CHAPTER 1
“Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?” I leant back in my chair and looked at the two detectives opposite me.
I had met Detective Roy Prescott and Detective John Wilkinson only recently, after my mother hired an escort to show her the way to the Gold Coast in Queensland. My mother found the escort murdered in her bedroom, and I had to explain to the detectives that my mother thought an escort was a travel guide.
I had hoped I would never see the detectives again, but now they were sitting in my office at Witch Woods Funeral Home, the business I had inherited from my father.
Detective Wilkinson frowned at me. “The perpetrator reversed over the victim several times after hitting her with the stolen car.”
“Oh.” There really was no suitable reply to that. “And so that’s why you have come to see me, because you think the murderer will come to the victim’s funeral?” I added.
Both detectives nodded. I tapped my pen on the desk. “I’m a little confused. This won’t be the first time I’ve conducted a funeral for a murder victim, and police officers have been present every time.”
Wilkinson and Prescott exchanged glances. “It’s your mother,” Wilkinson said. “We have just been to see her.”
Prescott nodded. “We explained that we would be attending the funeral, and that we don’t want anyone to be aware of the police presence. We want to be completely incognito.”
“And my mother had a problem with that?” I asked them. My mother was somewhat strange—and that’s the understatement of the century—but I couldn’t see why she would have a problem with the detectives being an anonymous presence at the funeral.
Wilkinson rolled his eyes. “To tell the truth, we don’t know if your mother does have a problem. She wouldn’t even listen to what we had to say, because she was so distressed about you doing the funeral for the victim.”
“She told us that in no uncertain terms,” Prescott added. He rubbed his temples hard with both hands.
I sighed loudly. At first my mother had been annoyed when I conducted themed funerals such as a Kiss-themed funeral, a clown-themed funeral, and even an Elvis-themed funeral, but she had grown somewhat accustomed to them. In my mother’s eyes, however, this funeral was far worse. It was a funeral for the lead singer of a punk rock band, a young woman by the name of Jezza-Belle. That name alone had sent my mother into a headspin, but when she found out the name of the band was The Vengeful Harlots, she had ordered me not to take on the funeral.
“I’ll call Pastor Green and ask him to have a word with her,” I said. “If anyone can control Mum, he can, and he’s conducting Jezza-Belle’s service.”
The detectives thanked me and left. I returned to my desk and reached out my hand for my phone, intending to call Pastor Green, when Ernie materialised in front of me.
I dropped my iPhone in shock, but was relieved to see that the screen didn’t crack. “You scared me!” I said to Ernie.
“I’m a ghost,” he said. “We scare people.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You don’t scare anyone.”
He wagged his finger at me. “But you just said I scared you. I don’t know why you jump every time I appear—after all, I’m the resident ghost.”
I sat on my office chair. “Did you hear what the detectives said?” Ernie nodded. I pushed on. “Have you seen Jezza-Belle’s ghost yet?”
Ernie shook his head. “No, sadly. She would be an interesting ghost too, not like all those bland, boring ghosts that we’ve had lately. At least they crossed over quickly.”
I knew where he was going with this. “Yes, and Jezza-Belle won’t cross over quickly, because she was murdered. Hopefully the police will find her murderer soon so that she won’t hang around here.”
Ernie fixed me with a glare. “It’s all right for you, Laurel. I’ve only got you and Basil to talk to. It gets awfully boring around here.”
I looked at the apparition appearing behind him. She was wearing an angry expression, plenty of tattoos and piercings, and the hair part of her mohawk was bright red and very high.
“I don’t think you’re going to be bored for long, Ernie,” I said.
