“I’m not petulant. I’m skeptical. I’ve only just met you and so far I’ve found a dead body, been questioned in a possible murder investigation, slandered at my favorite taco truck, told I’m going to inherit a house straight out of American Horror Story and a buttload of money, and now you’ve threatened me. Forgive my hesitance to jump into your pool with both feet.”
“I did not threaten you. I was just trying to keep you from making an unwise decision and at the same time, flexing my newbie ghost muscles, if you will.”
I let go of the doorknob. “An unwise decision?”
“Stevie?”
“Winterbutt?”
“The time, please?”
My sigh of impatience rang in the wide entryway as I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone without disturbing Belfry. “It’s five-fifteen. Do you have a hot afterlife date?”
“Check your bank account, please. The one at Paris Spells Savings and Loan, and tell me the balance.”
I flicked my finger over the app to access my pathetic savings account, preparing to see the last of my miniscule thousand dollars depleting rapidly. I fully intended to hold the phone up to his faceless voice and prove to him he was crazy as a bedbug.
Oh. Hold that thought. How in the world…?
I knew I was openly gaping, but I couldn’t help it.
“Do tell, what does your bank balance say, Stevie?” Win asked, a playful hint to his tone.
“Uh…a lot. It says…a lot of those lunches you mentioned,” I muttered, unable to believe my eyes. “How did you…?
“I told you, Madam Zoltar and I had a deal of sorts. I talked to the dead for her; she helped me change my will.”
But then a very nefarious thought hit me in the gut.
My hand went directly to my hip in righteous indignation. “How do I know it’s not drug money, or laundered money, or just plain old dirty money?”
“Because I have immaculate tax records that are a testament otherwise.”
“How do I know they’re not forged or fakes? What if you made Madam Zoltar do something illegal and she didn’t think to question you because she was so blown away by finally contacting the dead and your spiffy British accent?”
“Stevie…”
I sucked in my cheeks. “Am I trying your patience?”
“I didn’t think anyone could match my irritation after the last jewel thief I apprehended in Monte Carlo, but you’re this close.”
“Ooo, did you have to crawl under deadly laser beams that could cut you in half if you moved a millimeter the wrong way to catch him?” I mocked.
“Stevie!” His voice reverberated through the house, bouncing off the fifteen-foot ceilings.
“Fine. Carry on.”
“Please, if you’d indulge me, check your voice mail.”
“I’m afraid.”
“I promise not to think less of you for behaving so cowardly. Please check.”
I clicked the app for my voice mail, noted there was a message, and put it on speaker. There was a crackle on the line and then, “Miss Cartwright? This is Davis Monroe, Esquire. I’d been instructed to contact you upon the confirmation of the death of one Crispin Alistair Winterbottom. Please return my call promptly, as we need to discuss your inheritance.”
Forget my alleged inheritance—Winterbottom’s first name was Crispin?
I began to laugh, my head falling back on my shoulders while I tried to catch my breath. “Crispin Alistair?” I sputtered.
Win cleared his throat. “Ahem. Pardon me, but it’s a prestigious birthright and well respected where I come from. Certainly nothing a heathen like you would understand.”
I snorted again, but I also realized I now had a name. A full name to research. Google, be my guide.
“Before you warm up your fingers to Google me, do note, you’ll find nothing about my profession as a spy online. Crispin Alistair Winterbottom was a mild-tempered grade-school teacher, at least according to Google.”
“Riiight. Got it. When you look me up? Don’t believe LinkedIn and my former job as a 9-1-1 dispatcher. I’m really a prima ballerina with the Bolshoi Ballet.”
“For your information, I wouldn’t believe that even if I saw you in a tutu and tights, not after your blatant Peggy Fleming in Madam Zoltar’s store.”
“That’s because you’re a super spy with an antenna for lies, right?” Then I began to laugh again, bending forward at the waist to try to catch my breath.
“Can we please set aside the fact that you’re calling me a liar and focus on the tasks at hand? I did just make you rich, did I not?”
I clicked on the app again and typed in my password. Yep. The money was all still there. But it didn’t mean it was staying there or that it wasn’t dirty.
“You did. You also gave me a house that’s about to fall down around my ears. You’re a total peach.”
“This house can be restored to its former beauty and I know just the person. But we have other things to do right now. Right now, we have to help Madam Zoltar and find her killer.”
My shoulders sagged as I hauled my purse to the crook of my arm. I was tired. It had been a long, grueling day. I wanted to go back to my cheap hotel room with the paper-thin blankets, take a shower and sleep for a year.
“Can we do that tomorrow?”
“And that brings me to this…”
“What’s ‘this’?”