Roses Are Red; He's Dead (A Mellow Summers Paranormal Mystery Book 9) (7 page)

“It was dark. All I remember before I blacked out was seeing a pair of men’s boots and Chad keeps a pair of boots in his locker.”

“Only circumstantial evidence,” I said. “I’m just saying,” I added before Billy had a chance to lose his temper, “that it isn’t enough to convict him.”

I remembered the thumb-sized item I had picked up moments before and looked at it. The red object stared back at me; its brilliant exterior reflected the light above my head. Was this a jewel? It looked like a ruby, but was it real?

“Billy,” I said, “what is this?”

“Just a paperweight,” replied Billy as he scratched his partially exposed belly button.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Why?”

I studied the red object more closely. It could have been made of glass, or a material that gave it its sheen, and be a paperweight, like Billy insisted, but there was the possibility that it was more than that. “It looks like an actual gem,” I said. “A ruby.”

“Nah, can’t be,” said Billy. “I found that while… um… while…”

“Yes?” I urged him.

“Well…”

“Where did you find it?”

“Chad’s locker.”

“What?” I almost dropped the item in my hand.

“That’s how I know he’s the one that murdered me!”

“Hold on,” I said, trying to put the pieces together. “What were you doing going through Chad’s locker?”

“Uh… I have this problem?”

“Are you a kleptomaniac?” I asked as I looked around at the radios, cell phones, gloves, scarves, shoes, purses, expensive looking pens, and e-readers.

“People just leave things lying around and I pick them up.”

“You stole this.”

“So?” said Billy.

“Look,” I said, “is there a jeweler in town?”

“Yeah. Only one.”

“I am going to get this looked at to make sure that it’s not a fake. Until then, I need you to promise me that you won’t go after Chad?”

“No!” Billy disappeared.

I sighed in frustration and prayed that Greg would be able to protect Chad from Billy’s antics. The last thing I needed was another murder happening at the hands of a vengeful ghost.

Chapter 6

I slipped out of the apartment, making certain to shut the light off and lock the door so that no one would know that someone had been in there. The empty hallway gave me an eerie feeling as I hurried down it amidst the dreary carpet and poor lighting. Emily must have poured most of her money into making the cabins and rooms luxurious, though I didn’t understand why she couldn’t have made the place where Billy lived a bit nicer, not that it would have mattered with his sloppiness.

Once outside, I hurried over to the trail that led into town, not wanting to waste any time in getting the red gem appraised. The bare trees and the gray snow made me think that I had entered a haunted forest. The frozen ground crunched beneath my boots. The trail had been cleared of snow, but pockets of ice still lined it, giving a loud—Crack!—with each step I took.

“What did you leave it in the room for?” demanded an irate voice, blocked by a few trees.

I stopped. Glancing around for the source, I soon realized that it wasn’t talking to me, but came from the other side of a tree barrier. Ignoring it, I continued walking.

“Because you told me to, you ignoramus!” responded another voice.

I stopped again. Letting my curiosity get the better of me, I crept to the trees, and peeked through the split between them. On the other side were Morgan and Burt, arguing again.

“And you listened to me?”

“Oh, so I wasn’t supposed to?” demanded Morgan, placing her pudgy hands on her hips.

Not wanting to get involved, I stepped away, but just as I moved my foot, a twig snapped; its sound echoed around me as I cringed, wishing I were invisible.

“Great,” huffed Burt, “so now we have company.”

“I’m sorry,” I began, “I’ll just go.”

“No. No. Stay and watch the show,” Burt said. “I’m sure you’ve heard most of it anyway. Morgan’s voice is quite the spectacle.”

“My voice?” snapped Morgan. “Have you listened to yourself lately? Your voice is so loud that it carries from here to Texas!”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I bet that the people of California are sick of hearing your nasally tone.”

I started to walk away.

“Hey, where you going?” demanded Burt.

“Away from here,” I said.

“See?” said Morgan, flipping her permed hair. “You scared her away.”

“Well, she shouldn’t be nosing around, spying on people.”

“I wasn’t…”

“Yeah, because she has nothing better to do than to listen to us.”

“HEY!” I shouted, surprised by the forcefulness of my own voice. “Will you two shut up? All you do is argue!”

“Got a set of lungs on her, that one,” commented Burt.

“I’ll say,” Morgan added in a complementary tone. “She got you to shut up.”

“Not good enough. You’re still talking.”

“Stop it!” I shouted at them. “First off, I was not spying on you two; I was on my way to town, but your voices can be heard over a mile away. So, I decided to check it out, make sure nothing happened. You guys can stay here and fight all you want. I’m going to town.”

“Now, hold on there,” said Burt, “I didn’t mean anything by what I said earlier, about you spying. We seem to attract attention everywhere we go.”

I wonder why, I thought to myself.

“Stick around,” said Morgan.

“Why do you two argue so much?” I asked, allowing my curiosity to lead me, once again.

“For fun,” replied Morgan.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“Well, we’ve been married for a while now and sometimes you got to do something to liven things up,” replied Burt. “About two years ago, Morgan and I were out and were having a real argument, and got kind of loud, but some people dubbed us the ‘fighting couple’ and I guess—”

“—it stuck,” finished Morgan. “In the end, we couldn’t remember what had started the fight, but we had so much fun arguing that we continue to do it.”

“Seems like a strange pastime to me,” I said.

“It does to most people,” replied Morgan.

“We only argue in public,” said Burt, “but when we’re alone, we hardly fight at all. Besides, all this fake fighting gets off our chest whatever might have been bothering us all day.”

“And we always make up in the end,” added Morgan.

I just stared at them, still not believing that they argued on purpose for entertainment.

“Where were you headed, anyway?” asked Burt.

“To town,” I said. “I was on my way to the local jeweler.”

“Oh,” said Morgan, “is that man of yours going to propose?”

“I…”

“Oh, we both noticed you two,” Morgan interrupted me. “He’s a keeper, that one.”

My cheeks grew hot as I blushed, despite my best efforts not to. “He has been a bit secretive lately.”

Morgan got one of those all-knowing smiles on her face, which made me blush even more.

“Yeah,” said Burt, “in a few years, you’ll look like us.”

I must have gotten a panicked look on my face because Morgan swatted him, adding, “Now you’re scaring her!”

“Going to the jeweler, you said?” asked Burt, checking his wristwatch.

“Yes, why?” I replied.

“Better hurry. He closes at five and it’s nearly five now.”

What! In talking to them, I had forgotten about the ruby in my pocket, which I had found in Billy’s apartment. I said good-bye to Burt and Morgan, still perplexed about their idea of entertainment, and raced back to the cleared trail. My lungs burned as I ran, having not sprinted like this in a few years, while my fast breathing formed clouds of white vapor.

I made it to the small town with its locally owned shops lining the street and spotted the jewelry store right away. I dashed across the street and tugged at the door handle. Locked. I checked the hours posted on the glass door. Yep, the store closed at five and my watch said it was ten after.

Dismayed, I stared at the red paperweight, wishing that I had not stopped to talk to Burt and Morgan. How could I have allowed myself to get so distracted?

“Hey, Mel!”

I looked up. Approaching me from the other side of the street were Aimie and Patrick. I stuffed the ruby into my sweater pocket, hoping they didn’t notice my quick movements, but they did.

“What’s that?” asked Patrick, pointing at my pocket.

“Nothing,” I replied, “just something I wanted to get looked at, but I was a little late in getting here.”

“Well, maybe tomorrow then,” said Patrick. “I’m told that this guy closes at five o’clock on the dot, not a minute sooner, or later.”

“What are you two up to?” I asked.

“Just exploring the town,” said Aimie. “I love visiting all of these little shops.”

“And buying stuff,” joked Patrick.

Aimie smacked him in response.

I smiled at their playfulness.

“Hey,” said Aimie, “you owe us a lunch, or dinner, considering the time. Where’s Greg?”

“Back at the resort. He doesn’t like shopping much.”

“That’s a man thing,” said Aimie, “but you should join us. We were just about to grab a bite at this place down the street here.”

Not wanting to be rude and the fact, that my stomach growled just then, I agreed to join them.

We went to this Indian restaurant that Emily had told Greg and me about when we had first checked in. The owner, a jovial man who welcomed all who walked through the door with a smile and handshake, had emigrated from India about 30 years ago and established his restaurant as a way to introduce Americans to real, as he called it, Indian food. I felt a little odd being here by myself with Aimie and Patrick; the restaurant had been set up to accommodate couples, since it wasn’t far from the resort.

“Three?” asked the owner as he greeted us, wearing an orange tuxedo, his coattails swaying with each movement.

“Yes,” said Patrick.

Even though we were the only three person group there, he never said anything, but grabbed three menus and led us to a table. We took our seats and looked at the menu, more interested in what this place had to offer in the way of food, instead of talking. When the waiter arrived, we placed our orders. That was when the conversation started.

“They really decorated this place nice,” said Patrick.

Aimie laughed. “Yeah, for couples.”

She must have noticed me squirm because she added, “Oh, don’t worry. We don’t mind having you along. Besides, you did agree earlier to joining us sometime for a meal.”

“How did you two meet?” I asked them.

“Work,” said Aimie.

“We both are in the shipping business,” added Patrick. “We transport goods from one place to another.”

“Yeah, it was love at first sight,” said Aimie.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Patrick joked, and received a playful smack in response.

“What about you and Greg?” Aimie asked.

“Well,” I began, “believe it or not, he is my next door neighbor.”

“What?” said Aimie in surprise.

“Yeah. We also attend the same college and that was where we had first met, with me dressed in a grungy pair of jeans and bed-hair.”

Both Aimie and Patrick laughed, picturing my messy appearance.

I thought back to the day that Greg and I had met. It was the first day of classes, and my first class of the day, and I had arrived late, dressed in my usual attire of jeans and a t-shirt; and no, I hadn’t bothered to brush out my hair. That was also when I had met Rachel, the first ghost I had ever talked to, and whose murder I helped solve because she wouldn’t leave me alone. Though, she still shows up from time to time.

“So what happened?” asked Aimie.

“Well,” I replied, “Greg said hello to me, and we talked for a little bit, but I kind of brushed him off. Later that evening, he knocked on my door with a cake in his hand, but I was a little out of sorts and closed the door in his face.

“Really?’ said Greg. “So, how’d you end up going out?”

“I have Rachel to thank for that.” The words were out of my mouth before I had even realized that I had said them.

“Rachel?” asked Patrick.

“A friend,” I replied. “She ensured that Greg and I met again, and we’ve been together ever since.”

“So what do you do?” said Aimie.

“When I’m not in class at the college, I’m at work. I work at a little place called the Candle Shoppe, and the word shop is spelled s-h-o-p-p-e on the sign.”

“How quaint,” said Aimie. “So, no hobbies?”

“I don’t have time for hobbies,” I replied. I wasn’t about to tell them that I speak to ghosts, or that they seek me out sometimes, asking for help. “Work and school—”

“—and Greg,” Aimie finished for me.

“And Greg,” I continued, “keep me busy. So, tell me more about your shipping business.”