The Ghost and the Femme Fatale - Haunted Bookshop 04 Read online

  During the short drive down Cranberry Street, Jack reminded me to get going with the grilling, and I cleared my throat.

  "So, Bud, what did you think about that accident last night at the theater?"

  Bud cursed and shook his head. "I won't take the fall for that one. No way," he declared.

  "Who's blaming you?" I asked.

  "Who isn't? Your pal the Brainiac for starters." Bud's calloused fingers squeezed the steering wheel. "That's the thanks I get for stepping in at the last second when that fancy restoration firm in Newport couldn't be bothered with final fixes."

  A bicyclist swerved into Bud's path. He hit the van's brakes and horn. The van lurched, throwing me and Seymour forward and back.

  "Woah, Speed Racer, chill!" Seymour cried.

  "I've got a good crew. The best!" Bud continued, ignoring Seymour. "Not a bunch of bums hired off the street. My guys know what they're doing!"

  "Including Dixon Gallagher?" I asked.

  Bud frowned. "I know Dixon looks too young to be skilled, but believe me, he is. He's been working for me part-time for more than ten years. I taught him some, but he already knew plenty because his dad's a master electrician. When that boy finally gets over his rock-star fantasies and quits his garage band, you can bet he'll quit me, too, and start earning serious money in the union."

  "So Dixon hung the speaker?"

  "No, Pen. I hung that speaker myself, and I know the job was done right."

  I watched that cyclist in front of us pedal casually off to the side of the street, as if he hadn't almost been run over. Festival attendees took advantage of Bud's situation and jaywalked in front of his van. Bud cursed and honked again.

  "What did Chief Ciders say?" I asked.

  "That moron with a badge? He claims crossed electrical wires sparked a fire, which damaged the support rack and caused the speaker to drop onto the stage." Bud slammed the steering wheel. "That dog don't hunt, I tell you! I've been saying we need a real fire marshal in this town, not a bunch of know-nothing volunteers who see two wires within fifty feet of one another and immediately cry 'electrical fire.' "

  The street cleared and Bud pushed the pedal to the metal. I was forced back into my seat again as we raced the final few blocks. Then the van screeched to a halt in front of Buy the Book. Seymour immediately popped the door and hopped out.

  I stayed. "Tell me more."

  "There was no fire and no fire damage, Pen," Bud asserted. "The ceiling wasn't even scorched, and the fire alarm and sprinkler system never went off."

  "What do you think happened?"

  "The speaker was hung from the ceiling on a metal brace. One of the struts actually broke. Truth is, Penelope, I think a small explosive was used."

  "What?!"

  "I know it sounds crazy. But I also know construction materials. A short, electrical fire could not have generated enough heat to snap steel. A long fire might, but a fire of any duration would have left evidence. Smoke, scorching—and we'd have heard the fire alarms go off." A shadow crossed Bud's face. "I'm positive there was an explosion."

  "How could someone plant a bomb up there? On the ceiling?"

  "Easy. There's a ladder in the wings. It goes right up to a catwalk, which runs along the ceiling above the stage. The speaker mount was within easy reach of anyone standing on that catwalk."

  "But if it's vandalism, who did it? And why?"

  Bud couldn't answer that one, but I was sure someone else had some theories.

  "Jack? Are you hearing this?" I quietly asked the ghost.

  Yeah, baby. If someone blew the speaker to kill Hedda, they almost succeeded. It could have been little Harmony who'd arranged it. She was probably the only one who knew her granny was going to make a last-minute appearance.

  "You're right, Jack, but if the explosion had a remote device, it could have been triggered by anyone in the audience that night. You heard Seymour—he said Pierce Armstrong might be showing up at the festival. What if he's here already? Hedda testified against him at his trial. What if he was in the audience last night and rigged the speaker to kill Hedda in some kind of long- overdue revenge scheme?"

  Good call, baby. After all, old Hedda's been out of the spotlight for decades. Your pal Dr. Lilly said few people even knew she was still alive. It's darn coincidental that the first night she steps into the public light again, bam!

  "Hey!" Seymour cried from the sidewalk. "Are we gonna unload here or what?"

  I climbed down out of the van, then turned and leaned through the open window. "We'll talk about this later, Bud."

  Bud nodded, then left the cab and unlocked the rear doors. Despite the bumpy ride, everything looked fine. Seymour carried the thermal containers to the front door of the bookshop and set them down on the sidewalk. Rather than fumbling in my purse for the keys, I rang the bell. Sadie would show Seymour where to put the coffee when she came to the door. Meanwhile, I went back to retrieve the neat stack of boxed donuts from the back of Bud's van.

  Before I could grab the goodies, Bud jerked his head in the direction of the street. "Here comes trouble," he warned.

  I peered around the van's rear door—and my heart sunk.

  It was Councilwoman Marjorie Binder-Smith. She'd recently abandoned her wannabe-Hillary hairstyle for a "Nancy Pelosi look" (according to Colleen at the beauty shop). Her formerly short, blonde hair had been dyed chestnut brown and grown to her shoulders; her ubiquitous pantsuits were gone, replaced with calf-length skirts and sweater sets.

  A uniform of dark blue followed the woman as she charged across Cranberry Street, her hair rigid in the spring breeze. The Quindicott police officer had his hat pulled low, his gait was much slower than Marjorie's, his broad shoulders slumped.

  Abandoning the donuts, I moved to defuse what looked like a ticking bomb. "Good morning, Councilwoman," I said brightly. "You're looking senatorial today or should I say Madame Speaker-ish?"

  The councilwoman ignored my greeting, swung around to face the cop. Only then did I realize the policeman was my friend Eddie Franzetti.

  "Look at the condition of this sidewalk," the councilwoman told Officer Eddie with theatrical outrage. "There's garbage everywhere. It's just a disgrace, and a clear violation of the town's sanitation ordinances. I want you to issue a littering ticket to this business, right now."

  I looked down at the pavement around my feet. Okay, there were a few gum wrappers, paper cups, and napkins blowing around, but there was still more than an hour before we opened our doors—plenty of time for me to sweep the sidewalk.

  "Excuse me!" I interrupted. "We have an entire hour to deal with this little bit of rubbish, and we will."

  I was proud of taking a stand, but Marjorie Binder-Smith didn't appear impressed with my little protest. In fact, she was wearing the same smirk she'd worn the day she'd temporarily halted the restoration of the Movie Town Theater over some minor ordinance violation. It had taken an entire month for Brainert to straighten out the red tape—and it had cost him and his investors quite a bit of cash, too.

  "The ticket stands," the councilwoman declared with a note of finality. But her eyes were still boring into mine, as if waiting for me to challenge her. I was about to open my mouth when Bud Napp stepped between us.

  "Now wait just a doggone minute, Councilwoman," Bud said. "Everyone knows that storefront businesses have until opening hours to clean their sidewalks. It's standard practice around here."

  "What you people collectively do for your own convenience has nothing to do with the official rules on the town's books, Mr. Napp," the woman shot back. "And if it's not on the books, it doesn't exist. Not where I come from."

  Where's that? Down in the bunker with Eva and Adolph?

  "Shut it!" I told Jack.

  The councilwoman wheeled. "What did you say to me, Mrs. McClure?"

  Uh-oh. "Did I say that out loud?"

  Don't fold now, baby. Show some backbone!

  I knew Jack meant well, but I suspected arguing would
only make things worse.

  "Write that ticket, Officer Franzetti," Marjorie commanded.

  Eddie frowned as he opened his ticket book. He began to scribble, his eyes avoiding mine.

  "Come on, Marjorie," Bud said, stepping up to the woman. "Cut Pen a break. A warning is all she should get. She doesn't know about the town's ordinance."

  "Ignorance of the law is no excuse!" Marjorie asserted.

  Bud turned crimson. "Having an ignoramus like you write our laws is no excuse, either!"

  Now we're getting somewhere! Jack boomed in my head.

  I ignored Jack and jumped between the two. "Look, it's no big deal. Take it easy."

  An elbow dug into my ribs and I was thrust aside. "What did you call me?" the councilwoman cried.

  "I called you an ignoramus," Bud said. "I'd also like to add that you are a petty bureaucrat on some kind of twisted power trip!"

  I tried to step between them again, but Seymour pulled me back. "Let Bud go, Pen. Someone should have put a stake in that woman's heart and filled her mouth with garlic a long time ago."

  "I heard that!" Marjorie cried, wheeling on Seymour. "You'll be very sorry you said that, Mailman. And that goes double for you, Mr. Napp."

  I heard paper tear. Eddie Franzetti slipped the ticket into my hand.

  "What's going on here?" Aunt Sadie finally made an appearance, but not from inside the store. She was hurrying up to our group from down the street, carrying a Bogg's Office Supply and Stationery bag. "What's this?" she asked, snatching the ticket from my fingers.

  "It's a littering citation," Officer Franzetti informed her.

  "A two-hundred-dollar fine!" Sadie cried.

  Eddie shrugged. "I don't make the rules."

  Marjorie Binder-Smith was still sputtering. Finally she managed a coherent sentence. "I am going to sue you for slander, Bud Napp. You wait and see!" Then she faced Seymour. "And let's just see where you can park that ice cream truck of yours after the next town council meeting!"

  "You leave my ice cream truck out of this!" Seymour shot back.

  Bud stepped up to the councilwoman again. "You have more to worry about that an ice cream truck, Marjorie. I've decided. Right here and now—I'm going to run against you in the fall election. You wait and see—"

  The woman blinked. "What?"

  "I'm going to run against you and I'm going to beat you, too," Bud declared. "And when I take charge, I'm going to teach that band of parasites called a town council that you don't have to stick it to the small-business owners to raise town revenues. Got it?!"

  For a moment, it was so quiet you could have heard a gum wrapper drop (which probably would have earned me a second ticket). Marjorie glared at Bud for a good ten seconds but said nothing more to him. Instead, she whirled to face Eddie. "You come with me now. The sidewalk in front of that baker up the street is a mess, and so is the area around your family's pizza kitchen—"

  Eddie stopped in his tracks. The councilwoman placed her hands on her hips. "Or you can forget writing tickets, and I'll have a conversation with Chief Ciders about how one of his officers shows favoritism in how he applies the law."

  Marjorie spun around and headed for Cooper Family Bakery. Eddie hesitated for a moment—no doubt thinking about his wife and children, and pondering what they'd do if he lost his job.

  With an air of defeat, he followed the councilwoman across the street.

  "That witch," Sadie hissed, narrowing her eyes at the departing sweater set.

  "I prefer vampire," Seymour noted.

  I turned to Bud. "Did you mean what you said, Bud? Are you really going to run against Marjorie?"

  Bud watched the councilwoman's back, squinting like a sniper taking aim. "You bet I am!"

  Sadie exchanged glances with me. "Good!" we both said.

  I retrieved the donuts and as Bud locked up his truck, I thanked him again.

  "No trouble, Pen. Sure you don't need help getting those things inside?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "Seymour will help me."

  "Then I'm heading over to the theater." Bud climbed into his truck. "I want to check out the place before Brainert opens for the matinee."

  "What are you looking for?" I asked.

  Bud's face darkened. "I don't know."

  Seconds later, the van's engine roared, and Bud was speeding away. When I returned to the front door, Sadie was fumbling in her pocket for the keys.

  "Where were you?" I asked.

  "That banner behind the podium kept on falling," Sadie said. "I ran to the office supply store to buy industrial-strength staples."

  "That's okay, but you might have missed the delivery of Dr. Lilly's books."

  Sadie shook her head. "No chance of that. Dr. Lilly's inside—"

  "Then why didn't she answer?" said Seymour. "I pressed the doorbell twice already!" He paused. "Hey, that's funny. I'm the postman. And I rang twice!"

  "I pressed it once myself," I told Sadie, ignoring the sound of Seymour laughing at his own joke, "before the councilwoman stopped by to brighten our day."

  Sadie turned the key in the handle and pushed the door open.

  "I didn't bother with the dead bolt," she said. "Since the store's occupied."

  The little bell above the door tinkled as Sadie crossed the threshold. Seymour was next, then me.

  "Dr. Lilly?" I called. My voice sounded hollow in the empty shop.

  I set the donuts on the check-out counter and Seymour set down the coffee containers, then tugged a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed sweat from his brow.

  "I think I deserve a free cup of Joe," he panted. "And another doughnut."

  Sadie nodded. "Of course, Seymour. You've been such a great help."

  As I entered our bookstore's Community Events room, I noticed how many chairs had been set up and suddenly worried that fifty cups of coffee and forty-eight donuts wouldn't be enough (or rather forty-four, since Bud already had two and Seymour was angling for a second).

  Then I moved toward the front of the space, and donuts and coffee became the least of my worries. While we were out, a terrible accident appeared to have taken place. The six-foot stepladder had fallen, obviously slamming against the podium in the center of the low wooden platform that served as our stage.

  I rushed forward, seeing the leather sandal on the ground, then the foot it belonged to. Finally my eyes traced the dangling FILM NOIR FESTIVAL banner, mounted on the wall behind the podium, the loose material was stretched taut, still clutched in Dr. Irene Lilly's hand.

  I knew the woman was dead without touching her. There was so much blood on the hardwood floor I would have to wade through it to reach the body. And it was clear that Dr. Lilly's head had struck the sharp corner of the low platform. Near the base of her skull, grayish brain matter mingled with the blood that stained her sunshine yellow dress.

  "Oh, no. Oh, god... "

  Swallowing a scream, I took two steps backward, then ran to the front of the store.

  CHAPTER 6

  Slip and Fall

  That's life. Whichever way you turn, fate sticks out a foot to trip you.

  —Detour, 1945

  AT SOME POINT during the investigation, Chief Ciders's size-twelve boots tramped through Dr. Lilly's blood. Now everywhere the chief walked his heels left faint, half-moon-shaped trails on the polished, hardwood floor. Objectively, I knew they were just little brownish prints, but whenever I saw those tracks I wanted to scream.

  Behind the store's counter, Aunt Sadie blew her nose. "What a terrible, terrible accident."

  "At least it was quick," Seymour said, attempting to console her—while simultaneously browsing our New Release table. "It was probably, just, you know. Lights out! Like that final episode of The Sopranos"

  Sadie glanced toward the archway leading to the Community Events room and her expression darkened. "They've been in there for over an hour," she said softly. "What are they doing? What are they waiting for?"

  For Chief Donut to get a c
lue, maybe, said Jack, who never was in awe of Chief Ciders's investigative prowess. And if that's the case, it's going to be a long wait.

  Officer Franzetti stood near the front door, where the chief had posted him. Overhearing Sadie's question, he cleared his throat. "Actually, Ms. Thornton, I think the chief is waiting for a doctor to get here—a new guy, some expert from Newport named Rubino."

  Any warm body would be an improvement over that lamebrain with a badge.

  "Easy, Jack," I silently told the ghost.

  Dismount off that high horse already, doll. I know for a fact you feel the same way about Ciders.

  "The chief means well, Jack."

  He threw you in the town jail last year!

  "But only for one night—and it was all cleared up the next day."

  Sadie blew her nose again. "Who is this doctor, Eddie?"

  Officer Franzetti shrugged. "I don't know much. Only what I heard from Bull."

  Seymour frowned. "Bull McCoy? He's in there with the chief? How did I miss that no-neck's grand entrance?"

  "He came in when you were fetching your mailbag from the trunk of Penelope's car," Sadie informed him.

  Seymour faced Eddie. "Then riddle me this, Batman-zetti. How is it that Bull is in there, analyzing the crime scene, and you're out here?"

  "Bull is, uh... " Eddie cleared his throat again. "He's the chief's nephew."

  "I recall that!" Seymour threw up his hands. "I also remember that lousy sucker punch he gave me last year when I tried to stop him from hauling Pen off to the hoosegow—but he's still a rookie! Not to mention a moron! What's the chief thinking using an experienced senior officer as a doorman?!"

  Eddie folded his arms tightly but kept silent. Between Councilwoman Binder-Smith ordering him around like some lackey, and now Seymour tactlessly pointing out an embarrassing slight, Eddie was obviously having a horrific day.

  Not as horrific as Dr. Lilly, Jack pointed out.

  "True," I told the ghost, "but Eddie's my friend. It's time to change the subject of this conversation." I turned toward the front door, where Eddie was still standing.