Every Death You Take Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Misty Simon

  Every Death You Take

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Time to make her excuses and her exit.

  “Mrs. F, I’d better get back. It’s time for doggie treats for Mumford, and he usually takes a nap in the afternoon.”

  Mrs. F smiled, and it crinkled her blue eyes. “What a cutie he is and, really, so well-behaved. Aren’t you, sweetie?” She bent over to give him a scratch behind his ears. “I admit I was nervous when you first arrived, but now, I must say, I feel so much better. Perhaps I should think about getting myself a dog. They certainly do brighten a place up.”

  Or destroy a home, if she didn’t get a good one. Mel couldn’t imagine all this refinished furniture surviving a brute of a dog, but she’d leave that to Mrs. F. And maybe the local vet, who had a heart of gold. “Let Becker know if you’re looking. He could help you out.”

  “I’ll certainly keep that in mind. And you remember that if you need anything, I’m right here. I won’t have many people coming around anymore, so I’d welcome the company.”

  Mel waved on her way out, then was pleased to see Dougal already in the car. What she wasn’t pleased about was seeing someone—or something—in the back seat with him.

  Praise for Misty Simon

  POISON IVY: “I loved this book. I was laughing during most of it.”

  ~Rae, My Book Addiction and More (4.5 rating)

  THE WRONG DRAWERS: “…a sass filled, one-two punch of delightfully quirky humor and intriguing mystery.”

  ~Jacki King, bestselling author

  WHAT’S LIFE WITHOUT THE SPRINKLES?: “Ms. Simon’s writing has warmth, her characters seem like real people, and her plotting drew me in…”

  ~Angie Just Read, The Romance Reviews

  “If you enjoy romance stories about two people burned by relationships gone bad…then look no further.”

  ~Xeranthemum, Long and Short Reviews (4.5 Books)

  ~*~

  Misty Simon’s books at The Wild Rose Press:

  The Kissinger Kisses Series

  What’s Life Without the Sprinkles?

  Making Room at the Inn

  Go Ahead, Make My Bouquet

  Christmas in Kissinger

  The Ivy Morris Mysteries

  Poison Ivy

  The Wrong Drawers

  Something Old, Something Dead

  Frame and Fortune

  For Love and Cheesecake

  Adventures in Ghostsitting

  Desperately Seeking Salvage

  Don’t Dream It’s Rover

  Every Death You Take

  Every Death

  You Take

  by

  Misty Simon

  Adventures in Ghostsitting, Book 3

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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.

  Every Death You Take

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Misty Simon

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Mainstream Fantasy Rose Edition, 2017

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1518-8

  Adventures in Ghostsitting, Book 3

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Daniel — who makes this all so much fun

  ~

  To readers everywhere!

  I hope you are having a total blast with this series!

  Chapter One

  Mel Hargrove waved goodbye to her dad, Darren Hargrove, as he headed away from their junkyard, roaring down the gravel lane in his old Ford truck. Her father had been there a week, longer than he’d stayed in one place for the last ten years. While she was thankful for their time together, she had also known yesterday that he was going to leave today, even before he said anything. It was a wildness in his eyes, the way his fingers tapped on the table, that told her his time was up, that it was time to move on to the next destination. He had a drive, a need, to be out on the road, finding more objects with spirits attached to them.

  She sighed and leaned against the doorframe. She missed him when he was gone, but he got underfoot when he was here. There was no winning with that combination. They had rarely been together for more than a few days ever since her mother died, and that made her sad enough to cry sometimes, in the dead of night.

  Her mother called Mel’s name softly from the living room. Mel straightened the big floppy bow on her head and smoothed her fingerless lace gloves to give herself a moment to compose herself. Facing her mom after her dad had just left could be a laugh riot if they joked about all the things he’d done while he was here—from giving Mel a hard time about the ghost-hunting gadgets she liked to use to having a milk mustache in his real mustache. Or it could be difficult if her mom would want to talk about the sadness her dad seemed to wear like a hat firmly glued on his head.

  From the softness of her mom’s voice, Mel just knew it was going to be the sad part this time instead of the funny. She really didn’t want to deal with that. But though her mother was attached to the Victrola in the living room, that didn’t mean she couldn’t follow Mel anywhere in the house if she chose to. She just usually liked to stay in her old-time record machine with its polished brass handle and a record from 1939 on it, something Big Band that would blast through the house every once in a while.

  But this conversation would take place one way or another, and Mel would rather handle it now than after her boyfriend Becker got off work and came home in about half an hour.

  Mumford trotted along behind her, happy to be wherever she was. In the four months since he and the ghost in his collar had come to stay, things had been anything but quiet. The dog was fun to have around and a great snuggler. Recently, he’d taken to lying on her feet. She in turn had taken to wearing socks almost all the time because he didn’t just like to lie on her feet, he also liked to lick them.

  Not even Becker was allowed to do that. Dog slobber on her toes did not go with her flashy, sparkly, purple toenail polish, so she’d covered those pretty piggies with sheer, flouncy ankle socks.

  No matter how many times she’d asked the spirit in the collar, Dougal, to get the dog to knock it off, the ghost just laughed. There was only so much he could control when it came to the dog, apparently. And licking was not one of those things. Not so jokingly, he’d said he would have asked Mumford to stop licking his parts when Dougal was in the collar, if it were that easy.

  The two had come to her through Becker last spring, when Mumford and Dougal were running away from a horrid mistress who made the two of them do awful things. At first, Mel didn’t think she’d want anything to do with a dog. Not to mention that she had als
o been afraid the many ghosts in her junkyard might harass the poor animal. But ever since they’d faced down an evil woman bent on destroying everything that Mel lived for, they’d all come to love him, and so did she.

  Enough thinking, she told herself, deliberately humming a Tiffany song to bring a smile to her face. No amount of dragging her feet made the distance to the Victrola farther away. Finally, she finished the short journey to stand in front of the final resting place of her mother’s spirit. Her body was in the graveyard right outside town, but when she died, she’d chosen to attach herself to the antique instead of going on to her eternal rest. Mel had never asked why. Peggy Hargrove had probably felt her time here on Earth had been cut short. That, combined with a desire to remain near her husband and young daughter, was enough reason to pass up the opportunity to go to the Good Place. Mel had found that each ghost’s reasons were different, and she had been told after her first time asking that it was bad etiquette to put ghosts on the spot for their back stories and why they’d stayed instead of crossing. Fortunately, it had been Chester, the gossipiest ghost in Hargrove’s Junkyard, that she’d asked, instead of someone not so nice. He’d been quick to warn her off questioning any of the other residents of Hargrove Junkyard. It was personal and usually not pretty. Unfinished business often was.

  Peggy Hargrove sighed as Mel looked at the ground. “My word, girl, it’s not that bad. Just come over here for a second.” Peggy, sitting on the edge of the couch next to her silent music machine, was dressed in a floral top and teal fold-over jeans from the eighties. Normally, she just stuck her head out of the horn situated on the top of the machine, but this time she had come all the way out of the vessel to materialize fully.

  Was this going to be a long talk, then? A serious one? Mel didn’t know if she could handle one of those right now, with how raw she felt from watching her father drive away. Again.

  Still, Mel took her place on the couch next to her mother’s ghostly form. Mumford wasn’t far behind as he pawed the side of the couch. His legs were so stumpy, he couldn’t jump up by himself, so she had to help him. Reaching down, she gathered him to sit on her lap, then dug her fingers into his fur for comfort.

  Trying to keep him off the furniture had lasted about three minutes when they’d decided to keep him. Mel had thought she’d put her foot down about the issue, but he was sneaky about it at first, engaging various ghosts, especially Bernie, who lived in the couch, to help him up if she wouldn’t. In the end, she realized it was easier to pull him up herself instead of watching him float along the floor until someone strong enough boosted him up. And honestly, she appreciated the weight of him against her leg, and his heat. August in Central Pennsylvania was hot as anything outside, but in here, the temperature had dropped significantly, thanks to the air conditioner and her mother’s full-body manifestation.

  “I wish you wouldn’t look like he was leaving you all over again every time he walks out the door.” Peggy laid her hand on Mel’s, even though she had no substance.

  Mel looked down at what should have been a comforting touch and wished she could feel the nestling body warmth she remembered from before her mother had died way too young.

  Shaking her permed bangs, Mel also shook off the melancholy. “I just can’t help missing him when he’s gone. I wish he didn’t always have to wander, I guess. Every time he goes, it leaves me feeling like maybe I’m doing something wrong that drives him away.”

  Peggy’s fingers curled in, though Mel could only watch, not feel. “Oh, sweetie, that’s not it at all. Your dad was a wanderer way before you came into our lives. His whole life he’s felt tied to the junkyard, and adventure calls to him. When he was in high school, all he dreamed about was going into the Merchant Marines. His dad refused to let him go because he had things to do at home, as an only child. Even when I met him, he wasn’t as committed to tending as you are. He likes the finding. It’s not you. I promise.”

  There was sadness behind that statement, as if maybe her mother had had to tell herself that over the years when she was living. Mel struggled against the urge to ask.

  As far as Mel knew, her mother had never left the house after she’d died. Conversely, her father jetted out shortly after the funeral, leaving Mel to spend years becoming independent. Her mother could only do so much as a ghost, and Mel had learned quickly to rely on herself. She’d been lonely, too, but had convinced herself she preferred that. But then Becker had answered her ad for someone to just hang out with, and the rest was history.

  Now she had far more in her personal life than she ever had before, although it included struggling with the needs of each person and thing in her life, where before it had been only her and the ghosts, who didn’t really need anything.

  “I know all that. I just always wished he’d settle down. I don’t want him running all the time.”

  “He’s not running, sweetie, he’s exploring. It’s in his blood, and he needs this. At least he always comes home.”

  Mel watched the ghostly hand lift and knew it was running down her frosted and permed hair, but all she felt was a slight rustling at the top of the bow.

  “I love you, and so does he.”

  “I know that.”

  “And now you have Becker.”

  Yes, she did, though sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night absolutely sure that he had left, too.

  Shaking off the feeling, Mel jumped up from the couch and dusted her hands together. “It’s dinnertime for my lovey, and Becker will be here soon.” She tried to scoot Mumford off the couch and laughed when he refused to budge.

  “Dinner, poochie.” That, of course, got him moving like lightning. The boy could eat. And so could Becker. Maybe she’d try that twice-baked potatoes recipe she’d found on the internet the other day. Something positive would be good right now.

  “Please, listen when I tell you that your dad and I love you, Mel. If I could have stayed, I would have. I did the best I could with the things I had at my disposal.”

  “Oh, Mom.” Mel knelt on the floor at the couch and rested her head on the cushion next to where her mother’s lap would have been had she been solid. “I know that, too. And I know you didn’t want to leave. I also get that Dad has to wander. I do have Becker, which is awesome. It’s all good, but sometimes it takes a little while, and some awesome eighties music, to work my way through it.”

  Mel made an effort to smile big and then cranked up the stereo, playing Pat Benatar so loud she couldn’t think.

  She’d make those potatoes and sing her heart out. In the end, it would all be good. Becker would be here soon, and she’d enjoy his company until it was time to go to bed. Then she’d snuggle into his arms to sleep well until he had to go to work in the morning. As the local vet in the town of Frysville, Pennsylvania, he was busy, but so was she.

  In fact, she had an energy cleaning to do tomorrow, an important one she did every year. Tonight, after dinner and some time with Becker, she’d start getting her kit together and be ready for tomorrow with bells on.

  It was the way life worked, after all. Just having a plan made her feel better. That didn’t stop her from rocking out to Pat Benatar at a level that shook the very timbers of the old Victorian situated in the middle of a junkyard that only a select few knew was filled with ghosts and the objects they were attached to.

  Chapter Two

  She didn’t know how he knew, but Becker brought her a vase of roses that smelled heavenly and instantly lifted her, along with the kiss he planted on her as soon as he walked through the door. His jeans were low-slung, and his white T-shirt made her hum under her breath. He was everything she could have ever hoped for, if she’d ever let herself hope.

  Mumford, the silly dog, tried to jump up into Becker’s arms. Over the course of the last month, the dog had become jealous of any affection not directed toward him.

  They both laughed as Becker reached down to pick up the Corgi mix. Mel had no trouble sharing the love. She scratched h
is ear and snuck in another kiss with Becker while the dog was distracted.

  “I’m going to get these into water, and then we’ll have dinner.”

  “Sounds good. And smells even better.” He hugged her close and kissed the top of her head. “Anything on the schedule for this evening, or are we in for the night?”

  “We’re in. I was going to work with Dougal about doing his first solo cleaning tomorrow, if you want to hang with us. Or he and I can work by ourselves if you have stuff to do.”

  “Nope, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I want to see how this all works. I feel like I should do more to see how things are done around here.”

  She appreciated his interest, especially if this was going to continue as they had been since he moved in. She would never ask him to give up his vet practice, but she’d like him to be involved if he wanted to be, so that she wasn’t a one-woman show. Which was funny because she’d figured for years that she’d be alone forever. And now her life was so full it was almost overwhelming sometimes.

  After dinner, they sat in the living room. Dougal joined them, along with the ghostly equivalent of a gossip rag, Chester, because of course he was into everything. She also had her mom there to answer any ghost-type questions. Mel only knew her side, not the ghost side.

  “Basically it’s the same thing you’ve been doing lately with a partner, but this time I was going to have you go on your own,” she said to Dougal, who sat cross-legged on the floor next to Mumford. “It’s a routine cleaning. Every year Jacquelyn Featherman’s family comes into town for a week. While they’re clean enough about not messing up her physical house, they do mess with her spiritual house, and bring out all kinds of things that need to sleep.”

  “Can I ask a question?” Becker actually raised his hand.

  Mel laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “Of course.”

  He blushed, endearing himself to her even more. “So if they do this every year, why does she have them come to her house? Which raises another question.”