The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

Jack had sent my way. “What do you mean?”
    I mean get your panties in motion and go brace that overgrown Yalie before he leaves!
    I didn’t know what I was supposed to “brace” Dean Pepper about, but I didn’t waste time arguing. I just handed Brainert my iced tea glass—empty now—and headed Pepper off in the foyer.
    “Uh, excuse me? Dean Pepper?”
    “Yes?” The dean turned and smiled—still affable enough, but strain at the edges told me I was holding him up and he wasn’t happy about it.
    “Uh . . .” I said.
    Ask him about the Fromsette broad! Haven’t you noticed her acting squirrelly? Get a handle on that. See if there’s more to her relationship with the Todd dame.
    “Mrs. Fromsette’s very nice,” I said, trying not to slur my words. “Why haven’t I seen her around Quindicott?”
    Wendell frowned. “She used to be quite active in the community. Head of the Larchmont Avenue Charity Drive, that sort of thing. All that changed when Mr. Fromsette went missing—”
    “Missing?” That sounded odd. “But I heard you mention a funeral.”
    “There was a funeral,” Dr. Pepper said. “But Arthur Fromsette’s body was never found. Only his sailboat washed ashore, off Mullet Point. He enjoyed fishing. He’d started on Quindicott Pond and then followed the inlet out to the ocean. He did it every day for years. The Coast Guard concluded he’d fainted, had a spell, or perhaps even a heart attack, and fell overboard.”
    “How tragic.”
    “She never quite got over it,” Wendell said. He leaned closer, lowered his voice. “That black shawl she refused to let Seymour take? She put it on for Mr. Fromsette’s funeral and hasn’t taken it off since. Wears it all day, every day, I understand.”
    “Is that why April’s here? To take care of her mother?”
    “Yes, but April usually visits every summer,” Pepper said.
    “From where?”
    “Boston. She was married until recently.”
    “Oh, divorced, eh?”
    “Separated, but I believe the divorce papers are filed. You should get to know her better, Mrs. McClure. She’s thinking about making a permanent move back to Quindicott, to be near her mother.”
    “Really? Wouldn’t that be a difficult commute to her job?”
    “From what I recall, she runs her own bookkeeping business so she can probably relocate fairly easily.”
    I could certainly sympathize with April’s situation. After my husband’s suicide, I’d wanted to get away—not just from the memories of Calvin’s unholy leap, but of the truth of how bad our marriage really had been. April was obviously on the rebound and looking for a summer fling. Seymour was single, available, and a brand-new, prosperous-looking Larchmont resident.
    Looks like your mailman’s about to become the beneficiary of something a lot steamier than an old Victorian.
    Pepper glanced at his watch. “I’d better go.”
    “One more thing, Dean Pepper. I’m just curious. You don’t happen to know Mrs. Fromsette’s maiden name, do you?”
    “Why yes, as a matter of fact. I believe her husband’s funeral announcement listed it as Field.”
    Hoping for Todd, weren’t you?
    “Yes, Jack,” I told the ghost. “It would have been a nice, neat package, wouldn’t it?”
    Sorry, baby, but the gumshoe game’s rarely that clean and easy.
    Pepper left and I watched him wander down the dark drive. “That’s odd about Mrs. Fromsette’s husband disappearing, don’t you think, Jack?”
    Yeah, baby.
    “You think he’s still alive?”
    It’s possible. In my experience, faking your own death’s usually linked to theft of a great deal of money or cheating the life insurance company.
    “Or he could just be dead.”
    Either way, the Fromsette dame gave you the best lead on the case you’re trying to crack.
    “Yes, you’re right. Miss Todd’s sister is married and lives in Newport—or at least she did. And now I’m almost positive I already got a glimpse of her.”
    You’re talking about the old dame you saw in front of Stoddard’s run-down office?
    “Exactly. And remember when she climbed into that Mercedes sedan? There was a chauffeur driving—and wouldn’t someone like that know all about cars and how to sabotage them?”
    Good call, baby. But you still don’t have a name.
    “True, but I can tell Eddie my theories tomorrow. Maybe he can figure out a legal way to pressure Stoddard into revealing it.”
    I have a better idea.
    “Well, tell me in a minute okay? I’m thirsty