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

Chapter 35

Before the morning sun had driven the moon from the dawning sky, Mahogany crept from the house ripe with Neema's contented snores, compass in hand.

"Where do you think it'll take us?" Guy asked as Mahogany pushed her scooter to the street before starting the engine.

"I have a pretty good idea," Mahogany said as she clipped the bone needle compass to the Vespa's handlebars.

Minutes later, they arrived at a cottage that appeared to have been ripped from a Thomas Kinkade painting. A steep, thatched roof sloped to meet white stucco walls. The small garden brimming with a lush rainbow of blooms lined the front of the cottage. Thick wooden window sills cut into the white stucco encased glazing rippled with age. The dew-covered petals gleamed in the early morning light.

The Tony dream with its rich garden flashed in Mahogany's mind. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts, and checked the compass. The bone needle pointed straight at the cottage's bright, red door adorned with a crescent moon knocker. "This is it."

"But where is 'this'?" Guy asked, tailing Mahogany over the stepping stones to the concrete stoop.

A low waste bin near the front door grabbed Mahogany's attention. A framed photo of a smiling young girl sandwiched between a man and a woman, all wearing matching knit hats, glinted in the quickly rising sun.

"Isn't that the photo from the library?" Guy said, his mouth drawing down in a frown.

"Priscilla Wembley," Mahogany said. She took in the house again. Purple monk's hood grew in luscious clumps with sliver-green leaves of moonlight sage. Several stone wolves lay among the foliage—their heads thrown back, frozen in mid-howl. The brass knocker was cast in the shape of a crescent moon. This was the unmistakable home of a lycanthrope.

"But why is the picture in the—"

The front door flew open then, cutting Guy's words short. A dapper woman of about forty held the doorknob in one hand and a cream-colored clutch in the other. She wore a high-colored pink silk blouse and black cigarette pants that ended just above her ankles. On her feet, a pair of black flats adorned with a black bow at the toe announced she had places to go.

Mahogany blinked at the familiar face, her mind attempting to parse the situation. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "I thought this was Priscilla Wembley's house."

"It is," the woman said, pulling the door shut behind her. "You're the girl from the herb shop. Misty, Marjory—"

"Mahogany."

"Right." The woman gave a tight smile.

They stared at each other for a long moment. The woman's gaze trailed over Mahogany, taking stock of her curly, pink Afro, umber skin, rainbow-colored tank top, black leggings, and beloved turquoise boots. She sneered, "Can I help you?"

Mahogany laughed and shook her head, her pink curls swaying. "I'm sorry again. If this is Priscilla's house, why are you here?"

"I'm Priscilla's sister." She held out her hand. "Ivy. Ivy Wembley. We haven't been formally introduced."

Mahogany took Ivy's hand, her eyes remaining locked on the woman's face. Ivy's hand was cool and dry. "So, you're staying here during your visit?"

Ivy's eyes grew wide. "Oh, you may not have heard. Priscilla died last night."

Mahogany's mouth dropped open, and she covered it with her free hand. "That's awful. I'm sorry for your loss. Priscilla is, er, was a lovely person." Mahogany released Ivy's hand and folded her arms over her chest. "What happened?"

"Nicely done," Guy said and gave a silent clap. "You should do theater."

"The police are still waiting for the autopsy results, but it's looking like an allergic reaction." Ivy shifted from one foot to the other. "I must be going. I have lots to do before heading back home." Ivy placed her clutch under the arm and made to take a step, but Mahogany shifted, blocking her way.

"Where's home?"

Ivy signed. "The Boston area."

"How long have you lived in Boston?"

"A few years now." Ivy raised an eyebrow at the probing questions.

Mahogany nodded, her pulse quickening. Boston again, she thought. "You didn't mention being Priscilla's sister at the apothecary," Mahogany said. "I mean, it seems like something one would offer when meeting new people in a small town where we all know each other."

Ivy smiled, but it missed her eyes by a mile. "To tell you the truth, Priscilla and I were estranged. But with our parents dying last year, I wanted to make amends since we were the only two left."

"Is that why her photo is in the trash?" Mahogany glanced at the discarded frame.

Ivy followed Mahogany's gaze. "The police allowed me to take her personal effects home from the library."

Mahogany searched Ivy's face for an answer to the question her words hadn't conveyed, but the older woman revealed nothing. "Why aren't you in it?"

"In what?" Color entered Ivy's cheeks, and her eyes narrowed.

"The photo."

"Someone had to take the picture."

One of Mahogany's eyebrows shot upward. "Your parents had you take a family photo?"

The blush coloring Ivy's cheeks deepened, and she pushed past Mahogany. She strode to her car parked at the curb, heedless of the stepping stones, her flats leaving prints in the wet grass. Ivy wenched the car door open and jumped behind the wheel. A moment later, she pealed into the street and out of view.

"Is it just me, or was she a bit off?" Mahogany asked as the sound of Ivy's car faded.

"Well, she did just lose her sister," Guy said. "A sister she didn't like much."

Mahogany shook her head. "I don't know. Something's not right."

"Yeah," Guy said, "the fact their parents cut one sibling out of family photos for starters."

"Maybe." Mahogany examined the door and its moon knocker and turned the knob.

"What are you doing?" Guy gasped.

"I still have work to do. There are items here I need to collect."

****

Once inside the cottage, Mahogany pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket. As she smoothed the sheet against her thigh, lines of text appeared. "This shouldn't take long. There are only two items here."

Mahogany located a cursed Celtic cross and a pair of enchanted earrings. As she made to leave, she stopped to browse the large bookshelf in the living room. Unlike the bookshelves in Mahogany's house, this one didn't contain books but row upon row of records.

"You know, Guy. I need some new tunes."

"Want to treat yourself after breaking into a grieving woman's house and taking some of her inheritance?"

Mahogany frowned. "First of all, it's my job. Second, Ivy didn't lock the door, so it's not actually breaking. And third, she hardly seems to be grieving." She turned and glared at the ghost. "Aren't you forever telling me to seize the day? That life is short?"

Guy shrugged. "Maybe." He floated through the door before she could respond.

"It's my job," she said to the empty room, ran her finger down the spine of one of the albums, and glanced around the living room. "No, Guy, the real question we should be asking is, why am I here at all?" She shook her head and opened the door.