“You want me to give you the keys to the universe. I can’t do it, dear. It’s against—”
“Against the rules, I know. I remember.” After a pause, he asked, “Where is Charlie? Does she know?”
“I told her a few hours ago. I felt she needed the time alone with her dad. She’ll be ready for you by the time you get there.”
Ham nodded. That made perfect sense. And it was the decent thing to do. “Okay, I’ll get going. Can you at least tell me if I will see you again? Can you tell me that?”
Martina’s little laugh warmed his heart as she replied, “Oh yes, dear. You’re a magnet for the other side. You’ll see me. And others. Maybe many, many others. You see, that’s your karma.”
With a dramatic, unneeded flourish of her arms, she vanished as quickly as she had arrived, leaving Ham alone to stare unseeing into the beatific vista spread out beyond the window. With a deep breath, he pulled himself together, back to the now. He reached for his parka and gloves, took the stairs two at a time down to the landing, and yanked a set of keys off the board near the door. Not knowing the cars, he picked a set listed as belonging to a Cadillac Escalade. Though he’d never driven one, he was familiar with their reputation. There should certainly be a GPS in one of those, not to mention the mechanical guts to plow him through the snow and on to his destination.
He found the Escalade in the garage at the end of the heated drive, along with several other smaller vehicles. Ham fired up the big SUV and eased the powerful monster down the drive, fiddling with various knobs, the heater, the automatic seat adjustment and—apparently—some sort of TV mounted somewhere behind. Finally setting the heat to optimal, he randomly pushed knobs until the TV either turned off or muted, he neither knew nor cared which. As per the disembodied voice of the GPS, he turned right out of the compound, wound his way out toward town, on into and through what little traffic was out and about on an early Sunday morning.
Ham stretched for the radio, punched it on and left it tuned to whichever station was preset. To his pleasure, he heard the call sign followed by “classic hits” and reached to increase the volume. Before he could, his hand was slapped away.
He glanced over to the passenger side just in time to witness Blake popping in. “Man I love this car,” Blake chimed. “I really do. Mind if I drive?”
Shock drove Ham to the side of the road. Shock and a delight that he’d never expected to feel ever again—if in fact he ever had. He jerked the emergency brake into action and broke into a sobbing grin. “So where the hell have you been?” he managed.
“Oh, checking out the scene, you know.”
It took Ham most of a full minute to find his voice again. When he did, he whispered with awe, “So you’re the real and true Ghost of Truckee River.”
“Well, only a trainee. But yeah, close enough. I hear you been boinking my daughter. So what are your intentions?”
Ham’s face reddened faster than he could find voice to protest his innocence. “Just a few kisses over dinner. I take it you’ve been talking to Charlie. Is she okay?”
“She’s going to be okay, she’s not now,” Blake replied. “It’s one thing to know there are ghosts, to even know one personally like Martina. It’s a whole other thing to have your dad be one.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.”
“You’ll take care of her.”
“That wasn’t a question?”
“Nope. Definitely that was not a question. I’m counting on you. She likes you, you like her, what’s not to root for? You’re a good man, Ham, you’ll do fine by her. Which as her dad I insist upon.”
Ham skipped over the last and announced, “I’m surprised Martina hasn’t popped in here yet. You’d think she’d be here, what with you appearing and all.”
“Why?” Blake replied, clearly surprised at the question. “She’s got her own thing going, not to mention that I will definitely be seeing her—a lot of her—and soon. There’s no hurry. Besides,” he grinned, “I understand she’s busy right now. Rumor has it she’s got a bee in her bonnet, that she’s decided to go set the record straight.”
“Meaning?”
“Well,” Blake replied, glancing at his watch, “right about now she should be in Dean Koontz’ living room, explaining the error of his ways. Seems he’s been spreading rumors that we ghosts can’t talk.” He took on an air of wounded offense and spat, “I mean, come on now, really. That’s out and out slander.”
“Yeah, I guess it is. So what now?”
“I don’t have a lot of time. I’m gonna go jam with Paul.”
“McCartney?” Ham’s draw dropped in astonishment. “You mean…those rumors were real? He truly is…?”
“It’s not for me to say. That’s against the rules. All I can say is that you gotta listen to the clues, man. Listen to the clues.”
As Blake began to fade out, Ham yelled, “Wait! Will you be back?”
“Of course I’ll be back,” Blake’s mostly disembodied voice assured him. “I’ll be so back that you’ll have to use those big bucks you earned from me to hire yourself a ghost buster. How’s that for irony?”
Ham watched as Blake and his tinkling laugh disappeared into…wherever it is that the good ones go.
“See you, my friend,” he whispered into the wind. “Let it be soon.”
THE END
The Ghost of Truckee River (A Ham McCalister Mystery Book 1) Page 28