Page 12 of The Burnt (The Declan Hunt Mysteries #3)

Charlie quickly typed up the notes from his meeting with Simon Griffin.

He sent the report to the printer, then put it on Declan’s desk.

When he came back into the main room, he looked around at the stacks of files and reports that still needed to be put away.

Mrs B wouldn’t be happy if she was greeted by this mess when she came in on Monday.

“No time like the present.”

He filed what he could and put the rest back into a single pile on the coffee table. Then he went to the computer and deleted the posting for the job Mrs B had taken back. When he looked at the clock, it was two-thirty. His stomach announced in no uncertain terms that he had skipped lunch.

“Okay, okay. I’ll feed you.”

He locked the door and headed down to Gwen’s.

As he entered, she asked, “Back again? So, what can I get my favourite customer this time?” The aromas of coffee and pastries that filled the air never failed to entice him every time he walked through the door.

“The usual, please,” Charlie said.

“And what would that be? I mean, you seem to like everything I make—which I am thrilled with. How is it that you haven’t gained an ounce since you started here?”

Charlie scanned the contents of her display case. She was right—he could easily order one of everything.

“I’ll have a ham and brie croissant and a latte please. Oh, and for here.”

She started to perform her magic behind the counter. Charlie leaned on the other side, watching her work.

“I have some great news for you,” he started, but before he could finish, she interrupted.

“I know—Mrs B is coming back to work with you. Declan already told me when the two of them were heading out for lunch. Here,” she said, sliding his plated sandwich toward him. “Grab a seat and I’ll bring you your coffee.”

He’d eaten most of the sandwich by the time she returned.

“So,” Gwen began, “if Joan’s coming back to the office, where will you be working?”

“Declan wants me to set up my own office space. Well, it won’t be an office yet—more of a corner outside his, but he said we can get someone to throw up some walls and a door when we get some more money coming in.”

He realised that he probably shouldn’t be discussing the company’s finances with her. “Forget I said that last part.”

“It’s forgotten.”

“Good. Now, Mrs B said I should ask you about old office furniture that you might have stored away in the basement. Do you really have some down there that we could…borrow?”

She smiled. “No, but I’ve got some that you can have. Wanna go have a look?” She walked toward the back of the shop.

“Is it okay just to leave the café unattended?” he asked.

“It’s late enough. No one other than you or Sam would be coming around. Just lock the front door and flip the ‘Closed’ sign around. Now, let me show you what I have in the basement.”

As they walked toward the cellar steps, Gwen asked, “What do you need?”

“It’s really just a corner of the main office space, so…a desk and chair. Maybe a filing cabinet and a bookcase.”

Gwen flicked on the basement light switch then headed down. “Let’s see what we can do for you. So…getting your own space. I’m proud of how far you’ve come in the last six months. Anyone that can put up with Declan for that long without walking out has accomplished a lot.”

Charlie turned the corner into what appeared to be a furniture storage room. There were stacks of drawers and several disassembled desks piled on top of each other. A row of dark wooden bookcases lined one wall and a corral of chairs and filing cabinets filled the rest of the room.

“It’s all been here since I set up shop and it’s just taking up space. I’ve always meant to have a huge garage sale, but I never got around to it. Might as well start with you. What’ll you have?”

Charlie started at one end and worked his way to the other. He pulled together the pieces of a beautiful old oak desk which had a single bank of drawers. He located a matching chair.

“What about this to go with it?” Gwen said, patting the top of a five-tier oak barrister’s bookcase. “The glass on the doors is still intact.”

“It’s gorgeous,” he said, running his hands over the dusty surface. “I think it would look perfect up there.”

Charlie plopped down in the leather-upholstered wooden chair he’d chosen, spinning it around. It would do perfectly until he got something more ergonomic. Or maybe he would just keep this one. It felt…right.

Gwen stood in the dim light, smiling. “It all looks very Sam Spade. All you need is the trench coat and the fedora.”

“Any idea whose furniture it was?” Charlie asked, patting the chair.

She smiled mischievously. “Well, the guys who owned the building before me were morticians. I assume it was theirs.”

The word ‘morticians’ echoed in Charlie’s ears.

Gwen continued, “Didn’t you notice the sign carved into the stone above the door leading up to Declan’s office? ‘Hallowell Brothers, Undertakers’?”

Charlie shook his head.

“Well, it’s just ‘Hallowell Brothers, Under’ right now,” Gwen continued.

“The rest is hidden under my sign. What’s now the café was once their funeral chapel.

They had their casket showroom upstairs, and their office was where Declan has his.

The third floor was where they stored the extra coffins and I think they prepped the bodies down here in the basement.

In fact, they used to have a retort over there where they cremated the bodies.

The exhaust flue came in handy when I moved in and put in the bakery. ”

Charlie shuddered.

Gwen continued. “If you look at the floor in Declan’s office, you’ll see a patch of newer flooring. The same up in his apartment. They used to have a dumbwaiter for caskets so they wouldn’t have to carry them down the stairs.”

Charlie stared at her. “My beautiful new office space was once covered in coffins?”

Gwen shrugged. “I suspect this building probably has a few ghosts lingering around, but I’ve never seen any. Have you?”

Charlie paused . “Uh…nope.”

Charlie could tell she didn’t believe him.

“Oh, come on now,” she said, breaking into a laugh. “You, of all people can’t believe in that, can you?”

“Maybe just a little.”

Gwen grinned. “You, my friend, are going to have to cut down on your caffeine and sugar intake immediately. Now, let’s get this up to your office. The two of us can manage the lighter stuff. We’ll have to wait for Declan to come home before we can tackle the heavier things.”

“Hello?” a voice called from upstairs.

Charlie jumped.

“Down here in the cellar,” Gwen yelled.

Charlie heard heavy footsteps and a familiar voice. “Your front door was locked so I came in the back. What are you doing down here?”

The large frame of Sam Hunt appeared around the corner.

“Perfect timing. You can give us a hand taking some of these pieces up to Charlie’s new space. Things are getting serious up there. He’s getting his own office.”

Gwen smiled. “I’ve got some freshly baked scones that will make it worth your while if you help us.”

Sam grinned. “I’d get my way more often if you weren’t such a damned good baker.”

It took a few hours, but Charlie and the others managed to get everything upstairs. The three of them were sweating from the exertion by the time everything was put together and in place, but it looked great. Charlie couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

“Don’t offices usually come with walls?” Sam said from where he was lying on the couch.

Charlie piped up. “There’s a plan to put up walls, but not just yet.”

“The space is still missing something,” Gwen said. “Some artwork. Something to suit the vibe of the old furniture.”

“Like what?” Charlie asked.

“How about we find a photo of what this building used to look like when it was a funeral home—”

“A what?” Sam asked.

“Sam—don’t interrupt.” She turned back to Charlie. “We’ll find an old picture and get it blown up. We could hang it above the bookcase,” she said with a devilish smile on her face.

“Over my dead body,” Charlie replied.

Gwen bent down and gave Charlie a kiss on the head. “Hopefully it never comes to that. Now, come on, Sam. Let’s get those scones, then we can go home, get cleaned up and I’ll take you out for dinner.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders and they headed down the stairs, leaving Charlie alone.

He spent the next hour cleaning his desk and bookcase, then polished the leather chair with a soft cloth until it shone like new.

Charlie stood back and marvelled at his bureau sans murs , as the French would say—an office without walls.

Gwen wasn’t the only one around here with a deft hand at French and, like Gwen’s Les Trois Magots , he’d be open to anyone in need.

And, speaking of Gwen, there wasn’t a hope in hell that he was putting up a photo of a mortuary above that beautiful bookcase.

He’d hang his very serious-looking university diploma there.

His credibility needed all the help it could get.

Just then, his eye caught a flash of something reflected in one of the bookcase glass doors. Charlie spun around. His heart raced. There was nothing. It must have been a reflection from the street below.

“You absolute wuss,” he said, plunking himself down in his chair.

This felt like it was the start to a new life.

He slowly turned the chair on its pivot and out of the corner of his eye, inside the door to Declan’s office, he swore he saw the shadow of a person.

They were only there for a moment, then they were gone.

This time it was no trick of the light. He was sure of it.

He sat motionless, staring at where the apparition had been. Get a grip! His heart was pounding out of his chest.

You are a rational human being. It’s just an old building playing tricks on you… An old building that you are the only living person in.

Air moved past his cheek. He gasped. Then he swore a soft voice whispered, “Help me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he said to himself. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

When the stairs that led up to the apartment squeaked, it was too much.

Charlie grabbed everything he needed and ran down to his car. As he waited for it to warm up, he texted Declan.

Heading out early. Don’t forget it’s the annual Carrie/Charlie get-outta-town weekend. See you on Monday!

By the way, I had a visit from a promising client. Appears to be wealthy! His name’s Simon Griffin. He’s looking for his missing son, Milo. Coincidence? Report is on your desk for when you get back.

Smooches,

Me.