The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery by Kimberly Alice

Author:Kimberly, Alice [Kimberly, Alice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group
Published: 2008-12-23T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

Under the Rug

The first time we met I told you I was a detective. Get it through your lovely head. I work at it, lady. I don’t play at it.

—The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler, 1939

WITH MY WORRIES somewhat lightened, I headed back into the “salon” and wandered over to the small crowd gathered around Seymour’s “bar”—really a mahogany table covered with liquor bottles, buckets of ice, and an industrial-sized blender.

“Borrowed the blender from Seymour’s ice cream truck,” Hardy Miles informed me when I asked.

Hardy was tonight’s bartender. He was also Seymour’s friend and fellow mail carrier. Sadie and I knew him as a good customer. He favored crime novels by Elmore Leonard and Carl Hiaasen. He also spent the busy summer seasons moonlighting weekends at the notorious girly bar out on the highway, so I wasn’t surprised to see him moving swiftly and efficiently. The man knew how to mix a drink.

“What d’ya have, Mrs. McClure?”

“It’s a little warm and I’m plenty thirsty. What do you suggest?”

His florid face grinned. “How about an iced tea?”

“Great. Sounds refreshing,” I said—naively, as it turned out. The first gulp singed my throat, and I realized Hardy had mixed me a Long Island Iced Tea. “Wow, this drink’s strong.”

Hey, doll? Jack piped up in my head.

“Yes?” I replied between multiple sips.

Before you start heading down that short road to Stinko, you might want to consider a few things.

“What things?”

Just because your pal’s taking the night off from worrying doesn’t mean your perpetrator’s taking the night off from reattempting murder.

I sputtered, choking on my spiked tea.

“Let me freshen that,” Hardy said, taking the glass from my hand.

“Okay, Jack,” I silently whispered. “What’s your theory? Do you suspect the sister? Or do you think Fiona has a point—that someone’s got a grudge against Seymour?”

The grudge theory’s possible. But then, what would the person gain, putting the mailman six feet under?

“Vengeance, I suppose.”

Vengeance don’t buy new shoes for baby. I’m bettin’ someone’s goin’ for the big prize.

“You mean the inheritance? This house and land?”

Don’t you remember what that slip-and-fall jockey said? If your postal pal gets himself croaked before the title officially transfers, the house goes to Miss Todd’s next of kin—which would be the old woman’s—

“Sister,” I said.

“A twist?” Hardy said. “Of course you can have a twist, Mrs. McClure.” He finished the drink and handed me the newly filled glass.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, then quickly stepped away.

Get a lead on the sister. Something just don’t smell right with her trying so hard to stay anonymous.

“Well, whoever she is, she can’t be here now,” I silently whispered. “I know everyone in this room. They’re all friends of Seymour or town locals I’ve known for some time as customers.”

That doesn’t mean they’re clean, doll. Lift up the rug of most Johnny Do-Rights and you’ll find some amount of dirt. Plenty of people will do just about anything for a big enough payoff.

“Surely not anyone Sadie and I know.”

The person who sabotaged those brakes might very well be in this room.

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