Giving Up the Ghost

by Marilyn Levinson

  "I'm sorry to have upset you," Lydia said, "but you asked, and someone would have told you sooner or later."

  "No, I'm glad you told me. It's just so shocking."

  "An unfortunate accident."

  An accident, Gabbie told herself, but it didn't explain the vibes she'd picked up in the den, much less the voice--if that was what she'd heard.

  "He didn't die in the house?"

  "Not according to the articles in the newspaper. Why?"

  Gabbie hesitated, unwilling to appear foolish.

  Lydia patted her arm. "Did you sense Cam's presence in the cottage?"

  "Maybe. I'm not sure."

  "It can happen, you know. After my mother died, I felt her with me for two days."

  This, coming from the practical woman Lydia seemed to be, allowed Gabbie to admit, "I did sense something." Curious, she said, "What kind of man was Cameron Leeds?"

  Lydia grinned. "Sexy. Edgy. First cousin to Lucifer himself. Women adored him, and men liked him, too, as long as they didn't get burned in one of his business schemes. Best friends with our police chief since they were kids."

  "And here we are!" She stopped and unlocked a classroom door and motioned to Gabbie to enter. "Now, let's get down to business."

  For the next hour and a half Gabbie listened, asked questions, and took notes as Lydia filled her in on the three classes she'd be teaching. Lydia was a pro, no doubt about it. Besides explaining exactly what she was up to in each class, she gave Gabbie a thorough rundown of every student: who were the trouble makers, the work-shirkers, the kids with serious problems.

  Lydia paused to swallow two pills with a cup of bottled water. "I'll be glad when the surgery's behind me, and I no longer have to live with this pain. Anyway, on to whom you can count on for support and help with discipline problems.

  "Suzanne Lindstrom, the foreign language chair, is taking over my administrative duties. If you have an English-type question, talk to Cindy West. I'd steer clear of Tim Jordan, our illustrious principal. He'll listen intensely to your problem and promise intervention, but he's terrified of lawsuits and lets most issues 'settle themselves,' as he puts it. Mac Debrowski, the assistant principal is a screamer. He shouts at the little darlings, and then he lets them go. If you want tough backup, call on the guidance counselors. Or Dr. Joe Miller, our superintendent, but only if you're at the end of your rope."

  Gabbie pursed her lips. "It sounds ominous."

  Lydia waved her hand. "I was talking worst case scenario. Most of the kids are nice enough. Just a bit spoiled and lazy. We've only a handful like Barrett and Todd. And Todd Ross was merely a hyper kid who got into the usual mischief until Barrett moved here two years ago."

  The bell rang, indicating that Lydia's two free periods were up. At her request, Gabbie stayed while the third period students piled into the room. Lydia introduced her to the twenty-eight kids who would be her students starting tomorrow. Gabbie smiled nervously, and then took a seat in the back of the room.

  Lydia led the students in a discussion of the chapter in The Great Gatsby they'd read for homework. She coaxed, cajoled, scolded, and made every attempt to engage their interest and deepen their understanding of what they'd read.

  Toward the end of the period, Gabbie gathered up the textbooks Lydia had given her, and left the room as unobtrusively as she could. She returned to the Main Office, where Mrs. Green, the head secretary, had her fill out forms and gave her an earful of the school's many rules and regulations.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was close to twelve noon when Gabbie drove out of the parking field, eager to make the most of her last day of freedom. She had chapters to read and lesson plans to prepare. Lydia had made things easy for her by assigning The Great Gatsby to all three classes.

  Her schedule was good, too. She'd be teaching periods three, four, and six, and was free to leave school at twelve-forty.

  Main Street in Chrissom Harbor consisted of three long blocks that curved like a fat C. The stores on both sides of the street appeared to be fifty years behind the times, and weren't very appealing. The Harbor Diner, with its chrome-colored art deco trim, stood in the middle of the curve, between a bait shop and a bridal gown shop that displayed two bridesmaid's dresses--one burnt orange, the other chartreuse--in the window.

  Gabbie entered the diner and sat in the only booth whose vinyl seats weren't patched with duct tape. She ordered a tuna on rye and coffee. When her order arrived, she was pleasantly surprised to taste white tuna, a trace of mayonnaise, and no celery. The coffee was freshly brewed. No wonder the place was quickly filling up.

  Gabbie turned to Chapter One of The Great Gatsby and started reading. Having studied the book in college and seen the movie wasn't the same as having the material fresh in her mind so she could discuss plot, character and symbolism with her students. She paused occasionally to jot down what she considered pertinent observations.

  "Hello, there."

  Gabbie looked up, into chocolate-brown eyes.

  "I-I didn't hear you." The grinning police officer had slipped into the seat across the table. She told herself her heart was racing because he'd startled her, not because he looked downright gorgeous in his brown uniform.

  "Glad to know I haven't lost my touch." He thrust forward a hand. "Darren Rollins, police chief of Chrissom Harbor. And you're Gabriela Meyerson, our new English teacher."

  She shook his hand. It was calloused and strong. "News travels fast around here."

  "That's because not much happens in CH during the winter. Things get livelier when the summer people arrive."

  She was about to take another bite of her sandwich when he said, "Word has it you've rented Roland Leeds' cottage."

  Gabbie bristled. "I don't appreciate Mary Hanley telling my business to everyone in town."

  His expression turned solemn. "Mary knows I take a personal interest. My good buddy used to live there."

  She was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry. I just found out about Cameron Leeds falling off the cliff last spring."

  "I'm willing to bet Mary didn't offer that bit of information. She's been working like a demon to rent the place, though Roland said not to bother trying till the spring. But Mary insisted the sooner someone's living there, the better." He winked. "I hope you got it for a good price. It's kind of rough in spots."

  Gabbie laughed. "You could say that again. But Reese Walters stopped by yesterday. He'll be fixing up the kitchen."

  "The den's the most comfortable room in the cottage. Cam added it on about six years ago."

  Gabbie suppressed a shudder as she considered the room Reese Walters refused to enter, where she thought she'd heard a male voice, and smelled a man's cologne. Not to mention the fallen ashtray and the cold draft. Too many incidents to ignore, when you added them up. She wanted to tell Darren about it, but surely a police officer would be a man of logic and hard facts. There was no point in making him think she was a ditz.

  "Lydia Ketchem told me Cameron Leeds was your best friend," she said instead.

  "Yep. Since we were kids." Darren cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse with emotion. "It happened eight months ago, and I still find it hard to believe he's gone. Cam had more life to him than any five people. He was a charmer. Our town Romeo. His animal magnetism drove the women wild."

  Gabbie factored in what he told her, before shaking her head. "What I don't understand is how he could have fallen from the bluff. I mean, I saw there's no fence, and that line of straggly trees is hardly a barrier, but he lived there for years. Was it late at night when it happened?"

  Darren's expression closed like a shuttered window. "No, the report said it was around sunset, as a matter of fact." He eased out of the booth in one graceful motion. "Well, time to go. It was nice meeting you."

  She'd offended him with her probing questions. When would she learn to curb her curiosity and her tongue? "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry. It's just that the cottage is so isolated in winter. And
then finding out someone died there." She gave a nervous laugh. "You can understand if I'm uneasy."

  Darren paused beside her and seemed to think this over.

  Gabbie hadn't been this close to a man in months. Nervously she reached for her pen and managed to overturn her mug of coffee. Quickly he pulled napkins from the dispenser and mopped up the liquid before it could damage her books.

  "Thanks." She averted her eyes, not wanting to see his exasperation. "I'm sorry. I didn't get much sleep last night. I'm not usually such a klutz." But when she looked up he was smiling.

  "I'm good at cleaning up messes. At least that's what my ex-wife claimed."

  "That's good to know." She realized she liked both his cleaning abilities and the fact that he had an ex-wife instead of a wife.

  "Not really, since she considered it my only virtue."

  Darren rested his hand on the booth behind her. "I can imagine how it must feel, coming to live in a new town and discovering that the guy who owned the place you're renting apparently died under mysterious circumstances. But let me put your mind at ease on that score. Cam was dead drunk when he fell to his death. A totally senseless waste of a good man."

  Gabbie had a feeling he'd been reluctant to share this last piece of information.

  Darren apparently mistook her silence for worry. "You're safe at the cottage, but to put your mind at rest, my deputy and I will patrol the area 24/7. Call the station if you see anything suspicious." He reached into his shirt pocket for a card. "Here are my home and cell numbers. Call any time."

  Gabbie was about to ask if he gave these numbers out to everyone, but he was already halfway to the cash register.

  "Nice package, Chief Rollins," she whispered, "but I'm taking a long sabbatical from men."

  Her teeth chattered in the bone-chilling cold as she hurried to her car a few minutes later. She drove to the supermarket, where she bought enough groceries to last her a week.

  Gabbie regretfully bypassed frozen lobster tails and Belgian chocolate-covered cookies. There was less than five hundred dollars in her account, which had to last until her first pay check. She would not put herself in the position of having to borrow from her mother or her sister, each of whom in her own insidious way would make her feel like a fool.

  As she drove slowly back to the cottage, she reviewed everything she'd learned about Cameron Leeds. My God, you're becoming obsessed! She giggled because of the ludicrous way she was casting him in the role of a romantic figure. A cross between Antonio Banderas and Robin Hood. A ploy, no doubt, to keep her anxieties regarding her new job at bay.

  Gabbie found a van bearing the logo of Reese Walters's store parked smack in front of the cottage. Tucking a bag of groceries in each arm, she maneuvered around it, frowning as she passed through the front door left wide open to the elements, and kicked it closed when she got inside.

  "Sorry about that, ma'am."

  A burly man, his Yankees' cap turned backwards, was walking towards her. The young black man behind him gave her a quick smile.

  The large man, clearly the job foreman, said, "We just hooked up your new oven and microwave. They're in fine working order."

  "Thank you." Gabbie followed them into the kitchen, where she inspected the new appliances. "They look great."

  "They're top of the line." He slapped the pile of folders on the counter. "Here are the brochures explaining everything. Read them when you have a few minutes."

  "I will," Gabbie assured him though she doubted she'd have time to do anything of the kind.

  "That's about it, then." He moved toward the door then turned. "Oh, and your phone's working."

  "Thanks again."

  "Reese said to tell you he's sorry but he can't put down the new floor till next week. The installer's out sick, and he's behind schedule. He'll call to tell you when."

  Gabbie smiled. "Please tell Reese I appreciate his getting me the appliances so quickly."

  "Sure enough. My pleasure."

  Gabbie saw the men out, glad that Reese had proved to be a man of his word about getting the kitchen in working order. Still, as she double-locked the front door she made a mental note to ask for his key after the new floor was installed.

  She put away the groceries, retrieved the satchel of schoolbooks from the Volvo, and then changed into old jeans and a sweat shirt. Her plan was to spend the rest of the afternoon--or longer if necessary--preparing for her first day of school.

  Fears swarmed up like locusts as she started down the staircase. What if she'd lost the knack of teaching after so many years? Would she learn the kids' names quickly? Could she maintain discipline without coming off as an ogress?

  Gabbie took a deep breath and focused on her objective: to improve her students' reading and writing skills. Her fear and uncertainty dissipated. Excitement welled up as she decided to turn her students' reading The Great Gatsby into an intriguing adventure. She'd accomplish it by emphasizing the human condition. After all, every novel was about people. People driven by their emotions, their desires, their loves, their hates, their ambitions.

  She stopped outside the den, reluctant to cross the threshold. The room appeared innocuous, even inviting, backlit by the afternoon sun. Still, there was no denying the energy she'd sensed last night, or the mocking voice she'd heard or thought she'd heard.

  Maybe she'd felt Cam's presence, as Lydia put it, because he'd died a violent death. Exasperation forced her to move. "I can't stand here all day," she said aloud. "I have to get to work."

  She entered the room and looked around. Nothing seemed unusual. No sudden drafts or sense of energy or otherworldly presence. See. It's only a large, pleasant room. Relieved, she sat in the recliner and continued to read.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  An hour later, Gabbie's muscles ached from working in a cramped position. She stretched her arms overhead and decided it was time for a break. In the kitchen, she poured water into the teapot and set it on her new range to boil. The stove, though a beautiful appliance, was wasted on her as she had no intention of doing much cooking or baking. She'd stick to preparing simple fish and chicken dishes, and not even that tonight. Her dinner would be an omelet or a cheese sandwich.

  She returned to the den with a mug of tea, which she placed on the table beside the telephone. She'd no sooner sat down and opened The Great Gatsby when a man said, "Looks like you're settling in nice and comfy."

  She leaped up. The book went flying.

  "Who's there? Where are you?" Her words came out in a croak.

  At first she saw nothing, which was terrifying in itself. Then, in the far corner by the sliding doors, she caught a flutter of movement. She spun around in time to watch the figure of a man grow more solid until it appeared almost, but not quite, three-dimensional.

  "No. Impossible!" She sank into the chair, where she huddled, mouth agape, watching him slowly cross the room.

  "You're not! You can't be Cameron Leeds." The name escaped her lips as if it had a life of its own.

  "That's me, all right. Cameron Franklin Leeds. In the spirit if not the flesh." He leaned against the edge of the desk with his arms crossed.

  Mesmerized, Gabbie stared at the ghost of a man whose striking good looks outstripped her imagination. Khaki shorts and a short-sleeved rugby shirt showed off his lean, athletic build. Black hair framed a square face of even features that reminded her of Warren Beatty in his heyday.

  He flashed a grin. "Hey, relax. I'm one of the good guys."

  One of the good guys? It was like a macabre joke. She wanted to run from the room, but she couldn't move. She remained frozen where she sat.

  "That's good to know, only I wish you weren't here. You aren't here. You can't be."

  She closed her eyes and prayed she was in the middle of a dream and that he'd disappear. But when she opened her eyes he was still perched against the desk, waiting patiently for her attention.

  Was she losing her mind? No, she was hallucinating. Her mind was creating the image she
thought she could see, because of what she'd been told about the man who had died while living in this cottage. Except that notion wouldn't fly. Last night, when she'd sensed his presence and heard his voice, she'd known nothing about Cameron Leeds.

  At least he showed no sign of being hostile. "Are you a ghost?" she finally ventured.

  "I suppose. Or we might use another term if you prefer: phantom, wraith, apparition, specter. All euphemisms, wouldn't you agree?"

  Now that her terror had abated, Gabbie was astonished at how quickly she was adapting to the reality of her situation. The ghost of Cameron Leeds haunted, or whatever the appropriate term was, her cottage. Still, she refused to get caught up in his semi-flirtatious banter. She remembered what Lydia and Darren had said about his reputation with women, even though she and could see how any susceptible female might fall victim to his charms.

  She was shaken by his ghostly appearance, but totally impervious to his appeal. The certainty broke the spell that had rooted her. She was free to move.

  "I'm going to make myself a cup of tea." She strode from the room.

  "You have a cup of tea on the table," he said. "Please come back."

  She caught the urgency in his voice. "I need to be by myself."

  "I have to talk to you."

  Oddly enough, he made no attempt to follow her, but hovered just inside the den. "At least tell me your name," he shouted.

  "It's Gabbie. Gabbie Meyerson."

  "Are you coming back? Please come back to the den so we can talk."

  And then it dawned on her. Perhaps he couldn't follow her to the kitchen, and could only manifest inside the den.

  Though Cam continued to call to her, she didn't respond. She couldn't. Eventually he fell silent.

  She braced herself against the sink and breathed deeply to regain her equilibrium. "There's a ghost in the den waiting to talk to me." She spoke aloud to get some sort of grasp on the situation.

  It sounded weird. It was weird.

  She'd heard of people who communicated with spirits and with the dead, but she'd certainly never known one. Yet, beneath the strangeness of it all, she sensed exhilaration. A thousand questions arose in her mind, questions that demanded answers.