Murder Ghost Foul: The Complete Mystic Springs Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series Page 9

  He hadn’t turned up that day. Atticus Hornblower was so focused on his town, and his daughter - probably in that order - that his passing over wasn’t easy. He clung to the living world, not realising that he was eagerly awaited by the spirits. If there was a limbo that spirits could be sucked into, as the spirits like to gossip about, Atticus Hornblower found it as he did his best to simply refuse to die.

  “I didn’t mean that. Sorry, dad.” Mariam says. “He’s right. You’re right, dad. I do need to keep busy. And I am. Work is always busy.”

  Atticus frowns by her side. “Tell her to be careful of Desiree.”

  I glance at him and try to shrug - why?

  “Tell her, she’s a suspect in a murder case.”

  I let out a low sigh. Desiree is Mariam’s boss. I’m fairly sure it would be breaking a million rules to reveal to Mariam that she’s being considered a murder suspect.

  “Your dad worries that Desiree isn’t a good influence.”

  Mariam’s body stiffens. “Why?”

  “He won’t say.” I lie.

  “Yes I will!” Atticus barks. “Tell her! She needs to be warned.”

  I sigh. “He just asks that you be careful.”

  Mariam’s cheeks flush red and she shakes her head. “You know, maybe the time has come for me to move forward with my life.”

  “What does she mean?” Atticus asks.

  “What do you mean?” I repeat.

  Mariam takes a sip of water and picks up her saddle bag from the carpet, then gets up to her feet. “Daddy. I love you and I miss you. I’m not sure these meetings are the best way for me to move forward with my life.”

  “What’s she doing?” Atticus asks. He remains on the settee and, as he gazes up at his daughter, suddenly looks old and very afraid.

  “Mariam.” I begin. “You’re free to leave, of course, but are you okay?”

  She glares at me with such ferocity I can’t believe I ever had the misconception that she was my almost best friend. I barely know her really. I just know her slightly better than I know anyone else.

  “I’m not going home to get drunk, if that’s what you mean.” She spits at me. Even in her full blown addiction stage, I never saw her like this.

  “It isn’t.” I lie. “I just don’t want you to go home and be upset. I’m sure your dad would leave us to it if you want to stay and have a chat.”

  “So you can report back to him?” Mariam asks. “Or so he can float around in the next room and listen? No. I’m done here. I just want to be on my own.”

  I nod and follow her to the door, where we spend an awkward few moments not speaking to each other while she puts her riding boots back on. She opens the door herself and leaves without saying goodbye.

  Atticus is on the settee, head in his hands.

  “I’m sorry.” I say.

  “I thought she’d grown out of that.” He says with a sigh. “We had blazing rows when she was younger. She’s too much like me, that’s the problem. We argue because we both know we’re right and the other one’s wrong. Oh, I’ve ruined it all. What if she doesn’t come back?”

  I walk through to the kitchen and make myself a strong coffee. “Maybe some space isn’t a bad idea.”

  He looks at me, wounded by my words.

  “This set up, it isn’t typical. Regular meetings… I know why you’ve wanted to do it, but maybe it is keeping Mariam from moving on fully.”

  Atticus groans. “I worry about the girl.”

  “I know.” I say. Everyone worries about Mariam. Or at least they did, back when she was holding up the bar every night and when her eyes were more bloodshot than white. But, she seems to have straightened herself out now.

  “I’d feel better if she’d stay away from Desiree.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s a murder suspect!”

  I frown. “There’s a few suspects, you didn’t warn her away from anyone else.”

  “She doesn’t spend time with any of the others.” Atticus says. “She works with Desiree. She could be in danger.”

  “Look, what if I go and speak to Desiree, would that make you feel better?”

  He jumps up from the settee and begins to pace the room again. “Don’t mention Mariam.”

  “Of course not.” I say with a laugh. “Why would I?”

  Atticus doesn’t laugh. He looks down at the floor for a moment before answering. “I just want to protect my baby girl.”

  “Okay, well, leave it to me. I’ll go and talk to Desiree.”

  Atticus nods and then leaves. I tidy the consultation room and close the doors, then walk out to the veranda and sit on my rocking chair with what’s left of my coffee.

  The neighbourhood is quiet. It’s the middle of the day, people are at work or school. Shift workers are catching up on sleep.

  An old Honda Civic drives by slowly and I raise my hand and wave to the unknown driver. That’s the kind of place this is.

  After that, nothing.

  I sip my drink and try to clear my mind. I don’t blame Mariam for considering cutting back the contact with Atticus. I’ve wondered how healthy it is for a while.

  I wonder if I was irresponsible for allowing the monthly meetings to go on as long as they have. I haven’t earned anything from it, though, Mariam can’t pay me on her teacher’s salary. And it was Mariam who wanted the regular contact. When she was going through withdrawal, her dad’s words gave her enormous strength.

  Now, she seems not to need him. That could be time passing, of course, healing the grief.

  But I don’t buy it.

  I think something else is going on.

  I think Mariam is hiding something.

  13

  Connie

  I decide to walk down to the coffee house and see if my hunch is right.

  People are creatures of habit. If you stop by the coffee house for coffee one day, there’s a good chance it’s part of your routine and you’ll do it again the next day.

  “Hey, Connie.” Ellie says, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  “You ok?”

  She nods. “Got this annoying croak in my throat.”

  “Ugh, I hate that.” I say, which is true. I’m a total baby when I get sick. “Hope you’re taking care of yourself?”

  She shrugs and I laugh. She’s a small business owner, she’ll look after herself when she can afford to hire staff or take a holiday.

  Godiva, the Persian cat, glares at me from her bed on the floor.

  “Ignore her.” Ellie whispers. “She’s such a grump.”

  “She’s got a good life, sitting in here all day, hearing all the gossip.”

  Ellie gazes down at Godiva and smiles in that way that only cat lovers understand. “I like being able to see her. She makes me smile, even on the days when it seems like everyone’s a nut job who wants to make my life hell.”

  I laugh at her honesty. “Gotta love working with the public, hey.”

  She rolls her eyes. “It’s a total dream. You want a cappuccino?”

  “Please, honey.” I say.

  The coffee house is quiet. In the furthest corner from the door, there’s a man in shorts and a hoodie working on a laptop. His table is full of empty takeout cups, and his earbuds drown out the coffee house’s music selection. Close to the window is a young mum with a sleeping baby in a huge pushchair. She raises the enormous mug of coffee to her lips and her face is practically transformed by the miracle of the moment: a hot drink, in peace. No sooner does she put her mug down than laptop man’s phone rings, the heavy R’n’B ringtone waking the baby instantly. The woman glares across at him, then meets my eye and shares an eye roll with me before scooping the baby out of the pushchair.

  “Sprinkles?” Ellie asks.

  “Nah, I’m good.” I say. I never see the point of chocolate sprinkles on a cappuccino. They add nothing to the taste but increase the calories. Not that I’m watching my calories, or my weight, but I have to draw the line somewhere, and c
hocolate sprinkles is it.

  I wander across towards a table near the woman with the fussing baby and offer her a smile.

  “Literally my first hot drink in six weeks.” She says, and I realise that the pushchair houses two babies, not one. One remains, somehow, fast asleep. She notices me taking in the full reality and grimaces. “Oh, she’s fine. It’s always him. Such a light sleeper, aren’t you boo?”

  The baby boy quiets as soon as she places the dummy in his mouth.

  “Will he go back in there now?” I ask.

  “It’s not worth the risk.” She says with a small laugh. She struggles to reach for her drink, given its size and weight, while holding the baby.

  “I could hold him.” I say, my words surprising me. I love babies. “I mean, I know I’m a stranger, so that’s probably a little odd for me to offer. But if you want to enjoy your drink…”

  “You know, that would be so nice. Come and join me.” She says. I manoeuvre the pushchair slightly so I can squeeze past it and sit across from her, then she hands me the tiny baby, who doesn’t stir as he is transferred into my arms. It’s been a long time since I’ve held a baby, but it comes right back to me; how to support the head; how, after a while, my arm begins to ache and I need to rest my crooked elbow against the arm of the chair. I manage to avoid the temptation to inhale that new baby scent from his head; that would be too weird.

  “Your babies are so beautiful.”

  “Oh, thanks. They say mothers are biased, but I think they are too.”

  I grin at her. “I’m Connie, by the way.”

  “Adele.” She replies. “We just moved here.”

  “Oh, well welcome! Whereabouts have you moved from?”

  “New York.” Adele says, curling her nose up. “I adored that place, until I found out we were pregnant. I didn’t want to raise a family in such a huge city. Taylor, my husband, he’s been waiting for a transfer to come up.”

  “Well, this place definitely isn’t a huge city. Although you’d think so with how good this coffee is.”

  “This place is super cute.” Adele says, glancing around the interior of the coffee house. “I can see me being here a whole lot, especially if these two learn to sleep at the same time and give me some peace.”

  “What’s it like?” I ask. “Having twins? I’ve always wondered how people cope.”

  She sighs. “It’s a little bit like being put through one of those sleep deprivation tortures, but by the most beautiful, perfect scientist in the world, who you’re madly in love with. Like, it’s hell, but you’re also kind of grateful every time you’re woken up because it gives you the chance to see them again.”

  I laugh. “That’s a pretty good way to explain it. Shall I just shut up so you can drink in peace?”

  Adele shakes her head. “Oh no, trust me, adult company is very appreciated right now.”

  “You’re not with…” I start, wondering how to politely ask if she’s a single mum, even though she mentioned her husband earlier.

  “Taylor’s finishing up work in New York. He’ll be joining us, but not yet. So, I have a couple months of loneliness ahead of me.”

  “Oh no.” I protest. “You know me now. And I’ll introduce you to everyone else, they’re all friendly. Trust me, Mystic Springs is not a place to worry about being lonely. You’ll be fine.”

  “You’re the sweetest, Connie. Thank you.” She says. The baby boy begins to squirm in my arms, just as she finishes the last of her drink. She reaches out her arms and takes him from me, instinctively raising his butt to her nose, which she crinkles after taking a smell. “Ooh, Mr, you are such a stinker. We need to get you changed.”

  I smile politely, and notice Desiree walk in.

  “Will you excuse me? I need to get this one changed and then we should head home. It was so great to meet you.”

  “Oh, of course, the toilets are right in the back there. Do you need a hand with the door or anything?”

  “I’ll be okay.” Adele says with a laugh. “I’m finally starting to figure things out. Let’s do this again, though? Here, have my card. That sounds so pompous, I apologise, but I don’t know my number otherwise.”

  She hands me a glossy business card. Adele Morton, Attorney at Law it reads. “I’ll text you my number.”

  I sit and sip my cappuccino as she bundles her babies off towards the toilet. I can already feel the ache in my arm from holding the baby boy.

  A few moments later, Desiree joins me.

  “I thought you’d hidden your pregnancy very well for a moment, there.” She says with a smile.

  I return the smile, ignoring the temptation to make some reply about how it’s easy to hide a pregnancy when you’re the size of a house anyway. She’s clearly being friendly, and I’m not the size of a house. Not really.

  “No babies here. How about you? You never wanted to give Troy a brother or sister?”

  She shakes her head quickly. “He was a terrible baby. I don’t remember anything about my life before him, but if I had wanted more than one child, he cried and screamed and convinced me to forget that idea.”

  “Oh, dear.” I say. “You’d never know that to look at him now. He seems like such an old spirit.”

  She nods. “He’s a good kid. But he can have his moments still. Can’t we all?”

  “How’s he holding up?” I ask.

  Desiree shrugs. “He doesn’t seem that affected. He didn’t really know Lola.”

  “It seems like nobody did.” I murmur.

  Desiree shakes her head and takes a sip of her iced tea.

  I imitate her actions and take a long drink of my cappuccino, wondering how to question her without her realising what I’m doing. Subtlety has never been my strongest skill.

  “Are you ok, Connie?” She asks, her brow furrowed with concern.

  I nod a little too vigorously. I’m going to have to get creative. “I’m finding it hard to sleep. Aren’t you?”

  “Because of Lola?” Desiree asks. “Well, no, actually.”

  “Oh.” I say. Strike one, I think. The person with the least to fear is the murderer.

  “I think Lola was targeted.” Desiree continues. “I know that’s an awful thing to say, but I don’t think we suddenly have a serial killer among us.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Desiree shrugs. “All the history we have without a murder? I have to believe there was some reason here.”

  “But how can you be so confident there won’t be a reason to hurt someone else?” I ask, stopping myself from adding, unless you’re the killer.

  “What reason could there be?” She throws the question back at me. “Lola wasn’t close to anyone. She wasn’t involved in the community. There’s nothing that links her to another person enough to put them at risk.”

  “Oh.” I say. It makes sense, although I was never too concerned about being a target. Perhaps, like Desiree, I’d been reassured by how separate Lola seemed.

  “Ya know, I’ve been thinking, did someone from her past catch up with her?” Desiree asks.

  I meet her gaze and she raises her eyebrows for impact. “Wow, I hadn’t considered that.”

  Desiree shrugs. “I did some digging. Turns out she’s wanted in Alabama.”

  “No way.” I gasp.

  “Mm-hmm.” Desiree says, sadness plaguing her face. Every young person who falls through the cracks pains her. “Grand theft auto.”

  “So she stole a car and came here on the run?” I ask. I don’t remember Lola’s arrival into the town, but I know I never saw her in a vehicle.

  “I don’t think so.” Desiree says. “I think she was involved in something bigger. A gang, perhaps.”

  “No.” I protest, considering how young Lola had seemed, despite her determination to appear - and act - as if she was older.

  “I see it.” Desiree says. “I like to think I know the signs.”

  I nod because I’m not the expert here. Desiree worked years in the inner city
schools before moving out here to give her and Troy - Troy especially - a better quality of life.

  “So somebody could have followed her here? But why?”

  She shrugs. “Any number of reasons. She could have had information someone didn’t want her to. She could have owed somebody something. She could even have tipped off the cops on someone. Maybe she’d been blackmailing someone else and they decided enough was enough. When you move in those circles, there’s a lot of reasons to take a life.”

  “What was she blackmailing you about, again?” I ask, trying for casual disinterest, as if I’ve forgotten that she’s already dodged the question once.

  Desiree watches me and bites her lip. “Something private.”

  I finish my cappuccino and sit back in the chair. Lola had information about Desiree. Information that I see, even now, Desiree wants to protect. If she’s guilty, the best thing to do is make someone else look guilty.

  “So what are the signs?” I ask.

  She blinks.

  “Of gang involvement, or whatever? I’m just curious.”

  Desiree sighs. “You know I spoke to her about enrolling? She wasn’t interested. Just not open to it at all. But she spent the whole time doodling. I always leave pen and paper out when I’m talking to a student, ya know, some people listen better when their hands are busy, and some kids can’t keep eye contact. So she doodled, said no way to school, and left. And I always check doodles, they can tell us so much. Hers were this crown, this five-pointed crown. Just again and again and again, all over the page.”

  “And that shows you’re in a gang?”

  “It can. It’s one of the most common gang affiliation symbols. Obviously, it’s not enough on its own, but it made me wonder.” Desiree says with a frown. “I sure wish I’d pushed harder with her. It never gets easier, ya know, feeling like you’re failing those kids.”

  I look at her and wonder what the heck I’m doing even considering she could have hurt Lola. She’s devoted her entire life to helping kids, not harming them.