Free Nothing to Ghost About by Morgana Best Page A

man,
and had gone to his funeral. Yet, if Helen could be believed, her
husband was the one who was angry about the stolen
jewelry.
    That didn’t seem to be the answer Anna
was looking for. “So you didn’t see anything strange?”
    I shook my head. Her questions were
making me wonder if she knew more than she was letting on. And from
there it wasn’t a stretch to wonder if she was involved in some
way. She was searching for something, trying to hit upon an answer
she wanted. What sort of answer? It occurred to me that she sounded
as if she was trying to find a likely suspect. But why? Because she
was trying to solve a case so she could write about it, or because
she was guilty of killing both men and so needed to write a story
pinning it on someone else? That was a bit of a stretch, of course,
but I disliked Anna, and so was willing to go with it.
    “ Nothing at all?” she
persisted. “Someone was murdered in your funeral home, and you
didn’t notice anything odd?”
    “ I’m sorry. I can’t think
of anything unusual at all.”
    Anna stood. “I can see myself
out.”
    I watched her go, wondering when she
would be back. I could tell she wasn’t finished with me.
     
     

Chapter 13

    Somehow my mother had managed to talk
me into attending Ian’s birthday party. She was having it at her
house, and as I lived there, too, I was hard put to come up with a
good excuse to avoid it. For that reason, my mother didn’t have to
ask me any more than, well, about fifty times. Finally, I
agreed.
    I was getting ready for the event when
I heard Mom calling me. “Laurel, did you have a meeting at the
funeral home?”
    I went out of my room and stood at the
top of the stairs, looking down at her. “No, why?”
    “ There’s someone there,”
she said. I went back into my room and looked out of my window.
Sure enough, a long black sedan was parked outside the funeral
home. I couldn’t see anyone behind the wheel, so I assumed they
were up on the front porch, ringing the doorbell.
    “ Who is it?” my mother
asked from downstairs.
    “ I don’t know,” I said.
“I’ll go find out.”
    I pulled on some socks and shoes, and
hurried to the funeral home. A large man in a black suit stood on
the porch. He turned to face me. “Ah, I should have figured you
didn’t have to work on weekends,” he said with a slimy smile. He
offered me his hand, and I shook it slowly and briefly.
    “ Can I help you?” I
asked.
    “ Surely you know who I am?”
His round, bald head tilted to one side.
    I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry. Have
we met?”
    “ Your father didn’t speak
of me?”
    “ I don’t know what your
name is,” I said politely.
    “ My name is David Dunne.”
When I didn’t say anything, he sighed. “I own Dunne Funeral Home in
Tamworth.”
    Dunne Funeral Home was a bigger,
glitzier, and in my opinion, tackier funeral home that did triple
the business of my place.
    “ Oh yes,” I said icily.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Dunne?”
    “ Please, colleagues should
call me David,” he said, “especially colleagues I am
suing.”
    “ Suing?”
    “ I thought I would come up
and speak with you before our lawyers got involved. You do have a
lawyer, yes? But the short version is, I came up with the so-called
celebrity funerals first, and as such, you stole my idea, and
you’re profiting from it. I plan on getting my cut of that profit,
and I’m sure you’ll agree I’m entitled to it.”
    I was furious. “You’re not entitled to
anything. You can’t own an idea.”
    “ Ah,” the man said, holding
his finger up, “so you do admit I had the idea first?”
    “ What? No!” I said. “I’m
just saying that you can’t own an idea, even if you had it first,
which you didn’t. I came up with the idea. Anyway, ideas are not
subject to copyright.”
    David Dunne laughed and shook his
head. “Your celebrity funerals are disasters.”
    “ If you think they’re
disasters, then why do you want a piece of