The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

arm and a leg for dubious repairs to my ice cream truck, and I wouldn’t be surprised if his inspection on my breadloaf was slipshod. It’s time for me to find a new mechanic.”
    “But it is suspicious. You have to admit.”
    “I’ll only admit I need to get someone reliable to overhaul my VW’s brakes.”
    Bud and the tow truck had arrived by then. Leo Rollins was already gone. He’d stuck around only long enough to give his statement to the Staties—which, unfortunately, contradicted our statement since he’d said that he sure didn’t see any sign of a sedan behind us. Then he’d rumbled away on his bronze Harley.
    Before Leo departed, I’d asked him about the strange design on the hilt of his dagger. He’d claimed he didn’t know anything about the design or what it meant—just saw it in the window of a Newport antiques shop one day and picked it up for a steal.
    You believe that? Jack had asked.
    “What else should I believe?” I’d told the ghost. “You still haven’t told me your own connection with that odd design.”
    Once again, the ghost clammed up.
    Now we were back home, and Bud was pulling up to the curb in front of our bookstore’s front window. I jumped down from the van to give my aunt and her sweetheart some privacy for their goodnight. Then she climbed down, too. Bud drove off, and together we pushed through our shop’s front door.
    Not bothering with the lights in the main store, I moved through the archway, entering the sizeable space we used for reading groups and author appearances. My aunt was right: I could see right away that the knitting-mystery enthusiasts were gone. Only Bonnie was left.
    “Hi!” she said, glancing up from her floor-sweeping with the apple-cheeked enthusiasm of the unburdened young.
    Like her brother, Bonnie Franzetti had thick, black hair, but where Eddie’s was straight, hers was curly. She wore it just past her chin, which flattered her heart-shaped face and big, brown, long-lashed eyes (like her brother’s, too). She’d just turned seventeen and her youthful energy, even at this hour, radiated with almost palpable warmth.
    “How was your evening?” she asked.
    “Good,” I croaked out, trying to sound pleasant, even though the stress of the failing brakes (not to mention Miss Todd’s death, Seymour’s near arrest, and the strange meeting with Stoddard) was settling into my bones. “How was yours? Any problems?”
    Bonnie tensed. “Not really. I mean, that depends.”
    I frowned, jumping to an unhappy conclusion. “Where’s Spencer? Did he come home yet?” I checked my watch again.
    Mr. Keenan was supposed to have driven Spencer back home when the boys were finished playing their video game. For a second, my heart started racing again, and then—
    “Hi, Mom! Hi, Aunt Sadie!” My redheaded eleven-year-old strolled into the room from the back hallway.
    “Spence was helping me,” Bonnie explained. “He carried the garbage bag to the cans out back.”
    “Oh.” I exhaled. “Okay.”
    “Thanks, Spence,” Bonnie said.
    “No problem.” My son’s lightly freckled face reddened slightly.
    Okay, I thought, this is new: the obvious blushing, the shy smile, the hands nervously shoved into pockets, the swaying from foot to foot.
    Looks like Junior’s sweet on someone.
    “Oh, great. So now you’re going to speak up?”
    It’s my prerogative, baby. I’m haunting you, remember ?
    I gritted my teeth. Not unlike your average, obstinate living man, my dead guy maintained his own rules—which sometimes left me struggling to maintain my equanimity. What was I going to do about it? Miss Manners for Ghosts had yet to be written, although I was seriously considering self-publishing.
    “Spencer can’t be sweet on Bonnie,” I silently told the ghost. “She’s been his babysitter for three years. Consider the first word please: baby .”
    In my head, Jack laughed. I hate to break it to you, dollface, but your boy’s not in diapers anymore. He’s about to go off to boot camp.
    “It’s not GI training, for goodness’ sake! I told you: It’s just a kids’ summer camp! Oh, forget it.” My shoulders slumped. “I just thought I had plenty of time before Spencer started showing an interest in girls.”
    Time’s up. And take it from me: Until they get a clue and wise up, boys’ll do just about anything for the girl they’re sweet on.
    “Don’t remind me.”
    My older brother’s crush on a girl was what led to his showing off in