If You've Got It, Haunt It Page 11

  Not only was I talking to a ghost, but I was listening to a psychic cat.

  Chapter 17

  Cookie’s Savvy Vintage Fashion Shopping Tip

  Take a tape measure when shopping

  so you can get accurate measurements.

  The next day, Wind Song and Charlotte were back with me at It’s Vintage, Y’all. I’d just finished my morning routine—checking the newspaper for ads about sales in other clothing shops while sipping a chicory coffee with molasses and cream from Billie Jean’s Coffee and Such on the corner—when the bell on the door chimed. My stomach dropped when I looked up and saw the handsome Detective Dylan Valentine headed my way. He was wearing a tailored white shirt that emphasized his strong biceps and tapered trousers that showed his trim physique. His blue tie brought out the sky blue of his eyes. My granny would have called his looks recklessly handsome.

  Apparently, my snooping around hadn’t gone unnoticed after all. I should have expected his visit. After all, I knew he’d catch up to me eventually. He had a look of curiosity on his face that would have been noticeable from miles away.

  Charlotte glided beside him and said to me, “Oh, you’re in trouble now. This isn’t good.”

  I didn’t need to be reminded about my difficult predicament.

  Since I wasn’t cruisin’ for a bruisin’, I plastered the most realistic smile I could muster on my face. I’d pretend that everything was fine and maybe I’d get away with the act. “May I help you?” I asked, treating him like an ordinary customer.

  “Something tells me he isn’t here for a pair of vintage bloomers,” Charlotte quipped.

  “Good morning, Ms. Chanel,” he said in a smooth voice.

  He remembered my name? Who was I kidding? Of course he remembered my name. I’d discovered a dead man. That was a perfect reason to memorize someone’s name. He probably knew everything about me, even that I liked to sing in the shower and eat peanut butter from the jar.

  “Good morning, Detective Valentine. By the way, you can call me Cookie.”

  “All right, Cookie, you can call me Dylan.”

  The detective looked around my shop, taking in every inch. “This is a nice shop you have here.” He picked up a handbag and looked at it then placed it back on the table.

  I swallowed hard and hoped that I didn’t let my nerves show through. I knew he wasn’t there for clothing.

  “Maybe he needs a new suit,” Charlotte said, looking him up and down.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular?” I asked.

  He glanced over my shoulder toward the small men’s section. To be honest, he had an extremely awkward look on his face. I sensed that he wanted to be there but wasn’t sure how to act. He shoved his hands in his pockets as if he didn’t know what else to do with them. “I’m just browsing.”

  “I doubt he’s here for clothing,” Charlotte said as she walked around the detective.

  She seemed to be right on. He looked like he had no idea what he was doing, but he kept looking at me as if he wanted to ask me a million questions.

  “Make him try on some clothes. That will teach him to come in here and harass you.”

  Well, he hadn’t harassed me yet, but it looked like he wanted something. Maybe she was right. I decided to have a little fun with him. “You must be looking for clothing. I bet you take a size large, am I right?” I stared at him.

  He looked confused. Finally he said, “Yes.”

  “You’re in luck. I have a great selection of men’s clothing right here in the back. Let me pick out a couple things for you and you can try them on.” I flashed him a wide grin.

  “Thanks. That would be great.” He seemed relieved to have some guidance.

  I walked to the back and he followed a little too closely.

  I pulled out a pair of dressy World War Two-era pants—a sharp pair of forties muted eggplant-colored rayon gabardine blend. The front had small pleats. No cuffs at the bottom. “I think these would be great for you.” I held them up to his waist, just waiting for him to ask me about being at Charlotte’s. I knew it was coming.

  He held the pants and regarded them uncertainly as I turned around and searched for just the right shirt.

  I pulled a subtle plaid shirt from the rack. “Here. This is a great shirt. Vintage forties.”

  He took the shirt from my outstretched hand. “It’s in great shape to be that old.”

  “Yeah, it’s a nice cotton blend. They’re amazing and last forever if well-cared for.”

  He still looked a little lost.

  “Now you need shoes.” I looked down at his feet. “Size ten, right?”

  He held the shirt up to his chest. “Yes. You’re good.”

  “That’s my job,” I said with a voice full of pride.

  I grabbed a pair of original forties Stacy Adams spectators in a warm brown and white. He’d be decked out in head-to-toe forties. All we needed was big band music. I’d switched the station to sixties per Charlotte’s request.

  “These are marked a size ten. I hope they fit. They’re in excellent shape for their age. The leather is still quite supple, and the soles are barely worn.” I handed him the shoes.

  I was acutely aware of his nearness. A hot blush crept into my cheeks.

  “Thank you,” he said with a little wink.

  “The dressing room is right here.” I pulled the curtain back and waved him in.

  As soon as he slipped into the dressing room, I collapsed onto an easy chair and blew an errant strand of hair out of my face. Charlotte sat across from me on an upholstered ottoman.

  “He’s on to you,” she warned. “Why else would he be here?”

  I scowled. “I know that,” I whispered.

  “You need to get him in some tight jeans,” Charlotte whispered as if he could hear her. “Like the kind that Elvis wore.”

  “He isn’t a Ken doll that I can dress up like I want.”

  She crossed her legs. “I know and that is such a shame. With his nice shoulders and narrow waist—”

  “Will you stop talking.” I put my hands over my ears.

  “You can pretend all you want, but he’s a smart one. Handsome, too. I could sop him up with a biscuit.” Charlotte walked over and poked her head into the dressing room. She whistled and lifted her head out again. “Mercy me. He’s got a big . . . smile.” She looked at me innocently.

  “Stop that right now,” I demanded.

  “Stop what?” Dylan asked from the dressing room. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “I’m sorry . . . I was talking to the cat.”

  Dylan stepped out of the room, looking dapper in the trousers and shirt that I’d picked out.

  I probably stared for just a little too long. “You look great.”

  Charlotte propped her chin in her hands and rested her elbows on the counter while looking at him dreamily. “He sure does.”

  Dylan looked down at his clothing. “I never thought I’d enjoy vintage.”

  “Would you like to wear the clothing now or should I bag it for you?” I asked, trying to sound businesslike.

  He looked in the full-length mirror. “You can bag it. I’ll save this outfit for a special occasion.”

  “I wonder what that special occasion is,” Charlotte said.

  After he changed back into his street clothing, I rang up the purchase and placed his items into a shopping bag. I was glad I had ordered white bags with my store name in small black letters so that a man or woman would feel equally comfortable in carrying one.

  As he took the bag from my hand, he brought up the subject I’d hoped to avoid. “You know, I could have sworn I saw you at Charlotte Meadows’ home yesterday. I thought I saw your car pulling out of her driveway.” He looked me straight in the face. His blue eyes had small golden flecks in them.

  I had a decision to make. Nerves danced in my stomach and I fought the urge to turn and bolt out of the store. Should I tell him that I was in her home or pretend that I had no idea
what he was talking about? He would probably see right through my lie, so I had to admit that I was at least in the driveway. Why had he been there anyway?

  “Don’t tell him anything, Cookie. Not without a lawyer,” Charlotte said.

  When I glanced at her, I was sure my eyes widened. I didn’t even want to think about needing a lawyer. She wouldn’t be happy with me when I admitted to being in her driveway.

  Gathering up my courage, I chuckled, trying to sound breezy and light. “I was actually in her driveway. I pulled in and saw a car so I turned around. Was that your car?”

  He frowned, which made him look just as handsome as when he smiled. “Why were you there, Ms. Chanel?”

  He was making me nervous calling me by my last name. It sounded so official. “Please call me Cookie.” I busied myself straightening the collection of stick pins on my counter to avoid his stare.

  Maybe I should have explained that Cookie wasn’t my real name. But he probably already knew that, right? Had he done some kind of background check on me already?

  His expression eased just a bit. “Okay. Cookie, why were you at Charlotte Meadows’ home?”

  “Like I said, I pulled in. I just wanted to have a look around.” I tried to sound nonchalant.

  “Why would you want to look around her home?”

  Charlotte had moved around the counter and stood beside him. She leaned back and looked at his behind.

  I couldn’t believe she was checking him out. I glared at her as I spoke to the detective. “It’s a beautiful house. I just thought I’d take a look.”

  “It seems kind of odd,” he said as he leaned closer to the counter.

  I wanted to step back, but I figured that would look awkward. I swallowed again. “What seems odd?” I managed to ask.

  “It seems odd that you were talking to a man who was murdered, you discovered his body, and then you’re at another murder victim’s home. Yet you say you don’t know either of the victims. I guess you can understand why I’m a little curious, right?” He didn’t take his eyes off me.

  A light sweat broke out on my brow.

  “Don’t answer any of his questions,” Charlotte urged, moving over beside me. “He’s got nothing on you.”

  Well, it was a good thing he had nothing on me because I’d done nothing wrong . . . other than being in a deceased woman’s home for seemingly no reason.

  “I understand that it seems strange.” I moved over to a rack of clothing and straightened the blouses on the hangers. “But I can assure you that it was nothing more than coincidence.”

  He stood silent. Was he trying to make me uncomfortable?

  Moving to the window, he peered out. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned his attention back to me.

  “Now’s your chance to ask him what he’s doing to find my killer,” Charlotte pushed. “As far as I can tell, he’s not doing a darn thing.”

  I wasn’t sure that asking him about his investigation was such a good idea. He already made me anxious. That feeling would only intensify if I started asking questions.

  “It could be a long sleepless night for you if you don’t ask him,” she warned.

  I couldn’t bear the thought of further sleep deprivation. “Do you have any suspects in Charlotte Meadows’ murder?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  “I can’t discuss the investigation.” His voice was tight, official-sounding. “Why do you want to know so much about her death?”

  I feigned surprise. “I don’t want to know about her death.”

  “You just asked about her murder,” he pointed out.

  “I was just curious. I mean, a man was murdered near my shop and that is a little concerning. What are the police doing to ensure that it doesn’t happen again?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips.

  “We’re on top of it. In the meantime, can you tell me anything about your connection to the recent murder of Edward Andersen?”

  “I told you everything I know.”

  “Did you know Charlotte Meadows or Edward Andersen?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Tell him no.”

  I lied about my connection with Charlotte. “I’m sorry that I don’t know anything that would help you.” Lying wasn’t something that I enjoyed, but there was really no way around it. I’d have to be more careful or I might be accused of murder.

  I walked past him and opened the door to usher him out. “Thank you for shopping at It’s Vintage, Y’all. Enjoy your purchases.”

  He stopped in the doorway. “You’ll tell me if there is anything strange going on?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course,” I lied.

  Chapter 18

  Heather’s Heartfelt Tip for Getting Rid of an Unwanted Ghost

  You can always hire a professional

  to rid your home of the snarky spirit.

  Just make sure they take the thing with them.

  You want to get your money’s worth.

  When I spotted Heather marching through the door with the Ouija board, I wasn’t surprised. I’d known she wouldn’t be able to resist trying to get Wind Song to talk with us again.

  She placed the box down on the counter and smiled. “We have to know if the cat has anything else to say,” she said before I’d even protested.

  As much as the Ouija board scared me, I had to admit I was curious. Who wouldn’t want to know what the cat had to say next? “Okay. But just one more time.”

  We didn’t have to entice Wind Song to come over. She jumped up as soon as Heather opened the box.

  Wind Song didn’t waste a moment before she was gliding the planchette across the board with her little paw. Within seconds she’d spelled out an entire sentence. Someone around you is bad.

  Heather held up her hands. “Well, don’t look at me. I’m not the bad person.”

  We focused our attention on Charlotte. Well, I looked at her, and Heather turned in the same direction.

  Charlotte folded her hands in her lap. “You can’t be serious. I’m insulted that you would think such a thing. I’m dead, for heaven’s sake.”

  I waved my hands. “Okay. Of course I wasn’t blaming you. Besides, we shouldn’t pay attention to what that cat says anyway.”

  Charlotte held her hand up. “Not so fast, Cookie. Maybe the cat is on to something. After all, what about the blog threats?”

  “What is it? What did she say?” Heather asked, looking from me to the invisible Charlotte.

  I’d avoided telling Heather, but I could no longer keep it in. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I don’t want to keep a secret.”

  “No more secrets from each other, remember?” Heather said with a smile.

  I opened my laptop and pointed out the message.

  Heather leaned down and read the screen. Her mouth opened in surprise. “What are you going to do?”

  I massaged my temples. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “There has to be a way to find out who left the comment.” Heather studied the screen.

  “I wouldn’t know where to start,” I said.

  Heather looked up. “Maybe you could set a trap.”

  “I’m not smart enough for that.”

  “What if we engaged the person in conversation?”

  I tapped my index finger against my chin. “That might work.”

  Charlotte braced herself against the counter. “They’ve threatened to kill you and you think you’ll have a little chat?”

  “Well, I’ll have to think about it. I don’t see you coming up with a better solution, Charlotte.”

  It had been a long day and collapsing in front of the TV was exactly what I needed. I fell asleep on the couch watching I Love Lucy and didn’t wake until the next morning.

  When I opened my eyes, I found Charlotte standing over me with a scowl on her face. One thing about being dead, she looked just as fabulous in the morning as she did in the evening. She never had a hair out of place or smudged mascara.

  Sunlight streamed through
the window behind her, making her look like an angel. She wore a white sundress with a delicate rose-colored floral pattern that hit just below her knees. Her fingernails were painted fuchsia.

  She tapped her foot against the floor. “I thought you’d never wake up. I tried to be as noisy as possible. For a while, I thought you were dead.”

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “I guess I was just exhausted. It’s been a long couple days.”

  Wind Song meowed. I didn’t need a Ouija board to know that she was hungry. I stretched and pushed to my feet.

  In the kitchen, I spooned Lively Lamb Shanks with Gravy into her dish. She sniffed it, then apparently satisfied, dug in.

  “Now that you have a list of contacts, we need to start interviewing them,” Charlotte said, pacing across the floor.

  I made a parfait of yogurt, granola, and raspberries. “Okay. We’ll go later today.”

  I knew it was useless to argue with her. I figured I needed to dress in my best business attire. I was more than a little nervous about talking to the people on her list. Just like Detective Valentine, they would probably wonder why I was interested in Charlotte’s murder.

  To bolster my self-confidence, I decided to wear one of my favorite outfits. I pulled on a pair of forties-era Claire McCardell beige high-waist trousers with three buttons running down each hip. My blouse was pale sage green with tiny white polka dots. It was nipped in at the waist and then flared out slightly at the bottom. A sweet little bow on the front accented the open collar and wide neckline. I finished the outfit with a pair of white and black spectator pumps and a white clutch purse. My hair had bouncy curls thanks to hot rollers. I placed a pale pink flower clip on the side. Some days when I had plenty of time, I styled my hair with victory rolls.

  Pants had become part of women’s wardrobes by the end of World War II and not quite as scandalous as they once had been. Some of my favorite styles were the tight-fitting cigarette pants and the pedal pushers. I loved dresses, but couldn’t imagine wearing one every day.