The Ghostess and Mister Muir

by J. L. Salter

  Is this new, or has he done it before? She couldn’t recall.

  The faded awning, in red, green and white, was not necessary to protect them from the early evening sun, as the establishment faced east. But it was a bit warm to dine at one of the three outside tables, each with plastic checkered tablecloths and straw-wrapped wine bottles holding unlit candles.

  Inside was too noisy for conversation other than chit chat. After they’d finished their pizza, they took beverages to the screened porch at the north side of the main dining area. To the west, the sun was setting into bare cypress of the swamp, though hardly visible from their table because of the row of buildings lining the square.

  Though Levi seemed relaxed and content, Lucy couldn’t claim either status. “So we really haven’t had a chance to catch up since you called Monday night. Anything new with Miss Gregg?”

  “She showed herself again. Second time,” announced Levi, as though he’d carved a corresponding notch on his belt.

  “Another visible manifestation?” She decided not to mention holograms again.

  He nodded, looking a bit too pleased.

  “Uh, why didn’t you call me?”

  Levi studied the carbonation in his cola before responding. “I sort of got the impression that it offended you when I relayed what Danielle said before. So I figured maybe it was a bad idea to keep briefing you about our conversations.”

  “No, I want to know.” She tapped his wrist. “This is important stuff. You may not realize how significant these contacts are. Nobody in our group has seen a physical manifestation for more than a fleeting glimpse, and even that was hazy. Yours seems quite well-defined.”

  “Yep, she’s got terrific definition.” He grinned.

  “Oh, stop with the drooling.” Lucy whapped his forearm. “She’s just a ghost.”

  “Well, she seems to know a lot about us.”

  “What do you mean?” Not even certain there is an “us” yet.

  He flicked a crumb off the chair’s arm. “Danielle was assessing how I felt about you… and, uh, vice versa.”

  “Not that it’s any of that meddling spook’s business, but what did she say?”

  His silence suggested he would censor the report. “Uh, mostly that I’m interested in you, which is true.” Though it clearly embarrassed him to say so.

  Encouraging as far as it went. “And the other part?”

  “Well, Danielle seems to think that you’re, um, puzzled about our… situation.”

  She scooted her chair closer. “Levi, I like you and I think we’ve made a nice start.”

  He nodded agreement.

  “And I’d like to build on that beginning…”

  Another nod.

  “Provided you don’t get carried away by that spirit.”

  “Carried away?” He frowned. “I’m living in her apartment and she’s still there. It’s hard not to notice.”

  “It’s a lot more than merely noticing her, Levi.” How to say this? “You seem, lately, to be practically intoxicated by her.”

  “Intoxicated?”

  “Maybe overwhelmed is a better word.” Or entranced.

  “So I was right. You don’t want information about my contacts with Danielle.”

  ”No, I do want to know… for multiple reasons.”

  “And you won’t get ticked off?”

  She needed a moment to get the phrasing right. “I admit I reacted poorly to parts of your report. I suppose because it felt like I was being lectured.”

  “Yeah. It kind of felt that way to me, too, and I wasn’t even guilty of the harassment and whatever else Danielle mentioned that she’d received from investigators.”

  “As I recall, she also questioned our motives.”

  “Right.”

  “Well, in any case, I am also not guilty, as you put it… because I’ve never made any effort to contact her particular spirit.” Lucy closed her eyes to double check memory data. “In fact, as I told you before, we’ve never even been allowed in the hotel. My first visit ever was with you over the weekend.”

  He nodded. “By the way, Danielle appreciates us finding her portrait, which you played a big part in.”

  It sounded like faint praise. “Well, anyway, please do keep me in the loop. I’m a dedicated researcher even if Miss Gregg doesn’t care for our efforts.” She pointed to the logo atop her left breast.

  Levi put down his drink and squinted at her shirt. Then he leaned way over, so close that she could smell his pepperoni. “So you guys do have a t-shirt after all.”

  Exasperation. He had the maddening habit of selecting the least significant detail of a conversation to focus upon, and not seeming to comprehend the larger issues she was trying to convey. “Forget my shirt, Levi. Please tell me what else Miss Gregg revealed in her second visible manifestation.”

  He slapped the table so hard that it startled not only Lucy, but the diners in the main indoor area. “Nearly forgot! Danielle dropped a bombshell last night.”

  Her eyes wide, Lucy scooted forward in her seat. “What?”

  “About her suicide. It wasn’t.”

  “You mean the train didn’t kill her?”

  “No, the train killed her dead. But it wasn’t suicide. She was crossing the track and her dress got caught somehow. Total accident.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Muir nodded smugly.

  “Wow. This changes the whole narrative.”

  “Exactly. And that’s very important to Danielle, for us to get the word out.”

  She stared at him for a moment. “Get the word out? What does your spook have in mind?”

  “Uh, that’s not completely clear. We got sidetracked on other issues.”

  “Well, I’d like to hear those other issues as well, but tell me more about this PR campaign to change everybody’s belief about Miss Gregg’s suicide.”

  Muir shrugged. “Not sure, but it seems to be part of what’s holding her in limbo, or wherever she is.”

  “Do you have any clue how bizarre it would sound for you to start telling people that a suicide story they’ve known and repeated for a hundred years is totally wrong… and your only proof is the ghost of the dead girl visited you to say so?”

  “Hey, I’m the skeptic, remember?” A thumb stabbed his chest. “Danielle convinced me.”

  “Yes, but a ghost can be a lot more convincing than a newbie English teacher from wherever in Louisiana that nobody knows. If word got out that you were seeing ghosts, Mrs. Gull would probably tear up your contract.”

  “But you and Anna hunt ghosts.”

  “We’re scientific investigators, but we’ve never actually conversed with any spirits… and certainly have not entertained any for evening tea.”

  “We didn’t have tea.”

  Lucy waved her hands to shake him from focusing on the insignificant detail. “Levi, listen to me. Assuming this is true — that Miss Gregg’s death was an accident — it certainly is newsworthy and we do owe it to her and everybody else to clear up the record, if possible. But we have to find a way that people can accept. In a valid investigation, we would uncover new evidence, or something. But we can’t walk around Magnolia with a sound horn telling everybody that her ghost told you so.”

  “Evidence… hmm. What kind of evidence would verify Danielle’s story?”

  “Don’t know. Let me think about it. And maybe we need more time in the archives.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Now go back to that part about the other issues you discussed with Miss Gregg last night.”

  “Well she wanted some tables moved around and asked me to hang the portrait.”

  More flutter of her hands. “Not the housekeeping stuff… I want the important data.”

  “I finally know the singer of that melody she hums. Ever hear of Al Jolson?”

  “Of course, but not his song list.”

  “Me neither, but Danielle’s beau Neddy gave her a little music box which played that song.”

  “Ne
ddy?”

  “Yeah. Remember, the archivist mentioned a local boyfriend. Or have I got the info jumbled up?”

  Lucy squinted into her beverage glass. “Mr. Sproule mentioned a suitor who was chased away by the indignant father, but he said there was no record of his name.”

  “Neddy Something.”

  “Whatever.” She waved her hands again. “You can look up Jolson’s songs on your laptop. Let’s get back to Miss Gregg. Any more recriminations about investigators?”

  “No, she was mostly fussing at me because I’d asked if she was really as beautiful as the energy form she’d manifested.”

  Lucy’s jaw dropped as Muir continued his explanation. His reiteration took nearly as long as the original conversation it represented.

  As Lucy struggled to digest the bizarre nature of Levi’s conversations with the spirit of Miss Gregg, Muir had opened an exciting, fantastic new topic — contact.

  “What kind of additional contact? You’re already in contact with her — she speaks, she appears, y’all chat. What more could you want?

  “Contact,” he repeated, as he poked Lucy’s forearm. “I want to touch her.”

  “You can’t touch a ghost!” It came out at least twice as loud as she’d intended and most of the inside diners looked in their direction. “Why on earth do you want to touch a spiritual hologram?”

  “She’s beautiful.” It sounded as simple as a man selecting a dance partner.

  Lucy studied the man before her. Sufficiently intelligent to earn a degree and pass the PRAXIS test, adequately capable to serve his country, presumably mature enough to manage his financial affairs. Yet, totally ignorant about the spirit world. “A ghost does not have physical form that you can touch.”

  “That’s what Danielle said. But she can move things. If she can do that, she can touch… and I think be touched.”

  “That’s different,” Lucy exhaled impatiently. “Spirits use focused energy to move things.”

  “Look, I’m no scientist, but I still think it’s possible and I plan to find out.”

  “Levi, in the sense of between these two realms or dimensions, contact consists of interaction, awareness, and communication of some kind. It’s not about being touchy-feely.”

  “But maybe that’s exactly what Danielle needs… you know, to get her where she’s going.”

  Lucy shook her head slowly. Monday’s barbecue had felt like almost like a date. Tonight’s pizza felt like a briefing with Groucho Marx… or Harpo.

  Muir waited and watched her as she composed herself.

  “Forget all this spook-touching stuff, please. But let’s shift gears back to us for a minute.”

  His brow furrowed.

  “It seemed to me that something changed since Monday’s supper. I, uh, thought we were getting closer.”

  He nodded, so he evidently agreed.

  “Yet, these past two days at school, I had the feeling you were ducking me. Was that only my imagination?” Or my insecurities?

  “I felt something different too.”

  “Different how?”

  “I’d be thinking about you, or start to track you down to say hi, but suddenly it was like somebody turned on a radar jammer in my brain or something.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened. “Could you explain that sensation?”

  Muir sighed. “Radar’s the wrong word. Think of it as a satellite transmission that the enemy wants to block. They aim a particular electronic beam and the transmission is garbled.”

  “That’s happened to you?” Definitely entranced.

  “Yeah, but only in these last two days. And only when I start thinking about you.” He took a sip of cola. “Weird… huh?”

  Weird did not even come close. “So you’ve been thinking about me at school?”

  “Sure.” His hand covered hers. “I, uh… it’s um…”

  You can yak for hours to a ghost but you’re tongue tied with me. She didn’t have the patience to wait for his version. “So we’re good.”

  Muir nodded, clearly relieved not to have to express their status.

  “But when you think about me, about us — the signal’s jammed somehow.”

  “Right.” Muir seemed genuinely puzzled. “It’s almost like something comes over me. At times I can perceive that I feel — and guess I also might act — differently. But other times, it seems like somebody else is in control of me somehow.”

  “Do you realize what you just said?”

  He looked as though he’d like to play it back. “Uh, not really. What?”

  “Have you ever heard of someone being possessed?”

  “Sure, by a demon or something evil.”

  Lucy nodded rapidly.

  “But not by a ghost. Can they do that?”

  “It depends,” she squinted, “on what they want from you.”

  ****

  Wednesday night

  Danielle monitored her suitemate before she made her presence known. Muir, looking comfortable and relaxed, smelled of burned cheese and baked bread dough.

  Not counting their contact during Muir’s dreams, tonight would be her third visit and third visual appearance. Never before, in her hundred years of lingering limbo, had she made multiple appearances to one individual, much less such sustained visits. Muir had certainly intrigued her, along with creating considerable perplexity and consternation.

  Muir sat in the upholstered chair gazing through their east window. No doubt he would enjoy the sunset if he occupied the opposite corner of that structure.

  This time, after concentrating a delicate gust of air into his face and humming part of her favorite chorus, she manifested her form on the opposite side of that parlor, near the open entrance to the kitchen.

  Muir did not know where Danielle was until she spoke.

  “Oh, hi. I was hoping you’d come.” He turned in his chair and started to rise.

  She motioned for him to remain seated. “Remember? No approach.”

  He groaned. “So many stinking rules.”

  “I hope you understand by now that I do not establish these parameters, I merely inform you they already exist.”

  “Yeah, I know. But still…”

  He was definitely impatient and stubborn, but Danielle found many attractive qualities among those demerits. One of the most impactful, she realized, was Muir’s total lack of apprehension. Her contacts with him had been her first ever normal interactions — well, as normal as could be between a mortal and a disenfranchised spirit. He also somewhat reminded her of Neddy. A shame to take advantage of him.

  “I notice you enjoy that window, Mr. Muir. It was also my favorite for the many months I lived here.”

  Muir nodded. “Sometimes I sense I should be able to see something particular out there, but unless I look northeast toward the river and the railroad bridge, all I see are buildings in general.” He pointed. “But something keeps pulling my attention to the southeast. All I can make out, that direction, is the south parking lot of the library.”

  Danielle’s form moved near enough to look over his shoulder. “Oh, I believe I know what your eyes search for. The Monkey Puzzle tree.”

  “The what?”

  “Across Orchid Street used to be many single-story wood frame shops and beyond Mayapple Street there were several fine homes. One of those belonged to a retired sea captain, who planted a peculiar tree he’d obtained from Chile, I believe.”

  “And what did you call it?”

  “It has a Latin name I do not recall at the moment, but everyone referred to it as a Monkey Puzzle.”

  Muir’s face indicated its own puzzlement.

  “Supposedly named because some member of royalty exclaimed its branches were so irregular that even a monkey could not climb it.” Danielle gazed toward the spot of the captain’s former home. “However, I believe monkeys are no more puzzled by that tree than by any other.”

  “Monkey Puzzle tree, right here in downtown Magnolia.”

  “It was not a
particularly attractive sight, but it intrigued me nonetheless. Sometimes I can still see it, but not at this moment. I wonder if it is only a memory… or possibly a periodic illusion.”

  Muir did not respond.

  “Or perhaps it is not the captain’s Monkey Puzzle tree which has harnessed your interest.”

  “Hard to say, Danielle, but I assume it has something to do with you.”

  Now Danielle was without words. Her form shifted again, this time to a spot in front of her portrait. She studied her suitemate as he eyed both her and the painting. “I gather you have been out with that woman again.”

  “Yeah, pizza at the Tower. Evidently a town joke since it’s only two stories, like ninety percent of the other downtown buildings.”

  Danielle felt jealous, but not only of the Tierney woman. She was also covetous of the freedom mortals had to come and go… not confined to one area for an indefinite, possibly endless, holding period.

  Muir was talking about their meal when Danielle tuned out briefly. Once she refocused, he was asking her about the sensation of his thoughts being jammed.

  “Perhaps you will explain that term, Mr. Muir.” As he explained, Danielle smiled wryly. Exactly what she had intended. However, she did not answer directly. “I need your assistance, Mr. Muir, and to have constant thoughts about that woman would be far too distracting.”

  “So you are jamming my brain?”

  She nodded almost imperceptibly. “I am able to vex the thinking of mortals with whom I have been in contact.”

  “Why would you do that? Now Lucy seems to question whether I like her.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah, a lot. At least I did. And I believe I do still. But when I start thinking about it, I get confused.”

  “It would be advisable not to confuse yourself, so do not think of her anymore.”

  “If this is because she belongs to that Chaser group, Lucy said she’s not trying to harass you or anything else. She just wants to help.”

  “What do you want, Mr. Muir?”

  “I’d like to help you too, but I’m extremely fuzzy about what we’re trying to accomplish or how to do it.”