Spooky Times (Alice Whitehouse Book 1) Page 10

  “Yes, my husband’s family have done well for themselves. They run a toy company? Toys & Us? I work as a paralegal for my father-in-law these days.”

  “Nice. So what brings you back to Happy Bays?”

  “Gemma Weston’s funeral?”

  “Oh, right. You guys were besties all through high school, right?”

  “And before. Gemma and I were joined at the hip since kindergarten.” She heaved a deep sigh, and her lip trembled. “Such a tragedy. Such a terrible, terrible waste.”

  “Did you guys keep in touch?”

  “We did. Gemma often came to visit me in Boston and we met twice a year in New York for a girl’s weekend. Just a couple of friends.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue paper. “I can’t believe she’s gone. She was always so alive.”

  “Yeah, it’s a terrible thing.” From the corner of my eye I saw Gemma floating in through the shop window and hovering near her friend. For once, she seemed lost for words.

  “I’m going to miss her terribly,” Susan said in a choking voice.

  “Oh, Susan,” Gemma said, equally choked up, and tried to hug her friend. Unfortunately she only managed to grab through her. She might be able to dump my mother’s plates to the floor, but she had to work on her hugging technique.

  “Sometimes I feel as if she’s still there, you know?” Susan continued. “I mean, it’s almost as if I can hear her voice.”

  “I’m right here, Suse,” Gemma said. “And I always will be.”

  “She was such a big part of my life, and now she’s gone…”

  “No, I’m not,” Gemma said. She turned to me and heaved a frustrated grunt. “Why is that you can see me and she can’t? It’s not fair.”

  I shrugged, and gave Susan my best comforting smile. “Maybe she’s closer than you think,” I told her. “Sometimes the dead stick around for a while, to comfort the living.”

  “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “It’s so sweet of you to try and lift me up like that. But I don’t believe in life after death. I believe this life is all we’ve been given, and when it’s over, it’s done.”

  “Hey, that’s not true,” Gemma said, trying to tap her friend on the shoulder. “I’m dead and I’m still here, so how about that?”

  “Well, I believe that the dead live on, before they move on,” I said.

  Susan gave me a look of commiseration. “How quaint.”

  Yep, Susan Cooper obviously wasn’t a believer, and I wasn’t going to waste my breath trying to convince her.

  “Just tell her I’m right here,” Gemma said. “Tell her I’ll always be her friend.”

  “Um, I don’t think so,” I said.

  “You don’t what?” Susan asked.

  “No, nothing. I was just… thinking out loud. I do that sometimes.”

  “Just tell her I’m right here!” Gemma insisted, stomping her foot for good measure.

  I shook my head. “Uh-uh.” I caught Susan staring down at the array of guns in the counter display. “Are you in the market for a handgun?”

  Susan nodded. “With Gemma gone, it got me thinking. Maybe we need a second gun. I mean, Craig’s got one at home, in the safe, but I would like to carry one around with me in my purse, just in case.”

  “Good thinking,” I said automatically, switching into salesclerk mode. “What caliber did you have in mind?”

  “Oh, just a small one. Like I said, something I can carry around with me.”

  “Are you all set, permit-wise?”

  “Yes, Craig took care of all that. And we go out to the gun range once a month to practice.” She gave me a sweet smile. “Craig is awfully concerned with my safety. He’s just the most wonderful, caring man.”

  “He sounds like a real catch.”

  “He is. I’m a very lucky girl.”

  I seemed to remember Susan used to have a crush on Chad Harlin in high school, but since he was already spoken for, she eventually moved on. Apparently she’d scored a much better deal than the Chadster.

  Gemma had finally given up, and was now sulking near the gun rack behind the counter, where Uncle Mickey kept the hunting rifles and larger caliber stuff. I explained to Susan the ins and outs of the different handguns on display, and she finally opted for a sweet little Colt that fitted snugly in her purse. Her license was in order, but she still needed the necessary paperwork to acquire the second firearm.

  “Oh, can’t I take it with me now?” she pleaded. “I’d feel much safer when I have this little puppy in my purse right now.”

  “I really shouldn’t,” I said. “Uncle Mickey is real strict about this kind of stuff.”

  She gave me a hopeful look. “Gemma’s death has shaken me so much. It would mean the world to me, Alice. As a fellow Happy Hugger?”

  A Happy Hugger was someone who went to Happy Bays High. And I can’t say her pleading left me cold. She was obviously in great pain over the loss of her best friend.

  “Oh, don’t be such a heartless biatch! Just give her the gun already!” Gemma yelled from the corner, where she was now checking out the sunglasses.

  I gave Gemma my best glare, which she totally ignored, and told Susan, “You know what I’ll do? I’ll call Virgil. I’m sure he can arrange something.”

  “Virgil Scattering? I heard he became a cop, right?”

  “He did, so it shouldn’t be a biggie.” I patted the Colt. “Us Happy Huggers should stick up for each other, right?”

  “Thanks, Alice. You’re the sweetest.”

  “She would be, if she would help out a ghost instead of ignoring her,” Gemma grumbled.

  I got Virgil on the phone and told him to speed up the license. And since he was also a Happy Hugger, he did just that.

  I watched Susan leave, the gun tucked away in her purse, along with a box of ammo, and turned to Gemma. But before I could give her a piece of my mind, she decided to drift out into the street after her friend, probably deciding to give this channeling thing another try. If only Susan could see her, she wouldn’t feel so sad, I thought, and then promptly forgot all about Susan when Rock walked in.

  “Ready?” he asked when I stared at him blankly. “For the Edsel Pagan interview?” he added when he noticed my confusion.

  “Oh! Right!”

  I quickly turned around the ‘Open/Closed’ sign, locked the door and hurried out after Rock. Uncle Mickey wouldn’t mind that I closed the shop for an hour. At least I didn’t think he would. After all, what was more important than catching Gemma’s killer?

  Chapter 14

  It was the first time I got to ride in the squad car with Rock. And even though it was just a beat-up old Crown Vic, I kinda liked it. Probably not because of the car, though. More because of the company.

  “So, did you move in with my folks?” I asked.

  “Nah. There’s no hurry. My room at the Inn is paid for through next week.” He glanced over. “Besides, I had the impression you weren’t too happy about me taking over your old room.”

  I shrugged, placing my feet up against the dash. “It’s fine. I haven’t lived there for three years, ever since my granddad died and left me his old house.”

  “That was nice of him.”

  “It was. I guess I was his favorite grandchild. Well, his only grandchild, actually.”

  “Was he your dad’s dad?”

  “Yeah. And since Dad’s an only child, and so am I, he didn’t have a lot of options to leave his house.”

  “Still, he could have sold it and divvied up the proceeds.”

  “He was a great guy. Also a cop, just like my dad.”

  “Runs in the family, huh?”

  “Yeah, until it came to a full stop with me,” I said, trying not to sound bitter.

  “Did you talk things through with your dad? About the police academy thing?”

  “I noticed how you didn’t bring that up last night.”

  “I figured it was something personal between you a
nd your dad. I didn’t want to interfere.”

  I wavered for a moment, wondering if I should tell him, then decided to go ahead. “The real story will surprise you.”

  “Oh?”

  I pointed a finger at him. “You have to promise this will stay between us, though.”

  He held up his hand. “I solemnly swear not to divulge anything to anyone.”

  I slumped a little lower in my seat. “Dad actually spread this story about him sabotaging my police academy record to avoid embarrassing me. Turns out my results were just as abysmal as I thought—worse, even. And to make sure people wouldn’t talk behind my back, or make fun of me, he made up this whole spiel about not wanting his daughter to follow in his footsteps.”

  Rock whistled through his teeth as he expertly steered the car through downtown Happy Bays. “So he made himself look like the bad guy?”

  “He did.”

  “Well, that’s awfully nice of him.”

  “It was.”

  And to think I thought my dad had tried to sabotage my career, while all he’d done was save my reputation. “So I guess I can safely bury my dream of becoming a cop.”

  “You could try again,” he said. “Maybe this time you’ll succeed.”

  I laughed a hacking laugh. “No way. I’m done being a recruit.”

  He glanced over, gauging my mood, then said softly, “You’re in charge of your own police force now, so that’s even better, I guess.”

  “I never thought of it that way.” Rock was right. In a sense, I was like my dad. Chief of Police of my very own private police force, with Mabel, Bettina and Marjorie as my officers, and Fee as my second-in-command. Though we didn’t have the power to make arrests, or pursue an investigation, we were responsible for keeping the peace in this small town of ours.

  We arrived at Edsel Pagan’s house, which was a modern-looking building on Powell Street, where Mayor Ted MacDonald lived.

  “So do you know this Edsel Pagan?” Rock asked as he parked the car and stared out through the windshield at Mr. Pagan’s house.

  “I’ve seen him around. Mabel knows him. He’s a council member and has been for the last forty years or so. He likes to think of himself as the guardian of the historical values of this town. And he takes his work very seriously.”

  I was about to get out, but Rock stopped me by placing his hand on my shoulder. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Alice.”

  I blinked, the warmth of his hand seeping through my shirt, and sending a flash of heat rippling through me. I swallowed. Was this where he was going to lean in and kiss me?

  “Yes?” I said, trying to control the anticipatory tremor in my voice.

  “I know you’re hiding something from me,” he said, fixing me with his clear blue eyes. I saw he’d missed a spot shaving that morning, and I had to suppress the urge to reach out and touch my finger to it. Then the significance of his words dawned on me.

  “Wait, what?”

  “I noticed it yesterday, when we were talking to Mrs. Evergreen. And again last night at dinner. Then you and your mother disappeared into the kitchen, and your dad made some of the most awkward conversation possible.”

  “I’m not hiding anything from you,” I said, trying to sound as sincere as I possibly could. “What would I be hiding from you?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, but I can sense something’s not right.”

  I patted his hand, which was still resting on my shoulder. “Everything is fine, Rock. Perfectly fine.”

  He dipped his head down and raised his brows. “You know you can trust me, right? That you can tell me anything?”

  “Of course I know,” I said a little too flippantly.

  His brow furrowed. “Alice…”

  I threw up my hands. “I’m not hiding anything from you. Now can we please do this interview? I can’t lock up the store forever, you know.”

  He heaved a frustrated groan. “I’m not an idiot, Alice. I’m a detective. I know when people don’t tell me the truth. I just hope that whatever you think you can’t tell me isn’t related to this murder case. Because if it is? It’s going to seriously jeopardize our capacity to cooperate. Understand?”

  “Of course. And I can promise you—”

  He held up his hand. “Don’t make any promises you can’t keep, Alice. Here’s a promise I know is for real: if I find out you’re holding out on me, that’ll be the end of this…” He gestured between us. “This unorthodox partnership.”

  “I think you’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t trust me, Rock,” I said, starting to get a little hot under the collar. “And if you’re so sure about it, why don’t we call it quits right now?”

  He stared at me, then produced the greatest smile. “I think you’re cute when you’re angry. Your nose wrinkles up and your chin trembles.”

  I made a concerted effort to prevent my nose from wrinkling and my chin from trembling, which probably only made it worse. In response, he leaned in and planted a quick kiss on my lips.

  “I think I like you, Alice Whitehouse,” he said with a smirk. Then his eyes dipped down to my tank top. “And I like the way you dress. Muy sexy.”

  And with these words, he abruptly ejected himself out of his seat and onto the sidewalk, slamming the door shut before I could respond. Gah.

  Edsel Pagan was a dapper little gentleman in his late sixties. He opened the door and stared out at us with a slight smile on his lips, his short gray hair perfectly coiffed, his jaw cleanly shaven, his suit neatly tailored and the smell of Old Spice wafting about him.

  “Alice Whitehouse if I’m not mistaken,” he said, his keen dark eyes taking me in. I was still blushing from the kiss I’d received from Rock, and thinking of anything but this interview, so in response I simply stood there, goggling like an idiot. It was up to Rock to handle the preliminaries.

  “I’m Detective Rock Walker with the Happy Bays PD, Mr. Pagan,” Rock said smoothly, stepping into the breach. “May we have a word with you about Gemma Weston?”

  Mr. Pagan’s face immediately drew into the requisite mournful expression. “Of course, Detective.” He eyed me strangely, trying to figure out what a mortician’s assistant, gun store clerk and neighborhood watch committee leader would be doing with a member of the police force.

  “Oh, in case you were wondering,” Rock said, “I’ve asked Alice here along because she was a very close friend of the murder victim. She might be able to shed some light on the matter from her own, very personal, perspective.”

  Nicely played.

  “Of course,” Mr. Pagan said, stepping aside. “Do come in, Detective. Alice.”

  The house was a little gloomy, not much light penetrating either the corridor he led us in or the parlor. It was decorated with lots of dark-wooded antiques and paintings of ancient whaling scenes. Not exactly my taste. Then again, the chairman of the Historical Society probably had to live up to his reputation for preserving all this ancient stuff that I didn’t really care a hoot about.

  “Please be seated,” he said, offering us two overstuffed chairs while he lowered himself onto the Chesterfield. It squeaked as he positioned himself.

  “It is my understanding that Gemma Weston had recently joined the Historical Society of which you are the chairman?” Rock asked, opening proceedings. He’d taken out a little notebook and sat, pencil poised, to take notes.

  “Yes, she had. Gemma had expressed an interest in the society for a long time now, offering to volunteer at our bus tours and our annual Fourth of July reading of the Declaration of Independence. So when she finally asked to be inducted into the society, I didn’t see any reason to deny her that honor.”

  “The night she was killed she was hosting a society dinner, right?” I asked.

  “That’s right. We like to rotate our meetings through the different members. The hosting member hosts the other society members in their own home.” He smiled, steepling his fingers. “I find that the flow of ideas a
nd words is much improved by the beneficiary effect of a home-cooked meal.”

  “And a nice glass of wine, I presume?” Rock asked.

  “Of course. That goes without saying. And then there’s the added benefit of meeting the society members on their home turf, so to speak. It creates an atmosphere of friendship and benevolence that greatly improves our work.”

  “So why is that when you discovered Gemma not home you didn’t investigate further?” Rock asked. “I mean, she was, in your admission, a very enthusiastic member, eager to make an impression on the society members.”

  Mr. Pagan displayed a small smile. “The members of the Historical Society might be friendly, but we’re not friends, Detective. We don’t intrude on each other’s personal lives. If Gemma Weston chose not to open her home to us, we might have been baffled and greatly dismayed, but we weren’t going to break down the door or demand she let us in. That’s not the kind of relationship we foster at the society.”

  “But didn’t you think it was strange?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t my place to judge Gemma. If she changed her mind, that was her business. I wasn’t going to hold her accountable. Though I was going to suggest she be removed from the society if she failed to come up with a good reason for standing us up.” He lowered his head demurely. “This was all before I discovered the terrible tragedy that had occurred, of course.” He cast a consoling look at me. “I’m so very sorry for your loss, my dear. Gemma was a sweet soul and she was taken from us far too soon.”

  “Oh, cut the crap,” I said, suddenly tiring of the man’s sanctimonious nonsense. “You hated Gemma’s guts, didn’t you? You thought her ideas were terrible and you wanted to kick her out of the society the very evening she invited you into her home.”

  His eyebrows shot up into his fringe. “My dear Miss Whitehouse!”

  “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? I talked to another member of the society and she told me you weren’t too keen on her newfangled ideas and where they would take the society.”

  Mr. Pagan’s mouth opened and closed, and he directed an annoyed look at Rock. But Rock didn’t respond. He merely eyed the councilman questioningly. Finally, he sighed. “Oh, all right. I admit I wasn’t Gemma’s biggest fan. Her ideas, while perhaps novel and refreshing, would have wrecked the society I spent my whole life building. I viewed her frankly as a very dangerous woman, who, with her charm, managed to wrap the male members of the society around her little finger, wielding an influence that was simply unacceptable.”