The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

“April told me that she and her mother have separate lines. This is Mrs. F’s private line.”
    The phone clicked. “Hello?” said Mrs. Fromsette’s sleepy voice.
    I hit the switch on Sadie’s recorder and the tape Leo hastily edited worked like a charm. “Why are you tormenting me?” the voice of Miss Todd asked, seemingly from beyond the grave.
    “Who—who is this?” Mrs. Fromsette demanded. She sounded wide awake now.
    I lifted the Pause button and let the tape continue to play.
    “Why are you tormenting me?” Miss Todd’s voice repeated.
    “Timothea? Is that you? But how can it be?” Mrs. Fromsette’s voice was tight with fear.
    Once again, I lifted the Pause button.
    “Why can’t you leave me in peace?” Miss Todd’s recorded voice demanded.
    Leo did his best to eliminate background noise. He wasn’t entirely successful, but the rushing sounds that remained were eerie and added to the overall effect.
    Now I turned up the volume. “WHY ARE YOU TORMENTING ME?” Timothea’s voice boomed.
    “It wasn’t me!” Mrs. Fromsette shouted. “It was April!”
    April , I thought. April Briggs?!
    “It was my daughter and that man—”
    I glanced at Eddie. “That man?” I mouthed.
    “April wrecked her marriage over her affair with him—that man Jim Wolfe,” Mrs. Fromsette went on. “Now the two want your house!”
    I hit the tape player again.
    “Why?” Miss Todd’s recorded voice now asked. “Why? Why? Why?”
    “April believed that despite what happened between us, you’d still leave me the house. That’s why she did it.”
    “Why? Why? Why?” Timothea’s voice repeated.
    “Anything I inherited, April knew I’d share with her. It’s not her fault what happened. That man Jim Wolfe put her under his spell!”
    “WHY ARE YOU TORMENTING ME?” Timothea’s voice boomed.
    “I told you, it wasn’t me! I’m so sorry, Timothea. Arthur tried to tell me what April was planning. He tried to stop her. Then he had his accident, and after that, the will to care about anything anymore went out of me . . .”
    The woman’s voice trailed off. I hadn’t played the tape for a few moments, so I could hear her torrent of words. Now, in the silence that followed, Mrs. Fromsette began to become suspicious.
    “Timothea? Are you there? Is that really you?”
    I hung up and dropped back in my chair. Eddie and Leo visibly relaxed, too, but not Seymour.
    “ April was behind all this?” he said. “But she told me she liked me!”
    Leo grunted. “Women are fickle, Tarnish. Get used to it.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Seymour, you said April has her own phone line, right?”
    Seymour’s brows knitted. “Yeah. So what?”
    “So I have another idea,” I replied, thinking about what Jack once told me: Criminals always give themselves away. You just need to set up some bait and wait for them to take it.
    “But first we have to set some things up back at the mansion,” I told the men. “And, Eddie, we’re going to need a little more help, too.”
     
    IT WAS NEARLY dawn when the mansion’s doorbell rang, but it was still dark enough for our purposes. At the sound of the regal bing-bong, a nervous Seymour jumped out of the love seat.
    “Calm down,” I told him. “You know what to do.”
    Seymour nodded, then hurried to the front door. I stayed in the den with our other guest, close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation in the foyer.
    “What’s going on, Seymour?” I heard April ask. “You sounded frantic on the telephone.”
    “I’m sorry to bother you so late. I mean, so early,” he said, locking the door behind her. “Things got really weird around here, and I didn’t know who else to call.”
    “You can always count on me,” April replied, her tone sincere. Then, after a pause: “You said you found something really valuable in the house. Is that right?”
    “Yeah. Come into the salon and I’ll show you.”
    April rounded the corner a moment later, and stopped dead, her beautiful turquoise eyes wide at the sight of Jim Wolfe and me sitting on the couch. The man was still wearing the same clothes from the Quibblers meeting, but they were rumpled now and he smelled like a gin mill.
    “You should have told me you had guests, Seymour. I’m hardly dressed to meet polite company.”
    After Seymour’s call, April had pulled a pair of tight jeans over her long legs, stretched a T-shirt, sans bra, over her model-slender torso. Despite her haste, I noticed the woman had taken the