The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

audiotapes we’d uncovered. “. . . and I want to find out more about this dead man. Do you recognize him?”
    Fiona shook her head. “He’s likely a Todd patriarch, don’t you think? Miss Todd’s father or grandfather?”
    “Would you look into the history of Todd Mansion for me? I know you have the connections with the historical society.”
    “Of course.”
    “Find out everything you can. Who built the house, who lived there before Miss Todd, everything. And while you’re at it, ask around. See if you can find anyone who knows or remembers Miss Todd’s sister.”
    “I promise I’ll find out what I can.” She eyed me. “Stick around a few minutes, okay?”
    I nodded, downing another cup of java as Fiona showed Seymour to his room upstairs. When she came down, a few of the inn’s guests were eating pastries and drinking coffee. She smiled, greeted them warmly, and took me by the arm.
    “Let’s step outside,” she whispered.
    We moved through the stained-glass doors, clomping across the floorboards, and stopped in the far corner of the wide wraparound porch. The day was growing warmer but the awning kept us well shaded.
    “Tell me the truth, Pen,” Fiona said quietly. “What’s going on with Seymour? Has he been spooked enough to give up the mansion? Is he going to sell to that vampire who crashed his party with the councilwoman last night?”
    “You mean Charlene Fabian?”
    “ Lindsey -Fabian,” Fiona noted. “Of the Lindsey-Tilton group; let’s not forget that.”
    “The McBed-and-Breakfasts, I know.”
    “You should also know that I don’t buy that ridiculous story Marjorie Binder-Smith told about Charlene being an old friend staying with her for a visit. That woman might be a college chum, but she was there last night to get a good look around. Probably would have greased the wheels with Seymour, too, if I hadn’t been there to run interference.”
    “I’m sure you’re right.”
    “Of course I am! And I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that there’s a financial reason Marjorie’s involved—probably a political contribution or even a quiet kickback under the table if the councilwoman agrees to steamroll through re-zoning of Larchmont for a B and B.”
    I nodded.
    Fiona shook her head. “You know, I saw her again this morning.”
    “Who? Marjorie?”
    “No, Charlene Lindsey-Fabian. She was going into Cooper’s as I was heading out. It took every ounce of willpower for me to bite my tongue and not tell her off again.”
    “Listen, Fiona, after last night, you better prepare yourself for the possibility. Seymour may decide to sell. He’s pretty upset about the whole haunting business. Even before we witnessed the manifestation, he contacted the Spirit Zappers.” I explained who they were and what they did. “But they’re backed up for months. And right now I’m more worried about someone trying to hurt him—even kill him—over that property. Eddie Franzetti confirmed what Ben Kesey found: The brakes on Seymour’s VW bus were sabotaged.”
    Fiona’s eyes bugged a moment. Then she folded her arms and tapped her foot in thought. A cool breeze off the pond blew the line of Shaker rockers back and forth as if a group of ghostly guests were taking it easy, biding their time till midnight when they’d rise up and haunt the town.
    “What the Todd house needs is a séance,” Fiona finally said. “An authentic medium might be able find out some key information from the spirit or spirits lodged there.”
    “A séance . . .” I thought it over. “That’s not a bad idea. The house is very old, yet the manifestations began only recently. Why? What’s behind it? What made the activity start?”
    “If a medium can help Seymour answer those questions, maybe even exorcise those spirits and prevent him from selling, then I’m going to introduce him to one.”
    “ You know a medium?”
    “As a matter of fact, I do. She’s going to be leading a séance in my restaurant tonight at midnight.”
    “Chez Finch?”
    Fiona nodded. “She belongs to a spiritualist group based out of town. A small number of them are coming to stay the night at the inn.” She glanced at her watch. “They’re all due to check in before sunset.”
    “But why hold a séance at Chez Finch? It’s too new to be haunted, isn’t it?”
    “It’s not the restaurant they’re interested in. It’s the pond, which the dining room is partially built right over.”
    “Why is that