Enchanted Holidays
by Kim Cox
genre:
Romance
description:
Lana Malloy embarks on a new career as a private investigator when she sets out to solve the twenty-year-old double murder of her great aunt and her great aunt's fiancé. If Lana can solve the crimes by Valentine's Day (the anniversary of their deaths), the ghosts will be as they should have been in life - together for eternity. Two ghosts, a hysterical neighbor and the handsome grandson of Lana's aunt's fiancé make for a series of comical events.
This story is from this book:
Enchanted Holidays
chapters
chapter 1:
Haunted Hearts - novella in anthology
Haunted Hearts - novella in anthology
chapter 1
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updated 02/11/08
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7525 characters
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“How do you like it?” Lucy Ann Malloy, standing at the top of the stairs, turned to the right, then to the left as she modeled the blue and green pastel dress. “I found it in the attic with some of my old things.” She lingered in the doorway on the main floor. “Well?”
Lana Malloy glanced up from editing the ad for her new PI business. “Nice,” she said and returned to her work.
Lucy moved to Lana’s side and gazed over her shoulder. “What are you working on?”
“The ad for the newspaper and magazines. I've got to figure out how to attract some business, or I’ll never make it through the first month.”
A chill filled the air surrounding Lana and she shivered, pulling her sweater tightly around her.
“I have an idea, actually a pretty good one. I know who your first client can be.”
Without even glancing away from her paper, Lana asked, “And who would that be?”
“Me.”
“You?” Lana looked up, her interest piqued. “What are you talking about?”
Lucy’s white hair shone with blue highlights as if she’d just had it rinsed--well preserved from someone who had been dead twenty years. “Find my murderer so I can rest in peace. How about it?” Lana’s great aunt had been with her since she moved into the old beach house in Charleston, South Carolina five years ago.
“And who would be paying for my services?” Lana smiled, pulling her reading glasses off and laying them on her desk. She loved her great aunt, but she could be a card. Lucy had always been a rebel, always tried to be different from everyone else. “Besides, you died over twenty years ago. That’s a cold trail for sure.”
“I got money, smarty—a lot of money that no one has found yet.” Lucy covered her mouth with both hands and then removed them. “Oh, well, the cat's out of the bag now. I can't spend it, anyway.”
“But you died—”
“Let me finish. Shows how much you, or any of those pigs know.” She glided back and forth across the room as if she were dancing at her coming-out ball.
“Well?”
“Get out your pen and pad and take notes.”
“Not until I’m sure what you’re telling me is the truth.” Lucy sometimes changed details to suit herself and the moment, but she’d never talked about her death before. Lana never questioned her because she thought it may be too painful for her aunt.
“Have I ever lied? Never mind, don't answer that.” Lucy laughed as she stopped in mid-air, lowered herself down to the desk and hovered in a sitting position just above the surface. Then she crossed her legs. “It was Valentine’s Day. The last thing I remember, I was helping Davide eat his dinner. He had been sick the last few days, and I went over to visit. He didn't eat much of his potato soup, and I love potato soup on a cold winter’s night. You know, that kind your mother used to whip up?” Lucy licked her lips. “I miss that since I’ve been dead. There’s no need to eat anymore … no appetite.”
“Get on with your murder case.”
“Oh, yeah. I tend to get sidetracked now and then.” She giggled. “Anyway, I never left that room until I woke up in this house dead and looked down on my body lying on the living room floor, right in front of my sofa. The next morning, your mother came to see me and found me . . . I mean, my body. That's it.”
“Right. You were poisoned, but your murderer was never caught,” Lana mused.
“You call yourself a private investigator? Elementary, my dear Lana. Use some logic. How did I get from Davide’s house to my house?”
Lana chewed the eraser on the end of her pencil. “So, you believe you were poisoned at Davide’s, but someone brought you back here either before you or after you died?”
“By golly, I believe she’s got it.”
“Are you sure you didn’t just forget going home?”
“I didn’t forget. I was only sixty, and not senile. Someone must’ve moved me while I was unconscious. Can’t you see that?”
Lana stood and paced the room. “It’s a possibility, I guess. What did the police say?”
“They said, ‘the old broad croaked. No suspects.’ And they looked no further.” Lucy moved up behind Lana. “Clue number two: I've been reading up on my ghostly position as well. Did you know there are specific reasons why ghosts haunt places?”
“No. What are they?”
“According to this, my reason is . . .” Lucy took out the book, opened it to the bookmark and started to read, “’When someone is murdered and the murder goes unsolved, their spirit must wait around until the mystery is solved, usually around the anniversary of their death.’”
“Where did you get that book?”
“Here, in this house.”
Lana sauntered into the library and fingered through the books on the shelves. “I didn't know we had all these books on ghosts.” Lana smiled until she saw the look on Lucy’s face. She was serious about this, and Lana felt bad that she hadn’t realized it sooner. She loved the woman dearly, but often, Lucy kidded around so much that it was hard to tell when the woman was genuine.
“I found them in the attic, dusted them off and put them on the shelf last night. They belonged to your grandfather. He was into that kind of stuff. You believe me now?”
“I don't know. I'll read over these today and see.” Lana brought a book back to her desk as Lucy followed. “What exactly did you figure out? And if you’ve solved it, why do you need me?”
“Not everything. Just what I need to do to get to my resting place. I was killed on Valentine's Day, 1982.”
“So?”
“I need to find my murderer by Valentine's Day, or I’ll be stuck here until next year, same time.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s when I died.” Lucy placed her hands on her hips. “Haven’t you been listening? Anyway, the book says it’s the only time I will have the opportunity to claim my eternity. It’s on page fifty-two.”
“Do you have any suspects?” Lana flipped through the pages. “This looks interesting.”
“That old buzzard I was trying to help.”
“Davide? Your fiancé?” Lana glanced up.
“That's the buzzard.”
“You two were going to be married in a few weeks. Why would he want you dead?”
“That, I don't know. But I think he's as good a place to start our search as any. If it wasn’t him, it was someone in his family. They were against us marrying. Especially his son, Anthony.”
“Our search? But you can't—”
“But I can. I read about it in that book. I can leave anytime I want. I just haven't wanted to bad enough until now. Plus, I need to attach myself to something in order to leave. That something, or rather someone, is you.”
A few hours later, Lana looked from her book as Lucy drifted in with a tray of food—a tuna fish sandwich with pickles and chips.
“I thought you could use something to eat. Seafood is brain food, you know.”
When Lucy floated back across the room, Lana glanced toward the window and glimpsed a terrified face in the window. It was her neighbor, Roxie Thomas, with curlers in her strawberry blonde hair and cold cream still covering her horrified face. When the dress glided toward a filing cabinet and one of the drawers opened all by itself, Roxie's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. The closed window muffled her screams.
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Lana Malloy glanced up from editing the ad for her new PI business. “Nice,” she said and returned to her work.
Lucy moved to Lana’s side and gazed over her shoulder. “What are you working on?”
“The ad for the newspaper and magazines. I've got to figure out how to attract some business, or I’ll never make it through the first month.”
A chill filled the air surrounding Lana and she shivered, pulling her sweater tightly around her.
“I have an idea, actually a pretty good one. I know who your first client can be.”
Without even glancing away from her paper, Lana asked, “And who would that be?”
“Me.”
“You?” Lana looked up, her interest piqued. “What are you talking about?”
Lucy’s white hair shone with blue highlights as if she’d just had it rinsed--well preserved from someone who had been dead twenty years. “Find my murderer so I can rest in peace. How about it?” Lana’s great aunt had been with her since she moved into the old beach house in Charleston, South Carolina five years ago.
“And who would be paying for my services?” Lana smiled, pulling her reading glasses off and laying them on her desk. She loved her great aunt, but she could be a card. Lucy had always been a rebel, always tried to be different from everyone else. “Besides, you died over twenty years ago. That’s a cold trail for sure.”
“I got money, smarty—a lot of money that no one has found yet.” Lucy covered her mouth with both hands and then removed them. “Oh, well, the cat's out of the bag now. I can't spend it, anyway.”
“But you died—”
“Let me finish. Shows how much you, or any of those pigs know.” She glided back and forth across the room as if she were dancing at her coming-out ball.
“Well?”
“Get out your pen and pad and take notes.”
“Not until I’m sure what you’re telling me is the truth.” Lucy sometimes changed details to suit herself and the moment, but she’d never talked about her death before. Lana never questioned her because she thought it may be too painful for her aunt.
“Have I ever lied? Never mind, don't answer that.” Lucy laughed as she stopped in mid-air, lowered herself down to the desk and hovered in a sitting position just above the surface. Then she crossed her legs. “It was Valentine’s Day. The last thing I remember, I was helping Davide eat his dinner. He had been sick the last few days, and I went over to visit. He didn't eat much of his potato soup, and I love potato soup on a cold winter’s night. You know, that kind your mother used to whip up?” Lucy licked her lips. “I miss that since I’ve been dead. There’s no need to eat anymore … no appetite.”
“Get on with your murder case.”
“Oh, yeah. I tend to get sidetracked now and then.” She giggled. “Anyway, I never left that room until I woke up in this house dead and looked down on my body lying on the living room floor, right in front of my sofa. The next morning, your mother came to see me and found me . . . I mean, my body. That's it.”
“Right. You were poisoned, but your murderer was never caught,” Lana mused.
“You call yourself a private investigator? Elementary, my dear Lana. Use some logic. How did I get from Davide’s house to my house?”
Lana chewed the eraser on the end of her pencil. “So, you believe you were poisoned at Davide’s, but someone brought you back here either before you or after you died?”
“By golly, I believe she’s got it.”
“Are you sure you didn’t just forget going home?”
“I didn’t forget. I was only sixty, and not senile. Someone must’ve moved me while I was unconscious. Can’t you see that?”
Lana stood and paced the room. “It’s a possibility, I guess. What did the police say?”
“They said, ‘the old broad croaked. No suspects.’ And they looked no further.” Lucy moved up behind Lana. “Clue number two: I've been reading up on my ghostly position as well. Did you know there are specific reasons why ghosts haunt places?”
“No. What are they?”
“According to this, my reason is . . .” Lucy took out the book, opened it to the bookmark and started to read, “’When someone is murdered and the murder goes unsolved, their spirit must wait around until the mystery is solved, usually around the anniversary of their death.’”
“Where did you get that book?”
“Here, in this house.”
Lana sauntered into the library and fingered through the books on the shelves. “I didn't know we had all these books on ghosts.” Lana smiled until she saw the look on Lucy’s face. She was serious about this, and Lana felt bad that she hadn’t realized it sooner. She loved the woman dearly, but often, Lucy kidded around so much that it was hard to tell when the woman was genuine.
“I found them in the attic, dusted them off and put them on the shelf last night. They belonged to your grandfather. He was into that kind of stuff. You believe me now?”
“I don't know. I'll read over these today and see.” Lana brought a book back to her desk as Lucy followed. “What exactly did you figure out? And if you’ve solved it, why do you need me?”
“Not everything. Just what I need to do to get to my resting place. I was killed on Valentine's Day, 1982.”
“So?”
“I need to find my murderer by Valentine's Day, or I’ll be stuck here until next year, same time.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s when I died.” Lucy placed her hands on her hips. “Haven’t you been listening? Anyway, the book says it’s the only time I will have the opportunity to claim my eternity. It’s on page fifty-two.”
“Do you have any suspects?” Lana flipped through the pages. “This looks interesting.”
“That old buzzard I was trying to help.”
“Davide? Your fiancé?” Lana glanced up.
“That's the buzzard.”
“You two were going to be married in a few weeks. Why would he want you dead?”
“That, I don't know. But I think he's as good a place to start our search as any. If it wasn’t him, it was someone in his family. They were against us marrying. Especially his son, Anthony.”
“Our search? But you can't—”
“But I can. I read about it in that book. I can leave anytime I want. I just haven't wanted to bad enough until now. Plus, I need to attach myself to something in order to leave. That something, or rather someone, is you.”
A few hours later, Lana looked from her book as Lucy drifted in with a tray of food—a tuna fish sandwich with pickles and chips.
“I thought you could use something to eat. Seafood is brain food, you know.”
When Lucy floated back across the room, Lana glanced toward the window and glimpsed a terrified face in the window. It was her neighbor, Roxie Thomas, with curlers in her strawberry blonde hair and cold cream still covering her horrified face. When the dress glided toward a filing cabinet and one of the drawers opened all by itself, Roxie's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. The closed window muffled her screams.
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