Some Like it Haunted (A Sophie Rhodes Ghostly Romane Book 2)

by Karen Cantwell

  What she described had scam written all over it. My dander was up. Way up. “You mean to tell me these two put spells on people and then some relative agrees to reverse the spells?”

  “I’m not involved, I swear.” The woman raised her hand in defense. “But I’ve seen the website. Do a web search on unwanted spells, Stephens City or Spencer House. She comes right up.”

  “Of course she does,” Cal said. “All witches in cahoots with their devious dead relatives have websites, don’t they?”

  “I’m sorry. Hopefully she can help. I need to turn off this last light and close the door. I have two more rooms to shut down before I clock out.”

  We filed out, our hopes of relief shattered.

  “So what now?” Shane asked.

  “We check out this website,” I said.

  Tara, Amy, Myrtle, and Marmaduke were ready to leave when we returned to the employee lounge.

  “Any luck?” Tara whispered to me.

  “Not yet,” I whispered back, “but we have a lead.”

  Tara proceeded to summarize her talk with Myrtle and Amy. Myrtle’s memory had come back soundly, in her opinion, and she was confident that she gave birth and died on April 3rd of 1958.

  “And Amy verified that her mother, Jayne, learned in the last couple of years that she had been adopted,” Tara said. “Their birthdays don’t match. Amy says her mother Jayne was born on April 7th, 1958, but if Myrtle had been killed and the baby adopted, a doctor might have been paid off to sign a fake birth certificate.”

  “She’s my Scarlett, I know it.” Myrtle nodded her head emphatically.

  “And Myrtle wants to go home with Amy,” Tara added.

  “I just don’t know.” Amy looked at Shane. “What do you think?”

  Shane didn’t hesitate to add his two cents. “It’s a terrible idea.”

  “Let me get used to the idea,” Amy suggested. “It’s kind of like seeing a puppy you like at an adoption event. The puppy is cute, and you know you’ll love the puppy, but are you ready for the accidents on the floor and the chewed shoes?”

  Myrtle quirked an eyebrow. “Are you comparin’ me to a dog?”

  “That came out wrong,” Amy said. “I’m awfully tired.”

  “Can we take Myrtle? Can we? Can we?” Marmaduke jumped up and down like a little kid. “She can stay with us, Sophie, correct? You take home strays all of the time. I’m a perfect example. Oh please, please, please.”

  “But, Marmadoodle, I wanna see my Scarlett.”

  Tara lifted her car keys from her purse. “Listen, I have to go. I’m volunteering at the school in the morning. I’ll leave you all to work out sleeping arrangements.” She smiled. “I’ll call you in a day or two, Sophie.”

  Amy was nearly falling asleep on Shane’s shoulder by the time we dropped them off at her place on our way home.

  Myrtle came with us, sending Marmi over the moon. I sure hoped that ghosts didn’t do the bedroom tango. That would be too awkward. Especially since they didn’t have a bedroom.

  Cal walked me up, but insisted on going back to his place for the night. He claimed it would be easier for him to get to work on time in the morning if he went back to his house. Really, I think he was still bothered by the lust spell. I could hardly blame him. And I didn’t have control over my dreams. Having another Shane dream with Cal sleeping next to me would be disastrous.

  He stopped outside my door and kissed me sweetly. Not very passionately though.

  “Is that the best you can do?”

  “It is with two ghosts staring at us.”

  “So sorry ol’ chap,” Marmaduke stammered, “we’ll slip away. Consider us gone. Out of sight. Imperceptible.”

  I laid my best seductive kiss on him, hoping to change his mind about staying. Still, he held himself in reserve.

  “You’re still bothered by the spell, aren’t you?”

  “That. And other things.”

  “What other things?”

  “Tonight. We were supposed to have a romantic night alone. And it turned into some bizarre event that felt like a slapstick comedy television show. It was like Gilligan’s Island meets The Addams Family tonight. That’s all good for television. Not so much for real life.”

  “I didn’t plan for Myrtle to go into false labor and remember that she was murdered.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  “Go home and get some rest,” I told him. “We’ll both feel better when we’re not so tired. And I’ll check that witch’s website tomorrow first thing. I promise.”

  He smirked. “See, this is what I mean. Usually, when a person says, ‘I’ll check that witch’s website,’ the person would mean a metaphorical witch—someone who isn’t nice. You mean a real witch who undoes magic spells.”

  He leaned in for another goodbye kiss only to be thwarted by Marmaduke poking his head through the door. “Oh, you are still here. Yes, Myrtle my love, they are still out here! She was worried.”

  Cal waved at me instead of bothering with the kiss. “See you tomorrow.” He looked at his watch. “I mean, see you later today.”

  I went to bed hoping that later today would turn out better than yesterday.

  I probably should have hoped harder.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I awoke the next morning before dawn. The sky was still so dark that nocturnal Peter Pan was still spinning on his exercise wheel. The rhythmic squeaking as it spun serenaded me during my morning cereal time.

  Since my restless slumber was riddled with steamy dreams about Shane, my first task of the day had to be finding that shady witch’s website and contacting her about turning off the aphrodisia.

  The Spencer House tour guide was right—the website was at the top of the list when I searched on unwanted spells in Stephens City. The woman’s name was Lilliana, and she offered quite a variety of services from casting and breaking spells to ridding houses of evil or unwanted spirits. I had half a mind to call the Better Business Bureau. The world needed to be rid of evil hucksters like her. On the other hand, I needed to be rid of my carnal desire for Shane. First things first.

  I didn’t give a hoot about the time, I dialed the number on her webpage. The call went straight to voicemail.

  “Greetings,” a woman’s voice answered. “I am Lilliana. If you are in need of my services, leave a message, and I will return your call within two days, give or take. If you are from a firm seeking to replace my windows, give me an estimate for a new roof, clean my gutters, lower my cell phone bill, or offer me more channels than my current cable company, hang up immediately before I put a hex on you and your children and your children’s children. Thank you. Have a nice day.”

  Her message was effective. Had I been a telemarketer, I’d have moved on to the next number or possibly looked for another line of work altogether. Since I wasn’t trying to sell her something and was desperately in need of her services, I left a message begging her to call back that day if at all possible. No, I wasn’t proud that I had resorted to begging. Sometimes a girl does what a girl has to do.

  Dawn had broken and Peter Pan was snoring peacefully in his little hammock when I left for work. I arrived fully intending to attack the stack of patient reports that needed typing. Once my computer was booted though, I decided to try some more research about Myrtle’s death.

  Myrtle and Marmaduke sat in the corner making googly eyes at each other and talking googly talk. It went on endlessly, making me googly sick to my stomach. Ordinarily, that would be a bad thing, but at least their sickening dialogue helped diminish my Shane cravings, so I didn’t complain.

  Typing Myrtle’s full name into the search engine didn’t provide me with instant results. I fiddled around for a while trying different searches on different sites when I stumbled onto an article about a
cold case involving the disappearance of a pregnant girl named Myrtle May Babcock.

  “Myrtle, this article is local. It was written two years ago and your mother was still alive then. Your mother moved up here after your father died. She was determined to learn the truth about your disappearance. She finally convinced Detective Ed Sigmund to reopen this missing person case. I know him.” My excitement grew by leaps and bounds. “I worked for the department two years ago. He might have been working on your case when I was there.”

  Myrtle pulled away from Marmaduke’s embrace and peeked over my shoulder. “Still alive?”

  “Two years ago she was, anyway.”

  “Mama.” She shook her head. “She was so disappointed in me. I shamed them so.”

  Hearing a key being shoved into the deadbolt on the front door, I looked up from the screen. Cal was trying to push the door open with his foot while juggling his briefcase and a shoe box tucked under one arm. I jumped up to help. I grabbed the box and held the door open.

  “You’re early,” I said, happy to see him. “What’s in the box?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he replied. “My mom was up early too. When she found out I was having lunch with Dad, she told me to give him some books. They’re in the box. Something to do with self-discovery. She doesn’t think he’s enlightened or, I don’t know, self-discovered, I guess.” He waved a distracted hand and tromped down the hall.

  I followed him into his exam room. “I have some good news.”

  He set his briefcase on his desk and opened it. “We could certainly use some.”

  “I found a recent article about Myrtle. Her body was never found and a local detective reopened her case a couple of years ago.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

  I wasn’t feeling his interest though. Cal seemed more engrossed in the contents of his briefcase. I plowed on anyway, hoping to rope him into my fascinating discovery. “His name is—”

  “Have you typed Conrad Burton’s report yet? I wanted to spend some time looking it over before I talk with his parents today.”

  “Not yet,” I said, deflating.

  “Do you have time to do that now?”

  Boy, he was all work and no play today. “Sure. Hey, I didn’t get a proper hello.”

  He roused himself from sorting papers and apologized, pulling me in for a kiss. “I’m just really tired,” he explained. “Aren’t you?”

  “Almost tired enough to try drinking coffee,” I said, laughing. “Do you want me to make you some?”

  Too easily, he let his arms drop from around my waist. “No, I’ll do it. Can you type that report for me?”

  I dismissed his lack of romantic enthusiasm, chalking it up to exhaustion. In the two months I’d known him, he’d never handled fatigue well. My own eyelids felt like ship anchors were weighing them down. I grabbed a caffeinated soda from the mini fridge and got to work on the file.

  Soon after I got the completed report to Cal, our first patient of the day arrived, and the phones started to ring. Suddenly I didn’t have time to think about ghosts.

  I did manage to squeeze in a text to Amy to see how she was doing. She texted back that she was fine, but that Shane was acting strangely. Since she didn’t accuse me of trying to steal her fiancé back, I felt comfortable that he hadn’t told her about the spell.

  Twenty minutes before lunch, a silver-haired version of Cal walked in the door.

  I stood and offered my hand. “You must be Cal’s father.”

  His crooked smile was identical to Cal’s. “Call me Tom. And I’ll take a stab in the dark: you’re the smart and beautiful Sophie.” He shook my hand firmly.

  Such a nice man. And as handsome as his son. Why would Dianne want to leave him? “Cal is still with a patient. Can I get you some coffee or water? Soda maybe?”

  He raised his hands, fending off my offers. “Nothing for me. I’ll just sit here and wait. Don’t want to get in the way of your work.”

  My cell phone rang on the desk beside me.

  “See, people are calling for you already,” he laughed.

  I recognized the phone number right away. The grifter, Lilliana. I wasn’t about to have this conversation in front of Cal’s father. I excused myself and slipped into the bathroom.

  “Hello,” I answered with a whisper.

  “Ciao, miss,” she said with a smooth Italian accent. “I have received this message from you. You are Sophia Rhodes, no?”

  “Sophie,” I corrected her.

  “Good. Bene. Sophia, you are needing me to reverse a spell?”

  “That’s right. A lust spell.”

  “You are very sure that this is a witch’s spell, not just a true attraction for which you do not want to take the responsibility?”

  “Lady,” I said, cutting to the chase, “I see ghosts, okay? And I saw your dead relatives at Spencer House two days ago. They chanted a few words after I inhaled a potion from a bottle and now, instead of wanting to kill my cheating ex-boyfriend, all I want to do is rip the clothes off his body.”

  “The fee is two hundred dollars,” she said. “Bring cash.”

  I hung up. “Extortionist,” I muttered. But at least I had an appointment time set.

  “Sophie?” Cal knocked on the door. “Are you in there?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I poked my head out and winked. “Tonight at six forty-five.” I lowered my voice to a thin whisper. “Spell reversal.”

  He whispered back. “My dad is here.”

  “I know.” I tried to leave the bathroom with my dignity intact. It must have looked really silly taking a phone call in there. “We met.”

  Tom stood and clapped his hands. “Sophie, I’d invite you to lunch, but we’ve got some things to discuss.”

  “No, no,” I said. “I understand. Trust me, I understand.” I gave Cal a kiss.

  On their way out, I reminded Cal that his next appointment was at three-thirty. They waved and then I was alone. Even Marmaduke and Myrtle had vanished.

  A few minutes of solitude sounded perfect. I locked the door, set the phones to go to voicemail, plunked my lunch on the desk, and dialed Shane with the good news.

  “I’m on duty then,” he said.

  “Shane, you have to come. I’m not sure she can reverse it on just one of us. This spell is going to start affecting your relationship with Amy. It’s already driving a wedge between Cal and me.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I think Amy is suspicious. I’ll see what I can do. What time again?”

  “Six forty-five tonight. Thirteen-thirteen Beacon Heights Place.”

  While I had him on the phone I asked him to see if he could look into the reopening of Myrtle’s disappearance in 1958. I told him about the article and that Sigmund was working the cold case. He said he’d look into it.

  Just talking to Shane reignited the flames of my sexual appetite for him. I munched into my sandwich, frustrated. Boy, Lilliana had better come through or Shane might end up hauling me to the big house for her attempted murder. In need of squelching the urges, I called on Marmaduke and Myrtle.

  They materialized, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, still engaged in their lovey dovey tête-à-tête.

  Marmaduke looked deeply into Myrtle’s eyes, reciting a poem. “She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that’s best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes.”

  “Oh, Sugar Bear,” Myrtle cooed. “I ain’t ever had no one recite poetry to me before.”

  “Nothing is too good for my sweet little plum dumpling.”

  There, that sort of thing could kill just about any fire. Now hopefully they would keep it up until closing time.

  Unfortunately, their syrupy pillow talk killed my appe
tite for food as well. I set my lunch aside and delved into office work for the next hour.

  I’d just pulled patient files for the next day when a moan from Marmi set my teeth on edge.

  “Okay,” I said, “I don’t mind the poetry and the Sugar Bears and Myrtle Blossoms, but you guys can’t be doing that other stuff around here. It’s just plain wrong.”

  “That wasn’t a moan of pleasure,” Marmi said, his eyes fixed on the front door. “That was an outcry of revulsion. It is the villainess returned.”

  Villainess. Coming from Marmaduke, it could mean only one person.

  Rachel.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  When Rachel pushed on the door and it didn’t budge, I remembered that I had forgotten to unlock it after lunch. She’d already spied me through the glass panes of the office door, but I ignored her knock anyway, redirecting my attention back to the patient files. She knocked again, then jiggled the door handle. Her third knock nearly took the door off its hinges. Since it seemed I wasn’t going to succeed at ignoring her, I rose ever so slowly and flipped the lock.

  She stumbled in, holding a hand over one eye, and groping her way with the other. “I need to see Cal,” she said. “Can he squeeze me into his schedule?”

  I wanted to squeeze her into something alright. A black hole came to mind.

  “He isn’t here right now. Is there a problem?”

  She slid into a chair keeping her head down and eye covered. “Yes there’s a problem. Something flew into my eye, and I’m in a lot of pain.”

  “Maybe you should go to an emergency room,” I suggested. “You might get seen quicker. By someone who isn’t your ex-husband.”

  “Yes, well, since he is my ex-husband, he has my most recent files.”

  Cal pushed the door open. “Rachel?”

  “Cal,” she said, becoming suddenly and conveniently weepy, “it hurts something awful. Can you get it out?”