If You've Got It, Haunt It

by Rose Pressey

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Cindy was up to no good.” Charlotte drew her lips together in a grim line.

  “Like what?”

  “Marie told me that Cindy was being accused of stealing money from the charity, so I poked around and found proof. I have the documents to prove it. Well, at least, I did have them.”

  Well, that certainly would put Cindy on the suspects list. She seemed so sweet and helpful to others, how could she have murdered Charlotte?

  I’d never had a cat, so I wasn’t sure how many scratches I’d end up with when I tried to put Wind Song in her new carrier. I set the carrier on the floor and knelt down to open the door. To my surprise, the feisty feline marched over and walked right in. The look on her face said, I’m ready to go home.

  Charlotte stood next to the carrier. “I’ve never seen a cat readily stroll into a carrier before.”

  I fastened the latch. “Something tells me this is no ordinary cat.”

  “Now that the cat’s ready, let’s get out of here. It’s been a long day. I’ll meet you in the car.” Charlotte disappeared out the front door without bothering to open it. She could walk through anything she wanted.

  Having read up on the subject of ghosts, I found it fascinating to see the phenomenon firsthand. What other things could she do?

  With cat carrier in hand, I left the shop and locked the door behind me. “Why use the door?” I mumbled. “If you can walk through anything, of course you should take the shortcut and use the wall.”

  “Old habits die hard.”

  When we arrived back at my place, I pulled into the driveway and shifted the car into park. I lived in a small, white, two-bedroom, cottage-style home that overlooked the parking lot of a shopping center. A magnolia tree bloomed in the front yard. I had a small lawn in the front and back where I meant to add flowers but never got around to planting any.

  “This is my house,” I said.

  “I gathered as much.” Charlotte scrutinized my humble abode.

  It wasn’t much, but it was home, and it was all mine. Well, as long as I paid the rent, it was mine. The prospect of home ownership was alluring, but having put my life savings into opening my boutique, I was far from ready to plop down a down payment on a place of my own.

  I climbed out from behind the wheel, grabbed Wind Song’s carrier, and walked up the front path toward the small porch. Flower pots with pink petunias flanked the door and my welcome mat had a pink flamingo. As I shoved the keys into the lock, my retro Heartbreak Hotel keychain tapped against the door. My only plan was to wait Charlotte out. How long could she handle hanging around with me? She’d get bored after awhile and go back to her old haunt.

  I placed my purse and keys on the art deco chrome and glass table next to the front door, then set Wind Song down and opened the carrier. She pranced out without even acknowledging me and jumped up on the small table to look around the room. I hoped she liked what she saw.

  No surprise, my décor consisted of a lot of vintage items. The place had a distinct fifties flair. On the far living room wall was a silver sunburst clock. A kitschy fifties-style plaster peacock wall hanging was displayed on the opposite wall. I did have new items, like my cream-colored sofa, although it had clean lines like the sofas seen during that period. When I found this place, I knew the simple one-story floor plan was perfect for me.

  I waved my arms. “Well, this is it. Not as nice as your place. I bet you miss your house. You’d probably rather go home than hang around my cramped little space, huh?”

  Charlotte laughed. “Nice try. I wasn’t born yesterday. I didn’t even die yesterday, so you’ll have to think of something more clever than that to get rid of me.”

  I blew out a deep breath. “Fine.”

  Normally when I had guests, I’d give them a tour of my home and offer a choice of food and beverage—the usual hostess stuff. But I couldn’t do it. Ghosts can’t eat or drink. Besides, I didn’t want Charlotte to get too comfy. The more ill at ease she was, the better chance that she’d leave. I wondered if she needed to sleep. I guessed nighttime was when the ghosts usually did their haunting thing.

  “Don’t think that you have to entertain me.” Charlotte took in the whole room. “Just go about your business.”

  “I have to write a blog post.” Why was I telling her that? It wasn’t like I needed permission.

  “I’ll wait.” Charlotte sat on the leather chair by the window, crossing her legs and leaning back onto the cushion.

  That was what I was afraid of.

  I went to the kitchen and placed food and water on the floor for Wind Song.

  The elegant cat approached slowly, sniffed the food, then took a nibble. She looked up at me and I could have sworn that her expression said, Are you kidding me? Apparently her hunger was stronger than her objections, for she settled in to eat with enthusiasm. Her tail swayed with each bite, the white fur moving like a fancy fan.

  Before sitting down to write, I whipped up dinner. I didn’t consider myself the best cook, but I had a few meals that were my specialties. One of them was oven-fried chicken. It had all the flavor without the added fat. Of course, my granny would have said that was impossible. I marinated the chicken in buttermilk then added a light coating of flour and spices. While it was baking, I prepared a side of cornbread and lemon-mint snap peas and lima beans for the oven as well.

  I grabbed my laptop from the kitchen counter and positioned myself on the sofa in the living room. The large windows in the room allowed ample sunlight, making the room cheerful.

  Depending on the schedule of the store, I tried to post every day. I put up as many vintage photos of clothing as I could find, too. I liked seeing the clothing as it was worn originally—and then matching up the vintage photo with an image of someone wearing the same outfit with a modern twist.

  Sometimes I shared photos of myself wearing vintage clothing from my own collection—Granny’s personal clothing that she’d kept over the years.

  I’d been consulted to authenticate items, select period-authentic garments for photo shoots and even a couple low-budget movies. I had my fingers crossed that I’d move up to the big-budget productions soon. Maybe I’d make it to Hollywood, after all.

  Vintage clothing stores had become increasingly popular over the past fifteen years, and for that I was grateful. Obviously, I was a big fan of vintage and glad that more and more people were seeing the advantages to wearing classic garments from earlier eras. Since styles often came back around, it was easy to see how people would seek out looks from the past that were trendy again.

  I didn’t just want to cater to serious vintage clothing collectors or people wanting something for a Halloween costume. I wanted to draw customers from every level of fashion awareness who wanted to have fun with older items. I even had teenagers coming in for prom dresses and fashion-conscious shoppers looking for the originals that inspired the latest trend.

  I tried to put together a collage of Oscar outfits from decades past, but I didn’t get very far. Charlotte was pacing around the house with increasing agitation until it became clear that I wouldn’t get any more work done.

  Dinner was ready, so I grabbed my plate, and then returned to my work.

  “You shouldn’t work while eating dinner,” Charlotte said.

  “I like to call it multitasking.”

  After closing my laptop, I stood and stretched. “Well, I’m going to bed. Good night.”

  I placed my dirty dishes in the washer and headed toward my bedroom.

  “Are you going to help me find my killer?” Charlotte closed the distance between us. Her movement was swift.

  I hadn’t been watching, but I was pretty sure she had glided over to me.

  “I think I’ve had enough of this conversation.” I headed down the hall toward my bedroom.

  Charlotte followed. “Look, I can help you if you help me.”

  “What do I need help with?” Despite myself, I was curious.
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br />   “You clearly need customers and I can get them for you.” She straightened her shoulders and made direct eye contact.

  I lifted my chin and marched away. “I am doing just fine. Thank-you.”

  I shut my bedroom door, but Charlotte walked right through the wood.

  At one time, my bedroom had been a refuge, with the delicate antique floral embroidered quilt covering the bed and the romantic vintage lace curtains. An antique crystal vase filled with sweetheart roses sat on the nightstand. I’d bought them for myself. The room was no longer my safe haven now that Charlotte had invaded the space.

  “Don’t get so defensive. I know how hard it is to run a business. My real estate agency didn’t become successful overnight. You’ve been working on that blog all night. Do you sell clothing online?” Charlotte asked.

  “No.” I just hadn’t found time to set up a retail presence online.

  “Mistake number one.”

  “I’m not listening to any more of your badgering.” I pulled my favorite pajamas out of the closet. They were bright pink with images of retro shoes on them. Pajamas were one item that I didn’t mind buying new. It was hard to find old pajamas that were in good enough shape that I would want to wear them. With dresses, it was different. A woman might spend a lot of money on a classy outfit, only to wear it once or twice. But when a gal likes her pajamas, she would wear them until they fell to pieces.

  “Do you mind giving me some privacy?” I said to Charlotte.

  She leaned against my dresser. “You haven’t got anything that I haven’t seen before.”

  “Yeah, but it’s my stuff and I don’t want you to see it. Now turn around.” I motioned for her to face the wall.

  “I’ll make your life miserable until you say yes,” she said from over her shoulder.

  I pulled the top over my head. “Yeah, right. I’d like to see you try.”

  I flipped off the light and jumped into bed, pulling the covers up close.

  “I’ll make it my mission to find every pet peeve you have and bug you with every single one of them.” Charlotte stood beside my bed.

  I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was there. With any luck, she would be gone in the morning.

  I woke at two AM to the sound of a dripping faucet.

  Charlotte was hard at work trying to pinpoint my pet peeves. She’d found the first. The rhythmic sound of the water hitting the basin drove me insane. I grabbed my pillow and tried to drown out the noise, but it was no use.

  “Ah-ha! I knew that would get you!” she exclaimed. “What’s next? Maybe I should sing you back to sleep.”

  “Okay, okay! I’ll help you find your killer. Please just let me get some sleep.” What did I have to lose? She wouldn’t leave me alone, and my business was struggling anyway, so how much worse could things get? It would be worth the hassle if it would get her off my back. The most important reason though was because I knew my granny would have wanted me to help her friend.

  Chapter 8

  Heather’s Heartfelt Tip for Getting Rid of an Unwanted Ghost

  If you decide to cleanse your home by burning sage,

  make sure to have a fire extinguisher nearby.

  Trust me, I learned this one the hard way.

  I woke the next morning with the sun splashing across my face and robins chirping outside my window. It was a beautiful spring day. I smiled and stretched as I opened my eyes.

  Then I saw Charlotte sitting at the foot of my bed and remembered.

  “I’m glad you’re awake,” she said. “I made a list of all the things we can do to help your marketing. Well, I made a mental list, considering I can’t use a pen. Unfortunately, I haven’t figured out how to pick things up.” She wiggled her fingers for emphasis. “So get up, have some breakfast, get dressed, and let’s get started. This is going to be a beautiful day.”

  “Oh great. You’re a morning person.” I noticed Wind Song was stretched out beside her. The cat’s eyes were closed and her tail moved gently back and forth.

  I climbed out of bed and tackled my morning routine—ten minutes of stretching and ab crunches, followed by ten minutes of yoga and meditation, followed by a dish of Greek yogurt topped with granola. My outfit of choice for the day was a fifties cotton full-circle dress with an allover black and ecru check pattern. Seven white pearl buttons dotted the bodice and delicate white lace adorned the waist and bodice. I wrapped a red patent leather belt around my waist and slipped into matching red pumps. I was glad to find that my belt still fit in its usual notch.

  When I was dressed, I called to Wind Song. “Come on, little tiger. It’s time for us to go to work.”

  The elegant feline jumped down from the couch where she’d been curled up on a maroon velvet pillow that complemented her white fur beautifully, sauntered over to her carrier, and climbed into it. She looked up at me, seeming eager to get to the shop. Again, she’d jumped at the chance for a ride in the carrier. What a strange but fascinating creature she was.

  After the ride to the boutique spent listening to Charlotte complain about having her items sold off, I was ready to buy a pair of earplugs.

  Hundreds of tourists had packed into town for the Spring Fling and I had high hopes they would bring a lot of business to the booth I would set up in front of the store. Not to mention that I was relieved that all the planning was over.

  Finding a parking space proved to be difficult, but after driving down a few streets I found a spot in front of Holly’s Hair Salon. As I got out of my Buick, heavenly food smells carried through the air. The street was lined with canopied stands of every color selling everything from funnel cakes to crawfish étouffée. I stopped at the Ladies’ Auxiliary booth located under the cover of a Spanish moss-covered oak tree and indulged in the best lemonade and peanut butter fudge that I’d ever tasted. I happened to be a lemonade freak. As for fudge—don’t get me started.

  Charlotte stood nearby, arms crossed, scowling in disapproval. “If you want to look good in your clothing, you’ll have to watch your diet.”

  I licked a bit of fudge from my fingers. “Oh, right. I’ll be sure to remember that.”

  After setting my tables and racks of clothing along the sidewalk under the shade of a canopy, I stood back to admire the display. Since summer was around the corner, I’d displayed shorts, halters, and swimsuits from different decades.

  “Cookie, over here,” a sweet voice called out from behind me.

  I whipped around to see my parents marching toward me. The smiles on their faces brought tears to my eyes. I ran over and threw my arms around my mother Margaret. She was different from me in many ways. Her idea of fashion was long loose flowing skirts and Birkenstock sandals. She wore her long blond hair in a braid most of the time.

  “I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” she said, pushing back tears.

  “I thought you’d never get here.” I reached for my father Hank.

  My father wrapped his arms around me. He was a casual dresser. His outfits always consisted of khaki pants and polo shirts. His once dark hair was completely gray. He said it made him look distinguished and I had to agree.

  “Are you here alone?” My mother played with the long beaded necklace dangling around her neck.

  “I have help for the day. Blanche’s niece Brandy is manning the dressing rooms,” I said.

  My mother scowled. “Do I know Brandy?”

  “Of course you do. Little Brandy who wiped chocolate ice cream on your white dress. She’s a senior in high school now.”

  My mother grinned. “Oh my. I remember her now. How time flies.”

  “What are y’all doing today?”

  “Your mother wants to check out the craft booths. I’m here for the food,” my dad said.

  “Don’t forget to listen to the music in the park,” I said.

  “Will do.”

  My mother touched my hair. “Are you getting enough to eat? Did you like the Chia seeds I sent?”

  I hated them, but I didn’t t
ell her that. “Absolutely.”

  My father patted my shoulder as if he fully sympathized. I was sure he’d tried the seeds and much more.

  “Your father and I are going to look around. We’ll be back soon.” The bangles on her wrist clanged together as she waved.

  “How long are you in town for?” I asked as they walked away.

  “We’re driving back to Tybee Island tonight. You’re father claims he can’t miss the big PGA golf tournament at the club tomorrow. He has tickets.”

  I wished they could stay longer, but maybe it was for the best since I had an unwanted visitor around.

  I glanced up to see Heather headed my way, carrying a thin rectangular box. She wore a white maxi dress with a crocheted bodice. Wooden bracelets covered her wrists.

  “Is your ghost friend with us today?” She looked around for Charlotte.

  “I’m afraid so. Did you think I was kidding when I said she wouldn’t leave?”

  Heather tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what I thought.”

  “Well, it’s not like she really has anywhere else to go that is so important.” I looked down at the strange item Heather was holding. “What is that?”

  “It’s a Ouija board,” she said with a smile.

  Anxiety danced in my stomach. “No way. I don’t want that thing anywhere near me. I’ve watched those ghost-hunting shows. They’re always warning people not to use them. Besides, I already have one ghost. Why would I want more?”

  Heather hugged the box to her chest. “I guess you’re right, but maybe it would help us communicate with her.”

  “Help you maybe. I’m not having the least problem talking with her. As a matter of fact, she won’t shut up.”

  Heather placed the Ouija board down near the steps and we got to work setting up our items for the festival. We situated our booths next to each other on the sidewalk, which only made sense because our shops were next to each other. But the best part was we could sit together and people watch. Charlotte was perched behind me on the front steps of the shop—I wasn’t about to find an extra chair for a ghost. With the sun shining brightly, I was thankful for the shade of the canopy.