hard square of his reversed gold ring pressing into my palm.
“Good evening, Mrs. McClure, Ms. Thornton.”
Seymour sat back down and smiled up at us. “Listen, you two, keep this Saturday night open, okay?”
“Why?” I asked.
“I’m holding a wake in honor of Miss Timothea, that’s why! I’m not a guy who likes to waste time. I’m moving in ASAP. You’re invited, too, Mr. Stoddard. And so is that cutie secretary of yours!”
“Thank you, I’m sure, Mr. Tarnish,” Stoddard said. “Saturday evening, you say? I’ll see what my schedule is like.”
CHAPTER 8
Road Trouble
Trouble. Like the smoke over a cake of dry ice. You can’t smell it but you can see it and know that soon something’s going to crack and shatter.
—Detective Mike Hammer in Kiss Me, Deadly , Mickey Spillane, 1952
LEAVING MILLSTONE’S DEPRESSED business district was like emerging out of a godforsaken mausoleum. Aunt Sadie and I didn’t say much as I started up Seymour’s VW bus and rolled through the town’s shadowy lanes. I was still processing everything I’d heard in the lawyer’s office, and I could see my aunt was engrossed in thoughts of her own. Even Jack had gone quiet. After a few minutes, however, my aunt broke the silence.
“That young woman,” she said, her voice sounding almost disembodied in the large, dark vehicle. “She was acting oddly, don’t you think?”
“Who?”
“Mr. Stoddard’s receptionist, or assistant, or whatever she was. You know who I mean: the girl in the black dress.”
“Miss Tuttle?”
“I can’t get over how she stared right at you and said there was a man with you.”
Behind the van’s big steering wheel, I shifted uneasily. “Oh, she probably just noticed Seymour dropping us off.”
“No, that can’t be it. She was engrossed in her book when we walked in. And she was very specific about her description. She said a man in a fedora and double-breasted suit was with you . She was extremely clear about that point.”
I forced a laugh—which sounded only slightly less phony than it actually was. “Probably just has an active imagination.”
“You know, I hope she does come to Seymour’s party. I’d like to ask her about that.”
“I wish you wouldn’t, Aunt Sadie. Tonight I found something a lot more disturbing than Miss Tuttle’s confusion.”
“You did?”
I nodded. “Mr. Stoddard’s behavior.”
“Mr. Stoddard was a perfect gentleman, dear. What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Stoddard pressuring Seymour into selling Miss Todd’s home.”
“You call that pressuring?” In the dim light of the car, I could see my aunt shaking her head. “It sounded to me like Stoddard was simply explaining that option to Seymour—and he rejected it pretty firmly, too. But, you know . . . maybe Seymour should sell.”
“Why? Do you think Miss Todd’s house really is haunted?”
“Heavens, no.” Sadie waved her hand. “But even if it were, that’s nothing to cause alarm. My word! Look at Finch Inn. It’s supposed to be haunted, yet Fiona and Barney have never seen an apparition. And half the inns in Newport have ghost stories attached to them, not to mention the landmark buildings. Fiona tells me the stories are good for business. And you know that’s one reason we started our occult book section.”
“I know.”
Sadie laughed. “Why, I’ve heard stories that parts of this very road are haunted. Some phantom car, which was run off Buckeye Lane years ago, supposedly comes back to haunt random drivers. And don’t you remember, dear, what Seymour said about our very own bookshop? It’s supposed to be haunted, too!”
“Ah, yes. I do seem to recall something like that—”
“When you first moved in with me, you did mention some strange things happening.”
“True.”
“But then you settled in and that all went away. Now, I’m sure if you actually saw a ghost in our bookshop, or continually heard strange noises, you’d
“Good evening, Mrs. McClure, Ms. Thornton.”
Seymour sat back down and smiled up at us. “Listen, you two, keep this Saturday night open, okay?”
“Why?” I asked.
“I’m holding a wake in honor of Miss Timothea, that’s why! I’m not a guy who likes to waste time. I’m moving in ASAP. You’re invited, too, Mr. Stoddard. And so is that cutie secretary of yours!”
“Thank you, I’m sure, Mr. Tarnish,” Stoddard said. “Saturday evening, you say? I’ll see what my schedule is like.”
CHAPTER 8
Road Trouble
Trouble. Like the smoke over a cake of dry ice. You can’t smell it but you can see it and know that soon something’s going to crack and shatter.
—Detective Mike Hammer in Kiss Me, Deadly , Mickey Spillane, 1952
LEAVING MILLSTONE’S DEPRESSED business district was like emerging out of a godforsaken mausoleum. Aunt Sadie and I didn’t say much as I started up Seymour’s VW bus and rolled through the town’s shadowy lanes. I was still processing everything I’d heard in the lawyer’s office, and I could see my aunt was engrossed in thoughts of her own. Even Jack had gone quiet. After a few minutes, however, my aunt broke the silence.
“That young woman,” she said, her voice sounding almost disembodied in the large, dark vehicle. “She was acting oddly, don’t you think?”
“Who?”
“Mr. Stoddard’s receptionist, or assistant, or whatever she was. You know who I mean: the girl in the black dress.”
“Miss Tuttle?”
“I can’t get over how she stared right at you and said there was a man with you.”
Behind the van’s big steering wheel, I shifted uneasily. “Oh, she probably just noticed Seymour dropping us off.”
“No, that can’t be it. She was engrossed in her book when we walked in. And she was very specific about her description. She said a man in a fedora and double-breasted suit was with you . She was extremely clear about that point.”
I forced a laugh—which sounded only slightly less phony than it actually was. “Probably just has an active imagination.”
“You know, I hope she does come to Seymour’s party. I’d like to ask her about that.”
“I wish you wouldn’t, Aunt Sadie. Tonight I found something a lot more disturbing than Miss Tuttle’s confusion.”
“You did?”
I nodded. “Mr. Stoddard’s behavior.”
“Mr. Stoddard was a perfect gentleman, dear. What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Stoddard pressuring Seymour into selling Miss Todd’s home.”
“You call that pressuring?” In the dim light of the car, I could see my aunt shaking her head. “It sounded to me like Stoddard was simply explaining that option to Seymour—and he rejected it pretty firmly, too. But, you know . . . maybe Seymour should sell.”
“Why? Do you think Miss Todd’s house really is haunted?”
“Heavens, no.” Sadie waved her hand. “But even if it were, that’s nothing to cause alarm. My word! Look at Finch Inn. It’s supposed to be haunted, yet Fiona and Barney have never seen an apparition. And half the inns in Newport have ghost stories attached to them, not to mention the landmark buildings. Fiona tells me the stories are good for business. And you know that’s one reason we started our occult book section.”
“I know.”
Sadie laughed. “Why, I’ve heard stories that parts of this very road are haunted. Some phantom car, which was run off Buckeye Lane years ago, supposedly comes back to haunt random drivers. And don’t you remember, dear, what Seymour said about our very own bookshop? It’s supposed to be haunted, too!”
“Ah, yes. I do seem to recall something like that—”
“When you first moved in with me, you did mention some strange things happening.”
“True.”
“But then you settled in and that all went away. Now, I’m sure if you actually saw a ghost in our bookshop, or continually heard strange noises, you’d
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