by Zoe Winters
“Marsh.” Well, this was getting off to a great start. If they’d hooked up at sixteen they surely would have set the world ablaze with their clever banter.
“Marshal is recently divorced.” Mimi couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d said hint, hint, wink, wink.
Anna smiled politely, wondering if Marshal had been more attractive in high school or if she’d been less discriminating. She remembered herself in high school, so she suspected the latter.
“We were thinking you two should go together to the Peach Festival this weekend,” Bitsy said, ever the little matchmaker.
The Peach Festival was the event of the year in Golatha Falls. Tragic, but true. It was a quaint little festival where everybody knew everybody. Anna was beginning to miss Atlanta, where nobody knew anybody and she could sit for five minutes without hearing: ‘Anna, my, how delightful it is to see you!’
Three faces turned expectantly toward hers as her inner monologue ran out of steam. “I hadn’t really planned on going.”
“But you have to.” Mimi’s lip jutted out into a pout that must have driven the men wild in her younger days. “Everybody’s dying to see you again.”
Anna could see she was going to lose the battle. Her powers of resistance failed her in the face of pouting old people. They were her kryptonite. She might be able to buy herself some peace until the weekend if she just caved now.
“I suppose I could find a few hours in my schedule.” As if my schedule isn’t TV, Chinese food, argue with the cat, surf the net, she thought.
“Splendid!” Bitsy said.
“I could meet you by the courthouse.” Marshal looked up at her from underneath thick, blond lashes, working the shy guy angle. Anna hated when men did that.
“That’d be great. Listen, I’d love to stay, but I’m not finished unpacking.” She took the Baker sisters’ smug smiles and nods as her cue to flee.
The moment she got home she set the security code, sank to the floor, and peered out the window. The sidewalk was empty of threats. Scarlett approached her, meowing and bitching and rubbing up against her legs. The cat’s nose turned up at the lingering smell of White Diamonds.
Great. In the space of two short weeks, Anna had managed to elevate old people and blind dates to exciting life events. Vince hadn’t been her long haul guy, but it didn’t mean it hadn’t been fun while it lasted. At least until he couldn’t commit and she was sharing him with half of Atlanta. She’d been his casual every other Friday girl.
It hadn’t been all bad. He’d included her in his social circle. She’d had a job. Maybe working in the mail room of the Journal-Constitution wasn’t the height of glamor, but it was something. She had no idea what she was going to do with herself now. Get a job? Join committees?
Her brow scrunched at the idea of being one of those bored town committee women arguing over floats for the annual Christmas parade. Then a part of Anna’s ten-year-old self came through as she imagined finding prince charming, having a whole passel of kids, and throwing fabulous parties.
Snap out of it. Don’t go there. The town might be having an odd effect on her, but she wasn’t about to go all damsel-y. She wasn’t waiting for a man to come along and make her life complete. Gag me. It was the house. It was possessed with Margaret Mitchell’s ghost.
Anna picked herself up off the floor and settled onto the sofa with her laptop. Within moments she was inside the archives of the Golatha Falls Gazette. She wondered if they ever just printed an edition that said, “Sorry kids, no news today . . . check back tomorrow.”
The Gazette sported a general archive, as well as archives for categories of special interest. The sun was dipping behind the peach trees when she found a web of interconnected links on her house. Leave it to the fine journalists of Golatha Falls to think ghost stories were newsworthy.
The paper seemed to have a sort of obsession with the house, archiving articles on it far past what they’d saved and uploaded to the Internet for any other topic. The oldest article was dated August 18th, 1959. A beautiful fair-haired girl with bright eyes stared back at her from a black and white photograph. The caption read: “Beatrice Stone found dead in her home the morning of August 17th, circumstances unknown. Foul play suspected.” Anna felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
Beatrice had been found in the parlor, which Anna suspected was the room now known as the living room. Where she was sitting. Lovely. She clicked to the next link. September 26th, 1969. The article rambled on about how the Stone Estate had sat empty for several years. A few neighbors reported hearing female screams at night. Blah blah blah. Weird occurrences, blah blah.
For a ghost, Beatrice was boring. No wonder Anna hadn’t remembered the stories. Clicking through several links brought more of the same until she got to the Johnsons. After trying unsuccessfully to exorcise what they believed to be a demon, they’d moved. A link to an interview transcript showed Caroline Johnson using the phrase just awful to an extent that should have been punishable by law.
Anna closed the browser window. Pretty wimpy for a ghost story. She flipped on the television and heard a crash in the kitchen.
“Damn cat.”
“Mrarrrr?”
Anna’s eyes shot to the overstuffed armchair where the cat was regally sprawled. She got up and edged toward the kitchen, her heart hammering in her chest so fast she couldn’t count the beats.
I’m not superstitious. I don’t believe in ghosts.
As she inched forward, her skin crawled, and it occurred to her that not only was she being silly thinking something supernatural was at work, but she hadn’t considered the very real danger of a possible flesh and blood intruder.
Her gaze darted around the room until she spotted her keys and pepper spray in the candy dish on the table. She held her breath while she tiptoed over and snatched them, then returned, holding the spray at the ready as she entered the kitchen.
Shards of blue glass from her favorite cereal bowl were scattered across the tile. She distinctly remembered placing that bowl in the back of the cabinet. Her last logical explanation was ripped to shreds when she looked up to see the panel by the back door showing the security system still armed.
Chapter Two
Anna was wasted as an heiress. She should have been in surveillance. Or stalking. She’d quickly determined that Bitsy and Mimi started their morning walks at precisely 9:45 am. Soon after, Sir Franklin, the perfumed poodle, relieved himself in Mr. and Mrs. Sedgewick’s rhododendrons. Depending on the dog’s diet the night before, the three were passing in front of Anna’s house between 10:00 a.m. and 10:05.
The doorbell rang as the grandfather clock began to chime out the dreaded hour. Anna assumed crash position. Whoever was on the other side was repeatedly stabbing the bell like an impatient sugar-high child on Halloween.
A full minute passed before she gathered the courage to peer out the front window. She was relieved to find a perky blonde with a pixie cut. No blue hair or poodles visible for miles. She’d forgotten she’d asked a friend to come by. Anna flung the door open.
“Tam, get in the house!” she hissed.
“Um, okay.” Tam glanced around her as if she expected to find snipers hiding out in the peach trees. “Is there some special reason we’re reenacting a Charlie’s Angels episode?”
“The blue-hair brigade will be by here any minute. Oh wait. On second thought, go hide your car around back. If they think I have company, they’ll know I’m home.”
Tam quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit over the top on this Bitsy and Mimi thing?”
Anna thought maybe her friend didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation. “They set me up with Marshal Crust for the festival. These women are a force of nature. God only knows what other chaos they can create between now and then.”
Tam shrugged but went to move the car. When she returned, Anna was at the kitchen table reading The Wall Street Journal and working on her second cup of coffe
e.
“I thought you had a crush on Marshal.”
Anna shot her friend a look intended to convey exasperation and disgust. “When I was sixteen. I’m a grown-up now.”
“Yes, because grown-ups always insist their friends engage in covert car hiding missions to avoid the elderly.”
“Shut up,” Anna said, moving the coffee mug to her lips to hide the smile. She hadn’t seen Tam in years, yet they’d picked up as if they’d never been separated.
“You got cream and sugar?”
Anna waved a hand indicating the side pantry. “I still think you’re a sissy for not drinking it black.”
“I’m just going to let that slide on by.” Tam poured her coffee then hefted two heavy-duty garbage bags onto the island counter top. “You really do have the best kitchen for this. If you hadn’t said yes, I had no idea where I was going to make this stuff.”
“So the truth comes out. You’re using me for my kitchen.”
Tam smirked. “Yes, our entire friendship has been building to this moment.”
Anna watched as Tam pulled out huge blocks of white wax in plastic wrapping along with wicks, molds, dyes, fragrance vials, and decorative paper.
“This looks potentially complex.” She was beginning to have second thoughts about the whole candle-making enterprise. The most crafty thing she’d ever done was order a crochet magazine for a charity drive. She still didn’t know how to crochet.
“You’ll get the hang of it. I’ll start you out dipping tapers. A trained monkey could do it.” Tam pulled out several pots and metal containers, meat thermometers, and two hammers. “This is the fun part.” She tossed the slabs of wax onto the floor and started vigorously beating one.
“Where are you planning to sell these?” Anna hoped she wouldn’t be enlisted in distribution as well as manufacturing. She grabbed a hammer and set to work on the other slab.
“Sally said she’d be glad to have our stuff in her shop. She’s got all that herbal bath crap and soaps but no candles. She’s gonna clear off a wall for us.” Tam started a pot of water boiling. She placed another pot inside the first and dropped some of her wax chunks in. “Okay, let’s watch TV while this melts.”
Anna followed her and collapsed on the couch, frowning when she noticed the television was on the cooking channel. That wasn’t what she’d been watching. “Scarlett, did you step on the remote again?”
“Mrarrr?”
“Well did you do it, Rhett?” The newest edition, a gray-haired tabby, looked offended as he put his tail high in the air and sauntered off.
“Fine. Whatever.”
“Two cats now? When we spoke on the phone you said you had one,” Tam said.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” She wasn’t going to be the crazy cat lady. She wasn’t. Two cats in a house this large was not excessive. Anna swatted Scarlett off the couch and switched to a movie. As soon as she set the remote down, the television flicked back to the cooking channel.
“Maybe the TV is trying to tell you to learn to cook,” Tam said, trying to keep a straight face. She stretched her arms in front of her like a zombie and wandered around the living room making woooo noises.
“That’s not funny. The house isn’t haunted. There’s a reasonable explanation.”
Tam stopped, her hands planted on her hips. “The house is haunted. I can feel it.”
Anna had to work to hold onto her patience. They were about to get into dicey territory. “I thought you got over that phase.”
“My beliefs are not a phase,” Tam huffed. “I could read your cards if you wanted.”
Anna ignored that. Tam knew how she felt about Tarot cards. She flipped the channel back only to have it change again.
“Dammit!” Undeterred, Anna took the batteries out of the remote and flung it against the wall, then changed the channel manually. She returned to the couch, feeling smug.
The television clicked off.
“It’s not haunted,” Anna said.
“It’s not? So there’s a reasonable explanation?”
Anna hauled herself up off the couch, latching onto the only diversionary tactic at her disposal. “I think it’s time to check the wax.” She went to the kitchen without waiting for Tam to reply and peeked over the vat.
A chair scraped across the floor.
“It’s melty, now what?” Anna turned, expecting to find Tam in the chair, but the kitchen was empty. A chill skittered down her arm, causing goosebumps to prickle out over her flesh. She let out a slow breath.
“Okay. Fine! I have a ghost. Aren’t you cute? I know who you are, Beatrice. And I’m sorry about your death and all, but really, get the fuck out of my house!”
The back door flew open and slammed against the wall, shattering the glass.
“Thank you.” Anna crossed her arms in front of her to hide the faint tremor in her hand.
“Who broke the glass? The ghost or you?”
She turned to find Tam standing in the doorway with a velvet bag, surveying the damage. “Where did you go?”
“Sorry, had to get something.”
Anna sighed, tired of denying the obvious. “The ghost. Are you happy?”
“Yes. Now let me read your cards.” Tam opened the velvet bag and removed an elegant deck of tarot cards wrapped in red silk.
“I said no.” The last thing Anna needed right now was to see her fortune spread out on the kitchen table of her haunted house.
Tam ignored her and shuffled the cards, laying them out in a Celtic cross spread.
Anna glanced at the table, immediately wishing she hadn’t. “Put them away, now! I don’t want to know.”
“But . . . ”
“I said put them away. I saw the death card in there. I don’t need to know about that shit. I don’t believe in it, and I don’t want to see it.”
“The death card doesn’t always mean death,” Tam said defensively. “In fact, normally it doesn’t. It just means a big change.”
“Yes, and death is a big change. There is somebody dead in my house. Let’s not tempt fate.”
“But most of the spread isn’t that bad, really.”
“Tam, what part of I don’t want to know do you not get? If you want to figure out my future, do it on your own time, in your own house, and never ever tell me about it.”
“Sorry.” Tam wrapped the cards back up in the silk. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”
“Why won’t she just show herself, or tell what she wants? See, this is why I’ve never believed in ghosts. It’s ridiculous. Moving things around, changing the channel on the TV. Why not communicate with me directly?”
Tam shrugged. “Maybe she can’t.”
“Or maybe she just likes messing with me.”
***
Anna stood in the downstairs bathroom, wrapped in a towel, exhausted from spending all day decorating candles. Her hand swiped out to clean the steam from the mirror. She stopped herself in time. A single word was smeared in the moist fog.
Leave.
Anna felt a tightness curl in her chest. She gripped the pedestal sink, taking a few deep breaths, knowing the ghost was watching and waiting for her reaction. If she were sane, she’d flee the house, do not pass go. But she’d left sane about three exits back when she’d bought the house to begin with. She wasn’t giving it up to a ghost.
Anna wrote her own response on the mirror with her finger, just underneath the first message.
No.
It had taken all her concentration to keep her hand steady, but she’d accomplished the feat. She opened the mirrored cabinet and took out a comb to untangle her hair. When she closed it again, another word had been inscribed.
OK.
Anna didn’t like the sound of that. Somehow it didn’t seem like Beatrice was agreeing to be her roommate. The fear wrapped more tightly around her. She took another, slow breath. After about a minute of being a spaz, she became both angry at herself and exasperated with the ghost.
&nbs
p; “Oh good lord! Do you go to a special drama school after you die? I mean, really. Could you possibly whine more? Oh whaaa, I’m a ghost. My life is so hard. This house is plenty big enough for both of us. It’s not like I had plans to put down tacky avocado linoleum. What exactly is your problem?”
A hot breath puffed out over her neck. Her knees buckled, and she gripped the edge of the sink to keep from landing on the floor. She’d spent all her courage on sarcasm and now couldn’t bring herself to look in the mirror again, afraid if she did she’d see the fuzzy outline of Beatrice reflected back to her.
“Scarlett, Rhett, come on,” she said as she left the bathroom. Two furry little heads poked out of the towel rack.
Anna turned on every light on the way up the stairs. Now wasn’t the time to prove she wasn’t afraid of the dark. The score was: Beatrice: 1, Anna: 0. She was freaked, and she had no trouble admitting it.
The cats followed her to the bedroom weaving in and out of her legs the entire way, clearly as bent on her destruction as Beatrice. As soon as she was settled under the covers, Scarlett shoved her head up underneath Anna’s chin while Rhett curled around the back of the pillow, his paws resting on her head. Normally, Anna would toss them off the bed, but tonight she didn’t want to sleep alone.
She spent an hour staring at the back of her eyelids, occasionally opening her eyes to see the green LED numbers mocking her as the time dragged on. Once when Anna looked, the clock had miraculously sped up ten minutes. She must have drifted off.
Now she was awake again. Soft, female cries drifted up the staircase. Then the moaning started. What the hell did Beatrice have to moan about? And could she come up with a bigger cliché? Would chain rattling be next? She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the muffled groans and fell into a fitful sleep.
. . . A masculine chuckle pierced the silence. Darkness crowded around her. Had the power gone out? The mystery of the lighting situation left her as strong hands skimmed down her body and a honeyed voice whispered in her ear. “Just let it happen, Anna. You know you want it.”