Toots interrupted. “Get to the point, Soph.”
“I’m explaining how I became interested in this stuff. I started reading astrology charts and doing my own little tarot readings on the side. Oh, nothing for the public, just for myself and a couple of girls at the hospital. Never made much of a big deal out of it. It was all in fun anyway. Sure helped me get through some rough times with that son of a bitch I married. I just want you to know that this isn’t a new hobby, in case you’re wondering.”
Toots couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I think we’ve discussed your interest enough. Just tell me what I need to do, Soph. You can’t imagine just how weird I feel in that room. When I put my robe on this morning, I kept looking around to see if anyone was watching me.”
“Once I’m settled in the room, I’ll know more. For starters, I’ll have to make sure there really is a presence there.”
With a trace of impatience Toots asked, “And how will you do that?”
“It’s just something I’ll know. I’ll set up my voice recorder and video for backup, but if there’s truly a ghost hanging around this dump, I’ll know. Once I determine if it’s—shit, this sounds dumb even to me—once I determine if it’s a friendly ghost, then I can do a number of things. For starters, there’s the shoes remedy, and it’s pretty safe.”
“Shoes? You’re going to rid this place of its ghosts or whatever the hell it is with a pair of shoes? Puh-leeze, Sophie. Even I’m not that gullible.”
Sophie stubbed out her cigarette. “I know it sounds like a crock, but just hear me out.”
Toots gazed out at the beach, where the white foamy waves were gently reaching the shoreline. In and out, constant, always predictable. She liked knowing what was happening around her, liked knowing, or at least being able to make a pretty good guess, what each day would bring. After last night’s scare, Toots was sure of one thing—she really did not like the unknown or the unpredictable. No, she liked and needed good, hard facts. But something told her that there would be very few of those available in what she was about to hear.
Resigning herself to listening to Sophie’s shoe theory, she motioned with her hand. “Go on, tell me about the shoe stuff.”
Sophie lit another cigarette; Toots was sure she’d smoked at least half a pack already. Then she, too, reached for one and lit up alongside her.
With the surf as background noise, the occasional seagull cawing with bursts of laughter from an unseen group on the stretch of beach below them, Sophie sat on the edge of her deck chair and explained herself. “I’m not sure of its origins, but somewhere I recall reading about the shoe theory. It’s said when you go to bed at night, the person seeing or feeling the presence of a ghost—and in this case that would be you—is supposed to place the shoes you’ll be wearing the next day at the foot of your bed. You then point one shoe in one direction and its mate in the opposite direction. This is said to confuse the ghosts. After a few nights of discombobulation, the ghosts leave.”
Toots glared at her in disbelief. “That’s it? Please tell me you’re joking.”
Sophie instantly appeared deflated at Toots’s reaction, collapsing in on herself like a balloon that had lost its air. “What do you mean, joking? You asked me to tell you about the shoe theory, and that’s what I did. It’s not rocket science, Toots. It’s not something you major in physics at Harvard, Yale, or Caltech to learn. Don’t look so damned disappointed.”
“Guess I was expecting something more . . . I don’t know, concrete. I haven’t dealt with this type of . . . bullshit before.”
“Most people haven’t and never will, Toots. This isn’t the everyday normal stuff that we’re used to. Why do you think it’s so difficult for the average person to believe?”
Toots agreed that she had a point. Still, in broad daylight, with the ocean stretched out before her and a warm breeze blowing tendrils of hair loose from her topknot, it was hard to adjust to the fact that they were discussing ghosts and ways to get rid of them.
“Sophie, if word of this gets out, I could be in real trouble. What if someone at The Informer learns my identity, then discovers I’m seeing ghosts? This would not help Abby or the paper. In fact, it’s this kind of story that could sink us.”
“What in the hell would make you think the paper could even find anything out about this? It’s not like I’m going to start running off at the mouth. Ida does enough of that for all of us.”
“Sophie, you should be ashamed of yourself. She doesn’t wag her tongue that much, but don’t you see, that’s just it? We can’t afford to let anyone, and I mean absolutely anyone, find this out. Whatever you do, we have to keep this between us.”
Sophie held up her hand to stop further conversation. “Remember, Toots, I can keep a secret.”
Toots nodded. How could she ever doubt Sophie? She’d kept Walter’s abuse hidden from her for years. Toots trusted Sophie as much as she trusted herself. This craziness would stay between the two of them.
“I know you can, Soph. Now that that’s settled, you want to share another ghostbusting theory with me? I am not spending another night in that god-awful purple room. I’ll go back to the Beverly Hills Hotel first.”
Sophie laughed, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “Of course you will. Now, tell me. What do you know about electronic voice phenomena?”
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