If You've Got It, Haunt It Page 7

  After a final hug, my parents weaved through the crowd toward their Volvo. Seeing them go made my heart sink. As soon as I had time, I would visit them at the beach. I could use a vacation.

  I picked the cat up, and she snuggled against me without objection. Clutching her, I hurried away.

  After setting the cat on a soft cushioned chair in my shop, I said, “Wind Song, it’s too dangerous out there for you.”

  She meowed in protest, but I closed the door and locked her in, anyway.

  I made my way past one of the front windows, surprised to see she had already jumped up beside the mannequin. Her gaze was locked on me and she followed my every move with her eyes. The Ouija board was on the floor beside her. That was strange. I didn’t remember leaving it there.

  Chapter 10

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

  You can try a broom to sweep the spirit away,

  but I’ve never had much luck with this method.

  At least your floors will be clean, though.

  The fact that a dead man had been found in historic downtown Sugar Creek put a damper on the Spring Fling festivities. Most of the tourists cleared out and went home and I couldn’t say that I blamed them. Mrs. Henderson gave me a hassle with the portrait, but she relented and loaded it back into her van. Her work of art wasn’t one of those abstract things, either. It showed the human anatomy in full detail. I was sure a few parents in the crowd wouldn’t want to deal with the questions that the painting sparked.

  After loading Wind Song into her carrier, I closed the shop for the day and headed home. I was ready to have a light dinner, hunker down between the sheets and sleep. Maybe tomorrow things wouldn’t seem so crazy. But as long as Charlotte was still hanging around that probably wouldn’t happen. She was in the passenger seat during the ride home and it looked as if she wasn’t going to leave my side any time soon.

  Preparing dinner of blackened catfish and fried green tomatoes aided in distracting me from the tragic event. My kitchen had warm cream-colored cabinets and a soothing yellow hue on the walls, so it felt as if the room was embracing me in a big hug. For dessert, I made bread pudding with bourbon sauce. I’d save some for Heather because it was her favorite. Charlotte sat across from me as I ate dinner. She was in a talkative mood. Once I finished, she even walked along beside me as I cleaned the kitchen.

  After getting Charlotte to stop chatting about clothing and everything else under the sun, I headed to bed. After curling up under the covers, I had a hard time sleeping. Instead of drifting off to dreamland, I tossed and turned, looking at the clock every ten minutes.

  Wind Song slept fine, curled up in a ball at the end of my bed. She looked like a princess with her gorgeous white fur against my leopard print comforter. She didn’t seem to care if she left her fur behind. If it made her happy, I didn’t mind much. I could clean the hair off.

  My problem with sleeping was caused by a fashionably dressed ghost. Just as Charlotte hadn’t wanted me to go to bed in the first place, she kept waking me up to ask if I was sleeping. I guessed that was the problem with being a ghost—she didn’t need sleep. I, however, was still part of the living world and needed rest.

  “Cookie, are you asleep?” she whispered in my ear for what must have been the hundredth time.

  I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head.

  “Stop moaning and talk to me,” Charlotte said.

  “Charlotte, if my eyes are closed, then I must be asleep.” I lifted the pillow off my face.

  She wore a red knee-length pencil skirt and a sleeveless, white and red polka-dot, silk blouse. Her red and white Christian Louboutin spectator pumps were like the cherry on top of the outfit. Her makeup looked just as flawless as the day before.

  I had no idea how she did it, but I was almost afraid to ask. Being a spirit had at least one perk. It would be nice to have perfect makeup all the time.

  She studied her elegantly manicured fingernails. “Well, you weren’t snoring. How can I tell if you’re sleeping when you’re not snoring?”

  “I do not snore. I just sleep.”

  She brushed imaginary lint from her skirt. “If you say so, but occasionally a little snort or two comes out.” She wiggled her finger, pointing at my face.

  I pulled the blanket over my head.

  “You can’t stay under there forever. You won’t be able to breathe.”

  After thirty seconds I gave up and climbed out of bed. I was so tired that even my teeth hurt. I yawned and pulled on a pale yellow chenille bathrobe from the fifties, then shuffled to the kitchen with Wind Song and Charlotte following close behind me. The sun hadn’t even woken up yet.

  I set my coffeemaker to brew a cup of cinnamon mocha and popped a couple slices of bread into the toaster. From my refrigerator, I took out ajar of homemade peach preserves that Heather had given me. I avoided butter, but Heather’s sweet preserves were impossible to resist. She made delicious apple butter, too. It made my mouth water just thinking of it. With my coffee and toast in hand, I sat at the breakfast nook and tried to read my Lucky magazine.

  Charlotte sat across from me.

  I felt her eyes on me. I placed the magazine down and met her stare. “What do you want to say?”

  “Aren’t you going to pour me a cup of coffee, too? I like it with cream and sugar.”

  What response could I give her? I hated to point out the obvious, but I did. “Charlotte, you can’t drink coffee, anymore.”

  She propped her hand on her hip. “I know that, but I can smell it. Humor me, will you?”

  I hopped up and filled a mug with steamy coffee, adding a bit of sugar and cream.

  When I placed it on the table, she leaned down and inhaled. “Oh, the scent is divine.”

  “Glad you like it.”

  After another whiff of the hot liquid, she tapped her finger against the table. “Shouldn’t you be doing something to find my killer?”

  I pointed at my plate full of crumbs. “I have to eat breakfast.”

  “But you’re finished, so let’s get going.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Okay. If you want me to do something, you need to make a list of your enemies, Charlotte. I can’t just wander aimlessly around town asking people if they know who killed you.”

  She tapped her foot against the tile floor. “No way. That’s the craziest idea I’ve ever heard. Where did you come up with that idea?”

  “What else do you suggest? I’ve always heard that the killer is usually someone the victim knows.” I sipped my coffee.

  “I can’t make a list of enemies. A true Southern belle doesn’t have any. You should know that.”

  If that was true, I wouldn’t have had to deal with Laura Sheldon making fun of my old-fashioned clothing back in high school. I was glad those days were far behind me.

  I placed my dishes in the sink and rinsed them. “Fine, but I can’t help if you won’t give me information.”

  Instead of answering, she sniffed the jar of peach preserves as I closed the lid.

  “Have it your way.” I turned and headed for my bedroom.

  “Are you just going to leave me in the kitchen?” Charlotte asked as she hurried up behind me.

  Halfway across the hardwood floor, I paused. “Why did you stop your business relationship with Marie Vance?”

  Charlotte stopped in her tracks. “That woman! She drives me crazy. Marie became increasingly irresponsible with money, so I felt it was best if we were no longer partners.”

  “What does irresponsible with money mean?” I asked.

  One of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows tilted upward. “It means exactly what it sounds like.”

  “I mean, what did she do with the money?”

  Wind Song sat in front of Charlotte and looked up as if she was waiting for an answer, too. She flicked her tail, looking alert and ready for action.

  “She was not reporting all the money spent. Things were unaccounted for.” Charlot
te stepped over to the window and peered out. “I wonder what she was doing with all the money, because I never figured out where it was going.”

  I rubbed Wind Song’s head and she purred in response.

  “Did you ask her?”

  Charlotte faced me again. “I did. She wouldn’t answer, and that’s when we stopped working together.”

  “Well, it makes sense that you would cut off ties with her. Do you think she was doing anything illegal? Or maybe she had a gambling problem.”

  “I doubt that. If anything, she had a shopping problem.”

  I turned toward my bedroom. “You better be thinking about that list while I change,” I warned from over my shoulder.

  “I told you, I don’t have any enemies,” Charlotte called out as I walked away.

  I jumped in the shower, then stood in front of the closet to decide on my outfit for the day. With each new day, it was a treat to select an ensemble. Clothing was a way to express my personality. Every day held a surprise and a new combination based on my mood.

  But what was my mood? Frustrated? Frustrated that I couldn’t solve the murder and lose the constant chatter from Charlotte—although it wasn’t so bad talking to her, I guessed. Sometimes it was fun to have someone to talk to.

  I decided to invoke the feeling of the upcoming summer season. Maybe I should have worn black for all the deaths in Sugar Creek, but I hoped cheerful colors would help me forget, even for a moment, about the poor man who had been murdered and Charlotte’s predicament. One minute, Edward Andersen had been walking down the street and the next . . . it was all over. Just like Charlotte. She’d been in her home, and suddenly, she was living in another dimension. It just proved that it was important to make the most of every day because one never knew when it would be the last.

  “How do you decide what to wear?” Charlotte asked from over my shoulder.

  I held a forties lime green and white pinstriped peplum blouse up to my chest and then placed it back in the closet “It’s easy. I just try to have fun with it.”

  “How do you select which vintage item you want to pair with another? I mean, if they’re from different time periods. I know what I would do, but I guess you have your own method.”

  It was nice for someone to take an interest in the whole vintage clothing process. “Well, that part’s not as easy as it looks. But you had immaculate taste in clothing, so you should know how it all works. Or did you forget when you . . . well, when you left this plane.”

  “Honey, I may be in the spirit realm now, but I still have my fashion sense.” She placed her hand on her hip. “Everyone’s method is different. I just wondered if you have a plan or do you just pick something out of the closet willy-nilly.”

  “No, I don’t do it willy-nilly. I like to think I have an eye for it.”

  Charlotte looked me up and down. “You do okay.”

  I focused my attention on the contents in the closet again and decided on a gorgeous seventies sleeveless wrap-style dress in a divine shade of pink with tiny green pinstripes. It was the perfect summer dress. Long sashes wrapped around the waist to tie in a bow in the back and each side had a pocket on the hip. I paired the dress with a pair of straw-colored wedge heels and a watermelon-shaped green and red bag.

  “You look like you should be lying on top of a checkered tablecloth at the park,” Charlotte quipped.

  “That’s exactly the look I was going for,” I said with a smirk.

  “Well, it’s a good thing because you succeeded.”

  I shoved the contents of the purse I’d carried yesterday into the watermelon clutch and headed for the door. Wind Song hopped into the carrier as if she knew exactly what to do. I wondered if her previous owner had trained her to get into the carrier, or if she had some other reason to be so unfeline in her acceptance of it. Either way, she was proving to be a remarkable cat.

  “Come on, Wind Song, let’s go do the vintage clothing thing.”

  Chapter 11

  Cookie’s Savvy Vintage Fashion Shopping Tip

  Start your vintage collection with a basic item

  like a little black dress.

  I lowered the top on my car, turned on the golden oldies station, and pointed the Buick in the direction of It’s Vintage, Y’all. My hair whipped in the wind as I cruised down the country lane. Bright green oak trees full of newly bloomed leaves lined the path and white fluffy clouds dotted the endless blue sky. It would have been a relaxing trip if not for Charlotte sitting next to me, tapping her fingers against the leather seat. Her anxiety oozed over to my side of the car.

  When the last strains of Elvis singing “Love Me Tender” faded, I turned down the volume.

  “What?” Charlotte asked.

  I glanced down at her still-tapping fingers, although her movements had no sound.

  “Oh, is this getting on your nerves?” She wiggled her fingers.

  I grimaced. “Just a little.”

  She scowled but stopped the fidgeting.

  “What are you so anxious about?” I asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact that my murderer is out there wandering around and I have no idea who it is?” She gestured toward the upcoming stop sign.

  I braked at the intersection. “Fair enough. I can see how that would make you a wee-bit anxious.”

  “Thank-you.”

  I parked in my usual spot in front of the shop, where my car could be readily seen—part of my strategy for attracting customers’ attention. Unlike many other shop owners, I had not been upset when the town fathers passed an ordinance limiting the size of business-related signage on Main Street. My red Buick announced “vintage” better than a neon sign could have.

  After unlocking the door, I flipped the sign to OPEN and flicked on the lights. The excitement of each new business day never grew old. As soon as I lifted the lid of her case, Wind Song climbed out and stretched before making a tour of the store. She sniffed around as if patrolling her territory, before climbing into the front window and settling in the sunshine.

  My work production had seriously diminished since Charlotte had come into the picture. I had no idea of when I would get around to the stack of clothing in the backroom that needed to be sorted. First, I had paperwork to process. I got that out of the way quickly so I could work with my passion, the clothing.

  I started by tagging new items, like a black Escada pencil skirt with a gorgeous seam detail in the front and a Jean Varon purple and white maxi dress from the seventies. After I put them on display, I chose some items that had not moved after thirty days, marked them down, and placed them near the door on my sale rack. I loved every garment in my shop, but my practical side realized that I needed constant turnover to remain in business.

  Wind Song was still lying in the sunshine that shone from the front window. In the short time since she’d appeared at my doorstep, she’d already found a favorite spot.

  Charlotte was staring at me as I redressed one of the mannequins in a beautiful seventies beige silk dress. She sat on top of one of the tables with her legs dangling over the edge. “I think you should retrace my last steps in order to find a clue to my killer.”

  “I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” I said.

  Before she could answer, the bell above the door chimed. Marie Vance entered and headed straight toward me, a fake smile on her face.

  Charlotte pointed at Marie. “That’s my pants and blouse,” she yelled.

  Well, Charlotte’s clothing had been sold, so more than likely Marie had purchased them at the sale. The silk pants were a lovely shade of taupe with wide legs and a high waist. The white blouse tapered around Marie’s slim waist. Discreet pearl drops dotted her earlobes and a matching necklace finished off her accessories.

  “Do you remember me?” she asked in a sweet voice.

  “What is she doing here? Actin’ all highfalutin in my clothing.” Charlotte jumped down from the table and moved toward Marie.

  “Of course I reme
mber you. How are you?” I matched her saccharine tone.

  “Just fine,” she said, looking around the shop.

  “May I help you find something?” I ignored the faces that Charlotte was making.

  “I can’t believe she came in here,” Charlotte said.

  “I’ll just get right to the point,” Marie said as she touched the blouse on the mannequin beside her. “I want to buy the items that you acquired from the Charlotte Meadows estate sale.”

  “What?” Charlotte said. “That is crazy.”

  If she found Marie’s request strange, I knew something was up. Charlotte loved her clothes. She’d even stuck around them in the afterlife. But why would Marie want them so badly? Even though I was in the business of selling clothing, I decided not to let Marie have any of Charlotte’s things.

  “I’m sorry, but the items aren’t for sale yet. I haven’t had time to price them, and I may not even sell all of them,” I said with a smile.

  Marie sifted through a few items on the sale rack. “They are beautiful items. I guess you can understand why I’d want them.” She lifted a pair of eighties beige linen pants off the rack, then haphazardly shoved them back into the wrong spot.

  “I don’t understand totally. I’m sorry.” I repositioned the linen pants neatly on the rack.

  Marie pulled a tissue from her black handbag. “It’s just that I miss her so much and I want something to remember her by.”

  “Oh, what a load of crap.” Charlotte tapped her foot against the hardwood floor. Normally that would have made sound, but not in Charlotte’s case.

  I had to admit it did seem odd, but everyone had a different grieving process. Something about Marie’s answer didn’t seem honest, though, so I had to believe Charlotte.

  “I’d be willing to pay more than you did for the items.” Marie took a cobalt-colored silk blouse from the rack, studied it, then hung it back where she’d found it.

  “Don’t let her have them,” Charlotte ordered.

  Wind Song strolled over and plopped down beside Charlotte. The cat looked up at the ghost and meowed as if she was totally in agreement with her.