this was getting us nowhere. “Maureen, I understand you’re attached to your hats, but since you no longer need them, maybe I could let someone else use them? Someone who would really enjoy them.” I forced a smile onto my face.
“So you want to steal my hats.”
Charlotte shook her fist. “Don’t call Cookie a thief.”
I clapped my hands. “Ladies, ladies. Let’s not argue, shall we?”
What could I do to get this woman to let me have the hats? I suppose I would just have to leave them in the trunk. That made me sad. I was on a mission to find fantastic hats for a very special event. Danielle Elston had requested a vintage hat to wear for the upcoming Kentucky Derby. She simply couldn’t go to the derby without a fantastic hat. Danielle had the money to buy any hat she wanted and had requested that I help her.
Finally solid, Maureen moved a couple steps closer and pointed at Charlotte. “I know she’s a ghost, but something seems different about you. I think you’re still with the living.” She sashayed over to us.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Good heavens. It looks like two pigs fighting in a sack. One says you let me go by this time and I’ll let you go by the next.”
“Charlotte! That’s not very nice,” I said.
Maureen looked me up and down. “So if you’re living, how can you see me?”
I exchanged a look with Charlotte. “I don’t really know how I can see you.”
A look of happiness spread across Maureen’s face. “Since you can see me, you can help find my murderer.”
About the Author
Rose Pressey is a USA Today bestselling author. She enjoys writing quirky and fun novels with a paranormal twist. Her Haunted Vintage mystery series includes All Dressed Up and No Place to Haunt, If You’ve Got It, Haunt It, and Haunt Couture and Ghosts Galore. When she’s not writing about ghosts and other supernatural creatures, she loves eating cupcakes with sprinkles, reading, spending time with family, and listening to oldies from the fifties. Rose lives near Louisville, Kentucky, with her husband, son, and three sassy Chihuahuas. Visit her on Facebook, at www.rosepressey.com, or at www.itsvintageyall.blogspot.com.
-inline-share-buttons">share