by Rose Pressey
I busied myself with straightening a shirt on a nearby rack of men’s clothing from the Gatsby era. “I don’t want anything to do with that thing.”
Charlotte laughed from the corner of the room.
“I don’t want to talk with the spirit hanging around now, much less another one,” I said, brushing imaginary dust from the shirt’s starched collar.
Wind Song meowed as she walked over, then jumped onto the counter. Her focus intent on the Ouija board, she acted as if she knew exactly what Heather was asking.
“Come on, Cookie. What’s the worst that can happen?” Heather asked.
“I can have a whole room full of ghosts, that’s what can happen.” The words had barely slipped from my mouth when the cat sat down in front of the board, delicately wrapping her tail around herself. Wind Song placed a paw on the planchette and started moving the thing.
I glanced at Heather. Her eyes widened.
“The cat is trying to tell you something,” Charlotte said from over my shoulder.
I didn’t want to admit it. Something like that couldn’t happen. It couldn’t be real. Then again, I hadn’t thought I’d be able to communicate with Charlotte either and that had happened.
The cat pushed the planchette across the wooden board and stopped on the letter N.
Heather looked at me in disbelief. We remained silent. I was in shock, as the cat guided the planchette with her paw again until it came to rest on the O.
“No? No, what?” Heather asked the cat as if Wind Song would look up and respond.
To my great relief, the cat didn’t answer but moved the planchette around the board again, stopping on letters as if she did this type of thing all the time.
Heather grabbed my pen and pad and wrote down the message.
Was I dreaming, hallucinating, or was the cat really spelling? It had to be the latter, because I knew I was fully awake and Heather and Charlotte were witnessing the same thing.
“What does it spell?” I’d been unable to keep up with the cat’s message because she had moved so quickly, and frankly, I hadn’t been able to concentrate because of the sheer craziness of the whole scene.
“‘No more cheap cat food.’” Heather read the words aloud, then burst out in laughter.
Charlotte soon joined Heather’s laughter. I held back my laughter for as long as I could, and then joined them.
“This is crazy. I refuse to believe that the cat used the board to spell out words.” I pointed toward the board. “I told you that thing was bad.”
Heather’s eyes remained the size of saucers.
“I can’t say that I blame the cat.” Charlotte shook her head. “I’ve seen the way that stuff looks when you dump it out of the can onto her dish. I wouldn’t want to eat it either.”
“It’s cat food. You’re not supposed to want to eat it,” I said.
Charlotte stepped closer. “So the cat doesn’t like the cheap cat food. I wonder what else she has to say.”
I gestured for a timeout with my hands. “She doesn’t have anything to say. Cats can’t talk.
“Well, technically, she’s not talking.” Heather pointed at the board. “She’s just using the board to relay her thoughts.”
The cat was still sitting beside the board, her paw resting on the planchette. I was still trying to figure out what had happened. I couldn’t allow myself to believe that the cat was communicating with us via a Ouija board.
“Ask her to tell us something else,” Charlotte urged.
“I can’t ask the cat to speak with us. I already look crazy for speaking with someone no one else can see,” I said with a wave of my hand.
“Well, I’ll ask Wind Song if she can speak to us,” Heather said as she stepped closer to the cat.
My shoulders slumped. “This isn’t going to work, is it?”
Heather leaned down with her face close to the cat. “Hello, Wind Song. Do you know that you are a very beautiful cat?”
“Oh good. Complimenting the cat so it will give us a message,” Charlotte rubbed her temples.
I had to admit it was crazy. I wasn’t sure sweet-talking would work. “Maybe we can give her a treat. Like bribery.” I laughed.
Heather didn’t respond; she was too focused on speaking with Wind Song. “Do you have anything else to tell us, Wind Song?”
The cat stopped licking her paws, seemed to collect herself, and pushed the planchette again.
How could this fluffy feline know how to move that thing?
She moved over the letters, pushing it to the D and then an A.
When she made it to the fifth letter, I knew that she was spelling a word. I swallowed the lump in my throat when I realized what that word was.
“She’s spelling something again,” Heather said with excitement.
Wind Song wasn’t just pointing out a bunch of random letters. With this second performance, I knew that the first time hadn’t been a coincidence. If Charlotte had blood to drain the color from her face, it would have. She stared like Heather and I did . . . in disbelief.
“The first word is danger. Is she telling you that you’re in danger? Are we all in danger?” Heather’s face reflected her worry.
I didn’t answer. The cat was still moving the planchette. Again she spelled a word. It was lurking.
“Danger lurking,” Heather said as she looked over her shoulder.
“Where is danger lurking?” I asked Wind Song. Great. I was communicating with a cat and a ghost.
As if on cue, the cat started spelling out another word. This time she spelled nearby.
She had actually answered my question.
“Ask her another question.” Heather gestured toward the board. Her voice had reached an all-time high pitch.
Before I had a chance to ask Wind Song another question, she hopped down, took her place in the sunshine again, and turned to licking her paws as if this was no big deal.
“At least the cat is a good speller,” Charlotte quipped.
“Yeah, I guess that helps,” I said.
“What helps?” Heather asked.
“Charlotte likes the cat’s spelling,” I said so Heather would know what was being said.
Heather gave a half-hearted smile. I knew she was a little freaked out and so was I.
“You know we can’t tell anyone about this, right?” I asked her.
She pushed hair out of her eyes. “No one would ever believe us.”
“Exactly. I don’t want to find out what people would do if we told them about this. They’d think we were crazy.”
“You know I won’t tell anyone,” Charlotte said.
I had to find out what Wind Song meant when she said danger was lurking nearby. Was it related to Charlotte and the private eye’s murders? The last thing I wanted was to be the next victim.
“Maybe you should get rid of this board,” I said, picking up the thing, putting it back in its box, and handing it to Heather.
“Are you crazy? The cat is talking to you and you’re getting rid of her only means of communication,” Charlotte said.
“You can’t get rid of her only way of speaking with you.” Heather echoed Charlotte’s sentiment.
“So you two are in agreement that I should keep the board.” I placed my hands on my hips.
Heather scanned the area searching for Charlotte. “At least, we agree on something.”
“I doubt that will happen often,” Charlotte said.
I waved my hand through the air. “Fine, I’ll keep the board, but if any other ghosts appear, it has to go.” I cleared papers off the counter.
The cat glanced over at us, her green eyes sparkling under the light.
One thing was for sure. I had to find out where she came from. “Someone has to have seen her around town before she came to me. The cat wouldn’t have just appeared at my store.”
“I don’t know where the cat came from, but I agree someone has probably seen her before. If I were you, I wouldn’t get too attached to her
,” Charlotte said with a frown. “Someone will probably claim her, eventually.”
Charlotte was right, I shouldn’t get too attached. But it may have been too late for that. I hated to think of going home alone to my little house. My feline friend had already found a spot in my heart. “I called the vet’s office and the animal shelter this morning. They didn’t know anything about the cat and no one has reported her missing,” I said.
“She appeared when you needed her the most.” Heather sat down on the stool beside me and traced her finger against the top of the counter. “It’s good that you have her to talk to.”
“I don’t want to be the cat lady who ends up with twenty cats.”
Heather chuckled. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“The vet’s assistant said she’d let me know if someone comes in looking for Wind Song.”
Heather’s expression brightened. “Hey, I have an idea. Maybe we could make some flyers and put them around town.”
“Yeah, I guess that would be a good idea. After all, if she belongs to someone, I definitely want to help them find her.”
The cat meowed. I wasn’t sure if that meant that she wanted to go back to where she came from, or if she wanted to stay with me. Maybe I needed to get her to use the Ouija board again. She could let me know if she was happy with me.
Heather glanced over at Wind Song. “She’s certainly no trouble at all.”
“Well, maybe the talking part. That could freak someone out. Her owners could have gotten rid of her just because of that.”
Heather waved her finger. “That does make sense. I’ll bet that’s what happened. She spoke to them with the Ouija board so they just dumped her off.”
“Yeah, but why here? Why did she find me?”
“We may never know,” Heather said.
Did Wind Song have some other special talent that I didn’t know about? As if using a Ouija board wasn’t enough. It didn’t bother me too much now that I’d kind of gotten used to the idea. I mean, it was kind of neat when I thought about it. Dr. Dolittle would have been delighted, so why shouldn’t I? So far, she had communicated useful information, especially about her cat food issue. I thought cats loved all cat food. Now I knew that Wind Song had definite preferences.
Heather stood from the stool. “I’ll ask around if anyone knows who she belongs to. If I find out anything, I’ll let you know right away. We should ask as many questions as possible and try to get information from her, but don’t worry about it in the meantime, okay?”
“I don’t think the cat wants to be a novelty act. Plus, you know that cats have a stubborn streak. They do what they want, when they want, not what you want when you want,” I said.
Heather and I watched Wind Song. She continued to stare as if she knew every word we’d spoken.
“Okay. I have to get back to work, but if anything happens, you call me immediately.” Heather pointed at my pink cell phone, which lay on the counter.
I used my index finger to cross my heart. “I promise.”
She stared at the cat the whole time she walked across the floor and then as she backed out the front door.
I waved to her, but she didn’t even notice. She was too focused on Wind Song.
I glanced at Charlotte. “What am I supposed to do with a cat that uses a Ouija board?”
“See, this is even more reason why you need to help me find my killer,” Charlotte said with a flick of her wrist.
“What does the cat talking have to do with me finding your killer?” I asked.
“The cat gave you a warning. I think you should listen,” Charlotte said.
Her words echoed in my mind. She was right.
Chapter 14
Heather’s Heartfelt Tip for Getting Rid of an Unwanted Ghost
Call the ghost’s loved ones. If they don’t think you’re
crazy and will actually speak with you, they may be able
to talk some sense into their deceased loved one.
An idea struck as I mended a button on a sixties magenta-colored silk blouse. “Charlotte, we need to go back to the scene of the crime.”
“I know I asked you to help, but do you think that’s such a good idea? You might be bitin’ off more than you can chew.”
“It certainly can’t hurt, right?” I pulled the needle from the fabric and cut off the thread.
“If you think it will help, okay.”
After placing the needle and thread back into my sewing box, I set the blouse on the counter.
I grabbed the keys and said, “Maybe we can find clues that the police may have overlooked.”
I locked up the shop, climbed into the Buick and I cranked the key and then merged out onto the road.
“I doubt there are any clues left since they sold all my belongings.” Melancholy filled Charlotte’s voice.
The sun blanketed the air with warmth as we navigated the streets toward Charlotte’s home. White fluffy clouds decorated the blue expanse of sky. I was thankful that at least it wasn’t too humid yet.
“I used to love eating at Lonnie’s,” Charlotte said as we passed the restaurant, which was housed in a charming brick Victorian on Sycamore Street.
“My grandmother loved it, too,” I said. “She couldn’t resist their pecan pie.”
“Are you sure we should visit the crime scene?” Charlotte asked. “I am sure the police scoured it for clues.”
I turned on the car’s signal and made a right. “Yes, but like I said, maybe they overlooked something.”
“Well, that is possible. I’m not sure how much faith I have in their investigative abilities.” Charlotte studied her perfectly manicured fingernails, which were a soft violet color . . . different from the previous pink.
“I’m sure they’re doing everything they can,” I said.
“And what about the private investigator? Are they searching for his killer?” Charlotte asked.
I didn’t want to admit it, but his death had to be related to Charlotte’s.
“Honestly, Charlotte, I will admit that I have my reservations about this.” I stopped at a red light. “Heck, for all I know, a clue could bite me on the nose and I still wouldn’t notice it.”
Charlotte drummed her fingers against the leather seat. “At first, I might have agreed with you, but now I think you should have more confidence in yourself. You don’t know until you try it.”
I pushed the gas pedal. “You’re right. Let’s give it a try.”
With the top down on the Buick, I weaved in and out of traffic, soaking up the springtime sunshine.
Charlotte sat in the passenger seat, peering at the landscape. We’d moved into a less populated area with homes dotting the side of the road. “It will be strange to see my house again after everyone has been in there, all those people touching my things.” She shook at the thought.
I wasn’t sure what to say. It was a tough problem and I had no idea how I would handle it if I was in the same situation. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. You can stay in the car if you’d like and I’ll go in and take a look around.” I navigated around a curve.
She sat a little straighter. “No, I want to see what they’ve done with it. I thought when I drove off with you the other day that I’d never see the place again. Somehow that made it easier to leave . . . like ripping off a bandage. Plus, I was just glad to have someone to talk to.”
I busied myself with the clutch, brake pedals, and turn signals as we veered onto Lee Street. I pulled into the driveway on the side of her beautiful mansion, put the car in neutral, set the emergency brake, and cut the engine. The robins chirped in the treetops and a spring breeze rustled the leaves, but other than that, it was eerily silent. I hadn’t thought of it as a crime scene before when I’d been there. I guess I’d been too excited about scoring the awesome clothing.
As I looked up at the house a thought crossed my mind. “Do you think the police have the place under surveillance?”
Charlotte scanned t
he area. “I sure hope not, but I don’t think they’d have any reason to watch it. It’s not like the killer is going to come back to the scene of the crime.”
“You never know. Maybe he or she would come back. What excuse will I give the police if I get caught in your house? It wouldn’t be easy to explain why I am here after I found the private eye murdered.”
“That would be incriminating.” Charlotte patted her hair into place.
“Plus, how am I going to get into the house? I’m sure they locked it when they left. Do you still have a key?” I looked down at her pants pocket.
“Oh, yeah, right. Where would I put a key? I’m a spirit.”
“I’m sorry—I don’t have a spirit-to-human conversion sheet.”
“I hide my key under the statue in the garden.” She pointed.
I looked in the direction she indicated. “Which statue? There’s like twenty over there.”
She gestured toward the area with a tilt of her head. “It’s the small angel at the edge of the garden.”
I opened the car door. “I’ll be right back.”
I scanned the area as I made my way across the manicured lawn and into the garden. Weeds had popped up in what I assumed was once a well-groomed space. I lifted the little angel statue and sure enough, a key was underneath. I waved the gold key in the air as I made my way back to the car.
Charlotte eased out of the passenger seat and joined me at the front door. Checking over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching, I shoved the key into the door.
“Wait,” Charlotte said. “The alarm system. You’ll have thirty seconds to punch in the code or the alarm will go off.”
I jumped back as if I had touched a live electric wire. “Are you serious?”
She leaned against the wall. “Well, if the code hasn’t been changed. If it has, my code won’t work. The alarm will go off and the police will arrive as soon as they can. Especially since I’m dead and no one should be in the house.”
I stepped away from the wall. “That’s it. I can’t take that chance. I do not want to go to jail.”
“You have to take that chance. We’ve come this far,” Charlotte reached out and tried to push in the code. Of course her fingers never made contact.