The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

then, Fiona hadn’t made the viewing or the funeral. To her, the black was probably her way of showing respect for the dead.
    “The dead,” I repeated on a mumble, my mind trying to consider who’d want Seymour that way. I absently sipped my Long Island Iced Tea—gulped it, really. This stuff went down far too smoothly.
    Easy, doll. Go easy on the sauce.
    I frowned, not appreciating the nanny treatment. “You know what, Jack? You’re starting to sound like a hypocrite.”
    You’re bananas.
    “You kept a bottle of Scotch in your desk.” I took another sip. “You drank on the job all the time, didn’t you?”
    I could hold my liquor, baby. You get blotto on three tablespoons of cough syrup.
    “Only once—and that particular brand had a sedative in it!”
    Meanwhile, Fiona continued her buttering-up of Seymour. “The curtains, the décor, it’s all so tastefully done. Miss Todd certainly maintained the authentic Victorian feel of the place. I’m glad you decided not to change it”—she spied the twin purple lava lamps and nearly gagged hiding her reaction—“too much.”
    Seymour stood behind Fiona, both hands clutching a large painting in a frame of carved dark wood that perfectly matched the room’s décor.
    “Wait till you see what Fiona’s brought me!”
    The woman smiled and spoke to the rest of us. “I remembered how much Seymour admired the nautical paintings in the Finch Inn’s restored lighthouse bungalow, so I bought this new work from the same artist as a housewarming present for him.”
    Seymour held the painting up and studied it. “Thank you! This is so amazing!” Beaming, he hurried across the room and propped the oil painting on an oak sideboard. A curious group clustered around to study the images: a tall sailing ship foundering in a terrible storm, massive waves towering over the broken vessel. There were no human figures, but if you gazed deeply into violet sky and green roiling waters, you could make out the ghostly faces of drowning sailors.
    “A powerful rendering,” Dean Pepper said. “Powerful and grim.”
    “Haunting,” Brainert said, nodding his head. “The colors are so vibrant they’re almost surreal, yet the overall effect is so authentic I can almost smell the sea.” Brainert glanced at me. “Almost,” he mouthed and pointed to Seymour’s cologne-drenched form.
    “Cool,” Leo Rollins said, stroking his trimmed beard. “What kind of ship is that?”
    “A nineteenth-century Yankee clipper,” Dean Pepper replied. “I know because Bill Wheatley, another one of Seymour’s new neighbors, is a real sailing buff. He’s a retired importer. That man has a den full of nautical paintings. I’ll introduce you, Seymour. Perhaps I can persuade Bill to take us out on his yacht.”
    Seymour shot Brainert another “I-told-you-so” look. Then he directed Fiona’s attention to the bottom-right corner of the canvas. “The painting is only initialed ‘RD.’ What’s the artist’s name?” he asked.
    “If she wanted to be known, the artist would have signed with more than her initials,” Fiona replied.
    Seymour’s eyes widened with interest. “ She . Are you saying a woman painted this? I’ve got to meet her!”
    “Out of the question,” Fiona stated flatly.
    “Aw, come on, Finchy—”
    A blast of sound exploded suddenly, filling the room with a howling roar and terrified screams. On the television screen, a man in a Nazi uniform melted like a wax doll.
    “The climax of Raiders of the Lost Ark in THX,” Harlan Gilman bellowed over the wall of noise. “This and the Death Star battle at the end of Star Wars are the two best audio checks known to man!”
    “Turn that off!” Seymour yelled.
    The roar vanished and the screen went black. Harlan Gilman smirked. “Just like I said before. The television should be over there.” He pointed to the opposite side of the room with his aluminum cane. “Otherwise the sound reverberates in the stairwell like a cheap echo chamber.”
    Leo Rollins shrugged. “He’s got a point. Let’s move this thing.”
    “Okay,” Gilman said, leaning on his cane. “Who’s going to push?”
    Seymour, Rollins, Bud Napp, and Dean Pepper each gripped a corner of the huge entertainment system.
    “It has wheels so it’s easy to move,” Bud said. “But we have to get that rug out of the way so it will roll on the hardwood.”
    “I’ll get it,” Fiona said, dropping to one knee.
    “Need help?” I asked.
    Fiona grabbed