A Spot of Bother

by Magenta Wilde

  “Yes,” I nodded, focusing on the ghost once more. “Just so you know, that term — none of them, really — isn’t really used any more these days.”

  The ghost’s expression told me she wasn’t really interested in political correctness. I went on. “But you’re dressed like it’s the early 1900s. I’m thinking you either died then or you prefer that time for some reason, the years around 1910 or not long after?”

  “Yes. Before Ernest died.”

  “Okay, well, how about you tell me your name, and a bit about this Ernest fellow. He sounds like a charming fellow.”

  The ghost leveled her melancholy gaze at me. Her eyes were big and brown, fringed in long lashes my mother would have killed for.

  Amber stepped next to me, holding the locket I’d requested. I took it from her hand and carefully opened it. The ghost hovering before us looked like a lot like the woman from the locket. But I wasn’t a hundred percent sure. The locket photo was so formal, and this woman had something more feral about her. “I wonder if this is Ernest,” I muttered mostly to Amber.

  “Does the ghost look like that woman on the left?” Amber asked, peering over my shoulder.

  I again looked at the ghost, then at the picture in the locket. “Sort of. The hair is styled differently and the picture looks more posed, more formal. But there’s a bit of resemblance.”

  Amber rubbed her goose-fleshed arms. “Is she why it feels so cold, like a mean draft is blowing in ahead of us?”

  “That would be correct.”

  I held the locket up higher and for the first time the specter showed true interest. “Where did you find that?” she asked, her voice climbing an octave.

  “Is she mad or something,” Amber asked. “It just got a lot colder, and a bit more electric, all of a sudden.”

  I noticed our breath was coming out in frosty puffs. Yes, this ghost was feeling something, that’s for sure, and nothing joyous.

  “Where did you get that?” she repeated, her tone as icy as her presence.

  “How about you tell us your name, and I’ll share a bit of information in return?” I offered.

  “Where did you find that? Where was it?” she hissed. I felt a shiver go up my spine. Her mood was rapidly descending from bad to worse.

  “We found it while we were working down here.” I paused, trying to think of what to say.

  Finally, I asked, “Do you realize we’ve passed the year two-thousand? Almost two decades past? Things have changed a lot since you were last around, I’m pretty sure.”

  “Like we don’t refer to Asians as Japs or Chinks,” Amber offered.

  “Yes, that,” I nodded, “among many other changes. But back to the locket. We don’t know anything about it. Or the jar of dirt, or the spyglass, or anything else we found in that box.”

  “What box?” the ghost asked, looking around.

  “What’s your name?” I parried. “I’m just being cordial is all. I’d like to help you, but I need to know a few things before I’m able to do anything.”

  The specter opened her mouth to say something, and for a split second I was certain she was going to give me her name. Instead she pressed her lips together and glared at us. Then — poof! — she dissolved into the ether.

  “I guess we’re not getting anywhere with her tonight,” I muttered.

  “It’s warmer in here all of a sudden.”

  “Yes, because she’s vanished.”

  My shoulders dropped as I exhaled and turned to return the locket to the box. As I set it inside the lid slammed down forcefully, sending a puff of dust flying. Amber and I shrieked in unison as I toppled backwards. Fortunately the lid didn’t clamp down on my hand, but it did knick my finger as I pulled it away. I sucked on the tender tip and tasted blood welling out where my fingernail met the cuticle.

  “Damn, that smarts,” I whined.

  A loud pop assailed our ears as a light bulb shattered over the table. Amber and I hopped out of the way as glass scattered over our heads.

  “What happened? We heard you girls yelp.” It was Roger. He and Scott had raced downstairs when they heard the commotion. Roger bounded over to me and pulled my hand free. “Why are you sucking on your finger? Did you get a cut?”

  “Is that glass in your hair,” Scott said, carefully pulling a shard out of Amber’s locks.

  Roger looked me up and down and gingerly removed a piece of glass from the top of my head, circling me and plucking as he went around. “I see you sucking your fingertip and there’s a bit of blood. What happened?”

  “I got a pinch,” I said. “We saw a ghost and she wasn’t very cooperative.”

  “Correction,” Amber cut in. “Poppy saw a ghost. But it got really cold over there.” She waved her hand in the direction of the discovered room’s entrance. “I think she slammed the box closed on Poppy’s hand. And I think she also made that light bulb explode.”

  Roger examined my fingers. “Can you wiggle them? Are they numb? Is anything broken?”

  I flexed my fingers. “I’m fine. It just nicked me is all. I’ll put on a Band-Aid and it’ll be good. The worst part was being surprised in that jump-scare sort of way.”

  “Let’s go get you a Band-Aid, then,” Roger said, herding me toward the stairs. “There’s a first-aid kit behind the bar. I think I got all the glass out of your hair, but let’s take a look under better lighting.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” I said. “I’ll put on a Band-Aid later.”

  “No, now. Doctor’s orders.”

  I opened my mouth to argue but saw Roger was serious. Which made me feel a bit hot and bothered. I was about to ask what he would do if I was a bad girl and refused to listen, but remembered we weren’t alone.

  “Okay,” I said. First I turned to Scott, however. “Can I take that box of artifacts with me? I’d like to read through the letters, and maybe have Emily and Lady Silvia take a look, and maybe Mom, too, and see what vibes they get. I’m pretty sure the ghost is tied to that box somehow — well, I know it is, because I think her picture is in one half of the locket — so if I can uncover some of the story behind the contents, maybe it’ll lead to answers about why weird things keep happening here.”

  “Sure,” Scott nodded. “I’ll bring it up with me. Go, listen to Doctor Roger and get your finger bandaged.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, turning and taking Roger’s outstretched hand as I began to follow him up the stairs. “You know,” I murmured to him, my voice low, when we were near the top of the steps, “other places hurt, too.”

  “Oh, really?” Roger raised an eyebrow. “Would a strategically placed kiss be of help?”

  “It might,” I nodded.

  “In that case where does it hurt?”

  “All over.”

  “Then as soon as I get you home I’ll give you a thorough examination, check every inch to find out what hurts.”

  “Oh, I’m in a lot of pain,” I smiled, as he sat me down on a bar stool and dug out the first-aid kit. “So, so much pain.”

  10

  The next morning I had plans to leave early and stop at Emily’s before I opened my shop, but Roger distracted me. Twice, in fact. I called Jordan as I was getting dressed and asked if he’d open my store for me, and I’d get in as soon as I could.

  Then I let Roger distract me a third time.

  I was beaming — and vividly remembering all the sport we’d engaged in just an hour prior — as I made my way into Emily’s Eatery, carrying the box I’d found in the safe at Scott’s future brewpub.

  Roger said he’d meet me at her café after checking in at his shop, so I thought I’d catch up with my friend first while waiting on him.

  Emily looked up the minute I went through the door and fixed me with a sunny smile. She was tall and lean, and boasted naturally light hair that skimmed her shoulders.

  “Well look who it is!” she said. “Someone’s in fine spirits this morning.”

  I tried to stifle a goofy grin but failed. So I
shrugged. “All right, I admit it. I had a nice evening.”

  “And a nice morning, too,” she said, pinching my cheek. “You don’t get that kind of glow and that kind of mischievous sparkle in your eyes from any cosmetics. That only comes from good, plain old-fashioned lovin.’”

  “It was hardly plain,” I said, “and it was beyond good.”

  “And I see the source of that lovin’ is hot on your heels,” she said.

  I turned and there was Roger striding in, a lopsided grin on his face that I was certain matched mine.

  “There’s my favorite mechanic,” Emily smiled. “I was just telling your little lady here that she seems in good spirits, as do you.” She crossed her arms and gave us another once-over. “Poppy, you are in the mood for a plain latte this morning, since life can’t get any sweeter, and Roger wants one of my orange cinnamon roll lattes. I’ll make it a large since I know Poppy is going to want to sample it because of the orange.”

  “That does sound good,” Roger smiled.

  “A plain latte does sound like it would hit the spot,” I agreed. “And yes, I will want to sample Roger’s drink.”

  “I think you’re both wanting a maple donut, too. You two are going to be needing the fuel,” Emily cackled. Her voice lowered as she leaned in toward me and whispered. “I know you’re going at it like bunny rabbits.”

  I blushed and Roger hugged me close.

  “Look at that, she’s blushing, and I think Roger’s preening,” Emily said. “Men never mind being the cock of the walk.” She turned to make our drinks and I shot Roger a hot look.

  He gave me a peck on the cheek and whispered in my ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down my spine.

  “You’re just flushing because you’re remembering some of the positions we tried from that book we picked up last week. Need I say more than ‘Snowdrop’ or the ‘Leopard’?”

  I grinned. “Don’t forget the ‘Bizet,’ either. If there was ever a reason to keep up with daily yoga poses, those would be it.”

  Emily brought our drinks to us along with two donuts, and we ordered breakfast before sitting down.

  “If you get a moment, Emily,” I said, “I’ve got something to show you.”

  “Sure, Poppy. I’ll bring the food out and sit down with you. Things are slowing down enough where I can take a short break.”

  A few minutes later we were tucking into breakfast and I was telling Emily about the box we’d found in the safe.

  She’d opened it and began perusing the contents. “Wow. This stuff is old. Must go back at least a hundred years.” She held up a letter and opened it. “Yup. This is dated 1912, so a bit older than a hundred. Have you read any of them?”

  “Yes. It looks like there was some kind of hot-and-heavy courtship between a Cora Parker and an Ernest Sloane. They were pretty devoted, and then she seems to be dealing with her parents protesting the courtship. I think she eventually married some guy named Jacob. She at least mentions her parents approving of it, much to her chagrin, paying her dowry to his family and all that.”

  Emily was reading through the letters, shaking her head. “Poor girl. Listen to this:

  “My darling Ernest,

  Father would be livid to discover that I’d slipped away last week to meet you. I still cannot believe we went into the Gin Mill, of all places! and danced half the evening away. I so adore being in your strong arms. I wish I could preserve that moment, like a fly in amber, and stay frozen there with you. Walking home along the river, when the moon came out and cast its glow upon the St. Mary’s, it truly was an unforgettable evening.

  Father is more vigilant than ever, and has invited Jacob to dine with our family tomorrow evening. I dread the meal, because I am certain my parents will insist upon my marrying him. I wish I weren’t the oldest and expected to marry first. My sister Margaret is eager to wed her beau, and she insists that Jacob would be a fine catch. He’s a kind man, I will afford him that, but I simply do not love him. If only father would allow you to court me. If only you were afforded a better station in life!

  My love, until I see you next.

  Forever yours,

  Cora.

  Emily sucked in air through her teeth and shook her head as she set the letter aside and began thumbing through more of the correspondence.

  “Poor girl. Skimming through the rest of these, it’s clear to see she and Ernest did not have their happily ever after with one another. Looks like she had to follow her parents’ orders and marry who they approved of. Can you imagine being told you have to spend your life with someone you’re lukewarm about at best?”

  “I couldn’t,” I said as I chewed on a piece of bacon. “That’d be simply awful. I can see where the heavy sadness that surrounds the box’s contents comes from.”

  “There’s a lot of sadness here,” Emily said. “And love, too. A powerful love, but a ruptured one.” She pulled out the locket and examined the photos inside. “I’m guessing the young lady who’s been snipped in half is Cora, and the gent is Ernest. Did you see if it was engraved?”

  I shook my head.

  Emily gently removed the photos, and as she did some small blue dried flower petals fluttered out. She set them gently to the side and continued looking. Nothing was inked on the back of the small photos, no initials or anything. There was no engraving on the metal. “Blue flowers, hmmm. They’re a bit faded,” Emily began, “but I bet these are forget-me-not petals.”

  “Wouldn’t they be a bit more faded if they were hundred-year-old petals? Forget-me-nots are delicate and small.”

  Emily shrugged. “Maybe. But you and I both know magic is everywhere. It could have preserved the flowers in some way. I can’t be certain they’re forget-me-nots, but the color seems right, and I’m picking up a sense of holding on to something lost.”

  “They do grow around here, so it makes sense,” I said as I watched my friend gently return the flowers to the locket and tuck the photos back into place. “You still see some patches here and there in the spring.”

  Emily nodded. “Yes, there are a lot that pop up in the downtown area alone. They are perennial, but they do return in some unusual places, along the alley here, behind the courthouse. There’s a big patch of them in the cemetery, too.”

  “You mean the big one on Riverside?” I asked.

  “There, on the end near the potter’s field, yes, but also the small one just off downtown, where they hold some ghost walks every summer and fall.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “They asked me to come along a couple times. I was game for it until the woman who organizes them wanted me to come dressed as a witch.”

  “You are a witch,” Emily said.

  “Yes, but she wanted me to wear a conical hat. I’m not that kind of witch.”

  “What kind of witch would that be?” Roger asked.

  “A theatrical one.”

  “But your hair is on the showy side, and you’re so pretty,” Roger said, “no wonder she’d like you to take part.”

  “Smooth,” I teased, stuffing a piece of bacon in his mouth.

  “Zelda Malone,” Emily nodded. “She’s big on theater, so that sounds like her.”

  “That’s the cemetery they closed some decades back,” Roger said, “I think in the early 1900s if I remember right.”

  “That sounds correct,” Emily agreed.

  “What about the forget-me-nots?” I asked. “I’ve walked through it — it’s a pretty cemetery — but I don’t think I’ve ever walked through in May or June.”

  “There are a lot of forget-me-nots that spring up there, in huge patches by certain graves,” Emily said.

  “Do you think someone planted them,” I asked.

  “Maybe,” Emily said. “I’m not sure. Could be someone planted some at the cemetery to remember a loved one, or they just spread naturally.”

  A thought came to me. “What if they’re springing up by graves of those with unrequited love?”

  Emily pursed her lips
as she pondered the statement. “Maybe. It’s a romantic notion, that’s for sure. Why do you think that?”

  I shrugged. “It’s just something that occurred to me is all. Some unbidden lightbulb moment.” I looked through the contents. “I’m going to keep reading through these letters, and see if I can learn more from them. I wonder if anyone remembers her name, or Ernest’s name, for that matter.”

  “There are plenty of old-timers around here,” Roger offered. “A few have roots that go back generations. Maybe someone remembers some stories tied to all this.”

  “A trip to the senior center may get some answers,” Emily agreed. “Just be prepared to get your ears talked off when you go.”

  “My great-aunt grew up around here,” Roger mused. “I wonder if she remembers any stories.”

  “Is that your old Aunt Mitten,” Emily asked.

  Roger nodded. “She’ll be in town for the holiday, and Poppy is coming to my family’s for Thanksgiving.”

  “Oh, you’re spending the holiday with Roger’s family?” Emily directed her gaze at me and smiled knowingly.

  “She will be coming to dinner,” Roger said, squeezing my knee under the table. “My family is staying for a few days, actually. They’re going to stick around to do some holiday shopping before heading back home.”

  “You should show her this stuff. She’s got a touch of the sight, and has some unusual divination ways to her.”

  “Unusual how?” I asked. I always liked seeing how people tapped into their magic.

  “She knows a lot of lore and legends, can read signs,” Emily said, “but she also has some interesting methods.”

  “Is she a witch?” I asked, directing the question more toward Roger.

  He shrugged. “She never calls it that. No one in my family really does. They just say she knows things is all.”