The Silent Ghost

Sue Ann Jaffarian

BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK

Title Page

Copyright Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Special Excerpt from
Ghost à la Mode

Special Excerpt from
Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini

Special Excerpt from
Gem of A Ghost

Tanisha Costello pressed an index finger into the bits of flakey dough and nuts left on her plate and brought it to her lips, licking it slowly. Even the crumbs of the baklava she’d eaten earlier, with their hint of cardamom and rose water, made her smile in comfort.

The proper name of the coffee shop was Garabedian’s Café and Bakery, but everyone called it Gabby’s. Tanisha liked to sit in the back. The small alcove to the left of the counter, its walls paneled in dark wood with the top halves open shelves for books and knickknacks, felt comforting and cozy. The aromatic air of the Middle Eastern-styled shop and its exotic spices and baked goods stimulated her as much as the caffeine jolt from the espresso she ordered. It was far more homey and interesting than the ubiquitous coffee shop chains, with their modern, sterile décor and rows of commuter mugs and French presses for sale.

She’d been here for two hours, working on her laptop, drinking coffee, and watching customers flow in and out of the establishment. But there was really only one customer that held her interest. She’d seen the girl before. The first time this past May. She had wanted to approach her then, but the girl had disappeared, no doubt heading home from college for a summer of ease or off to some internship set up by her father. She looked the type to have a rich and powerful daddy—beautiful and privileged with an aura of entitlement. Although, Tanisha chided herself, looks could be deceiving and she shouldn’t judge. Hadn’t she preached that since she was old enough to learn it herself?

The girl she was watching had long blonde hair that extended well past her shoulders. Her skin was unblemished and fair, with the faded kiss of summer sun. She was dressed like most students—jeans, boots, and a sweatshirt over a long-sleeved oxford shirt with the tails of the shirt hanging below the hem
of the sweatshirt. Tanisha could tell the clothes, while casual, were of good quality with recognizable labels.

The girl was bent over an iPad, reading with great concentration, only pausing once in a while to sweep her long hair back behind an ear whenever it fell forward and blocked her vision. As usual, she was seated at a table in a front corner of the coffee shop with a partial view of the quaint Cambridge street beyond the window. She seemed to favor that table, just as Tanisha preferred the smaller tables in the shadows at the back. Sometimes a friend or two shared the table with her, but usually the girl was alone. A Harvard undergrad, Tanisha guessed. She could have been from any one of the numerous colleges and universities in the area, but Tanisha’s money was on Harvard.

Gabby’s was near the Harvard campus, and many students patronized it, though most chose the crowded coffee shops closer to the school, or even the new one recently opened on the campus itself. Usually, the students who came to Gabby’s—
her
coffee shop—were more serious about their public study time.

Now it was fall and the blonde was back. Tanisha was glad, as her curiosity about her hadn’t waned during the summer. In fact it had gotten stronger. She’d seen her for the first time this semester two weeks ago and each Tuesday afternoon since.

“Zak, who’s that girl? The one on the far side by the corner.” Tanisha’s question, asked in a low voice, was aimed at a tall, lanky waiter who cleared her plate and refreshed her coffee from a metal pot with a long spout.

“Don’t know, T, but she comes in a few times a week. Seems pleasant. Good tipper. Drinks mostly tea. Seems to like the grilled veggie and hummus sandwich on whole wheat pita.”

“Pretty young thing like that,” Tanisha teased, “and you don’t know her name? You must be slipping.”

Zak glanced at the girl, then grinned at Tanisha. “Too young, too blonde, too California. I prefer my women dark, bitchy, and filled with East Coast angst. Like you.”

“Down boy. We’ve been there, done that, or don’t you remember?”

He blew her a kiss as he walked away. “I only remember the good stuff, T.” Before he reached the counter, he added, “By the way, great piece you wrote for the
Globe
this week.”

Tanisha shook her head and blushed a little in spite of herself. Her career as a freelance writer and journalist was slow in building, but building just the same. It felt good to be praised for doing something she loved, even if it still felt odd and uncomfortable to her. Picking up her warm mug, she held it between both hands and studied the girl over the rim. Was she really from California or was Zak just guessing?

The young woman had stopped reading and was quietly talking on her cell phone, using an earpiece. At least she’s polite, Tanisha thought. She hated people who talked loudly on their phones in public, or worse, used the speaker feature, as if the world would be a better place for hearing their insipid conversations. Near the girl, Tanisha caught the slightest shimmer of light, like millions of dust motes dancing in the sun.

Tanisha sat up straight. This is what had caught her attention back before summer break began. The girl in her sights often had that hazy shimmer around her. Tanisha had seen things like it before, and she had definite theories on what it could be.

“Whitecastle,” breathed a hushed voice.

Tanisha looked up at Zak, who was next to her table and bending close. “Huh?”

“Her name is Whitecastle. Kelly Whitecastle.” He waved a small white slip of paper under her nose. “She paid for her lunch with a credit card. Maybe she’s related to the hamburger people.”

Zak was in grad school at Boston College, working towards a master’s degree in biology. As smart as he was, Tanisha often found him dull-witted when it came to politics and culture, both pop and classical. It had been one of the reasons their relationship hadn’t worked out. He was a lab rat, noticing little beyond his discipline. She’d been surprised he’d even seen her piece in
The Boston
Globe
, let alone read it.

“White Castle restaurants have no connection to any Whitecastle family,” Tanisha informed him, not taking her eyes off of Kelly Whitecastle.

“Pardon me, Ms. Knows Everything.”

Tanisha shot Zak a scowl that melted into an appreciative nod. She did like the guy. “Thanks for the info.” She turned her attention to her laptop and started tapping in a frenzy.

“Does the name mean anything to you?” Zak asked.

“Sure does.” She glanced up at him without stopping her fingers. “Don’t you watch TV?”

“As little as possible,” he answered, “except for sports.” He started to leave, then turned quickly back to Tanisha, an index finger poised in the air. “Wait a minute, isn’t there some obnoxious clown on TV named Whitecastle?”

“Yep.” Tanisha pointed to her laptop screen. “Look familiar?”

Zak looked over her shoulder and read the caption under the photo on the screen. “Grant Whitecastle. Yeah, now I remember something. Isn’t he supposed to be a real tool?”

“Big-time tool. And it’s not just for show.”

“Poor kid. No wonder she goes to school in Boston.”