Chapter 9 #2
“And we would’ve made it here in time if you hadn’t flirted with the barista for fifteen minutes,” Mom counters with the exasperation of someone who’s been dealing with Georgie’s romantic adventures for far too many decades. “The poor boy was young enough to be your grandson. ”
“Age is just a number,” Georgie says with a wink. “And that number was at least twenty-five.”
“I’m sorry you missed the photo shoot,” I tell them. “But you’re just in time to see what Hazel’s paranormal team caught on film last night.”
“Please tell me it’s a hot ghost,” Georgie says, peering over Mom’s shoulder at Hazel’s phone with the enthusiasm of someone who’s just discovered a new dating app.
“Older, but no more than six hundred years—that’s my limit.
After six centuries, the conversation just gets stale.
All they want to talk about is the plague and how much better the jousting used to be. ”
“ Please , you have no limits when it comes to men,” Mom says with an eye roll. “Living or dead.”
“You know me well,” Georgie replies with an exaggerated waggle of her brows. “I’m an equal opportunity enchantress.”
The pets converge on our little gathering, with Fish leaping gracefully onto the counter, Sherlock sitting up attentively at my feet, and Fudge looking expectantly up at me until I give in and scoop him into my arms. Everyone knows I’m incapable of resisting pleading puppy eyes.
I know for a fact there aren’t any ghosts at the inn, Fish declares with the certainty only a feline can muster. I’d have seen them by now. Nothing escapes my notice.
There are ghosts at Halloween, Sherlock counters as if he’s clearly been researching supernatural protocols. Those are the rules. The veil gets thin and spooky things happen.
Yup! Fudge adds with enthusiasm, because apparently, even tragedy can’t dampen a Westie’s natural optimism. Heath used to say most ghosts are friendly. The scary ones just get all the attention!
I keep it to myself, but I can’t help wondering if the ghost we’re about to see might be Heath’s. The thought sends a chill down my spine despite the warmth of the inn.
The guests begin to clear out of the immediate area, so I wave Grady and Nessa over. “You two should see this, too.”
“We’re not missing it,” Grady says, practically vaulting over the counter in his eagerness. “Paranormal activity is my jam.”
“If there are ghosts in these halls, I’m asking for a raise,” Nessa teases. “The job description said nothing about working alongside the dead.” I suppose they’d be better tippers than some of our living guests. It couldn’t get any worse.
I frown her way, but I’m grateful she didn’t say that last bit out loud.
Hazel taps at her phone screen, and we all lean in as the video begins to play.
“This was from last night before we called it quits,” she explains. “We steered clear of the crime scene but got a lot of footage from around it and then came into the inn. That’s where we saw this.”
The video shows the very bay window we’re standing near, looking much more ominous in the dark with only the orange twinkle lights providing illumination like tiny beacons in a sea of shadows.
For a moment, nothing happens, then a faint blue aura begins to materialize like special effects in a movie with a really good budget.
As the camera zooms in, the aura takes shape—a woman in a flowing white dress, her features becoming clearer with each second. And her face?—
A breath catches in my throat.
Her face looks exactly like mine!
A chorus of gasps fills the lobby, with mine being the loudest. It’s like looking in a mirror, if mirrors showed you a glowing, semi-transparent version of yourself floating several inches off the ground.
“I know,” Hazel says, nodding at our shocked expressions with the satisfaction of someone who’s just successfully blown everyone’s minds. “I thought it was you at first. But we didn’t see anything with our naked eyes—only what the camera captured.”
She launches into an explanation about the infrared technology they use in their specialized cameras, which can detect heat signatures and energy fluctuations beyond the visible spectrum.
The cameras also have ultra-sensitive light sensors that can capture photons that human eyes can’t perceive, resulting in footage of phenomena that would otherwise remain invisible.
“That sounds halfway between science and science fiction,” I say, still staring at my spectral doppelg?nger and wondering if this is how Alice felt when she fell down the rabbit hole .
A swarm of guests approaches the counter like they’ve sensed that checkout time is approaching, forcing Grady and Nessa back to their posts with the reluctance of people who’ve just been pulled away from the most interesting thing to happen all week.
Mom and Georgie drift toward the pumpkin display with Ella still nestled in Mom’s arms, the pets trailing behind them like a furry entourage.
“I need to run,” Hazel says, tucking her phone back into her pocket, “but I was wondering—would it be okay if the Beyond Belief Paranormal Club hosts a meeting in the library here at the inn tomorrow night? After what we found, everyone’s eager to continue the investigation.”
“Absolutely,” I agree. “I’ll make sure refreshments are available. Ghost hunting is hungry work, I imagine.”
“Thanks, you’re the best,” Hazel says with a smile that suggests I’ve just made her week. “We’ll try not to disturb your other guests.”
I hesitate for a moment before asking, “Hazel, do you have any idea who would want Heath dead? I know my sister is the prime suspect, but...” I let the question hang in the air like a ghost itself.
Her expression turns guarded. “Heath didn’t have a big fan club, that’s for sure. But I didn’t know him as well as Buffy seemed to. Let’s just say, they’ve been cozy for the last few months, and as of late, that seemed to have soured. Very quickly.”
With that cryptic remark, Hazel heads for the exit, leaving me standing there trying to process both supernatural evidence and potential murder motives.
My sister might be the only one on the official suspect list, but I’m positive she’s innocent.
Macy may be many things, but she’s more likely to kill someone with cutting remarks than actual knives.
There’s another killer out there somewhere, and if the police can’t find them, I’ll have to—before Macy is forced to trade her designer wardrobe for an orange jumpsuit that definitely won’t complement her skin tone.
Mom and Georgie return, with Ella now awake and making those little pre-cry face scrunches that suggest a meltdown is imminent.
“So where are we off to, Toots?” Georgie asks, clearly itching for some amateur sleuthing. “Who’s suspect number one? ”
“And it had better not be Macy,” Mom adds with the fierce protectiveness of a mother bear who’s ready to defend her cubs against all accusations, reasonable or otherwise.
“My daughters may drive me to drink on a daily basis, but they’re not killers.
Well, maybe of my patience, but not of actual people. ”
“It’s not Macy,” I assure them, taking Ella back and bouncing her gently.
“But someone in the Beyond Belief Paranormal Club knows more than they’re saying, and I intend to find out who.
” I pause, mentally rearranging my day to include amateur detective work alongside my regular duties of running an inn and keeping a tiny human alive.
“I think it’s time for a little chat with Buffy.
After what Hazel just told me about her relationship with Heath, she’s moved to the top of my list.”
After all, I’ve always been good at seeing things that others miss, whether they’re hiding in plain sight or behind a facade as transparent as a ghost.
I glance over to the bay window where my doppelg?nger was hovering just a few short hours ago. It’s the same ghost I saw floating right through the inn doors last night like she owned the place.
A shiver runs up my spine.
Who is that woman and why is she here? Has she always been here?
But for now, it’s one mystery at a time.
Buffy Butterwick, you’re up next.