by Vella Day
“I know how much you hate bullies. I thought it might light a fire under you to get that spell.”
What a manipulative jerk. “We will discuss your lie later.”
Aimee rose onto all fours and trotted over to Iggy, her head held high. “If you want to talk, you know where to find me, but never use me as an excuse. Ever again. Do you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” Iggy said, not making eye contact.
With that she slipped out of the cat door. I guess my days as a matchmaker were over. I walked over to Iggy. “Why were you rude to her? And why did you say Aimee wanted to change you?”
“I figured if I looked normal, she’d really like me.”
Poor Iggy. “She’ll like you if you are yourself.”
“Maybe. Did you find out what happened with the spell?”
“Yes.” I explained about the mix up in ingredients and how we weren’t able to try again. “It was when I was learning about it from Hazel that I met Aimee.”
“Are you saying I’ll always be pink?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Then I need some space.”
I figured as much. “I understand,” I said. “Besides, I have some other issues to deal with right now.”
“Like what?” His interest was sparked.
“I saw Uncle Harold.”
That ought to catch his attention. Iggy spun around so fast his collar almost came off. “You saw a ghost?”
Someone knocked at the door, and before I had the chance to answer, Aunt Fern stepped inside. I looked behind her for Uncle Harold, but he wasn’t there. “Where is he?” I asked.
“In his desire for you to see him, he used up a lot of energy. He’s lying down—or doing whatever he does to rest. You can see him later.” Aunt Fern went over to the sofa, sat down, and patted the seat next to her. “Come and sit. Tell me what happened. You’ve never been able to see a ghost before.”
Iggy scurried over to the coffee table and climbed up for a front row seat.
I went through the whole thing about how and why the pink potion went wrong. “Hazel feels badly about it. What’s worse is that she said the spell to change Iggy’s color back to green won’t work a second time for some reason.”
He opened and then closed his mouth—his version of a shrug. “At least Aimee understands how spells can go wrong.”
“Yes, especially since she was the recipient of a bad one,” I said. “Or a good one, depending on her perspective.”
Aunt Fern reached out and placed a palm on my arm. “I don’t understand how you can see Harold though. What changed?”
I explained how one side effect of the combination of ingredients Hazel used was that I could see ghosts. “The first time I saw one was when I was on the street next to the Bubbling Cauldron Coffee shop.”
“You’ve seen two ghosts today?” my aunt asked.
“Yes.” I detailed my short interaction with Morgan Oliver.
Iggy spun around. “We get to solve another murder!”
His excitement buoyed my spirits. “I know his name, but I don’t know where Morgan is from or when he died.”
“We know that farmer. What’s his name, the one who died a few weeks ago?” Iggy asked. He sure was quick to pick up the other unsolved crime. “It sounds like this Morgan guy died after that.”
“Do you mean Floyd Paxton—the farmer who lived on the edge of town?” I asked.
“Yes, yes. That’s it! You need to see if Morgan, the ghost, is his nephew,” Iggy said, wearing his imaginary detective hat.
I held up a hand. “Okay. I’ll see if I can find out if Floyd had any sisters. If he didn’t, then Morgan Oliver would have been related on Floyd’s wife’s side.”
“As much as I hate to suggest it,” Aunt Fern said, “Dolly Andrews is really into genealogy. She’d know how to find out about his family.”
A bit of calm surrounded me. “Thank you. I might ask her, but first I’ll search the newspaper for Floyd’s obituary. That usually lists next of kin. If Morgan Oliver was related to Floyd, he might have been the one to provide the information.”
“Well, Emma didn’t,” her aunt said.
“Emma?”
“Floyd’s wife. If you ask Miriam, or maybe it was Maude Daniels, they’ll say Floyd killed her since no one has seen her for months. Personally, I think she ran away.”
There was only one real reason for her to do that. “Did he hit her or something?”
“Rumor has it that he did and more than once.”
Abuse was so sad. “Even though a wolf, or wolves, killed Floyd, I wonder if either Sheriff Duncan or Deputy Rocker were able to contact his wife to tell her of his death. She should know it is safe to return home.”
Aunt Fern smiled. “That’s an excellent question. You should go talk to him.”
I knew that look. “My visit would be strictly for information, not to flirt.”
“Uh-huh.”
My aunt was incorrigible.
“I want to come,” Iggy said.
I didn’t want to disappoint him, but now wasn’t the time. “Maybe on my next trip.”
“You’re no fun.”
Aunt Fern stood. “I need to check on Harold. Let me know what you find out.”
“I will.” I stood and hugged her. “I’ll chat with Uncle Harold later. We have a lot to catch up on.” I didn’t dare ask if Harold slept in one spot or if he floated around all day. Aunt Fern and I never discussed those kind of details, mostly because I didn’t believe in ghosts—or at least never had before. Oh, how one day could change my view on life.
“He’d love that. I know he gets a little bored talking to me all the time.”
Once my aunt left, I fished out my laptop and searched for Floyd Paxton’s obituary. No surprise, Iggy was perched next to me, totally excited about our potential new adventure.
“There,” he said, as I scrolled the online Obit section of the newspaper.
“I see it. It says that Floyd Paxton was survived by his wife, Emma Oliver Paxton, and his brother Charles. It doesn’t mention anyone else, but at least we can conclude that Morgan comes from Floyd’s wife’s side of the family since her maiden name was Oliver.”
Iggy hopped on my lap, probably to get a closer view. “It doesn’t say where Charles lives,” he said.
“No, but I’ll type in Morgan Oliver’s name into the computer and see what comes up.”
Iggy swished his tail. “This is like old times.”
I looked at him. “We’ve solved one crime. That doesn’t make us amateur detectives, you know.”
“Sure it does.”
I didn’t need to be arguing with him. After setting him back down onto the sofa cushion, I did a ZabaSearch on the Internet and found Morgan Oliver’s name. The address was from Liberty, Florida, which was about a thirty-minute drive from here. “He lived in Liberty,” I told Iggy.
“Let’s go,” Iggy said.
“Go where?”
“To Morgan’s hometown. I bet the sheriff there will know what happened to him. He must have a list of suspects a mile long.”
“That’s true, but the department won’t tell me any details. Morgan’s murder is still unsolved, or so he seems to think.” I snapped my fingers. “Steve could find out though.”
“Good thinking.”
Before I left to pick the sheriff’s brain, I searched for open murder cases in Liberty, together with Morgan’s name. Sure enough, there were a few articles about his death, but no one had been arrested. This confirmed—at least to me—that I had really seen a ghost.
“What are you going to ask hunky Steve?” Iggy asked.
“That’s Sheriff Rocker or Sheriff Steve to you. Be respectful.”
Iggy stuck his tongue out at me. “I promise not to call him that to his face.”
My familiar knew that Steve couldn’t hear him anyway. “Thank you. Since my ghost lived close to here, I can’t tell Steve he was a lost relative. I’ll have to come up with
something plausible.”
“Do you know if Morgan Oliver was married?” Iggy asked.
“No, but I’m not saying he’s my ex-husband if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It was worth a shot.”
Iggy was crazy. “I have his address. I’ll talk to a few neighbors to see what they know.”
“That could be dangerous.” Iggy wasn’t often this protective, but I was pleased to know he cared.
“It could be, but if the killer murdered Morgan, he probably got what he wanted—whatever that was. But don’t worry. I’m not a too-stupid-to-live person who hears a noise at night and then goes downstairs to investigate. Nope. Not me. I am careful.”
“Sure, you are,” Iggy said.
“Fine. It might be dangerous, but I can’t ask the sheriff to investigate. Liberty isn’t part of his jurisdiction. Besides, he’ll want to know why I have a sudden interest in this case.”
“Tell him the truth. What harm can it do? He already thinks you’re a little strange.”
Sadly, that was true. “Okay, I’ll give it a try, but you’re still not coming with me.” There was only so much strange a person could handle at one time.
“Fine. I’ll find Aimee and try to smooth things out between us.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea. You do realize that lying about what Aimee said is totally unacceptable, don’t you? Women like honesty.”
Iggy lifted his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I grabbed my keys and phone, locked the front door, and left. Aunt Fern was downstairs, but since she was cashing someone out, I waved and then scurried out. Being the ever-curious person that she was, I expected her to watch me cross the street and then enter the sheriff’s office.
When I stepped inside the building, I smelled the wonderful scent of chocolate chip cookies right before I spotted a pile of them on a plate on the receptionist’s desk. I was surprised Pearl hadn’t ingested them all by now. She loved her sweets.
“Glinda. Here to get your ticket punched?” Pearl asked with a smile.
“Excuse me?”
She laughed. “Don’t you remember the last time you were here I said that if you visit nine times, you get a cookie on the tenth visit?”
“I do, but I thought you were kidding.” Though how embarrassing was it that Steve’s grandmother was actually keeping track of how often I showed up? I had come quite often during the former deputy’s murder investigation.
“What can we do for you today?” Pearl asked, her face rather animated.
“I’d like to speak with the sheriff. It’s about a murder.”
Pearl’s lined face paled. “A murder? Who? When?”
I’d stepped in it now. I waved a hand. “It’s an old case that has caught my interest. I thought Steve—I mean Sheriff Rocker—might have heard of it. It happened over in Liberty.” I didn’t want to be forced to tell her about my ghost sighting. If I could figure out a way to learn about Morgan’s death without revealing that I was a weirdo, I would, but I also didn’t want to lie. I needed Steve Rocker on my side.
“Let me buzz my grandson.”
It wasn’t as if he was in another office. He was at his old deputy desk about fifteen feet behind her. Pearl called him, and he picked up right away. As he spoke to his grandmother, he swiveled his desk chair and faced us. It was interesting that he hadn’t moved into the sheriff’s office. Maybe he was waiting until he had a deputy.
Once he hung up, Steve smiled and waved me over. I was pretty sure that as soon as I told him what I saw, he’d never see me in the same way again.
“Glinda.”
“Sheriff, I have a dilemma.” I didn’t want to dance around the truth.
He motioned I take a seat. “What can I help you with today? Did you find out someone didn’t die like they were supposed to?”
That might have happened a time or two before. Just not today. “This is not about a dead body. At least not in the way you think.”
He leaned back in his chair and twirled the pencil that had been in his hand. I so wanted to wipe the amused look off his face. I didn’t know what it would take for him to believe I had powers.
“Talk to me. I have the time. Witch’s Cove has been rather calm since Cliff’s death. Not even a robbery—except for the one at Floyd Paxton’s place.”
“Funny you should mention that. Do you have any leads as to who robbed him?”
His cheer disappeared. “No. Considering Floyd’s house was such a mess, it would take ten years to dust everything for prints. There was nothing on the front door knob, other than the deceased’s prints. Why? Do you know something?”
“Not exactly. What about his wife? Did you ever locate her? Maybe she has an idea what was taken.”
He studied me for a few seconds, probably trying to decide whether to tell me anything. “We’ve not been able to find her.”
“If you can believe one of the Daniels sisters, Floyd killed his wife and buried her on his property.”
The sheriff froze. “That is a rather gruesome thought. Considering Floyd’s farm spans over a hundred acres, I doubt we’d find her even if we looked. Not only that, we don’t have the manpower to do such a large search. At the moment, I’m the only one on the force.”
“Do you plan to hire a deputy?”
“Yes, as soon as we find someone suitable. It’s in the mayor’s hands right now.”
I crossed my legs, pretending to look relaxed. “Good to know. You said that wolves killed Floyd. Do you still think that’s true?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I? The medical examiner confirmed it was an animal attack.”
“I see. Well, if Emma Paxton is alive, I imagine she stands to inherit the farm. I would think she’d come back at some point.” I wasn’t ready to discuss Morgan just yet.
“I agree, assuming she’s learned her husband has died. But the problem is that Floyd’s nephew on his wife’s side was the beneficiary—not her. We looked into it.” Steve twisted toward his computer and tapped a few keys. “We scanned the will. The nephew is Morgan Oliver. He inherited the land and the house. Not Emma.”
Problem solved. I wasn’t sure if I should mention that Morgan was dead and that I’d spoken with him. “Did you question him? Maybe Morgan Oliver trashed the place. He could have been looking for the will.”
Steve’s eyes widened. “He might have, but why are you interested? Floyd Paxton wasn’t murdered, or do you like to snoop in every legal case?”
What seemed clear, was that Steve thought I was trying to step on his toes. “No, I don’t, but I’ve met Morgan Oliver.”
His brows rose. “Is that so? When?”
“Today.”
He laughed. “You have the wrong guy then, because the sheriff over in Liberty told me Morgan Oliver was murdered last week. She let me know as a courtesy since he stood to inherit the farm in our county, which now, obviously, he won’t.”
The sheriff was a woman? It would make sense for them to join forces. “Does she know who killed him?”
“I didn’t ask. If Morgan Oliver was the one to ransack Floyd’s house, then it’s not like he can be prosecuted now, can he?” the sheriff said.
This wasn’t going as planned. “Okay, because I need your help, I have to come right out and tell you the truth.”
His eyebrows rose. “Please do. I need some entertainment today.”
I was tempted to leave, but I’d promised Morgan that I’d help him. The question was where to begin. Discussing Iggy and his desire to change back to green would give Steve a reason to commit me. “Do you remember this morning when you saw me talking to myself?”
“Yes. You were practicing a speech to deliver to your mom.”
“That was what I said, but that wasn’t true.” And here I had just preached to Iggy about always telling the truth. I was such a hypocrite.
“I figured.”
Then why did he pretend as if he believed me? It didn’t matter. I inhaled. “Here goes
.”
Chapter Five
“I was talking to a ghost—Morgan Oliver’s ghost to be exact,” I said.
I couldn’t believe how hard my heart was beating. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I cared what Steve thought of me. I should have gone to Drake first. My best male friend understood about Iggy and magic potions. He wouldn’t have laughed, like Steve Rocker was trying hard not to do.
“You spoke to a ghost? Hmm. I find that fascinating.” His lips twitched upward.
“I’m serious,” I said.
“I am too. Tell me more.”
He didn’t believe me. If I didn’t need his information, I would have left. “The short of it was that I was trying to do a spell—for what or for whom doesn’t matter. The point is that it went wrong. Really wrong, and I ended up being able to see ghosts. Believe me when I say that until today, I absolutely didn’t believe in them—at all! It didn’t matter that Aunt Fern claims she can see her dead husband. Uncle Harold apparently talks to her every day, but I thought it was all in her head.”
“Hmm. Talking to ghosts is a little out there.”
“I agree. I wouldn’t believe me either, but the fact remains, I saw one and had a conversation with Morgan Oliver. Because he was a bit transparent, I believed I either walked right through him the first time or brushed against him. That means he was definitely a ghost.”
“I need to do a little research, but how did you know it was him?”
“He told me his name and then said that he’d been murdered.” From the way Steve’s eyes had changed to a darker color, he didn’t believe me. Or was the light changing in the room?
“Your ghost was transparent?” Steve asked.
That’s what he got out of my comment? “Yes. As in, I could almost see through him, but not quite. For a ghost to be seen, he has to use a lot of energy—or so he said. As it was, Morgan was only visible for maybe two minutes, but he showed me the bullet hole in his back—or rather I saw the back of his bloodstained shirt.”
Steve pressed his lips together and then withdrew a yellow pad of paper from his desk drawer. “What was your ghost wearing?” This time his tone was quite professional.