Early fall sparkled in the air around Last Chance Books as I straightened the books on the shelves. I tended to be a stickler for such things, both as a potential reader and as the bookstore’s owner. Things just looked more professional that way.

As I basked in the vanilla-leather scent of old books, my two resident ghosts chattered away beside me. Normally, I did my best to ignore Robert Frost and Franklin Pierce—yes, that Robert Frost and Franklin Pierce. Despite their rather stodgy personas, they both liked to pull shenanigans on my customers. Nothing dangerous, mind you. Just little things like yanking books off the shelves. Their ghostly skills, however, were a bit limited, so I always pushed the tomes in far enough so they weren’t easily scooted off by my two otherworldly companions. While I worked, I caught tidbits of their conversation, which—surprise—focused around me and telling me what I ought to be doing.

“Now, Willa,” Franklin said, swirling around me in a trail of mist. “Make sure you put my biography facing outward instead of that awful Nixon chap.”

I snorted but did as he asked. Nixon had been called much worse in his day, I was sure. A slight chill ran through me, as always happened when I was near an apparition. I positioned Franklin’s book then gestured for him to check my placement. 

“Thank you, Willa. I like that particular biography. Paints me in a rather flattering light, unlike some of the other printed rubbish.” He gave a dismissive wave with his airy hand. “Oh, speaking of light, did I mention there was a disturbance of light on the ethereal plane?”

Those words stopped me short. An ominous feeling niggled my gut. Any type of disturbance on the ethereal plane was never a good sign. “No.”

“It’s true,” Robert chimed in, glancing past me to give Franklin a knowing look. “And you know what that means.”

“No,” I said, wiping my now-sweaty palms on the legs of my jeans. “I don’t know. Will someone please explain?”

I was what one might call a newbie to the magical side of the world. Though I’d grown up in Mystic Notch—a magical hotbed in the gorgeous White Mountain area of New Hampshire—I’d never been a believer, at least until I’d been in a car accident that had left me with an annoying recurring pain in one leg and a persistent knack for seeing ghosts. They came to see me, talk to me, have me do things for them. Like these two with me today, except, well, they felt Last Chance Books was their home and I was just visiting. 

Franklin reached out to place his hand on my shoulder, though it simply passed right through, leaving an icy trail of dread in its wake. He leaned in, his dark preternatural eyes intense. “Murder.”

I gasped. No, not murder. I didn’t want to get involved in another murder. Murders were problematic for me, especially since ghosts were prone to haunting me until I solved theirs. I had no idea why they came to me. It was like there was some sort of invisible sign over my head.

Feeling shaken, I went to the front counter and started stacking the books I’d purchased at an estate sale earlier in the week next to the antique cash register. 

“That’s ridiculous,” I said, thankful there were no customers in the store. We didn’t open for another hour. Right now, I felt flustered and hot and totally discombobulated by Franklin’s pronouncement. “How could you possibly know that?”

Robert floated over to lean a ghostly hip against the counter while I fiddled with counting the drawer. “Well, being a ghost gives us certain insights into things. Normally, the kind of disturbance we felt last night is due to a spirit whose life has been taken by another. They show up in the ethereal plane completely shocked, unprepared for their mortal lives to be over, many times angry, and always confused. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to spot a victim who’s been murdered.”

A shudder ran through me before I could stop it. “Please tell me this doesn’t mean another ghost is going to start haunting me, wanting me to help solve the mystery. With the holiday season approaching, I really don’t have time for investigations right now.”

The first time one of them had visited me after my accident, I’d thought I’d gone insane. But then it started happening more and more. Now, seeing dead people was nearly routine. I’d learned to deal with it and wouldn’t have minded, except that these new ghosts were so needy. They seemed to be reaching new levels of insistence that I help them. In other words, they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“This ghost is rather shy,” Franklin said, drifting over to stand on my other side. “I’m not surprised he hasn’t made his presence known to you yet. But you know the rules, Willa. If you don’t help them solve their mystery, the poor creature will be stuck in Limbo forever. Very distressing.”

The church bells rang at eight o’clock sharp, and I walked to the front door of the bookstore to open the shop. The large oak door swung open to reveal my morning regulars waiting outside. Cordelia and Hattie Deering, twin ladies in their early eighties, looked as dashing as always in their almost-matching polyester pantsuits—Cordelia’s was tan with a black turtleneck beneath, and Hattie’s was black with a tan turtleneck. Bing Thorndike followed behind them with a tray of hot teas and coffees for them all. Josiah Barrows brought up the rear. Josiah was Mystic Notch’s retired postmaster, and Bing was an ex-magician. 

“Ah, Willa, dear,” Bing said, his mischievous blue eyes sparkling beneath his bushy white eyebrows. “Good morning. Here’s your coffee.”

I took the white Styrofoam cup from him and sipped at the hot brew while everyone settled in the comfy seating area of the shop. I’d put in a purple micro-suede couch and a couple of matching armchairs in the hopes of giving the place a homier feel after I’d taken over for my late grandmother. The seating was a big hit with my regulars. I took a seat at the end of the sofa, leaving Franklin and Robert to hover around the cash register. I figured they’d soon disappear back to wherever it was they came from. I was the only one that could see them, and they got bored when I ignored them to talk to flesh-and-blood beings. 

When I’d lived down in Massachusetts, if anyone had told me I’d own a bookstore and be a ghost whisperer one day, I’d have laughed in their faces. Guess fate was the one laughing now.

I’d just settled in when my cat, Pandora, walked over and plopped down atop my feet. With sleek gray fur and mesmerizing golden-green eyes, she did her mythical namesake proud. She watched all of us intently, turning her head this way and that as if she understood what we were saying. I’d inherited Pandora along with the bookstore and a house from my grandmother, and until recently, I’d figured she was a typical feline, aloof and self-possessed.

After what had happened earlier this summer, though, I’d started to wonder about Pandora. I’d been trapped in a fire, and though I couldn’t remember much of what had happened, I somehow got the impression Pandora had had a more-than-catlike role in saving me. Sometimes, I’d get these thoughts, like she was communicating telepathically with me or something—tidbits of information or suggestions or, in the case of the fire, downright warnings. The thing was, they were never wrong. Odd, really, any way I looked at it.

“My dear, have you heard about poor Iona at the Cut and Curl?” Hattie asked me.

My gut clenched. Was Iona the one who’d been murdered? The thought of the hyperactive hairdresser haunting me made me nervous. “No,” I squeaked out past the lump in my throat then slurped my coffee nervously. For octogenarians, these ladies sure had their fingers on the pulse of what was happening in Mystic Notch. “What happened?”

“She left her husband. That’s what,” Cordelia said, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Shameful if you ask me. I’d bet good money she’s run off with that philandering new mechanic at the garage.”

Relief swept over me. Iona wasn’t dead. Not only that, but if there’d been a murder in our tiny little town, these two would certainly know. Apparently, Robert and Franklin were wrong. I glanced in the direction of the cash register, but they were gone. Probably off trying to figure out how they’d gotten their spirit radar messed up.

While Bing engaged the ladies in more tawdry gossip about Iona, I turned to Josiah, who looked a bit down in the dumps. “What’s wrong? You look like you lost your best friend.”

He shrugged. “Nah. It’s just that the annual postmasters’ checkers tournament is this Friday.”

“That’s a good thing, though, right?” I asked.

“Should be,” Cordelia said. “You look forward to that every year, Josiah.”

“I do.” His shoulders slumped. “This year will be a bit sad, though.”

“Why?” Bing frowned.

That unease I’d felt earlier returned, knotting my stomach. Josiah didn’t just look like he’d lost a friend—he looked like a friend had died. But if someone he knew had been murdered, surely he would have mentioned it sooner. He wouldn’t just be sitting there, not saying a word about it. Murder was big news in Mystic Notch. 

Okay, well, it used to be big news, but according to my sister, Augusta, who was the county sheriff, there had been a lot more murders since I had moved back to town. I was sure that was just an odd coincidence. 

“Albert Schumer was the best player in three counties. I loved the challenge of going up against him every year. Kept my skills sharp.” Josiah’s voice sounded sad, and my heart sank. He’d said “was,” not “is.” Past tense.

Bing and the ladies all nodded in agreement with Josiah’s assessment of another of Mystic Notch’s former postmasters.

“Will he not be attending this year?” Hattie asked, concerned and more than a tad nosy.

“You haven’t heard?” Josiah looked up at us, his brows knit.

We all shook our heads, and my breath seized in my lungs as I waited for that shoe to drop. 

“Albert won’t be playing checkers ever again. He was found dead on the back steps of the post office early this morning.”

Pandora let out a ghastly meow, and my gaze flew to where Robert and Franklin had reappeared near the register, satisfied looks on their ghostly faces. Warning bells clanged loudly in my head. It was true.

There’d been another murder in quiet little Mystic Notch.