Murder at the Pumpkin Patch: Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery #12 by London Lovett

Author:London Lovett [Lovett, London]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wild Fox Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

But how is that possible?" Jackson asked for the third time. He was wearing what I imagined was the exact same expression I wore when Dex mentioned he'd keep the tall Englishman a secret. "I thought Edward was in charge of who can see and hear him." We'd taken a walk so that Edward wouldn't hear the conversation. After Dex left the inn, Edward had disappeared for awhile. I found him on the front stoop, having one of his longing for nature moments. The whole revelation that there were others like him, even people he'd known in the flesh, had hit him hard. I just couldn't tell if it had hit him in a good way or bad. Then there was always Edward's third emotion, the one he turned to often, indifference.

"There are other people like Dex Sheffield out in the world. People who can see and communicate with spirits that are invisible and silent to everyone else," I said. "I don't have his ability. I never saw Edward until he made a point of revealing himself to me. You, on the other hand, might have some of that sixth sense, but I think, in this case, you only heard Edward because you are his direct descendant."

We had started off toward Emily's farm. The sun had set enough to leave a smoky pink sky behind. A brisk breeze blew across Emily's pastures, carrying with it the earthy fragrance of brown grass. Winter would soon arrive to finish off any signs of life in the pasture, and Buttercup would be reliant on the orchard grass that had been cut and baled in summer.

"Do you think this guy, Dex, will keep Edward's existence to himself? Doesn't seem possible. Those ghost hunters on television make a huge production out of hearing a gust of wind. Can you imagine if they were to actually see and talk to a spirit? That'd be a big money maker."

"Dex has spoken to a lot of ghosts, people from various centuries he's met on his travels, and we've certainly never heard about any of them. I was a major skeptic until Edward appeared in all his nineteenth century glory in the middle of my kitchen."

Jackson peered over at me. "Glory? Sometimes I wonder if I should be jealous, then I remind myself that he's transparent and that a good breeze can erase his head." Right then, a gust of wind rushed through the trees, causing both of us to zip up our coats.

"I'm pretty sure you don't need to be jealous. Besides"—I squeezed his hand—"you are Detective Jackson."

The wind ruffled his thick hair. "Good point."

"And there's no questioning your relation to the equally humble Edward Beckett."

"I guess not. As long as Dex keeps his word, it seems we have nothing to worry about. The bed and breakfast can go on as planned."

I tugged his hand to stop our progress. I turned to Jackson. "Dex said there are other people like him. Not many but they're out there.

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