Teen Spirit

ReGina Welling and Erin Lynn

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

© 2020 ReGina Welling and Erin Lynn

All Rights Reserved, worldwide.
No part of this book or any of its contents may be reproduced, copied, modified or adapted, without the prior written consent of the author, unless otherwise indicated for stand-alone materials.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or institutions is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Don’t enter into a staring contest with a ghost. You won’t win because they don’t have to blink.

And here’s one more tidbit, just for free. Don’t enter into a staring contest with a ghost while trying to stuff twinkle lights up Cupid’s backside.

Not even if the Cupid is made of ice.

“Sorry old boy, this isn’t fun for me, either,” I muttered to the ice sculpture as I fed the last three feet of wire into the cavity and shook the end of the strand so the lights filled his left leg.

It had taken a mere four days of constant calls and weird attempts at text messaging for Martha Tipton to wear me down. All seven and a half feet of the arrow-wielding symbol of love—and really, who knew getting shot with an arrow was the way to find love?—stood on the sidewalk like a welcoming sentinel for Mooselick River’s latest event.

I couldn’t even complain because he made one heck of a statement.

“That is the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Amber Hale stood so close her ghostly presence teased a foggy mist off the sparkling ice of Cupid’s chubby leg.

I didn’t disagree, but I did question her reason for being there.

“It’s been a week since I rescued Paul and got Reva sent to jail. You said you’d go into the light once all that business with my ex-husband was solved, and yet, you’re still here. Something’s wrong with this picture.”

“I guess I lied.” Amber, a former news reporter and current ghostly annoyance, showed no remorse whatsoever. “What are you going to do about it?”

Big, fat nothing was the answer. She grinned when I muttered an irritated comment under my breath as I began to feed lights into cupid’s arms.

Thanks to my friend Jacy’s big idea of turning the town into a giant ice bar for Valentine’s day, the project to raise the last five-hundred dollars for playground repairs had snowballed out of control. To make the endeavor family-friendly, there would now be two ices bars. One would serve ice cream during the day while we hosted half the animal shelters in the state, and then for the evening, we’d switch over to alcohol.

“All three of the local stations predict a high of thirty degrees today,” Amber said. “Below freezing, sunny, and no snow. That’s perfect conditions, right?”

“Yes,” I sighed since this wasn’t the first discussion of the weather I’d had that day and not even the first one I’d had with her. “And your father should be along soon to take photos for the town website. I think he was surprised and pleased to be asked.”

“I know, and I’m thankful. He’s so lonely. I just want to see him happy.” Because I knew her dad was the reason she’d decided to hang around in the space between this world and the next, I couldn’t fault Amber for not going into the light. Didn’t mean she needed to hover in my presence all the time, but at least her motives were pure. She mostly hung around me because I was the only one who could see her.

Cupid done, I picked up my box of lights and headed toward the first of four bar stations situated on either side of the main street. Amber drifted along behind me.

“I have to give you major credit for pulling this off. It looks amazing even during the daylight. I can’t wait to see it at night with all the lights on,” she said. “Looks expensive, though.”

Spending over a thousand dollars a shot on each of the four ice bars plus nearly double that on the glittering Cupid in order to raise five hundred bucks for playground improvements simply reeked of overkill. Getting the sculptor a feature in the hottest lifestyle magazine in the northeast whittled the bill down to half and only cost me one outstanding favor with the editor. Still, I’d be surprised if we broke even.

“It was.” And now it was time to see about that favor. “Do you think your father would be interested in working for—” I named the magazine and watched Amber’s eyes go wide. “I hope so, because I promised to convince him to take a meeting.” Part of my one hand washes the other campaign to get this event up and running for what money we had in the coffers, augmented by vendor permits and donations from those businesses in town expecting an increase in revenue.

Amber went speechless. A rarity, I assumed, based on what I’d learned of her during the past few weeks. Her ghostly eyes misted over.

“He’d love it. Oh, I wish I could give him a hug when he hears the news.”

Before I could come up with an awkward platitude, she added, “Incoming,” and flickered away. When I glanced up and saw the portly figure clad in a red-plaid wool jacket, I wished I had the ability to do the same. Just because I felt sorry for Clyde Stone didn’t mean I had to like him.

Cane in one hand, paper bag in the other—a bottle of cheap vodka poking out the top—he stomped over to offer his opinion on the setup for the event. “Waste of time and money dragging people in from all over Hell’s half-acre to crowd up the whole town. Should have had a raffle. Keep it simple.”

Since I didn’t entirely disagree with him, I merely made a humming noise and kept working while he elaborated on the topic. He broke off midsentence and my head exploded in pain. There wasn’t even time to say ouch before Clyde’s body slammed into me, and I landed on the frozen pavement with his weight knocking the wind out of me.

Somewhere in the background, I heard the crunch of snow under tires.

“Are you all right?” Between the ringing in my ears and Clyde still sprawled over me, I couldn’t tell who was asking, so I gave it my best grunt. Clyde huffed out a breath so rank it made my eyes water, and then rolled far enough off me that only my arm remained pinned to the ground.

“Don’t move.” Gentle fingers slid under and probed the back of my head while I slitted one eye open with effort and realized I was in good hands. Literally, as it were.

“I’m okay,” I said to David Barrington, former EMT. “What happened?”

“Bess Tate happened.” Clyde answered from slightly to my left. “The way she drives, that idiot is going to kill someone one of these days.”

The pounding in my head had already weakened to a throb, so I struggled to sit up, but David told me to wait until he got Clyde back on his feet first.

“What? Did she hit me with her car? I don’t understand.”

“She would have if I hadn’t pushed you out of the way,” Clyde wobbled a little on his feet as David let go of his arm to reach for my hand. “You can thank me anytime.”

“Thank you, I guess. Where is she?” I didn’t see Bess anywhere near.

“Parking that death machine of hers,” Clyde answered while David offered me a hand up. “The woman is a menace to pedestrians everywhere.”

Finally, I clued in. Clyde must have tried to knock me out of the way when Bess weaved too close to the sidewalk. None too steady on his feet for more reasons than just age, he’d bashed me with his vodka bottle and then landed on me. All in all, I might have been better off taking my chances with Bess and her behemoth of a car.

Still, as the momentary panic wore off, I didn’t think I was too badly injured. A little soreness around the ribs and a lingering headache seemed the worst of it. I could nip into Curated Collections, the combination second-hand shop and art gallery owned by two of my nearest and dearest friends, and raid Jacy’s first aid kit for aspirin.

While I worked out my plan, Clyde focused on Bess, settled his bag of booze more tightly into the crook of his arm, and stomped off in her direction. I almost wanted to stick around and see the fireworks when he caught up to her, but with slushy snow melting through my clothes, I decided it would better to head into the shop and grab an outfit off the racks while I was there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” David helped me stand up, brushed off some of the mess, and looked at me with concern.

“I'm fine. Clyde’s just heavier than he looks,” I said. “Could you take over here for a few minutes while I go get some dry clothes?”

When David nodded, I thrust the box of lights at him. “All you need to do is feed one set into each of the access holes at the base of the bar, and I promise I’ll hurry back.”

Chapter Two

During the half-block walk to the shop, I fished my keys out of my pocket. Grabbing pants and a sweater off the racks wouldn’t be a problem, but Jacy had a firm policy against selling used underthings, and since dampness worked its way toward mine with every step, I was in a race against time.

I keyed my way in quickly and began stripping off my outerwear as soon as the door closed behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted some changes in the cluster of furniture in the front window area.

The pretty little sofa and matching chair in a floral pattern must have sold since the last time I’d been in. They’d been replaced by a chaise in a fake-fur leopard print paired with a cute pink saucer-shaped chair that I bet Jacy was dying to sit in, though in her current state, it would have required a crane to get her back out. To round out the little grouping, a utilitarian, cube-style shelf was arranged off to the side. The back and sides of each cube were painted in a pale pink to match the chair. That would be Neena’s doing, but I suspected Jacy had a hand in choosing the colors. The whole setup looked like it would fit right into Barbie’s dream house.

“What are you doing?” Jacy’s voice startled me and my involuntary muscle response proved I had a few more achy spots than I’d thought.

I spared her no more than a glance as I hit the racks, grabbed jeans and an over-sized but warm-looking burgundy sweater, and marched into the changing room.

“I need dry clothes and painkillers.”

“Are you all right?” Her concern followed me behind the curtain.

“Mostly,” I called back and shrugged off my wet jeans as a puff of chilled air tickled the back of my neck—most likely compliments of the shop’s resident ghost. “Bess Tate tried to kill me with her car. I think. It’s all a bit hazy.”

With Jacy standing so close, I decided against having what would sound like a one-sided conversation with Felicity. Tragically dead in a hit-and-run accident, the teenaged ghost only answered half the time anyway.

“On purpose?”

“No. She wandered toward the sidewalk, or so I’m told. Clyde Stone took it upon himself to save me.” I gave her the abbreviated version of events.

“You’re kidding.” Jacy’s voice moved closer to the changing area. “It’s not like him to do anything for the benefit of others.”

Warmer now, I picked up my wet clothes and slid open the curtain. “If you consider trying to give me a concussion a benefit, I guess he’s seen the error of his ways.”

Outside the changing area, Jacy waited with two painkillers and a glass of water which she traded for my wet clothes.

“I’ll just toss these in the washer for you.”

“No, let me do that.” I downed the water and grabbed back my things. “You get off those swollen ankles. And why are you here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be home with your feet up?”

Sighing, Jacy glanced down at her hugely pregnant belly. “Since I wasn’t allowed to help, I wanted to at least see the decorations. I’ve been sitting. Mostly. But I can’t just stay home and wait for Peanut to make an appearance. I’ll go stir crazy. I’m a week past my due date already.”

Because I had to get back to work, I settled for giving her a quick sympathy hug on my way to the back of the shop. “I’m sure it will happen soon. You can’t stay pregnant forever.”

“You don’t know that,” Jacy called after me. “I could be the first.”

Moving quickly, I dumped my dirty clothes in the washer, found a towel, and squeezed the worst of the muddy water from my hair. I didn’t look quite as pulled together as I had before, but it would have to do.

Back in the main shop, Jacy smiled and accepted the tags I’d pulled off the clothes I’d selected. “I’m taking that puffy coat I’ve had my eye on, too. Just put it all on my tab, and I’ll make it right tomorrow.”

“Go,” she waved me away. “Decorate and have fun. I need my vicarious entertainment right now. Just stay away from Clyde and his vodka bottle of doom.”

“Count on it.” One headache a day was enough.

As an afterthought, Jacy added, “And tell David I’m sorry, but that draft is still breezing around my ankles two or three times a day. Maybe he could stop in here for another look when he gets a chance.”

Back outside, I found David stuffing lights into the last bar station.

“Thanks,” I said as he stood to hand me the empty box.

“How’s the head?”

“I’m okay. Have you seen Martha?”

Grinning, David used his thumb to point toward the lower end of town. “She came by here a few minutes ago looking for you. Fair warning, she’s in a tizzy about the snowmobile parking area.”

“Martha idles at tizzy. You didn’t tell her about Bess and Clyde, did you?”

Nonplussed, David said, “Why? Was I not supposed to?”

“They’re like oil and water on a good day.” I sighed. “I’d better make sure they haven’t started fighting. If I were you, I’d find anything else to do right now.”

The son of one of my father’s oldest friends, David wasn’t what you’d call a joiner, and yet, he wasn’t a total loner, either. He was coming out of his shell more every day, and while half of me wanted to see how he’d diffuse a fight between Martha and Bess, it wouldn’t be fair to put the chore off on him.

“Thanks again. Consider yourself sprung from duty.” Then I remembered to give him Jacy’s message.

“I’ve gone over the place from top to bottom. I can’t figure out where that draft is coming from.” He pulled off his winter cap and ran his fingers through his hair before putting it back on. “It’s a mystery.”

Not to me. And now I felt bad for not telling Jacy about Felicity. Once the setup for the ice bars was done, I’d have to rectify the situation.

“Well, it could be a pregnancy thing. Give me time to check with Neena to see if she’s felt anything, and we’ll go from there.”

Down the block, Martha turned her head, locked eyes with me, and set her lips in a thin line that I hoped wasn’t an indication that she was annoyed with me. Squaring my shoulders and giving David a final glance, I headed in her direction to find out.

“Go home,” Martha ordered as soon as I was within hearing distance of her shrillest tones. “Don’t try to put a brave face on things. Bess can take over for you. Do her good to get her hands dirty for a change.”

“I do my share.” Bess barely spared me a look. Probably ashamed of herself for nearly killing me—if she actually had. There was only Clyde’s word on that, and I suspected his eyesight might have been vodka-impaired.

“Ladies, please.” On their best day, the two women could give me a headache with the bickering. This wasn’t even close to their best day—or mine. “I’m perfectly fine, and we’re almost done here. We’ve set up two of the bar stations for ice cream, one for soft drinks, and one for smoothies. The decorations are in place, the vendors already on-site.”

Martha shot Bess a final glare, then focused on the business at hand. “One of the animal shelters canceled, so we sent over for some extra folding chairs from the school and turned their tent into another warming station.”

“Good thinking.” Since there was no mention of a problem with snowmobile parking, I assumed Martha had worked that one out on her own. A first, but still one for which I was thankful.

“In under an hour, we’ll be ready to kick this thing off.”

When Jacy had come up with the idea for turning the town into an ice bar, Martha wanted to give up on my plan for using the event to help place shelter animals in new homes, but I’d lobbied hard and won the day. Since my dog Molly had come to me, I’d learned firsthand how owning a pet could beat back a case of loneliness.

“Clyde Stone needs his eyes examined.” Bess addressed the topic and tried to bore a hole through me with her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with my driving, and I resent the implication that there is.”

Martha sputtered, but before she could work up a full head of steam, I cut her off. “I’m sure there’s not. It’s all water under the bridge.” But I couldn’t help remembering Bess’s grocery-store fender-bender that Amber had witnessed back on New Year’s Eve.

But with ice-cream peddlers and pet shelter volunteers arriving, there wasn’t time to worry over Bess. I pushed the mishap out of my head to make room for lists and got on with the day.

Some time later, Martha tracked me down again. As we had hoped, the town was full of families looking for something fun to chase away the winter doldrums. The ice cream bars were a hit, and Ice Cupid would be the star of numerous selfies by the end of the day.

“What’s the good word, Martha?” I grinned at her when a boy of probably ten passed by ahead of his parents, an entranced smile on his face and a dancing terrier on the end of the leach clutched tightly in his fist. I couldn’t resist saying, “Did you see that? The pet adoptions are working out better than I hoped.”

She waved off my not-so-subtle attempt at an I-told-you-so. “Have you seen Bess?”

Taking a moment to think, I answered, “Not since I checked in at the church craft sale. She was manning the check-out table so Mrs. Townsend could get something to eat. Why?”

“When was that?”

I checked the time. “Maybe an hour ago. Give or take a few minutes. It’s going well, don’t you think?”

From our current vantage point on the VFW steps, we had a decent perspective of the action. Jacy’d added a few more red-and-pink accents to the furniture display in the right-hand side of her window. The left held one of Neena’s watercolors, and the shop looked to be doing a brisk business. Welcome business this time of year.

Even the bait shop had a steady stream of customers. Likely, I figured, due to the sign out front advertising pet supplies. Curly Cavanaugh had played it smart with that one and so had Tim at the hardware store since neither place was especially stocked up with romantic Valentine’s Day gift items. Curly’s only other concession had been to push a rack of red flannel shirts to the front of the store. Romance in bait world, but it seemed to be working.

At the Blue Moon Diner, Mabel unbent so far as to offer heart-shaped waffles at breakfast. Though to be fair, that decision might have had something to do with her relatively recent relationship with my boss.

When the state built a new road to Hackinaw, an up and coming resort area, that bypassed Mooselick River, businesses had struggled and closed due to the loss of tourist income. Since I’d moved back home, I’d been using my event-planning skills to help Martha and her group of dedicated elder ladies bring it back—if not to its heyday, at least to a shadow of the town’s former glory.

So far, the plan was working. Jacy and Neena’s business, though partially supported by local spending, thrived and encouraged others to think about possibilities. Rumor had it a group of local crafters planned to open a cooperative shop in one of the other empty storefronts.

Pursing her lips, Martha said, “For an off-season event, I suppose it is. We probably won’t break even on the costs, though.”

I had to take two deep breaths to keep from reminding Martha that the timing of this event had been her idea, but a mild criticism still popped out. “Cupid put us over budget.”

“Still,” she waved the comment away, “we’re bringing attention to the town, and who can put a price on that?”

I suspected the town treasurer could, but since she was a confirmed Martha-ite, I doubted she would.

“If you see Bess, tell her to find me. Right away.”

She swept off before I had a chance to do more than nod. Even though I owed her a lifetime of favors, I found Martha exhausting.

An hour later when I decided to take a break, I still hadn’t seen Bess anywhere.

Chapter Three

My feet ached, and I was more than ready to sit down by the time I ducked into the parking lot and made my way through the front door of the Blue Moon Diner. Thanks to a good pair of boots and a pair of sub-zero gloves, my fingers and toes were warm enough, but the tip of my nose felt like it had lost contact with the rest of my face. Worse, the sweater I’d chosen for its warmth felt like wearing a refrigerator.

Hoping the heat would penetrate, I unzipped my coat but didn’t take it off as I looked for an open booth and ended up on a swiveling stool at the counter. The diner had a brisk business going. Good for Mabel.

“Know whatcha want or do you need a minute?” Thea Lombardi cracked a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she poured coffee into a sturdy white mug and set a full bowl of creamer cups in front of me.

“Turkey club,” I said, and since I’d walked at least a dozen miles, I added, “with a side of onion rings.” Mabel added a special blend of seasonings to the batter that turned her onion rings into an experience.

Eyebrow arched, Thea gave me a less-than-subtle body glance. “A moment on the lips…”

Will lose you half your tip. “Don’t forget the dipping sauce, Thea.”

I still hadn’t fully shaken off the chill, but I’d finished half of my sandwich when Martha burst through the door.

“There you are.” Spying me, she made her way hastily across the diner. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Trying to model calm, I dipped half an onion ring in sauce and took a bite. “I did text you that I was taking a meal break. I can’t have been all that hard to track down.” I’d been in the diner for all of twenty minutes.

Sighing, Martha looked pointedly at one of the tables that had opened up, then with a frown, settled on the stool next to me. The chill that flared though my upper body had me wondering if I’d caught a cold. Wouldn’t that put the cherry on the sundae of my day?

Good food and plenty of it is Mabel’s approach to portion control. It says so right on the menu. So, when Martha reached over and nipped an onion ring off my plate, I wasn’t in any danger of going hungry, and I’d have offered had she given me a minute to ask. I would not have yanked the plate away. That would have been rude, and as I’ve said before, I owe the woman a favor or three.

That’s why, when the plate skittered out of her reach like it had legs, I was just as surprised as Martha. For about a second, and then I put the clues together.

“I’m sorry, Martha.” I pushed the plate of onion rings closer to her. “Please, help yourself.”

I saw her internal struggle, but the lure of the special seasonings won out over refusal from feeling slighted. Martha reached for a ring, and this time, she managed to snag one, but as she did, another wash of chill settled over the upper half of my body.

“I just need to…” I didn’t even finish as I pulled out my phone and shot off a text to Jacy asking if she knew who had previously owned the burgundy sweater. I wasn’t at all surprised at her response.

Felicity.

I’d had more than one ghostly encounter over the previous few months, but wearing a haunted sweater gave me the worst case of the heebie-jeebies to date. So much so that I almost said yes when Martha tried to pin me into staying to handle the end of the event.

“I’m sorry, but I have plans this evening. Didn’t Patricia volunteer for night duty?”

Thea dropped off my check, took a look at the nearly empty onion ring plate, and quirked a brow.

“Romantic plans with Drew Parker?” Martha interrupted a slightly violent fantasy featuring Thea and a jumbo container of dipping sauce. “He’s a nice boy.” Her tone implied I shouldn’t mess this up. Not that I intended to. Things with Drew were still new. I wasn’t sure where we were headed, but I didn’t want to dissect my budding relationship with the biggest gossip in three counties.

“Tell me about Patricia. She’s not sick, I hope.”

Busy scooping crumbs off the empty plate, Martha shook her head. “Not sick, just willing to let someone else do the work. I’ll make sure she shows up. I was hoping we could talk about Easter. We need to do something special, something spectacular. What do you think about a town-wide egg hunt?”

“Not tonight, Martha. Let’s finish this event before we plan the next. If Patricia is all settled, I’ll stay another hour, make sure the changeover goes smoothly, then I have to leave. I left Molly with my folks all day.”

With a sprightly lilt to her tone, Martha gave it a shot anyway, “We mustn’t let these opportunities pass us by. You know what they say about moss growing on a rolling stone.”

I sighed, “I do, and I also know what they say about all work and no play. We’ll talk later.” So saying, I tossed enough cash down to cover my meal and added a tip that was fair but less than my normal generous percentage. My tired feet carried me out the door before Martha could haul herself down from the stool.

Twilight tiptoed toward darkness, playing up the glimmering lights behind ice like magic. Families clustered around twinkling Cupid and Amber’s father snapped photo after photo to be posted on the town website.

“It hurts him.” The ghost materialized at my side and for once, kept her distance. “Even though he’s smiling at all those families, those kids, I can tell he’s thinking of me and it hurts. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed you to invite him here.”

“What can I do to help? Should I tell him to leave?”

“No.” Distracted, she drifted off in her father’s direction. “You’ve done enough.”

While I parsed Amber’s tone for hidden meaning, an unearthly chill brushed past my cheek.

“You’ll help her, but not me?” Felicity whispered in my ear. “That’s not fair.”

Her energy rushed past me, set swinging the strings of patio lights we’d hung to lend fun to the festivities. One of the propane heating stations guttered out, then another and another until they all went dark.

Sighing, I decided to follow the path of ghostly ire, relighting the heating stations as I went and hoped Felicity would give me a chance to explain that I meant to help her, once I figured out how.

Chapter Four

At the first warming station, I watched a middle-aged woman gently slide a shivering chihuahua dog into an empty purse she seemed to have brought along for just such a purpose. “Come now, Trixie, let’s get you home and settled,” she cooed as she tucked what looked like a tea towel around tan fur.

Trixie didn’t look too upset by the ordeal, as she yipped once, seemed to realize she’d found a warmer spot, and then cuddled down to stare at me with beady eyes.

“That was the last of ours.” The shelter attendant grinned and watched Trixie disappear from the tent. “I can’t thank you enough for setting up this adoption event. Are you planning to make it a yearly thing?” She sounded hopeful. “Sadly, we get pretty crowded from mid-January through February when the shine’s worn off the Christmas puppies and kittens.”

I hadn’t thought of that, but I did now, and my heart broke for the abandoned pets. Maybe it was time to seriously consider getting a companion for Molly. Old Blue, my parent’s dog, had spent a few days with us at the beginning of the year, and even if he wasn’t exactly a ball of energy, Molly enjoyed the company.

“Consider it done.” In that moment, I didn’t care if the event earned enough to top off the playground funds or not. We’d done good work for the shelters, and that was enough. If I had to, I’d finally sell the much-coveted drop-front desk in my bedroom to my friend Patrea and donate the money for the playground.

With the possibility of adopting another pet in my head, I finished relighting the warmers as I toured the rest of the tents, only to find I was too late. All the dogs had gone, and Martha’s volunteers had already reset most of the tents for the evening’s festivities.

Having vented, I assumed Felicity had taken herself off somewhere to sulk, or worse, to gear up for more mischief. Based on what I’d learned from Kat Canton and her friends, the teen ghost had the potential to exhibit poltergeist-type behavior.

Just my luck she’d attach herself to me, leave the shop, and start causing trouble in the middle of a town event. The only option, as far as I could see, was for me to go home and drag her ghostly butt with me as soon as possible.

“Everly!” Patricia’s less than dulcet tones sent a sizzle of relief to warm my frozen bones. “We have a problem.”

The sizzle fizzled.

“We don’t have a problem, you do. I’ve been here all day, and it’s not my turn.” In retrospect, I realize I sounded like a child, but I was tired and haunted and just wanted to go home. None of that was her fault.

Patricia’s mouth open and closed a couple of times, and of course, I took pity on her and relented. “What’s the problem?”

“Well, I don’t know how to relight the heaters. What if they all go out again? You can’t leave me here alone with all of this. I’ll make a mess of things.”

“We’re not leaving you alone, and Patricia, we talked about this when we set up the timetable. The staff from Cappy’s Tavern knows what to do. I’ll oversee the changeover, which should be finished in the next few minutes, and then all you have to do is stick around to keep an eye on things. You shouldn’t have to lift a finger, but I will show you how to relight the heaters, okay?”

With half my attention on that task and the other half watching for Felicity, I showed Patricia what to do and did my final walkthrough. Everything looked good, so I headed for my car and hoped the faint chill coming from my sweater meant I wasn’t alone.

How far down the weird path had my life gone when the thought of taking a ghost home with me seemed like the lesser of two evils?

Chapter Five

“Felicity? Are you here? Talk to me.”

The chill my car heater couldn’t dispel suggested I wasn’t alone, but the ghost wasn’t talking as I drove to pick up my dog. Using my impending date as an excuse, I cut visiting time with my parents to the bone and barely made it off the front porch.

Back in the car, Molly stopped in the middle of slathering me with kisses and tilted her head to stare intently into the back seat.

“Cute dog.”

Finally.

“She speaks.” The sarcasm slipped out and my reward was the sensation of icy spiders crawling up my spine when Felicity poked her finger through the seat and into my back. “Hey! You want my help, you’ll keep your hands to yourself.”

“Or what?” The temperature dropped another few degrees.

Grammie Dupree always said words spoken in anger are the ones you can never take back. This was definitely a time to take her words to heart.

After counting to ten to get my temper under control, I said, “I get it, okay? You’re stuck in some middle spot between here and what lies beyond. You must be lonely without your family.”

I glanced back at a riot of auburn curls, upturned nose with a sprinkling of freckles, and blue eyes gone sullen.

My sympathy shattered on the rocks of stony silence and a furious glare as Felicity faded from view. “Excuse me for caring,” I muttered to the empty space where she’d been and held cold fingers in front of the heat now blasting from the vents.

“I’ll figure out something.” Maybe she heard me, maybe she didn’t.

I hadn’t exactly forgotten my date with Drew—if you could call our plans for the evening by such a lofty title—but the ghostly encounter put a damper on things. I’d be lucky to muster up any semblance of a romantic mood.

After the wreck of my divorce, dating fell to page one million and seventy-seven of my To Do list because it meant picking at the scab over a barely-healed wound. I’d decided to pattern my life after that of the woman who’d become my benefactress: Catherine Willowby, though for entirely different reasons.

Upon the loss of her husband, Catherine decided no other man could live up to his standard and spent the rest of her life alone by choice. Paul hadn’t been my soul mate—if there even was such a thing—and it wouldn’t be difficult to find a man who outshined him in every way. All it would take, really, was not forging my signature and trying to get me arrested for crimes I didn’t commit.

Oh, and let’s not forget cheating with a murdering skank who later tried to kill me. Paul set the potential boyfriend bar pretty low by the time our marriage ended. So low, in fact, that I’d decided not to bother trying again.

And then, along came Drew, and he brought a whole new bar into the mix along with an attraction I couldn’t ignore. He made me feel powerful.

No, that’s not true. Another one of Grammie Dupree’s bits of wisdom went something like this: A person can make a bed, or a mess, or a pie, but they can’t make you feel a certain way. That’s something only you can do to yourself.

Deep, right?

I’ll say it another way, then. Drew helped me feel powerful—physically through self-defense training, and emotionally with the easy way he fit himself into my life but didn’t try to take it over. He was an odd combination—two parts warm blanket, one part the heart-pumping adrenaline rush of jumping out of an airplane.

He didn’t know about the ghosts. Telling him was a problem for future me.

Present me needed a shower. And an outfit that didn’t carry the essence of teen spirit before Drew arrived.

With perfect timing, he showed up just as I opened the back door to let Molly out after eating her supper. She’d taken a liking to Drew—a good sign since Molly had impeccable taste in people—and tended to overwhelm him with her affections.

“You smell so good,” I said as I took the pizza box he carried.

He grinned. “I bet you say that to all the guys.”

“I was talking to the pizza. Pepperoni with the special spicy sauce, right?” He’d followed me to the kitchen where I set the box down, then went up on tiptoe to give him a kiss. “But you smell pretty nice, too.”

He did. Like fresh limes with a hint of something herbal, something earthy. When he took the kiss deeper, I forgot about the pizza and just let myself fall into the moment.

It’s too soon to feel this way. You’ll get hurt again—said the devil on my shoulder.

Shut up—I replied.

Maybe I would get hurt. Wasn’t that part of life? Grammie Dupree probably had a saying on the topic, but at the moment I couldn’t think of one.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kind of an easy date.” His blue eyes sparkled with humor. “First time I’ve ever gone the pizza and beer route on Valentine’s day.”

“Should I take offense at being called a cheap date?” I gave him an arch look as I handed him a plate. “I’ll have wine with mine, thank you. And you can thank Martha Tipton for the fact that I’m all peopled out for the day.”

Drew dutifully uncorked a bottle of red, poured me a generous glassful, and traded it for the beer I’d pulled out of the fridge. “I didn’t get a chance to come by, but I saw the setup on my way through town. Bigger turnout than I expected.”

“It went well, but I don’t want to talk about ice bars or sparkling Cupids.” So saying, I let Molly back in, then carried my dinner into the living room. “I just want to eat, then snuggle up in front of a good movie.”

“Speaking of,” Drew said as he set his meal down on the coffee table and went back out into the hall. He returned moments later with a DVD case in hand. “I brought one of my favorites.”

Flipping the case over, he showed me the cover. “Enter the Dragon. It’s a classic.”

“I can see that by the cover artwork alone.” And that the movie would feel like one long fight scene. Not my favorite thing. “But I’ll give it a shot and then I’ll pick a movie.”

“Nothing romantic or girly.”

“Oh no, you don’t get to put conditions on it. I watch yours, you watch mine.” I’d planned on something fun and action-filled—maybe even a little bit classic to stick with the theme, but his comment had me switching gears to Notting Hill.

We settled on the couch with Molly sprawled at our feet. It felt right. Easy. Comfortable. All things I could get used to in a hurry. And to be honest, his movie wasn’t that bad. Or it wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t insisted on providing bits of trivia about Bruce Lee during pivotal moments.

Still, since he had my feet in his lap and a knack for finding and kneading away the most tender spots, I forgave him for being an annoying chatterbox.

“Aren’t you just the cutest couple?” Felicity’s snide comment came from just out of my line of vision, and since I’ve never grown used to ghosts just popping up whenever they want, I jumped. My foot tagged the lip of the popcorn bowl resting near Drew’s leg, and launched it hard enough to rain buttery confetti all over the sofa.

We both jumped up to contain the mess. “I must have hit a reflex point,” Drew said. I let him believe he was right while behind his back, I glared at Felicity until she rolled her eyes at me and faded away again.

Meanwhile, Molly got busy inhaling every kernel that had landed on the floor and Drew pulled up a cushion as he chased a few of the pieces that slipped behind.

“Hey, what’s this doing under here?” He held up a small, spiral-bound notebook that I vaguely remembered seeing somewhere before.

“No idea. I don’t generally store things under the couch cushions. Jacy helped me move in; she probably shoved it under there for whatever reason.” I wasn’t about to disturb her at this time of night to ask.

When I held out my hand, Drew willingly passed the notebook over, and as soon as I got a better look, I remembered exactly where it had come from.

“This is Catherine’s tower log.”

He shot me a quizzical eyebrow lift. I hadn’t told him the story of how I’d come to buy the house, so I gave him the short version, adding, “We found this up in the attic with Catherine’s camera and several rolls of film. She liked to keep an eye on the comings and goings in town.”

“I wouldn’t have taken Mrs. Willowby for the nosy old lady type,” he said.

“No, she wasn’t. Not at all.” My first instinct was to defend Catherine, which I did with some heat until the nuance set in. “Wait, did you know her?” Drew had family ties in town, so anything was possible.

“As it happens, I did.”

Notting Hill could wait. “Tell me,” I ordered as we settled back in our seats. “I want to hear everything.”

“I’m not sure there’s an everything to tell, but I have this uncle who likes to wheel the deal and your Catherine bought a few things off him over the years. I helped him with deliveries sometimes.”

His emphasis on the term few did not go unnoticed.

“So, you’d been here before? And you know about the—” I fluttered a hand in the direction of the addition on my house that had been—and if I’m being honest, was still—stuffed to the rafters with Catherine’s hoard of treasures. Even contributing the lion’s share of stock for Jacy and Neena to open their shop hadn’t made more than a dent in the contents.

He grinned. “Did she still have the mannequin lights when you moved in?”

“She did. I’ve been here,” I had to stop and do the math, “for nine months now, and I’m still discovering funny little things tucked away in drawers and closets. Catherine’s tastes ran the gamut from the exquisite to the absurd under the veneer of neatness and order she showed the world. It makes me sad to know she felt it necessary to hide her true self.”

“Or it could be she enjoyed putting one over on people and considered her collections a private joy.” Drew had a way of cutting through to the heart of a thing.

Chapter Six

Called out early for a minor tenant emergency that turned out to be a dead battery in a programmable thermostat, I stopped into the shop on my way back home and tried to talk Jacy into going home and letting me handle her hours.

“The doctor says I’ll have an easier birth if I stay active. This is active and it keeps my mind occupied. Do you know what I’d be doing if I was home? Obsessing. And that’s not good. Besides, I don’t think the two of you together could budge me if I didn’t go willingly, so get over yourselves.”

“Well, then,” Neena said, “I guess you’d better have that baby today.”

“Why? Because you picked today in the betting pool?”

Neena tightened the corner clamp on the frame she’d been building, wiped the joint with a damp rag to clean off the beads of glue that squeezed out.

“Honey, we disbanded the betting pool a week ago, so go ahead and unclench so Peanut can meet the world, won’t you?”

Something about Neena’s deadpan tone struck Jacy funny enough to start a fit of giggles that ended abruptly. “Uh, guys, I think my water just broke.”

Jacy slid off her stool and stepped out from behind the counter.

“Are you having contractions?” I reached for my phone to call Brian while she frowned and shook her head.

“Not yet.”

Brian picked up on the second ring, and I said, “It’s go time.” I heard the click as he hung up without even bothering to speak.

“He’s on his way.”

As if having a baby were an everyday experience, Jacy announced, “I have to change before he gets here.”

“I’ll help.” Neena said and selected a pair of warm but loose-fitting sweatpants from one of the racks.

“Not those,” Jacy shook her head. “I’m not riding to the hospital with Juicy written across my butt.”

When Neena made to follow her into the back, Jacy stopped her. “I can dress myself. Stop being such a mother hen.”

How she could stay so calm when my insides were jumping like water drops on a hot iron, I’d never know.

“It’s okay if I envy her a little, right?” Neena sounded wistful. “It doesn’t make me a bad person?”

“If it does, we’re both in the same boat.” I patted Neena on the arm.

The first labor pain hit while we were bundling Jacy into her coat and hat. “Ooh,” she winced for a second, then wrinkled her nose. “That wasn’t too bad. No more than a two on the chili scale.” A reference to the incident on New Year’s Eve.

Brian burst through the door, his eyes wide and wild. “Where is she?”

“Hey baby.” Leaning around the bulk of her belly, she offered a kiss. “Are you ready to be a daddy?”

From the panic on his face, I’d have said the answer was a firm no, but Brian nodded and swallowed hard. His wife’s serenity didn’t seem to translate to him even after he’d assured himself she was okay. Impending parenthood had caused them to switch roles with Jacy unruffled and Brian ready to jump out of his own skin.

“Did you remember to bring the birthing bag?”

Brian had to stop and think. “Yeah. I grabbed it on my way out the door.”

“Well, come on then, let’s go have us a baby.” Jacy turned back to Neena. “Will you call my mom?”

“Of course,” Neena said, turning to me, “and I’ll take Molly to my place for the night. You call me as soon as that baby is born, you hear me? I’ll want pictures.”

I was not crying when we left. Much. Not as much as Neena, anyway.

The second contraction hit just as we pulled into the parking lot of the hospital.

“Breathe in and out. Slow and easy.” Jacy repeated the instruction from childbirth class.

“That’s right.” I leaned forward, gave her shoulder a rub. “Slow and easy. You’re doing great.”

“I’m fine. It’s Brian who needs to breathe before he passes out.”

He did look a little green around the edges. “I can take over the coaching duties if you want to sit in the waiting room and pass out cigars.”

“You’re too funny.” But the gentle teasing snapped him out of his funk and his color returned to normal.

Since I wasn’t needed for actual coaching duty, I took it upon myself to keep a lid on Leandra, Jacy’s mom. She managed to slip a few bottles of essential oils into the labor room, but I nipped the sage and the crystal singing bowl out of her purse, which earned me a lifetime of best friend points.

Even without a cloud of sage smoke, the birth progressed well, and at twenty-seven minutes past midnight, Peanut, a healthy baby boy, entered the world. He was beautiful, and his doting grandmother offered not a word to the contrary when Jacy announced the baby’s name would be Wade and not Cornflake or Basket or Virtue or Rain.

The next morning, as promised, I opened the shop and hung a big blue cardboard ribbon in the window to announce the birth.

Business picked up from ten to eleven, then fell off to nothing, leaving me plenty of time to move a few tagged items from the back room to the front to fill in the empty spaces. That done, I checked the time and realized Neena wouldn’t be in for another hour to take the afternoon shift.

I’d planned to spend some time getting Felicity to talk, but since she’d followed me home, that activity was off the table, so I turned my attention to the small office in the back. It looked like the aftermath of a hurricane with consignment slips scattered over the desk and several stacks sitting on top of the file cabinet.

By tacit agreement, Neena handled the paperwork for the art sales and gallery side of things, leaving Jacy to log and track consignments for payout. Over the past couple of weeks, she’d fallen behind. Sighing, I set about organizing the sheets by date and booted up the computer.

Just as the program came up, I heard the chime that signaled a customer coming into the shop.

“Hey, Mrs. Dexter,” I said when I recognized the owner of the Bide A Way hotel. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Didn’t I tell you to call me Barb?” When you’ve discovered a dead body with someone, you do develop a stronger sense of familiarity.

“Barb,” I smiled. “Are you looking for anything in particular today?”

To my surprised, Barb blushed. “Is Jacy here? She called a couple of days ago to say she had set aside some books for me.”

“Not today. She had the baby last night.”

Setting her purse down on the counter, Barb clapped her hands. “Oh, my lands. That’s wonderful news. Boy or girl?”

I grinned. “Boy. Seven pounds, eight ounces.” Why do we feel the need to provide a baby’s birth weight?

“And do we have a name yet?” From the twinkle in her eye, I assumed half the town knew of Jacy’s struggle to get a suitable name past her mother. Fortunately, Jacy had hit on the perfect solution.

“We do. His name is Wade.”

“Wade,” Barb repeated. “Wade Dean. It’s got a nice ring to it.”

“It does.” I didn’t tell her Brian got his way and the baby’s middle name was Dignity. “Anyhow, in all the excitement, Jacy didn’t mention anything about your books.” Leaning down, I checked the shelves and the space under the counter. “But I’m sure I can track them down.”

“Hmm.” I said more to myself than to her when I found a thick envelope with my name on it. Pulling it out, I blew off a fine layer of dust and set the parcel near the register so I’d remember to look at it later. “I’ll check in the back.”

Given the random nature of the wares on offer, the office and storage areas in the back of the shop looked like a haphazard mess, but looking past the jumble of items, there was some attempt at organization. It only took me a few minutes to find a short stack of books tied together with twine and boasting a purple sticky note with Barb’s name on it. It seemed her tastes ran to real crime books and steamy romances.

“What kind of deal will you give me if I take all of these?” Upon my return, I found Barbara leafing through a box of Tupperware lids. “I’m beginning to think we have gremlins in the house. They steal Tupperware lids and half of every pair of socks that goes into the washing machine.”

We settled on a fair price. Barb set the lids on the counter and continued to browse until she came across a pretty little glass music box.

“Isn’t this just darling? My granddaughter would flip if I bought it for her.” Barb wound the key, tipped up the lid and listened to the tinkling song. She didn’t feel the chill shivering through the shop.

“I think that belonged to Felicity Banner. Such a shame about her, wasn’t it? I didn’t know the family much, but I heard she was a sweet girl.” My emphasis on sweet was a warning—one I fully expected the ghost to ignore.

Frowning, Barb gently closed the lid to stop the music. “I heard Justine Banner left town right after Christmas. Can’t say I blame her. People can be less than charitable sometimes, but she wasn’t to blame for what her husband did.”

Since her husband had attacked my father the previous Halloween, I struggled to muster up much sympathy for him even if I felt plenty for Justine. And for Felicity. “It’s worse, don’t you think, that no one ever found definitive proof of who hit the poor girl. No closure for her family.”

Arching a brow, Barb said, “Well, the blame for that rests on Ernie Polk’s shoulders. He was so determined it was that Nick Mason, he never bothered to look at anyone else.”

With a sigh and a creak, one of the circular clothing racks began to swivel slowly on the pivot in the center. Thankfully, with her attention focused on the glass box, Barb seemed not to notice. She also didn’t see the pointed look I gave Felicity when she slowly materialized next to the rack.

I’m not a hundred-percent certain how this ghost thing works, but I assumed since I’d helped send Nick’s into the light, if he’d truly been the one who’d killed Felicity, she wouldn’t have been so passive at the mention of his name. I could have been wrong, but I didn’t think so.

“You don’t think Nick did it? People didn’t much care for his driving.” I included myself in that category since he’d run David and me off the road the week before he was killed.

Barb’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “That kid was hell on wheels, but I never did think he was the one who ran into that girl. Weren’t no evidence against him anyway.”

Finally, someone with information I could use. “What evidence?”

“For one thing, there wasn’t a scratch on that death trap truck of his, and from what I heard, Ernie practically took a magnifying glass to it looking for anything that would help him pin a conviction on Nick’s head. Didn’t find nothing of what you’d call substantial proof, so Nick walked.”

The revelation was something of a letdown since I already knew Nick hadn’t done it, and the evidence—or lack of same—only proved the point.

“Is that all Ernie had to go on?” No wonder he hadn’t made an arrest.

“I hate dredging all this up again because I knew the family some, and it was a pure shame about that girl, but I guess it wasn’t all Ernie’s fault. Coroner placed the time of death well enough but she laid there for some time before the end,” Barb slowly shook her head, her eyes full of sorrow. “Best they could do was a two-hour window for when the accident happened.”

As cranky as Felicity could get, Barb’s genuine concern must have been soothing because the ghost remained passive for a minute or so before she faded away again.

“People are always coming and going, seems like someone would have seen something.”

Turning as if she could see the spot from where she stood, Barb said, “Her family found that poor girl out by the double whoopsie. An awful thing. Just awful.”

Barb was talking about the two short humps in the road right before the speed limit reduced to the sedate, state-mandated twenty-five for in-town driving. Hit at just the right speed, a driver could give passengers the mild, stomach-dropping sensation known in Mooselick River as the whoopsie.

To maximize the effect, however, required just the right speed—one in the range of twenty miles over the limit—and some practice to learn when to lay on and let off the gas pedal. My dad had been a master of the DW until the year I turned ten and the town voted to move the speed limit sign.

“Wait, didn’t they level off those hills when they redid that section of road?” I couldn’t remember exactly when, but I did recall coming home for a visit and having to navigate past the construction crews.

“Yes,” Barb said. “But that was after.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize.” With the lay of the land from before, I could easily picture poor Felicity riding her bike down into the dip between the hills and being nearly invisible when someone decided it would be fun to fly over the humps. “Now I get why my mother always made me take the dirt road past Warner Bog. I wasn’t allowed to ride out that way.”

Knowing I might have flouted that rule a time or two for the sake of expediency and could just as easily have ended up like Felicity renewed my sympathy for the girl. Lying in a ditch was bad enough, but to be that close to town and not get help was worse.

“Your mother was a wise woman. No parent should ever have to go through something like that. They say the girl hadn’t been gone more than a few minutes when it happened, and it wasn’t until noon when she didn’t come back for lunch that her mother started to worry. If they’d found her a couple hours earlier, right after it happened, they could have operated.” As if she’d had enough of sad topics, Barb set the music box aside and pulled a twenty out of her purse to settle up her bill. “Just the books and the lids, I think.”

With Felicity occupying half my thoughts, curiosity commanded the rest. Before the door settled back on its hinges, I grabbed the envelope with my name on it and ripped it open to find a stack of black-and-white photographs. Frowning, I leafed through a few of them to find they were all quite similar and featured the view from Catherine’s tower room.

Feeling somewhat deflated, I tucked them into my purse to take home.

“How’s the baby?” I asked Neena when she showed up late for her shift. Considering the milk stain on her shoulder and the shine in her eyes, it hadn’t been difficult to figure out where she’d been.

The music of the south wove through Neena’s voice. “Cuter than a Junebug on a screen window.” She sighed.

I wrinkled my nose at her analogy, but to each his own, I supposed.

“I want one of my own,” Neena confided. “And before you ask—no, I’m not about to put myself back on the market. It hasn’t even been a year since I lost my Hudson.” She blew a dark curl off her forehead. “And I’m not jumping into bed with anyone just because my biological clock started ticking.”

We’d both become single at around the same time, and right up until I’d managed to get involved with Drew, we’d been in agreement on the no-dating thing. But then, our reasons were quite different since my ex hadn’t been murdered—despite how tempted I might have been—and hers had.

Still, I hadn’t planned on getting into a new relationship, so I knew how she felt.

“But I want a baby. Maybe I could go to one those places and get—" Neena looked around to make sure no customers were in the shop, and then lowered her voice anyway. “—You know—the stuff.”

“Or you could ask someone you know to donate. People do that sometimes.”

Neena let out a short laugh. “What? Like one of Hudson’s friends? Can you just imagine how that conversation would go? Hard pass. Besides, there isn’t one of them I’d want to share my DNA with, or vice versa. No, I’d rather pick some stranger out of a catalog.”

“There’s always David,” I suggested. “He’s smart, healthy, and not bad on the eyes, either. You’d make a pretty baby together. Or not together. You know what I mean.”

Pure speculation flashed over Neena’s face before she wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so. He’s not the kind of guy to…um…donate and run, if you know what I mean. He’s the kind who would feel honor-bound to stick around and be the daddy for real.”

Now that I’d mended my largely imaginary fences with David, we’d landed in the like-family zone. I considered him the next best thing to a true sibling, and the way he treated me suggested he felt the same. If I’d harbored a secret longing to match him up with Neena whenever she decided she was ready to date again, neither of them had to know.

But I watched her face closely when I said, “He’d be a good father, though. He’s great with kids. And dogs.”

There was a flash of what I thought might be interest before Neena shuttered her expression. “Maybe so, but I’m not looking for the whole package.”

“Okay.” I tried to stifle a snort. “I feel a little weird discussing David’s package.”

“Then stop talking about it. I’m sorry I said anything.” Neena shooed me out the door. “Go home and get some sleep. You’re punchy.”

Because she was right and because my stomach felt like I’d had too many runs across the double whoopsie, I did just that.

Chapter Seven

My phone woke me from the middle of a jumbled-up dream that evaporated before I could remember more than a few impressions but left me feeling unsettled.

“Window over the kitchen sink is stuck open.” Clyde Stone shouted as soon as I answered.

“It’s freaking February in Maine, why do you have a window open?” He’d already hung up.

One part of me wanted to tag David and have him deal with Clyde but handling difficult tenants was my job, not his. A glance at the clock said I’d managed four hours down. Not enough, but it would have to do. Besides, I needed to take Molly off my mother’s hands soon anyway.

“Took you long enough.” Clyde stomped into the kitchen without so much as a hello. “These newfangled vinyl windows aren’t worth a tinker’s damn. What’s wrong with a good old wooden window that’s got some heft and weight to it?”

Once he got out of the way, I tested the sash. The window closed easily, but if I had to stretch to reach it, Clyde would have needed a stepladder.

“Must have come unstuck by itself,” Clyde grumbled.

“Probably.” I refrained from pointing out he might want to be a bit less zealous when he opened it in future. “Was there anything else you needed?”

Already edging toward the door, I hoped the answer was no.

Of course, it wasn’t. My next stop was the living room where Clyde pointed out a spot in one corner where the wall-to-wall carpeting was curling up a bit.

“That’s a tripping hazard, and it better be fixed before the first of the month.”

“I’ll have someone come by and take care of it this week,” I said absently as my attention went to a framed photograph hanging on the wall. A younger, happier Clyde leaned against the hood of a seventy-something convertible, his arms around the waist of a smiling woman.

“Oh, how lovely,” I exclaimed. “And you looked so handsome, too.”

“She was, wasn’t she? That’s a 1970 Cadillac DeVille. Those were the good old days when they made cars with style and power. She was fast, let me tell you.”

“I was talking about your wife.” Which apparently crossed some line because Clyde turned surly…or more surly than normal. Big shocker.

As quickly as I could, I made my escape, but it turned out surly was the word of the day, or at least the mood. When I returned home after picking up Molly, the air inside the house felt colder than outside—with the furnace running.

“Lay off the theatrics, Felicity,” I called out before I saw her. Or more technically, them.

Squared off like boxers in a ring, Amber and Felicity hovered in the hallway, the tension between them sending off wisps that reminded me of seeing my breath on a winter day.

“Take it outside.” I walked around until I faced Amber.

“Tell this…child, to take it outside.” She flicked a look my way, narrowed her eyes, and took the temp down another degree or two. “She had the nerve to tell me this was now her house to haunt, and it was time for me to move along.”

If you roll your eyes hard enough, it hurts—in case you needed to know that.

“I,” Amber said, putting her hands on her hips and leaning menacingly toward Felicity, “was here first.”

Not daunted in the least, Felicity mimicked Amber’s posture. “I’m here now. Get used to it. It’s my turn, and I’ve been waiting longer than you.”

“You can both go into the light. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings a bit.” I might as well have been talking to the wall as the bickering continued.

I wished I had an air horn to get their attention. It would have been better than the way I finally chose.

Have I mentioned I’m not a fan of touching ghosts? Well, I’m not. It creeps me out, but it does get their attention. Or it did when I stepped between them and stuck my arms out with my palms up in the position that meant they should back off.

“Enough!” I roared loudly enough to send Molly looking for sanctuary under the bed.

Once I had their attention, I did my best to ignore the spidery skittering sensation in my hands and channeled my mother’s sternest tones.

“Which one of you was actually invited into my home?” I let my gaze land on each mutinous face in turn. “That’s right. Neither of you. What makes you think it’s okay to just show up and expect my help? Or maybe you think the mere act of dying entitles you to my help without even having the decency or consideration to ask nicely for it.’

“I’m quite certain I did.” Amber moved back so she wasn’t touching me anymore, and I let my arms drop.

“Unless you consider threatening and asking the same thing, your memory is faulty. Now stop acting like a teenager and lay off the ice works before you freeze my pipes.”

She opened her mouth, but I rolled right over any retort she might have made. “I haven’t forgotten that you helped me find Paul. I’ll forever be grateful for the part you played in helping me get my life back—”

Amber tossed a smirk toward Felicity and the temperature rose several degrees.

“But you need to remember this is my house and not some sanctuary for wayward ghosts.”

So far, Felicity hadn’t mustered up a word to say for herself, but she did then. “If you remember, you came to me and offered to help. So far, I can’t see where you’ve done anything to find my killer.”

“Wait a minute.” Murder piqued Amber’s interest, and she perked right up. “You didn’t say anything about being murdered. What’s your name? When did it happen? Tell me everything.”

Leaving them to it, I went to hang up my coat—the house had finally warmed up enough to take it off—and coax Molly back out from under the bed.

“This is Felicity Banner. Did you know that?” Amber came up behind me while I was on my hands and knees talking to the dog.

“Yes,” I said over my shoulder. “I am aware.”

“Died from injuries sustained in a hit-and run-accident.” Amber reeled off the salient points as she remembered them from her pre-mortem job at the local news station. “But not right away. She was a veg—on life support for close to a year before she passed.”

Points to Amber for at least a modicum of sympathy.

“Around Halloween last year. Yes. None of this is news to me and nothing you’ve said helps me figure out who hit Felicity and left her for dead.”

Molly blinked at me as if trying to decide whether I might yell again. When things seemed calm, she slithered out and put her head in my lap as Amber huffed.

“Jeez, if you didn’t want my help, why did you ask for it?”

Sometimes, you just have to laugh at the absurdity of things. This was one of those times, and at least my chuckle reassured Molly, who squirmed until she could rest her head on my shoulder.

Even if I hadn’t asked, Amber did have skills and I wasn’t averse to using them. “What would you do if a story went cold? If you knew there was some juicy tidbit that would break the story wide open if you could dig it out?”

Felicity drifted into the bedroom, took a look around, and wrinkled her nose at the decor, which from her perspective leaned heavily toward old lady, and vintage old lady at that.

With what passed for a sigh among ghosts, Amber sank down to hover cross-legged above the floor. “Probably the same things the police already did: knock on doors, ask if anyone saw anything, get impressions about the family, though in this case that wouldn’t be necessary since this was an accidental death and not a murder.”

As if the talk of her demise was more than she wanted to hear, Felicity left the room.

“Too bad Mooselick River doesn’t have a traffic cam. We could go back through the feed and check the date.” Amber floated back up. “I think I need to apologize to that girl. I didn’t realize what she’d been through when I lit into her.”

I barely registered Amber leaving the room. Mooselick might not have a traffic camera, but at the time, we’d had the next best thing. Catherine Willowby and her notebook of nosiness.

“Looks like we might have a break in the case, eh Molly?” I gave her another vigorous scratch behind the ears before shoving her off my lap and rising somewhat creakily from the floor.

“I can’t believe I had to die to get a look inside Spooky Manor.” For the first time since I’d met her, Felicity gave me a glimpse of the cheerful girl she’d been. “I figured this place would be just loaded with ghosts, but it’s only the two of us.”

“Which is plenty enough for me.” I had to put my back to the wall to skirt around the pair of them on my way to the living room where I’d last seen Catherine’s notebook.

“What are you doing?” The ghosts had followed me.

“Checking Mooselick River’s version of a traffic cam.” Flipping open the cover, I scanned the first page for dates. This was the only notebook I’d found up in the tower room, and if—as with her diaries—Catherine had kept multiple logs, finding the others could be a challenge. While she hid her tendencies under a layer of ruthless organization—at least in the main part of the house—Mrs. Willowby had been a first-class hoarder.

“What’s that?” Amber leaned over my shoulder to look, brushing her body a bit too close for my comfort.

“Back off a little and I’ll tell you.” When she did, I explained about the camera and the photos I’d barely looked at. “If we’re lucky, we’ll find Catherine was in the tower on the day of the accident, and there might be something in here that will help.”

“Start closer to the back,” Amber said after noting the dates as I scrolled through the first few pages. “Or this will take forever.”

“Give me a minute, I’m trying to figure out something. She didn’t sit up there all day, every day, and this wasn’t some lifelong habit, either. There had to be a reason.”

“Nosy old lady isn’t enough for you?”

Waving away Felicity’s sarcasm, I scanned a few more pages but found nothing to explain why, beginning in mid-April two years before she passed, Catherine had taken up the habit of recording the comings and goings in town between the hours of seven and ten each morning.

“You can figure out the method behind the madness later,” Amber pointed out. “But for now, the only thing that matters is if she was watching on the day of Felicity’s accident.”

“Of course, you’re right.” I could satisfy my curiosity later.

They both leaned in to watch as I zeroed in on the date in question, my breath making plumes in the ghost-induced chill.

“Found it.” Not difficult to do because the day of Felicity’s accident had been the last day Catherine recorded anything in her log.

“What does all this even mean?” Felicity tried to indicate the line of text following the date, but her finger went through the paper. “f4, 1//250, 300 mm, ISO 400,” she read off the series of numbers and letters.

“Camera settings,” Amber said. “Old school. My dad’s a photographer. Whatever she shot, it was with a 300 mm telephoto lens, and a fairly decent one at that if it stops all the way up to f4. Might not get a clear, stop-action shot at that shutter speed, though.”

“I don’t see how this helps anything. So what if some batty old woman took a bunch of pictures with a whatchamacallit lens.” Going blurry around her edges, Felicity vibrated with the force of her emotions. “Wouldn’t she have told the police if she saw something?”

To be honest, I was beginning to wonder the same thing. Through her diaries, I’d come to understand Catherine’s personality well enough to know she’d never withhold evidence. Especially not with a young person involved.

“I don’t know the answer to that, but we found a roll of film along with the camera and this notebook when I moved in here. Jacy took the film to be developed, and I’ll be honest, I forgot all about it until I found an envelope full of photos at the shop the other day.”

“So you have them?” Excitement threaded through Amber’s voice. “Here?”

Already on my feet and headed for the front hall where I’d left my purse on the table, I said, “I do.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Her voice followed me out of the room. After fishing the envelope out of my purse, I hit the coat closet for a wrap-around cardigan to mitigate the ghostly proximity that was sure to come. With Amber’s innate curiosity piqued and Felicity’s need for justice, I gave in to the inevitable.

If I also did a mental calculation of the benefit to my heating bill once I could send both ghosts into the light, who could fault me?

Chapter Eight

“My father keeps better logs than this.” Amber gestured toward the notebook. “All she has is the frame number and the time. Nothing about the subject or composition.”

Tossing the envelope on the table, I said, “I haven’t looked at more than a couple of them, but she was documenting people’s movements, not making art. Besides, the times are all we really need.”

Felicity hadn’t had much to say, and she’d gone paler than any ghost I’d seen so far—though to be honest, they don’t look pale or translucent to me. A little fuzzy around the edges sometimes, and I can see through them for a few seconds when they fade in or out, but the rest of the time, I see regular people. You know, except for the fact they’re dead.

“Are you okay, honey?” If I could, I’d have hugged her. Just because they look solid, doesn’t mean they are. “I know this must be a lot to process.”

My sympathy annoyed the girl, which was not my intention, but at least it put a little fire back in her eyes. “Get on with it,” she snapped.

As I laid the first two on the table, I noticed the photos weren’t numbered, but I assumed unless Jacy had looked through them, they should be in order from front to back. That meant she’d used the end of the roll on the fateful day, and if, as Barb had said, Felicity’s accident happened shortly after she left her house, and she’d been gone only a couple of hours before being found, the three photos taken between ten and eleven were the ones we needed to see.

Still, I found myself curious what sorts of behavior drove Catherine to document the movements of her neighbors. I also wondered if there were more photos and where she’d stashed them, or if she’d written about her reasons in diary entries I’d not yet read. If I didn’t have two ghosts breathing—not in the literal sense obviously—down my neck, I might have gone looking.

“Well, would you look at that? Go back one.” Tack-sharp, Amber picked out what my eyes had missed. “Don’t look, Felicity.”

“Why? What is it?” Being told not to look had exactly the opposite effect on the teenaged ghost. “Ooh, that’s Mr. Vance and Miss Brown. They’re doing it, aren’t they?”

She’d named a prominent member of the school board and the youngest teacher on staff who were, indeed, doing it in the back of an SUV in the church parking lot.

“His wife’s gonna be mad when she finds out. I can’t wait to tell Missy…” Felicity trailed off, the light of excitement dimming as she remembered she wouldn’t be able to tell her best friend anything now.

“Maybe you should go in the kitchen while we look through the rest of these. I feel like I’m contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”

“I’m already dead, seeing a flash of side-boob isn’t going to kill me any deader.”

“Maybe not.” But I checked each photo before I flipped it all the way over just in case Catherine had managed a shot that edged closer to an X-rating than an R.

“Uh oh. That’s Mrs. Vance. They are so busted.”

It was impossible to argue the point as, through the next two photos, a dark-haired woman advanced on the SUV. Having been in a similar situation, I knew just how she felt—the flare of heat and disbelief followed by the chill of betrayal. I had to drag my gaze away from her face to explore the rest of the image.

No wonder Catherine hadn’t noticed the vehicle moving through the corner of the frame—she’d been too caught up in the drama to realize she’d recorded the movements of a killer.

Chapter Nine

Call it intuition, call it spidey sense, call it whatever you like, mine tingled all the way down to my toes. Based on the log entry, the timing fit and there was no mistaking the broken headlight.

“That’s it, right?” Amber picked up on it almost as soon as I did. “It has to be.”

Felicity moved in for a closer look that turned her face to stone.

“I know that car.” She turned the air so cold it crackled. “I know who killed me.” Then she was gone.

“Dammit.” I went for my coat since I’d recognized the car as well. “She’s going to do something stupid.”

“Like what?” Amber scoffed and raised a brow. “Make the lights flicker? I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“Molly, stay.” Headed for the door, I snatched up my purse along the way. “You don’t understand. Have you ever heard the word poltergeist?”

“Saw the movie when I was a kid. Scared the pants off me.”

“Which is exactly what she’ll do to Bess Tate if I can’t talk her down.” My car cranked over hard but fired up after a moment. I threw the shifter into reverse and then it hit me. “You could get there faster. Why don’t you go on ahead, see if you can talk her down?”

Even pushing the speed limits, it would take six or seven minutes to get there.

“I can’t. I’ve never been there before. You know the rules.”

“Okay.” I poured on the speed. “Then hold on.”

“You know who you’re talking to, right?”

I almost hoped Ernie Polk would pull me over, but then, what would I tell him when he asked why I was speeding? Um…I’m trying to save Bess Tate from a pissed-off ghost, and by the way, she’s a killer. A story like that would probably get me a new coat. The kind with sleeves that tie in the back.

Everything looked quiet when I pulled up behind Bess’s death machine, but that didn’t scare me as much as the ominous silence when I knocked on the door.

“Bess, open up. It’s Everly Dupree.”

More silence, so I knocked harder.

“Bess, can you hear me?” Nothing. “Amber, what’s happening?” She’d gone inside and was taking too long to return. That couldn’t be good.

Six inches of snow still blanketed the ground, but I barely registered the icy wet soaking my ankles as I struggled through it to the nearest window, pressed the sides of my hands against the glass, and peered inside.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bess whipped open the door.

“Felicity’s not here.” Amber faded in at the same time. “I don’t think she ever was.”

“Explain yourself.” Bess ordered.

“I thought…I’m sorry. I was worried about you. Martha was trying to find you at the Valentine event.” Even as I dithered, I could hear how lame it sounded. “But she couldn’t, and then today, I got to thinking about it and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

With a passel of kids and grandkids to hone her skills, Bess could spot a lie from a mile away.

“Horse apples. Why are you really here?”

Why was I treating her with kid gloves? She could be a killer. “How about if you tell me where you were on the day Felicity Banner was hit by a car that looked just like yours.”

Folding her arms against the chill, Bess neglected to invite me in, and gave me a thousand-yard stare.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was in Bangor getting my left eye done.”

When I blinked in confusion, she elaborated. “Cataracts.”

“I’m sorry I bothered you.” What else was I supposed to say? “I’ll go.”

Up until that moment, I’d rolled my own and called it purple prose when I’d read about someone’s eyes shooting daggers. But I felt Bess’s like tiny lasers on my back all the way to my car, which barely started.

“I don’t know what to do now,” I said to Amber as I backed out onto the road. “Felicity could be anywhere, and I’ll be lucky if my car makes it back home.” This was not the time for a breakdown.

“Sounds like the battery. Same thing happened to my dad’s car once, and it was the battery. It’s not the alternator,” she leaned over to look at one of the gauges, got a little too close. “Looks like it’s charging fine, so an easy fix. You could probably do it yourself.”

Or I could stop and get Bennie to put a new one in since I had to drive right past his place on my way home.

“That’s fine, but do you think I should call Ernie and tell him what we found?”

“Will he believe you?”

The question of the day, and one for which I had no good answer other than maybe. Ernie was a good man and a decent cop, but since I’d moved back to town, I’d managed to get tangled up in a series of weird events. One of those events resulted in him having to arrest his own sister, which made defining my relationship with him difficult at best.

“Better keep that as a last resort. I don’t want to give him any more reasons to be annoyed with me.”

“If I wasn’t dead,” Amber said, “I’ve got a contact at the DMV. One phone call and I could find out who else owned that make and model in no time. Being dead sucks.”

While I had no direct experience, her being dead hadn’t been a picnic for me, either. But I didn’t tell her that as I navigated the alternating patches of ice and mud that littered the driveway leading up to Bennie’s place. Once I parked, I left the car running and went in to find him standing on a stepladder, buried head and shoulders deep under the hood of a 4x4 pickup.

“Hey Bennie, any chance you’ve got time to pop a new battery in my car?”

“Sure. Give me five minutes to finish torqueing these head bolts, and I’m all over it.” He went back to whatever torqueing might be while I wandered over to look out the front window.

“You know, you probably should think about getting something that’s better on the snow. Car like yours is fast becoming a classic. Shame to have it rot out from driving on salted winter roads.”

I made a noncommittal noise since I’d had the same thought more than once over the winter, but wasn’t ready to take on the payment for a new car.

Done with the head, Bennie descended the stepladder and picked up a clean rag to wipe his hands.

“I’ve got a decent little crossover out back. You should take a look at it while I get your battery squared away. If you decide it suits, I’ll make you a good deal on it.” He told me where to look and gestured toward the back door, and though I wasn’t sure I was ready, I agreed to at least check it out.

Crossover, it turned out, was code for something a little smaller than an SUV but a bit bigger than a hatchback. This one was a pretty blue, fully loaded, and I thought I liked it, but had trouble concentrating enough to tell because something else caught my eye.

Bennie had already pulled out my old battery by the time I went back inside.

“Hey Bennie, that blue Buick over in the corner, the one with the broken headlight…can you tell me where you got it?”

He put my old battery down and picked up a new one. “Sure, but I think you’d be better off with something with all wheel drive.”

I waved the comment away and followed back out to my car. “No, I know. And I am interested in the crossover, but I need to know where you got the Buick. It’s really important.”

Leaning over, he settled the new battery in place. “I sorta bought it off of Clyde Stone. He showed up here six, maybe eight months ago drunker than skunk and told me he needed money to put first and last down on an apartment in town. Asked if I’d by the car off him, then hold it for him for a couple of months. He said he’d have some money coming in and he’d buy it back for a little more than I paid him plus whatever it cost to get it fixed and give it a new paint job.”

Clyde Stone.

“It’s funny.” Bennie closed Sally’s hood with a bang. “Because I didn’t expect he’d come back, but he did. He’s been paying me a little at a time, but he doesn’t seem too anxious to get his car back.”

“Oh, it’s funny, all right. What do I owe you? I hate to get a battery and run, but there’s something I have to do.”

“Tell you what, you come back on Thursday, pay me for the battery and take that crossover out for a ride, okay? I don’t know why, but I have a feeling it’s the right car for you.”

“You’re one of the good ones, Bennie. I’ll be here on Thursday before noon okay?” Normally, I’d have insisted on paying him then, but I needed to get back to town before Felicity did something that would put her soul in jeopardy.

Sally fired right up, and I barreled down the drive.

“I know where we have to go. I only hope we’re not too late.” I told Amber what Bennie had told me, and sped down the country road as fast as it was safe to go.

Chapter Ten

By the time I turned down Clyde’s street, he’d been at Felicity’s mercy for almost an hour, and even if I didn’t like him very much—less now than ever—letting her have revenge wasn’t the same as seeing she got justice.

The upstairs tenant met me at the front steps. “Good thing you’re here. Do something about him,” she said, pointing a thumb over her shoulder, “or I’m filing a complaint with Leo to get him evicted.” With that, she turned and stomped back inside.

From the porch, I heard Clyde begging and didn’t think twice before pulling out my key and unlocking the door. Amber had already whooshed past me, and now returned to announce, “Well, I don’t think he’ll be getting his security deposit back.”

Sharp and slightly medicinal, the scent of cheap vodka marched up my nostrils and tried to steal my breath. Shards of glass glittered below several dents in the wall in front of me, made, I assumed, by bottles striking there with some force.

On my way past the kitchen, I saw the refrigerator door hanging by one hinge, the table tipped on its side.

“In here,” Amber yelled from the living room.

“Yeah, I figured that out for myself, thank you.” All I’d had to do was follow the thumping noise and the sound of Clyde begging.

I found him drenched in vodka and cowering in the corner beyond the sofa with an arm flung over his face.

Eyes gone dark, face frozen as though in mid-scream, Felicity stood in the center of the room. Her hands rhythmically opened and closed into fists. With each motion, the sofa lifted a little higher and fell a little harder.

Whether by design or as a form of self-punishment, Clyde lived among little more than the bare necessities. Enough furniture to give him a place to sit, to eat, to sleep, and no other decoration than the framed photograph I’d seen before.

“Help me. You have to make it stop. I’ll confess. Just make it stop. Make her stop.”

Now was not the time for pretense, and since he’d indicated he could see her I didn’t attempt any.

“Felicity, that’s enough. It’s okay, honey. You can stop now.” If I could have hugged her, I would have, but all I could do was use my voice and tone to convey sympathy. “It’s over. Do you hear me?”

No response. Not even a twitch.

“Amber,” I murmured, “if you’re able to touch her, now would be the time. I don’t like Clyde’s chances if she drops that sofa on him. It’s heavy, and he’s older than he looks.”

“Deserves what he gets if you ask me.” But Amber laid a hand on Felicity’s shoulder, gave it a squeeze, then moved down to try and capture one fisting hand.

“I need to do this.” Felicity jerked away. “You need to let me so I can rest.”

“But you won’t rest easy if you hurt Clyde,” I said. “Let me take care of him for you. I’ll make sure he’s properly punished. I promise.”

“No.” The sofa thumped harder and I did some quick thinking.

“How about this. I’ll call Ernie Polk right now. When he gets here, Clyde will confess and if he doesn’t, I’ll walk away and let you have your way with him. But while Ernie’s here, you have to promise you’ll leave off, okay?”

Thump.

But not as hard, so maybe I was getting through to her.

“I don’t think so.”

“If you hurt him, I’m not sure if you’ll be able to go into the light.” Not a threat, but it was all I had left.

Felicity snorted and nodded her head toward Amber. “She doesn’t seem to be bothered by being stuck here, so why should I?”

“I’ll tell you what.” Amber stepped between Felicity and Clyde. “If you let Everly call the police, I’ll walk into the light with you. It’s time for me to go, too.”

Her eyes met mine long enough for me to mouth, “Thank you!”

“I guess that would be okay. But I won’t go until he’s under arrest.”

“Deal.” I made the call, and when Ernie arrived, let Clyde do most of the talking. I think he felt better for getting everything off his chest.

“You’re going to have to tell me how this all happened.” Ernie snapped the handcuffs on his prisoner.

As he led Clyde out the door, Amber slung an arm over Felicity’s shoulders and gave me one final smile. Through tears, I nodded, then watched the two ghosts fade away.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I tried.”

-The End-

Thanks for reading about Everly Dupree’s Halloween adventure. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as we enjoyed writing it.

If you liked Christmas Presence, you’ll probably want to check out the next book:

Fortune Haunter

Everly Dupree helps the dead find peace—whether she wants to or not in the Haunted Everly After series.

Can’t wait to find out what happens next?

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