The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

sank into the empty chair beside Emory Stoddard. To my surprise, Leo did not join the circle. Instead, he closed the heavy draperies, covering the wall of windows. The ambient light was completely cut off. As Leo melted back into the shadows, the only illumination was the candle inside the circle.
    “Let us begin,” Stoddard said, barely above a whisper. “Everyone, please gaze into the flame. Imagine that it is the glow of existence, burning bright in the void of the universe. That’s it . . . Keep watching the flame . . . Keep watching . . .”
    He droned on for a few minutes, until I began to suspect Stoddard was trying to hypnotize us—so, rather than concentrate on the flame, I glanced at the other members of the circle. Most everyone was following Stoddard’s cues. Everyone but April Briggs. Instead of watching the flickering flame, her eyes were closed tight, her full lips pinched into a tense frown. Finally, Stoddard ceased to prompt us, and addressed Miss Delve directly.
    “Can you hear me, Rachel?”
    “Yes,” she replied, wide eyes fixed on the flickering flame.
    “Are you in contact with the spirit world?”
    “I am.”
    Stoddard leaned forward. “Mrs. Fromsette, you may speak now.”
    “I wish to commune with Mr. Fromsette, my late husband,” she said in a voice hoarse with emotion. “He vanished right here in Quindicott Pond, last September, nine months ago today.”
    There was a long and very tense pause. Finally Rachel broke the silence. “Arthur is with me now,” she whispered. “Your husband is here.”
    I let out a breath. So did everyone else.
    “He wants to know how Tutu is doing,” Rachel said in a voice that seemed suddenly hollow.
    Mrs. Fromsette gasped. “Tutu is Arthur’s African gray,” she told us. I saw April Briggs tense.
    “Tutu is fine, Arthur! I bought a much larger cage for the parrot and he seems very happy.”
    Another long silence followed.
    “I . . . I wonder about you, Arthur,” Mrs. Fromsette continued. “What happened that day on the boat? Why didn’t you come back to me?”
    I watched as Rachel’s formerly relaxed features twisted into a mask of torment. “I . . . I can’t hold on,” she stammered in a low voice.
    “What’s happening, Arthur?” Mrs. Fromsette cried. “Tell me!”
    “The boat,” Rachel rasped. “Trying to hold on, but the oar—it keeps hitting me. Why? Why are you hitting me?!”
    Rachel writhed in apparent torment, until I felt Seymour tense in the seat beside me. I thought he was going to bolt to Rachel’s side, but he remained in his seat, fists tightly clenched.
    Mr. Stoddard watched the medium closely, his eyes wide. “Quickly, Mrs. Fromsette, ask your questions,” he urged. “I must bring her back soon!”
    “Arthur? Who is hitting you?”
    “I know! I know who it is,” Rachel gasped, and her arms flew outward. She jerked them as if she were fending off blows, then her fingers clawed the air as if she were trying to hang on to something.
    April Briggs reared back to avoid Rachel’s flailing. I heard her scream the same moment the candle toppled and the room went black.
    Then I heard another scream. Seymour brushed my leg as he lurched out of his chair. I heard a meaty smack, then a crash!
    “The lights, Leo!” Mr. Stoddard shouted. “The lights!”
    It seemed an eternity before the lights came up, and when they finally did, Seymour was on the floor, cradling a bloodied Rachel Delve in his arms. The woman’s nose was smashed; blood dribbled down her cheek and flowed from her gaping mouth. Her eyelids fluttered wildly.
    “Rachel, can you hear me?” Seymour called, shaking her.
    He touched her face, adding to the gore that already stained his hands, his clothing. Finally the woman heard Seymour’s frantic calls, and tried to focus. Then her head lolled limply to one side.
    “Call 911,” Seymour shouted. “Get an ambulance here!”
     
    THE AMBULANCE CAME and went, spiriting the medium to the emergency room. Seymour wanted to follow Rachel to the hospital, but was detained by an angry Chief Ciders who, after interviewing the séance members for less than five minutes, promptly arrested Seymour Tarnish.
    “This time, I know it’s the victim’s blood on your clothes,” the chief declared.
    Seymour pleaded his innocence even as he was cuffed and dragged away by Bull McCoy. Stoddard was torn between going to the hospital to be with Rachel or arranging bail for Seymour.
    “I’ll be fine. I’ve spent