The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

executive chair. “I think it would be best if you both departed now and allowed Mr. Tarnish and I to finalize the paperwork. We have several documents, title, and transfers to review, sign, and notarize.”
    “But we came with Seymour,” Aunt Sadie said. “He gave us a ride over.”
    “Oh, in that case, let me call you a cab,” Stoddard said, reaching for the phone.
    “Don’t bother,” Seymour said, rising, too. “This time of night, you can’t get a car service out here in under an hour.” Seymour dug into his pocket for car keys and began to work one key off of it. “Here, Pen, take my extra key and drive the bus back to the bookstore. Just park it by a curb on Cranberry. I’ll take the cab and pick it up when I’m done here.”
    “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Tarnish,” Stoddard insisted. “I’d be happy to drive you back to Quindicott once we’re finished here.”
    “Great,” Seymour said. “It’s settled then.”
    I took the keys. “Okay, Seymour, if you’re sure?”
    Seymour nodded and Stoddard extended his hand. I shook, feeling the hard square of his reversed gold ring pressing into my palm.
    “Good evening, Mrs. McClure, Ms. Thornton.”
    Seymour sat back down and smiled up at us. “Listen, you two, keep this Saturday night open, okay?”
    “Why?” I asked.
    “I’m holding a wake in honor of Miss Timothea, that’s why! I’m not a guy who likes to waste time. I’m moving in ASAP. You’re invited, too, Mr. Stoddard. And so is that cutie secretary of yours!”
    “Thank you, I’m sure, Mr. Tarnish,” Stoddard said. “Saturday evening, you say? I’ll see what my schedule is like.”

CHAPTER 8
     
    Road Trouble
     
    Trouble. Like the smoke over a cake of dry ice. You can’t smell it but you can see it and know that soon something’s going to crack and shatter.
    —Detective Mike Hammer in Kiss Me, Deadly , Mickey Spillane, 1952
     
     
     
     
    LEAVING MILLSTONE’S DEPRESSED business district was like emerging out of a godforsaken mausoleum. Aunt Sadie and I didn’t say much as I started up Seymour’s VW bus and rolled through the town’s shadowy lanes. I was still processing everything I’d heard in the lawyer’s office, and I could see my aunt was engrossed in thoughts of her own. Even Jack had gone quiet. After a few minutes, however, my aunt broke the silence.
    “That young woman,” she said, her voice sounding almost disembodied in the large, dark vehicle. “She was acting oddly, don’t you think?”
    “Who?”
    “Mr. Stoddard’s receptionist, or assistant, or whatever she was. You know who I mean: the girl in the black dress.”
    “Miss Tuttle?”
    “I can’t get over how she stared right at you and said there was a man with you.”
    Behind the van’s big steering wheel, I shifted uneasily. “Oh, she probably just noticed Seymour dropping us off.”
    “No, that can’t be it. She was engrossed in her book when we walked in. And she was very specific about her description. She said a man in a fedora and double-breasted suit was with you . She was extremely clear about that point.”
    I forced a laugh—which sounded only slightly less phony than it actually was. “Probably just has an active imagination.”
    “You know, I hope she does come to Seymour’s party. I’d like to ask her about that.”
    “I wish you wouldn’t, Aunt Sadie. Tonight I found something a lot more disturbing than Miss Tuttle’s confusion.”
    “You did?”
    I nodded. “Mr. Stoddard’s behavior.”
    “Mr. Stoddard was a perfect gentleman, dear. What are you talking about?”
    “I’m talking about Stoddard pressuring Seymour into selling Miss Todd’s home.”
    “You call that pressuring?” In the dim light of the car, I could see my aunt shaking her head. “It sounded to me like Stoddard was simply explaining that option to Seymour—and he rejected it pretty firmly, too. But, you know . . . maybe Seymour should sell.”
    “Why? Do you think Miss Todd’s house really is haunted?”
    “Heavens, no.” Sadie waved her hand. “But even if it were, that’s nothing to cause alarm. My word! Look at Finch Inn. It’s supposed to be haunted, yet Fiona and Barney have never seen an apparition. And half the inns in Newport have ghost stories attached to them, not to mention the landmark buildings. Fiona tells me the stories are good for business. And you know that’s one reason we started our occult book section.”
    “I know.”
    Sadie laughed. “Why, I’ve