Page 8 of Real Fake Hauntings

“Yeah, in the morning. Dad took the evening shift.”

“Have you noticed anyone suspicious around lately? Any customers in the shop or lurking around?”

She snorted. “It’s Halloween. Lots of weirdos going around.” She gave my witch hat and makeup a pointed look.

Hah. “Weirdness is the spice of life.” Considering what she and Bosko sold at the shop, she should know this by heart.

Her grin reappeared. “If you say so.”

“Rufus, no,” Key exclaimed.

We turned toward her. Rufus had apparently gotten tired of sniffing the air and was dragging Key toward the pentagram.

I stepped between the dog and the wall and said in my best stern voice, “Rufus, stay.”

Rufus ignored my excellent Ian impression and tried to go around me, so I grabbed a hold of his harness, and between me and Key we managed to keep the huge dog in place. He gave us a reproachful look and the soft, pleading whine of a Victorian orphan whose lunch had gotten stolen.

“Nice try.” Addressing Lydia, who was watching us with quite the unimpressed expression, I asked, “So, nobody was paying special attention to the shop? Are you sure?”

“I just?—”

I lifted a hand, cutting her off. “Think carefully, please. This might be more than a prank.”

Lydia pursed her lips, but a frown of concentration creased her brow. After a few seconds, she shook her head. “There were a few people I think came more than once, but that’s normal. People like to browse the store even if they don’t buy anything.”

“You don’t mind?”

She shrugged. “Helps make the shop look busy.”

“What about security cameras? Do you have any?”

“Nope.”

Unsurprising. Paranormals didn’t like anything that could remotely capture magic on camera. Most magic couldn’t be, but when it involved outside elements, like Key using her earth magic to flip a clump of soil, the results could be captured.

“What about anyone who has it in for your dad or the shop?”

Rufus, apparently capitulating, stopped pressing forward and began sniffing the ground, which gave me another great idea to try after this.

“Oh, yeah. Plenty of those,” Lydia said.

“Can I have a list?”

“Jackson accused Dad of stealing his catchphrase for a T-shirt. Gerome said he put a rat in his bread box when he wouldn’t move his food cart away from the front of the shop. A couple of weeks ago one lady threatened to sue us because she almost choked on one of our keychains in her hotel room. Bobby tried to return a pair of shorts and got really mad when Dad wouldn’t let him because he’d already used them. There was this crazy dude who tried to steal all our anime faces tank tops because he said Dad cheated him at cards… You want the stuff from before October too?”

Bosko had clearly lived a long and fulfilling year. “Uh, could you email me all these?”

“Sure.” She began typing on her phone.

“Where were you last night?”

Her head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

“I need you and your father’s alibi.”

“Why?”

Because everyone is a suspect, as my new motto reminded me. “Need to cross all the Ts and dot all the Is.”

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