The Girl with the Uninvited Ghost: Pandemonium Cozy Mystery #1

Chapter 10

The canvas tote bag bounced against Mahogany's leg as she pulled open the ornate oak door of the Pandemonium History Museum. Inside, the heat of the summer sun dissolved. The scent of old lavender, roses, and dust drifted around the cool air-conditioned space, chilling the sweat on Mahogany's neck and scalp, causing a brief shiver to goose-bumped her arms.

A few patrons spoke in hushed tones as they browsed the gallery's assortment of prehistoric artifacts, objects important to the town's founding, and a smattering of modern pieces by local artists. Their voices bounced off the polished tiled floors and glass dome crowning the gallery's center.

Mahogany headed away from the gallery and through a long hallway to the administrative offices. As she approached Agalia Sorrowsong's open door, Mahogany heard a conversation coming from the curator's office. She stopped outside, listening.

"Please let me know if you remember or hear anything," a woman's voice said.

"Of course, Detective Sawyer," Agalia said. "Come back any time."

Mahogany's stomach dropped. The weight of the anelace in the bag dug into Mahogany's shoulder along with the other items from the crime scene.

A chair creaked as someone stood, followed by the soft rustle of cloth which told Mahogany that Agalia and the detective were shaking hands.

"Thank you again for your time," Detective Sawyer said and turned to exit the room.

In the hallway, Mahogany took great interest in the frayed cuticles of her left hand. She'd started biting her nails again. A sure sign that she was stressed.

"Did you know this place has fossils of dinosaurs in it?" Guy's lanky figure seeped through the wall in the hallway inches from Mahogany. Detective Sawyer entered the hall at that moment, and the obnoxious apparition and steely crime solver collided.

Guy giggled as if a brood of puppies licked his toes. Teresa Sawyer, on the other hand, gasped, her eyes wide.

"You all right?" Mahogany asked. Against her thigh, the anelace sang, the vibrations telegraphing through her bones. The sensation reminded Mahogany of the tattoo she'd received on her shoulder. The rapid-fire needle had sent shocks through her shoulder blade.

"I'm fine," Guy said. He turned to look at the detective. "I like her. I've passed through hundreds of people in the last few days, and none felt like that."

Mahogany suppressed the urge to gag and did her best to divert her eyes from Guy's leering presence.

Detective Teresa Sawyer shook her head. A rosy blush colored her olive complexion. "Just a cold spot. It's gone now."

Mahogany feigned interest. "Old buildings, am I right?"

The detective gave the hallway a passing glance before she locked her gaze on Mahogany. "You must be Mahogany, the curator's assistant."

"That's me," Mahogany said, forcing her hand outward in as relaxed a manner as she could muster and offered it to the detective.

"Mahogany, what?" the detective asked as they shook.

"Pardon?" Mahogany asked. She released the detective's hand and resisted the urge to wipe her sweaty palm on her leggings.

"Your last name?" The detective said. She leaned toward Mahogany, her gaze intent.

"Oh, I don't have one," Mahogany said. "My adoptive mother doesn't believe in them."

Sawyer's face pulled together in a severe frown. "What does it say on your birth certificate?"

Mahogany's heart picked up speed. A trickle of sweat slid down her side. "Lost in a house fire."

"Why didn't she order another one?" The detective stepped closer to Mahogany. Her breath smelled of cinnamon and coffee.