The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

far as I know, Miss Tuttle doesn’t live on Larchmont and she only met Seymour the other day. Why would she come alone?”
    Maybe she’s charmed by the size of Seymour’s, uh . . . property.
    My eyes narrowed. “Which makes her a suspect, right? In fact, now that I think about it, didn’t Ophelia Tuttle leave Stoddard’s office before anyone else the other night? As far as she knew, Seymour would be driving himself home in his VW bus.”
    You’re right, doll. Ghoul Girl was in the perfect position to have sabotaged those brakes.
    “That’s the opportunity—but what about a motive?”
    Think about it, baby. I count at least two.
    “You’re right. If Miss Todd’s sister wanted Seymour dead, then Ophelia Tuttle is in one of the best positions to help her do the dirty work. That’s one . As for two : Ophelia’s working for Mr. Stoddard. And it was Stoddard who appeared to be pushing for Seymour to sell this place to the Lindsey-Tilton group for their bed-and-breakfast plan.”
    The slip-and-fall jockey would get a big, fat commission for handling that sale, wouldn’t he?
    “Yes, which means Stoddard could be in on it, too. In fact, it could be a little conspiracy on the part of the estranged sister—”
    Sure, kill the old lady and make sure the sucker she left her property to also ends up six feet under.
    “It’s a solid theory, Jack. But how do we prove any of it?”
    Just keep your pretty peepers peeled, baby. Criminals always give themselves away. You just need to set up some bait and wait for them to take it.

CHAPTER 15
     
    Unexpected Guests
     
    A bleak house . . . a corpse . . . and three suspects—that’s the problem Detective Mike Hanlon faces!
    —Teaser for “Hotel Murder,” Steve Fisher, Thrilling Detective , 1935
     
     
     
     
    “MR. STODDARD ASKED me to send his regards and his regrets,” Ophelia announced to Seymour. “Business forced him to Newport, and he won’t return until tomorrow.”
    “Sorry he couldn’t make it.” Seymour lifted the champagne bottle. “I’ll have my bartender chill this. May I offer you something in the meantime?”
    Ophelia pondered the question. “Green tea on ice with fresh lemon peel,” she said at last.
    “I . . . I think we have Lipton in bags.”
    The woman smiled. “That will be fine.”
    After Seymour scurried off to the kitchen to prepare the Lipton’s tea, I kept a wary eye on Ophelia. A minute passed, then two, and no one approached her—even men who were clearly interested seemed intimidated by her powerful aura. Sadie offered Ophelia a fried mozzarella stick and she declined. I watched while they chatted a moment. Then my aunt moved on with the tray, and Ophelia began to slowly circle the room. I kept moving, too, feeling uneasy about the woman’s ability to see my ghost.
    Relax, doll. Even if she knows I exist, what can she do about it? Conduct an exorcism?
    “Maybe. It does give me the creeps that she can see you, Jack. I mean, I can’t even see you—unless I’m dreaming.”
    Aw, you’re just jealous there’s another dame out there who can appreciate my mug. And she ain’t a bad looker, either, if you can get past the sailor tattoo and Cleopatra makeup.
    “Well, if she can see you, maybe Ophelia can see other spirits. Maybe she summoned an evil spirit to frighten Miss Todd to death.”
    And how you gonna prove that to Chief Cornpone and company?
    “I have no idea.”
    Ophelia paused in the center of the rug, where we’d found the hidden magic circle. The woman blinked in surprise. She stared at the rug under her heels. After a long moment, Ophelia scanned the faces in the room. Then she stepped right over the spot, in the middle of the circle, where Miss Todd’s body was found.
    I held my breath, waiting to see her reaction. Would the young woman feel the cold spot the way I did when I found Miss Todd’s body?
    It was obvious she didn’t. After glancing at the faint bloodstains, Ophelia turned around and moved to another part of the room, where Seymour approached her with a tumbler of tea on ice. I moved close enough to eavesdrop.
    “How do you like the place?” he asked.
    Ophelia raised an eyebrow. “How do you like it, Mr. Tarnish? Have your nights been . . . restful?”
    Seymour seemed taken aback by her frank question. Not Harlan Gilman.
    “He hasn’t seen any ghosts yet, if that’s what you mean.” Tottering on his cane, the heavy man moved closer to the woman. “If you ask me, it’s only a