When Good Ghosts Get the Blues: A Beechwood Harbor Ghost Mystery by Garrett Danielle

Author:Garrett, Danielle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

When preparing to make a deal with the devil—or, in this case, a homicidal ghost—it’s best to get a second opinion before signing on the dotted line. I thought about calling Holly, but decided against it. I’d bothered her enough, and considering she’d sent the ghosts through the mysterious haven network instead of herself, I had to assume she was busy. It was rare for me to break down and admit I needed backup, so when I crossed Holly off my mental list, I was left casting about for a second option.

There was only one other place I could think to go, even if the name made Flapjack snicker when we were standing out front of the shop. “Madame Firefly’s Mirror of Truth? Wow, you weren’t kidding about the hokey name.”

I read the sign again and winced. “It’s a little cheesy, but they might have some information about the Saint Charles ghost.”

“You really think this Lilah is going to talk to us?” Gwen asked.

“I don’t see why not,” I replied. Flapjack had filled Gwen and Hayward in on who we were looking for during the walk to Madame Firefly’s shop. “We’re trying to help, not make a profit or put the whole thing on TV like Gilbert Jenkins.”

I drew in a deep breath and then reached for the door. The longer I stood out front, the more tangled up I’d get. Time to rip off the Band-Aid.

The bell jingled and for a moment, my heart squeezed, recalling the easy-breezy happiness I’d felt the first time I’d crossed the shop’s threshold. Lucas had been holding my hand, smiling at me, and everything felt right in the world. It was almost comical how different the circumstances were on the second visit, just days later.

“Whoa!” Flapjack exclaimed. “This must be what it would look like if Aunt Zelda and Hilda had a garage sale.”

“Who?” Gwen asked him.

“Zelda and Hilda Spellman? From Sabrina the Teenage Witch,” Flapjack said, with much scorn and indignation. “I swear, you’re wasting your afterlife.”

Hayward puffed out his chest. “Some of us use the time to better ourselves, not fill our heads with mindless television.”

Flapjack snorted. “Says the man who hasn’t missed an episode of Days of Our Lives in at least a decade.”

Gwen giggled. “Really?”

Hayward’s mustache twitched as he muttered something under his breath.

The curtains behind the front counter billowed and Marla appeared with a pleasant smile. I took a few hurried steps forward to distance myself from the bickering ghosts.

“Good afternoon,” Marla greeted. “Can I help you find something specific this afternoon?”

If she noticed the ghosts, she made no indication of it. Her dark eyes remained trained on my own as I approached the counter. “I was actually here to see if you might be able to give me some information on some local folklore. I’m sure you know all the good ghost stories around here.”

“Ghost stories?” Marla repeated, a twinge of something—disappointment, maybe—showing at her eyes. “I’m not sure I have any worth telling. There are dozens of ghost tours in this city.

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