An Open Spook (A Haunted Guesthouse Mystery) by E.J. Copperman Read Free Book Online

a T-shirt with a picture of Jimi Hendrix on it, was coming in from his room. He wore white socks on his skinny ankles, highly visible in the remaining candlelight. He looked like either Cheech or Chong; I can never remember which is which.
    And what was weirdest of all: He was carrying the measuring cup I’d been looking for before dinner.
    “Is everything okay?” he asked Alison when he reached the landing. “I heard a really loud noise.”
    “Everything’s okay, Mac,” she said in what Melissa calls her “hostess voice.” “There’s no damage. Go ahead back to bed.”
    “It’s almost six,” he answered. “I might as well stay up.” He started to walk toward us.
    “What’s that in your hand?” I asked him, knowing full well what it was.
    Mac looked down at his right hand, almost as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I found this next to my bed. Any idea what it was doing there?”
    I took the cup from him. It was empty. “None at all,” I answered.
    “And my hand smells like chicken,” he added. “Far out, huh? Made me hungry.” He laughed to himself.
    “Maybe we should get some breakfast together,” I said to Alison. “The stove is gas, so there’s no reason we can’t cook, anyway. Maybe we could make a little something more than just coffee. Would you like some breakfast, Mac?”
    The guest looked surprised. “I thought food wasn’t included.”
    Alison smiled. “We make exceptions for hurricanes,” she said.
    “Well, if it’s not too much trouble,” Mac answered.
    “You sure it’s safe?” Maxine asked. “I’ve seen how you cook.” Alison’s mouth twitched, but she resisted the urge to glare in Maxine’s direction.
    “I can help,” I volunteered.
    Mac had reached the sofa and I stood up to start toward the kitchen. “I’ll do it, Mom,” Alison said with a tiny amount of edge in her voice. She’s not interested enough to be a great cook, but she does know how to brew coffee and can make some breakfasts. Although without a toaster to make frozen waffles, I wasn’t sure what else she could produce, but I decided to let her be the innkeeper and nodded.
    But Alison stopped halfway to the kitchen when she heard me gasp, and Melissa’s eyes were fixed at the same spot that had caught my eye a moment ago—the glint of light from Mac’s arm.
    He was wearing a POW bracelet.

Chapter 6
    Everyone—living and dead—in the room stopped in their tracks, not that the ghosts really have tracks. Everyone, that is, except Mac, who was auditioning comfortable places to sit. He settled on the easy chair facing the sofa.
    “Is that what I think it is?” Paul asked. I nodded, and so did Alison. His right hand went immediately to his goatee.
    Mac barely had a chance to settle into the easy chair and look up when Melissa saved us. Before he could notice he was the center of attention, she cleared her throat and said, “That’s a really cool bracelet you’re wearing, Mac. May I see it?”
    Alison’s guest, who was being careful to keep his long robe closed all the way to his white socks, seemed puzzled by the question. “Bracelet?” he asked.
    “Yes, sir,” Melissa answered, pointing at Mac’s left forearm. Alison looked concerned, and Maxine moved closer to Melissa, just in case. She’s very protective.
    He looked at it as if it were someone else’s. “Oh!” he said. “Sure, of course. I’d forgotten.” He leaned forward as much as he could and held out his wrist. “It’s called a POW bracelet,” he answered. “Do you know what that means?”
    Melissa stole a quick glance at her mother, and Alison shook her head. “No, sir,” she told Mac. “What is it?”
    The older gentleman explained, as I had, the origins of the bracelet. “I’ve had it for at least forty years, I guess,” he said, then looked at Melissa as if he’d forgotten she was there. “I’ve never taken it off in all that time. And it’s not just nostalgia.” He looked at