The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

me, he hadn’t put on a new frame of mind.
    “Pen, you’re not seriously claiming—”
    “This mansion is actually haunted. That’s one mystery solved. There really is a ghost here.” I faced Eddie. “Tell me something. Miss Todd started reporting strange noises fairly recently, didn’t she?”
    Eddie nodded. “Only a few weeks ago.”
    “Nothing before that, right?”
    Eddie nodded.
    “Don’t you find that suspicious?”
    “What?”
    “An old Victorian suddenly starts showing supernatural activity—activity so obvious that the elderly owner who’s lived there for decades contacts the police about it. Activity that becomes so disturbing it scares her to death.”
    Seymour came down the steps just then. He’d changed out of his Hulk pajamas and into an avocado-green knit polo over tailored beige shorts.
    “I don’t believe it,” Eddie said, folding his arms. “Tarnish in a polo? Where’s the superhero T-shirt, Seymour?”
    The mailman rolled his eyes. “This is Larchmont, Franzetti. Haven’t you ever heard of blending in to the neighborhood? Or to put it in your native-land lingo, ‘When in Rome’?”
    Eddie pointed to Seymour’s suitcase. “Is that where you’re going? To see the pope about an exorcism?”
    “No. I’m checking in to the Finch Inn.”
    “What?” I said. “I thought you were calling your former housemate, asking him to put you up for a few nights.”
    Seymour shook his head. “Gilman’s already convinced Hardy Miles to move in—his girlfriend threw him out a few weeks ago, and he’s been crashing with his sister and her husband. He couldn’t wait to get out of their basement. He’s moving his stuff in today. No room for me.”
    “Give me a minute,” I said. “I’ll give you a ride over to Cranberry.”
    “Thanks, Pen.”
    I headed back upstairs, changed back into the rest of my party clothes from the night before, ran a brush through my hair, and grabbed my handbag, where Jack’s buffalo nickel had been safely stashed.
    Where you been, baby?
    “We went to get Eddie.”
    That badge isn’t gonna truck with your haunting story.
    “Tell me something I don’t know.”
    Don’t let the copper set you back, doll. When I was alive, I was just like him, didn’t swallow anything that wasn’t clear as a glass of gin. Not even those tapes will change his mind.
    “The tapes!” I ran to the cabinet, pulled out the hatbox, and stuffed all five cassettes into my bag. That was when I thought of one more thing I’d need.
    Downstairs I asked Seymour to haul out that portrait he’d removed from the living room, the one of the fat man over the mantel. When he produced it, I pulled out my cell phone and took a digital photo.
    Seymour locked up the house and the three of us headed into the driveway. Eddie stood beside me as I unlocked my car door. He pointed to Seymour’s parked ice cream truck.
    “Weren’t you two worried about the brakes on that thing?”
    “ Pen was. Big-time,” Seymour said, waiting for me to pop the Saturn’s trunk. “She made me drive to your place at about five miles an hour.”
    “ And I made him stop every twenty feet, just to be sure.”
    “Good.” Eddie nodded, folding his arms. “Because the sabotaged brakes of Seymour’s VW worry me a lot more than this alleged haunted house.”
    “The brakes,” I said. “That’s right. You were going to stop by Ben Kesey’s garage.”
    “I did. Ben had Seymour’s bus on a lift, showed me the damage. I took digital photos, picked up some prints under the vehicle, too.”
    Seymour frowned. “But you’ll just get Ben’s greasy fingerprints, won’t you?”
    “I took Ben’s prints so we can eliminate him, sent what I got to the state police. They’re analyzing them now. It’s a long shot but you never know. The undercarriage was unusually clean.”
    Seymour nodded. “I clipped a coupon a few weeks ago for that new Auto Wash by the Sleepy-Time Motel: half-price engine and undercarriage steaming with the purchase of a hot wax.”
    “Well, it’s a good thing. I’m pretty sure I got some prints that weren’t Ben’s. In the meantime, watch your back, Seymour. You be careful, too, Pen.”
    I nodded. “I will.”
    As Seymour stashed his suitcase in my trunk, I stepped closer to Eddie. “If you want my theory,” I told him quietly, “I think Miss Todd’s living sister has the most to gain if something happens to Seymour.”
    “You know her name?”
    I shook my head. “Emory