By midafternoon, my leg was killing me, and there’d been no sign of Albert’s ghost. Maybe Robert and Franklin were mistaken. I’d heard no news that Albert Schumer had been murdered. In fact, from what I’d gathered from my customers that day, the scuttlebutt around town was that he’d fallen and hit his head. There was also some question of a possible heart attack involved. But no rumors of murder. Yet.

Afternoons in Mystic Notch were slow, which was a nice respite following the generally busy mornings. Most days, my best friend, Pepper St. Onge—who owned The Tea Shoppe down the street—stopped in for a snack and a chat, since neither one of us usually took a proper lunch. Today was no exception.

Pepper showed up around three p.m. with her special quilted green-and-pink tea cozy in hand. She was a striking woman, with long red hair piled on top of her head and bright-emerald eyes. Known for her cute fashion sense, Pepper had on a peach twinset and a pastel wool plaid skirt to keep her warm against the gathering autumn chill. She looked cute in a vintage kind of way and a lot younger than her forty-eight years.

“Hi, Willa,” Pepper said as she entered the bookstore, the bells jangling merrily at her arrival. I was so glad to have a friend like Pepper in town. I’d known her forever. We’d been best friends since kindergarten. We’d grown apart a little when I left town for college but picked up again when I returned as if no time had passed. I could tell Pepper anything. In fact, she was the only person that knew I could talk to ghosts, and it sure was a relief to talk to her about it.

She walked over to the vacant seating area and began to unpack her mysteriously never-ending tea cozy. She’d made it herself specifically to carry her special teas and accompaniments. She could store an entire tea service in there, and I watched, fascinated, as she pulled out a silver teapot, dainty floral china teacups and saucers, embroidered linen napkins, a matching silver sugar bowl and creamer, and even a plate of scones.

She looked up at me and smiled. “How’s it going?”

“Fine, except for what happened to poor Albert Schumer.” I took a seat in one of the armchairs, watching as Pepper set things up on the coffee table. I enjoyed these talks more than I enjoyed her tea, truth be told.

There were times when I felt… funny… after drinking it. Not ill, per se, but more like suggestible. Pepper claimed that her teas had a special kind of magic, one that could heal and make wishes come true. Of course, Pepper said she never put anything in the teas unless someone wanted her to. I wasn’t sure if I quite believed the teas were charmed or magical because it seemed to me that whatever she thought her tea was supposed to accomplish backfired more often than not. Truth be told, I was a bit of a nonbeliever in magic. Some might say that was odd, given my undead visitors, but I considered them a weird side effect of my accident—one I hoped would vanish one day—definitely not due to magical powers of any kind.

“Oh, I heard about that,” Pepper said, pushing the plate piled high with homemade butter brickle scones toward me. Pepper settled herself primly on the edge of the sofa then poured us each a cup of tea and placed a scone on a delicate pink napkin for me. “Such awful news. Apparently, Ruthie’s the one who found him dead on the back steps when she went to open up for the day.”

Ruthie Michaels was the current postmaster of Mystic Notch and about as nonthreatening as they came. Seeing Albert’s crumpled body must’ve given her quite a fright. “I wonder why he was using the back entrance,” I said, sipping my yummy mandarin spice tea. “I mean, I know the current employees use that back door, but I didn’t figure the retired ones would.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s that unusual.” Pepper nibbled one of her delicious scones. Her baked goods were nearly as popular with the tourists as the homemade herbal teas she sold. I took a large bite of mine too, enjoying the chewy pastry and the sweet toffee crunch of the butter brickle chips. Pepper dabbed her mouth with her napkin before continuing. “A lot of the employees there, past and present, still hang out around the back entrance, from what I’ve seen.”

“Robert and Franklin told me about a disturbance in the light on the other side in the wee hours this morning.” I glanced around to make sure neither ghost was present at the moment. Coast clear, I leaned a bit closer to Pepper to whisper, “They suspected a murder.”

“Goodness.” Pepper paused mid-sip, her green eyes wide. “You don’t think—”

“At first, yes. I’ve been waiting for poor Albert to show up in my store all day.” I gave a shudder. “But no show so far, thank heavens.” I straightened and sighed. “The fellows must’ve been mistaken this time.”

“Hmm.” Pepper continued to watch me over the rim of her cup as Pandora strolled over to twine herself around my ankles. “For your sake, I hope so.”

Pandora moved from me to Pepper, meowing loudly.

“Would you like some cream?” Pepper asked, speaking directly to the cat as if she could understand her.

Pandora meowed again, this time more quietly, and the two of them proceeded to have a conversation, with Pepper talking and cooing and Pandora meowing and purring. Pepper poured some cream from her sterling-silver creamer into a delicate porcelain saucer rimmed with tiny blue flowers. Pepper seemed quite serious about the conversation. Pandora seemed more serious about the cream.

Pepper put down the saucer for Pandora then turned back to me, as if realizing I was still there. She smiled, a slow affair, brimming with secrets I wasn’t privy to. Did she actually think she’d been communicating with my cat? Then again, I’d begun to wonder if Pandora wasn’t smarter than the average cat. Not for the first time since I’d returned to Mystic Notch, I wondered how I’d ever managed to leave this place in the beginning and how I was ever going to blend in again now that I was back.

“So, do you think Albert might still show up?” Pepper asked. “Rumor around town is his heart gave out.”

“Not sure.” I finished my tea and scone then set my dishes back on the small table between us. “I hope not. If he does, I’ll know for sure it was murder. Robert and Franklin both described Albert as shy, though, so it may take him some time to make himself visible.”

I shifted in my seat then winced as familiar pain seared up my left leg. The bones had been shattered during the accident, and now, after multiple surgeries and metal pins to put me back together, the stiffness never quite went away. We spent the next few minutes discussing the other goings-on around town—the new gift shop selling all kinds of tacky souvenirs for the tourists, the rumors about Iona leaving her husband, the early chill, and our mutual hopes that this year’s winter would be mild instead of the snowy mess we’d had in previous years. The tourists loved the skiing, but ice and blocked roads didn’t bode well for the local business community.

“Leg bothering you again?” Pepper reached into her cozy again and pulled out a bag of tea. “Try this. It’s dandelion. Works wonders for arthritis and joint issues.”

“Thanks.” I took the plastic bag then creaked to my feet to help her pack up and dispose of our trash. “And thanks for the tea and scones. It really hit the spot today.”

“You’re welcome,” Pepper said, placing her repacked cozy over her arm then heading for the door. “Keep me posted on what happens with Albert.”

“Will do.” I waved as she left the shop, then turned back to find Pandora up on the table, sniffing the bag of tea Pepper had left me. Her sleek gray tail waved high in the air, the kinked end making it look like an angular question mark. Pandora gave a final sniff then looked up at me with her wise golden-green eyes and meowed loudly.