It wasn’t something I had pondered before. “That’s an interesting thought,” I said.
“Sort of. The kind-of gay thing, I mean,” Catrina replied. “It’s really just an extension of what we’re attracted to, though. Say, for example, you tend to like men with more androgynous features, but have little luck with them. Then one day you go to a party and meet a girl who is kind of androgynous. She looks pleasing to your eye. You vibe with her sense of humor. You like what she’s got to say about politics and that she also wants to hike the Appalachian trail or something like that. You give her a half-embrace when you leave the party and notice she smells nice, really nice, on some primal level. You compliment her perfume, but she says she’s not wearing any.
“You strike up a friendship, and one day take refuge from the rain under an awning. While waiting out the storm she leans in and kisses you. You kiss back and feel a spark. You’re at a crossroads at that moment. Do you back off because she’s basically only missing one body part?”
“My favorite one on a man,” Mom said, her tone dreamy.
“Mine, too,” Jordan grinned.
Catrina shook her head and chuckled before continuing. “Yeah, yeah, penises are lovely. But for our potential lesbian scenario: When you’re in that moment, do you back off because you thought you didn’t like girls, or do you go forward because everything else is perfect?”
“In that case, if you back off, then you could be denying yourself the love of a lifetime,” I mused.
“And if you back off, you miss out on some hot lesbian action,” Mom murmured.
Catrina shot my mother another amused look.
“Mom, we’re being serious here,” I warned.
“I’m being serious, too,” she sniffed. “Repression is just plain sad.”
“I hear you there,” Catrina said before continuing. “Now — to return to the point — throw in a hundred billion dead in god knows how many languages and through how many eons of time, and it’s a mess.”
“I’m going to assume you’re not the only person who does this sort of matchmaking,” I hazarded.
“I’ve run into a couple others. It’s not like we’re networked or unionized, so I’m not sure how many there are.”
“So, how did you come by this work?”
“The first time, I was asked by a loved one to find the love of her life after she’d passed, and it kind of snowballed from there. Now the ghosts tend to find me.”
“And how do you get these ghosts together?”
“In this case I may as well show you,” Catrina said. “We’re going to set up an offering, or an ofrenda.
“Normally, if a ghost came to me and they didn’t already know who was the love of their life, I’d ask for details from them to kind of paint a picture of their true love. When I get them talking, a picture grows clear and then I gather relevant items — it varies case by case — and make an offering to draw the match. Once they meet, it usually is pretty easy from there.”
“Usually?”
Catrina shrugged. “Sometimes there are complications. A bit of stubbornness, maybe. But if the parties spend some time together, they usually see that it’s meant to be.”
“Do these matches sometimes go wrong?” I asked.
“Only if they’re being dishonest or leaving something out. It’s kind of like the magic where you follow your gut. If they open up and just let the truth flow, it tends to work out.”
“And you make a living at this?” Mom asked.
Catrina hedged. I could tell she wasn’t keen to disclose all her secrets.
“Let’s say I get paid in information,” she said.
“What, like a path to a lost treasure?” Mom wanted to know.
“Sometimes.”
“And what about in this case? What drew you here?” I asked. “You were in the basement talking to something over at Scott’s place, after all.”
“I was driving back to Detroit, taking the scenic route on US 2 along Lake Michigan, but I got a little inkling through my ghostly grapevine that there was a case to solve here. So, I ventured north instead of south.”
“Isn’t that annoying to change course like that?” Mom queried.
“Sometimes, yes,” Catrina nodded. “But I get something for my services. I just consider it part of the job. Dealing with ghosts, it’s kind of a gig economy.”
“How lucrative is this work?” Mom asked. “Maybe Poppy and I could do something like this.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said. “I’d rather run my shop and keep dealings with ghosts on the back burner. Now, interesting as this all is, I’d like to put this matter to bed. How do we do that?”
“Yes, well, something is complicating things here. We know that Cora and Ernest were in love. We have some vital pieces of their love story in the cardinal feather, the drawing, the locket, the flowers and so on. But we also have this witch jar which is holding them back.”
“And we can’t just empty the jar or shatter it to break the spell?”
“I’d rather resort to destruction as a last resort, since drastic solutions can have drastic consequences.”
“I hear you. We’ve seen how the breaking of a cursed item can cause lingering damage.”
“So you see where I’m coming from.”
“I do. Are you thinking we should call the one who put together that witch bottle? I’m assuming it’s not Cora or Ernest’s work?”
“I am assuming the same,” Catrina agreed. “I think it most likely would be Cora’s husband. Maybe he found this stash of love souvenirs and did something out of spite.”
I picked up the jar and weighed it in my hands. “That seems most logical,” I agreed, “but I’m not sure.”
Mom grabbed it from me and held it between her palms. “This is definitely a woman’s doing.”
Catrina looked surprised, then reclaimed the jar, holding it in her hand while she concentrated. “I think you’re right. I thought maybe the husband might have been a dandy with a grudge, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Maybe there was someone thwarted,” I suggested. “Maybe a woman had her eyes on Jacob and, when he and Cora married, she was angry?”
“That’s a possibility.”
“Or,” I continued, warming to the topic, “maybe someone had their sights set on Ernest and didn’t like that he and Cora were gaga over one another.”
“Either situation could explain Cora being sent away. Either way, her absence could buy time to try and win either Jacob’s or Ernest’s heart.”
Jordan had been surprisingly quiet while Catrina and I talked. Suddenly he smacked his forehead and exclaimed: “Oh! Oh my God! Yes!”
“What’s happening here?” I hedged.
He grew increasingly animated. “I don’t see that handkerchief here, the one with the ring and ribbon? Is that around?”
I’d completely forgotten about that particular discovery. Chiding myself, I sprang up, raising a finger to let them know they should wait. I ran upstairs, remembering that I had stuffed the items in question into my hoodie’s pocket, then thrown it into the hamper.
I rooted around until I found them, bounding back downstairs and placing the fabric, flowers, ring and ribbon in front of Catrina.
“Hmmm,” she murmured as she examined the find. “Was this at Scott’s place?”
Jordan shook his head. “I found it at Ash’s house, which used to belong to Cora’s family, right?”
I nodded.
“Interesting. How did you find it?” Catrina asked.
Jordan shrugged. “I just did. I just do. Find things, I mean.”
“You mean, like you get the urge to look in a drawer or under a chair and you find … things?”
“Pretty much,” Jordan agreed. “It’s like a psychic itch I need to scratch.”
“That’s an interesting ability,” Catrina replied.
“And it’s proven helpful, too,” I added.
“I bet.”
Catrina
carefully examined the Parker house discovery. “I’m thinking that this Cora gal embroidered this hanky, and maybe the ribbon was from her hair. The flowers, well, they sure seemed to love forget-me-nots. This ring here, I wonder if it was for them to marry.” She turned to Jordan. “You said you found this where this Ernest fellow used to live?”
“I think so,” Jordan said. “Poppy and I saw his ghost there.”
“You didn’t get an itch by any chance to find the other ring, the one he was going to use to wed Cora, did you?” Catrina raised an eyebrow. The look on her face was like she was waiting on my young worker to perform a cool parlor trick.
“It’s already there,” Jordan said, his tone matter-of-fact.
Catrina and I looked at one another, confused. “I only see one ring,” I said.
Jordan exhaled and held out his hand, motioning for me to give him the handkerchief and gold band. I did as instructed. He untied the ribbon and slid the fabric and flowers away from the loop. As he did that a second ring, tucked neatly inside the larger men’s ring, popped out.
“Wait, that was there all along?” Mom asked, leaning in, looking like she was waiting to see another magic trick.
Jordan nodded. “The lady’s ring — it just came to me — fit neatly into the man’s ring. He stored them side by side, tucked into one another, because that’s how he wanted the two of them to be. The ribbon just kept them together since it was tied securely. And the handkerchief helped, too.”
Mom reached out and scooped up both rings. “Hmmm. Basic gold bands, but quality. There’s a question hanging over them.”
“Probably, ‘will you marry me?’” I muttered.
Catrina took the rings from my mother, weighing them in her palm. “That’s exactly what it was. I think I can work with this.”
“To bring them together?” Jordan asked.
Catrina nodded, and as she did a chill set over the room.
She sneezed twice.
My two cats, black mini panther Puck and chubby Maine Coon Fido, who had been milling about, suddenly froze, arching their backs and hissing. Puck made a beeline for the basement and Fido scuttled under an end table. Neither one was brave, what can I say?
I looked around, trying to locate the source of the chill. It seemed to be settled between Catrina and me.
She sneezed twice more.
The air was both electric and icy all at once. As I blinked and focused, I found the form of a young woman hovering there, the same one I’d seen trailing Ernest’s ghost on more than one occasion. She was also the one I spied in the basement of Scott’s pub.
“Is that Cora?” I asked, feeling doubt in my bones. At the mention of her name I felt a pulsing anger.
“I suspect not. I’m not feeling love. Only hate,” Catrina said as she quickly picked up the salt shaker from the center of the table and shook out a scattering of grains between us. “Freeze. And reveal,” she commanded. Then she sneezed again.
The ghost seemed inclined to charge until the salt pelted over her ethereal form. Then she simply froze in place, like a DVR when you hit pause.
“That’s a neat trick,” Mom said. “I’d like to try that on my ex-husband sometime. What’s your secret?”
“Salt. Ability. And meaning it.” That was all Catrina said, followed by more sneezes.
“Good to know,” Mom beamed.
“Don’t torture Dad,” I groaned. “You’ve been divorced from him for ages, and he’s been dead fifteen years. Hasn’t he suffered enough?”
Mom ignored my plea. I reminded myself to warn Dad about Mom and salt shakers, just in case. Even though he was a ghost, he still lived — if you could phrase it that way — in dread of my mother’s vindictiveness.
“What are you going to do now?” Roger, who had migrated over toward Ash and Tom, now drew near, eyeing the frozen specter with a mix of trepidation and curiosity.
Tom also drew closer. “Is that what ghosts look like?’
Jordan and I nodded.
“So, kind of like what you see on TV.”
“That’s about right, Tom,” Jordan replied.
“What are you thinking of doing now?” I asked. I had a couple ideas that might lead to a resolution, but Catrina gave off a more confident vibe, so I was inclined to let her direct the show.
“Getting answers.” She sneezed again.
“Jeez, are you allergic to ghosts or something?” Mom asked.
“It’s probably the cats. I’m sorry about that,” I apologized. “I don’t vacuum as much as I should.”
“No, the cats are not a problem,” Catrina said. “I actually am allergic to ghosts. Or the energy they give off. Something. I’m not exactly sure what it is. When they’re around it’s like I’m inhaling electrified pepper. It’s obviously not something I can confirm at the doctor’s office.”
“That sounds inconvenient,” Roger said.
“It’s not too bad usually. This ghost is just really close and giving off lots of emotion, so that triggers my allergies more. Like they give off an energy or a pheromone or something, and I just sneeze a lot.”
Catrina dug in her pockets, pulling out a phone, keys, a lipstick. “Eh, it’s not here. Let me get to my coat.” She left and returned to the table a moment later with her bright pink winter puffer, fishing in the pockets. Finally she retrieved the tea I’d given her earlier.
“You want a cup of tea?” Jordan asked, beginning to rise. “I can fire up the kettle.”
Catrina raised a hand to still him. “This isn’t for drinking. Rather it’s for an offering.”
“Because of the marigolds?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes, they’re excellent for guiding souls back to the land of the living.”
“I have more if you need more,” I chimed in.
“Thanks. I think a little is all we need for this undertaking, considering we have the rings and all these other love souvenirs.”
At the mention of the rings, I felt an angry — and bone-chillingly icy — surge from the trapped specter to my right. I shivered in response.
“Yeah, she’s pissed off all right,” Catrina said, sneezing again, followed by her breath coming out in a cold puff. “It’ll be colder in here as she gets angrier, too.”
“Too bad we didn’t encounter this problem during a heat wave,” Mom said, her tone dry.
I chuckled. “I was thinking the exact same thing.”
“You get heat waves?” Catrina asked. “Somehow I don’t imagine the summers get too hot around here.”
“Now and then it gets up into the eighties,” Mom replied.
“You’re joking.”
Mom and I shook our heads in unison.
“Wimps. Call me when you get a couple weeks of temperatures in the upper nineties. With humidity.”
“We lived in Detroit some years,” Mom replied. “It was hotter than hell one summer. I don’t see how you can stand it when it’s like that.”
“Oh, trust me, I can’t stand it when it gets like that,” Catrina grumbled.
“Okay,” Tom cut in, “We’ve had a nice chat about the weather. What about the ghost in the room? The angry one steaming like a tea kettle between you two girls. Will anything else happen?” His eyes were still trained on our ghostly companion. He looked a bit peaked himself.
“Not likely,” I said. “I think we’ve got enough magical firepower with Catrina, Mom, Jordan and myself should a problem arise.”
“We’ll be fine,” Catrina assured. She turned to me. “How about a couple candles and if you have any oil that’s been infused with marigold, that would add a welcome boost.”
I nodded and retrieved the items she requested.
A few moments later we had an ofrenda set up on my kitchen table, using the items found in the safe. “Is this for one or both?” I asked.
“For both,” Catrina said. “It’s both Cora’s and Ernest’s story, so we want to reunite them and see what the holdup is. The four of us will link hands and focus on
drawing them near.”
“Is there anything we can do,” Roger asked, motioning between himself, Ash and Tom.
“I wouldn’t say no to a shot of whiskey. Irish, if you’ve got it.”
Roger went to the cabinet and brought some shot glasses and a bottle, pouring one and serving it to Catrina. Mom motioned for him to give her something, too, and I shrugged and nodded. “What the hell, in the spirit of things!”
“Same here,” Jordan said, raising a finger in Roger’s direction. He was trying to make the gesture appear more bold than he felt. That much was plain to see.
“You’re underage,” he warned.
Catrina came to Jordan’s defense. “Hey, if calling ghosts doesn’t merit a belt, what does?”
“Fine. Just one,” Roger said, shaking his head as he poured. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“It’ll be fine. I’ll take that,” Ash said, claiming the whiskey bottle from Roger. He’d found himself a tumbler and poured himself a couple fingers.
“Want to join us, pooka?” Mom asked.
“I’ll sit this one out. You three witches and one warlock should be more than enough to do the job.”
“Wait, did you say pooka?” Catrina asked.
“We’ll fill you in later,” I said. “First let’s get to busting up this ghostly triangle or whatever the fuck it may be.”
28
The four of us raised our glasses and tilted our heads back as we downed our shots. To watch Catrina in action, one would think she was drinking tap water. Mom squeezed her eyes shut for a second and then gathered herself. I fought the urge to cough and then enjoyed the spreading warmth in my chest. Jordan merely hacked in surprise.
“Oh, how do you drink that?” he coughed, his eyes watering. “Oh, wait. Now I see. Oooh, that feels kind of nice and warm.”
“They don’t call it firewater for nothing,” Catrina replied. “Now, let’s focus on these items. Pick up on something and let your mind wander, see where it takes you.”
“What should we focus on?” Jordan asked. “There’s a lot here.”
“Relax and let your eyes go a bit out of focus as you look at the objects laid out here. Something will pull you in.”
A Spot of Bother Page 21