Empaths and Paws

by Penny Brooke

“Yeah, did you smell that? That’s not me if that’s what you’re thinking. That’s them.”

  “Them?”

  “The ghosts.”

  I nodded. “Yes. Have you seen some?”

  “Don’t need to. I just know they’re here.”

  I listened patiently. I made it a habit never to tell people that I was a sensitive and picked up on energies, alive and dead. They seemed spooked by that and often pulled away. Ben didn’t need to know, even if he was a sensitive on some level himself.

  “So, Ben, what do you think about the electrical?”

  “Simple. It’s all got to come out. The box, the service, and the wiring to the rooms. Have to pull all new wire.”

  I whistled. “That sounds expensive.”

  “Not cheap. It takes a lot of time, especially pulling those wires. These old houses weren’t built with conduit in the walls, you know. There can be just about anything in the walls. People put whatever they had for insulation and some things that they just plain wanted to hide.”

  “Such as?”

  “Oh, money, jewels, dead bodies…”

  “Dead bodies?”

  “Just kidding. Well, not entirely. Another electrician I talked to found a skeleton in the wall of an old Victorian. Everything stopped. It was considered a crime scene, and the police had to be called in. They had to try to reclaim DNA, rip out the wall to look for other evidence—oh, it was a bloomin’ mess.”

  “I hope Aunt Mable didn’t put anybody in these walls. I can’t afford that.”

  “Nah, probably not. Aunt Mable wasn’t the killing kind.”

  “You knew her?”

  “Sure. Got called over here several times when her electric stopped working. She should have been made to leave; fire risk, you know. But she was old and the sheriff sort of let it go. But now you’re here and…”

  “…the sheriff won’t let it go for me.”

  “I doubt it. Anyway, you’d regret it. Remember, your Aunt Mable had none of the modern conveniences. No television, microwave, dishwasher, Internet with computer… I’m guessing you’d want at least some of that, and this old system just won’t support it. You’d be constantly blowing fuses.”

  “I know, you’re right.” I sighed. “Okay, any idea of a ballpark?”

  “Hmmm… I’m going to guess maybe twenty grand.”

  I grabbed his arm to steady myself. “But that’s almost half the money I have that needs to cover everything!”

  “Sorry, but it’s going to take time. And while we’re on the subject, you’ll need to stretch that money to put on a new roof. It’s sagging, and if you ignore it, new electrical won’t do you any good.”

  “I don’t suppose you take payments,” I said kiddingly.

  “Nope, and no credit cards. Just cash.”

  I groaned.

  “But… this is a pretty big old house,” Ben said. “And I just got a notice that the apartment I rent across town has been sold, and I have to find somewhere to live. I remember your aunt used to run a boarding house here, some time ago, so I’ll tell you what… If you set aside a room for me somewhere in this monster of a house, I’ll deduct a year’s rent in advance from the cost.”

  “Really? How much would that be worth, roughly?”

  “Uh, right now, I’m paying $400 a month for one room, utilities included, but I’d be willing to go up to $500 if you give me one of those bathrooms to myself.”

  I did the math. “Done.” I held out my hand to shake his. “When are you moving in?”

  “Can’t move in until the electrical is done. This house could go up in smoke at any time, and it would be bad for business if I burned up in it. You won’t be able to get it insured until you get the service changed over to breakers, and the inspector signs off on the whole building.”

  “I’m feeling money fly out of my pockets.”

  “Well, look at it this way. Think of how nice it will be when it’s done.”

  I sighed. “Well, thank you, Ben. I’ll get you a key.”

  “Don’t bother. Mable gave me one a long time ago.”

  I scrunched my eyebrows. This was news to me—but so was everything else. I figured Mable and Ben must have gone back a long way. “Okay, then let me know how it’s going. The faster, the better, obviously. I’m homeless until it’s done.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Bye!”

  I made my way back outside and closed the door gently behind myself, locking in all the spirits so they could rest. They’d be in enough uproar once Ben started ripping out walls.

  I groaned. I needed to find a way to start making some money—and soon.

  4

  Baking Electricity

  “Gretchen, like I said, I really appreciate you letting me and Lizzie stay here until Ben gets the house done. He says I need a new roof, too, but I think I can live there while that’s going on. My only problem now is funding all this work.”

  “I can help. I’m drawing alimony from three of the four.”

  “Four? No, although I appreciate your offer, I need to do this on my own. But I have an idea. I’ll let you know if it works.”

  Markham’s Bakery had been in business at least as long as I’d been alive. The tourists loved the smell of freshly-made doughnuts with cider and hot chocolate on the cool Atlantic nights. Mr. Markham had died roughly five years earlier, and Sylvia was struggling to run things alone.

  I pushed open the door and went in. The place was empty. I waited at the counter and finally tapped the little bell left for customers to ring for service.

  Sylvia came out from somewhere in the back. “Oh, Fiona… thanks for coming to see me!”

  “Nice place you have here.”

  “Thank you, dear. So, is there anything I can get for you? Coffee? Danish? My back hurts me, so nowadays, I can’t stand up for long.”

  “Sure. Coffee and a Danish sounds delightful.”

  Sylvia hurried off, then came back with my order.

  I paid her, then glanced around. “I remember what the bakery was like years ago, and I know it must be hard for you, trying to keep things like they were.”

  “It is, indeed. I had a friend filling in, but I’m flying solo again.”

  “Do you need any help here?”

  “I couldn’t ask you for help, dear.”

  I took a sip of my coffee. “To be honest, I need a job.”

  “A job? You just got here.”

  “I know, but I’ll be remodeling Aunt Mable’s house and, well, it’s not going to be cheap.”

  “Oh, no, I know it won’t. That place should have burned to the ground a long time ago. Glad to see you hired an electrician—I pestered Mable about getting things up to code at least, but she didn’t seem too concerned.”

  I nodded. Everyone in town seemed to know the state of my electrical problems. “So, would you be willing to hire me? I can make all the goodies you used to and add some more.”

  “Oh, dear, I’m afraid the bakery doesn’t bring in enough to support my hiring of anyone, even if you are related to Mable.”

  My heart dropped. “I see.” I thought a moment. “What if I make you a deal? You tell me what your monthly revenue is right now, and I’ll only take half of the improvement I bring. So, you’ll be making more money, I’ll have a job, and your business value will increase overall.”

  Sylvia put one hand on top of the glass bakery case, leaning heavily. I could see the strain on her face. “Well, would you wait on the customers, too?”

  “Oh, yes, of course.”

  She let out a long breath. “Well… okay, you’ve got yourself a deal. When can you start?”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  Sylvia nodded. “Tomorrow it is. Be here at four in the morning. The cases have to be full when we open at seven.”

  I forced a smile. I hadn’t thought about the monstrous hours, but since I’d negotiated a deal, I had to follow through. I really had no other choice. “Four in the morning, then.”
I nodded and reached out to shake her hand. She waved me away, putting her hand on her hip instead. I promised myself I would make a better life for both of us if it was the last thing I did.

  I decided to drive by Mortimer House to see if Ben had started working on the electrical yet. His truck was there, so I pulled up and went in. “Ben, it’s Fiona,” I called out and saw something furry scurry across the library to my right. Was it Sherlock, the ferret? Or did the place have mice? Mental note to self: get live capture traps. The last thing I wanted to do was set old-fashioned mouse traps with Sherlock running around somewhere in the house.

  “Down here!” Ben called out. “Did you bring a flashlight this time?”

  “No, I forgot, but I’ll just stay at the top of the stairs. Just letting you know I’m here. I’m having a look around.”

  “Roger that!”

  Mortimer House was a Victorian built about 1840 by Aunt Mable’s, and my grandmother’s, great-great-grandfather, George Mortimer. In the family, we referred to him as GG. He’d owned a fleet of ships fishing for cod along the banks where the right combination of water temperature, rich shallows, currents, and ledges made for endless hauls. Whether it was the truth or wishful thinking, we’d been brought up hearing that George’s Bank, which lay out in the Atlantic, was named for him. It never occurred to us to question why they weren’t named Mortimer Banks, but that’s the magic of childhood innocence.

  GG, as the family history went, was known for his high temper and competitive nature. Having secured a royal income from his fleet, he set out to build the grandest, most beautiful home in town. Not far from the coast, we reasoned that the interim land had since been developed, perhaps blocking what was his view of his kingdom. It could, however, still be seen from the widow’s walk, the enclosed platform with windows facing the sea that sat like a crown on Mortimer House.

  It was rumored that a competitor had planted a handful of seamen on GG’s ships, sabotaging them, and most went down with the first November gale. GG was ruined and holed up in his self-described castle until the day he died at the age of just 50. He left his wife, a son, a daughter, and a pile of debts. What Grandma GG did to keep them off the streets was a segment of family history no one would discuss, so it was lost to me.

  I started up the dusty staircase that clung to the inside wall. It was gloomy and hard to see, and naturally, there was no electricity. Another note to self: bring a flashlight. I coughed a little and more overwhelming was the energy that was seeping into me from the railing. I carefully laid my hand on the wall. A thousand souls permeated me, and I had to withdraw. They were all passed souls who had been in the house at one time; perhaps some of them not of their own free will. Sometimes, being an empath could be very uncomfortable.

  I took the steps slowly, adding my weight gradually, but luckily they were all quite sound. Leave it to GG to build a house as solidly as a ship. I reached the gallery at the top of the stairs. There were east-facing windows, a prelude to the widow’s walk above, I assumed. All I could see were rooftops and thickly-branched trees, punctuated by electric and telephone poles. I took the north wing first; the carpet was so dusty that I left footprints. The doors were all closed, which made it a little like opening a Christmas present. Each door I opened revealed yet another surprise. The first on the right had a pair of floor to ceiling windows, each with an arch of stained glass overhead. That was visible by standing on the ground from the front yard. What wasn’t visible, and added so much charm, was the carved crown molding stained deep mahogany that matched the wood floor. It was furnished with a carved wood, four-poster bed, a matching dresser, and a rocker. There was a small fireplace at the far end of the room that accounted for the many chimneys on the roof. Even without the bed linens, the room was impressive. I pictured a braided rug and a handmade quilt on the bed. It would be very cozy, indeed.

  Room after room was a variation on that theme, each with a fireplace, bed, and dresser, and all held the mahogany crown molding. Some rooms were slightly smaller than others, depending on where their closets lay. There was a linen room that was fitted with matching cabinetry lined with shelves. That was where the household staff would have folded and stored linens for the beds. Its shelves were empty, but there was an old glass spray bottle sitting in the corner that I thought had probably held starch. Of course, in those days, bed linens were always starched.

  Behind about every third door was a tiled bath with a huge, claw-foot tub. I longed to fill one up and give it a try but was afraid to turn on the water—yet. I didn’t need another surprise while my pocketbook was so thin. The bigger bedrooms had a private bath which you entered from within the bedroom.

  The south wing was almost identical except at the end was the master bedroom and sitting room, including a bath. It was easily three times the size of the others and held a carved bed of light wood, as well as a dressing room with an antique mirror that distorted my image. I noticed another handle in the dressing room and tried it. It swung open easily to reveal a set of stairs climbing upward. I cautiously ventured up and found myself in the glassed-in widow’s walk with its iron walkway that gave you a view over everything in town, directly to the Atlantic. It was stunning and yet I imagined my great-great-great-great-grandmother passing many sad hours there waiting for GG’s ship to appear on the horizon. I imagined when she spotted it with a spyglass, she’d hurry downstairs and pull out the makings of a hearty, delicious dinner so he would feel welcomed by the smells when he finally came in the front door.

  I perched on the floor at the top of the stairs for some time, mentally planning what I was going to do with all the space. I made the decision right there that I would open a boarding house, just like my Aunt Mable. I already knew the zoning would permit it, and once Ben and I had the house up to code, I’d have more room than I could possibly use. I lived in a tourist town. It was the perfect solution. I’d rent bi-weekly, monthly, or yearly. One room was already spoken for by Ben.

  All that left to do then was to scout out the kitchen. I would be cooking for my boarders, and hopefully, it wasn’t going to take a great deal of work. I was wrong, though. The stove was an ancient woodstove and the refrigerator was literally an icebox. There was no way it was useable. At least I could sell the stove and icebox as antiques and get a good start on up-to-date appliances.

  There was a knock at the door, and I hurried to open it.

  I didn’t recognize the man’s face immediately, but I don’t think it was because he’d changed, but more because I’d not seen him as a mature man, and I’d put his sadness behind me when I left town. It was Peter Sullivan, the boy who I’d gone with all through high school. I knew he’d been angry with me when I left.

  “Peter.” He was well over six-feet-tall, his hair neatly styled in a tousled look, but his deep green eyes were exactly as I’d remembered.

  “I’d heard someone was here and wondered if it was you,” he responded, his eyes locked onto mine.

  “It’s me!” I smiled, trying to lighten the situation.

  “So, it is.” Then came the big awkward silence.

  “Come on in,” I invited, holding the door wider.

  He walked past me and, oh geez, he still wore the same cologne. Memories flooded back, and I even got a little gushy feeling around my heart.

  “You look great, Peter.”

  He didn’t look at me but was instead peering into the house. “You living here?” It was that dry, utilitarian voice of a government employee.

  “No, I can’t. Wiring isn’t safe. Ben Harper is downstairs beginning the work to replace it.”

  “Good. I was afraid…” Peter began but didn’t finish his sentence.

  “No need to worry. Ben made sure I understood all the ramifications. How have you been, Peter? I see you’re the sheriff here now?”

  He nodded, but still didn’t look at me. “Since before Mary died.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “She died six months after yo
u…”

  “…left?”

  He gave a curt nod. “Mind if I have a look around?”

  “Of course not.”

  I got the distinct idea he wasn’t as interested in the dusty old house as he was to have an extra few words with me. Maybe it was self-flattery. I hoped I’d aged as well as he had. I strolled just behind him as he walked.

  “So, you have plans for the place? Planning to sell it?” he wanted to know.

  I pushed my hair behind my ears, a gesture of insecurity I’d had since I was a child. “I’m not sure, but I think I’m going to open a boarding house—for the tourist crowds, you know. Naturally, I’ll live here, too.”

  He nodded his approval. “You know, your Aunt Mable shouldn’t have been living here as long as she did. House electrical is a disaster. She could have—”

  “—burnt the house down. Yes, it’s been mentioned; several times.”

  “Sheriff? That you?” Ben’s booming voice interrupted our stilted conversation.

  “Hi, Ben. How you doing?” Peter held out his hand, and Ben shook it.

  Ben was in the conversation then. “Yeah, told the little lady here that this place was going to be a pretty big undertaking, what with the whole new electrical service. Gotta pull all new wires all the way to that walk thing, new fixtures, outlets, and then that doesn’t begin to address the roof—”

  “Thank you, Ben,” I cut him off. “The sheriff just stopped by to say hello and see what we were up to. Don’t worry, I’m not going to bring a sleeping bag in here.”

  Ben cocked his head. “That’s right, I forgot. You two dated hot and heavy all through high school. But then you left, Fiona, and you know Peter was never the same after that even when he married Mary, God rest her soul—”

  “Thank you, Ben.” It was Peter who interrupted him that time, and I could understand why.

  “Well, Ben, I was just about to leave. I’ve got some phone calls to make. Peter, are you staying, or may I walk you out?”

  “I’m leaving, too, Ben. I’ve seen enough.”