by Misty Simon
“You didn’t raise your hand again.”
Chester snickered, and Dougal laughed. Even Mumford had a grin on his doggy face.
“You got me. But I was wondering why you don’t move them out of her house—the items that hold the ghosts that get stirred up, I mean. Couldn’t you just bring them out here and lock them down or something?”
“Good questions, both of them. First, they’re Mrs. Featherman’s only family, and she doesn’t realize they stir up anything. This is a free-of-charge kind of thing I’ve done for years because she used to be the librarian at the high school. Helping her is my way of paying her back. She introduced me to my best friends.” Mel didn’t mention that those best friends were made of dead trees, and that they took her to worlds outside of her own. “Second, they’re all attached to objects she loves. And it’s not only ghosts. Sometimes it’s a bad vibe that puts a pall on the house. If I clean the day after they leave, then she only has a few hours where she feels depressed, thinking it’s just the sadness of the family leaving, not something more. Which it is.”
Becker looked at her for a moment longer than she felt he needed to, causing her to blush. Did he think she was not very bright for helping? For not telling the woman she had ghosts in her house and should eradicate them?
Finally, he spoke. “You are the best person I have ever met.”
Mel gulped, not expecting that, for sure. “I, um, I’m not.”
He held her hands in his. “No, you are. You give, but no one even knows how much. I find that incredibly wonderful and very sexy.”
She blushed even harder, and Chester howled with laughter.
“She doesn’t take compliments very well, boss.” Chester hung in midair, running his hand over the dog’s ears. Mumford seemed to know someone was touching him, even if he couldn’t feel it. Unless he could. She knew a lot of stuff about the other world, but not everything. Things still surprised her from time to time.
“Moving on,” she said, to stop the uncomfortable turn the conversation had taken.
Becker laughed this time. “I guess you’re right, Chester. Maybe I should give her more, so she can get used to saying thank you.”
Mel sputtered. “Don’t you dare. I don’t need more compliments. This is what I do. What I’m happy to do.” That ended the subject for her, even though Becker and Chester still smiled. Even Dougal smiled, and Mumford let his tongue loll out.
Bunch of irritating males.
“Now, moving on. When we enter the house, you’ll start to feel the energy. Some have said they feel it on the street, but everyone is different. I’ll be taking Mumford with us to let him meet Mrs. Featherman. That’s the excuse I gave, anyway, and by the way, having you with the dog has been so totally awesome because I don’t have to bake as much anymore. I always would make loaves of cinnamon bread or zucchini bread to take over as an excuse. I’d have to say I was just dropping by as a concerned neighbor for anyone who didn’t hire me but needed me. Now I don’t have to do that anymore, so thanks.” That had been the extent of her connecting with the outside world. That and grocery shopping. Things were different now.
“You’re welcome,” Dougal said in his deep voice. It had become less troubled, and he’d smiled more often in the last month. About the same time Mumford had started cozying up, Dougal had started coming out of his self-exile. She’d hoped for the change and was delighted it seemed to be underway. He’d said he wanted to stay and help instead of accepting her offer to release him, months ago. When he’d first settled in, he’d kept to himself, and it had concerned Mel. She’d tried to engage him a few times, but he had seemed to need space to come to terms with the new direction his afterlife was taking. She’d given him that space, silently rejoicing when he started interacting with other ghosts.
“Okay, so you’ll see the energy, or feel it, whichever works for you. I suppose you could hear it, too, but I’m not sure about that. We’ll figure it out as we go. Once you pinpoint where it’s coming from, you do your thing, brush it away, tuck it back where it belongs, or sweep it out of the house if you can. The other ghosts in the house you can’t get rid of, but the vibes can be swept out.” She tapped a finger to her chin, jingling her many metal bracelets. “I’ll try to get Mrs. Featherman to open a window, even though it’s hot as hell in August. I’ll think of something. That way you can just pitch them right out the window instead of having to gather them all at the front door to toss them all at the same time.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Dougal said. “Is there a way to tell who belongs with which object? I don’t want to cork someone into somewhere they’re not supposed to be.” The ghost put his arm around Mumford.
It went on like that for another hour or so, while the moon rose high in the sky. Becker got a call from a barn that had a horse in labor. He kissed her goodnight at the door, promising he’d be back as soon as he could and giving Mumford a quick tummy rub he loved.
Mel waved as Becker drove away, but it felt different from when her father had left. She knew Becker was coming back. He lived here, for goodness’ sake. But then so did her dad, technically, and she could only hope her father made it back in one piece. Part of her ongoing issue centered on her constant concern that he would come back attached to something. Or that he’d never come back at all because he’d died and she couldn’t find him. That was one of her worst fears.
She shut the door and snuggled in with her dog for the night. Becker would come in as soon as he was done. As always, that was the moment Mumford grumbled before settling into his big doggy bed on the floor. Until that time, she was happy to have Mumford’s furry body to cuddle close. Tomorrow morning would come soon enough, and then they’d be working. Working was good. It was productive. It would take her mind off her dad and give her something to do. Plus she always enjoyed the lively conversations she had with Mrs. Featherman about reading. And she was excited to see Dougal work on his own for the first time.
Chapter Three
“Okay. Are you ready? You remember what we talked about?” Mel stood on the sidewalk in front of the old but modest Victorian. It had a high-pitched roof and a small porch fronting the door. As beautiful as it was from the street, well preserved and completely redone, that did not do the inside justice. The interior was impressive, refurbished with minute attention to detail to the era. Everything, or nearly everything, was period accurate. The kitchen did have a regular stove, the bathroom a real shower and a real toilet, and she was pretty sure Mrs. Featherman had a washer and dryer, but other than that, it was accurate. If Mel was stuck in the 1980s, Mrs. Featherman was stuck in the 1880s.
They walked along the sidewalk and through a set of wrought-iron gates with arrow tips pointing toward the sky. Mel helped Mumford up the stairs to the small front porch, then rang the doorbell. Waiting for the old-fashioned doorbell to perform its job, Mel rocked from foot to foot. “You know what you’re doing?” she whispered to Dougal out of the corner of her mouth in case Mrs. Featherman was looking through the lace-panel curtains at the front door.
“Yes, Mel. You don’t have to worry about me. I talked with Chester some more last night, and even Mrs. Hatchett offered a few words of encouragement.”
“No way! Mrs. Hatchett?” Mel gaped. “Stop yourself!” Mel said those last two words just as Mrs. Featherman answered the door. Damn.
“Is your dog being naughty, Melanie? I’m fond of dogs, but I don’t know if I want a naughty one in my house.” She peered over the half glasses perched on her nose. The glasses were secured around her neck with the same metal chain she’d had since Mel was a teenager. Mel knew it had never been replaced because she’d asked last time. Mrs. Featherman was very proud of her possessions.
Mumford backed up a step and sat on his hind end. Poor baby. But Mel couldn’t exactly tell the librarian she was talking to a ghost, not the dog. Then and there, she decided to give him extra treats as soon as they got home.
“He’s fine. Just excited to be out and about. T
he junkyard can get boring after a little while. Only so many tires to pee on, you understand.”
Mrs. Featherman’s lips remained pursed, but she did open the door wider, motioning Mel and Mumford in, and by extension Dougal, though the woman had no idea there was a third guest. Normally, Mrs. F was as happy as could be when Mel left, but this was often how she found the former librarian upon arrival. Mel felt bad for not thinking to warn everyone about her demeanor before they’d stepped onto the porch. Along with those treats, she'd be apologizing, too.
“Welcome to my home.” Mrs. F bent forward to pet Mumford, who remained on his rump, staying very still as the older woman’s hand caressed his ears, the top of his head, and down his back. Since there was a lot to his back, she didn’t make it to his tail, but she stood up with a slight smile on her face. That, at least, was a step in the right direction. Mel waved her hand behind her back to let Dougal know he could be on his way to get started.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him fly up the stairs, staying away from Mrs. F in case he accidentally touched her. The chill in the air was not always something a ghost could control, nor was the slight gust of wind.
“So how was the visit?” Mel sat down on the settee and accepted a delicate china plate decorated with vibrant orange flowers and feathers. On a larger plate with a similar design, small finger sandwiches made a pinwheel. If she was right—and she usually was—they would be chicken salad with cranberries, cucumber with cream cheese, cheese with turkey, and one that was a surprise.
Sure enough, Mrs. F did not disappoint. Mel always ate the surprise one first, just in case she didn’t like it. As soon as she picked it up, she was in love. Mrs. F had taken peanut butter and marshmallow fluff and made Fluffernutter finger sandwiches. Mel briefly wondered how many she could sneak into her purse without looking like she was a glutton.
Mrs. F gave a slight smile, just one side of her mouth. Another good sign. “The rest are for you and that man of yours when you leave, so don’t worry about not eating enough now. You won’t be leaving me with too much food.”
Mel’s heart, and most likely her stomach, swelled. “Thank you so much. Becker is going to love that.”
“He’s a good man, that Becker. What are your intentions with him?”
Mel almost choked on a cucumber, but she cleared her throat before she could go into a full-on coughing fit. This conversation was much different than any previous ones. She’d been prepared for book talk or a conversation about the ridiculousness of banning books. Certainly not relationship talk.
Normally, she asked all the questions and let Mrs. F talk it all out while Mel ate sandwiches and nodded in the right places. She was not used to people asking her anything personal.
Sinking back into the couch, she appreciated the warmth of Mumford against her leg. When had she become so dependent on the dog? He was like a touchstone to her, but she couldn’t regret loving the sweetheart.
“I’m not sure, to be honest. We’ve been seeing each other.” She shrugged, fighting off the urge to stuff another sandwich into her mouth so she could stop talking. “He lives at the house. He’s a good guy. I really like him. I don’t know about intentions.” And that choppy, confused mess was all she was giving if she could get away with it.
Dougal swooped in through the ceiling and held up one finger. He’d gotten one ghost back into its place. Normally, there were about ten, so if he was fast, maybe she could get out of here unscathed from the interference of a well-meaning woman.
She jumped into her own questions to stave off any follow-ups from Mrs. F. “Tell me about your family. Were they happy to see the new peacock wallpaper you put in the hallway upstairs?” It wouldn’t surprise her if they had hated it, just like they hated anything that cost money they wanted for themselves. As far as she could tell, they only came so that when Mrs. F died she’d leave all her worldly possessions to them. In a just world, the older woman would leave them nothing and donate her house to a museum or the local heritage society.
“I’ll let you have a pass on the relationship talk this one time, Melanie, but if you ever need any advice, or a woman to talk to, you know where to find me.” She patted Mel’s knee. “I was so sorry when your mom passed. I’m sure your father tried his best, even though he wasn’t home much. I don’t know if he told you, but I offered to take you when he was gone. He assured me you’d be fine. According to him, sixteen was old enough to be on your own for a few days at a time. That it might be better for you to get used to being alone early on in life.”
Mel sat forward. Her father had said that? This time she did cram another sandwich into her mouth to keep from spouting the words that were begging to come spilling out.
“To be perfectly honest with you, I thought it wrong. But I was so happy you continued to come to the library long after some others your age decided they were too cool to read. At least that way I could keep an eye on you there. Help you if you ever needed me.” She patted Mel’s knee again and handed her another fluff sandwich.
At this rate, Mel was certain she wouldn’t be able to fit in the car, even with only a ghost for company, if she kept scarfing these things down.
Dougal swooped in and held up three fingers. “Thank you, Mrs. F,” Mel said. Thank God, he was moving right along. “It wasn’t easy, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciated all you did do. You and the books meant a lot to me. The freedom to get lost in other worlds was a saving grace.”
“Then I did my job.” The first real, full smile came to play on her lips.
Dougal shot through and held up six fingers.
He was fast, he was awesome, and if they could get out of there soon, before Mrs. F tried to dig into any other pockets that Mel wasn’t ready to examine, she might just survive the afternoon.
“But silly me,” Mrs. F went on. “You asked about the family.” She placed a finger sandwich on her own plate, then poured herself a cup of tea from the silver tea service. “It was fine. I don’t think they want to come around anymore, since I seem to be taking too long to die.”
“Oh, Mrs. F, don’t say that.”
“No, dear, don’t worry about it. I’ve known it for years, but I kept hoping I might be wrong. However, some things were said this time that I just can’t ignore. I don’t believe I’ll be inviting them back. I do hope you’ll still come to visit me, though. The only time I see you in my house is right after they leave. Your attempt to make me feel better after they go is much appreciated, but I hope your visits won’t stop just because the relatives don’t come around anymore.”
“No, of course not. I love to spend time with you.” And surprisingly enough, that was true. Plus, Mel might ask her some questions about this whole thing with Becker. Not today, of course, because she wasn’t ready. Another time, though, and at least she knew she had someone alive in town who cared.
Dougal swooped through and flashed a thirteen at her—ten, then three. That was more than normal. And he was moving fast. Soon she’d be leaving. No matter how she’d felt earlier, now she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
“Your dog is handsome,” Mrs. F said between bites. “I heard he came to you through that lovely Becker.”
Mel launched into the revised version of the story, since she couldn’t tell her about the evil woman turning to dust and the crossing that they’d had to do once she was dead. But she’d become adept at telling only the fringes of stories, and that was just fine with her.
Dougal flashed through again and made a zero with his hands. So they were done, quicker than they ever had been before. He was good, really good. So good that she didn’t feel any negative energy left in the place at all. Nice. She’d known bringing him was the right thing. Originally, it had been just to see how he would do on his own on a relatively easy cleaning. Now, she was extremely pleased that he’d passed with flying colors.
Time to make her excuses and her exit.
“Mrs. F, I’d better get back. It’s time for doggie treats fo
r Mumford, and he usually takes a nap in the afternoon.”
Mrs. F smiled, and it crinkled her blue eyes. “What a cutie he is and, really, so well-behaved. Aren’t you, sweetie?” She bent over to give him a scratch behind his ears. “I admit I was nervous when you first arrived, but now, I must say, I feel so much better. Perhaps I should think about getting myself a dog. They certainly do brighten a place up.”
Or destroy a home, if she didn’t get a good one. Mel couldn’t imagine all this refinished furniture surviving a brute of a dog, but she’d leave that to Mrs. F. And maybe the local vet, who had a heart of gold. “Let Becker know if you’re looking. He could help you out.”
“I’ll certainly keep that in mind. And you remember that if you need anything, I’m right here. I won’t have many people coming around anymore, so I’d welcome the company.”
Mel waved on her way out, then was pleased to see Dougal already in the car. What she wasn’t pleased about was seeing someone—or something—in the back seat with him.
Chapter Four
“Dougal, what the hell?” Mel quickly lowered her voice since to anyone else it might look like she was yelling at her empty car. “I tell you! Just because most of the spirits in there were nice doesn’t mean you have to bring one out to the car, Dougal. And how did you carry whatever she’s attached to? If it’s still in the house, then she’s not going to be able to get very far with us.”
Dougal shook his head, then left the other ghost in the back seat as he floated through the back of the passenger seat to sit up front with her.
His face was grimmer than usual. “Mel, I swear I have no idea what’s going on. I saw many ghosts in the house and put each in the place it belonged. I removed myself to the car when you told me to. When I arrived at the vehicle, she was standing next to it as if she had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten there. Is this normal?”
“No, it’s not, Dougal. I’m sorry for being angry. What happened when you approached?”