The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

the ankh symbol dangling from a gold chain around her neck.
    Jack might have had an opinion, but I’d deliberately left his buffalo nickel back home. He’d disappeared after our dream—which was par for the course—but I wouldn’t have brought him anyway. I’d never been to a séance, and I didn’t know what to expect. After Ophelia Tuttle’s little display, the last thing I needed was a public gathering where someone might announce that Penelope Thornton-McClure secretly lived with a bad-boy, sandy-haired PI last seen breathing in 1949. And that wasn’t even the worst of it—how did I know what these people had in mind? Jack could be accidentally exorcised or spook-zapped or something.
    Anyway, I was on my own. So I took a deep breath and greeted Seymour with a smile. “Sounds like I interrupted a funny story.”
    “We were talking about the old Popeye cartoons, the ones featuring Goon Island,” Seymour explained. “Check out Rachel’s watch.”
    She presented her wrist to me.
    “That’s a vintage Popeye timepiece,” Seymour informed me. “Turns out Rachel’s into the Sailorman, big-time.”
    “I love anything connected to the sea,” Rachel said. “Probably because I fell in love with Popeye when I was six years old.”
    “Well, blow me down,” Seymour joked, with a wink to Rachel. “If you like seafaring stuff, you should see the amazing painting Fiona gave me. She has more of them hanging in her lighthouse. The artist is awesome.”
    Rachel listened with amused interest while Seymour described his painting. That was when I noticed Ophelia Tuttle sitting alone at the big round table, hands folded in her lap. Seeing her there, I took a deep breath—on the one hand, I was surprised and alarmed, but then I realized it made perfect sense, given her obvious ability to see the dead.
    She wore a long dress of ebony. It was sleeveless and with her hair twisted high, I could clearly see her gold ankh tattoo.
    “Good evening, Ophelia,” I said.
    She observed me for a long, silent moment. “Decided to come alone tonight, I see.”
    “Actually, Pen isn’t alone,” Seymour piped up, not understanding the young woman’s remark. “She’s here with me. We both experienced something weird last night. Supernatural .”
    “Really?” Ophelia sniffed. “Well, you should talk to Rachel about it. I have my own concerns.” She looked away after that, clearly not wishing to talk anymore.
    I wasn’t surprised. I didn’t trust Miss Tuttle. Not one bit.
    “Is there anyone else here I know?” I asked, glancing into the dark room.
    “Yeah,” Seymour said. “You know Leo.”
    “Leo Rollins?”
    I turned to see his shadowy form sitting in a dim corner, far away from everyone else. He nodded a silent greeting, one hand stroking his trimmed beard. Then he turned away, to stare out the wall of windows.
    Ophelia and Leo? Neither of the two sat well with me; seeing them here together made me even surer that something was up. The threatening note came to mind again—the word cut had been prominent—and Leo’s dagger remained highly suspicious to me. I swallowed hard, trying to assure myself that there’d be too many witnesses here tonight for anyone to hurt Seymour or me.
    As Seymour and Rachel went back to their conversation about Popeye, sailors, and comic books, Barney Finch ushered a new guest into the dining room.
    “Hey, Mr. Stoddard!” Seymour called. “Are you here as my lawyer?”
    Emory Stoddard shook his head. “Tonight I’m here to represent the society, Mr. Tarnish.” Then the lawyer offered me his hand. “Good to see you, Mrs. McClure. Fiona told me about your experience last night.”
    I did my best to cover my reaction. Something was definitely up here. He offered me his hand, and I shook, once again noticing the ankh ring.
    “You lied to me about this ring, didn’t you?”
    Stoddard frowned.
    “This symbol has something to do with your affiliation with the Rhode Island Paranormal Society, doesn’t it?”
    “Yes,” Stoddard admitted. “When the society was founded by my great-grandfather and others, they adopted the ankh as their talisman. For them, the symbol represented the gift of life, both on the physical plane and eternally, in the realm of the spirit. It’s too hard to explain to unbelievers, so we don’t even try.”
    “And Miss Tuttle is also a member of your group?”
    Stoddard lowered his voice. “She came to our Newport headquarters several years ago, a