Free Haunted Guest House Mystery 03-Old Haunts by E. J. Copperman Page A

complaining, but it was odd. Then she remembered a computer game she hadn’t finished in her room and went back upstairs, saying she’d only be a minute. It had been a lovely show.
    Every once in a while, Paul would stick his head into the room, but he scowled whenever he saw The Swine, and retreated before I could acknowledge his presence. Mom, who can both see and hear more ghosts than I can, knew better than to speak to him with Steven in the room, anyway.
    Luther arrived before the delivery guy, and introductions were made all around. We went out into the den, where only Mrs. Fischer and Mrs. Spassky were sitting, the other guests no doubt in town to find some supper.
    “I haven’t found out much yet,” I told my client. “Big Bob was dead almost two years, and nobody ever even reported him missing to the cops.” I let the question go unasked.
    Luther answered it anyway, as I’d hoped he would. “At first, we figured Big Bob had just gone off to find his wife, and maybe they were getting back together.” On cue, Maxie rose up from the basement and floated into the center of the room, where she could get the best view of Luther. “By the time anybody started looking for him, not only was Big Bob still missing, but Maxie was nowhere to be found. Turned out she was here in this house, but none of the guys knew it. And now I hear she died just a few months after Big Bob. It’s a lot to take in.”
    “Tell him,” Maxie said forcefully. “You tell him what really happened.”
    I had intended to do so anyway, so I filled Luther in on the real story behind Maxie’s and Paul’s deaths (though I left out the part about their afterlives, because frankly I didn’t see any value in telling Luther about that, and I didn’t want Steven to know either) and the investigation that ensued after I took over the house. To his credit, The Swine did wince at the proper times in the narrative, and at one point commented that I should have called him, despite the fact that the voice answering his telephone probably would have been considerably higher pitched.
    Luther listened carefully, asked the occasional question, and lowered his head while thinking, as if the weight of the thoughts made it harder to hold it up. When I finished the story, he said, “I wish I’d known that then.”
    “Nobody knew it then,” I assured him. “Even the police didn’t know. This all happened less than a year ago.”
    “It’s fascinating!” Mrs. Spassky piped up from the sofa. “What an exciting story!” I hadn’t intended for them to hear it, but at least my guests were enjoying themselves, and that’s what a good hostess wants, isn’t it?
    Steven, his eyes agog, seemed incapable of speech. He stared at me for a good thirty seconds without speaking, which was probably a new record for him.
    There was a knock at the front door, and before I could move, Melissa appeared at the top of the stairs and launched herself down to reach the door first. It is this way whenever food is present. I’m not sure how she does it (although her bedroom window does face the street), but it doesn’t make much difference, since I’m still the one who has to pay the delivery guy.
    We retreated once again to the kitchen, where Mom had been busy setting the table— somebody in this family had manners, as it turned out—and began passing various containers around.
    “Is there anything without meat?” Luther asked. “I forgot to mention I’m a vegetarian.”
    Luckily, there was some pad see ew puck, which I’d gotten simply to have the thick rice noodles Melissa and I favor. Yeah, I’m loading my kid up on carbs. Call the nutrition police. I passed it to Luther.
    “I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask,” I told him.
    He waved a hand. “Not important,” he said. “It doesn’t really fit the rest of the image, I guess. Bikers are supposed to hunt and eat venison, right?” He chuckled to himself.
    “You’re not a biker all the time, are you?”