Phantoms Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mystery #13 (5 page)

“What about the baby’s father?”

“Never really in the picture. By
the time I was certain of the pregnancy he had dropped me for another girl. We
weren’t meant to be together.”

She swallowed hard and her eyes
welled up. “They never even let me see the baby. A nice married couple had
already signed papers agreeing to take him the day he was born. I heard that
there was a nursery on premises where doctors looked after the newborns until
they were released to go home, but I never saw the place. For all I know they
took him the minute they’d bathed him and put his first diaper on.”

She let out a long pent-up
breath. “Silly, now, after all this time. That little boy is pretty close to
your age, and I have no idea where he has ended up. Nothing to be done about it
from my standpoint. I’m sure he had a happy life, and it’s certain that it was
a more stable life than I could have ever given him. So, no regrets.”

She stood and carried the plates
to the sink.

“But neither your father nor mine
ever forgave you for what now seems like a very minor ‘sin’?”

“In the beginning it was that
way. Both of them wanted to lecture me, to control me. It was I who couldn’t
forgive them.” She picked up her wine glass and tilted her head toward the
parlor. I followed her and settled into one end of the sofa.

“Seriously, now with hindsight, I
know that giving up the baby was the right thing. It was the principle, that I
was forced into the decision with no input. They absolutely did not care how I
felt about it.”

“What did you do?”

“I took off. I’d hoarded the
spending money my father had put on account for me at the home. Used it for a
bus ticket to New York. Waited tables until I could afford a standby ticket to
Paris. Gosh, I was so lucky. It never occurred to me that I could end up
homeless or working some street corner. I landed in Paris and went into a
restaurant to apply for a job. No idea that a foreigner needs certain documents
to get a job. The couple who owned this place were ex-pat Americans and they
took me in. Let me work and live above the café. I saved my money, traveled all
I wanted to, always had their place to go home to. More wine?”

I declined. My head felt woozy
already. “Louisa! You really did get lucky.”

She laughed that hearty laugh of
hers. “I really did. There were some sad times. It wasn’t long before I heard
about Father’s death. I never made peace with him. And then when I heard about
Bill and Arlene—that’s when it really hit me that I should have probably
settled things with both of them.”

“But it was done by then.”

She nodded. “It was. I wrote to
your brother and expressed regrets.”

“And I’m so sorry that he never
responded. None of us were angry with you, believe me. We simply never knew.”

“I know, dear. I know.” She moved
to my end of the sofa and gave me a hug, then picked up the wine glasses and
headed toward the kitchen. “I’m only glad that we’ve now made connection.”

I listened to the clinking of
glassware in the kitchen and made my decision. Standing in the doorway and
watching her set things into the sink, I spoke. “Louisa, I really would like to
stay here after all.”

Chapter
5

She set me up in the guest room
with the loan of a nightshirt and a new toothbrush. We both decided it was
hardly worth the effort to walk back to the hotel tonight. It was getting late
and a heavy fog blanketed the streets, making the pavement and stone surfaces
look glossy and slick.

“Perfect atmosphere for my
‘haunted Bury’ tour,” Louisa said, peering out the window as she lowered the
shade. “Too bad I don’t have another one scheduled until next Saturday.”

She turned to me. “No rush to get
up in the morning. Catch up on your sleep. I have to put in a couple of hours
at the tourism office, just until noon, then we’ll have the whole afternoon to
play.” She sent an air kiss my direction and bade me goodnight as she closed my
door. I eased beneath the soft comforter and must have fallen asleep in
something like four seconds.

The smell of coffee wafted
through the air and I rolled over to peek at my watch, which I’d left on the
nightstand. It was after seven. With a quick change back into last night’s
clothes, a splash of cool water on my face, and a borrowed half-inch of my
aunt’s toothpaste I felt ready to start a new day.

Louisa sat at the kitchen table
in her robe, holding a newspaper, with a steaming mug in front of her.

“Help yourself to coffee, dear,
or the kettle’s always ready for tea, if you’d prefer that. I love my tea later
in the day but can’t seem to start my engine without coffee first,” she said.
“Sleep well?”

“Like a dead woman. I don’t think
I rolled over even once.” I reached for the carafe, one of the few post-1950s
touches in the house. She’d left a clean mug on the worktop for me, alongside a
small silver bowl filled with sugar cubes and silver tongs to grab them with
and a matching pitcher containing—I guessed—real cream. I indulged in all of
it.

“I don’t generally keep
everything for a full English breakfast here,” she said, folding the newspaper
to the back page. “But we could certainly go out for that if you’d like.
Otherwise, there are some store-bought muffins or toast—buttered or with
cinnamon.” Her eyes sparkled. “I make a killer cinnamon toast.”

“That would be perfect.”

I watched as she sliced bread,
slathered it with butter and gave it a generous sprinkling of sugar and
cinnamon before placing it on a baking sheet under the gas flame broiler. The
resulting combination of soft bread and crunchy topping literally melted in my
mouth.

“Have you thought of selling this
stuff and making yourself a fortune?” I mumbled while trying to lick sugar
crystals off my lips.

She laughed. “Too much paperwork
to start a business. Besides, this way I keep my house guests coming back.”

She asked about my life back in
Albuquerque although we’d covered some of this ground over the phone before my
visit, the parts about my involvement in both Ron’s private investigation firm
and Drake’s helicopter service.

“And he’s actually taught you how
to pilot one?” she asked.

I nodded and watched a proud
twinkle come into her eyes.

“The last few months I have to
admit that I’ve only flown enough to stay current. There hasn’t been enough
business to keep both of us flying right now. The economy. It’s the reason he
had to stay home now.” Thinking of Drake made me realize that if he’d tried to
call my hotel room last night I wasn’t there and he might be concerned about
that. I wished that I’d made arrangements for cell service over here.

“You are certainly welcome to use
my telephone,” Louisa said when I mentioned it.

“Later. It must be the middle of
the night back there right now.”

She bustled about, tidying the
kitchen, saying that she’d better dress. Fifteen minutes later, ready to leave
for the office, she told me to feel free to use her car to bring my belongings
from the hotel. The mere idea of negotiating the narrow lanes, many of which
were one-way and finding my way back again without damage to the car set my
stomach on edge. She handed me a spare house key and I assured her that I could
wheel my bag behind me and make it back here.

By eleven, I’d accomplished all
that, checking out of the hotel without a problem although I had a little
twinge as I said goodbye to my room in the famed old building. I spread out and
made my few possessions at home in Louisa’s guest room, then decided to drop
back in at The Knit and Purl and buy the cloth purse I’d seen there for Elsa.
There was still plenty of time before meeting Louisa at noon at the tourism
office.

Undoubtedly there was a more
direct route, but as I still didn’t have a clear map of the town in my head I
found myself using the Angel Hotel as my reference point. I walked the
increasingly familiar route back to it, then remembered the way Louisa and I
had taken the previous afternoon to the knit shop.

Once again the small bells
tinkled as I opened the door. No one was visible in the shop but I could hear
voices from a back room.

“Hello?” I called out.

“Be there in a moment.” Dolly
peered around a corner from the other room. She gave me that look that says I
think I know you but am not quite sure.

“Charlie Parker,” I reminded. “I
was in with my aunt Louisa.”

“Oh, yes.” Her mouth was pinched
in a tight grimace. “Give us a moment. Louisa’s yarn came in this morning.
Gabrielle can get it for you. We’ve had a little mishap.”

I followed her glance downward
and saw that she was holding an ice pack against her right hand. Another female
voice spoke to her and Dolly turned to give the girl some instructions.

A young woman came out—early
twenties, slightly plump, with a peachy complexion and honey blond hair held up
with a clip. She held about ten skeins of heather blue yarn, which she set on
the counter near the register.

Dolly introduced her as Gabrielle
Tukson, her assistant.

“Afraid we’ve had an accident,”
Gabrielle said. “Dolly’s gotten a rather nasty burn, just a few minutes ago.”

Dolly had trailed behind the
employee, watching how she handled the expensive yarn and pointing at a price
sheet with her injured hand. A brilliant red blotch showed near the
intersection of thumb and index finger and spread across the back of her hand.

“Ow, that does look painful. What
happened?” I asked.

Dolly replaced the ice pack over
the red spot. “Tea. I’d just set down a cup that had gone cold, turned to
switch on the kettle and make a fresh cup, went back to pick up the cold cup
and it was scalding hot. Dropped it, I did. The rim burnt my fingertips and the
rest sloshed over my hand.”

“How on earth—?”

Dolly stared at the injured hand,
her mouth now in a hard line. “It’s just one more unexplained thing around this
shop, I tell you.”

Could Louisa be right about a
poltergeist?

Gabrielle had placed the blue
yarn into a bag. “The other thing that’s upset her so is that the cup broke
when she dropped it and it was a favorite,” she said quietly.

“It most certainly was! One from
my own grandmother’s set of Spode—her Billingsly Rose pattern. I’m sick about
it. Just sick.”

“That’s too bad,” I said. “Do you
need to see a doctor for your hand?”

Gabrielle gave me a look that
said she’d already suggested that.

“I’ll be all right,” Dolly
insisted.

Still visibly upset, she elbowed
her assistant aside and asked whether I wanted to take Louisa’s yarn with me
now.

“I actually came in to buy a
purse that I saw before,” I said. “Maybe it would be better if Louisa and I
came back later, let you take care of that burn first. I’m sure there’s not a
hurry on the yarn and I can get the purse anytime.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Dolly said with a
big smile. Clearly she didn’t want to see a sure sale walk out the door.
“Gabrielle can help you with your purchase, and Louisa can come by anytime to
pay for her yarn. I’m not concerned about it.”

She reached for a small receipt
book and winced as her hand brushed against the edge of the cash register.

I reached for my wallet. “It’s
the yellow one with the brown trim and short handles,” I told Gabrielle.

She wrapped it in tissue and
placed a foil sticker with the shop’s emblem to hold the edges of the paper
together. Dolly watched the process but she was clearly in pain and when I
mentioned again that she might want to see the doctor she didn’t protest.

Outside, the day had turned warm.
Sunshine hit the narrow lane and illuminated the wares in the shops. I strolled
slowly along, absorbing the same-yet-different feel of a foreign town—books
with sticker prices in pounds, clothing somehow more stylish than ours,
newspaper headlines eerily similar to those in the States that featured corrupt
politicians, brutal crimes, and the latest foibles of movie stars. By the time
I’d meandered my way back to Abbeygate Street, the one place I was beginning to
recognize, it was nearing twelve so I angled toward the tourism office where
Louisa worked.

She sat behind a counter in the
gift shop. I said hello and handed over the bag from The Knit and Purl with her
blue yarn in it.

“Charlie! So glad you found me.
Let me introduce you to my co-worker, Alice.”

An older woman stepped forward,
smiling and nodding, and I got the feeling she knew more about me than I could
possibly guess. Either that or she just had a slight tremor and her head nodded
all the time anyway. She greeted me so politely that I felt obliged to let her
show me around the shop as she pointed out the various maps and brochures a
person could take for free.

“Your aunt conducts the best
tours of anyone,” she told me in her high, proper voice. “The historical talks
are marvelous but I especially like the scary ones!”

I had to chuckle at the way her
eyes lit up at the mention of the haunted sites.

Louisa had put on her jacket and
she placed a hand on Alice’s shoulder. “We need to be going now. Can you handle
things until Hazel gets here?”

Alice nodded some more.

“What do you feel like having for
lunch?” Louisa asked once we’d stepped out into the sunshine again.

While it was tempting to go for a
repeat at the Cornish pasty shop and another walk in the gardens, I realized
that my time was limited here and it would be fun to try some different places.
I told her I would defer to her recommendation. And so we found ourselves at
The Dog and Partridge, a pub dating back to the 16th century.

“This place is on my tour,”
Louisa said as we took seats at a table in the corner after placing our orders
for fish and chips at the bar. “However, I won’t bore you with the details
now.”

I shrugged my jacket over the
back of my chair. “Speaking of the unexplained . . .” I went on to tell her
about Dolly’s unfortunate mishap with the cup of scalding tea. “She swears
she’d just set the cup down and that the tea was stone cold.”

Louisa listened raptly. “It’s at
least the third time, assuming she’s told me about all these events, since they
moved into that shop. With the frequency . . . well, it’s as if some spirit
doesn’t want her in that location. It’s quite common, you know, for spirits to
appear to new tenants. They don’t always like us in their space.”

I could think of possible
explanations for each event. Perhaps Dolly had become so wrapped up in her work
that she’d forgotten she’d already reheated her tea. The inventory of yarn
being completely rearranged during the night was a little more complicated.
Dolly obviously didn’t accidentally do it, which would suggest that someone had
quietly sneaked into her shop. Certainly not impossible, but how likely? More
likely than there being ghosts in the building. Just my opinion.

Our fish and chips arrived and I
put all other thoughts out of my mind as I ripped into the huge piece of
battered fish that was done to perfection. The fries—I couldn’t quite think of
them as chips yet—were hot and crispy, and we didn’t speak much for about ten
minutes.

Louisa reached a stopping place
first, wiped her fingers on her napkin and peeked into the yarn sack I’d given
her earlier.

“Do you mind if we stop by
Dolly’s again so I can pay her for this?” she asked.

I let out a sigh of contentment.
The traditional lunch had hit just the right spot for me. “You know, I was
wondering . . . do you think the pranks at the shop might have anything to do
with the fact that Halloween is coming up?”

She sipped from the Coke she’d
ordered and thought about it. “It’s still more than a month away. Someone would
really be getting an early start.”

“Do people here do all the same
things we used to do?”

“Pretty much. Mostly harmless and
fun things—costumes, parties and treats, lots of orange and black, carved
pumpkins, scary movies. The wearing of costumes goes back to pagan times when
people believed that troubled spirits moved about at this time of year. They
disguised themselves to avoid being recognized by the undead.”

I smiled at the memory of the
year I’d dressed up as a witch when I was about eight, thought I was the
meanest thing on the streets until some bigger kid in a space alien costume
practically scared the pants off me and chased me home.

“So, you probably give a heck of
a haunted sites tour that night,” I teased.

“You bet! I take along a couple
of assistants who can escort the terminally frightened back to their cars.”

“Well, even though I won’t be
here next month, I’d love to see the places while I’m here.”

“I’ll put you on the list for my
Saturday night tour. Meanwhile, there are some good spots on our way back to
Dolly’s.” She slipped her jacket back on and picked up her shopping bag.

We stepped out to the street
again and Louisa led the way diagonally across the intersection toward St.
Mary’s Church.