The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

significant?”
    “Apparently they’re going to try to reach the spirit of a man who may have drowned in the ocean waters connected to the pond.”
    “I see. And what’s the name of this group?”
    “I don’t know yet. It’s all very secretive. The reservations and arrangement were made by the medium herself: Rachel Delve. I actually know Rachel from another business transaction. She’s very nice and quite trustworthy. She’s the real thing, Pen. Maybe she can help Seymour.”
    I nodded. “Introduce the two then, okay?”
    “I will. I’m sure once Seymour explains his situation, Rachel will find a way to help.”
    I stifled a yawn. “When is this Chez Finch séance due to start?”
    “Midnight tonight. Would you like to come?”
    “I’ll be there.”
    Better get some shut-eye first, Jack warned in my head. Or you’ll be dead to the world long before that broad starts trying to raise them.
     
    JACK WASN’T WRONG about my needing sleep. The drive to my bookshop was a short one, but I nearly nodded off behind the wheel. One passing glimpse along a sidewalk, however, quickly woke me up again.
    “Jack!” I whispered. “Do you see what I see?”
    I always see what you see, baby.
    Strolling out of Cooper Family Bakery looking chummy as can be were Charlene Lindsey-Fabian and an older, heavier woman in a tailored gray suit.
    “That’s her! That’s the woman Aunt Sadie and I ran into coming out of Mr. Stoddard’s office!”
    I well remembered the fleshy face with patrician features, the short brown curls shot with gray, the chilly blue eyes, and the haughty expression. I even recalled the expensive handbag of quilted leather, which seemed out of place when I first saw her carrying it in Millstone.
    I immediately slowed my car and just as quickly heard a horn honk behind me. Sunday mornings were far from sleepy in Quindicott. Two churches near the commons brought plenty of traffic onto Cranberry, and Cooper’s always had a line around the block for Milner’s legendary doughnuts. No surprise, there wasn’t a parking place in sight.
    “Darnit!”
    I checked my rearview mirror. Charlene and the mystery woman were walking right up to a parked sedan. I remembered in Millstone, the older woman had gotten into a silver Mercedes with a driver. But this car was white and appeared to be Charlene’s, because she was the one who unlocked the doors and helped the older woman inside.
    The driver behind me beeped again.
    Just dump the car anywhere, doll!
    I raced my motor, quickly turning off Cranberry. I pulled over a few seconds later, illegally blocking the first driveway I saw. Grabbing my handbag (and Jack’s nickel), I popped the door and ran full speed down the sidewalk. But it was too late. Charlene’s car had already pulled out. It was blocks away now and turning out of sight. The mystery woman was gone again—and I was illegally parked!
    Wheeling abruptly, I took a blind, frustrated step, right into a brick wall.
    “Whoa, there, Mrs. McClure!”
    I looked up to see Jim Wolfe standing there—all six-foot-three of him. The blond-haired, dimpled-chin Viking smiled down at me, a Cooper’s bakery box dangling from his work-callused fingers.
    “Jim! You came from the bakery? Just now?”
    He laughed. “Yeah, what’s wrong with that? You afraid I’ll get fat eating too many of Milner’s doughnuts?”
    I almost didn’t recognize the man. Most days around Quindicott, the head of Wolfe Construction was wearing dusty jeans, a denim shirt, and a hard hat. Today he was cleaned up and sharply tailored in a Sunday blue suit.
    “Sorry, Jim.” I shook my head clear, feeling like an idiot. “I was just wondering if you’d happened to bump into Charlene Fabian.”
    “Yeah, I did. You know Charlene?” He reached out then and touched my hair. “Your hair looks nice like that.”
    “Like what?”
    “Down around your shoulders. Whenever I see you, it’s always tied back.”
    Jim’s eyes were blue but I’d never noticed just what shade—this close they looked cobalt, like an early autumn sky. It was distracting. I swallowed, trying to remember what I was going to ask the man.
    Whether he knows the name of the old battleaxe. Whether the broad is Miss Todd’s living sister. Whether she’s in league with the innkeeper’s mortal enemy to off your pal the mailman for a million-dollar payoff. Get a grip, baby.
    “Uh . . .”
    Jim smiled. “You trying to ask me something, Mrs.