The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

“Thanks, Jack.”
    Anyway, you’re looking at this whole thing through a gloomy eye, instead of through a nice happy glass of cheap rye, as Curly the Bookie used to say.
    “You’re going to have to translate that one.”
    It’s a good thing, Spencer going off to boot camp—
    “It’s not the army, Jack, just cabins by a lake—”
    The boy needs a seventh-inning stretch is all I’m saying. And you do, too. A nice break from nagging the junior slugger about homework, taxiing the kid to and from Little League practice, and laundering his smelly gym shorts. No more of the kid sneaking out of bed to watch the all-night Shield of Justice marathon on the Intrigue Channel—
    “What?!”
    Uh . . . how about you strike that last comment from the record—
    “Wait until I get home—”
    Look, doll. All I’m saying is that you could use a break from the dull routine, too. Why don’t you take me to the picture show, or better yet the races? I haven’t seen the ponies trot in sixty years.
    I grunted, staring sullenly through the windshield. The scenery was passing by at a glacial pace.
    Where are we headed, anyway?
    “I have books to deliver to Miss Todd.”
    That crazy old dame in the big house on Larchmont?
    “The same.”
    Doesn’t your auntie usually make that run?
    “She broke her glasses this morning and her spare pair has gone missing. Sadie doesn’t feel confident enough to drive, even though she can see well enough without them.”
    You’re on the level there. Red bird’s a real hawk-eye when it comes to spotting low-life grifters trying to snatch a tome—
    “Anyway, that’s why I’m doing it. Miss Todd’s a good customer and her delivery is over a week late.”
    Why can’t the old dame come down to the store and pick up her own books?
    “She never leaves her house. Hasn’t for years, as far as I know. Except for Sadie’s monthly visits to talk books, she has very little contact with the outside world. There’s a cleaning service, and I understand most of her business is conducted through some law firm.”
    Sounds like she’s a little light in the head.
    “No, she’s very sharp. She can be a little formal, but for someone with a reputation as a hermit, she’s been awfully gracious to me and Sadie.”
    Except for the wild hair, the nine-inch fingernails, and the fact that she hasn’t bathed in years, she’s a sweet old broad—
    I laughed. “Jack, you’re terrible! She’s not like that at all! In fact, she dresses better than me, always has her hair nicely done. She wears a lot of jewelry, too. Necklaces, rings, bracelets, earrings. Once she greeted Aunt Sadie wearing an elaborate silver crown. Sadie told me Miss Todd must have a thing for silver, because that’s the only metal she’ll wear.”
    So what’s this rich broad read then? I’ll bet you even money it’s little old lady mysteries: Miss Petunia Finds a Body. Colonel Ketchup Kicks the Bucket. Right?
    “Wrong. Miss Todd’s a true-crime enthusiast. No murder is too grisly, no chain of events too disturbing.”
    Sounds like she’d make a good morgue attendant.
    “Well, lately, she’s widened her interest. After Aunt Sadie mentioned our new occult titles, the old woman began ordering books by the dozen. In fact, most of the titles Aunt Sadie boxed up for her today deal with psychic phenomenon, extrasensory perception, and a study on cross-cultural beliefs about the afterlife. Of course, I could save her the trouble of all that reading and just introduce her to you.”
    Is that supposed to be a joke, dollface?
    We’d finally reached the entrance to the Quindicott Cemetery and the funeral procession veered off the main road.
    “Thank goodness!”
    The last of the vehicles rolled through the graveyard’s open gates and I hit the gas. Feeling the breeze on my face again, I accelerated up Dogwood’s long, slow grade until I was going nearly sixty.
    I crested the high plateau and turned onto Larchmont. Unfortunately, I swerved straight into the sun’s glare. For a few seconds, I was totally blinded. As I raised my hand to shield my eyes, a man’s silhouette appeared framed by the brilliant light—right in front of my windshield.
    “Oh, my God, I’m going to hit that man—”
    LOOK OUT, BABE!
    I slammed the brakes and cut the wheel at the same time. Both of my actions were too fast. I was thrown forward and my car began to fishtail on the pavement.

CHAPTER 2
     
    Hit and Run
     
    I looked at my face in the flawed