I heard murmured voices in the background as he said, “None yet.”
“What did your mother say about having the candlestick in her hand?” I asked.
“She was headed downstairs when someone draped in dark fabric knocked into her and pushed the candlestick into her hand. She nearly fell over, and by the time she righted herself, the person was gone and she saw Haywood lying on the floor. She screamed and bent over him to see if he was okay. The rest you know.”
Someone in dark fabric? It seemed to me that one of the partygoers would notice that. “Did anyone see the person who knocked into Patricia?”
“No,” he said. “But a brown silk curtain was found on the ground in the coatroom.”
The coatroom that was right next to the landing . . . Was it possible someone had been hiding in there waiting for Haywood to walk by, popped out and hit him, only to run into Patricia before being able to hide again?
The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was entirely possible. The coatroom was the perfect hiding spot.
Dylan coughed and asked, “Haywood didn’t say my mother killed him, did he?” Then he mumbled, “I can’t believe I just said those words.”
“He doesn’t know who hit him, but he seems to know why he was killed.”
“Why?” Dylan asked, and I could hear a hint of desperation in his tone.
If no other suspects turned up, Patricia was going to have a hard time proving her innocence.
“I don’t know. He can’t talk, so he wants to show me something at his house that might explain why he was killed. We’re just about to head out.”
“Bad idea.”
“I thought so, too, what with the possibility of the ghost apocalypse starting early and all. But the sooner he finds out who killed him, the sooner he can cross over, and I’ll be ghost-free. I really, really want to be ghost-free, Dylan.”
I heard muttering but couldn’t make out any particular words.
Finally, he clearly said, “Stay put tonight. The deputies at his house right now reported the place has been broken into. They’re going to be there for hours. If there’s anything left to find, we can look for it tomorrow.”
I glanced at Haywood. He was leaning against the front door, still tapping his foot.
“We?” I repeated.
“Unless you want to be arrested for breaking and entering if you get caught on your own,” he said.
“No, thank you.” My last (brief) stint in jail had been more than enough time spent behind bars.
“That’s what I thought,” he said with a hint of a smile in his voice. “I’ll be by in the morning. Try not to collect any more ghosts until then.”
Since I wasn’t going out after all, I didn’t think that was going to be too hard to do.
Undoubtedly, what was going to be difficult was telling Haywood the bad news about his house . . . and trying not to worry that the evidence he had been planning to show me had been stolen.
Chapter Six
The next morning Roly and Poly were hiding under the covers on my bed with seemingly no intention of ever coming out. I didn’t blame the cats. In fact, I’d be right under there with them if not for the fact that Dylan would be here any minute.
I tossed my pajamas across the iron footboard of my bed and ran a brush through my wavy hair. I lifted the bedroom shades to reveal a gloomy day outside. Clouds hung low and heavy, and raindrops slid down the windowpane.
It was Halloween.
The portal had opened.
Hiding behind a curtain, I glanced outside, expecting to see ghosts wandering down my street, but the only thing out and about were squirrels chasing one another from branch to branch in the trees separating my yard from Mr. Dunwoody’s.
The wooden floor creaked as I crossed over to the antique oak cheval mirror for one last look before I left the safety of my room. I tugged on the collar of my black cowl-neck sweater, fussed with the pockets of my jeans, and finally accepted the fact that I had run out of ways to procrastinate. I faced the closed bedroom door.
Fortunately, the ghost of Haywood Dodd had respected my wishes and stayed out of my room last night. When I went to bed, he’d been drifting around downstairs, doing his pacing thing. He’d been clearly distressed by the news about the break-in at his house. Moaning up a storm, he gestured wildly, and wanted to head out to see what had happened with his own eyes.
It had taken more patience than I thought I possessed to talk him out of that. Dylan was right—it was best to wait until morning. For multiple reasons. The first being that the deputies at Haywood’s home would undoubtedly turn me away. The second being that midnight had marked the coming of Halloween.
And more ghosts.
Oh, I hadn’t seen any more of them, but I knew they were out there.
Waiting. Watching. Searching for someone to help them.
Guilt pricked at my conscience.
After all, I could help them . . .