A Girl, a Guy, and a Ghost

by Patricia Mason

His scowl made Giselle smile. The groveling had not yet begun and she was enjoying it already.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ry marched Giselle from the lane to a nearby restaurant. It was a tiny, diner-style place, with a few other customers scattered throughout. After being seated by the waitress at a table near the counter, it took Giselle a couple of minutes—real time twenty—to describe her harrowing trunk adventure. She’d emphasized the harrowing part.

  Ry began apologizing immediately.

  “I’m sorry. How many times can I say it?” Ry made apology number ten, tugging a hand through a now-shaggy mane of blond hair.

  Giselle enjoyed his frustration. “I don’t know. Let’s try to find out,” Giselle responded a little too sweetly.

  Ry’s apologies were made with that cute and sexy—emphasis on sexy— quality of his, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

  A few of the customers at the counter leaned toward them, obviously listening in on the drama taking place. Their eavesdropping made Ry visibly uncomfortable and Giselle quietly jubilant. His mortification soothed her like a balm on the wound her heart and pride had taken this morning.

  From heartbroken disgrace to triumphal gloating in less than twelve hours. The transition was enough to give a girl whiplash, in the best possible way of course.

  Successful breaking and entering, a ghost on the horizon, and now Ry groveling. Things were going her way now. Uh-oh. Was she tempting fate again? Wouldn’t want another trunking as a demonstration. She’d better temper her gloating with a little humble appreciation.

  Besides Ry would reach his limit. Giselle wanted to forgive him before the pendulum of his emotions swung from remorseful and penitent to angry and defensive. The trick would be to jump in with acceptance at the optimum point. Too late and he was lost. Too early and she would miss all that soothing debasement. It was risky. Very risky.

  Ry picked at his meal. Evidently he had trouble eating a hamburger and fries while eating crow. Giselle’s sandwich went down just fine, thank you very much.

  “I want to explain.” His voice got ragged and his words disjointed. “My mother…she… I just… It’s difficult. She brings out the worst in me.”

  Giselle could well believe that.

  “Mama… When I was a kid, she’d draw me into these paranormal mini dramas. I hated it. She’d want me to be a part of the…show. I felt like a performing organ grinder’s monkey or a dog doing tricks. She’d parade me out in one of these cutesy Little Lord Fauntleroy outfits. Uhhhh.” He shuddered.

  She could see the memories still had a powerful effect on him. A tight feeling stabbed at her chest at his evident pain. She had to forgive him right now. She had to soothe that pain.

  “Ry.”

  “I feel so guilty that I let my…situation with my mother interfere with your safety. You could have been killed. Because of me. Because I told you to leave my house this morning.”

  Yeah! That’s right. It was his fault she’d been in the trunk of that car. What had she been thinking? He wasn’t off the hook yet. No way. Not completely anyway.

  “Well if the hair shirt fits, feel free to wear it. I’ll let you know when you can take it off.” It wasn’t forgiveness. But the tongue-in-cheek teasing way she said it made his lips quirk in a half smile.

  “Come back to the house… I’ll kiss it all better.” He leaned forward gave a mock leer. “Then I’ll love you all better,” he whispered.

  He obviously thought he was out of the woods.

  “You think sex is the answer? You must think you have a magic c—.” Her voice was not a whisper. Oops. She looked around, hoping no one heard her.

  The father of the family of four at a nearby table glared at her and nodded toward his two kids, a boy and girl. Giselle shot him a smile crossed with a grimace of apology.

  “Your…your…rooster isn’t going to get you out of this one, mister,” she said in a furious tone.

  “You seemed to love my rooster last night.”

  “I did not. I—”

  “Don’t worry, darlin’. My rooster loved your kitty cat too.”

  “Your rooster isn’t getting anywhere near my kitty cat ever again.”

  Ry laughed and turned to a diner who had been showing particular interest in their conversation.

  Mr. Customer sat almost contorted in his chair so he could hear what they’d been saying. No telling how much he’d heard over the noise of chattering people and clanking dishes around them.

  “Sir, could you please tell her that I’m sorry and it won’t ever happen again. Would you tell her to forgive me?” Ry asked Mr. Customer.

  The man, a tourist—as evidenced by his Michigan State University t-shirt and camera—became discombobulated.

  “Er, er. He really seems sorry that he broke up with you, miss. He seems genuinely upset that he hurt you. In my opinion you should forgive him,” Mr. Customer stammered.

  “I’ll take it under advisement,” Giselle said wryly, and turned back to Ry. “Incidentally, could you please tell your mother that we aren’t together anymore?” Giselle said, making air quotes with her fingers around the word “together”.

  “I don’t know.” Ry’s lips quirked even more. “I’d kind of like to see you bald. Besides, who says we aren’t together anymore.”

  Hmmm. Explore that issue later. Giselle decided to skirt over his question by changing the subject. “What were you doing at Kop—” She looked at Mr. Customer, who still appeared to be listening. “Mr. Wizard’s house?”

  “I found out he paid a florist to deliver two dozen red roses to you at your hotel. That seemed suspicious since your encounter with him wasn’t the stuff of romance. I wanted to check him out.”

  “The roses came to my hotel in the name of you-know-who bloodsucker. Clearly the two of them are in cahoots. At least we know Mr. Wizard didn’t need psychic powers to see I was in Savannah. You know who probably told him. All that ‘I saw you with my third eye’? Puh-lease.”

  Ry appeared to be enjoying his hamburger now, taking a big bite and chewing with gusto. A tempting bit of catsup clung to his chin. Giselle could feel her tongue slip between her lips. It wouldn’t be too far a stretch to lean over the table and lick that catsup away. She could lick all the way down his neck and then to… No. She bit her lip. She wouldn’t go there again.

  “I’ll ask you know who about his relationship with Mr. Wizard when I meet with him tonight at his house,” Giselle announced.

  Ry choked on a fry. “What? I don’t think we need to do that.”

  “‘We’ aren’t doing anything. I’m going to be meeting him and I happen to think it will be a very useful way to get information. You know who has suddenly decided that he loves me. He says that he’s mine eternally. If he’s so devoted, he’ll have to answer my questions.”

  Ry looked horrified. The second half of the fry he’d choked on hung limply in his left hand.

  “Miss? It doesn’t seem right for you to meet with some guy who’s in love with you, not when your boyfriend here has said that he’s sorry he broke up with you,” Mr. Customer interjected.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Giselle replied.

  “Hey,” Ry started.

  “But he wants to be your boyfriend again. Besides, you don’t want to get involved with a lawyer,” Mr. Customer said.

  “Lawyer?”

  “You said bloodsucker.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Mind your own business.” Giselle turned away from Mr. Customer with an angry snap.

  “I’m a relationship therapist. I know what I’m talking about,” Mr. Customer said in a pompous tone. “It’s never good to bring a third party into a relationship when you’re trying to rescue it.”

  “Butt out, Mr. Know-it-all Therapist,” Giselle barked back.

  “Well,” Mr. Customer huffed. “With that bitchy personality, it’s no wonder he broke up with you.” He turned to Ry. “I suggest you take back your apology and break up with her for
good. She’ll make your life more miserable than your mother did.”

  “Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.” Ry had lost his good humor.

  “I was only trying to help. What a jerk,” Mr. Customer said.

  “Leave my boyfriend alone,” Giselle piped in. Oh-no. What had she said?

  “Yeah, leave her boyfriend alone,” Ry said with a smile.

  Mr. Customer shook his head and turned back to his meal. “Mister, you’re just as bad as she is,” he griped under his breath.

  Ry stood up and threw some bills on the table. “Yeah, we were made for each other. My rooster and her kitty cat. Come on, Giselle,” he said it dryly, but he smiled.

  He grinned actually. Lots of teeth in evidence. What had she said?

  It was Sunday at 5:45 p.m. She had a ghost, at least the prospect of one. On the downside, she’d lost control of the situation with Ry. She’d had the upper hand when she’d arrived at the restaurant, but then she’d allowed herself to let an admission of feeling slip out.

  She’d miscalculated the pendulum swing. Now he was too happy. Dammit. Why couldn’t she learn to keep her big mouth shut? Just when she’d thought things were going her way she was slapped down by fate again. This time instead of a trunk, fate had chosen an interfering tourist.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Giselle returned to the antique shop to set up her surveillance equipment, dragging a reluctant Ry. One of the owners of the shop explained that they suspected a piece of furniture in the store was active with spirits. The piece in question, a mahogany gothic-style sideboard, had been carved, not with the typical images of gargoyles and griffins, but with the faces of people. The sideboard had apparently been owned in the early nineteen hundreds by a local entrepreneur named Arthur Worthington. Worthington’s journal had been found in one of the sideboard’s drawers.

  The owner of the shop handed it to Ry, who opened the leather-bound book and began to read an excerpt aloud.

  “Except for the occasional clinking of silverware against china, there was absolute silence in the dining room that night. There was not even polite conversation between Mildred and myself. We’d been married for over thirty years and I’d concluded after our first anniversary that my wife’s conversation was boring at best and stupid at worst. I had long ago requested that she refrain from speaking to me more than necessary. I particularly abhorred attempts to converse during meals.

  “Last night, however, Mildred was obsessed with the sideboard in the dining room. I couldn’t ignore the way she kept looking at it. Despite my best intentions I myself glanced at it. The wooden faces gazed forward stoically. I saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Mildred started fidgeting like she was preparing to speak to me. I tried to quell her words before she got started with a stern frown. But apparently she felt she had to speak. She cleared her throat and squeaked meekly, ‘Arthur.’

  “I did not respond. But this did not deter her. She spoke louder.

  “‘Arthur. I’m sorry but I have to talk to you.’

  “I threw down my knife and fork with a clatter. ‘What is so important?’ I demanded.

  “Ordinarily, Mildred would have been intimidated into silence by my tone of voice. However, on this occasion she seemed to force herself to continue. ‘It’s about the sideboard.’

  “The expression on my face must have told her I thought I was about to hear something supremely idiotic. But still she kept on. Mildred almost whispered, ‘The faces have been talking to me.’

  “I recall gaping at her. ‘What?’ I asked.

  “‘The faces, they move when no one else but me is looking. And in the last few days they have begun speaking to me.’

  “I snorted disgustedly. I stood and threw my napkin onto the plate. ‘I have never heard anything so ridiculous. And that is saying something given the ridiculous things I have heard come out of your mouth in the past,’ I bellowed. ‘I suggest you discuss this fantasy with that psychiatrist I pay so much to on your behalf.’ I paused and burped. ‘Congratulations. You have again managed to make my meal indigestible.’

  “I stalked out of the room. Just outside the dining room door, I paused. I heard the sound of breaking glass and then I thought I heard someone say ‘We told you no one would believe you.’ But I dismissed the notion and continued away.

  “I never saw Mildred again after that meal. She has disappeared. Is it my imagination or does the face of the center drawer of the sideboard now resemble my lost wife? End of diary entry July 20th, 1910.”

  Ry finished reading aloud. There was silence as they looked at the sideboard in the midst of the shop.

  “Dude,” Giselle said to Ry. “That story is seriously creepy.”

  “Creepy is right,” he said. “Especially since it’s the last entry.” He dropped the journal on to the top of the piece. “I wonder if anyone ever saw Worthington again.”

  Was it a real diary entry or a fictional ghost story? The owners didn’t know the answer but reported that there had been some mysterious happenings in their shop surrounding the sideboard. The alarm company had detected movement and the sound of breaking glass in its vicinity afterhours when no person was on the store premises.

  Giselle snapped the store interior with the new digital camera she’d purchased to replace the smashed Polaroid. She’d charged the magazine’s credit card for the camera of course. She would retain the receipt in case Willie demanded the camera be returned. Giselle snapped another shot. She could review the photographs later to see if any anomalies appeared to indicate a ghostly presence.

  Meanwhile, Ry positioned the rented video camera on its tripod to take in the largest area of the store with the sideboard at its center. He looked through the viewfinder and then gave Giselle a thumbs-up signal. Giselle pressed the record button. The tape would last for twelve hours.

  Tomorrow morning—yes—there would be evidence of a ghost. Or not. But—yes—Giselle would have her ghost. Or not. But she voted yes.

  There was power in positive thinking, right? Isn’t that what that self-help guru said? And how could he and his three million followers be wrong? Or was it three thousand. Maybe it was just three followers. Crap. There probably wasn’t anything to that positive thinking theory. Oh well, this was the best prospect of a ghost she’d had since arriving. So she was going with it.

  Giselle and Ry exited the shop and watched as the owner locked up for the night. They shook hands and arranged to return in the morning to retrieve the equipment and the ghostly evidence tape.

  “I need to go back to my hotel and get ready for my date with Lester,” Giselle said as they climbed into Ry’s Jeep.

  Ry didn’t look pleased. He wasn’t onboard with the whole interview with the Vampire Lester concept. “All right,” he said. “I’ll swing over to the Great Eastern.”

  Dammit. Now she’d have to tell him about the hotel eviction thing. “Uh, Ry, I had a little trouble at the Great Eastern.”

  “Ahhhh.”

  * * * * *

  “This motel is awful,” Ry said as he parked his Jeep in front of her room.

  “It’s not that bad,” Giselle defended.

  “Come on. Admit it. It’s ghastly.”

  Giselle pursed her lips. Admit he was right? Never. She’d chosen this dump and it was fine. Really. Okay, not really. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to admit it.

  “I need to go to the front desk before I go to my room.” She got out of the car.

  Ry followed, shaking his head. “What do you need there?”

  “My room has a bit of a temperature issue. I want to see if it was taken care of.”

  She opened the door marked Lobby. Quite a generous term for the itty-bitty area that barely allowed for one person, let alone two to stand at the front desk.

  The clerk, who looked like a fifteen-year-old, pimply-faced boy, didn’t appear to be at the front desk. Instead, he stood glued to the screen of the business center computer. At least she hoped it was glue h
olding him there and not some other substance.

  Giselle saw the screen of the computer before she could avoid it. It displayed a webpage titled Wild Catholic School Girls. Yuck. She couldn’t look at Ry. She just tried to avoid seeing the cavorting images on the monitor as she rang the bell on the desk.

  The clerk didn’t move. “Huh?” He grunted it over his shoulder.

  “I’m in room 101 and I, um—”

  The clerk clicked the mouse and a girl in knee socks and plaid skirt struck a bending pose. My goodness she was limber…and her vagina was completely devoid of hair.

  “I called earlier about the temperature of the room being stuck at fifty degrees. Was that fixed?”

  “I doubt it since we don’t got no repair guy and I ain’t had no chance to fix it.” He still didn’t turn from the computer screen.

  Giselle tried to brazen it out for Ry’s benefit, not wanting to admit he was right about the place. “Well, that’s okay. But could I get an extra blanket?”

  “No,” Pimply Face said flatly.

  “No?”

  Pimply Face sighed heavily and swiveled in the chair to face them. “No, we got no more blankets.”

  Giselle forgot about Ry. “You’re telling me that you operate a motel here and you don’t have any extra blankets? When do you launder the ones on the beds?”

  Pimply Face didn’t answer for a moment. He squinted as if he were searching his brain for something. “Launder?” he asked finally.

  For a moment she was dumbstruck. Then she glanced at Ry. His eyes had locked on the computer screen. She elbowed him in the stomach.

  “Ooof. What?”

  At her deliberate gaze from him to the computer screen and back again, one eyebrow arched, he had the grace to blush.

  “I’m not looking at that! Well, obviously I am looking at it, but only because it’s like a train wreck. This place is horrible. I can’t let you stay here.”

  Giselle’s heart warmed. Ry really was sweet.

  “You can’t possibly stay in a place like this alone.”

  Ry was a gallant white knight in shining armor, riding in to save her from the slimy motel dragon.