What's a Ghoul to Do? Read online

  Gilley excused himself, giving me a wink as he shut the door, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, since I could clearly see his feet in front of the crack at the bottom of the door. My partner thought nothing of eavesdropping.

  "Please call me M.J., Dr. Sable," I offered.

  "Then please call me Steven," he said easily, with a hint of a smile that further accentuated his good looks.

  Uh-oh, I thought. The last thing I need is a client this attractive… . "So, tell me what brings you here?" I said, getting right to the point.

  "I may need your assistance. My grandfather has passed away, and I would like to employ you to talk with him and find out the truth of what happened the day he died."

  As I listened to Steven talk, I couldn't help but focus on the sound of his voice mixed with that unusual accent. It seemed to be a cross between Latin and European, and the sound was silky, as if he were melting a bite of chocolate on the back of his tongue. And there was also a measured cadence to his speech, as if he were thinking of the words in his native language first, then doing the translation before speaking. "I'm sorry for your loss. I had heard your grandfather's death was ruled a suicide."

  "Incorrectly," Steven said, his features tensing.

  "I see," I said, studying him. "And why do you suspect he didn't commit suicide?"

  "His … how do you say it, this woman who cleans the residence?"

  "His housekeeper?"

  "Yes, that's it. She said my grandfather asked for oatmeal the morning he died."

  Now I figure, given the stuff I do for a living, that I've seen and heard it all. But I'll have to admit when Steven made that statement it was really hard not to look surprised. "Come again?" I asked when he offered no further explanation.

  "The night before his death my grandfather telephoned me and said that he'd been to his physician, who suggested his cholesterol level was elevator."

  "Elevator?" I asked, working hard to hide my smirk. "I think you mean elevated."

  Steven waved his hand. "Yes, yes. It was elevated. As I was saying, my grandfather didn't like to take pills, so he asked if I had any advice for him. I told him to begin with his diet, and try oatmeal instead of his usual bacon and eggs."

  "Uh-huh…" I said, trying to connect the dots. "So because he took your advice and had oatmeal for breakfast you think he wasn't suicidal."

  "Correct," Steven said, nodding gravely. "My grandfather was not depressed. He enjoyed his life and was in excellent health. He wasn't in pain, and his mental state was very good. So you can see there was no reason for him to turn to suicide."

  "How exactly did your grandfather die?" I asked. The article I'd read had been light on the grim details.

  "It is my belief that he was forced off the roof of his hunting lodge."

  "Long way down?" I asked, picturing a log cabin in the woods somewhere.

  "Three floors."

  "Ouch," I said, wincing. "Are you sure he didn't just fall out a window or something?"

  "The windows on the third story are all… how do you say, pushed back?"

  "Recessed," I offered.

  "Yes, recessed above the roof of the second floor, which comes out over the west side of the lodge. My grandfather's slipper was found on the roof."

  I nodded. "Which means he would have had to climb through the window and lower himself onto the roof, then walk several feet to the edge."

  "Correct," Steven said.

  "So who would gain from your grandfather's passing?"

  "It would be easier to tell you who wouldn't," Steven replied with a frown.

  "And Gilley tells me that you've witnessed your grandfather's ghost walking the lodge's property?"

  "Yes, last weekend. I inherited the lodge from my grandfather, and I decided to spend the weekend there. I arrived late at night and went straight to bed. In the middle of the night I heard my grandfather's voice. He called to me."

  "Could have been a dream," I commented. I didn't really think it was a dream, but decided it might be wise to play devil's advocate and see just how serious this young doctor was.

  "It was not a dream. I was awake. And then, when I went to the hallway where I heard his voice, he whispered my name in my ear, and I felt his touch on my back, but when I turned around he was not there."

  "What'd you do?"

  Steven smiled sheepishly. "I must admit, I gathered my things and quickly left. It frightened me a great deal."

  I inhaled a breath and sat up straight. Leaning in over my desk to rest my elbows on the blotter, I said, "Okay, Steven. Gilley and I will give this a go. We'll need directions to the lodge and a key to get in. And I know Gilley has already talked to you about how difficult it can be to communicate with ghosts, so if I make contact there's no guarantee that your grandfather will tell us what happened to him."

  "I understand," Steven said. "Which is why I am coming with you."

  "Excuse me?" I asked, cocking my head.

  "Did I say something incorrectly?" he asked me.

  "No, you said that last bit fine; it's just that we don't allow clients to accompany us when we do our thing."

  "Why not?"

  I blinked at him a few times. The truth was, other than thinking they would get in the way, I hadn't really thought up a good reason why not. "Because, with all due respect, you'll likely get in the way. Gilley and I work alone."

  Steven gave me a look that said he wasn't buying it. After a moment he said, "M.J., I am believing you that you and your partner can work my case alone, but I am still… how would you say … with concern over all this thing you do."

  "You're skeptical about our abilities," I clarified.

  "Yes, septical. I am a septic."

  I pulled my lips into a grimace so that I wouldn't sputter a giggle at Steven's use—or abuse—of the English language. "I see," I said after a moment, trying to think of a way to convince him there was no frickin' way I'd allow him along.

  Steven continued, "So, if I employ you, it will be with the .. .eh, term?"

  "Condition."

  "Yes, condition that I will be involved in this … er… bust, as you say on your Web site."

  I raised an eyebrow and replied firmly, "Sorry, Doc, Gilley and I work alone."

  "Doc is cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs!" my parrot announced from his perch.

  Steven turned in his chair to look at my parrot. "Funny bird," he said.

  "He's not talking about you," I was quick to explain, mentally slapping myself for using Doc's name to address Steven.

  "Dr. Delicious! Dr. Delicious!" Doc sang, fluttering his wings and sidestepping along his perch.

  Steven chuckled. "Very vocal."

  "Get off the friggin' phone!" Doc yelled, bobbing his head.

  At that Steven looked sharply at me and asked, "What kind of car do you drive?"

  "A Volvo," I answered tentatively.

  "What color?"

  "Silver, why?"

  "This morning when I was coming to here, a woman in a silver car shouted at me to get off my cell phone, then … how do you say … she zigzag in front of me?"

  I gulped. "Cut you off," I said.

  "Yes, cut me off."

  "Doc's cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs!"

  I felt my face flush. "Ha, ha. Yeah, sorry about that," I said, mortified. "I was running a little late for this appointment and obviously I didn't realize it was you…."

  "I was on the phone with the hospital. One of my patients was in distress."

  "Again, I'm really sorry about that," I said, kicking myself under my desk. "I get grouchy when I'm late for an appointment."

  "Pop goes the weasel!" Doc chirped. I made a mental note to remember to move that perch out by Gilley's desk, really, really soon.

  "If you are preventing me from coming along, Miss Holliday, then I see no need to talk any more," Steven said formally, his voice suddenly tight.

  I stared at him unblinkingly for a few moments, irritated that he was trying to back me into a corner.
Finally I extended my hand across the desk and said crisply, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Dr. Sable. Thank you for coming in, and good luck finding someone to help you with your case."

  Chapter 2

  After Sable left and I'd ducked out on Gilley and the tantrum he was about to throw at the loss of a major client, I decided the thing I needed was a good cup o' joe. This brought me to Starbucks, which was a mere block away, and from there I crossed the street to my favorite hangout— Mama Dell's.

  Now, Mama Dell's is also a coffee shop, at least in theory. The place is always packed, but the allure is definitely not the Java. The patrons don't really know why Mama's secret brew tastes like tar, but the fact that absolutely no one is willing to tell Mama about it makes for one of the best inside jokes in Arlington.

  Mama Dell is from South Carolina and has a delightful Southern accent that brings out my own. She came to Boston thirty-odd years ago on a full scholarship to Harvard, majoring in biotechnology, and met her soul mate, a tall, kind man known only as the Captain.

  Together the two worked on some biophysics project that resulted in a patent and a huge chunk of money. They took their bundle of cash and invested it in a coffee shop. The interior of Mama Dell's is inviting, with plenty of overstuffed love seats and comfy chairs arranged in cozy little groupings where packs of pedestrians can mingle and hang out.

  On a shelf by the door are rows of original—and often hilarious—coffee mugs gathered from all over the United States and a few foreign countries. Regulars come in, discreetly pour their Starbucks coffee into their favorite mug, head to the counter for a pastry, and lounge the day or evening away.

  I'd first met Dell and the Captain two years ago—they were one of my very first clients, and they'd called on me to rid the place of a hyperactive poltergeist who insisted on smashing all the original coffee mugs to pieces. It had taken me almost a week, but I'd finally cornered the ghost of a British soldier who'd been trapped since the Revolutionary War, and sent him on his surly way.

  In a town full of New England accents, I found a little taste of home whenever I was around Dell, and I had quickly become a regular.

  I breezed through the door, tucking my Starbucks coffee under my coat, and I looked for my mug on the wall, frowning when I couldn't find it.

  "Morning, M.J.!" Mama Dell sang when she saw me.

  "Hey, there, Dell," I said, still scanning the shelves for the Halloween mug with a black cat painted on the cup and a handle shaped like a ghost. "Have you seen my mug?"

  "I've got it in the dishwasher; someone was in earlier and used it. It should be out in a moment. Why don't you go have a seat and I'll bring it over when it's clean. You take it black, right?" she asked.

  Damn. I'd forgotten the extra empty cup I usually ordered at Starbucks just in case Dell managed to fill my cup with her black, syrupy brew before I had a chance to dump my own coffee in. "Yep. Great. Black. I'll be over there," I said, pointing to my usual table and the familiar face I saw sitting there.

  Dell hurried into the back while I made my way over to the blond woman seated at our table by the fireplace. "Mornin', M.J.," she said as I approached.

  "Hey, Teeko, good to see you," I replied to my best girlfriend. Teeko is not actually her name, mind you. It's a combination of her initials, K.O., plus a T on the front because the woman is a total knockout. Karen O'Neal is five feet, six inches of utter gorgeousness, with long legs, blond hair, and very blue eyes. There is also an air of supreme confidence about her, but without a hint of condescension.

  Today she was dressed in her usual style—fabulous— wearing knee-high suede boots, silk gaucho pants, and a beautiful low-cut embroidered silk blouse that showed off the "ladies" something fierce. "Geez, Karen," I said as I sat down. "Trying to put someone's eye out with those things?"

  Teeko laughed and moved her laptop over to make room for me. "What's wrong with allowing the girls a little air and sunlight?" she asked. At that moment a gentleman walking by our table tripped over a chair and spilled coffee all over himself.

  "You're a hazard," I whispered with a grin as we watched him mop his shirt with his napkin. "You should come with road flares and some traffic cones."

  "So has Mama Dell told you yet?" she asked me, changing the subject.

  “Told me what?" I asked.

  "About the guy?"

  "What guy?"

  "The guy she wants to set you up with."

  "Noooo," I said with a groan. "Teeko, you have got to help me out here. The last guy she set me up with chewed with his mouth open, and that was the most attractive thing about him."

  Teeko giggled. "It couldn't have been that bad," she said.

  "He had hair plugs!" I added, grabbing her arm as I saw Mama making a beeline toward me, Halloween mug in hand.

  "Well, I've seen this one, M.J., and all I can say is yummy."

  "You're killing me," I said under my breath as Mama reached our table.

  "Here you go, M.J. Black. Just like you like it."

  My cup from Starbucks was carefully hidden under my coat, and as I looked at Mama it became clear she was waiting for me to sip the coffee to make sure it was to my liking. Teeko hid a grin as I smiled gamely and raised the mug to my mouth. Making a loud slurpy noise I sipped just a tiny bit. It was god-awful. "Mmmmm!" I said, choking it down. "Perfect. Thanks, Dell."

  Mama rocked on the balls of her feet, a big grin on her face. "It's my special recipe," she said.

  "Delicious," I said, and coughed, then quickly cleared my throat, muttering, "Damn allergies." Teeko stifled a giggle.

  "I'm so glad you're here!" Mama said with a little hand clap. "Karen and I just met the most wonderful man and—"

  "I'm busy tonight," I said quickly.

  "You are?" Teeko said, looking at me with big innocent eyes. I'd have to kill her later.

  "Yes," I said, giving her the evil eye. "I have a ghostbuster thing."

  "Can't you get out of it?" Teeko asked. Yep, she was definitely mincemeat.

  "Nope."

  "Is this that big job you've been working on?" Teeko asked me. Ahhh. Finally, some help!

  "Yep. Sure is."

  "The one Gilley's been talking about?" I wasn't sure where she was going here, but I liked the direction.

  "Uh-huh. The very one," I said, nodding my head vigorously.

  "Oh, well, in that case, Mama," she said, turning to Dell, "you can call our man and tell him M.J. would be happy to meet him on Saturday, because Gilley expressly told me that your night off from this big case was Saturday." Crap. Teeko was back on my shit list.

  "Perfect!" Dell said with a snap of her fingers. "I'll go call him right now. M.J., you are going to love this one! And you know I'm rarely wrong about these things!" she added as she bustled off.

  Now, it was true that Mama had a certain reputation to uphold. After all, she was the premier matchmaker in the metro Boston area. And she really did seem to have a knack for bringing the right couples together. It was also true that her track record was somewhere in the ninetieth percentile … but when it came to me, that woman could no more find me someone suitable than she could brew a good cup of coffee.

  As Mama hurried away I turned on Teeko. "What are you doing to me?" I asked her sharply.

  "You need to do something other than work, work, work…"

  "I like work," I said.

  "… and sit alone in that condo of yours letting the best years of your life drift by, afraid of putting yourself out there because you might get rejected."

  I scowled at her. "It's not that easy, Teek," I said. She gave me a look that said, Oh, please, so I elaborated. "First of all, I really do like my work. And I'm in the middle of trying to build this business and do not need the distraction of a relationship right now."

  "So you work," Teeko said with a shrug. "Plenty of busy singles get together and make it happen. Going out with someone doesn't mean you become joined at the hip, for God's sake, M.J."

  Again, I scowled
at her. "Granted. But along with my very busy schedule, it's just not easy for me."

  "It's not easy for anybody, my friend, and yet people do pair up."

  "Normal people pair up, not people like me."

  "People like you? What do you mean by that?"

  I swirled the black liquid around in my mug for a minute before answering her. "Teeko, most men do not want to date a woman who can talk to dead people. They think it's freaky, weird, hell, even that guy with the plugs couldn't wait for the night to end. I'm just tired of seeing that look in their eyes, is all."

  "What look, specifically?"

  "That I'm cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs," I said borrowing a quote from my parrot.

  Karen threw her head back and gave a hearty laugh. "M. J. Holliday," she said, shaking her head back and forth. "I've never known you to be afraid of anything. You're the bravest woman I know, in fact."

  I rolled my eyes and stared at the wall. This entire conversation was really making me uncomfortable. Teeko continued. "You walk into places spookier than the Amityville Horror, and deal with stuff twice as freaky, but going out on a little date has you clucking like a chicken."

  "It's not that I'm scared," I said defensively. "I just don't feel like dealing with it."

  "What you need to find is a real man. Someone who's not intimidated," Teeko mused. "And I swear, this guy that Dell and I met today, he just might be able to give you a run for your money."

  "He's probably a commitment-phobe," I groused. Sometimes I can really be a ray of sunshine.

  Teeko laughed again. "He's not a commitment phobe, and trust me, I am an expert at spotting those."

  "How is John these days, by the way?" I asked her, referring to her beau of three years, John Dodge.

  Teeko's smile wavered. "Actually," she said, turning her attention to her own cup of coffee, "he proposed the night before last."

  That got me. John was a very wealthy real estate tycoon, and had recently been voted one of Boston's most eligible bachelors. It had always been my firm belief that John liked his bachelorhood, and he never seemed the type to get down on bended knee and do the right thing by Karen, so this news was quite a surprise. "He what?" I asked.