Cold Cases and Haunted Places

by Trixie Silvertale

  “But seriously,” she said with a yawn. “What happens?”

  “Mr. Ballinger has a new book coming out,” I said. I couldn’t bring myself to use his first name, not with a literary God like Bob Ballinger. “If we’re lucky, he’ll read us part of it, and then he’ll answer questions. There’s normally a chance to get your books signed, but…”

  “Phew!” Sage exclaimed. “Sounds like the whole thing will take 10 minutes. We’ll be home in no time. I’m dressing up as a sexy wench, you know.”

  Sage was always dressing up as a sexy something, even when she wasn’t trying.

  “An hour or two, max,” I said with a smile.

  Sage’s face fell. “Is he reading the whole book?!”

  “It’s the questions,” I explained, as I reached into my handbag and pulled out a neatly typed page of six questions I’d prepared. I doubted that I’d have the confidence to ask any of them, but it was nice to pretend.

  Sage raised an eyebrow. “What on earth could you want to ask?”

  “Oh,” I said, self-conscious, “just where he gets his inspiration from, that kind of thing.”

  Sage made a noise as if the buzzer for a wrong answer had been pressed, like on the game shows we watched.

  “You need to make your question count,” Sage said. She sidled across the room and stood by my side. “And use the red lip gloss. It has the wow factor.”

  I eyed the lip gloss uncertainly.

  “Go on, then,” I said, partly to distract Sage from the fact that I wasn’t using the lip liner she wanted me to. “What would a good question be?”

  She pondered that as she floated across the room. Outside the window, the sky began to grow dark.

  “Not that easy, is it?” I prompted. I inspected my reflection. I looked okay. I was ready to meet my idol. I just hoped I didn’t faint when he took the stage.

  I glanced at Sage, who had a mischievous grin on her face. “You couldn’t think of a good question?”

  “Of course I could,” she said. She leaned in and adopted her most husky voice. “Tell me, Bob, am I the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen… or just in the top three?”

  She leaned back and let out a throaty laugh, and I wondered just what the night had in store for us.

  2

  My feet had frozen to the ground as soon as we reached the gutted-out house on the edge of town. It was a strange venue for the reading to be held, but atmospheric. The shadows of the gnarled trees looked like hideous faces peering through the broken windows, and the very wood of the front facade creaked and groaned as if unhappy to see us.

  “This is it? You’re sure?” Sage asked as she peered up at it.

  “It’s to create some atmosphere,” I shrugged.

  “Well, come on then,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  My feet refused to move.

  “What’s wrong?” Sage asked, but before I could answer, an older woman appeared in the doorway.

  “You got tickets?” She barked across, her voice gravel. I held out my hand and she put on a pair of purple-framed glasses and inspected them. Her eyelashes were so long they brushed against the glass. “You’re late. I could turn you away, you know?”

  My heart thumped in my chest. Sage would be delighted if we never even got inside!

  “That’s my fault,” Sage said, to my surprise. “I’m sorry. And my sister here, she’s an enormous fan of Mr Babbinby. Please don’t punish her for my own bad timekeeping.”

  The woman inspected Sage over her glasses, then burst into laughter. She removed her glasses and carefully wiped her eyes. The eyelashes had to be fake, surely? “Babbinby! That’s the best one yet! Come on, get inside. In this business, every head counts. Even the dead ones.”

  And then she gave me a little pull, and I was inside the gloom of the old house. Wallpaper hung from the walls and the whole place smelled like damp, but as we followed the woman through the house it was clear that the talk itself was being held in a room less abandoned than the others.

  A small cluster of hard backed chairs had been arranged in a semi-circle. The room was lit by candles, almost a hundred of them I felt sure, and a brassy blonde woman stood in the far corner of the room chewing gum.

  “Luckily, Mr Babbinby isn’t that great with his own timekeeping,” our guide explained, gesturing to the room. I thanked her and we sank down into two of the empty seats. There were several to choose from, and I shook my head at the idea that Bob Ballinger’s talk hadn’t sold out within minutes. How could anyone not want to see him?!

  “Well, she’s a hoot,” Sage leaned in and whispered.

  “You got his name wrong,” I hissed back.

  The man on the other side of Sage leaned towards us with a toothy grin. “I’m a big fan! Excited to be here! Travelled all the way up from Missouri, set off last night. Where have you come in from?”

  “Oh,” I felt my cheeks flush, as if I was losing a competition I hadn’t entered. “We live right here in town.”

  “Ah,” the man said. His interest in us seemed to disappear with that answer.

  “Fun crowd, huh?” Sage muttered. I did a quick head count. Ten. Ten people!

  “They’re intellectuals,” I said.

  “They all look like they need a stiff...” Her voice trailed off, and her mouth gaped open. I followed her gaze. Bob Ballinger himself had just appeared, apparently arriving by transporting himself through one of the walls.

  “You didn’t tell me he was…”

  “A ghost?” I asked, with a smile. “Yep. He died five years ago. This is his first book tour since his death.”

  “A ghost?” Sage still hadn’t taken her eyes off him. “I was going to say gorgeous. I mean, drop dead handsome. Literally.”

  I smirked at her and took a closer look at Bob Ballinger. It had always been his words that had impressed me. He had a way of reaching out from the page and grabbing me by the emotions. But I had to admit, he was pretty darn easy on the eye.

  “Maybe this won’t be such a horrible night, after all,” Sage gushed as she leaned forward to get a closer look.

  3

  “Good evening and thank you for choosing to spend your Halloween with the late, great, Mr. Bob Ballinger! I’m Jessica Lovelace and it’s my greatest pleasure to introduce you to our talented speaker.” The woman in the purple-framed spectacles took a glug from a fish bowl glass.

  “Bob will be reading an extract from his latest book, Five Scents of Grief, and then he’ll answer questions. We’ll finish here by 9pm prompt and I’ll be in need of a good bar! I think that’s it.”

  The blonde woman leaned in from the corner and murmured something.

  Jessica pulled a face but returned the microphone to her face. “Meet our glamorous assistant - literally, she’s Bob’s assistant. Rita tells me I should guide you all through what to do if there’s a fire. Which I find surprising since I’m not your mother. But, okay. If there’s a fire, find the nearest door and run. And now, please give a warm welcome to Mr. Bob Ballinger!”

  The small crowd began to clap and the man next to Sage actually whooped a little as Bob Ballinger swept across the front of the room. I found that I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the dimples in his cheek. Sage had clearly ruined me.

  “Good evening, it’s so great to be here. Mystic Springs sure looks fun. Well, I’m B-b-b-b-b-b-b, I’m B-b-b-b-b-bob B-b-b-b-b-b, B-b-b-b-b-ballinger,” he let out a breath and smiled self-consciously towards us. “And that’s the hardest part of the night over.”

  He was even better than I’d hoped. He was modest, he laughed at himself, and his reading of a short section from his new release even fixed Sage’s attention!

  “Thank you, Bob,” Jessica purred as she joined him at the front of the room. Everyone clapped, including her and Rita the assistant. I clapped until my palms hurt. I felt like a giddy schoolgirl and I didn’t mind one bit. “Questions?”

  “Are you asking a question?” Sage whispered acros
s to me.

  I recoiled and shook my head. I didn’t even dare remind her of her own question.

  “I’m Trevor Haynes,” the first question came. “Reporter with the Daily Whisper.”

  “Ah,” Bob offered a smile but some of his calm air had gone. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “And you, buddy,” the reporter sneered. He was all teeth, cramming out of his mouth at every angle. “Wondered if we can get a quote from you.”

  “Of course,” Bob’s eyes darted towards his agent

  “Speak to me and we’ll do that later,” Jessica said.

  “Bob, humour me? It’s a simple question. I just wanted to know how you managed it. How did you get away with murdering Alberto?”

  The room took a collective gasp, but it was Rita who stormed down the aisle in the middle of the rows of chairs, grabbed the reporter by the back of his jacket, and manhandled him out of the building. He laughed all the way out, no doubt already planning the headlines he’d be able to write.

  4

  It was impossible for a ghost to pace the room, of course, mainly due to the lack of feet. But Bob Ballinger did a fine job of getting as close to pacing the room as he could.

  An awkward silence fell over the room, and Bob’s agent seemed as clueless as everyone else.

  “Should we leave?” I whispered.

  Sage glared at me. “Right when the evening’s getting interesting? No way! Darn it, if I could eat I’d ask you to pass the popcorn.”

  I scrunched my brow. I had no popcorn.

  Sage rolled her eyes at me. “You know, it’s a saying. Pass the popcorn, so we can watch the show. Honestly, Connie, I wonder which one of us is dead sometimes.”

  The front door banged shut and Rita returned, her cheeks red and a grim expression on her face.

  The humble crowd began to leave, until only us and Derek remained.

  “It reminds me of what happened in Raleigh in 2012,” he said. It was unclear who he was talking to. “There was such a heckler that night. Really put Bob off his rhythm.”

  “What was that reporter talking about?” Sage asked him. “Who’s Alberto?”

  Derek looked her up and down as if she’d just broken wind and blamed the dog. “Alberto Duncan-Smythe.”

  Her gaze was blank.

  “He was one of Bob’s old co-authors,” I said. I knew the name but had never been a fan of the co-written work.

  “Incorrect,” Derek hissed. He leaned in towards me. “Bob only ever had one co-author.”

  “And that was Alberto?” Sage asked.

  “Exactly,” Derek confirmed. “Then Alberto went off and found huge fame on his own. Made a lot of enemies and then he died.”

  “He died or he was killed?” Sage pushed.

  Derek returned his gaze towards Bob Ballinger, who had stopped pacing and stared across the room with a hollow expression. “Just look at that man. He isn’t capable of hurting anyone or anything. That rumour’s followed him like a bad smell because people are jealous.”

  “So that reporter isn’t the first person to mention it?”

  Derek let out a giggle. “Oh, girl, you’re so out of touch. Bless your heart. The newspapers did a whole exposé at the time of Alberto’s death, and it keeps being dug up again and again. Sometimes, a reader will ask Bob about Alberto, but innocent questions. A reporter’s never turned up and asked a question like that before.”

  “Isn’t that unusual? That the reporters weren’t turning up earlier?”

  Derek shrugged and shot a glance towards Jessica. “I guess the staff aren’t being that careful with who they let in.”

  “You know her?” I asked.

  Derek pulled a face. “Well enough. Jessica Lovelace has been his agent for decades. She was Alberto’s agent too. Back in the day.”

  “You should look into it,” Sage muttered.

  “No, no way,” I argued. “I’m just here for a nice night out. I mean, was his death even suspicious?”

  Derek clapped his hands as if we were finally getting to the best bit. “Totally suspicious! He was sent a proof copy of Bob’s latest book, which was totally unusual. Turned out there was a tiny spot of anthrax in the package. And that was enough to kill him.”

  “Wow,” I said. I must have heard the news at the time, but I wouldn’t have paid attention since I’d never been a big fan of Alberto’s.

  “Connie, if you’re such an admirer of his, you need to help him clear his name,” Sage said. We both looked at Bob’s wretched face. “An eternity of being falsely accused sounds about as much fun as… well, as much fun as tonight sounded!”

  “Are you cops?” Derek asked.

  “Connie’s an amateur sleuth,” Sage said. I winced. I didn’t consider myself to be any such thing. “She’s solved murders before.”

  “Oh-Em-Gee!” Derek exclaimed. “Get up there, girl! This is too amazing!”

  I was half-pushed out of my seat by Derek, and cleared my throat as I approached Bob Ballinger.

  “Mr. Ballinger?” I said. He looked at me and offered a weak smile. “I’m Connie Winters. I’m a fan, a big fan. I mean, not as big a fan as Derek since I haven’t been to every… anyway, erm. I wanted to offer my services. See if I could help clear your name?”

  “Absolutely not!” A voice barked from behind me. I turned to see Rita up close, where I could smell the musky scents of her perfume and what seemed to be a fairly strong smoking habit. “Bob won’t be needing your help, thank you.”

  “Rita,” Bob’s voice was velvet and soft clouds and I could listen to him talk all day. He gave me an apologetic smile. “My assistant is excellent at protecting me. But I might be interested. This situation has gone on for too long. Not to mention, Alberto deserves justice. You’re a… you’re a police detective?”

  I straightened my back and met his gaze, even as my insides transformed to a huge butterfly pit. With a deep breath, I told him, “I’m an amateur sleuth.”

  5

  Bob assured me that Jessica Lovelace, his agent, would have some interesting things to tell me about Alberto.

  I found her pouring herself another top-up drink.

  “Jessica?”

  “Yes, dear,” she drawled. “Fabulous, isn’t he?”

  “Oh,” I looked back at Bob, who had gone back to his ghostly impression of pacing. “He really is. You’re his agent?”

  She nodded and took another sip.

  “You must have some stories to tell,” I said and, to my horror, I winked. I’d never been a person who winked, finding the gesture to be completely staged and embarrassing. But it seemed appropriate. I felt my cheeks flush afterwards. My own body was mortified by my willingness to go against my principles so that I could help a handsome man. Very handsome. Not just regular handsome. Anyway, enough of that.

  “Sure do,” she said. “Let’s go into the other room.”

  I followed her and, as we passed, Derek gave me a thumbs up. He was a man who would wink at every opportunity, I thought.

  In the front room, roughly a third of the floorboards were missing and the large bay window was missing most of its glass. There was nowhere to sit.

  “So, what do you want to know?” Jessica asked.

  “I want to help clear Bob’s name,” I said.

  “Uh huh, that right? Well, the first thing you need to know is, there wouldn’t be any shortage of people who wanted to kill Alberto,” Jessica said. She looked past me, as if replaying the past. “He was a fine writer, nobody could argue that. And he seemed like a fine man, too, until he had a sniff of the big time.”

  “What did he do?” I asked.

  “He disappeared,” Jessica said. I raised my eyebrows. “Not like that. He just disappeared from our lives. I’d been his agent for years, him and Bob came as a pair back then. He hired some fancy lawyers to get out of our contract.”

  “That must have been… annoying?”

  “Annoying? He did me out of millions of dollars,” Jessica said, but then she
laughed.

  “Wow,” I mouthed.

  “Wow indeed,” Jessica agreed. “But he treated us all the same. Bob was forgotten overnight. Alberto even ditched his lover. Everyone from his old life, removed without warning.”

  “He abandoned you all. And then he receives a copy of Bob’s book in the post, and it has anthrax on it?”

  “That’s about the sum of it,” Jessica said.

  “Who had access to the book at that stage? Who could have done it?”

  “One of us, of course. Bob, or me, or Rita. And I know I didn’t do it.” Jessica said.

  “It couldn’t have been anyone else?”

  “It could have been anyone in the world, I guess. It could have been Derek, Mr. Super Fan. They often go a little crazy at some point, you know, the superfans.”

  “You think it was Derek?”

  “No, dear,” Jessica said. “If you want my honest opinion, I think Bob probably did do it. And I don’t blame him one bit.”

  6

  “We need to talk to Bob,” I whispered to Sage.

  “I can do it,” Sage offered. She was far too keen.

  “We’ll do it together,” I said. “That’s the best offer you’re going to get.”

  “Fine!” She snapped. “What’s your plan?”

  “I don’t have one,” I admitted. “Jessica said she thinks Bob did it.”

  “They sound like the words of a guilty woman,” Sage said. “Push the blame on to someone else and quick.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “If she really thought Bob was the killer, why wouldn’t she report him?”

  “You asked her that?” Sage enquired.

  “Well… no,” I admitted. Our conversation had been interrupted by trick-or-treaters. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Bob Ballinger had, thankfully, stopped pacing.

  “Mr Ballinger?” I said. He turned and offered a weak smile.

  “Call me B-B-B-B-B-Bob,” he offered.