When Good Ghosts Get the Blues Page 11

  If only.

  Gwen clucked her tongue. “Don’t be such a stickler, Hayward.”

  I eyed them over the lunch menu. “Maybe you guys would rather go out and see the sights?”

  “You owe me ten bucks,” Flapjack said to Hayward. “I told you, as soon as Prince Charming was back in the picture, she’d wait less than five minutes before trying to give us the slip.”

  “That’s not fair!” I protested, even as my cheeks warmed.

  Flapjack cocked his head.

  “Okay, fine.” I groaned. “But really, what are you going to do? Hang out here all night? Seems like going out on the town would be a lot more fun.”

  All three of them blinked at me.

  “Listen, guys, I really appreciate you coming to help me, but it’s mission accomplished, right? You heard Lucas. He’s not in jail, his lawyer is on the case, and we just have to wait for things to shake out. There’s nothing left for you to do.”

  “Come on, Scar. We all know you don’t really believe that. I’ve known you since you were all skinned knees and bruised elbows, hanging off the monkey bars. You’re not going to be able to let this go until the real killer is behind bars and Lucas is fully in the clear.”

  “As much as it pains me to admit it, the cat has a point, Lady Scarlet.”

  I looked to Gwen. My last hope. If anyone would understand my desire for some one-on-one time with Lucas, it would be her.

  “I’m sorry, Scarlet,” she said, dashing all hope, “but this thing isn’t over yet. Let us stick around and help clear his name. It’s the least we can do, really. After everything you’ve done to help me and the other ghosts back in Beechwood Harbor.”

  I set the room service menu down and raked my fingers through my hair, gathering the renegade strands back into formation. “Help, how? Unless you can sweet talk the psycho-ghost in the mirror, I’d say we’re at a dead end.”

  Gwen tapped her fingertips together for a moment, thinking. “We can go haunt the police station and see what we can find out. Maybe they have another suspect in mind or some clue that we can use to figure out who really did it.”

  “Ask Loverboy what happened that morning,” Flapjack said. “He was one of the last people to see Bart alive. He’ll know who was where and maybe have an idea on motive too.”

  I nodded. “All right, fine. I’ll ask. In the meantime, can we get a few hours of privacy? If you want to circle through the local police stations, be my guest.”

  Flapjack’s tail swirled as he whipped around. “Gwen, you and stuffy-knickers go back to the house and see if you can find the detectives. Follow them around. Divide and conquer if you have to. Meanwhile, I’ll go see what I can find out down at the station.”

  I smiled. “Thanks for understanding, you guys.”

  Gwen grinned and shot me a meaningful wink before vanishing. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” her voice echoed.

  Flapjack made a barfing sound and then winked out of sight. Hayward hung in midair before propelling himself forward and through the front door, muttering all the way.

  I sighed. “Good grief.”

  The bathroom door opened as I finished placing a rather impressive room service order and Lucas poked his head out. “Is the coast clear?”

  “Huh?” I said, putting down the phone.

  “Do I, uh, have an audience?” he asked, scanning the room.

  “You’re all clear.” I laughed. “I gave them the metaphysical boot.”

  He strode into the room, a white hotel towel hanging low on his hips. “Forgot to bring in a fresh pair of fatigues,” he said, going to his suitcase.

  “Fatigues, huh? Didn’t realize we were starring in a Jon Claude Van Dam movie, here.”

  A balled up pair of socks flew from his corner of the room and landed at my feet. “Incoming,” he called over one shoulder, flashing a smile.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I grabbed the socks. “Be careful, soldier, or I won’t share my cheesecake with you.”

  Lucas chuckled and quickly dressed in a pair of black athletic pants and a grey t-shirt. He pulled a hooded sweatshirt over his head and then lowered the hood. “You’ll share with me,” he said, coming to sit with me at the end of the bed.

  “You’re pretty confident there, huh?” I teased.

  He captured my chin and gave me a long kiss.

  Stars danced behind my eyes when we parted, and I grinned. “All right, fine, you can have some of the cheesecake.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he said, laughing softly.

  It was nice, if not surprising, to see him so relaxed. Someone would have to peel me off the ceiling if I’d been forced to spend nearly thirty-six hours in a holding cell, being drilled by detectives at random intervals. I supposed it was a testament to his military training. Soldiers certainly had to be prepared for anything and to handle even the most intense situations with a cool head.

  “Sorry about the ghosts,” I said after a moment. “That’s probably the last thing you need after everything you’ve gone through.”

  “What are they doing here?”

  “After you left to go meet with the lawyers and the detectives, I had a teensy little breakdown and called my friend Holly, back in Beechwood Harbor. She told the ghosts I was in trouble and sent them here.”

  Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “This Holly, she can see ghosts too?”

  Crap.

  See, kids, this is why it’s important to get a full, eight hours of sleep every night.

  “I—uh—well, she—” I stopped sputtering and bit down on the inside of my cheek.

  “Scarlet?”

  I couldn’t tell him Holly was a witch. That wasn’t just a can of worms, it was a barrel full of night crawlers on worm steroids!

  “She knows about the ghosts,” I said, still sputtering my words slightly. “So, she went to the shop and told them. She knows they hang out there.”

  “Uh huh.”

  He wasn’t buying it. I could feel the waves of skepticism rolling off him.

  Why, oh why, couldn’t I be attracted to dumb guys? It really would make life so much easier.

  “It’s a long story,” I added, trying a casual flap of my hand, which, I think only made things worse. “I’ll get rid of them, I swear.”

  “Where are they now?” he asked.

  “Looking for clues,” I replied. “They want to help figure out who the real killer is. Gwen and Hayward went back to the Saint Charles house and Flapjack is off to haunt the police station.”

  Lucas ran a hand down his face. “I’d ask what’s the worst that could happen, but I’m not sure I want to think about it.”

  “They’re just observing,” I told him. “It’s busy work, really. I just wanted to be able to enjoy some dinner without interruptions.”

  I walked my fingers up Lucas’s chest and smiled up at him. “And if we’re lucky, time for dessert, too.”

  And just like that, not another word about ghosts was spoken for the rest of the night.

  Chapter 14

  “They’re so cute though. We can’t wake them up.”

  “We have work to do. This isn’t The Bachelorette, Gwen.”

  Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Maybe they’ll get bored and go away.

  “Yo, Scar! Shake a leg.”

  Ugh.

  “Guys!” I hissed, propping up on my elbows to glare at the pack of ghosts hovering over the foot of the bed.

  “Oh, good, you’re awake,” Flapjack said, flashing a Cheshire grin.

  I rolled my eyes and flopped back down. “Why me?” I muttered to the ceiling. Streaks of light shone across it, coming through a part in the thick curtains covering the large picture window. I sighed, then tossed off my covers and rolled out of bed. I grabbed my cotton robe from the bedside table and then paused to roll a finger through the air in the ghost’s general direction. In unison, they all turned away from me and I shrugged into the thin garment. When the sash was tied securely around my waist, I stood and went out t
o the living room, leaving Lucas to wake up on his own. He needed the sleep a lot more than I did.

  The clock on the microwave blared at me as I stumbled sleepily for the four-cup coffee maker. 6:45. Ghosts seriously have no appreciation for sleeping in. Only once the comforting drip-drop sound chimed and the smell of French roast wafted up to me did I turn around to face the impatient trio. “All right. What’s going on?”

  “You look a little rough around the edges, Scar. What time did you go to bed?”

  Gwen giggled. “Told you we should have let her sleep in.”

  “Perhaps we should wait for her to have some coffee,” Hayward suggested.

  “Um, hello? I’m standing right here!” I tossed my arms in the air as I whirled back around to hunt down a mug. Muttering under my breath, I doctored up the first cup with three packs of sugar and enough creamer pods to turn the dark liquid to hazelnut perfection.

  “Hayward, maybe you should start?” Gwen suggested.

  I glanced at him and he cleared his throat. “The detectives seem to be done with their investigation. None of them were at the house last night, although they still have their tape and seals on the doors. The signs say no one is to enter.”

  “The crew was mostly packed up, too,” Gwen added. “I think they’re shutting down production.”

  “Did you try talking with Raymond again?” I asked.

  Hayward glanced at Gwen out of the corner of his eye. She frowned. “We tried to see if there was something else he might want, maybe a new location in the house, but he wasn’t interested. He got upset and started screaming. That’s when Gayle asked us to leave.”

  “Yikes.” I drank deeply and then looked at Flapjack. “What about you? Any luck at the precinct?”

  “They have a few suspects listed on a big white board, but from what I could tell, they aren’t talking about any of them. Well, besides Lucas. They searched the hotel room the studio booked for him, but it doesn’t seem like that turned up much. They have a tech team scrubbing his work computer, tablet, and emails, too. Seems he had quite a history of butting heads with Bart.”

  “But that won’t hold up in court. Will it?”

  “I don’t know, Scar.” I wasn’t used to seeing him concerned, and it didn’t help me relax a bit.

  I blew out a long breath and tried to rein in my pounding heart. “Who else was on the list? Maybe we can start there and find something. Some kind of link.”

  “It follows what Gayle told us,” Flapjack replied. “They have a timeline and pictures of everyone present at the estimated time of the murder. So, Sam and Lucas. We know why they were there. That whacko, Gilbert. Bart, of course. A cameraman named Todd Waterford. He’s the one who found Bart and called 911.”

  “What makes him a suspect?” I asked. “Seems like the person who calls it in wouldn’t be the killer. I mean, what? He went to the bathroom, washed the blood off his hands, and then went and called the cops? That doesn’t seem right.”

  “They’re saying it was a crime of passion,” Flapjack said. “Someone in a fit of rage. The weapon was a sculpture from one of the shelves in the library, so it clearly wasn’t premeditated. This Bart guy seems to have been a real hothead, so it’s possible he had beef with lots of people.”

  “And they don’t think it could be someone from outside the production? Could someone have followed him from his hotel and attacked?”

  “Without anyone else seeing a stranger?” Flapjack paused and then shook his head. “Unlikely. There was only about half an hour between the time Bart arrived on set to the time the police were called. Someone would have seen a stranger coming or going.”

  “Not if they hid in the house,” I said. “That place is huge. Maybe they killed Bart and then hid in a coat closet or something and slipped out in the chaos of the paramedics and police coming and going.”

  “Maybe,” Flapjack relented. “But it makes more sense that it was one of the people who was supposed to be there.”

  “All right, well who else was on the list?” I asked, raising my mug.

  Flapjack thought for a moment, likely running through the list in his mind. After a beat, he straightened. “Oh, that Brooklyn woman we met yesterday.”

  I blinked and lowered my coffee. “Brooklyn? What was she doing there so early?”

  “Paperwork, according to her.”

  “So, Sam was there doing the overnight shift. Lucas goes down there to make sure everything is running smoothly after his blow-up with Bart the day before. Gilbert, Bart, and this Todd guy are there to shoot a segment on … ghosts? Were they filming in the library?”

  “I don’t know.” Flapjack looked to Gwen. She shrugged.

  I drank the rest of my coffee and filled up my cup before starting another pot. Lucas would probably stir soon and I wanted to make sure he had a fresh cup.

  “It just doesn’t make sense,” I said as the second pot began percolating. I braced one hand on the counter and leaned back. “No one saw anything or heard anything. It seems like if there were some massive argument that led up to the murder, someone would have heard the fight. Bart’s head was smashed with some sculpture. I can’t imagine that was a quick way to go. Wouldn’t he have cried out for help?”

  Hayward gave a thoughtful twitch of his mustache. “I’m far from some kind of street-brawler, but it seems to me—”

  Flapjack burst out with a peal of laughter.

  Hayward glared at him. “What is so funny?”

  “The—the idea of you in a fist fight!” Flapjack replied, breathless with laughter.

  I looked at Gwen and she gave Flapjack a swift nudge to the rear-end. He started and glanced up at her. “What? I mean, come on, that’s funny, right? Can you imagine, Hayward, dukes up with his fancy little gloves on? His toupee flapping with each punch!”

  “I do not wear a toupee!” Hayward bellowed.

  This only made Flapjack roar even harder and he flopped over onto the ground, cackling like the Mad Hatter.

  “Are you quite finished?” Hayward demanded, more than a little ruffled.

  “Go on, Hayward,” I said, not giving Flapjack room for an answer.

  Hayward reached up, fussed with his top hat, and then cleared his throat again. “Yes, Lady Scarlet, as I was saying, it seems to me that a well-placed first blow could have rendered the man unconscious.”

  “It’s possible. But enough to kill him? Flapjack, did the police have the autopsy report yet?”

  Flapjack hiccupped and twisted to face me, still lying on his back, a punch-drunk grin on his face. Hayward scoffed and floated a few feet away in a huff.

  “Flapjack, come on, this isn’t helping,” I growled. “Get up!”

  “Admit it, Scar, you think it’s a little funny.”

  “I don’t,” I told him.

  “Thank you, Lady Scarlet,” Hayward said from his new perch on the couch.

  “Did the autopsy report show how many hits killed Bart?” I asked again.

  Flapjack soured and got to his feet. “I swear, I need to find people with a sense of humor to haunt.”

  I started to argue but stopped short when I heard Lucas’s voice through the door. “Lucas is up,” I told the ghosts, as if they couldn’t hear for themselves. “I’ll talk to him and see if he gathered any information while he was being questioned.”

  “Wasn’t that what you were supposed to be doing last night?” Flapjack asked, giving me a skeptical look.

  “Mind your own business, cat,” I snapped, moving closer to the bedroom door.

  His voice was muffled and hard to make out, but the tone was unmistakable. Lucas was one unhappy camper.

  “Allow me,” Gwen said, sailing for the wall.

  “No!” I said, a moment after she shimmered out of sight.

  After a few minutes, Lucas went silent and Gwen reappeared, a grave look on her face. The bedroom door opened before I could decide whether I wanted to ask what Gwen had overheard. Lucas stepped into the kitchenette, worry and st
ress etched in the lines at his eyes.

  “Morning?” I said, the word coming out like a tentative question instead of a greeting.

  Without looking at me, he said, “They’re firing me.”

  “What?” I gasped. “Are you serious?”

  Gwen added a solemn nod.

  Lucas moved like a robot set on autopilot mode as he took a mug down from the cupboard, poured a cup of coffee, and stirred in a touch of cream. “Brooklyn just called and gave me the whole we really appreciate your years of service, but now we’re kicking you to the curb speech.”

  I set my mug down. “I’m so sorry, Lucas. Maybe they’ll change their minds, you know, once your name is cleared?”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s done.”

  I cringed.

  “I need to call Sam,” he said after a few sips of coffee. His eyes remained unfocused, staring into the living room over the edge of his mug. Well, technically, he was staring at Hayward and Gwen, but he didn’t know that—and I definitely wasn’t going to tell him.

  “He works for your company, right?” I asked.

  “Yeah. For now. Employees tend to jump ship when stuff like this happens. The whole no-paycheck thing really puts a damper on the office vibe.”

  “Right.” I tried on a smile. “If you want, we could talk about my flower shop’s security needs. A lot of weird stuff does tend to happen around the shop.”

  “We could probably work something out,” he said, giving me a half-smile. “Speaking of weird things…” he trailed off and looked around the room.

  I pointed out each ghost in turn. “Hayward, Gwen, and … Flapjack. They got here this morning and wanted to talk about your case.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember. The invisible detective squad.”

  Flapjack’s tail twitched but he wisely kept his lips buttoned.

  Lucas took a sip of coffee. “Did they find anything interesting?”