Robeth Publishing, LLC
The Ghost and the Leprechaun (eBook)
The Ghost and the Leprechaun (eBook)
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Book 12 in the Haunting Danielle Series
A Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series
Everyone knows leprechauns are just make believe.
But wait, isn’t that what they say about ghosts?
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The Ghost and the Leprechaun
Chapter 1
He sat cross-legged, hovering in midair beside Danielle’s bed, watching her sleep. Propped atop his shaggy strawberry blond hair was a green derby hat, it sat cockeyed on his head. The boney fingers of his right hand absently twisted the ends of his long red beard. He wondered who she was—why was she at Marlow House?
With a reluctant sigh, he planted his feet on the wood floor and walked the perimeter of the room, looking for clues. The window shades were open, enabling the moonlight to spill into the room and provide ample lighting for his exploration. The contents of a nearby wicker trash can caught his attention—it held a pair of shoes. Who throws away shoes?
Reaching into the container, he pulled out one of the discarded shoes and noticed its broken heel. I can fix this easily, he thought, giving his leather apron a pat. Just as he sat down with the shoe to begin the repairs, he heard the bedroom door squeak. Looking up, he watched as it slowly opened. And then he saw it, golden eyes peering curiously in his direction. And then he heard it, a loud high-pitched, “Meow!”
“A cat!” he shouted, jumping up and dropping the shoe on the floor. He disappeared just as the cat dashed into the room and pounced on the spot he had been sitting on.
* * *
Rudely jerked from slumber, Danielle bolted upright in bed. Rubbing her eyes with one balled fist, she glanced around the dimly lit room and yawned. Light from the hallway slipped in through the partially opened doorway.
“Darn, I forgot to lock it,” she mumbled. There were guests staying in the bed and breakfast, and she felt more comfortable sleeping with her bedroom door closed and locked. With a groan, she climbed out of bed and headed for the door. En route, she tripped over a shoe. Muttering a curse, she paused, reached down, and picked it up. With a frown, she examined it a moment and then tossed it toward the wicker waste can. The shoe missed its objective, landing on the floor next to her small desk.
Ignoring the missed target, she stumbled to the door and heard a meow. Looking down, she found Max staring up at her, his black tail swishing back and forth.
“Aww…so it’s you who woke me up?” she whispered. Leaning down, she picked up the cat and then proceeded to close and lock her bedroom door. Max began to purr as he nuzzled his forehead into her chest.
“Cheeky brat.” She tittered, returning to her bed. Climbing back under her sheets and blankets, she snuggled her furry pet and promptly fell back to sleep.
* * *
Walt watched in fascination as Danielle’s slender fingers adeptly wove her brunette tresses into a tidy fishtail braid. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly and efficiently she performed the task each morning. Just weeks earlier she had discussed cutting her hair and leaving behind her trademark braid, to which Walt had expressed a hearty objection. It wasn’t that Walt was particularly fond of the braid—but he did appreciate what it did to her long hair when she released it from its restraints. He wasn’t sure if she had abandoned the notion of cutting her hair—or if her life had recently been so chaotic that she simply had no time to consider a new hairstyle.
Danielle sat at her dressing table, her attention fixed on its mirror and her reflection as she wove together her braid.
“Did your mother teach you to braid your hair like that?” Walt asked.
Startled, Danielle turned to Walt. “How long have you been standing there lurking?” She then turned back to the mirror.
Walt chuckled and stepped closer to the dressing table, standing behind Danielle. He stared at her reflection in the mirror—Walt didn’t have one. “I don’t lurk.”
“You do seem to have a habit of sneaking into a lady’s room uninvited,” Danielle said primly, quickly finishing her braid.
“Only yours.” Walt grinned.
Danielle smiled and then explained, “As for your question. No, my mother did not teach me to braid my hair like this. I learned it from YouTube.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he muttered under his breath.
Now finished with her hair, she turned around on the bench and faced Walt. Behind him was her bed, and on the bed was Max, who was just waking up. He let out a loud meow.
Walt turned to the cat and studied him for a moment. “Really? Are you sure?”
“Is he sure about what?” Danielle asked, reaching down and grabbing a pair of shoes she had set by the dressing table earlier.
“According to Max, you had some sort of visitor last night. He scared him away.”
“Visitor?” Danielle frowned. She slipped on her right shoe. “What kind of visitor?”
Walt shrugged. “Not really sure. He’s not making a lot of sense.”
“Well, he is a cat.” Danielle slipped on her second shoe. “I suspect he’s just trying to cover for himself. He woke me up last night. Crazy animal. I think he was playing in my trash.”
Walt arched his brow. “Your trash?”
“You know that shoe I broke yesterday? Well, I threw the pair in my trash can last night, and when Max woke me up, one of the shoes was on the floor in the middle of the room. I tripped over it.” Danielle stood up.
Walt glanced to the trash can and noticed one of the shoes resting on the floor next to the desk.
“That one?” The shoe floated up in the air and then dropped into the wicker basket.
“It was in the trash last night when I went to bed. Naughty cat.”
“Your guests are already at breakfast. Are you going down?” Walt now sat on the edge of the bed with Max, who had closed his eyes and gone back to sleep.
Danielle glanced at the clock sitting on her nightstand. “Remember, I’m going to the bank this morning.”
“Aww, that’s right. The gold coins. So, you really found a buyer for them?”
“Chris did. He’s meeting me at the bank before it closes—and it closes early today so I need to get going.”
“Chris is meeting you at the bank?”
“No, the buyer. One less thing to worry about.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to just keep them?” Walt asked. “It’s not like you need the money, and gold can be a good investment.”
“You’re right. I don’t need the money. But the money I can make from selling those coins can do a lot of good.”
Walt let out a sigh. “You can’t keep giving all your money away, Danielle. I’m beginning to think Chris is a bad influence.”
Danielle chortled. “Yeah…right.”
* * *
“I didn’t think you worked on Saturdays anymore,” Danielle Boatman asked Susan Mitchell as she followed her down the dimly lit hallway leading to the vault room housing the safe deposit boxes. In her right hand Danielle held her key ring—the key to a safe deposit box—poised and ready to open its lock.
Susan opened the door to the vault room, stepping aside for Danielle to enter first. “Ever since Steve’s death, I had to take on more hours. I was hoping I’d get my Saturdays back after the new bank manager settled in.”
Danielle stepped around Susan and entered the windowless room. She turned to the left, walking toward her two safe deposit boxes. Glancing over her right shoulder at Susan, she asked, “How do you like your new boss? I haven’t met him yet.”
Susan whispered, “I guess he’s no worse than Steve.”
Danielle sniggered. “Well, that doesn’t sound promising.”
Susan looked sheepishly to Danielle and cringed. “I suppose I shouldn’t have said that.”
Danielle grinned. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
Coming to a stop in front of the safe deposit box they intended to open, Susan put out her hand for Danielle’s key.
“I hope you get your Saturdays back,” Danielle said as she handed the key to Susan, its ring and ring mates dangling from its end.
“Thanks. So does my husband.” Susan turned her attention to the safe deposit box, kneeling slightly so that she could reach it.
Danielle watched as Susan used the key she had given her, along with the bank’s key, to open the lock. Before removing the metal box, Susan handed Danielle back her key ring. She then knelt down and slid the metal box from its vault.
As soon as Susan removed the storage box entirely from the wall unit, she turned to Danielle and said with surprise, “I thought this held the gold coins? Is this the one with the Missing Thorndike?”
“You know better than that.” Danielle reached for the metal box, anticipating the weight of its priceless contents. Remembering how heavy the box had been after filling it with the gold coins, she was prepared to use both hands to maneuver the hefty container. Exerting more energy than was necessary in handling the box, it practically flew out of her hands.
Danielle managed to regain hold of the metal container before it landed on the concrete floor. Hunched over, hugging the large safe deposit box to her bosom, she looked up at Susan, her eyes now wide. Slowly standing up straight, still clutching the surprisingly light metal box in her arms, Danielle now understood what Susan was talking about a moment earlier when questioning if they had opened the correct safe deposit box.
Without saying another word, Danielle—standing in the middle of the vault room—hastily flipped open the lid of the large metal container and looked inside.
“It’s empty!” Danielle gasped, turning the opened end to Susan so she could see inside.
Confused, Susan gazed into the box. “What’s that?” she asked with a whisper before reaching into the open container and picking up the only item it held. Removing her hand from the box, she stared at the green foil object now between her fingers.
Wrinkling her nose, Danielle studied the object. “What’s that?”
“It looks like a shamrock—like the kind in the storage room,” Susan muttered, turning the shamrock from side to side as she examined it closer.
“Storage room?”
“Yeah, near the bathrooms,” Susan explained. “That’s where we keep the holiday decorations. This looks like one of the shamrocks from last Saint Patrick’s Day.”
Danielle handed the box back to Susan. “This isn’t mine. There must be some mistake.”
Before shutting the box’s lid, Susan dropped the foil shamrock back inside. “I don’t understand. It has to be yours. Your key fit.”
“Then where are my gold coins?” Danielle demanded, sounding harsher than she intended.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Susan muttered.
Danielle hastily located another key on her key ring and shoved it at Susan. “Open the other box. I want to see if the Missing Thorndike is there.”
It was another five or ten minutes before Danielle’s second safe deposit box could be opened. First, she needed to sign the ledger—again. When the box was opened, she was relieved to find it was not empty. It held a velvet pouch—and inside that, the Missing Thorndike, an antique necklace of diamonds and emeralds, valued in excess of a million dollars. Without hesitation, Danielle slipped the pouch with the necklace into her purse and told Susan they needed to talk to the bank manager. Susan agreed.
