Phantoms Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mystery #13 by Connie Shelton Page A

night in the shop and see if we can catch the ghost!”
    “What?”
    “Something or someone is trying
to frighten Dolly away. Maybe we can frighten them away instead. It would save
her business.” With her blond curls and those bright blue eyes she looked like
a kid on Christmas Eve.
    “I don’t know . . .”
    “If we caught someone in the act
we’d call the police, immediately.”
    And if we found something
valuable down there . . . well, I have to admit to being a sucker for a good
treasure hunt. Having devoured all those stories as a kid, a momentary vision
of a chest of gold coins or a big pile of jewelry popped into my head.
    “We might at least get a look at
whoever’s coming into the shop and messing things up,” I said, practicality
taking over again. “If we could stop them it would mean peace of mind for
Dolly.”
    And I could continue my relaxing
vacation instead of feeling like I was working. I wouldn’t complain about that.
    “I’ll call Dolly the minute we
get home tonight,” she said.
    We shared a slice of cheesecake
and I picked up the check.
     
    *
* *
     
    Wednesday afternoon found Louisa
and me rummaging through the closet-sized garden shed at the back of her house.
She’d spoken to Dolly and our offer to stay the night in the shop had been
eagerly accepted. I got the feeling that Dolly would love to hand the whole
mess over to anyone, rather than deal with it herself.
    “Here’s a decent spade,” Louisa
said, handing the short-handled implement out to me. “Hold on, I think I have
another.”
    I took each tool and set it on
the ground. I had my doubts about the whole venture but Louisa had talked a
volunteer into taking half of her shift at the office so she could prepare.
    We’d decided that taking a few
tools along would be smart. I wanted to dig around in that loose earth, just to
see if there was more to the story than a simple water leak. And of course
Louisa was convinced that a pry-bar would get us through the brick wall and
into the realm of the unknown parts of Bury St. Edmonds. She handed one over
her shoulder and I took it.
    “What about a pail? It could come
in handy.” She backed out of the small doorway and added a plastic bucket to
the growing collection. “There. That should handle things, don’t you think?”
    We put the bucket and tools into
the back of her car.
    “We’ll park around the corner,”
she explained, “so the ghost won’t see it and realize we’re keeping watch.”
    Uh-huh. I kind of didn’t think
that was going to be a consideration, but we could do it that way.
    Louisa had her practical side,
too. At her suggestion we closed our bedroom drapes and took long naps to
prepare for staying awake all night. My nap was fitful so I got up and tried
phoning Drake, thinking I might catch him before he left for the airport and
his helicopter job, but there was no answer on the home phone. His cell went
immediately to voicemail, which probably meant he was airborne already and had
it switched off. I left a longing-filled message to let him know how much I
missed him and how frustrating it was to be on separate continents with all
those time zones between us.
    Louisa picked up a tote bag and
suggested we stop by the market stalls for food.
    Although we’d missed the prime
morning hours, there were still plenty of goodies to be found. While I gawked
at the variety on offer—everything from tulip bulbs to gourmet dog food to
books and winter jackets—Louisa gathered bread, cheese, fruit and cookies to go
along with the tea she’d packed into a thermos. We would have no excuse for
leaving our post.
    When The Knit and Purl closed at
five o’clock we were watching from the corner. Gabrielle emerged, swinging her
purse by its strap as her bouncy steps carried her down the block. I wondered
where she lived—was it within walking distance? Or perhaps she rode the bus
from another part of town.
    Dolly signaled to us and we
grabbed our tools and ducked inside.