The Ghost and the Haunted Mansion Read online

  The Ghost and the Haunted Mansion

  Haunted Bookshop [5]

  Alice Kimberly

  Berkley (2009)

  Tags: Mystery

  Mysteryttt

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  SUMMARY:

  Rhode Island bookshop owner Penelope McClure never believed in ghosts -- until she met the spirit of Jack Shepard, a big city private investigator who was gunned down in her store over sixty years ago. Now Penelope not only believes in her hard-boiled ghost, she asks for his help in solving a murder. A loyal customer of Penelope's bookshop has been found dead on posh Larchmont Avenue. The elderly woman left a will that was recently (and suspiciously) revised to name her mailman, Seymour Tarnish, the sole heir to her estate. Many eyes in the little town turn to the hapless mailman as the murderer, including the town's police chief, but Seymour doesn't care. He's too busy settling into his posh new digs. Unfortunately, Seymour's new mansion also appears to be haunted and when the mansion's ghosts begin plaguing him, he hires a team of parapsychologists to exorcise every last spirit from the entire town. Now Penelope must not only solve a murder, and prove her friend Seymour innocent, she must act fast to save her beloved ghost; because if these "spirit zappers" actually do their job, then the ghost of Jack Shepard finally will be history. And that scares Pen a lot more than rattling chains and cold spots.

  Praise for the Haunted Bookshop Mysteries The Ghost and the Dead Man's library

  "I love this series. Pen and Jack are such likable characters ... This series is so well written... I highly recommend this book and the complete series."

  —Spinetingler Magazine

  "Cleverly devised... starring an offbeat combo."

  —Midwest Book Review

  The Ghost and the Dead Deb

  "A beguiling and bewitching mystery that will enchant readers ... Alice Kimberly is a talented storyteller."

  —The Best Reviews

  "Combining elements of cozy mysteries with detective noir, throwing in a bit of the paranormal, this is a series that will please any mystery fan." —The Romance Readers Connection

  The Ghost and Mrs. McClure

  "A deliciously charming mystery with a haunting twist!"

  —Laura Childs, author of Death Swatch

  "Quindicott's enigmatic townspeople come alive in this quirky mystery, and readers will eagerly anticipate future installments—and the continuing easy banter and romantic tension between Jack and Penelope." —Romantic Times

  "Ms. Kimberly has penned a unique premise and cast of characters to hook us on her first of a series." —Rendezvous

  "Part cozy and part hard-boiled detective novel with traces

  of the supernatural, The Ghost and Mrs. McClure is just a lot

  of fun." —The Mystery Reader

  "Charming, funny, and quirky ... He is hard-boiled in the tradition of Philip Marlowe and she is a genteel Miss Marple ... An explosive combination. Alice Kimberly definitely has a hit series if the first book is anything to go by."

  —Midwest Book Review

  "What a delightful new mystery series! I was hooked from the start... I adored the ghost of Jack ... Pairing him with the disbelieving Penelope is a brilliant touch."

  —Roundtable Reviews

  To read more about the Haunted Bookshop Mysteries or the Coffeehouse Mysteries, visit the author's website at www.CoffeehouseMystery.com

  .

  Haunted Bookshop Mysteries by Cleo Coyle writing as Alice Kimberly

  THE GHOST AND MRS. MCCLURE

  THE GHOST AND THE DEAD DEB

  THE GHOST AND THE DEAD MAN'S LIBRARY

  THE GHOST AND THE FEMME FATALE

  THE GHOST AND THE HAUNTED MANSION

  Coffeehouse Mysteries by Cleo Coyle

  ON WHAT GROUNDS

  THROUGH THE GRINDER

  LATTE TROUBLE

  MURDER MOST FROTHY

  DECAFFEINATED CORPSE

  FRENCH PRESSED

  ESPRESSO SHOT

  The Ghost and the Haunted Mansion

  ALICE KIMBERLY

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP Published by the Penguin Group Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd.. 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen's Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd.. 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors' imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  THE GHOST AND THE HAUNTED MANSION

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book published by arrangement with the authors

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition January 2009

  Copyright © 2009 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Cover illustration by Catherine Deeter.

  All rights reserved.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-0-425-22460-1

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  10 98765432

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the authors nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

  For their "spirited1' support over the years, this book is affectionately dedicated to the inspiring, creative, and dangerously intelligent J. J. and Marcia Pierce. Thanks for reading—and for caring.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Once again, the author tips her fedora to Wendy McCurdy, executive editor, and

  John Talbot, literary agent. Class acts from start to finish.

  And a very special thank-you to Allison Brandau for her valuable editorial input.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue 1

  Final Destination 7

  Hit and Run 17

  Cold Spot 28

  The Chief's Suspect 36

  The Postman and His Second Slice 44

  Beneficiaries 56

  Change of Fortune 66

  Road Trouble 78

  9. Who's Got Her Covered? 89

  10. Tossed and Turned 99

  11.

  Lost and Found

  108

  12.


  Limbo

  124

  13.

  No Place Like Home

  137

  14.

  Under the Rug

  145

  15.

  Unexpected Guests

  158

  16.

  Now You See Him

  171

  17.

  Ghost Hunting

  181

  18.

  Things That Go Bump

  193

  19.

  Light of Day

  203

  20.

  Past Is Present

  219

  21.

  Happy Medium

  233

  22.

  Quibbling

  247

  23.

  Things That Go Boo

  257

  Epilogue

  274

  Don't you see... if everyone rushes off at the slightest sound, of course the house gets a bad name. It's too ridiculous, really, in the twentieth century to believe in apparitions ...

  —The Ghost and Mrs. Muir by R. A. Dick (a.k.a. Josephine Aimee Campbell Leslie)

  PROLOGUE

  "So you're a private detective," she said. "I didn't know they really existed, except in books."

  —The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler, 1939

  Third Avenue Lunchroom New York City September 10,1947

  "WHAT'S GOOD TODAY, Birdie?" "It's all good." "You say that every day." "It's all good every day."

  Jack Shepard tossed his fedora onto the dull green counter and stifled a yawn. It was close to noon already, but he'd been on a tail much of the night.

  One more cheating Charlie, he thought, only this time Charlie wasn't stepping out on his Park Avenue wife. This genius came all the way from Pittsburgh to sample the side dish.

  Jack had been hired by a PI in PA who didn't feel like riding the rails all the way to the Big Apple. Jack filed his report by phone and collected his dough by wire. Now the job was over.

  Another "happy" marriage right down the drain ...

  At least the case was open-and-shut, which was fine with Jack now that he'd lost a night's shut-eye over it. Anyway, he had a payday in his pocket, he'd earned a night off, and he was hoping to spend it with something a whole lot softer than a whiskey bottle.

  Jack dragged out a fresh deck of Luckies, shook one clear. While Birdie went for his coffee, he lit up and took a drag. Someone had left a Times behind and he skimmed the page one headlines—"Butter Rises to 90 Cents a Pound," 'Truman Hails National Guard," "Long Island Fire Kills 8"...

  "So what else is new?" Jack turned on his stool and cased the rickety wooden tables.

  Same old tired crew, except for the little twerp from that Midtown blab sheet. Most days, Timothy Brennan drank his lunch at the hotel bar up the block. The newshound only showed here when he was down on his luck—or angling for a story.

  "Hey, Shepard," Brennan called from across the lunchroom. "What do ya know, what do ya say?" To you? Nothing, Jack thought.

  The last time he'd answered "a few questions" for Tim Brennan about a case he was working, the little punk put it in print. Jack figured "off the record," "in confidence," and "private" were words the little snot-nosed scribbler had failed to learn at that upstate college. Brennan got a bonus for his article. Jack nearly got killed. So he made sure Brennan got an extra-special bonus from Jack personally: a nice black one around the vicinity of his eye in the blab sheet's back alley.

  "Why aren't you at the Mayfair, kid?" Jack called. "Lose on the ponies again? Or was it the fights this time?"

  "Got a hot tip, Jack?"

  "Yeah, you're a degenerate gambler. Quit while you're behind."

  "Thanks but no thanks, Shepard. I'll stop up to see you later."

  "Sure, you do that," Jack called. 'Cause I won't be there. "So what'll you have today?" Birdie asked as she poured his coffee.

  "Your Blue Plate." "Wow, a big spender."

  "Yeah, two whole bits for roast beef and smashed potatoes." Jack threw her a wink.

  Birdie was new behind the counter. Jack liked her butterscotch curls and bluebonnet eyes. Only one thing bugged him: She grinned too much—like those Square Jane cheerleader types who didn't have a clue how the world really turned. For all their giggling, Jack found them about as much fun as a sober sunrise. But the last few days, Birdie had started glancing at him with a different kind of smile, flirty little flashes that promised a grown woman might be smoldering somewhere beneath that pink, frilly tent of an apron, one that came out when the sun went down.

  "You're missing a real catch here, you know," Jack told her. "I just got paid."

  "Is that right?"

  "Sure. And I got big plans for us tonight. Interested?"

  Birdie arched a blond eyebrow. "My friend Viv warned me about you, Jack Shepard."

  "Viv?" he said, considering Birdie's bountiful curves— what he could see of them, anyway, on his side of the counter. "You mean Vivian Truby? The cocktail waitress at the Mayfair up the block?"

  Birdie nodded. "She said she had a real good time with you, all right. But then after..." She shook her head. "You never called her again."

  Jack worked his iron jaw. Dames never complained when they were with him. Why wasn't that enough?

  'Tell you the truth, Birdie, I called Viv plenty. She just had the wrong idea about me."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean I'm a taxi, honey. I'll give you the best damn ride in the city. But you can't lock me up in your garage. Not with so many of you dolls needing my services around town. Just wouldn't be fair."

  Birdie laughed so hard a few customers looked their way. "Jack, you're terrible!"

  Jack shrugged his acre of shoulders. "Listen, honey, you want a proper boyfriend? Go find a nice church social, or better yet move to some little cornball town where the Alvins all buy you malteds and bore you to tears. But, honey, if you want a good time"—he threw her another wink—"you know where to find me."

  By now, everyone in the building knew Jack's office was five floors up. He tipped his scarred chin north, just to remind her.

  For a curious moment Birdie studied that dagger-shaped scar—a souvenir from his four hard years "over there" for Uncle Sam. Her gaze dropped down to the broad T of his shoulders, followed the line of his double-breasted as it tapered to his still-narrow waist. Finally her baby blues returned to the hard planes and angles of his nearly forty face.

  "I'll think about it," she said, but the hot stare said something a whole lot more encouraging.

  Jack almost smiled. Catching dames was no different than catching grifters. You just had to throw out your bait and wait. Birdie here was nearly ready to bite; she just wanted to be fed a few more lines. Jack was all set to oblige; then he'd reel her in with a nice, firm tug. He opened his mouth to make his play when the tug came to his coat sleeve instead.

  "Hey, mister. You Jack Shepard?"

  The voice was high-pitched, but it wasn't a dame. Jack turned on his stool to find a scruffy little runt standing behind him. The kid was young—eleven, twelve maybe. His freckled face could have used a good scrubbing. Ditto for his wrinkled clothes. And his shaggy brown hair was in sore need of a boot-camp razor. Jack recognized the kid from somewhere ...

  "You're a gumshoe, ain't you? You got an office right upstairs?"

  "What's it to you, kid?"

  "I need to hire a private dick. And you're as good as anybody. That's what my boss says."

  "Your boss?" That was when the light dawned. This kid worked the corner, hawking headlines every afternoon.

  "My boss is Mr. Dougherty," the kid said, pointing out the window. "He runs the corner newsstand."

  "Sure, kid, I know Mac Dougherty. But I'm trying to get some lunch here." Among other things... "So do me a favor and shove off, okay? You can tell me to 'Read All About It' some other time."

  Jack turned back to Birdie, but she'd disappeared on him. He glanced down the counter to find h
er five seats away, waiting on some salesman with a plastic grin and a dime-store tie. Jack cursed softly, stubbed out his cigarette.

  "You got it all wrong, mister," the boy said.

  "You still here?"

  "I'm not trying to sell you a paper."

  Not only did the kid fail to shove off, he climbed aboard the empty stool next door. "What's the big idea, junior? You're ruining a perfectly good lunch hour."

  "I told you, Mr. Shepard. I want to hire you. It's a finder's job. Should be easy for someone like you. Mr. Dougherty said you used to be a copper. He said you was a war hero, too."