swiveled to investigate the notorious pond lover. He glanced at the sheriff, who flashed him a quick smile and then turned his attention back to Tommy.
“Come on in, son,” he said, putting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “I just need to talk to you for a little bit.”
Chapter Seven
Charlotte sat on her screened porch.
Her lanai.
She stared at the shallow gravesite behind her home. The police and forensic investigators had completed their tasks and removed the crime tape, but the yard would never feel the same. She shivered, thinking about all the years Declan’s poor mother lay beneath her patio. She groaned, recalling last summer’s luau themed barbeque party.
People had danced the hula on Erin’s grave.
My god. There might have been a conga line.
If there was a dead person in her backyard, where else might they be? She had seen enough horror movies to know that once someone disturbed a grave, all sort of weird things started to happen. Now every time Abby stirred in her sleep, Charlotte sat straight up in bed, wondering if her dog’s paranormal senses were tingling. Abby ran in her sleep a lot . She was exhausted.
As far as she knew, the investigators only found bones and the necklace. She hoped they’d also found something that would lead to Erin Bingham’s killer. Everyone knew spirits grew less restless after avenging their deaths. That was Ghost 101. She hoped Erin was a nice lady, uninterested in haunting people. Declan seemed nice, so that boded well; his mother was probably nice, too. Charlotte couldn’t imagine Declan haunting someone. Though, if she had to be haunted by someone, it wouldn’t hurt to have a handsome ghost lurking about. It could be like The Ghost and Mrs. Muir.
Charlotte took a sip of her wine.
Great .
She was sitting around, drinking alone, fantasizing about being a young widow like Mrs. Muir, alone in a lighthouse with a ghost.
I’m even alone in my daydreams.
She really needed to get out more. She needed to venture beyond Pineapple Port. Maybe go somewhere where people talked about movies more recent than 1947 .
Charlotte stood and walked into the house. She wrote get out more on the chalkboard wall beneath solve mystery and bread, lettuce, cookies . The chalkboard hadn’t been painted for a week before it turned into a shopping list. She moved to put down the chalk and then changed her mind. She added The Ghost and Mrs. Muir on the board. She hadn’t seen it in a while.
Charlotte saw something flash outside her kitchen window. It moved just above her fence line, round, head-shaped . She jumped and dropped the chalk.
Erin.
Already? She hadn’t had the time to avenge a squirrel’s death!
She froze, deciding whether to investigate or call for help.
Who could she call about a ghost?
A familiar tune began to play in her head.
Who ya gonna call? Ghostbusters!
Stop it. Damn it Erin, concentrate.
She crept to the window and peeked outside.
She saw another flash of movement, this time heading towards her front yard.
She ran for the front door, alerting Abby, who tore around the corner, cutting her off and creating a first line of defense. It was everything she could do to avoid tripping over the dog.
She threw open the door and Abby burst outside.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” yelled a man standing on the curb outside her home as Abby barreled towards him.
It was Harry Wagner. Harry had worked with Penny and George to expand Pineapple Port, but at nearly eighty, he’d long since retired and now lived in one of the homes.
“Abby no!” Charlotte called. “It’s okay.”
Abby did a tight loop around the man and then thumped her head into his knees, begging for pets.
Harry stared at Charlotte, his freckled head gleaming in the last of the afternoon sun.
“Were you just peeking over my fence?” asked Charlotte.
Harry grimaced.
“I hear you had some excitement.”
“News travels fast. I’m afraid you missed all the excitement if that’s what
“Come on in, son,” he said, putting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “I just need to talk to you for a little bit.”
Chapter Seven
Charlotte sat on her screened porch.
Her lanai.
She stared at the shallow gravesite behind her home. The police and forensic investigators had completed their tasks and removed the crime tape, but the yard would never feel the same. She shivered, thinking about all the years Declan’s poor mother lay beneath her patio. She groaned, recalling last summer’s luau themed barbeque party.
People had danced the hula on Erin’s grave.
My god. There might have been a conga line.
If there was a dead person in her backyard, where else might they be? She had seen enough horror movies to know that once someone disturbed a grave, all sort of weird things started to happen. Now every time Abby stirred in her sleep, Charlotte sat straight up in bed, wondering if her dog’s paranormal senses were tingling. Abby ran in her sleep a lot . She was exhausted.
As far as she knew, the investigators only found bones and the necklace. She hoped they’d also found something that would lead to Erin Bingham’s killer. Everyone knew spirits grew less restless after avenging their deaths. That was Ghost 101. She hoped Erin was a nice lady, uninterested in haunting people. Declan seemed nice, so that boded well; his mother was probably nice, too. Charlotte couldn’t imagine Declan haunting someone. Though, if she had to be haunted by someone, it wouldn’t hurt to have a handsome ghost lurking about. It could be like The Ghost and Mrs. Muir.
Charlotte took a sip of her wine.
Great .
She was sitting around, drinking alone, fantasizing about being a young widow like Mrs. Muir, alone in a lighthouse with a ghost.
I’m even alone in my daydreams.
She really needed to get out more. She needed to venture beyond Pineapple Port. Maybe go somewhere where people talked about movies more recent than 1947 .
Charlotte stood and walked into the house. She wrote get out more on the chalkboard wall beneath solve mystery and bread, lettuce, cookies . The chalkboard hadn’t been painted for a week before it turned into a shopping list. She moved to put down the chalk and then changed her mind. She added The Ghost and Mrs. Muir on the board. She hadn’t seen it in a while.
Charlotte saw something flash outside her kitchen window. It moved just above her fence line, round, head-shaped . She jumped and dropped the chalk.
Erin.
Already? She hadn’t had the time to avenge a squirrel’s death!
She froze, deciding whether to investigate or call for help.
Who could she call about a ghost?
A familiar tune began to play in her head.
Who ya gonna call? Ghostbusters!
Stop it. Damn it Erin, concentrate.
She crept to the window and peeked outside.
She saw another flash of movement, this time heading towards her front yard.
She ran for the front door, alerting Abby, who tore around the corner, cutting her off and creating a first line of defense. It was everything she could do to avoid tripping over the dog.
She threw open the door and Abby burst outside.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” yelled a man standing on the curb outside her home as Abby barreled towards him.
It was Harry Wagner. Harry had worked with Penny and George to expand Pineapple Port, but at nearly eighty, he’d long since retired and now lived in one of the homes.
“Abby no!” Charlotte called. “It’s okay.”
Abby did a tight loop around the man and then thumped her head into his knees, begging for pets.
Harry stared at Charlotte, his freckled head gleaming in the last of the afternoon sun.
“Were you just peeking over my fence?” asked Charlotte.
Harry grimaced.
“I hear you had some excitement.”
“News travels fast. I’m afraid you missed all the excitement if that’s what
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