The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

Seymour to the red-and-white-checkerboard kitchen, now illuminated by the flickering glow of a dozen candles. I hadn’t seen Seymour since he was hauled off to jail, and he looked tired. There was also a fresh bruise under his left eye.
    “Courtesy of that moron Bull McCoy,” he explained before directing my attention to an array of electronic devices piled on the counter.
    “What’s this stuff for?” I asked, dreading the answer.
    “It’s everything you need to track down ghosts. Here’s an EMF detector.” Seymour displayed a small, handheld device. “And this is a temperature gauge to locate cold spots—I have a handheld model, too. Here’s a set of infrared cameras and a bunch of voice monitors and stuff to record electronic voice phenomena. The guys at Tech Squad even rented me a laptop to track my results.”
    “What are you planning to do?”
    “Find the damn ghost and record it,” he declared. “I’m going to prove that it wasn’t me who made those noises and scared Timothea to death. It’ll get Ciders off my back for good and he can stop arresting me for trumped-up reasons. My only problem is this old house. I’m not sure it can handle the voltage I need.”
    That was when I heard an engine. With a sick twist of my guts, I realized it was the familiar high-low rumble of a customized Harley.
    “Oh, my God,” I rasped. “Leo Rollins is here.”
    Seymour peered through the window. “You’re right! He’ll be able to fix my electrical problems!”
    “Seymour, no! Leo’s dangerous! Stay away from him!” I grabbed a handful of his polo shirt.
    “Are you kidding, Pen? I need all the help I can get!” Seymour broke away and hurried to admit the electrician.
    I dug out my cell, called Eddie, and (thank goodness) got him on the second ring. “Come to Todd Mansion with your gun,” I pleaded. “Can’t explain. I think Seymour’s life is in danger.”
    I didn’t know how long it would take Eddie to get here, but I was determined to protect my friend. I glanced around and noticed a Maglite on the counter. My fingers closed around the heavy black flashlight like a cop gripping his nightstick. Then I moved through the darkened house to the front door.
    “Thanks for coming, Leo,” Seymour said.
    “No problem,” Leo’s deep voice grunted in the foyer. “It’s a short drive from the bar on the highway.”
    I cleared my throat. “You were drinking?”
    “I was working. Been moonlighting for a couple of months at Gentlemen’s Oasis. I operate the stage lights, play the music, talk to the ladies.” He shrugged. “It’s a pretty nice part-time gig.”
    Seymour nodded. “Glad you’re here. I got a problem.”
    “Yeah, Bud collared me at the bar. Told me you blew a fuse,” Rollins said, smirking.
    “I’m not a moron, Leo. I could fix it if I knew where the damn fuse box was,” Seymour said.
    “It’s most likely in the basement, probably along the south wall, because that’s where the main comes in off Larchmont. Show me how to get downstairs and I’ll get your juice back.”
    Holding my breath, I decided that Leo had changed his plans to hurt Seymour. Seeing me here must have made the difference—after all, I’d be a witness .
    I followed the pair to the kitchen, still gripping the Maglite tightly. We walked through a narrow door and down a rickety wooden staircase. The musty basement had a low ceiling and an uneven dirt floor. It was damp and cool, too, like a root cellar.
    Leo produced a high-powered flashlight of his own and beamed it around the tight space. He smiled behind his trimmed blond beard when his light centered on a wooden cabinet mounted on the south wall. Inside, Leo found two large fuse boxes and the glass-domed electric meter.
    “You blew a fuse all right, but the dial on the meter is still moving.”
    Seymour shrugged. “So?”
    “So juice is still flowing. Somewhere in this house anyway.”
    “But nothing works, upstairs or down,” Seymour insisted.
    Leo shined his beam on three silver pipes bolted to the fieldstone wall above the fuse boxes. “The electrical lines are inside those aluminum conduits. Two of them run upstairs to power the house, but the third one goes sideways.” Leo shifted the beam until we saw the point where the silver pipe seemed to vanish into a blank wall. “What’s on that side of the house?”
    Seymour rubbed his chin. “The folly.”
    Leo blinked. “The what?”
    “The fake ruins in the garden,” he