Setup in Savannah: A Made in Savannah Cozy Mystery (Made in Savannah Cozy Mysteries Series Book 7) by Hope Callaghan (read along books .TXT) 📗

“A little?”

“Okay, a lot,” Elvira said.  “But I never meant any harm.”

“Let’s let bygones be bygones,” Carlita patted Elvira’s arm.  “I’m glad you didn’t burn my place down.”

“Whew!” Elvira rolled her eyes.  “Me too. For a minute there, I thought the place was a goner. As soon as I have the bedroom repaired, you can come over and check it out.”

She sauntered across the hall to her door.  “It’s gonna be kinda lonely living over there by myself.”

“Look at it this way, instead of being across the hall, you’ll be across the alley,” Carlita said, although she wasn’t sure if that was going to be a good thing, or a bad thing.

Chapter 11

“Are you almost ready Ma?” Mercedes hollered into the hall.  “We gotta get a move on or we’ll be late for the ghost tour.”

“I’m ready.” Carlita ambled into the living room.  “Are you sure I should be wearing all black?”

“I don’t want to stand out,” Mercedes said.

“And you don’t think wearing all black will make us stand out?”

Mercedes ignored her mother’s question and pointed at her dangling purple earrings.  “I would ditch the earrings if I were you.  I read somewhere that ghosts like to attach themselves to gemstones.  We don’t wanna be bringin’ any unexpected guests home.”

“Better safe than sorry.” Carlita removed the earrings and set them on the table next to the door.  “I’m ready.”

“We’re gonna have to hustle.” The women hurried into the hall, down the stairs and out into the alley.  “It’s about a ten minute walk, which should get us there at nine on the dot.” Mercedes patted her pocket.  “I got the forty bucks to pay for the tour in my pocket.”

“Cash?”

“Yeah. They only take cash,” Mercedes said.  “It’s kinda weird.  You gotta have connections for a tour invitation and then the confirmation comes from someone with the email username looming darkness.” 

“What is the owner’s name?” Carlita was beginning to dread this tour more by the minute.

“Don’t freak out, but his name is TG Flinch.”

“An owner with the name TG Flinch and an email with the username looming darkness.  Now why on earth would that make me nervous?” Carlita asked sarcastically.  “We’ll be lucky if we make it out of this tour alive.  If they ask us to leave our cell phones and belongings at the door, I’m gonna turn around and walk right back out.”

“You worry too much.” Mercedes slowed.  “We’re here.”

Carlita squinted her eyes and peered over the top of the spiked metal fence posts. She lifted her gaze and stared at the steep steps and the blood red columns guarding the front door.  Two lampposts stood sentinel near the base of the steps and yellow flames licked at the sides of the glass globes.

“Let’s go, before you change your mind.” Mercedes grabbed her mother’s arm and dragged her through the gate and up the steps.  She rapped on the metal door knocker and a shadow passed by the etched glass window pane before the door opened.

“Yes?”

“I-uh, am Mercedes Garlucci.  My ma and I are here for the 1976 Tour.”

The door opened wide and the women stepped into the dark hallway.  Flickering gas lanterns lined both sides of the walls, illuminating the red velvet wallpaper, which happened to be the same shade as the exterior columns.

Carlita turned to the person who had greeted them.  It was a woman, and she was dressed in red from head to toe.  “I see a theme here with the color red.”

Mercedes pinched the back of her mother’s arm.

“Ouch.”

“Are you TG?”

“I am,” the woman whispered.  “You’ll have to leave your belongings in the box.” She drifted to an antique steamer chest and lifted the lid.  “In here.”

Carlita spun on her heel, preparing to bolt when Mercedes reached out and grabbed her mother’s arm.  “We can’t leave now,” she hissed under her breath.

“I’ll wait for you out front,” Carlita whispered in a loud voice.  “If you don’t come out in forty-five minutes, I’m callin’ the cops.”

“Is there a problem?”

Carlita could’ve sworn TG “floated” across the room and she was now certain the woman was an apparition.

“My ma doesn’t want to leave her belongings behind.” Mercedes forced a laugh.  “Trust no one.  It’s one of the downfalls of livin’ most of your life in New York City.”

The woman slowly turned and faced Carlita.  “You own the old Smythe place on Mulberry Street?”

“Yes, my husband, Vinnie, owned it.  We moved down here after he passed away.” Carlita grabbed the doorknob.  “I’ll be outside.”

“You can keep your belongings with you,” TG whispered.

“Great.” Mercedes said.  “Let’s go.”

Carlita stubbornly refused to budge.

“Ma.  She said you could keep your purse. Let’s start the tour,” Mercedes urged.

Carlita reluctantly trailed behind her daughter and TG as they moved from the hallway to the parlor, through the dining room and then into the dated kitchen while TG shared with them a brief history of the home.

“I’m sure you’re here to see the infamous dumbwaiter. It’s over here.” TG floated to the other side of the kitchen, lifted a skeletal arm and pointed a long red fingernail at a scuffed wooden cabinet door.

Carlita tiptoed over to the cabinet.  “May I?”

“Yes.” TG nodded.  “Mr. Honeycutt is long gone.”

“And only his spirit remains,” Mercedes joked.

Carlita cautiously opened the cabinet door and Mercedes peered over her mother’s shoulder at the interior of the tall, rectangular box.

“Mr. Honeycutt wasn’t a tall man if he fit in here.” Carlita leaned forward, stuck her head inside the dumbwaiter and gazed up.  She glanced behind her at their tour guide.  “I swear we got a few ghosts over at our place.  You ever see ghosts here?”

“Yes. All the time.” TG didn’t elaborate.