A Ghostly Affair- Murder at Midnight, page 1
part #2 of DroneKing Series
A GHOSTLY AFFAIR
Murder at Midnight
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DroneKing Trilogy Book 2
MARY JANE FORBES
A GHOSTLY AFFAIR
A costume bash. A midnight murder. Can Cinderella’s sky-high video reveal the caped criminal?
Real estate agent Charley King’s drone-video marketing is hitting new heights. So when a pair of local psychics invite her to a cartoon-themed Halloween party, she jumps at the chance to create some competition-winning footage. But not even the clairvoyant partygoers could have predicted that Yogi Bear would drop dead…
With her drone feed serving up killer clues, Charley immerses herself in the case to avoid committing to the man of her dreams. But when she discovers that Yogi collected his fatal boo-boo scouring the house for a priceless gem, she fears that all of them are in much more than cartoon danger.
Can Charley unmask a murderer before the horror spreads beyond Halloween?
A Ghostly Affair is the second book in a romantic cozy thriller trilogy. If you like crazy characters, cunning villains, and unexpected twists, then you'll love Mary Jane Forbes’ animated caper.
Table of Contents
REVIEW REQUEST
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
About the Author
COPYRIGHT
Books by Mary Jane Forbes
New book for your bookshelf?
DroneKing Trilogy
BOOKS FEATURING ELIZABETH STITCHWAY
Nicholas Family
Herbert NicholasBuilt stately Victorian mansion, 1901
Anthony NicholasSon of Herbert, wife Penelope
Alexander/Alex NicholasSon of Anthony; brother to Adam
Adam NicholasSon of Anthony, brother to Alexander
Helen NicholasWife of Adam
Alfred NicholasAdult son of Adam/Helen
Jennifer NicholasWife of Alfred
Beatrice/Bea NicholasAdult daughter of Adam/Helen
Chapter 1
Join Us
A GHOSTLY AFFAIR
Cartoons frolicking on Halloween
9 p.m. when cats are yowling at the moon!
Springer’s House of Spirits
Goblin Lane, Daytona Beach, Florida
Fly on the broomstick of your choice!
RSVP: Dahlia and Blaise Springer
Toon’s costume is mandatory—top of head to tip of toe
Or no admittance!
Dress up as your favorite character
Be it Daffy Duck, Winnie the Pooh, Spiderman…
Only the Wily Witch will know your plan.
Shhh…tell no one your true identity!
IT WAS A BRILLIANT Sunday morning in Daytona Beach, summer’s heat lingering into mid-September. The Springer’s vintage Victorian house was bathed in sunshine. It was a day of high anticipation as Blaise hit the Send-Email button, his wife Dahlia standing behind his desk chair her arms draped around her husband, peering over his shoulder. His right index finger set in motion the beginning of preparations far and wide for their Ghostly Affair. In seconds people across the country, and a few over the pond to Europe, would be receiving their invitation. Of course, invitations were only sent to people they knew but there was always the chance it might be shared across the internet.
Ding!
“Blaise, look, a reply. That new couple we met at the Death Valley Psychic’s conference. They’re from North Carolina I believe. Open it. Open it. Are they coming?”
Blaise tapped the new email in his inbox and read it out loud.
“Dear Dahlia and Blaise, what fun. Count us as a YES! We’re designing our costumes now…you’ll never recognize us. Bye, bye…until Halloween.”
Blaise felt a nudge on his elbow. His hand reached up gently scratching Bentley’s ear, their black and white Harlequin Great Dane.
“Ah, here you are,” Tavis said, sipping a steamy mug of coffee. He looked like he just rolled out of bed which he did. His beard a bit scruffy, a sparse mustache over the upper lip and a small lock of black hair teasing his forehead. “What ghostly plans are you two conjuring up?”
Blaise and Dahlia looked up at him, a devilish grin on their faces. Tavis smiled over the edge of his mug. It was a lucky day when he was invited to stay a few days, six months ago, as a dog sitter. He became a semi-permanent guest occupying the third floor bedroom under the attic turret. He was now considered a permanent resident.
“Ohhh, Tavis, we just sent out the invitation to our Halloween party. You’re on the list and, of course, that sweet girlfriend of yours, Charley King,” Dahlia said clapping her hands. “We’ll be forever grateful to that girl for showing us this house and bringing you into our lives. Won’t we Blaise?”
“More than grateful, my darling Dahlia. Now I’d like a cup of that coffee Tavis found and I believe a stack of pancakes are in order. We men need to keep up our strength don’t we Tavis?”
“Right on…my thoughts exactly and I want to hear about your devilish plans for this party.”
“But of course. Blaise, please give Bentley his breakfast before he nudges you onto the floor.”
The Springers were cartoon characters themselves. Blaise with a long face framed in a thick black cap of hair, an old fashioned black bush of a mustache, and black eyes. But he was not scary, more like a French charmer. He was a perfect match with his adorable wife—dark silky hair, plump lips and a smile that invited a hug.
Dahlia led the way to the kitchen laughing as she chattered about what people would say when they opened their invitation.
“Who’s coming besides Charley and me?” Tavis asked patting Bentley’s stately head.
Dahlia and Blaise ticked off their guest list to the tune of Sunday breakfast—skillets clanging with pancakes, eggs, and sausage patties.
“Generally our guests will be people from the Death Valley Psychic’s Conference a few months ago…mostly couples, a few singles,” Blaise said filling Bentley’s bowl with tasty morsels on a specially designed stand, high enough so the dog didn’t have to bend his head down to eat or drink.
“Outside of the psychics, we invited Beatrice and Alfred Nicholas, brother and sister. The children of Adam and Helen Nicholas, the people we bought this house from. They weren’t particularly friendly at the closing so we thought we’d extend an olive branch. To our knowledge, the Nicholas’s never returned to Daytona Beach from Germany. The children, actually adults, what would you say Blaise…late thirties, early forties? They loved this house and were furious at their parents for selling it,” Dahlia said, gently stirring the batter, spooning the blueberry concoction onto a rectangular skillet.
Hearing a knock, Bentley lifted his head, muttered, then trotted to the back door.
“Blaise, can you see who that is? Don’t be long dear, your pancakes are turning a lovely golden brown.”
Blaise opened the door to find an old man with heavy lidded blank eyes staring straight back at him. The man wore an unbuttoned tattered green-plaid jacket over a red crewneck T-shirt and jeans. His jeans were smudged with paint or oil around his thighs. Shoulder straps held a new black backpack bulging from stuff crammed inside.
The man leaned on a white cane tipped with red.
“Hello. Can I help you?” Blaise asked, squinting in the sunshine.
“Dunno. I’m lost. A man gave me a lift. I asked him to drop me off at the Flea Market, Tomoka Farms Road. Can’t find the Flea Market.”
“You’re close but too far to walk. We were about to have breakfast. Would you like to have a cup of coffee, something to eat with us?” Blaise said.
Dahlia and Bentley had joined Blaise, flanking him on either side.
“Of course, he’d like something to eat. Here, mister, mister…what’s your name?” Dahlia said reaching out, touching his arm.
“Depends. Who are you?” the man asked.
Tavis was now standing in back of Blaise and Bentley, listening to the stranger.
“We are the Springers—my husband Blaise and I’m Dahlia. Come on in. Let me take your hand, mister…what’s your name?”
“Seth. Name is Seth.”
“Okay, Seth. No more steps to climb into the kitchen.”
The convoy slowly made its way to the round kitchen table nestled in a bay window. Dahlia, beginning to make their new house a home, had recently hung white tie-back curtains on each side of the window which looked out at what had been an herb garden. It was now overgrown with rosemary, thyme, and mint that had survived years of neglect.
Dahlia guided the man onto an antique oak ladder-back chair. Bentley sniffed at the stranger’s pant leg, the tip of his jacket. Deciding the man was okay, the dog sat next to him.
Blaise set a mug of coffee in front of the man making sure the mug touched Seth’s hand. Seth deftly curled his fingers around the mug lifting it to his lips, testing if it was too hot. To his liking he took a sip.
“Cream? Sugar?” Tavis said.
“Black is fine. Thank you.”
Dahlia busied herself setting out the knives and forks and serving the pancakes. Tavis helped putting the butter, syrup, and the platter of scrambled eggs and sausage patties on the table. He fixed a plate for Seth placing it in front of Seth, moving his coffee to the side, then served himself.
“Here you go, Seth. Watch out, that plate is a bit hot. My name is Tavis. Now you’ve met everyone. The dog on your right is Bentley. He likes you. He doesn’t just sit by anyone.”
“How
“A little. Very little.” He reached over running his hand slowly up Bentley’s neck to his head. “Big dog. A Dane?”
“Yes. Now tell us how we can help you,” Blaise said. “You were going to Tomoka Farms Flea Market…are you meeting someone there? Someone we could call…let him know where you are? He, or she, must be worried.”
“What time is it?” Seth asked.
“Ten thirty,” Tavis said.
“Noon. I’m supposed to meet my friend at noon. He’s sorta like my companion. He had to check on his mother. Noon. Wait for him at the food court.”
“Tell you what, Seth. You finish up those eggs and pancakes and I’ll take you to meet your friend,” Tavis said.
“Sounds like a plan. Whatta you say, Seth?” Blaise asked.
“I thank you kindly.”
“Tavis, while you’re at the flea market see what they have in the way of Halloween decorations,” Dahlia said. “The party will be catered and we’re renting two or three of those big white party tents with strings of tiny white lights and a dance floor, plus tables, chairs, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”
“Will do. Now, the flea market, what’s the address, road, so I can pull it up on my phone. Remember I’m a boy from Arizona and still trying to find my way around, when I have time to explore after work that is,” Tavis said, tapping his cell then helping himself to another cup of coffee.
“It’s only a few miles from here as I said…maybe ten minutes at the most.” Blaise held up his mug for more coffee while Tavis poured.
“Big party. Celebration?” Seth asked.
“A night for ghouls and goblins my friend,” Blaise said inhaling a deep breath.
“Halloween, Seth. My husband and I are mystery writers and psychics. We attended a conference in Death Valley with some friends not long ago.”
"Blaise saw me coming in the tea leaves,” Tavis said. “They’re the real deal. Hey, Blaise, any premonitions about a stranger at the back door?”
“I missed that one, I guess,” Blaise said.
“My darling, you missed nothing. Last words you said last night…remember?”
“Oh, yes…we have to get our beauty sleep because tomorrow was going to be a big day.”
“That’s right, and now we have a new friend who dropped by for breakfast—”
“Halloween. Sounds nice, a little scary. Costumes?” Seth said.
“Oh yes. Mandatory costumes,” Dahlia added.
“Head to toe,” Blaise said patting his wife’s hand. They both smiled at Seth as he and Tavis finished their breakfast and prepared to leave.
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It came on suddenly—chills running up Blaise’s arm, Dahlia finding it hard to breathe began to hyperventilate. Sitting at the kitchen table with silent thoughts of the morning…of email invitations to the Ghostly Affair being opened, of a blind man at their backdoor, the occurrence of chills, unable to breathe, catching them off guard.
Blaise rubbed his arms to ward off the cold. Dahlia gasping for air reached out to her husband, grasping for his hand. Blaise bent her head down between her knees, rubbed her back. They had experienced these feelings in the past—not often but a few times. Blaise knelt in front of his wife, holding her hands.
“You’re okay my sweet, breathe slowly. That’s it.”
Dahlia began to relax. “Who is it?” she whispered. “You felt it?”
“Yes, I did…strong, demanding. Whoever…has moved on.”
“The party?” she whispered searching for an answer in her husband’s eyes.
“I don’t know.”
Chapter 2
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CHARLEY KING PARKED HER late-model blue convertible Mustang in the corner of the parking lot. Snatching her tote off the passenger seat she exited the sports car and pushed the button on the remote locking the doors. With a tug on her crocheted black beanie beret, she stood smiling as she gazed at the new sign spanning over the agency’s plate glass doors. King Real Estate.
Thanks to her grandfather’s help in navigating the Florida laws she started her private real estate business. With a hop, skip, and jump she had opened her company replacing the ill-fated Ramirez agency. The two agents from Ramirez, Kitty and Hank, had joined her for the ride, all under the watchful eye of her Grandpa Bernard Kingman, Real Estate Broker of Record.
The past three months had been a blur. Kitty closed deals on two of her previous clients and Hank closed three. Last week the proceeds from all but one hit the new company’s bank account. Thanks to Grandpa Bernie’s investment Charley had paid the rent, the landlord waived the first month. With the influx of funds she paid for the new sign and the lawyer who made sure everything was legal.
Charley also moved out of what her father called a fire trap, a motel on busy Route 1 along the coast of Central Florida. She had moved back into the family home on the Atlantic Ocean in Daytona Beach. Now that she and her father had reconciled their differences, all was peaceful and loving like never before in the Kingman family. The reconciliation also included her brother Frank. He and their father were often at loggerheads but not so much lately.
“Yes siree, look at that sign—King Real Estate! Life is good,” Charley sang out. “Now, see that you keep it that way missy.” Hearing the Saints Marching, a ringtone taken from the street musicians in New Orleans, signaling an incoming call on her cell, she rooted in the bottom of her tote and grinned at the caller ID.
“Good morning, Mr. Hunter,” she said.
“You sound chipper Miss Sunshine. Is your Sunday as lovely as you sound?”
“It is…and how fun,” Charley said.
“What’s fun?” Tavis said.
“A Ghostly Affair. You must know all about the Springer’s party being that you’re practically a member of the family.”
“I do indeed. We must plan our costumes. How about I pick you up for lunch? We can go to the Pirate’s Treasure for inspiration.”
“I have a showing scheduled. Clients should be here any minute…how about three o’clock? Too late for lunch?”
“I was hoping to see your pretty face sooner, but three it is. I’ll pick you up at the agency.”
Charley dropped her phone into her tote, swung it over her shoulder and strode to the front door key in hand. She heaved a sigh shaking her head as she entered. Tavis always managed to unsettle her. Ever since he arrived at the Kingman beach house with her brother Frank she hadn’t been able to shake him from her thoughts.
The following day he said he needed a rental, a place to lay his head were his exact words. As a realtor, he hoped she could help. She hooked him up with the Springers who were leaving for a conference in Death Valley and needed someone to dog sit. Not any old dog, a mammoth Harlequin Great Dane by the name of Bentley. Blaise and Dahlia Springer, authors and psychics, said they saw Tavis coming in their mid-morning tea leaves. Tavis assured them he could do the job and so he became the Springer’s roomie so to speak. Tavis mentioned he hadn’t invested in a car since arriving, preferred a truck, being from Arizona. Blaise said he saw one in the barn. If Tavis could start it, he was more than welcome to use it and it also had an extended cab so Bentley could ride along.
But all that isn’t what caused Charley’s stomach to flutter. That happened when he took Charley to dinner, played love songs on the bar’s baby grand piano, and pronounced that they were going to be married sometime in the future. He uttered this pronouncement very matter-of-factly sealing it with a quick kiss on her unsuspecting lips.
Chapter 3
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BEATRICE NICHOLAS HAD DROPPED in for her weekly visit with her brother and his wife. Beatrice was a spinster and glad of it every time she visited the couple and their three ill-mannered children. Sunday brunch, eat and run, was all she could take of the household. However, today she wasn’t thinking about the chaos on the other side of the front door as she stomped up the front steps and yanked the door open.
