Ghost Haste

by ReGina Welling

  I am, though, but the amended version of my introduction wasn’t any better.

  Hi, I’m Everly. I help ghosts find peace, whether I want to or not. There might be one near me right now. Don’t you want to take me out on a date?

  Oh yeah, I’m a catch. Any man who heard just half of my story and didn’t leave skid marks on his way out the door would be the kind of man I’d look sideways at because he’d clearly have lousy judgment.

  So no, despite the fact my divorce had been final for several months, and my mother had been making subtle noises about fixing me up, I had no intention of dipping my toes in the dating pool.

  These were my thoughts as I fired up old Sally Forth.

  Yes, I named my car. Lots of people do; they just don’t always admit to it. Sally had come to me along with the aforementioned house I’d bought right after moving back to town. It was an impulse purchase, you know, the kind near the register.

  Laugh if you must, but it all happened just that quickly. I went to the town office to check the bulletin board for apartments to rent and unwittingly fell prey to the machinations of one Martha Tipton. I still think, though she refuses to confirm my suspicions, that she knowingly bamboozled me with her story about some unscrupulous person who wanted to buy Catherine Willowby’s house only to tear it down.

  Tear down Spooky Manor? Not on my watch.

  I don’t call it that anymore, in case you’re wondering. Even though ghosts follow me home from time to time, there’s nothing spooky about the house itself unless you consider a closet full of mannequin heads spooky, and then I guess there is. There was a reason for them, but that’s a whole other story.

  Anyhow, when I bought the place, old Sally was in the garage, and therefore considered part of the contents that came with my home-buying experience. My father hated that I drove a classic car in winter, but Sally got me from place to place, and I didn’t have to make car payments.

  I pulled into the grocery store parking lot and scored a space right near the door—which was odd enough for a Saturday, and downright strange on a holiday where liquor and food tend to be part of the festivities. Inside, the place looked like a ghost town. The Christmas version. Piles of red and green packaged treats filled a couple of shopping carts carrying signs offering a 50 percent discount.

  Barking coughs punctuated the leftover Christmas music playing over tinny-sounding speakers, the liquid sound of phlegm sending me in search of disinfecting cart wipes. I considered slapping one over my face for extra protection, then decided I didn’t want to be that person.

  Five minutes, in and out, shallow breaths. I could do this.

  I grabbed a couple of extra wipes and moved deeper into the germ zone. When the store’s butcher came out with a tray of packaged chicken, a surgical mask covering his mouth, his eyes fever-bright, I hastily amended my party menu. Prepackaged meatballs versus scratch-made from plague-burger? That was a no-brainer. Plus, the time saved could translate to a short nap.

  And with that thought in my head, I opted for bags of precut veggies for dipping. A minute saved was a minute snoozed.

  “Hey, Robin.” Since my former co-worker stood behind the only open register, I couldn’t avoid a moment of inane chit-chat.

  “Hey, you.” Or maybe I could. She looked at me as if I’d just rolled in from out of town. We’d worked together for several weeks until our boss was murdered, so you’d think she’d at least remember my name. Then again, with all that air rushing around in her head, maybe not.

  Robin scanned my items, pushing them along without paying attention to how they piled up at the end of the checkout area.

  “It’s quiet in here today,” I observed as I ran my debit card through the reader.

  Since she made no move in that direction, I began to bag my own groceries.

  “Flu.” Gum, the same color as the polish on Robin’s nails, snapped and popped between her teeth. I could tell because she chewed with her mouth open. “We’re short-staffed, but I guess it doesn’t matter since no one’s out and about anyway.”

  The lack of traffic as I drove away bore out Robin’s observation. Mooselick River had gone quiet. Not that it was a metropolis of any sort to begin with, but driving through town and being almost the only one on the road seemed eerie.

  Not as eerie as turning down my parent’s street and nearly running over a too-small body in the road.

  My heart stopped and then lurched into high-speed mode.

  “Not again,” I said out loud, panic and foreboding sending adrenaline coursing through my veins as I yanked Sally off to the side and applied the brakes. I barely got her into park before I was out the door and running to the prone form of the child lying face-down in the street. Maybe this time, I wouldn’t be too late.

  Somewhere, in a remote part of my brain, there was a voice warning me I didn’t want to see what I was about to see. I hushed it and, not daring to turn the child over in case I caused more harm, reached to check for signs of life.

  Had my head not been pounding with the sound of my own, I would have known right away that I wouldn’t find a pulse. I would have recognized the flannel shirt and pants.

  But no, I didn’t trip to the deception until my fingers met a wooden post where the neck should have been.

  Disgusted, I flipped the doll over.

  The smaller towns in Maine aren’t always on what you’d call the cutting edge of trends. And since the shy kids dolls spoke to both the lawn art crowd and the crafty types, they were still a part of the landscape, as it were.

  A bit of stuffing over a rough form, some clothes, a backward baseball hat, and you’ve got yourself a cute little fella hiding his face against a tree or a fence…or the ice-covered pavement in this case. It had probably blown off someone’s front porch just in time to freak me out.

  Nothing like a little panic in the afternoon to get the blood flowing.

  A combination of chagrin and annoyance followed me through my parent’s house to the chest freezer, where I unearthed two containers of chili, and back to the kitchen where I left my dad a note to say I’d filched some of his stash.

  Back home, I shook off the ominous feeling, prepped my food for the final game night of the year, and even managed a catnap. I woke up an hour later with only one thing left of my to-do list, and for once, I’d saved the worst for last.

  Sighing, I retrieved Patrea’s Christmas gift and laid the box on the kitchen table. What did I need with a video security system anyway? I had Molly, and she’d already proved herself ready to defend her territory.

  Still, not even a chocolate lab could go up against a pit bull like Patrea, and that meant I’d better hook up the system. The box had the words Easy Installation splashed across the front in a big, orange banner. Underneath, in smaller print, it said: Basic hand tools required. I sighed again and opened the box.

  Not one to skimp, Patrea had gone for the deluxe model with four wireless cameras and a big controller unit. The thing had night vision, for Pete’s sake, and motion detectors, and I could run it from an app on my phone.

  In other words, total overkill.

  Whether I needed it or not, she’d expect to see her gift in use when she showed up for the party, so I grumbled about it, but hauled out the stepladder and mounted one of the cameras near the front door. I even admitted, if only to myself, the box hadn’t lied. Four screws in the base and a bit of adjusting was all it took. I mounted the second camera on the back porch facing the lawn, the third under the eaves of the garage to cover the driveway.

  And then there was one.

  “How much danger can I be in when the FBI is watching my house?” I asked Molly. As usual, she tilted her head but declined to answer.

  Knowing they were out there should have put my mind at ease, but all it did was set my blood pressure soaring. And then I had an idea. “I wonder how they’d feel if the tables were turned.” Again, Molly kept her opinion to herself, but she followed me up to the tower room.

&nbs
p; “The box says these things have a range of a hundred feet.”

  Molly rubbed her head on my leg as I looked out the window. Now, I’m not really all that good with distances, but I figured the hundred feet might just about cover the FBI van, and if not, well, it was worth a shot.

  I made a great show of setting up the camera, angling it just so. If they really were watching, I wanted Coville and Sully to know I wasn’t fooled. Triumphantly, I flicked the power switch on and pumped my fist when the light turned green.

  “Let’s see how you like being watched.” I checked the phone app. During the day, at least, the van was perfectly visible. In another couple of hours, we’d see if the night vision held up.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE REST OF Jacy followed her belly into the house. The white, fleecy coat belted over the baby bump gave her the appearance of a snowman come to life.

  “Don’t try to hug me,” she warned. “Peanut is in a kicky mood today. Nailed me in the ribs so hard I could hear it. Besides, you won’t be able to reach, and somehow, I find it depressing when it takes two or more people linking hands to form a circle around me.”

  “Oh, come on. You look radiant.” I hugged her anyway, and my arms fit around her well enough.

  Sweeping back a fall of honeyed blond, Jacy raised an eyebrow, but her eyes twinkled. “Everyone keeps saying I’m glowing. I'm not. That’s sweat. It takes a lot of effort to haul myself anywhere given I’m approximately the size of a Clydesdale.”

  “Well, I can see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” I looked at what she wore.

  Blue text splashed across the front of Jacy’s pink maternity top asked, does this baby make me look fat?

  “No, but she has misplaced it once or twice.” Brian grinned to soften what might have sounded like criticism. “Mostly on my account.”

  I envied the fond look that passed between them—a look that spoke of shared jokes and a solid bond. Paul and I had never been that comfortable with each other. How had I not seen that from the start? Or how thin the layer of his charm had been. It didn’t matter now; I would never be that gullible again.

  The doorbell shook me out of the early stages of a good brood, and if my smile was a little forced when I opened the door to let Neena in, I didn’t think she noticed.

  “Hey.” Neena pulled off a knitted hat in the same deep blue as her eyes. A mass of dark and curly hair fell to her shoulders. We’d become close over the past few months. Well, as close as you can be to a woman who never suffered from hat hair.

  “I brought wings and mushroom puffs.” The music of the south wove through her voice as she handed me an insulated carrier to hold while she stripped off her coat. “Does it have to be this cold?”

  Comfortable in my house, Neena grabbed the container back and headed for my kitchen.

  “You’re making me look bad,” Jacy called after her. “I didn’t cook.”

  Brian opened his mouth, but Jacy cut him off. “Don’t say it.” She wagged a finger at him, but a smile played around the corner of her lips.

  “I have to.” He took a step back to put himself out of reach. “Sure, you did. You’ve got a bun in the oven.”

  Upon uttering the one pregnancy phrase he knew his wife could not abide, he went back out to the car to retrieve two bottles of sparkling cider while Jacy glared mock daggers at his back.

  The mood was high as I followed Jacy into the kitchen to watch Neena pull the foil off a pan of chicken wings that smelled so good it was criminal.

  “What’s in here?” Neena pointed to the first of several family-sized crock pots—thank you, Catherine, for being a hoarder—sitting on my countertop.

  “Barbecued meatballs. The theme of the night is appetizers and finger food.”

  Jacy reached around her to pop the cover off the pot with the chili. “This is what I’ve been waiting for.” She grabbed a bowl and a ladle. “We’re okay to eat now, right? Peanut wants the hot stuff.”

  I laughed and waved her on. “Just remember to pace yourself.”

  She dug in with gusto while Neena lifted lids to inspect the rest of the offerings.

  “The last one is sort of a cheese fondue thing. “

  “Nothing like starting the year off with clogged arteries.” Brian must have let Patrea and Chris in when he’d come back from the car. By now, the two men were probably in the living room talking sports.

  I hugged Patrea hello and said, “There’s a veggie platter in the fridge, Your Pickiness, and I used low-fat sour cream to make the dip.” I didn’t toss out a so there at the end, but it was implied.

  Stepping back, I studied Patrea while Neena and Jacy talked in low voices about how much business they’d done for the day. Their shop, part secondhand store, part art gallery, had been as dead as everywhere else in town.

  “What? Is my shirt on inside out or something?”

  “No,” I replied, giving her the once-over. She wore jeans, a relatively new look for her, and a soft sweater in a shade that set off her eyes. Eyes no longer framed by lines of tension. “You look happy. It’s good? With Chris, I mean.”

  “Very good.” She nodded.

  I couldn’t help it; I pried. “Like break into song in the grocery store good?”

  “Better.”

  I’d planned to tell her about the FBI van but decided that could wait. I didn’t have the heart to wreck her mood. Time enough for that when she didn’t look contented as a cat with a bowl of cream.

  “What have we got for eats?” Brian’s first glance upon entering the room went to Jacy. It happened every time, and I doubted he even realized he did it—that quick check to make sure she was there and the little smile that came when she was. “Something smells good.”

  We ate, we talked, we decided what games to play, and even though I was sure she’d moved on to the next plane of existence, I thought Catherine would approve of the way the house rang with laughter.

  Later, while the men were setting up the whiteboard for Win, Lose, or Draw in the living room, Neena cornered me over the pot of fondue. “Did you hear the latest gossip?” Expertly, she whirled a pretzel rod through the smooth, cheesy sauce, then wrapped a pepperoni slice around the cheese and took a bite.

  “I heard Viola’s getting up a petition to have the school board erect a statue of Hudson out by the football field.”

  Neena shook her head. “That’s old news. She went after Harley Thomas at the VFW Christmas party, and he told her it wasn’t gonna happen even if she got the Pope to put his name down. The best they could do, he said, was put Hudson’s name on a brass plate and dedicate one of the sections of bleachers to him.”

  “Are things still good between you and her?”

  Viola Montayne was Neena’s mother-in-law. When Neena’s husband Hudson had been killed the previous June, Viola had done everything in her power to drive her son’s widow out of town. The two grieving women finally managed to come together over Christmas, but with Viola, Neena would probably always be on precarious footing.

  “Oh, as long as I let her think she’s got some say over me, we’ll get along. We both loved her son, after all. That gives us common ground.”

  I wished I hadn’t brought up Viola and reminded Neena of her loss. Though I supposed thoughts of Hudson were never far from her mind. He’d been my first ghost, but I didn’t intend to tell Neena that particular story.

  As far as she and everyone except for Jacy was concerned, a freak event saved me from being strangled by Hudson’s killer. Who would believe me if I said his ghost had thrown a mannequin head down the stairs and knocked out the man who’d had his hands around my throat?

  “Anyway,” Neena continued, “you know the storefront next to the tackle shop has been empty since Natalie closed the yoga studio three years ago, right? Well, there’s been activity in the building this week.”

  In the middle of our speculating whether Natalie might reopen the studio, Jacy let out a moan.

  “What?” One look at he
r, and I called for Brian. “Something’s wrong with Jacy.”

  “It’s nothing.” She made an effort to turn the grimace on her face into a reassuring smile. “Just those Braxton Hicks contractions. They come and go. I talked to my doctor, and she says it’s nothing to worry about.” Except she barely got the words out before another one hit hard enough to steal her breath. “These are just stronger than normal.” The next forced another moan from her, and Brian wasn’t having it.

  “Then we’ll just go on over to the Emergency room and make sure. Everly, can you get her coat?”

  When I returned with hers, I had mine as well. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Me, too.” Neena and Patrea spoke at once.

  “Why don’t I hang out with the dogs? I’ll keep an eye on things here if that’s okay with Everly.” Chris offered.

  “Thanks,” I mouthed to him as we all headed for the door.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MOOSELICK RIVER DOESN’T run big enough to have a hospital, but the next town over does, and I’m pretty sure Brian broke two laws and a land speed record getting us there in under fifteen minutes. We pulled right up to the sliding doors, but before we could get Jacy out of the car, a man wearing green scrubs and a surgical mask came out to meet us.

  “What’s your emergency?” He sounded harried.

  “My wife is having Braxton Hicks, but they’re stronger than normal, so we wanted to make sure everything is okay.” Brian reached in to help Jacy out of her seat.

  “Wait,” the nurse, or maybe it was a doctor—I couldn’t really tell—practically elbowed Brian out of the way and talked directly to Jacy. He asked her a few questions about where she hurt, used hand sanitizer he pulled from his pocket, and checked her temperature and pulse.

  “Listen, I could get into trouble for this, but I’m telling you for your own good, take her to Pine State Medical Center. The flu didn’t hit as badly there, and they have a larger staff, so they won’t be nearly as busy as we are.”