The Ghost and the Dead Deb

enough.

Sadie looked over her shoulder to make sure Mina was out of earshot. Then she faced me again. “You are thinking of breaking in,” she whispered.

“It’s hardly breaking in if you convince the innkeeper to use a pass key. Anyway, it’s Fiona’s property. She can come and go as she pleases.”

“And bring you with her? Well, dear, you’re not going without me.”

Sadie scampered to retrieve her purse.

“We can’t just leave Mina here without help,” I protested.

“The place is empty,” Sadie replied. “And besides, we’re doing this to help Mina, too.”

“We’re doing this?”

“You solved a murder at this store last year, Pen,” my aunt replied. “And you never even let me in on what was going on—did you think I was too old to help?”

“I never said anything of the kind!” I cried. “I was just trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection!”

Then Sadie sighed and looked at me over the tops of her wire-rimmed glasses. “Sorry, dear . . . I don’t mean to snap . . . it’s just that things were getting pretty dull around here until you and Spencer came back into my life. I didn’t realize it right off . . . but I kinda like all the excitement.”

“It’s okay, Aunt Sadie. I understand. But I honestly hope things don’t get too exciting—and by the time we reach Fiona’s inn, we find Johnny and Angel are back.”

I called to Mina, who was restocking the stacks at the rear of the store. “Mina, we need you up front. Sadie and I have to go out for an hour or so.”

WHEN WE STEPPED into the bright sunshine, I spied one of the three Quindicott Police squad cars parked on the other side of Cranberry Street. Standing next to the vehicle, looking tall and more handsome than usual in his dark blue uniform and mirrored sunglasses, was Officer Edward Franzetti.

“What do you know? Sometimes there is a cop around when you need one,” I said.

Aunt Sadie touched my arm. “Bud specifically asked us not to contact the police—not yet, anyway. It’s not our place to interfere.”

“I’m not going to contact the police . . . not officially. I’m just going to have a talk with my old friend Eddie. And if something about a missing person gets mentioned . . .”

My voice trailed off. Inside my head, I could hear Jack’s voice, but faintly. When I let go of the door I felt him fade away completely—his spirit imprisoned inside of the brick and mortar building that housed our bookstore.

I caught Eddie’s attention and waved. As I hoped he would, Eddie sauntered across the street, fingers hitched in his holster belt.

Eddie Franzetti was a longtime friend of mine, and the very best friend of my late brother Peter—who’d died drag-racing in high school. One of the sons of the man who opened Franzetti’s Pizza some time in the early 1960s, Eddie decided he wanted more than a spot in the family business. So he did a tour in the military, then returned to Quindicott and joined the police force, which my late father, who’d also been part of that force, had helped him do.

“Hey, Pen. Sadie,” he said, touching the brim of his cap.

“How are you, Eddie?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Working Saturday in the middle of the summer, when I should be sunning myself on the Ponsert Beach, that’s how I am. It’s not like the old days, when we were young and the living was easy, eh, Pen?”

“When we were young, we didn’t have children to support,” I replied.

“I’ll say. Found out my oldest kid needs braces. What passes for my dental plan will pay for less than half the procedure, so I’ll be working Saturdays for the rest of the summer . . . Maybe the rest of the year.”

Sadie began window-shopping, tactfully moving down the street until she was out of earshot.

“Can I ask you something, Eddie . . . off the record?”

“Not if it’s about the littering ticket. I’m sorry about the fine, Pen, but you weren’t the only business that got hit. Lots of folks along Cranberry did . . . It wasn’t my idea. I was just following orders.”

I knew Eddie and his fellow “Brothers in Blue” were feeling the heat as the result of new revenue-enhancing policies instituted by Councilwoman Marjorie Binder-Smith, the most frustrating woman in local politics. Sadie and Marjorie had been feuding since before I was born, it seemed, and it was my aunt who dubbed her “The Municipal Zoning Witch.” The councilwoman’s newest shakedown had most of the town’s business leaders buzzing, and not in a nice way. The strategy involved an insidious manipulation of perfectly reasonable trash laws.

“It’s not about the ticket, which I paid in full,” I replied. “Actually, it’s about a missing person, who, technically, may not be a missing person—at least not officially.”

Eddie reached under his cap and scratched his head. Then he put his hands on his hips. “Are you talking about the young woman who disappeared last night?” he asked.

Could it be that Dana Wu actually filed a missing report after all? I wondered. Only one way to find out.

“Do you mean Angel Stark?” I asked.

To my surprise, Eddie shook his head. “Never heard of anyone called Angel Stark. Our missing person is a woman, though . . . college kid who came to town for the weekend.”

It was my turn to scratch my head. “I don’t know who you mean.”

“She’s a Brown University student, over from Providence,” Eddie continued. “She and her friends were staying at the new Comfy-Time Motel on the highway last night. Sometime after midnight—the roommates are not sure of the exact time—they claim the girl stepped outside to get a soda and never came back. Her car is still in the parking lot. Her purse with her ID and credit cards was still in the motel room. She was reported missing to us first thing in the morning.”

“What are you doing about it?”

“Not much yet. If she’d been under eighteen and we had more information, we could issue an Amber Alert right away. But the girl’s over eighteen and she hasn’t even been missing for twenty-four hours, so Chief Ciders wants to wait it out before getting the Staties involved, which is more or less standard procedure. We’re trying to contact her parents right now to see if she’s tried to get in touch with them in any way. Once we’ve confirmed she hasn’t called them—or shown up at any of her known addresses—then we’ll ask the State Police to issue an All Points Bulletin. Till then, I’ve been showing the woman’s picture to every gas station attendant and restaurant worker in the area to see if anyone remembers seeing her . . . No luck yet.”

Eddie reached into his pocket and drew out a photograph. “Maybe you’ll recognize her.”

I took the picture from Eddie’s hand. I recognized the girl instantly—the young woman who’d caused the disruption at Angel’s reading the night before.

“The missing woman’s name is Banks . . . Victoria Banks,” Eddie informed me.

In a rush, some of the things the woman said came back to me . . . accusations the girl made about Angel “ruining her family.” It seemed Dana’s guess that she was a member of the Banks family was true.

Eddie was watching me, and I suspected that he suspected that I recognized the girl.

“Yes,” I told him. “This woman was in our store last night. Attended the author reading. She and her friends left . . . early.”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied. “Her friends said that they attended a reading . . . I forgot they said that.”

Which was, in the parlance of Jack Shepard, raw baloney. If anything, Eddie Franzetti was sharper than Chief Ciders, and he never forgot anything, including the fact that I’d once led him astray in a criminal matter—at least for a little while—during my own investigation of the mysterious death of author Timothy Brennan in my own store.

Brennan’s death, which started out looking accidental, turned out to be a homicide. In the end, I’d brought Eddie in. But since that time, I feared that Eddie hasn’t quite trusted me the way he used to. I also suspected that he was wise to the fact that I was on the trail of yet more trouble right now—and his little “forgetful” act with me had been a test to see if I’d actually come clean with him.

“About your missing person,” Eddie said. “The one who’s not officially missing . . . I think you said her name was Angel Stark?”