How the Ghost Stole Christmas (Murder By Design Book 4) Read online

  I tried to sip my coffee while still lying sideways in bed and that didn’t work out as well as I would have liked so I forced myself to sit up. Half a cup went down in seconds, then I was able to pry myself out of bed and stumble for the shower. The floor was freezing and I regretted not putting on slippers. My house is an old Victorian that was completely renovated before I bought it, with the hardwood floors restored. They look fabulous, but they are hard on the feet in the winter.

  Jake’s suit from the night before was hanging up in my closet, next to the rental dress I had to return, and pray they wouldn’t notice the rip. Jake had his own apartment, the upstairs of a duplex, but most weekends we spent together, and he was equally as tidy as me. It was a wonderful thing because clutter makes me crazy.

  Thirty minutes later I was heading downstairs feeling almost human, wearing the world’s most adorable fuzzy sweater in red with a cowl neck. I had black pants and black boots on with a kicky heel. Thank goodness there was no snow on the ground yet. We’d had one quick snow then it had melted. Ice and snow limit my footwear choices and I have to be honest, I resent that. I like the added height heels give me.

  My post-brunch plans included decorating my house in totally pimped-out Christmas style and I was preoccupied with thoughts of if I should place the tree where I had the last few years or go wild and try a different corner of the living room. Also, how I could con Jake into hanging exterior lights for me. I wasn’t fond on standing on ladders, and usually managed to avoid it while home staging for clients by using either a simple stepstool to hang artwork or by enlisting my best friend, Alyssa, to help, who was substantially taller than me. So with random thoughts churning at first I didn’t even see William until I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Glancing left, I started when I saw he was sitting in a squatting position on the hearth of my fireplace.

  “What the heck are you doing?” I asked him.

  “I came down the chimney. Thought it might be fun.”

  “How was it?” I pushed the post on the back of my earring tighter. The hoop had gotten caught in my curls.

  “Not as great as I thought.” He had his arms on his knees. “I think it would help if your house was decorated for the holidays.”

  “It’s only December sixth,” I said, feeling defensive. “That’s on my agenda for this afternoon.”

  “After you look into my murder, right?”

  I opened my coat closet and retrieved my full-length winter coat. “You can’t have it both ways. I can’t be crime solving and decking the halls simultaneously. I was already planning to decorate, so I promise I will do some research on your situation tomorrow.” I didn’t know what that entailed but I figured I could have a chat with his wife and maybe the girlfriend if he was willing to cough up her name. “I hate to talk and run but I have a brunch to go to so you need to head on out. We can touch base tomorrow and you can give me all the information you have.”

  See how good I’d gotten at taking a firm upper hand with ghosts? Control them before they control you.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  Damn it. Why was being a medium so hard? I would make the world’s crappiest teacher. I can’t crowd control. “You have to. Those are the rules.”

  “No one gave me any rules.”

  “I’m giving you the rules. This is my house. My rules.” I slipped my arms through my coat. “I’m not obligated to help you, you know. I do it because I feel bad.”

  He wrinkled his nose and scratched his fake beard. “Fair enough. Okay, so real quick, before you go. I have a confession to make.”

  That did not sound promising. “I’m not a priest. Please don’t ask for absolution.” The word confession is a trigger to any Catholic. I had cold sweats just thinking about walking into the dark box with the priest on the other side of the screen. One time in second grade I had panicked so bad, unable to think of any sin in particular I had committed (because really, how many cardinal sins does a seven-year-old commit?), I had blurted out to him, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I ate cheese.” He was laughing so hard that my teacher had to come and knock on the confessional and ask what was going on in there. She had thought the priest was having a seizure.

  The other confessions I hated were things like, “I’m just not that into you,” from my high school boyfriend. “You’re not looking so hot these days,” from Ryan. “I’m a serial killer,” from the guy I’d gone on two dates with and who subsequently locked me in his boathouse overnight chained to rattan furniture while plotting my murder.

  So, yeah. Confessions. No, thanks.

  But William persisted. “I’m not asking for absolution. But I do need to be honest. I was cheating on my wife. I’m not proud of that fact and now, after hanging around in the ether for three years, I’m not sure what the hell I was thinking. I was just bored, restless. Feeling old, you know?”

  “Not really, since we’re being honest. I’m only twenty-eight. But I’ve also never understood cheating. I’m not really wired that way.” I was far too neurotic and straight-laced to have an affair. I would never be able to look anyone in the eye if I were being dishonest.

  “Give it forty years, you might change your mind.”

  William was still in the squat position. It would have been impressive for a man his age except he was dead so maybe it wasn’t that challenging. What would it feel like to be without a body? Probably kind of boring. “I’m pretty sure the way to find meaning in your life is not to look for it in bed.”

  “Don’t judge me.” William looked angry.

  I held up my hand. “Sorry. You’re right. That wasn’t fair of me. I’m just in a hurry this morning to meet my parents and I did not sleep much last night. I meant it more flippant than as a judgment.” I had. It really wasn’t any of my business what William had done before his death.

  “Thank you. But if you’re going to talk to my wife, she’ll probably tell you about Cindy, so I figured I would give you a heads-up. I also had kind of a one-night stand with Lauren.”

  That got my attention. “Lauren? Who organizes the charity event?” I guess it wasn’t that shocking. Lauren had said William was a wonderful man. She was in her forties so nothing particularly odd about seeing a man in his sixties.

  He nodded.

  “So what made it kind of a one-night stand as opposed to actually a one-night stand?”

  “It was at lunchtime.”

  All right, then. “That still counts. One-night stand just means one time. So was it just something that didn’t work? Was it mutual that you wouldn’t repeat it?” Not that I wanted details but cop shows always talk about motive. Did Lauren have a motive to murder William, like rejection or unrequited love?

  “It was mutual. We didn’t really have great chemistry and Lauren felt guilty about her husband so that was that.”

  “Okay. Thanks for being honest. I need to head out now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I opened the door and gestured for him to go first. Cold air hit me in the face. “I think it’s going to snow,” I said, apropos of nothing. The sky had that absence of color that indicated a snow storm brewing.

  I suddenly had the ominous feeling it wasn’t the only storm brewing.

  I stumbled going down my front steps for no reason at all. Startled I glanced behind me. No William.

  Yet why did it feel like I had been pushed?

  Maybe it was just flashbacks to the night before but I decided I couldn’t really trust William any further than I could throw him and since I couldn’t actually touch his celestial body, Santa tossing was out of the question.

  I adjusted my purse on my shoulder and fast-walked to my car.

  “So where’s Jake?” my mother asked. “I thought he would be joining us.”

  We had just been seated at a restaurant downtown. My mother had greeted me with a half-hearted smile and a “You’re late.” Which did not bode well for a fun family hour.

  Nodding yes to the waitress when she asked if I wanted coffee,
I reached for the creamer. “He’s at the game with his brother and their buddy Joe Fisher, do you remember him? I think you met him at Ryan’s funeral.”

  My mother ignored everything I said after “game.” “Oh, God, he’s wasting his time at a Browns game?” She rolled her eyes. “They’re terrible and it’s twenty degrees outside. No, thank you. I’m so glad you aren’t going today,” she added, directing that at my father.

  “There’s still time,” he said, looking thoroughly annoyed with her. “It’s only eleven thirty and we’re only a few blocks from the stadium. I can get down there and even have time to tailgate.”

  “It’s so stupid,” Mom said, in a manner so bitchy my sister, Jen, kicked my foot under the table and glanced at me in alarm.

  “Grown men watching other men toss a ball around.” Mom sniffed her disdain. “Stupid,” she repeated.

  “Everyone needs a hobby,” Grandma Burke said. “What’s the harm?”

  “No more stupid than your book club,” my father shot back. “Which should really be named Wine and Gossip Club.”

  My mother sipped her pomegranate mimosa. “We’re discussing literature.”

  My dad snorted. “You’re discussing the fact that Judy Dawson got a boob job.”

  “Judy Dawson got a boob job?” Grandma Burke said, nodding. “That explains a lot.”

  “Like what?” I asked, eager to change the subject from what was stupid and what wasn’t in relation to my parents.

  “She’s been wearing nothing but tank tops since July. And she and her husband bought a boat.”

  Huh. I didn’t see the connection between the two. I was about to ask for more details when my mother announced loudly, “Maybe I should get a boob job.”

  The waiter, a guy in his late twenties, froze in the midst of pouring my sister more water. He left quickly without refilling anyone else’s glass. I wished I could run away to the kitchen with him because I basically wanted to die.

  “Why would you do that?” my father asked. “And you call my Browns season tickets a waste of money. You getting a boob job is like paying for an expensive painting and hanging it in the closet. Who the hell would see it?”

  “Well, we know not you,” my mother snapped.

  Hey. Hey, now. I shot my sister a look of complete horror. This was getting personal.

  Jen looked equally distraught. She placed a maternal hand on her belly, like she didn’t want her unborn child to hear his grandparents’ bickering. “So how is Jake?” she asked me. “Any chance you’ll get a ring at Christmas?”

  If she wanted to take my parents out of the hot seat, that was a fabulous way to do it. I would have applauded her effort if I weren’t so uncomfortable with the subject. I gave a weird laugh meant to be casual but that in reality sounded a little nuts. “A burning ring of fire? A fruitcake ring? We shall see,” I said lightly.

  “They’re living together,” Grandma Burke said.

  I gave my grandmother a startled glance. “No, we’re not.” I wasn’t even sure where she’d gotten that idea.

  “You’re at his apartment an awful lot. I check you on Find My Friends on my iPhone.”

  Apparently, that was where she got that idea. I felt my jaw actually drop.

  My father started laughing. “Mom, that’s not okay. Give Bailey some privacy.”

  “Grandma.” I was torn between being scandalized and proud of her for being so up on technology. “If I’m at Jake’s for dinner, that doesn’t mean we’re living together. He likes to cook. He has better pots and pans than me.”

  “But you’re there at three a.m. What’s cooking then?”

  My dad laughed again, his face turning red as he reached for his Bloody Mary and took a large swallow.

  “Why are you up at three a.m.?” my mother asked Grandma Burke.

  “I have to use the toilet a lot.” Grandma shrugged like it was obvious.

  “No, we’re not living together,” I repeated. “And no, Jake is not going to propose to me. We’ve only been dating a few months.” I couldn’t even think about marriage. That seemed so in the future, not now. My cheeks burned and I felt faint. I’m not an impulsive person. I don’t rush things. I take forever to even pick out a cocktail off a menu. One step at a time.

  “And you seem to be a dead body magnet,” my mother said. “I’m not sure how attractive that can be. I can’t believe you found a skeleton last night. Good Lord.”

  Nice, Mom. “I don’t do it on purpose.” I was regretting not ordering a mimosa for myself. “And Jake is a homicide detective. I think he’s okay with it.”

  “Anyway,” Jen said pointedly. “I’m so happy things are going well with you two. He’s a nice guy. And adorable.”

  Never in the history of life would I call Jake “adorable” but that was Jen. She was cheerful with a capital “C.” When I was depressed it was annoying as hell, but now, happy with Jake, content with life in general, and in the holiday spirit, I didn’t mind it so much. “Thanks, Jen. I’m glad you are here for a few days. I’ve missed you.”

  She had left her husband and her kids at home in Texas and I think she was enjoying the relief from chaos. Or had been, until our parents had decided brunch was open season. They’d been taking shots since we’d sat down.

  “Aw, I’ve missed you too!”

  “You should move back home,” Grandma Burke said. “We need Burke grandbabies right here with us not in Texas.”

  “Doug has a great job, Grandma.” She started going on and on about how amazing her husband was while I mentally drifted. Jen could wax enthusiastic about her life for a good fifteen minutes and that was totally fine with me.

  I really did not want to call William Anthony’s widow and try and explain who I was or what I wanted. That’s the rub with talking to dead people. They want me, a total stranger, to pry into their life and it looks weird. I had no clue what strategy to take on this one.

  My phone rang in my purse. I pulled it out from habit, not because I was expecting a call. But it was Lauren and I decided I really needed to talk to her. “Excuse me, this is about the body last night.”

  I answered the call as I stood up. “Hello, Lauren, how are you?”

  “Bailey, that is rude,” Mom said.

  I gave her a shrug and headed toward the hostess stand and waiting area.

  Lauren was crying. “I can’t believe it. It’s William, isn’t it? It has to be William.”

  “I think so,” I said gently. “Obviously they’ll need to properly ID him, but whoever it was, he was wearing a Santa costume.”

  “This is just horrible.” Lauren’s voice was hoarse, like she had been crying all night. “I knew he didn’t run off with a girlfriend. He just wasn’t like that. He was honest and a good man. But what on earth could have happened to him? Do you think he just slipped and fell? It’s just horrible. To think your body is just somewhere and no one knows it.”

  I was nodding, which was stupid because she couldn’t see me. “How well did you know William? Did you ever see him, uh, socially?”

  “What?” she asked, startled out of her sobbing. “No, not that I recall.”

  I took a swing. “Because William’s wife told the police you had an affair with him.”

  There was total silence on the other end. Then Lauren swore. “I didn’t know she knew about that. Damn it. That makes me feel terrible. It wasn’t an affair. We were friends and one time we had a three-martini lunch that went a little too far.”

  That gave a whole new meaning to “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  I could totally understand getting drunk at lunch by accident. I had gotten sloshed on chianti at lunch with Jake before we were dating. But I had cried on his shoulder, not had sex with him. It was safe to say most men would prefer a frisky drunk over a sad drunk.

  “I just wanted to give you a heads-up,” I said. Lauren didn’t sound like a murderer to me. She seemed genuinely upset over the whole situation. “By the way, what did William do for a livin
g besides being an awesome Santa?”

  “He was retired but he was a dentist.”

  That didn’t seem like a high-risk lifestyle or one that would create a ton of enemies. Root canals weren’t cause for murder. I was starting to wonder if William was even murdered at all or if he’d just slipped on the slide himself. Maybe he’d been kicking it back with a martini and lost his footing. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Lauren?”

  My mother was probably having a stroke by now.

  “No, thanks for letting me vent. I’m so sorry you made such a gruesome discovery last night.”

  We said our goodbyes and I quickly texted Marner.

  Lauren hooked up with William once. He also had an affair with someone younger named Cindy. It seems his wife knows about lovers. She also told Lauren three years ago William wasn’t dead, he had just run off.

  I didn’t expect him to answer because he would be tailgating pre-game by now but I wanted the cops to know how they should proceed when questioning William’s wife. She seemed like a pretty good candidate for our killer, honestly. Jealous wife. Bumps him off for the insurance money. Tale as old as time.

  When I got back to the table Jen was still talking. My grandmother was dozing. My father was draining the last of his Bloody Mary. My mother was frowning. So business as usual.

  William wedged in between me and Grandma Burke and plopped his Santa hat on the table. It was so unexpected I let out a startled cry.

  “What’s wrong with you?” my mother asked.

  No one knows I see ghosts except for Jake so I just shook my head. “I just had a chill.”

  “Don’t let Lauren lie to you. She only had one martini that day. She just wanted to jump my bones.”

  I nodded to acknowledge I had heard.