Free The Ghost and Mrs. Fletcher by Jessica Fletcher Page B

threshold and waving the smudge stick overhead. “Spirits, reveal yourselves or be forever gone.”
    Cecil yelped, whined, and backed away from the open door, then chased down the hall the way he’d come, his tail tucked tight. He paused at the top of the stairs, looking toward Eve, his tiny body shaking.
    â€œCecil, sweetie. It’s okay. Momma’s here. Come back, sweetie.” Eve walked toward him with her arms out and made kissing noises.
    â€œI think I might’ve stepped on his tail,” Mort said as we followed Aggie into the room while Davy hung out, just outside the door, the camera dangling from his hand.
    The room was one of the abandoned bedrooms. It had an acrid odor, which struck me as peculiar since the casement window was ajar and the lacy curtain, which had blown through the opening, was fluttering outside like a large gray bird.
    While Aggie saged the room, calling out to its otherworldly residents—if they were present—I looked around. The mattress, instead of being folded over as I’d seen in another bedroom, was flat on the iron bedstead with a rumpled sheet on top as if someone had used it recently. But I knew this wasn’t Cliff’s bedroom. An overturned cardboard carton sat next to the bed. Someone had placed a lamp with a crooked shade on the box; the weight of the lamp indented the top. I put my hand under the shade to feel the bulb. It was warm. Perhaps the handyman had started earlier than expected and was camping in the house.
    I saw a book on the floor and picked it up. It was a noir mystery by Graham P. Hobart. The title was
Buried Sins
, and the cover, a bloody head rising from a grave, made me shiver. I slipped the book in my pocket, intending to add it to the box of noir books downstairs.
    Mort looked out the window. “It’s going to rain any minute. We’d better wrap this up.”
    Eve peeked around the doorjamb on the opposite side from Davy. She held a trembling Cecil in her arms. “Are the spirits gone yet?”
    â€œNot yet,” Aggie said. “I’m working on it.”
    â€œIf you don’t mind, I think I’ll wait in the car with Cecil.”
    â€œGo ahead. I’m almost out of sage anyway,” Aggie told her. “Jessica, you still have my container of sand?”
    â€œYes,” I said, holding up the jar.
    Aggie took the jar, buried what was left of the smudge stick in the sand, and waved the last bits of smoke toward the ceiling. “That’s all we can do today,” she announced. “I do hope Cabot Cove has a place to buy smudge sticks. Otherwise, you’re in big trouble.”
    â€œOh?” I said, wondering what her next proclamation would be.
    â€œThis place is riddled with negative energy. Did you see the way the smoke wavered?”
    I thought the open window might have been a factor in keeping the smoke from rising straight up, but I didn’t say anything.
    While Aggie and Davy retreated down the hall, whispering to each other, Mort and I gave the room another once-over.
    â€œWith a storm coming, we should close this window,” I said. “Eve doesn’t need water damage adding to her problems.” I pulled the curtain inside and turned the crank until the casement window shut with a thud. The room became eerily quiet except for the sound of Mort’s opening and closing drawers in the bureau.
    â€œFind anything interesting in there?” I asked.
    â€œMostly ladies’ stuff,” he said, holding up a blue and green striped scarf. “And there’re some green scrubs.”
    â€œScrubs? You mean what doctors and nurses wear.”
    â€œYeah. Did Mrs. Cooper ever work in the hospital?”
    â€œNot that I’m aware of, but I’ll ask Lettie Conrad. She’d know.”
    â€œYou know, Mrs. F., that kid was trying to take pictures with his camera while we were walking around.”
    â€œI didn’t