“I’ll tell you all about him, honey. But first I need to get him to agree to something.” She gave her a long look before asking her the most outrageous question of all. “Do you still… see things, Harry?”

  She frowned. “See things? What do you mean? What things?”

  “You know. When we were kids, sometimes you used to tell me you saw people who weren’t really there, remember? Like… dead people?”

  She laughed. “Come on, Alice. You know that was just my overactive imagination.”

  “No, but you said you saw Gran, remember? You even talked to her.”

  She did remember, though only vaguely. It was true that when her and Alice’s grandmother had passed away, she’d imagined seeing her, after she had supposedly passed on. The old lady had visited ten-year-old Harry’s bedroom the night she died. She’d told her that everything would be fine, and that she was moving on to a different plane but that she’d always watch over her and Alice. Later she’d begun to think she’d imagined the whole thing.

  “You know that was just a dream,” she told her cousin, but Alice didn’t seem convinced. “I mean, what else could it have been, right?”

  A slight smile played about her cousin’s lips, but then she nodded. “Yeah, probably a dream. Anyway, I’ve got to go.”

  “Let me know what your father has to say, all right? I really hope he knows someone on this side I can talk to.”

  “Will do, honey. Love you! Bye-bye!”

  She rang off and stared out the window for a while. The rain was lashing the single pane, and the sky was pitch black, even though it wasn’t even fully evening yet. Snuggles jumped on her lap and installed herself there, purring contentedly. She stroked her behind the ears. “So it was the food, huh?” she murmured as she settled back.

  She thought about what Alice had said about Brian, and wondered what that was all about. But then she figured it had nothing to do with her, and decided not to expect too much. Alice had a habit of making a lot of promises before promptly forgetting all about them. And seeing as she was so busy, it would be a small miracle if she even remembered to ask her father about his Scotland Yard contacts. If he still had any left. It’d been almost ten years since he’d returned to the States and became Happy Bays’s chief of police.

  She thought back to Inspector Watley, and the dark looks he’d given her. It was obvious that if it were up to him, he’d have arrested her on the spot.

  She heaved a deep sigh. “We’re in deep trouble, Snuggles,” she murmured. “If things don’t look up it’s not such a bad idea to head on over to Mrs. Peak for your kibble. She might just be your new owner from now on.”

  She shivered and moved over to the window to close the curtains. For the first time in a long time she didn’t have anywhere to be the next day.

  Chapter 3

  Jarrett Zephyr-Thornton III was perfecting his ice skating technique when his personal valet beckoned him from the side of the rink. As per his instructions, the rink had been closed off to the public to allow Jarrett to practice in private. It was his dream to become the next big thing in figure skating, and since he’d never been on the skates before, but he’d seen all the movies, he knew that practice made perfect, so practice it was.

  He was a spindly young man with wavy butter-colored hair and pale blue eyes that regarded the world with child-like wonder. As the son of the richest man in England he was in the unique position to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted to do it, and what he wanted more than anything right now was to be the next British figure skating Olympic champion.

  He groaned in annoyance when he caught sight of his valet Deshawn’s urgent wave. “I told you to hold all my calls!” he cried, but the music pounding from the speakers drowned out his voice. It was the soundtrack of Ice Princess, of course, playing on a loop. Motivation was key, he knew, and he watched the movie at least once a day to keep him in the right frame of mind.

  Reluctantly he finished his pirouette and swished over to the side.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” he grumbled when Deshawn handed him the phone. “This is Jarrett!” he called out pleasantly when it was finally pressed to his ear. “Oh, it’s you, Father,” he said with an exaggerated eye roll. “What am I doing?” He frowned at Deshawn, who shrugged. Father never asked him what he was doing. Just as Jarrett made it his aim in life to do as little as possible, his pater made it his habit to interfere as infrequently as possible, lest he develop a heart condition. “I’m ice skating, if you must know,” he said a little huffily, fully expecting a barrage of criticism to be poured into his ear at this confession. “For what? The Olympic Games, of course. What else?”

  “Look, son, something’s come up,” the author of his being now grated in his ear. “I need you to listen to me and listen to me very carefully, you hear?”

  He did listen very carefully, even though he was quite sure that whatever the old man had to impart was probably a load of poppycock as usual. “Yes, Father. I am listening,” he announced with another eye roll. There was a crackling noise on the other end, and then his father said, “I need you or that valet of yours to go over to…” There was that crackle again.

  “There seems to be some sort of noise. What did you just say?”

  “I need you to pick up the parcel and bring it to…”

  “I’m losing you,” he said, quickly losing patience.

  “The parcel is at… right now, and if you don’t pick it up… it’s going to… along with your mother’s… and that’ll be the end of…”

  “You’re not making any sense,” he said, staring down at his nice new blue spandex outfit. He’d bought seven, a different color for each day of the week. He particularly liked the one he was wearing now. It looked exactly like the one Michelle Trachtenberg, the star of Ice Princess, wore in the movie. “What package? And what does Mother have to do with anything?”

  “Will you just listen!” the old man yelled, now audibly irritated. “If you don’t pick up that package right now… then… and… unmitigated disaster!”

  He sighed. Whatever his old man was involved in, it could probably wait, so he said, “First get decent reception, Father, and call me back, all right?”

  And he deftly clicked off the phone and handed it back to Deshawn. He then gave his valet a look of warning. “No more phone calls, Deshawn.”

  Deshawn, a rather thickset smallish man with perfectly coiffed thinning brown hair and an obsequious manner, had been in Jarrett’s employ for many years, and the two formed rather an odd couple. One thin and tall, the other short and stout, they resembled Laurel & Hardy in their heyday.

  The valet now muttered, “I know, sir. My apologies. But your father said it was extremely urgent.”

  “It’s always urgent,” said Jarrett with an airy wave of the hand. “But he’ll just have to wait, for I…” He glided away. “… am on my way to greatness!”

  And with these words, he allowed the wonderful music of Ice Princess to guide him back onto the rink and launch him into his most complicated movement yet: the twizzle, a one-foot turn. He usually worked with Vance Crowdell, trainer to the stars, but the man had some other arrangement tonight, so he’d been forced to train alone. Not that he minded. The crusty old trainer had already taught him so many new movements he needed to practice until he’d perfected those before learning any new ones.

  And as he closed his eyes and allowed the music to take him into a new and wonderful world of glitter and glamor and thunderous applause, he saw himself as the first male Olympic figure skating gold medalist to come out of Britain in quite a long time.

  Philo eyed the woman darkly. “I’m not asking, Madame Wu. I’m telling you. Take the package and hand it over as soon as you’re told.”

  “But I can’t,” the proprietress of Xing Ming lamented in nasal tones. Her jet-black hair clearly came from a bottle and her horn-rimmed glasses were too large for her narrow face. She’d been running the small family restaurant for thirty years, one of the mainstays of London’s Chinatown in the City of Westminster. “I have other matters tonight. I can’t do package right now.”

  He thrust the package back into her hands. “Just take it already. Lives depend on this,” he added with a meaningful look. A look that said it was her own life that depended on it.

  She rattled the package, her eyes unnaturally large behind the glasses. “What is it? Is it bomb?”

  “No, is not bomb,” he said, mimicking her accent. “It’s just something very important.” He leaned in. “Very important to Master Edwards.”

  A look of fear stole over her face, and she nodded quickly. “Yes, yes. Master Edwards. I will hand over package no problem. Hand over who?”

  “You’ll know her when you see her.”

  “Is woman?”

  “Apparently.”

  Actually he didn’t know himself. All he knew was that his contact had told him he would send his assistant, and she would be dressed in black. But since no one else knew about the package he wasn’t too worried. He pointed a stubby finger at Madame Wu. “Just make sure she gets it, all right?”

  She nodded, tucking the package beneath the counter. “Of course, Philo.”

  And as he stepped from the restaurant, the smell of Chinese food in his nostrils, he shook his head. Used to be that people like Madame Wu wouldn’t dare contradict him, but that was before Master Edwards had fallen ill. The rumor that the old man was on the verge of death was spreading fast, and already his criminal empire was crumbling and his influence waning.

  He crossed the busy street, bright neon lights announcing all manner of Asian food from every corner, and mounted the motorcycle he used to get around London in a hurry. And then he was off, narrowly missing the entry into the Chinese restaurant of a slender woman, all dressed in black.

  It didn’t take him long to race across town to his employer’s house, in the heart of the East End. Master Edwards’s house was located in a gated community, his own people providing protection, and Philo nodded to the guard as he passed. He’d hired him personally. A short drive up the hill led him to the house at the end of the street, which towered over all others. It used to belong to a famous actor in the sixties and was a sprawling mansion with fifty rooms, an underground pool, and cinema where Edwards and his cronies enjoyed watching gangster movies. Or rather, that’s how it used to be.

  He parked his bike in the garage and mounted the stairs, deftly making his way upstairs until he reached the landing and heard the telltale sounds of Master Edwards’s snoring. Entering the bedroom, where the bedridden gang leader was laid up, he wasn’t surprised to find him sound asleep. The moment he flicked on the light, the old man awoke with a start.

  “Philo!” he muttered, blinking against the light. “Is that you?”

  “It is, Master.”

  A look of annoyance crept into the man’s eyes. “Why did you wake me?”

  “Just to tell you that the package is being delivered as we speak.”

  The man’s irritability dwindled. “Good,” he said, settling back against the pillow. “Very good. Let’s just hope the book works as advertised.”

  “I’m sure it will.”

  The old man licked his dry lips. “A lot depends on this, Philo. But then I probably don’t need to remind you.”

  No, he didn’t. He’d reminded him plenty of times since the chain of events had been set in motion a fortnight ago.

  “There’s only one small matter left to attend to,” he said.

  Master Edwards, whose eyes had drooped shut, opened them again. “Mh? What’s that?”

  “There’s a witness,” he said. “A young woman by the name of Henrietta McCabre. She’s seen my face and might possibly become a nuisance.”

  “So?” snapped Master Edwards. “Just get it done, Philo. You don’t need my permission to handle such a minor detail.”

  “No, Master,” he said deferentially, though of course he did need the other’s permission. In Master Edwards’s world nothing ever happened without his approval, and most definitely not something of this importance.

  “See to it that she’s silenced, Philo. And make sure nobody sees you this time,” the old man snapped, before closing his eyes once again. Soft snores soon sounded from the bed, and Philo bowed his head and retreated from the bedroom of his employer of twenty-five years. In this, the man’s final days, he wasn’t about to disappoint him. Not if he valued his own life. Henrietta McCabre, whoever she was, would not see her next birthday, he would make sure of that. And as he stalked over to his own room in the mansion, he sat down at the computer to begin an intense study of the life of Henrietta ‘Harry’ McCabre. This time, there would be no mistakes. And no witnesses.

  Start reading Between a Ghost and a Spooky Place now

  About Nic

  Nic has a background in political science and before being struck by the writing bug worked odd jobs around the world (including but not limited to massage therapist in Mexico, gardener in Italy, restaurant manager in India, and Berlitz teacher in Belgium).

  When he’s not writing he enjoys curling up with a good (comic) book, watching British crime dramas, French comedies or Nancy Meyers movies, sampling pastry (apple cake!), pasta and chocolate (preferably the dark variety), twisting himself into a pretzel doing morning yoga, going for a run, and spoiling his big red tomcat Tommy.

  He lives with his wife (and aforementioned cat) in a small village smack dab in the middle of absolutely nowhere and is probably writing his next ‘Mysteries of Max’ book right now.

  www.nicsaint.com

  Also by Nic Saint

  The Mysteries of Max

  Purrfect Murder

  Purrfectly Deadly

  Purrfect Revenge

  Purrfect Heat

  Purrfect Crime

  Purrfect Rivalry

  Purrfect Peril

  Purrfect Secret

  Purrfect Alibi

  Purrfect Obsession

  Purrfect Betrayal

  Purrfectly Clueless

  Purrfectly Royal

  Purrfect Cut

  Purrfect Trap

  Purrfectly Hidden

  Purrfect Kill

  Purrfect Boy Toy

  Purrfectly Dogged

  Purrfectly Dead

  Purrfect Saint

  Purrfect Advice

  Purrfect Cover

  Purrfect Patsy

  Purrfect Son

  Purrfect Fool

  Purrfect Fitness

  Purrfect Setup

  Purrfect Sidekick

  Purrfect Deceit

  Purrfect Ruse

  Purrfect Swing

  Purrfect Cruise

  Purrfect Harmony

  Purrfect Sparkle

  Purrfect Cure

  Purrfect Cheat

  Purrfect Catch

  The Mysteries of Max Box Sets

  Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)

  Box Set 2 (Books 4-6)

  Box Set 3 (Books 7-9)

  Box Set 4 (Books 10-12)

  Box Set 5 (Books 13-15)

  Box Set 6 (Books 16-18)

  Box Set 7 (Books 19-21)

  Box Set 8 (Books 22-24)

  Box Set 9 (Books 25-27)

  Box Set 10 (Books 28-30)

  Box Set 11 (Books 31-33)

  Box Set 12 (Books 34-36)

  The Mysteries of Max Shorts

  Purrfect Santa (3 shorts in one)

  Purrfectly Flealess

  Purrfect Wedding

  Nora Steel

  Murder Retreat

  The Kellys

  Murder Motel

  Death in Suburbia

  Emily Stone

  Murder at the Art Class

  Washington & Jefferson

  First Shot

  Alice Whitehouse

  Spooky Times

  Spooky Trills

  Spooky End

  Spooky Spells

  Ghosts of London

  Between a Ghost and a Spooky Place

  Public Ghost Number One

  Ghost Save the Queen

  Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)

  A Tale of Two Harrys

  Ghost of Girlband Past

  Ghostlier Things

  Charleneland

  Deadly Ride

  Final Ride

  Neighborhood Witch Committee

  Witchy Start

  Witchy Worries

  Witchy Wishes

  Saffron Diffley

  Crime and Retribution

  Vice and Verdict

  Felonies and Penalties (Saffron Diffley Short 1)

  The B-Team

  Once Upon a Spy

  Tate-à-Tate

  Enemy of the Tates

  Ghosts vs. Spies

  The Ghost Who Came in from the Cold

  Witchy Fingers

  Witchy Trouble

  Witchy Hexations

  Witchy Possessions

  Witchy Riches

  Box Set 1 (Books 1-4)

  The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse

  One Spoonful of Trouble

  Two Scoops of Murder

  Three Shots of Disaster

  Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)

  A Twist of Wraith

  A Touch of Ghost

  A Clash of Spooks

  Box Set 2 (Books 4-6)

  The Stuffing of Nightmares

  A Breath of Dead Air

  An Act of Hodd

  Box Set 3 (Books 7-9)

  A Game of Dons

  Standalone Novels

  When in Bruges

  The Whiskered Spy

  ThrillFix

  Homejacking