The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

DVD. I haven’t attached the speakers yet.”
    Even without the sound, the widescreen images were hypnotic enough to draw the partygoers like zombies to a warm body. My aunt moved to another cluster of guests, tray of fried chicken in hand. I turned around and walked slowly in the opposite direction.
    The movement of the people suddenly exposed the floor in the center of the room. I recognized the pattern of the lush area rug, and with a rather ugly jolt remembered what I’d seen less than a week ago at the center of this room.
    Cautiously, I approached the spot where I’d found Miss Todd’s corpse. There was almost no trace of the violent scene I’d witnessed; only a faint bloodstain marred the carpet. I wasn’t surprised, and it didn’t matter. I wasn’t looking for physical evidence. I was searching for signs of something else.
    I hovered over the spot where I’d found the dead woman and waited for the frigid stab of air I’d felt that awful afternoon. It never came.
    I closed my eyes and shut my ears to the sound of laughter and buzz of conversation. I did my best to block out my physical surroundings, and tried to tap into a sixth sense. Finally, after a few moments of intense concentration, a trickle of cool air raised the tiny hairs on the nape of my neck.
    Nobody here but us spooks, dollface.
    “Shhhh, Jack. I’m trying to contact the spirit world . . .”
    He laughed.
    “Okay, the rest of the spirit world!”
    Knock yourself out.
    Again I concentrated. This time I tried to visualize the horrible tableau I’d stumbled upon: the blood-spattered corpse, the expression of stark horror frozen on the dead woman’s face. I tried to recall every detail, and then I tried to imagine what had happened to Miss Todd in her final terrible moments.
    “Can you hear me, Timothea?” I whispered in my mind. “Tell me what you know. Did someone or something really scare you to death? Do you know who’s trying to hurt Seymour?”
    There was a long moment where I sensed nothing. Then suddenly I felt icy-cold fingers touch my arm. “Ahhhhh!”
    “Goodness!” Sadie stepped backward, nearly spilling the chilled bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries. My aunt had snuck up on me with the stealth of an apparition!
    “I only wanted to know if you’d like to try a hand-dipped strawberry. Mr. Koh’s daughter made them.”
    I glanced at the bowl. The chocolate-enrobed fruit did look delicious, but considering my memories of this particular spot in the room, I couldn’t raise much of an appetite.
    “I’ll have one later,” I told my aunt.
    Sadie gave me a strange look. “Are you okay, Pen?”
    “Fine, Aunt Sadie, really. You just startled me. That’s all.”
    My aunt nodded and drifted off.
    Looks like I’m the only haunter showing up for this soiree.
    “Looks that way.” Disappointed, I headed back to the bar. “I’m not giving up yet,” I told the ghost. “I’m going to try again later.”
    That’ll be good for a laugh.
    “Another iced tea,” I told Hardy. “But this time just tea, okay?”
    “What a lovely room!” Fiona Finch loudly announced as she swept into the party.
    “Fiona!”
    “Fiona’s here!”
    “Hi, Fiona! Come on over!”
    Amid the din of greetings, Hardy cupped his ear. “Say again, Mrs. McClure?”
    “Tea,” I said, louder. He nodded.
    Fiona quickly circled the living room, her eagle eyes scanning the walls, curtains, furniture, and fixtures. As a veteran antiques collector, she was obviously appraising each item in her head.
    Hardy slipped a fresh glass into my hand. “Here you go.”
    “Thanks.” I took a sip, tasted alcohol. I realized Hardy hadn’t heard me ask for tea only . Unfortunately the bartender was swamped now, so instead of asking for a replacement I vowed to nurse this second cocktail for the rest of the night.
    “Seymour, you are a lucky man,” Fiona declared. “This place is glorious. A real treasure.”
    Quindicott’s premier innkeeper had dressed quite strikingly this evening in a black lamé pantsuit and black silk blouse, the brooch on her lapel a shiny black raven perched on a bone-white skull.
    “Fiona’s dressed for a haunted house party, all right,” whispered Sadie, as she passed by on her way to the kitchen.
    Of course, my aunt and I had worn black outfits to Miss Todd’s viewing and funeral, but this evening’s wake was a celebration to honor her life, and we’d both decided to wear light summer slacks and pastel blouses. But