The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

heard stories that parts of this very road are haunted. Some phantom car, which was run off Buckeye Lane years ago, supposedly comes back to haunt random drivers. And don’t you remember, dear, what Seymour said about our very own bookshop? It’s supposed to be haunted, too!”
    “Ah, yes. I do seem to recall something like that—”
    “When you first moved in with me, you did mention some strange things happening.”
    “True.”
    “But then you settled in and that all went away. Now, I’m sure if you actually saw a ghost in our bookshop, or continually heard strange noises, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
    “Um—”
    “Of course you would! And I’m sure Timothea would have told me if she was afraid of a ghost in her home. No, I’m sorry to say I think the noises she heard were a form of dementia.”
    “But I still don’t understand, Aunt Sadie. If you don’t think the mansion is haunted, then why should Seymour sell?”
    “Because he’s a bachelor. What’s he going to do all alone in that huge house? His father passed away years ago and his mother’s happy as a clam since she moved to the Florida coast.”
    “You don’t think she’ll come up to live with him?”
    “Judy Tarnish never did get used to our New England winters. She was raised in the South, and after her husband died, she couldn’t get out of Rhode Island fast enough. In fact, I remember her telling Seymour that the only way she’d come back up here is to attend his wedding.”
    “Seymour a groom?” I smiled at that idea. “Can you imagine?”
    “You know what they say, Pen. There’s someone for everyone.” Sadie paused and leaned back in her seat. “Now that you mention it, didn’t you get the feeling Seymour was kind of sweet on that strange Miss Tuttle?”
    “I’m glad there’s no traffic tonight,” I said, attempting to change the subject while still trying to get used to the acre of distance between me and the road. My compact car was a lot smaller than Seymour’s VW bus. Between the mass of lime-green metal around me and the height of the front seat, I felt like I was steering an army tank down Buckeye Lane.
    “Traffic’s never a problem around here anymore.” Sadie peered out the side window. “It’s sad what’s happened to Millstone.” She shook her head at the empty storefronts, the GOING OUT OF BUSINESS signs. “When I was a little girl, this town was such a pleasure to visit, so alive.”
    I slowed to a stop at an intersection, although there was no need. The crossroads were empty. I forged ahead, the tarred road getting blacker by the yard. Not only were storefronts dark; corner streetlamps weren’t always working. Every few blocks, one was either flickering or entirely burned out, which certainly didn’t help the sense of bleak gloom. The uncertain light didn’t make driving Seymour’s VW bus any easier, either.
    “This thing is so much harder to handle than my little Saturn.”
    “Just go slow, dear. There’s no one behind us.” Sadie glanced into her sideview mirror. “Oh, I’m sorry. I spoke too soon. Someone’s coming up on you now.”
    I glanced in the rearview and saw a sedan with a single person visible in the car. I barely glimpsed the driver’s shadowy silhouette before a brilliant light blinded me.
    “That driver’s turned on the car’s high beams!”
    We were just entering the two-mile stretch that led from the town to the highway’s onramp. Averting my eyes from the mirror, I stuck my hand out the window and waved the car forward. But the stubborn driver just kept rolling along behind me, blasting those high beams.
    “What’s that idiot doing?”
    Sadie glanced in her side mirror. “I can’t see a thing. Those high beams are too bright!”
    I waved again and even hit the horn, but the sedan refused to pass.
    “Maybe the driver’s afraid of passing here,” Sadie said.
    “Fine then.”
    I pressed harder on the gas pedal, increasing my speed to put more distance between Seymour’s vintage van and the tailgater with the high-beam issue.
    Sadie leaned over to check the speedometer. “I thought you said you weren’t comfortable driving this thing?”
    “I’m not! But Speed Racer here is breathing down my tailpipe!”
    Sadie glanced in the mirror again. “Be careful, Penelope. Never let someone else drive your car for you.”
    Listen to your auntie, baby. Slow it down.
    “Jack! Where’ve you been?” I asked the ghost.
    Right here, doll, listening to your