A Scandal in Boohemia: An Indigo Eady Cozy Mystery, #1

By Gwen Gardner

Indigo Eady can't live on ramen noodles forever…

She jumps on the first job offered. All she has to do is work undercover at Sabrina Shores Theatre, find a ghost thief, and cross him over. Easy peasy, right? Until an actor is murdered and Indigo's fingerprints are all over the pistol like ink on a Rorschach test.

Forced to dust off her rusty sleuthing skills to clear herself, Indigo enlists the help of her ghost friend Franny and her hunky ex-boyfriend Badger to help solve the crime. Now, how to keep her investigation from the handsome inspector?

***

Indigo Eady is a reluctant ghost whisperer, but she's grown quite attached to Franny Bishop, a former Victorian ghost madam of some repute. Franny's afterlife makes Indigo's life look like she has one foot in the grave. Much to Indigo's chagrin, Franny is determined to find her a man. After all, there are plenty of handsome men around ripe for the picking, and Franny's an expert. In the meantime, Indigo and Franny have murders to solve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookJaunts
• Release date: May 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9780988419537

Book preview

A SCANDAL

IN BOOHEMIA

An Indigo Eady

Cozy Mystery

By Gwen Gardner

BookJaunts Books

San Diego, CA

https://bookjaunts.com/

A SCANDAL IN BOOHEMIA

Copyright 2019 by Gwen Gardner.

ISBN: 978-0-9884195-3-7

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any informational storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinfafter invented without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

This edition published by arrangement with BookJaunts Books.

To my fellow armchair sleuthers who muddle through until we find the answers. This mystery is for you.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 1

I lifted my third cup of coffee to my lips and sipped, watching as the old bentwood rocker across the room rocked back and forth like a child’s swing in a gentle wind. A silver effervescence glowed around the chair as if it were a prop spotlighted on stage. A pair of gold knitting needles appeared mid-air, the clickety-click staccato joining the regular creaking of the chair to create a rhythmic beat in the otherwise quiet room. A multi-colored scarf took shape, its length unrolling scroll-like onto the floor. 

Late night, Franny? I asked from my bundle of blankets and sleeping bag on the floor of my new flat. My elbow rested on the sinking cardboard box desk where I’d been crunching numbers and chugging coffee for the past hour. But, no matter how I’d rearranged them, the figures turned out the same; dead broke. 

The rocker and knitting needles stilled. Franny Bishop’s sultry voice emerged. Why, yes! How did you know?

I smiled. You haven’t materialized yet. Which leads me to believe you’re low on energy. Franny enjoyed an active nightlife, unlike me. You’d have thought I was the dearly departed one. 

Franny materialized and continued knitting with expert hands. But she was far from the homebody you’d expect to see on the end of a pair of knitting needles. Franny always dressed for the occasion. Unlike other ghosts who wore the same outfit for eternity and a day—some with unfortunate style choices—Franny sported a different outfit for every occasion. Today’s dress was emerald green, tucked in at the waist, the skirts long and flowing, her ample bosom covered but prominent. She wore her shining black hair in a complicated twist at the back of her head. Respectable for a former Victorian madam of some repute. I bore a striking resemblance to her, except for the ample bosom… and tiny waist… and okay, my runner’s bubble butt.

Clever you. Franny glanced at me then back down at her knitting. Don’t frown, dear. It will give you wrinkles. What’s that you’re doing? 

I set the classified ads aside. Looking for a job. I glanced around the room. Last night’s leftover Indian takeaway littered the floor, chopsticks poking out from the red and white container. I needed to get my flat in order, but I had more pressing matters. Like eating. 

What can you do? she asked.

Good question. I’d graduated from an Oxford affiliated college four years ago with a degree in journalism, and had drifted across Europe since then, taking odd jobs here and there. But I had tired of drifting. That, and my lying, cheating, no-good Italian boyfriend convinced me it was time to come home. Although American, I’d come to England as a teenager when my father died, having lost my mother many years before. England was home now.

I wonder if the Sabrina Shores Herald would give me a job. I snatched the curried remains from the floor and rose to stuff the empty carton into the bin. I unpacked a box of dishes then shoved them into a cupboard. 

You don’t sound very excited about the prospect. Franny continued knitting as she glanced over at me.

I’m bored, I guess. I leaned against the counter. It all seems so trivial, pointless. I need something I can sink my teeth into.

Franny tucked her knitting into the chair and floated toward me. What you need is a nice murder to solve, dear. I do so miss those days when we used to investigate.

I stopped, my coffee mug halfway to my mouth. A murder? I don’t think so, Franny. As teenagers, my cousin Simon, our friend Badger, and I sleuthed our way through some tricky cases. By the grace of God, none of us got hurt. But now? Besides, I need a paying gig. We fell into those murder cases by default. We even solved a pirate mystery once that involved the Blind Badger pub. I shook my head. Such crazy talk. 

Franny shoved her hands onto her impossibly narrow waist. Why not? You kids were good at it. You could be a private eye, like Mike Hammer or Sam Spade. A faraway look crossed her features. Franny watched way too much late-night black and white television. 

My resounding no set her off on a tangent. 

Listen, Indigo Eady. You have a knack for solving mysteries, especially murder. Why, with your special talent, you even solved the murder of Badger’s father. 

Badger. Many teenage angsty daydreams were spent on him and the future children we’d have. I shook that girlhood fantasy right out of my head. I didn’t do it alone, Franny. And we were lucky. Most of the clues we happened to stumble upon by chance. 

But that’s all it ever is! she exclaimed. The professional dicks always stumble about. Why, just the other night I was watching Charlie Chan on the telly—you know how I love Number One Son—and he tripped over a dead body. The victim came across drug smugglers, and one was an addict and needed drugs, and it was curtains for anyone who got in his way. But he made mistakes, see, and it was only a matter of Charlie putting the clues together and following where they led. 

It was dangerous. And now that I’m back, I need a real job. A paying job. I moved back into the sitting room and slit open a box.

Franny returned to her knitting with a sigh. I suppose I’m bored too. At least criminals add a bit of spice to life. Why, back in my younger days, I was acquainted with a ruffian or two. What mayhem they caused! Not bad fellows, mind you, just rough around the edges. The criminal element always added a dash of daring. She hesitated, as if just now remembering I was there. I heard. 

I snorted. Uh huh.

"Life is too short. Don’t waste it on boredom. You need to follow your dreams. And speaking of dreams, that Badger is a real dream ship. Have you spoken to him yet?" 

"You mean dream boat, and Badger was a long time ago, Franny. We were kids. Besides, we’ve both moved on. He has a girlfriend." 

Pshaw, she snorted, in a most unladylike manner. 

Her seemingly innocent question didn’t fool me though. She always tried to hook me up so I didn’t end up an old maid. I’d have to be on the lookout for her matchmaking shenanigans, to be sure. I didn’t want to cause upheaval in Badger’s life. Because life with me—and my otherworldly talents and all that entailed—would never be easy. 

Aha! I pulled out a small painting I’d bought in France. Black cat silhouettes, their heads tilted intimately close and tails entwined, sat in a window staring out at the Eiffel Tower. Next, out came a series of Chat Noir postcards I’d planned to frame but never had. I smiled. They reminded me of Francois, my Paris boyfriend. He turned out to be gay. Another strikeout in the romance department. But it explained a lot.

I riffled through my pink tool pouch and came up with a hammer and some nails, then hung the pictures.

But, listen, Indigo… Franny continued, not ready to give up the quest. 

A knock at the door interrupted us. 

No ‘buts’, Franny, I said, walking over to fit my eye to the spyhole in the door. Badger is… My breath caught in my throat. … here! I glanced over my shoulder at Franny.

A feigned look of surprise crossed her interfering features.

Franny, what did you do? I rushed over to a box of clothes and yanked out a pair of jeans.  

Why, nothing. Only… I may have mentioned to Simon in passing that it would be nice to see Badger again. This morning. At nine o’clock. 

Simon hadn’t mentioned a word.

Another knock, louder this time. 

Indigo, are you in there? Simon called through the door. 

Just a minute! I called back then said to Franny, You could have warned me. Look at me! I look like a castaway stranded on a deserted island for ten years—minus the golden tan and bikini body. I tugged a pair of jeans up my pasty white legs, hopping and twisting into them, then grabbed a hoodie, pulled it over my tank top and trotted to the bathroom. I ran a toothbrush through my mouth in ten seconds flat. And you didn’t tell me you’d been in contact with Simon, I accused, coming back with a hairbrush. 

I guess I forgot to mention it, dear. Besides, like you said, Badger was a long time ago. Franny’s Mona Lisa smile didn’t fool me. I’d barely returned, and she was already butting her big fat ghostly nose into my love life.

Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. We’re grown-ups now. We won’t have anything in common. I shook my brush at her before yanking it through my hair.

She raised a coiffed eyebrow. Two attractive adults with a history? I’d say you have something in common. 

A few adolescent kisses, that’s all. I gave her my best stern look. And I forbid you to interfere. 

Her laughter echoed when she popped out of the room.

Chapter 2

Badger, hello! Come in! Hey, Simon! I hugged them both, my cheeks still burning from Franny’s comments. What did that old ghost know, anyway? 

Apparently, a thing or two. 

Badger had filled out nicely in all the right places. Grown-up looked darn good on him. His wavy brown hair hung a little too long, and as usual, was in need of a haircut. Gold flecks swam in his brown eyes. And what he did to a pair of jeans—not that I was looking.

Simon held up a bag from