The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

has a point—that someone’s got a grudge against Seymour?”
    The grudge theory’s possible. But then, what would the person gain, putting the mailman six feet under?
    “Vengeance, I suppose.”
    Vengeance don’t buy new shoes for baby. I’m bettin’ someone’s goin’ for the big prize.
    “You mean the inheritance? This house and land?”
    Don’t you remember what that slip-and-fall jockey said? If your postal pal gets himself croaked before the title officially transfers, the house goes to Miss Todd’s next of kin—which would be the old woman’s—
    “Sister,” I said.
    “A twist?” Hardy said. “Of course you can have a twist, Mrs. McClure.” He finished the drink and handed me the newly filled glass.
    “Uh, thanks,” I said, then quickly stepped away.
    Get a lead on the sister. Something just don’t smell right with her trying so hard to stay anonymous.
    “Well, whoever she is, she can’t be here now,” I silently whispered. “I know everyone in this room. They’re all friends of Seymour or town locals I’ve known for some time as customers.”
    That doesn’t mean they’re clean, doll. Lift up the rug of most Johnny Do-Rights and you’ll find some amount of dirt. Plenty of people will do just about anything for a big enough payoff.
    “Surely not anyone Sadie and I know.”
    The person who sabotaged those brakes might very well be in this room.
    I noticed Seymour approaching with a well-built older man. He had a sturdy jawline and a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair, and gave off an air of affable confidence. His blue blazer, khaki pants, and open-necked button-down were neatly pressed and obviously expensive, yet he still appeared approachably casual. I recognized him immediately as the master of ceremonies from our recent Film Noir festival, but he was better known in Quindicott as the dean of St. Francis’s School of Communications.
    Brainert moved up to us, obviously surprised to see his superior at the party. “Dean Pepper? What are you doing here?”
    “I dropped by to greet my new neighbor!” Wendell Pepper replied. “But then, we’ve already had a few rollicking conversations, haven’t we, Seymour? Mr. Tarnish and I share a true love—old movies and film memorabilia.”
    Brainert turned to Seymour. “Anyone else from Larchmont dropping in?”
    “I delivered invitations to every house on the avenue. Wait and see.” Seymour faced Dean Pepper again. “Care for a drink, Dr. Pepper ? Or maybe you’d care for another brand?” Seymour winked and Brainert cringed, but Dean Pepper laughed and slapped Seymour’s back.
    “I haven’t heard that one in years!”
    “Well, I’m not kidding about the drink.” Seymour gestured toward Hardy. “Have a gimlet, or try a martini. My bartender’s reputation is legendary.”
    “Cocktails! How civilized.” Pepper’s eyes lit up like a Broadway billboard. “Don’t mind if I do.”
    As Dean Pepper crossed to the bar, Seymour leaned close to Brainert. “See, I told you,” he whispered, raising his martini glass. “Rich guys lap this stuff up.”
    Brainert smirked and glanced at me. “Seymour neglected to mention that his bartender’s ‘legendary’ reputation was garnered among a collection of middle-aged, dollar-bill-waving men ogling half-naked women.”
    My reply was cut off by the regal bing-bong of Miss Todd’s doorbell.
    “Excuse me,” Seymour said.
    “Can’t fault his manners,” Aunt Sadie observed, offering Brainert some buttermilk fried chicken from a tray. “Have a piece. I got this recipe from Judy Tarnish before she moved to Florida. It’s Seymour’s favorite.”
    Brainert’s eyes lit up as he looked over the crisp, golden-brown pieces of chicken. “Hmmm. Don’t mind if I do.”
    I glanced behind Sadie but didn’t see Bud Napp. “Where’s your date?”
    She and Bud had arrived early for the party so they could help Seymour set up. I’d stayed behind at the bookshop to help Bonnie ring up the last customers of the day.
    Still holding the tray of chicken with two hands, Sadie gestured toward the large-screen television with her chin. “Bud’s over there, playing with Seymour’s new toy. You know men and their gadgets.”
    Suddenly the massive HDTV screen sprang to life. Russell Crowe appeared in Roman gear and began dispatching a horde of barbarians.
    “Where’s the sound?” Harlan Gilman complained.
    Leo Rollins’s bearded face flashed with annoyance. “I told you not to put in the