The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

Jack. That’s one of the biggest-selling authors in the country.”
    And that wasn’t the only upside. The cardboard cutout of a distinguished author wearing a tailored suit wouldn’t stir an ounce of controversy in this little town, unless maybe someone objected to the color of the man’s tie. Lucky for me, James Patterson wasn’t going to be posing in lingerie anytime soon.
    “Nine thirty,” Sadie announced. “Time to start a new day!”
     
    THE APARTMENT WAS quiet again. But it was a good kind of quiet. Not empty or cold, just the kind of quiet that comes after the sun sets on a long day of work, a day of feeling useful and alive.
    I’m glad you feel that way, baby. I wish I could have when it counted.
    “You didn’t?”
    I was too busy, sweetheart.
    “Doing what?”
    Chasing phantoms.
    “Phantoms?”
    Today was never good enough. Tomorrow was always coming. And then one day it wasn’t.
    I turned over beneath my bedcovers, stared into the silvery silence of the moonlit room. “Tell me something, Jack,” I said, “what happened with your case?”
    You mean the kid?
    “J. J. Conway. You had to tell him, didn’t you? That you found his mother.”
    Yeah, baby. Not one of my happier memories.
    “Sorry to remind you. But your memory was a huge help to me.”
    I know, doll. That’s why we used it.
    “So did the little boy go into a foster home?”
    Heck, no. Mrs. Dellarusso adopted him. You remember? The woman on Second Avenue who’d lost her only son over there.
    I smiled into my pillow. “J. J. said she was a swell cook.”
    She was a swell mom. And, if you ask me, J. J. was better off with her. Not that the fat piece of scum who burned Mable Conway alive doesn’t deserve to burn in hell, but J. J. was a good kid. He deserved better.
    “Sounds like he got it.”
    Yeah, baby. I hope you got it, too.
    “What does that mean?”
    Your boy’s lucky to have you.
    “What are you talking about? I’m lucky to have him.”
    You have each other, that’s all I’m saying. The kid’ll grow up, move away, get a life. You won’t be seeing him every day. He won’t be seeing you. But maybe it’s the things we can’t see that matter. Maybe those are the best parts of who we are to each other.
    I turned over again and thought hard about that. I decided I couldn’t argue. So I didn’t. I just yawned and closed my eyes.
    “Thanks, Jack,” I said.
    Good night, baby, he whispered back. I’ll see you in your dreams. Then the ghost’s breezy presence receded again, into the fieldstone wall that had become his tomb.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
     
    Alice Kimberly is the pen name for a multi-published author who regularly collaborates with her writer husband. In addition to the Haunted Bookshop Mysteries, she and her husband also write the bestselling Coffeehouse Mysteries under the pen name Cleo Coyle. To learn more about Alice Kimberly, the Haunted Bookshop Mysteries, or the Coffeehouse Mysteries, visit the author’s virtual coffeehouse at www.CoffeehouseMystery.com .

Don’t Miss the Next Haunted Bookshop Mystery
     
    Join Penelope and her ghostly Pl as they
team up for an all-new spirited mystery. To
learn more about Pen and Jack’s upcoming
cases, visit the author’s website at:
     
    www.CoffeehouseMystery.com

     

     

     

     

Haunted Bookshop Mysteries by Cleo Coyle
writing as Alice Kimberly
     
    THE GHOST AND MRS. McCLURE
    THE GHOST AND THE DEAD DEB
    THE GHOST AND THE DEAD MAN’S LIBRARY
    THE GHOST AND THE FEMME FATALE
    THE GHOST AND THE HAUNTED MANSION
     
    Coffeehouse Mysteries by Cleo Coyle
     
    ON WHAT GROUNDS
    THROUGH THE GRINDER
    LATTE TROUBLE
    MURDER MOST FROTHY
    DECAFFEINATED CORPSE
    FRENCH PRESSED
    ESPRESSO SHOT