Inspector Specter Read online

  Praise for the National Bestselling Haunted Guesthouse Mysteries

  The Thrill of the Haunt

  “Copperman, as per usual, blends comedy and drama and weaves a clever plot . . . [A] perfect cozy mystery read. I can’t say enough about this series, except to say if you haven’t picked one up by now, you are missing a sensational read.”

  —Night Owl Reviews (top pick)

  “Copperman brings . . . characters to life, even in a series featuring ghosts . . . Intriguing.”

  —Lesa’s Book Critiques

  “Charms readers . . . with fast and witty dialogue and characters who can be as exasperating as they are endearing . . . The toll Hurricane Sandy placed upon the Shore is always in the background as the plot takes so many clever twists and turns that the reader will never see the ending coming. When combined with the author’s trademark humor and keen writing, readers will be wishing that the novel and the series never end.”

  —Kings River Life Magazine

  “I was shocked as it all came together so perfectly in the end . . . Highly recommended.”

  —Jenn’s Bookshelves

  “An absorbing story of the normal, abnormal and paranormal, laced with humor and charm.”

  —Stuff and Nonsense

  “I may or may not have actually gasped out loud. Several times. It was all dramatic.”

  —The Rekindled Reader

  Chance of a Ghost

  “Alison has a wry sense of humor and is written so well it is easy to imagine her as your sardonic sister or friend . . . With an outstanding cast of characters, a well-plotted mystery and some sentimental reunions, this is a standout series.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  “An enjoyable escape for any reader wanting to laugh and sympathize with a woman who succeeds by working with unreliable ghosts.”

  —Lesa’s Book Critiques

  “I love the concept of this series. Ghosts helping the living solve crime . . . The characters, both of this world and the world beyond, are realistic, smart, and quirky. You won’t want to miss this ghostly cozy mystery, full of enough wit, charm, and supernatural hijinks to keep you turning the pages well past midnight.”

  —MyShelf.com

  Old Haunts

  “Wisecracking though level-headed, Alison is the kind of person we’d all like to know, if not be . . . Great fun with a tinge of salt air.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  “An entertaining and spellbinding tale in which the ghosts come across as real, as each brings melancholy and humor.”

  —The Mystery Gazette

  “Copperman’s Alison Kerby is my kind of protagonist. She’s realistic and knows her weaknesses . . . Best of all, she has a dry sense of humor . . . Leave your disbelief behind. Pretend you believe in ghosts. You’ll certainly believe in Alison Kerby as a perfect amateur sleuth.”

  —Lesa’s Book Critiques

  “I knew Old Haunts was gold before I finished reading the first page.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Old Haunts is like an old friend (or your snuggy blanket)—dependable, solid and just what you need it to be.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  An Uninvited Ghost

  “A triumph . . . The humor is delightful . . . If you like ghost stories mixed with your mystery, try this Jersey Shore mystery.”

  —Lesa’s Book Critiques

  “Funny and charming, with a mystery which has a satisfying resolution, and an engaging protagonist who is not easily daunted . . . Highly recommended.”

  —Spinetingler Magazine

  “There are several series out now featuring protagonists who can interact with ghosts. Some are good, but this one is the best I’ve read. Alison’s spectral companions are reminiscent of Topper’s buddies: funny and stubborn and helpful when they want to be . . . I look forward to Alison’s next spooky adventure.”

  —Over My Dead Body!

  “E. J. Copperman is certainly wonderful at weaving a great mystery. From the very get-go, readers are in for a treat that will leave them guessing until the final chapter . . . Alison Kerby is a wonderful character . . . If you love a great mystery like I do, I highly recommend getting this book.”

  —Once Upon a Romance

  Night of the Living Deed

  “Witty, charming, and magical.”

  —The Mystery Gazette

  “A fast-paced, enjoyable mystery with a wise-cracking, but no-nonsense, sensible heroine . . . Readers can expect good fun from start to finish.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by E. J. Copperman

  NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED

  AN UNINVITED GHOST

  OLD HAUNTS

  CHANCE OF A GHOST

  THE THRILL OF THE HAUNT

  INSPECTOR SPECTER

  Specials

  A WILD GHOST CHASE

  AN OPEN SPOOK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

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  INSPECTOR SPECTER

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2014 by Jeffrey Cohen.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-63465-3

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / December 2014

  Cover illustration by Dominick Finelle/The July Group.

  Cover photos: Flock of Birds © AlexusssK/Shutterstock; Painted Backyard © iStockphoto/Thinkstock.

  Cover design by Judith Lagerman.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  For Sid Caesar, Harpo Marx, Harold Ramis, Zero Mostel, Larry Gelbart, Chuck Jones, and Robin Williams. There aren’t enough funny people in the world.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I fear I’ll sound like a broken record pouring out thanks to some familiar names, except nobody listens to records anymore and sounding like a broken MP3 file just doesn’t have the same pizzazz.

  Still, it would be wrong for me to let you think that the book you’re holding in your hand—on either paper or pixel—is my work alone. It’s not. I get the original idea and try to make it come out perfectly, and thankfully there is a team of people to let me know just how far off the mark I have wandered. And to them many, many thanks are due. If they are than
ks you’ve read before, well, thank you for reading acknowledgments.

  For inspiration, I refer back to the Topper films and TV series, which apparently had more of an impact on me when I was six than I would have guessed. But if you’re going to write about ghosts and you’re not that interested in scaring the pants off people, there is no better place to look.

  The Haunted Guesthouse Mysteries would not exist but for two people who liked and believed in it: Thanks to Christina Hogrebe of the Jane Rotrosen Agency for bringing me first to the incomparable Shannon Jamieson Vazquez. Shannon, this is our ninth (!) book together—who could have seen that coming when we met for coffee in 2005? Thanks for your good taste, your unerring sense of logic and your undying confidence in me. It means more than you can know.

  A special belated thanks to Stacy Edwards, the production editor on almost all the Haunted Guesthouse books, whom I should have acknowledged five books ago. Sorry and thanks, Stacy!

  Of course thank you to Josh Getzler, Danielle Burby and all at HSG Agency. It gives an author confidence—something we don’t generally produce independently—to have such an accomplished and dedicated team backing up the work. Thanks for all your hours trying in vain to convince me I’m a good writer.

  Don’t ever think the author is responsible for the cover of the book in your hands. Authors by nature are word people—images, thankfully, are in the hands of those like Dominick Finelle, who did the illustration, and Judith Lagerman, who created the cover design. They are as responsible for the look of this series as I am for the words.

  A huge debt of gratitude to every reader of the Haunted Guesthouse Mysteries. You have taken these characters to your hearts and welcomed them into your minds. There is nothing that makes an author more proud than the reader who wants more as soon as the current book is finished. Believe me, I’m working on it.

  And as ever, thanks to Jessica, Josh and Eve, who give me three reasons to get out of bed in the morning.

  CONTENTS

  Praise for the Haunted Guesthouse Mysteries

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by E. J. Copperman

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  One

  I was stripping white paint off the paneling in the new home theater (formerly game room) of my guesthouse when the cell phone in my pocket vibrated, indicating a text.

  Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered to check the phone immediately, at least not before I’d finished the task at hand and showered—and very likely changed my clothes, ordered dinner and straightened up a couple of rooms—but my daughter, Melissa, was at her friend Wendy’s house this afternoon and might have been texting to let me know she needed a ride home or (more likely) to ask if she could spend the night there.

  Such are the thrills of summer vacation. You’re only eleven once.

  I wiped my hands off the best I could, then let the rag fall onto the drop cloth I’d carefully placed under the work area. I am nothing if not prepared.

  But the text I’d received was not from Melissa; it was from Detective Lieutenant Anita McElone of the Harbor Haven Police Department. My breath stopped for a second. When your eleven-year-old isn’t at home, you really don’t want to get a call from the police. I knew McElone a little, but we weren’t what I’d call “friends,” and she’d never contacted me out of the blue before.

  The text read: “COME OUTSIDE TO YOUR PORCH.”

  That took some of my panic away but piqued my curiosity. I looked out the window of the home theater—therein lies a tale; it was slated to become a fitness center for the guests until I found out how much exercise equipment costs—and sure enough, McElone was standing on the front porch next to the glider, hands clasped behind her, pacing.

  I sighed. The big scaredy-cat. Lieutenant McElone, one of the most unflappable people I have ever met, is afraid to come into my house because she thinks she’ll see a ghost. Which is silly. McElone can’t see the ghosts who stay in my house.

  Perhaps I should explain.

  Melissa and I moved to Harbor Haven, the town where I grew up, about three years ago after a divorce from a man I call “The Swine,” although that sometimes makes me feel like I’m insulting actual pigs. I bought the property at 123 Seafront because I wanted to start a new life for us here on the Jersey Shore, and I’d been in the process of renovating the place when things changed after a freak . . . we’ll call it an “accident” . . . left me with a severely bruised head, a concussion, and the ability to see ghosts. Specifically, Paul Harrison and Maxie Malone, who had been inhabiting the old Victorian since they’d been murdered on the premises. Once they realized that I could see them, they’d wanted me to find out who had killed them. But that’s a story told elsewhere.

  As it turned out, I was not the only member of my family who could see Paul and Maxie, though I was the only one who’d had to sustain a head injury first. My mother and Melissa were both professional-level ghost communicators and had been keeping that little fact from me for, let’s say all my life in Mom’s case and all her life in Melissa’s. But I have forgiven them. I am magnanimous. And it comes in handy now that my father has passed away. I’m sad he’s dead, but he’s still around a lot. My family is an emotional roller coaster. Probably in a different way than yours.

  I took a breath before heading outside to McElone. I’d specifically chosen this moment to work on the theater because I was, for once, alone in my thoughts, something that almost never happens around the guesthouse. With Liss at her friend Wendy’s and all six of my current guests out at the beach on this scorching-hot day, the only “company” I’d normally have had would be the ghosts. But Maxie, who’d recently developed the ability to leave the property, had decided to go visit her mother, and Paul, who still can’t wander farther than my property line, had been . . . not upset, and not exactly broody lately, but showing signs of some ennui, which he had not explained. I decided he was a grown man—if a dead one, which would understandably bum anyone out—and I’d let him work out his issues until he brought them up himself.

  Wiping off my hands again, I walked out of the theater, down the corridor to the entrance, and opened the door. A blast of heat and humidity, which you tend to forget about when you’re living in air-conditioning, smacked me hard in the face.

  McElone wasn’t even sweating. I’d been exposed to the tropical wave for three seconds and was already feeling moist, but she had no human responses. She was, I had decided long before, not so much a regular person as a cop who occasionally took in air to survive.

  “This is what it’s come to?” I asked. “You text me from my own front porch because you’re afraid of my house?”

  “I’m not afraid,” she protested. “I’m just not interested in seeing any more than I already have.” The lieutenant had been witness to a fe
w of the less conventional events that take place in my house. Events that several of my guests pay good money to witness, but the novelty of it is lost on McElone.

  “You sure you don’t want to come inside?” I tried. “I promise there are no ghosts around at the moment, and it’s got to be a hundred degrees out here.”

  McElone held up a hand at the very suggestion, which made her look a little like a very imposing cigar store Indian. Cigar store Native American? “I’m fine here.”

  There was a tentative quality to her that I’d never seen before. McElone doesn’t actually have a sense of humor, but she’s usually sharper in conversation than this.

  Something was bothering her.

  It probably would have been bothering her more if she’d known that despite my assurances about the lack of ghosts, Paul had just risen up from the crawl space under the front porch and was watching her closely. “You didn’t call the lieutenant, did you?” he asked, knowing full well that I wouldn’t answer him directly with her there.

  “What brings you here, Lieutenant?” I asked for both our sakes. “Have there been complaints about the guesthouse again?” Locals in Harbor Haven know the stories about the place, and I had recently installed a prominent sign, just to the left of the front door, that read proudly, “Haunted Guesthouse,” replacing a temporary one Melissa had made on poster board.

  But occasionally the odd—and some of them are very odd—tourist or a townsperson with an especially prickly nature makes a complaint at the police station about “weird goings-on” or “strange noises” emanating from the house. None of which is actually true, since the ghosts can’t be heard at all if you don’t have the ear for it.

  “Do you remember Martin Ferry?” McElone asked, out of nowhere.

  “Detective Ferry?” I asked. I remembered him as a sour-natured detective in Seaside Heights, who had once reluctantly shared some information with me. We hadn’t hit it off so much as we’d tolerated each other. “Wasn’t he your partner before you came here to Harbor Haven?”