“It’s a sordid life, but I’m used to it.”
—Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye
I opened my eyes to find myself standing in front of a rain-streaked apartment window…
“Welcome to my world, baby.”
When I turned around, I was facing him, though facing was far from accurate. The tall private detective with the acre of shoulders was standing so close that my nose was practically hitting his chest.
His bare chest.
“You okay, doll? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Jack was teasing, of course, but I didn’t laugh. After the intimacy of hearing his voice in my head for so long, actually seeing this towering, vital man in his prime—which he’d been before his premature death—always gave me somewhat of a shock.
To top it off, in all the times he’d taken me back to his past, I’d never before confronted Jack in this state of undress. Embarrassed, I stepped back, touched my suddenly hot cheeks, and realized my hands were wearing white cotton gloves.
Glancing down, I saw my nightgown was gone, replaced by a blouse with red polka dots, and a pencil skirt that fell below my knees. My legs were encased in stockings, and on my feet were peep-toed pumps.
Jack’s feet were bare, just like his chest, though he wasn’t completely naked. At least the man is wearing pajama bottoms, I thought, which was when I noticed he was holding a gun.
“Jack, why are you—”
Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!
Before I could finish my sentence, a little dog ran up to me and began to sniff my stockings. The adorable cairn terrier was no more than fifteen pounds, with silky chocolate fur, black points for ears, and bright brown eyes. A pink bow was clipped to the top of her excited head.
“Hello, girl.” I reached down to stroke her soft fur. “What a cute little thing you are… Is this the dog that supposedly hired you?”
“No supposing about it. Take a look at this.” Jack handed me an envelope. Inside was a letter that began: Dear Jack Shepard, I want you to find me some answers…
What followed was a list of typed instructions that made no sense—at least at first glance. No name. No address. Also inside was a hundred-dollar bill.
“The little fur hat was leashed to my doorknob. The envelope was slipped under its collar.”
“Yes, but by whom?” I asked. “Someone must have left the dog.”
“By the time I opened the door, whoever left her was long gone…”
I glanced around the apartment.
“What night of the week is this, anyway?”
“Friday.”
“Really? Late Friday night, and you’re all alone? No female company?”
Jack shrugged. “I typically would have some soft shoulders up here to join me for a, uh, shall we say, nightcap? But on this particular Friday, there was no lipstick left on my, uh, shall we say, tumblers?”
“Oh, you’re hilarious. And your answer tells me absolutely nothing. Come on, Jack. Why no female company? And why in heaven’s name are you holding a gun in your hand?”
“Same answer for both, Inspector.” Jack set the gun on the coffee table. “When I heard the dog’s heavy breathing and scratching at my front door, I thought it was an ex‑con named Muggsy following through on a threat. That’s the same reason I was flying solo this evening. If I was going to tangle with a Hell’s Kitchen hothead, I didn’t want some dame around to distract me—or be put in harm’s way.”
“Yes, but I’m here, and I’m a dame.”
“No, Penny. Tonight you’re not a dame.”
“What am I, then?”
“You’re my partner.”
I liked the sound of that—and the way Jack looked at me when he’d said it. “Okay, partner,” I said, “will you do me one favor?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On the favor . . .”
Jack stepped closer, so close that I could feel the heat coming off his half-naked body, a stark contrast from the ghostly cold of his typical presence—in my present, which this wasn’t. This was Jack’s past. His world. And I had to keep my reactions in check, because back here, Jack was the polar opposite of a disembodied voice. His heart was still beating, his breath still warm, and his vital, masculine energy still so palpable that it nearly overwhelmed me.
“Go on, honey,” he said, his deep voice softening. “What’s the favor?”
“Will you please put on a shirt!”
Jack agreed to my favor, though not without a moment of minor humiliation (entirely on my part).
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll put on a shirt for you. In fact, I’m flattered. I never had a partner in the PI game who couldn’t control their animal attraction to me…”
“My request has nothing to do with animal attraction!” I insisted as he headed into the bedroom. “It’s only a matter of propriety!”
“If you say so.”
The smug reply was annoying enough to help me clear my head and refocus on—
Ruff-ruff-ruff!
“Come here, girl. Let me have a look at you.” I examined the dog’s leash and collar; both appeared new, but there was no tag, no ID.
“What are you looking for?” Jack returned, pulling an undershirt over his head.
Before I could answer, the terrier’s furry little legs rocketed her into the kitchen. We followed to find her pawing at a cupboard.
Ruff-ruff-ruff!
“I think she’s hungry…”
I checked the kitchen cupboards, but except for finding a tin of preground coffee, I had no luck. “You don’t have anything for the dog to eat?”
“Not unless you count cigarettes and gum.”
“You can’t feed a dog that!”
“Then she’ll have to wait till morning.”
“Come on, Jack, there must be some solution?”
“There is, doll. Put your brain into it.”
“Okay…You have lots of neighbors on this floor, don’t you? I’ll bet someone owns a dog. If they do, I’m sure they’ll lend you some food—and, hey, don’t you want to canvas the floor, anyway? I mean, just because you didn’t see who left the dog doesn’t mean one of your neighbors didn’t see something, right?”
“Not bad, partner. There’s hope for you yet. So how should we proceed?”
“I’m not sure. But give me a minute, and I’ll give you a plan.”
From The Ghost Goes to the Dogs: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery by Cleo Coyle. Used with the permission of the publisher, Berkley. Copyright © 2023 by Alice Alfonsi and Marc Cerasini
THE GHOST GOES TO THE DOGS by Cleo Coyle
A stray dog leads bookseller Penelope McClure and her gumshoe ghost on a chase for a cunning criminal in this brand-new entry in the “UTTERLY CHARMING” (Mystery Scene) Haunted Bookshop Mysteries from New York Times bestselling author Cleo Coyle.
Pet Mystery Week brings brisk business to Penelope’s Rhode Island bookshop, but a real mystery comes barking at her door when a lost dog turns up in a panic. Pen and her son Spencer follow the furry fugitive to a wooded area where the dog’s owner lies unconscious. Mrs. Cunningham is a warm-hearted widow who volunteers at the animal shelter and runs Buy the Book’s pet lovers book club. Why would anyone shoot such a sweet soul?
The police believe it’s an accident, a shot by a careless deer hunter, but Pen remains skeptical. To straighten out this doggone mess, she whistles for the ghost of PI Jack Shepard, an expert in hounding as well as haunting. Jack has a dog story of his own, a case from the 1940s that may help Pen sniff out clues to her present predicament. Yet even with Jack’s hard-boiled help, Pen may not be able to stop the killer from striking again or letting this whole case go to the dogs…
Mystery Cozy | Mystery Paranormal | Mystery Book Lover [Berkley, On Sale: May 2, 2023, Mass Market Paperback / e-Book, ISBN: 9780425255490 / eISBN: 9780698188686]
Buy THE GHOST GOES TO THE DOGS: Amazon.com | Kindle | BN.com | Apple Books | Kobo | Google Play | Powell’s Books | Books-A-Million | Indie BookShops | Ripped Bodice | Love’s Sweet Arrow | Libro.fm | Audible | Walmart.com | Target.com | Amazon CA | Amazon UK | Amazon DE | Amazon FR
About Cleo Coyle
CLEO COYLE is the New York Times bestselling pseudonym for Alice Alfonsi, writing popular fiction in collaboration with her husband, Marc Cerasini. With more than 1 million books sold, Alice and Marc have authored more than 25 works in their two long-running, “relentlessly entertaining” mystery series.
Praised as a “master of misdirection” by Mystery Scene magazine, Cleo Coyle has been awarded starred reviews by Library Journal and Kirkus, honored with Best of Year selections by multiple reviewers, and recommended by Booklist and Library Journal for core library mystery collections.
Cleo’s Coffeehouse Mystery series, celebrated for pioneering both the “coffee” and “urban cozy” genres, follows the adventures of amateur sleuth Clare Cosi, a single mom with a complicated love life who manages a Greenwich Village coffeehouse and a quirky crew of baristas while helping the NYPD solve perplexing crimes.
Cleo’s Haunted Bookshop series, hailed as a highly original blend of cozy and hardboiled genres, features an earnest young New England widow who catches criminals with the help of a gumshoe ghost, the irresistible spirit of a tough private detective who’d been gunned down in her bookshop decades before.
In addition to their critically acclaimed mysteries, Alice and Marc have written multiple works of fiction and nonfiction for adults and children. They are also accomplished tie-in writers who have created bestselling properties for Lucasfilm, NBC, Fox, Disney, Imagine, Toho, and MGM.
Originally from Western Pennsylvania, Alice and Marc live in New York City, where they haunt coffeehouses, hunt ghosts, wrangle rescue cats, cook like crazy, and write independently and together.
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