Empaths and Paws

by Penny Brooke

“You know my Aunt Mable?” I asked.

  Gretchen’s face scrunched up in pain. She was my best friend, and therefore, I knew exactly what she was thinking. It was the same face she gave every time I’d bring up my parents—a pain that still feels fresh after all these years.

  She placed her hand on top of mine. “I’m so sorry about your Aunt Mable. I should have called you.”

  I waved her words away. She didn't have to explain. I was the one who left everyone—my family, my friends, and my town. I didn’t expect anything and was overjoyed that my best friend and I could pick up where we left off after all these years.

  “I’ve got a little money laid back, and then I inherited Aunt Mable’s house. I thought I’d move in there.”

  Gretchen’s green eyes grew wide. “You mean Mortimer House?”

  I nodded.

  “That place is haunted! Why do you think no one wants to stay there anymore?”

  I shrugged as I sipped my tea. “I thought it had something to do with the fallen plaster, the holes in the hardwood flooring, the electricity that goes on and off, and the fact that there’s not a warm room in there come winter.”

  She nodded. “Most of that is due to the ghosts. Especially the electricity part. They’re drawn to energies, you know,” she said in a very authoritative tone.

  “You're acting silly, Gretchen. Aunt Mable never mentioned any ghosts.”

  Gretchen leaned back into her chair. “Listen, your Aunt Mable, she was always such a… a…”

  “Weirdo?”

  “I was going to say ‘different.’ Like a spontaneous, marches to her own beat, spunky kind of spirit.” Gretchen grinned.

  “She was my grandmother’s only sister, and she had enough money that no one would ever dare call her that to her face,” I said with a snicker. “Anyway, I’m not so sure she was weird as much as, well, a ‘sensitive.’”

  “You say that like it’s a thing.” Gretchen sneaked an Oreo, despite my warnings.

  “This coming from someone who believes in ghosts.”

  “Ghosts are real. It’s scientific. We are energy, and energy never dies. Ghosts are a bundle of energy that never dies.” Gretchen put out her hands as if her point was not only made but easily understood.

  “Fine, I can believe in ghosts if you will believe that Aunt Mable was a sensitive.”

  “Fine,” Gretchen agreed. “Though, I wouldn't be in such a hurry to move into that mausoleum if I were you.”

  “About that,” I started. “I was wondering if maybe I could stay with you until—”

  Gretchen bounced up onto her feet. “Say no more! I’ll go put fresh linens on the guest room bed,” she said, dusting Oreo crumbs from her shirt.

  “Thanks, Gretch, I was hoping you’d be okay with me staying with you. I know Mortimer House isn’t move-in ready.”

  “Yeah,” she said, moving toward the doorway. “Not anything close.”

  3

  Home Disaster Home

  The next day, Gretchen agreed to drive me to Mortimer House since I wasn’t sure I could get ol’ Betsy to choke out another mile.

  I gasped a little as I got out of the car and faced Mortimer House from the sidewalk. Gretchen was watching me from inside her car. She’d made it clear she wasn’t stepping foot inside.

  “Wow,” I uttered before thinking.

  “Told you,” she said through the passenger window. She was still in the driver seat, hunched down to see the house. “Mortimer House in all its glory.”

  One of the boards over a broken front window had fallen and was now swinging side to side, holding on to one rusted nail for dear life.

  I cocked my head to the side, hopeful. “It has possibilities.”

  “Not in one lifetime, darlin’,” Gretchen said.

  “All that’s going to change. I’m here now. And I’m family, so that makes a difference,” I proclaimed bravely.

  “To whom?” Gretchen was very talented when it came to sarcasm.

  I shot her a backward glance. “To me, for one. This house has been in our family for generations.” I had a long lost cousin, but besides them, I was the only one left to inherit Mable’s estate.

  “Was probably the bad wiring. The electrical inspector said it’s a wonder it hasn’t burned down. You know you’ll have to rewire the whole thing before they give you an occupancy permit?”

  I frowned. “You checked, huh?”

  “Yes, I checked. Someone has to look after you. Now that…”

  “It’s okay, say it. Now that I’m divorced. Even if Darren were here, he wouldn’t be much help. He wasn’t handy, at least not in that way.” A wave of betrayal rolled down inside me.

  “Let’s not talk about that, huh? Honey, this place is going to take a boatload of money to fix just so you can live in it. You sure you want to take that on? It might be better to bulldoze it and sell the land. This area has limited commercial zoning, you know. Just little boutiques, that sort of thing. No lighted signs and no bars; you get the idea.”

  I looked at the attached building Aunt Mable had added in her later years. “How about that? Could I put a little thing in there?”

  “Don’t see why not. What did you have in mind?”

  “Antiques. Something old and well-loved, I think. Of course, I’ll have to scout out pieces, but it will be comforting, and I’ll get used to being back home.”

  “Go for it. I think you’d be great, and I might be your best customer.”

  “Oh, Gretchen, would you?”

  “Sure. My clients always want focal pieces, and antiques are the perfect solution.”

  “I wonder how the electrical is in there?”

  “Like I said, I heard there’s bad wiring, and you’ll probably have to get the whole place rewired. I can give you the name of a reasonable electrician. Call and have him meet you.”

  “Perfect! Let’s go into town. I haven’t been there in ages. Is the bakery still there?”

  “Ehhh, kind of. Not like it used to be.”

  “Huh. Well, anyway, let’s go find a cup of coffee, and I’ll give your electrician a call. Maybe he’ll be free and able to come meet me right away.”

  “You’ve got it!”

  I tucked my cotton t-shirt into my pink, seersucker slacks and got back into her car, running a comb through my hair as I gazed in the passenger-side mirror. I wanted to look my best in case I ran into people I knew.

  Markham’s Bakery was just as Gretchen had promised. They had a couple Keurigs, and most of the baked goods looked like they’d come from a discount warehouse. I passed on the pastries but got a coffee, and we settled down so I could call the electrician.

  “This is Ben,” he answered on the second ring. That probably meant he carried his cell on him.

  “Ben, this is Fiona Parkins. Gretchen Smith referred me to you for an electrical estimate.”

  “Gretchen who?”

  Gretchen was wildly gesturing to me. I covered the phone.

  “I’m going by Brevert right now,” she said.

  My mouth fell open, and my eyebrows went up. Just as soon as I’d remembered her most recent last name, she’d go out and find a new husband.

  “Gretchen Brevert,” I corrected. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting her married name. Anyway, I’ve inherited my aunt’s house, and it’s big and old and most likely needs some work done before I can move in. Gretchen recommended you.”

  “Okay. Thank her for me, whoever she is. Yeah, I can take a look and give you an estimate, but I don’t do guarantees. Just as soon as I do a guarantee, something I didn’t see coming comes and then it’s more expensive than I figured, and the customer gets mad, and the whole thing goes off tilt—”

  “That’s okay. I understand,” I interrupted him. I reminded myself not to ask many questions as he seemed to like to talk the bill up. “Could you possibly meet me there in a half hour?”

  “Possibly. I’ve got to go out to the old mill at noon. Andy there, he needs some work done in his s
table. I don’t know why horses need lights; they see better than you and I do in the dark, but you know Andy. Well, maybe you don’t.”

  “Great, Ben. You wouldn’t happen to know Mortimer House, would you?”

  “That’s where you want to live? Oh, I don’t know if I’d do that, missy. You see—”

  “Yes, I inherited it. I’ll see you there in a half hour then, okay?”

  “It’s haunted, you know.”

  “Yes, so I’ve heard. In that case, we’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

  “I don’t like ghosts.”

  “Ben, ghosts like their privacy, too. So, see you then. Bye!” I tapped the phone off before he went off on another verbal volcano.

  “I meant to tell you. Ben likes to talk,” Gretchen offered up.

  “I guess so! Then he’s always like that?”

  She nodded. “Personally, I think Ben has social anxiety, so he constantly talks to cover it up and keep his attention diverted.”

  “Okay, Dr. Ruth, but he is a licensed electrician, right?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve used him for several of my clients’ houses. Most people give him a key and leave for the day. He gets more done that way.”

  “I can see why. You want more coffee?”

  “Do you?” Gretchen’s lavender sweater set off her pale blue eyes and her red hair at the same time. I had to admit. She did have an eye for color.

  “Not really.”

  “Okay, then what do you say we take a quick ride down to the shore and then we’ll go meet Ben on the way back.”

  “Works for me,” I agreed, already packing up my purse and phone.

  The shore was the centerpiece of Tempest. There were rows of colored beach cottages, mostly rented by the tourists during the warmer months. They didn’t have heat, and the owners generally boarded up the windows and pulled up the stairs by late October for hurricane season. They looked like children's dollhouses with their decorative trim and matching Adirondack chairs in the sandy front yards. They were totally eye candy. “Always liked the look of those things.” I pointed out a row.

  “Me too, but they’re just sheds, you know. No insulation, a tiny little kitchenette, and only two beds and a bath. But the tourists lap them up, so who am I to argue?”

  “We’d better turn back. I don’t want to keep Ben waiting. He’s liable to put me on the clock.”

  “Yeah, boss,” she mimicked as she turned back toward town and my aunt’s house.

  When we reached the house, I got out of the car, gawking up at the old Victorian. I glanced back at Gretchen. “You coming?”

  “I’ll wait—”

  “I know. You’ll wait out here. Coward.”

  I heard, “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me…” in a sing-song voice at my back. To both be forty-two, we were still like high school girls when we were together.

  “Suit yourself. I’ll be back out soon.”

  I started toward the house, but then heard footsteps behind me. Gretchen.

  I cast a glance over my shoulder. “You change your mind already?”

  “I’m just curious to see what it looks like inside.”

  We headed up to the massive front door, and I pulled a key from my pocket. It was a spare I’d received from Mable’s lawyer after signing some paperwork. Unlocking it, the heavy door creaked inward.

  I inched forward into the dark space, but Gretchen had a death grip on my upper arm.

  “Seriously?” I asked her.

  “Are you sure you want to go in there?”

  I shrugged her off my arm and headed in. She hesitantly followed behind—sitting alone in the car must have been less desirable than exploring a “haunted” house.

  In the foyer, I let out a long breath, eyeing the dark stairwell that led to the second floor. “This isn’t so bad.”

  Gretchen shrugged. “I guess if you are Lily Munster.”

  A noise echoed through the house.

  Gretchen and I exchanged a glance.

  “What was that?” Gretchen whispered.

  “Calm down,” I said without lowering my voice. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “Sounds like it came from that door over there.” Gretchen was pointing to a door off to our right.

  “Where do you think that leads? The basement?”

  “Oh, Fiona… knock it off.”

  Another noise. This time, whatever it was sounded low, guttural.

  Gretchen nudged me in the direction of the noise as if she insisted I check it out while she waited in the safety of the foyer. I waved her off. “Stop that!”

  “Go see what it is.”

  I could tell that Gretchen was on the verge of running from the house, but for whatever reason, she seemed intrigued. I was growing intrigued as well, wondering what was making that noise. For a moment, I thought the place was haunted after all.

  I moved slowly, making my way toward the door where we’d heard the noise. My hands quaked as I walked. Maybe Gretchen was right. Perhaps we should’ve fled before whatever was behind that door made itself known.

  But something inside kept me moving forward, and my hand seemed to automatically reach for the doorknob. But before I could grasp it, the door swung open.

  My heart thudded in my chest, and a snarling face stared back at me.

  I shrieked, and it echoed through the house as I stood frozen in terror.

  Gretchen was already heading for the door when I saw a flash of white flying past me. It only took a moment for me to realize the presence we assumed was a ghost was barking and had a tail.

  And the face in the doorway was attached to a body. A real-life person who was also screaming in terror.

  “Who are you?” I tried to keep my voice calm.

  “Who am I?” The woman clutched her chest. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Fiona, and this is my house. You’re trespassing?”

  The woman’s face relaxed, and I couldn’t understand why. But then she let out a chuckle, her hand still on her chest. Next thing I knew, her laughing grew louder. “Oh my! You’re little Fiona!”

  “I am. Now, who are you?”

  “I’m Sylvia Markham. I’m a good friend of your aunt.”

  I studied the woman a moment, suddenly recognizing her. She had aged considerably since I’d last seen her, and her eyeglasses sat low on the tip of her nose. Her hair had turned gray, and she was stooped when she walked.

  “Oh, Mrs. Markham! It has been years.”

  “It has, dear. I’m just here to keep an eye on Lizzie Borden.”

  “Lizzie who?”

  “Your aunt’s dog. The one who chased your friend out the door.”

  In the brief silence, I heard a dog barking, and I realized it was coming from outside.

  “Oh, no! Gretchen!” I ran out the door to find Gretchen on top of the hood of the car. A miniature schnauzer was barking at her, its tail whipping to and fro.

  “She doesn’t bite,” Sylvia said, coming outside to join us. She was now standing behind me near the front door. “She just wants to play.”

  Gretchen waved both her hands at the dog in an attempt to shoo her away. “Get it away from me!”

  Sylvia pulled something out of her pocket and patted the side of her thigh. “C’mon, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie turned around, ears perked. She let her tongue hang out before galloping back toward the house.

  I walked over to my friend, helping her off the hood.

  “I swear, Fiona, it tried to kill me.” Gretchen’s dramatics were overwhelming as she clutched me.

  “With her tongue, maybe,” Sylvia said, still standing on the porch. She rubbed Lizzie’s head.

  Gretchen ignored her. “I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

  I ushered Gretchen back toward the house, and Sylvia took the dog inside as we followed behind.

  “There, there,” I said to Gretchen.

  In the foyer, we closed the door, so Lizzie Borden wouldn’t ge
t out again.

  Sylvia smiled. “Your aunt adored her dog—she’s only a couple years old, you know. Maybe she forgot to tell you she got a new dog. But you should know she’s an animal lover.”

  I nodded. “I remember over the years, she’d owned cats, dogs, and bunnies.”

  “She even had a ferret,” Sylvia said.

  Gretchen’s eyes went wide. “A ferret?”

  “Yeah, a ferret she named Sherlock Holmes, after her favorite mystery series. The bugger got loose recently, but I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but a knock came at the door. I opened it, and a tall man with brown hair and black-rimmed glasses stood at the door. He held a toolbox, which clued me off to his identity.

  “You must be Ben.”

  The man flashed a smile. “That’s me. And you’re Fiona?”

  “Nice to meet you.” I stuck out a hand, and he shook it firmly. “Come on in.”

  Ben headed down to the basement as Sylvia said her goodbyes.

  “Come see me at the bakery, dear,” she said to me, waving.

  I cocked my head, then my eyebrows rose in realization. “Oh, that’s right… you own Markham’s Bakery.”

  “Indeed.”

  “We were just in there today.”

  “A friend has been filling in for me most of the time since Mable’s passing, but now that you’re here, I’ll be getting back to my duties at the bakery.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop in soon.”

  After Sylvia left, Gretchen poked around the first floor of the house with Lizzie Borden following her while I went to follow Ben into the basement. I had to remember where the stairs to the basement were and found them. There was no light when I tugged at the switch. “There’s no light to see,” I called down.

  “Nope.”

  “How do you know what you’re doing?”

  “I bring flashlights. Here, just a minute.” A lone beam of light settled on the bottom step, and I gingerly made my way to it. “Just follow the beam. I won’t let you trip.”

  I did as he said, and when I reached his side, I caught a whiff of something quite strong. I pulled back involuntarily and then was embarrassed.