Chapter 15

Spellbound Pages Bookshop, Downtown Los Angeles, California, United States

It only took a few minutes for Sherlock and King Rudolf to conduct their investigation of Walter's dead body and the surrounding area. The cat, Fran, sniffed around the scene too, but neither man seemed to mind. When the feline peeled away from the spilled soup with a hiss, Sherlock grabbed a pen off the nearby counter.

"Bernard, the ghost there, said that his cat, Fran, told him the soup was poisoned," Gen explained to the detective as he dipped the end of the pen into the soup and sniffed it before handing it to King Rudolf.

"We don't even know if the ghost can talk to the cat," Summer pointed out, watching from the far side of the bookshop with the others.

"Why wouldn't he be able to?" King Rudolf said, grimacing after taking a sniff of the soup. "And yes, that's laced with strong amounts of eclipse dust, a potent street drug that has been known to cause cardiac arrest in mortals."

Sherlock nodded, watching the cat. "Ghosts often can communicate with animals." He glanced at Bernard floating beside the others. "Does your cat have any other input?"

"She's hungry," the apparition responded. "This murder has delayed me from feeding her on schedule."

"I think he meant about the murder," Boon pointed out.

Bernard shook his head. "She just said the soup stunk and was what killed Walter."

"And you made that soup," Summer accused, pointing at JoAnne. "You poisoned Walter, didn't you, JoAnne? All because he wouldn't reciprocate your feelings?"

"No!" JoAnne screamed, a fresh batch of tears falling down her face. "I loved him, but I'd never hurt him. I made his lunch every day because I cared for him. But I understood that he still was in love with his dead wife and couldn't return my affections."

"Maybe she did it by accident," Bernard offered. "She is a school teacher and not a real chef."

Anger flashed across JoAnne's red face. "How dare you? I'm not incompetent. I'm trying to grow my business so I can quit my lousy job working at the inner-city schools. If anything, I bet it was you who killed Walter. You wanted him gone."

All eyes swiveled to the ghost. He laughed coldly. "Right, because I have access to eclipse dust. If you haven't noticed, I can't leave Spellbound Pages Bookshop."

"But that's just the thing," Summer stated. "You can't leave this place and you hate that the rest of us are here and always bothering you. We all know that you want your bookshop back so you can read in peace and quiet. You killed Walter so that you could have your place back."

"I admit that I don't like that a mortal is running my magical bookshop," Bernard imparted. "But I wasn't going to murder anyone to get it back."

"You can hold objects though, is that right?" Sherlock asked. "That's unique for a ghost to have that power."

Bernard shrugged. "I'm a magician. I have talents that all these dull mortals don't. I can talk to my cat, which I could do when living and they can't even fathom such things with their tiny brains."

"You're such a sad and pathetic spirit," Summer muttered, shaking her head. "Why couldn't we have a friendly ghost?"

"Because friendly ghosts aren't really a thing," King Rudolf answered. "The spirits hang around after their deaths because they are unhappy."

"Well, fix your attitude Bernard and move on," Summer fired at the ghost.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Bernard offered. "You can't stand that I do your job for you, making you useless. It was probably you, Summer, who killed Walter because he wouldn't sell you the bookshop."

"You work here?" Sherlock asked the hippie.

Bernard laughed coldly. "Work is a loose term."

A growl shot out of Summer's mouth. "Yes, I work here and I'd do more if that control freak of a ghost didn't take all my jobs. Why don't you die already!"

"But you wanted to own the bookshop, is that right?" Gen asked Summer.

"Well, of course I did," Summer answered with a meek tone. "But I wouldn't murder Walter to get it. And where would I even get eclipse dust? I live here in downtown LA. Everyone knows that drug is dealt up and down the beach area. No one here has money for that stuff."

Boon cleared his throat. "Actually a lot of the kids in the inner city school sell it too, after stealing it, of course."

All eyes turned to JoAnne again, who looked like she was about to pass out from the stress. "What? I don't have access to eclipse dust. If my students are doing it, then I'm not aware. I'm so checked out of that job."

Sherlock Holmes nodded, like he understood, glancing at the quiet postman. "And you are?"

"Shannon, a postal worker," he stated. "I just came in here to drop off the mail, like I do daily."

"At the same time, every single day, at lunchtime," Summer pointed out. "I can set my clocks by your timing."

"That's because he has a crush on JoAnne," Bernard teased, floating over to Shannon and wiggling his shoulders in front of the postman, taunting him. "Don't you? And what did she say when you confessed your ‘undying love'?" He used air quotes for the last two words.

Shannon narrowed his eyes at the ghost. "Do you have to eavesdrop on everything in this bookshop, you creep?"

"Yes, because you all are on my turf," Bernard said, putting his hands on his hips.

Fran had jumped up on the counter next to the body and was pawing at the mail bag suddenly, sniffing.

Sherlock and King Rudolf exchanged curious expressions, but didn't say a word.

Shannon huffed, pointing at the bag and glaring at the ghost. "Why don't you control your damn cat. She's always getting into everything and doesn't belong here."

"What's in the bag that she's smelling?" Summer asked, curiously.

"Mail!" Shannon boomed angrily, not seeming worried as the cat buried her head deeper into the bag, knocking it to the floor, envelopes falling out of the sack. He threw his hands into the air, sighing loudly, giving Bernard a murderous look. "Now look what you've done. You know tampering with mail is a federal offense."

Bernard mocked him with a fake scream and put out his hands. "Oh, no! Arrest me. Lock up Fran and throw away the keys."

"Would you two stop it?" JoAnne cut in, having faded into the background when Shannon's affection for her was revealed. "Walter is dead and all you can do is argue."

"That's because that's all we ever do," Boon said, shaking his head.

"That's all you ever did with Walter," Shannon said, narrowing his eyes at the young man. "You drug addict, it was you who killed him, wasn't it?"

Boon fell silent, a hostile expression in his eyes. Gen glanced at Sherlock and Rudolf, studying them as they watched everyone in the room. She was amazed that they didn't even have to question people. Instead, they just sat back and let everyone interrogate each other.

"I don't do eclipse dust," Boon finally said, shaking his head.

"But you do drugs, don't you?" Shannon accused. "And therefore, you'd have contacts with those who deal eclipse dust."

"No, no I wouldn't," Boon replied coldly. "The kind of drugs I do are legal in this city. I go to a dispensary. Eclipse dust is an illegal street drug that kills people." He pointed to Walter. "It's killed him. And we might have argued, but only because I'm passionate about this place and making it better. The shop was failing and needed innovation to stay open. Walter didn't want to admit that but I was trying to help him because he was my friend. And now he's dead…"

Bernard shook his head. "Death isn't the end of the world. It happens to everyone."

All the suspects suddenly broke out in an eruption of bickering. Each of them threw accusations around the room. JoAnne continued to cry. Their volume rose until it was a cacophony of noise.

"Enough!" Sherlock Holmes yelled, silencing everyone at once. They all glared at the detective, giving him their attention. "I know who the murderer is. This person knows who they are. This is their last chance to step forward and confess to their crimes."

All eyes swiveled around the room, looking at each other. Gen watched for the slightest movement from any of the suspects, like they were stepping forward and pleading their guilt.

When no one did, Sherlock nodded, glancing at his assistant. "Shall we solve the case now?"

Rudolf lifted his open bottle of wine and nodded. "Yes, let's…"