Abra on the Cadaver : A Paranormal Women's Midlife Fiction Novel (Tales of a Midlife Mortician Book 4)

Abra on the Cadaber A PARANORMAL WOMEN’S FICTION NOVEL TALES OF A MIDLIFE MORTICIAN #4 LISA MANIFOLD Copyright © 2023 by Lisa Manifold Tales of a Midlife Mortician Series Book Four Abra on the Cadaver Cover by Mariah Sinclair All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Created with Vellum All my love to Slinky, Louis, and Tootsie, best dogs and cat ever. And love to my Sassenach Sisters Who lift me up every time I see them. Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen About the Author Also by Lisa Manifold Chapter One “Damn it!” I looked at the broken window, hands on my hips, wanting to curse a lot more. I hadn’t been raised that way, however, and no matter how much the situation demanded some good cussing, I just couldn’t do it. Not generally. “Did you hear anything?” Alicia asked. I was shaking my head as I answered. “No, and the security system didn’t pick up on it, either.” I glared at the window again. “We need to call a window guy, and give the security system people some grief.” “Definitely,” Alicia said. “What’s missing?” I looked around the morgue. “Ahem,” a voice said. I didn’t look around, because I recognized the voice, and the harrumph of a gentleman wanting to speak. It was our resident ghost leader, Mortimer. He’d died in the 1800s, and he was generally the spokesperson for all the ghosts who lived in and around my funeral home. Ever since the body of Victoria Jones, my onetime frenemy, had ended up in my morgue, and a potion that allowed the user of said potion to talk to ghost had broken in my face, I’d been able to see and talk to the ghosts who lived here. There were quite a few, although I only saw five of them with any regularity. Caleb, Anastasia, Laverne, Constance, and Mortimer, who were here now, hands clasped in front of him, his face eager. I knew he wanted to talk to me, but I couldn’t have the conversation while Alicia was here. “Maybe go look in the supply room? See if anything’s out of order there?” I asked. Alicia nodded and headed off to our supply area. “What?” I whispered to Mortimer. If Alicia heard me, she’d think I was just talking to myself. At least, I hoped that’s what she’d think. “It was a man, and he went into the supply room, and took out large bottles,” Mortimer said proudly, like a boy giving me a good report of his grades. “You didn’t think to come and get me?” I asked. Mortimer blinked. “No, I—no. I didn’t. That’s odd,” he rubbed at his face with a hand. “Normally I would have gone to wake you up, but…no. I don’t know why I didn’t.” “None of you did,” I said, trying hard to keep the accusation out of my tone. Mortimer looked at me, the horror of the truth hitting him. “No, none of us did.” “Why not? What happened?” I asked. There was no accusation at all, because now I was both interested and concerned. My house ghosts were better than any alarm system. But no one had made a peep. “I… I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll go talk to everyone else, see what they remember.” “Do that. Let me know.” I clamped my lips together and tapped at them with one finger, trying to look like I was lost in thought and muttering to myself as I heard Alicia come back from the supply room. “Find anything?” I asked, turning around. She nodded. “The formalin. It’s gone.” “What?” “All of it. All seven bottles. It’s all gone.” I blinked. “Who the hell breaks in and steals formaldehyde?” “No one with good intentions,” Alicia replied, her tone grim. “You’re right. All right,” I sighed. “Let’s call the sheriff, and the glass smith, and the security company. If you handle the glass repair, I’ll deal with the other two.” “Done,” Alicia said, heading for the phone. I went upstairs, taking the elevator. Once in the office, I called the sheriff, and within thirty minutes, I had two officers who I didn’t know peering up at the window in my basement morgue. I wished it was Tim Needlesworth, the deputy I normally dealt with, but no such luck. “You said the formaldehyde was missing?” One of them, David Something-or-Other, asked, notebook in hand. “Yes. Seven bottles of it.” “Did you notice anything else missing?” I turned to Alicia. “I didn’t. Did you?” “No. Just the Formalin,” she said. “The what?” David asked. “The Formalin. That’s the name of the brand of formaldehyde we used,” Alicia said. “Right, right,” Deputy David said, making a note in his small notebook. “When can I get a copy of this report?” I asked. “I may need it for insurance.” “I should be able to have this ready for you tomorrow,” Deputy David said. “If that’s okay.” He smiled at Alicia, who didn’t return the smile. “Great. All right, then, I think we’re done?” I asked. A few more questions, and the deputies took another look around and then left, promising to email me a copy of the report. With the police report done—I didn’t think we’d have much luck finding the culprit, but who knew? I could be wrong—I set about calling the security company and scheduled a time with them to come out and look at the system tomorrow. We had cameras that could see all the way around the house and the property. I leaned back in the office chair. “You all right?” Sissy asked,