Page 26 of Ghosts, Ghouls, and Growls
“It’s worth a shot,” I whimper, accepting the fuzzy brown bear with its bowtie that perfectly matches our sofa. “Come on, Ella Bella. Look who’s here to say hello.”
I wiggle the bear in front of Ella’s tear-streaked face, but she regards Mr. Snuggles with the same suspicion a health inspector might give a questionable seafood buffet. If anything, her wails only increase in volume.
I settle us into the rocking chair near the fireplace, where a cheerful blaze is keeping the October chill at bay. All around us, our cottage has been given the full Halloween treatment with paper bats hanging from the ceiling, a ceramic ghost-shaped cookie jar on the counter, the stuffed pumpkins nestled among the throw pillows onour plaid sofas, and a wreath of autumn leaves and miniature pumpkins hang over the fireplace. There’s even a little witch’s hat perched on the lamp in the corner, casting spooky shadows across the room.
Ella latches on with her usual enthusiasm, but even mommy milk—her favorite thing in the world next to naps and ceiling fans—fails to soothe her completely. She pulls away, red-faced and indignant, as if to say, “How dare you offer me exactly what I usually want!”
Someone put a plug in her and quick,Fish yowls from her perch on the bookshelf, surveying the scene with a slight look of terror. She leaps down and disappears into the bedroom, returning moments later with a small toy mouse clenched in her teeth. And in a single bound, she deposits it on my lap next to Ella.This always makes me feel better,she mewls, looking expectantly at the baby and I can’t help but coo.
“Thank you, Fish.” I blow her a kiss. “That was very sweet of you.”
Not to be outdone, Sherlock trots over with his favorite chew toy—a well-loved plush duck missing one eye and most of its stuffing. He lands it gently next to Fish’s offering with his tail wagging like mad in hopes this will do the trick.
When I’m sad, Mr. Quackers helps,he gives an earnest bark.Maybe she just needs the right toy?
“Good try, Sherlock.” Jasper gives him a quick pat. “At these decibels, it wouldn’t surprise me if the entire neighborhood dropped by with their favorite toy in hand. Something has to work.”
“One can only hope,” I moan as little Ella continues to test out her vocal cords—or wear them out. And I’m not entirely sure that would be a bad thing.
Fudge springs into action. The little Westie tears around the cottage like a furry bolt of lightning, scooping up everything he sees—one of Jasper’s socks, a coaster from the side table, a pen that rolled under the sofa weeks ago, and finally, his own rubber bone. And before I know it, he’s arranged this eclectic collection at my feet with great puppy pride.
I hope I helped!he yips, circling the pile of treasures with glee.Heath always said I was a good helper!
“You did great, Fudge.” I give him a little pat with my foot. “I think we’ve got the world’s first pet therapy team in training,” I tellJasper with a tired smile. “Too bad Ella doesn’t seem to be too impressed.”
Jasper looks at the growing pile of gifts with a mix of amusement and desperation. “Maybe I should try the chest thing again? That worked yesterday for about ten minutes.”
I nod, and we execute the transfer—a maneuver we’ve perfected over weeks of trial and error. Jasper reclines on one of the plaid sofas, and I place Ella face-down on his chest, her tiny ear pressed against his heart. The steady thump-thump seems to register in her baby brain, and her cries gradually soften to whimpers, then to hiccups, and finally to the occasional dramatic sigh.
The silence that follows is so profound I’m afraid to breathe too loudly and break the spell.
“You,” I whisper to Jasper, “are the baby whisperer.”
“Pure luck,” he whispers back, one large hand splayed protectively across Ella’s back. “So, while we’re trapped in this exact position for the foreseeable future, want to tell me about your day?”
I sink onto the other plaid sofa, suddenly aware of how exhausted I am. “Where to begin? Well, first, Hazel showed me something at the inn this morning that would give most people nightmares.”
“Another potential murder weapon?” Jasper asks, instantly alert despite his immobility.
“If only. More like footage of a ghost,” I clarify. “And not just any ghost—a ghost that looks exactly like your wife, floating around our bay window.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Exactly like you?”
“Twin-level identical. It was...” I shiver despite the fire’s warmth. “Unsettling, to say the least.”
“Could it have been doctored?” Always the detective, my husband.
“Hazel seemed convinced it was genuine. They used some kind of special infrared camera that can pick up things the naked eye can’t see.” I hesitate. “After that fun revelation, I tracked down Buffy Butterwick at Sea Beans and Books.”
Jasper’s expression shifts from curiosity to concern faster than Ella can go from sleeping to screaming. “Bizzy, please tell me you didn’t talk to a suspect with our baby in tow—not that I want you to do it without her either. You know how I feel about that.”
“I know, I know.” I raise my hands in surrender. “I was just going for coffee, honest. Besides, I’m glad I went. The bookshop is absolutely adorable, all decked out for Halloween with the coziest fireplace.”
“And I’m sure you just happened to have a casual chat about murder over pumpkin spice lattes,” he deadpans.
“Pumpkin spice lattes with extra whipped cream,” I correct. “And I did learn a few things. Like the fact that Buffy and Heath broke up two weeks ago, and it wasn’t exactly amicable.”
“That’s not exactly breaking news,” Jasper points out. “Half the town seems to have had beef with Heath Cullen.”
