Mrs. Morris and the Ghost by Traci Wilton

Author:Traci Wilton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2019-05-27T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Taking a chance, Charlene called Parker from the parking lot of the pub—he’d worked inside the house on that gorgeous wine cellar. He might have heard more than he’d let on.

“’Lo,” Parker answered.

Unlike her previous phone call with Shauna, Charlene was prepared. “Parker, this is Charlene Morris. I just need a moment of your time.”

He exhaled. “You’ve got three minutes before my show comes back on.”

“Okay. I’ll get straight to the point—I would like to hire you to finish the wine cellar.” For Jack—it would make him happy, after his awful blow today. “And I’d like a sign for my bed and breakfast out of wood.”

“Okay,” he said cautiously. “I can come by your house tomorrow.”

“Wonderful.” She gripped her phone tight. “Shauna Strathmore Rowlings is dead.”

“Saw that on the news.” No inflection at all.

“Was Shauna having an affair when married to Jack?”

“Won’t hurt to tell you now; she was.”

This part hurt really bad because she so much didn’t want it to be true. “Was Jack having one too?”

“Gotta go,” Parker said. “Spin the Wheel’s back. Can’t miss the big questions.” And then Charlene was listening to a dial tone, wondering if he was spinning hers.

By the time she got home, the house was dark with the exception of the porch light, which glowed amber against the shadows of the evening. Jack hadn’t lit the chandelier for her.

Minnie had left the kitchen sparkling clean. Silva waited for her by the cellar door. “Now that you live here,” she said in a mock-stern voice, “you get water and cat food. No more diced chicken, got it?”

Silva purred and flicked her tail, and she could feel the cat’s contentment—as if the Persian knew she’d won the round.

“Jack?”

Nothing.

Charlene put on a romantic comedy in her living room, missing Jared—but okay, too, with Silva curled next to her on the love seat. This was her home, her life, and she was living it.

Morning came with bright rays sneaking through the lace curtains to shine on her face. She’d fallen asleep on the love seat and now paid the price with a crick in her neck. Her phone rang, and she reached for it on the coffee table.

“Hello?”

“Charlene? It’s Sam. Sorry to wake you on a Saturday morning, but I’ll need you to come down to the station and fill out a report. I have some questions for you as well.”

Oh, professional Sam, not I am a patient man Sam. “Sure. I can be there in an hour.” She stood and stretched. “Did you find out who broke into Shauna’s house? Was she murdered, Sam?”

“Why don’t you come on down,” he said in a softer voice. “I will explain everything then.”

Charlene made herself a cup of coffee and took it into the bedroom with her. She turned the faucet on in the shower and while the old pipes heated, she sat down on the edge of the bed to drink her java. Her thoughts were running a mile a minute. Shauna was dead. She might have been the last person to have spoken to her.

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