Paranormally Yours
Book 1
Jessie stood on the threshold of the
old mansion-turned-bed-and-breakfast that her Aunt Katie owned and tried to
remember why she’d accepted the crazy invitation to look after the place for a
month. Thunder rumbled in the distance as a flash of lightning briefly lit the
veranda, illuminating the new historical marker beside the front door that
read: Theodore Bancroft Mansion, 1762.
“What was I thinking?” Jessie bemoaned
over her decision to come here as another ominous clash made the floorboards
tremble. Fishing the keys from her pocket, she balanced the bags she carried in
her arms, turned the key in the rusted lock, and pushed the door open with her
hip.
The lamp in the living room had been
left on, casting a dim light across the polished wood floor and ornate
staircase that wound its way up to the second story. Jessie dropped the bags
she carried in the foyer, closed the front door with her foot, and crossed to
the living room, where she tiredly slumped into the old wingback chair next to
the fireplace.
The lamp on the desk flickered as yet
another clap of thunder shook the rafters. “Great,” she sighed. It wasn’t bad
enough that she was cold, damp . . . and hungry, she added to her growing list of complaints, but to top it
off, she was now likely to lose power.
She nestled even further into the
chair, drawing up a warm throw that her aunt kept there, as a chill ran down
her spine. “Drafty old house.” She shivered, snuggling further into the
blanket. It was just her luck that the convertible top of the Fiat she’d been
granted in the divorce was as dysfunctional as its previous owner had been.
This day was just the pinnacle of a bad
week . . . month . . . okay, year! She glanced
out the window at the storm, wondering what had happened to her
life. . . . Really, when had it been flushed down the proverbial
toilet?
The family business she’d worked so
hard for, years of college down the tube, along with her marriage, her
dog . . . her dreams. Too bad it was his family business that
she’d salvaged instead of herself. She looked away from the window, rubbing her
temples once again.
Divorce sucked.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” A deep masculine voice startled her.
Jessie’s head shot up. She was supposed
to be alone. “Qu’est-ce, what?” She
leaned forward, looking around the room for the man who’d spoken. “What is
this?”
“Ah, so you do hear me,” the voice
replied in a thick French accent. “C’est
bien.”
Her Aunt Katie always was a sucker for
an accent, and it would be just like her to send a man over to check on her.
Like that would fix everything . . . a man bandage for the
gaping hole in her chest where her heart once had been.
“Imagine my surprise at finding such a
tasty morsel sitting right here on my arrival.” His voice practically oozed
sexuality.
Tasty
morsel? You’ve got to be kidding me! That was all she needed, Aunt Katie’s
version of sexy trying to hit on her with his over-bloated, egotistical,
outdated come-ons. “Where are you?” Her tone was a little sharp as she craned
her neck toward the sound of him. It must be the gardener who had taken up
residence in the old coach house.
“Ah, so you do want to see me?” The
disembodied voice continued with more than just a hint of satisfaction.
The voice now seemed to be coming from
the other side of the room. She turned her head, her eyes searching the corner
next to the big curio, her mind running over all the things her aunt had
mentioned . . . where the cat food was, when to water the lawn,
how to jiggle the handle of the upstairs potty, what day the trash went out,
the day she’d be returning from her tour of Italy, but nothing about any
boarders, renters, or vagabonds of any kind.
Point in fact, Jessie distinctly
remembered her aunt telling her that the place would be empty while she was gone.
She could still hear her voice over the phone, “The quiet will be good for you,
dear. It will give you the time you need to pick up the pieces of your
life . . . with nothing to
do or worry about. “Jessie’s eyes briefly went to the sign in the window which
read: Closed for the Season. She
cleared her throat. “Who are you?”
“Do you really want to know, ma chérie?” the voice whispered next to
her ear, sending shivers down to her toes.
“Ahh,” Jessie gasped, slapping at the
sensation but hit the side of her head instead. This man had gone too far! She
jumped up and spun around. Her eyes narrowed on the spot behind the chair.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
There was no reply.
Jessie picked up the figurine on the
table next to the chair and held it up, ready to clobber the man who belonged
to the voice. The only problem was . . . there was no one there.
“Is this some kind of joke?” She spun
around, scanning the room. “Am I being punked?” The silence was now deafening.
She crossed to the archway, which led back into the foyer, and flipped on the
light. The antique chandelier that rose above the stairway to the second floor
came to life, sending long shadows in every direction. Feeling along the wall,
she found another switch. This time the lights outside filtered in through the
etched glass panels on either side of the front door.
“It’s the next one,” the voice at her
side added helpfully as she flicked it. The living room lights came on as she
jumped back with the figurine held high in order to thwack the forward
intruder. She stared at the empty space where the voice had come from.
Panicked, Jessie looked from her left
to her right, her eyes growing larger as she realized there was no one
home . . . in more ways
than one. Her hand covered her mouth in quiet desperation. Great, just
great! She was hearing things. She’d finally cracked, bought a ticket to the
funny farm . . . as in send in the men in white to fit her for
her own tight jacket. “Why is this happening to me?” she mumbled to herself.
“What is happening?” the voice asked
curiously.
“Ahh!” She turned away, crossed to the
hall, and flipped on the row of lights there. As she turned back, her eyes
frantically searched from one end of the house to the other.
“If you told me what you were looking
for, perhaps I could offer my assistance,” the voice offered gallantly.
“Oh geez,” she whispered, turning away
from it, going down the hall toward
the kitchen in the back of the house as fast as she could. “Don’t panic, don’t
panic,” she whispered repeatedly under her breath as she ran. She didn’t even
bother with the lights as she headed straight for the knife drawer. Rummaging
through the selection, she passed up the large butcher knife. She’d probably
just hurt herself with that one. Opting for a nice sharp paring knife instead,
she set the figurine down.
“That’s your remedy for this mad rush
of not panicking . . .
un petit blade?” His words dripped with sarcasm.
Great!
Why, if she had to hear a voice, did it have to be that of an insufferable
jerk? Why couldn’t it be the voice of a compassionate fairy godmother or
something?
“Et
bien?” the voice asked as she turned to face it.
Her mouth fell open in surprise at the
man who stood silhouetted in the light from the hallway. A flash of lightning
lit up the kitchen with a thunderous noise that reverberated through the house,
rattling the windows.
“That’s what I thought you’d say.” He
gifted her with a dazzling smile. The smugness of his voice combined with his
stance was enough to make her roll her eyes. She would have if she could have
stopped staring.
Instead, her mouth remained open as she
blinked at the man who stood before her. Holy cow! Aunt Katie’s version of sexy
had improved. He was dressed like a buccaneer straight out of the eighteenth
century. His black hair and bright green eyes made for an alarming combination.
Well, that and the fact that he was slightly see-through . . .
and okay, maybe that was the most alarming part.
The edge of his outline continued to
glow, even when he stepped away from the backlit hallway into the kitchen. It
didn’t help that he made her ex-husband look like yesterday’s
leftovers. . . . It
doesn’t hurt either, and the accent was, well, perhaps she had more in
common with her aunt than she knew.
At least if she were to go crazy she’d
go out in style, and when they put her in the padded cell, she’d have something
to look at, right? She closed her mouth and swallowed, backing up to the large
butcher block counter in the center of the room. “Are you the gardener?” she
said, finally finding her voice.
He slowly shook his head, the movement
made seductive by the smile that played on his lips.
“Are you the p-pool b-boy then?” she
stuttered. That was always her motto . . . when confronted with
something otherworldly, say something intelligent, and if that wasn’t possible,
punt. It was the family’s secret joke that her aunt had spoken of having a pool
boy. Why? No one knew . . . everyone had just assumed she was a
bit loony. Aunt Kate didn’t even have a pool, but now Jessie had to wonder.
Perhaps it was catching.
He chuckled, his laughter mingling with
the thunder outside. “Ah, I see you have heard of me then.” He smiled, showing
a set of teeth Brad Pitt would be jealous of. Jessie swallowed again as he
walked toward her. She held the little blade up protectively.
It didn’t stop him; in fact, he
actually walked right up to the point of the knife she held.
“Stop that!” She pulled the knife back
as he stepped even closer.
“That can’t hurt me, mon amie,” he whispered. “It is, how do
you say? One of the perks of being a spectre.”
He chuckled.
“A specter?” Her voice was higher than
she’d like, coming out in a squeak.
“A fantôme.”
He nodded.
“A phantom?” She swallowed.
“A ghost,” he added before taking the
final plunge. His body enfolded the knife and her hand in its glow.
Jessie felt the electric current as his
body enveloped her hand. She dropped the knife and ran around to the other side
of the table, watching as he wiggled, shaking his leg until the knife fell out
onto the floor. He grinned at her before disappearing in a flash.
Jessie stared at the knife on the floor
in horror for a moment.
“Boo,” he whispered in her ear from
behind.
“Ahh!” She darted away from him,
heading back toward the hallway. She skidded to a halt as he popped up,
blocking her way at the door. “Stop it this instant!”
“Or what?” he challenged, a slight
smile playing on his lips.
“There is no or what.” She put her hands on her hips, wanting to wipe the infuriating
grin from his face. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Non?”
He looked around before popping over to the top of the fridge.
“No!” She turned to face him defiantly.
“There is no such thing as a ghost!”
“Really, then how do you explain me?”
“You are a figment of my exhausted
imagination.” Jessie lifted her chin, taking some strength from the idea.
“You do not believe me then?” He lifted
a brow.
“You’re asking me to believe the word
of my own delusion?”
“Ah, ma chère,” he tsked, shaking his head sorrowfully. “How you have
hurt my feelings.”
“Oh, please.” Jessie rolled her eyes.
“Do you really wish for me to take my
leave?” The sexual overtone was back in his voice.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “Yes!”
He sighed with regret, and just like
that he was gone.
Jessie spun slowly around in the
kitchen before looking down at the knife at her feet. She cautiously touched it
with the toe of her shoe, afraid it might bite. Picking it up with two fingers,
she placed it in the sink.
She stood looking out the window at the
storm-lit sky. A flash of lightning momentarily lit the small family cemetery a
hundred feet away which was framed by large oaks with Spanish moss hanging from
the branches. She swallowed, turning away from the haunting scene to open the
refrigerator. She desperately needed a drink. Or a shrink. One or the other.
She grabbed a cold beer, popped the
top, and took a big swallow. “Ahh,” she sighed as she held the cold bottle up
to her brow. “I’m losin' it. That’s all there is to it.”
~*~
“There are no such things as ghosts,”
Jessie repeated again while adjusting the temperature of the water. She took
the added precaution of looking around the small bathroom before stepping into
the shower.
She let the water pour over her head
and down her back. The warmth of it began to spread to her body. She tilted her
head back, though she wasn’t about to shut her eyes. Her imagination might
conjure up some fantasy man again, just to add more fodder to her troubled
mind.
“There are no such things as ghosts,”
she repeated, thinking that talking to herself had to be a side effect of
losing it. The water pipe groaned as if in answer. She turned to face the
showerhead as it started to rattle. “There’s no such thing as a ghost!” she
reaffirmed.
“You keep saying that,” the voice said
from behind her.
“Ahh!” Jessie screamed as she jumped
from the shower, taking the curtain with her. She turned to see him holding his
hands over his ears.
When she stopped screaming, he lowered
his hands and shook his head. “You’ve got to stop doing that, chérie. I might be slightly challenged
in the skin department, but there is nothing wrong with my hearing.”
“Get out!” Jessie glared at the nearly
invisible man standing in the tub.
He wore a grin on his face that said he
was too delighted with his actions to consider leaving.
“Now!” Jessie pointed to the door.
“Why?” His grin deepened, showing the
dimple in his cheek, something she did not want to notice.
“I-I am not dressed,” Jessie
sputtered, glaring at him as he stood in the shower.
The smoldering glance he gave her swept
up her body. “I noticed.”
“Oh!” Indignant, she reached forward
and flushed the toilet, something she knew would cause a sudden change in
temperature. Though she didn’t know if he’d feel it, she felt better for the
slight retaliation.
“Of all the nerve, just popping in
while I’m showering . . . naked,” Jessie muttered to herself as
she stormed into the bedroom.
“Do you normally shower with your
clothes on?” came the deep voice of her tormentor from the vicinity of the bed.
Jessie’s head whipped around to find
the braggart lying with his head resting on the many pink fluffy pillows near
the headboard, watching her with that infuriating grin of his.
“What are you still doing here?” Jessie
blinked through the moisture that dripped from her hair.
“You did point in the direction of the
bedroom.” He lifted his hands innocently. “I merely obeyed.”
Jessie had a hard time imagining this
man being obedient to anything or anyone. Infuriated, she picked up a pink pig
pillow that rested on the nearby chair and chucked it at him. He made the
motion to catch it, but it went right through him.
Looking mildly uncomfortable with the
wiggly tail of the piglet protruding from his mid-section, he sighed. “I can
see you’re in no mood for company,” he said regretfully before disappearing.
“Good riddance,” Jessie muttered as she
turned a circle in the room which had been lavishly decorated in pink piglets
that her aunt had collected through the years. “And stay gone!”
When there was no response, she felt safe
enough to return to the bath and dry off quickly. Catching her own reflection
in the mirror she gazed momentarily into her big aqua blue eyes. With her hair
in wild disarray and the frantic look in her eye, she did look a little on
edge. “Girl, you are losing it,” she said to herself as she ran a comb through
her long, dark-blonde hair. Donning her flannel Minnie Mouse pajamas and
matching stuffed house shoes, she went on a mission throughout the whole house,
turning on every light until the old mansion was ablaze.
Jessie no longer even cared what the
neighbors might think. She was the niece of the eccentric Miss Kate, after all.
They’d probably witnessed all manner of strangeness that made her staged
lighting seem fairly standard. Besides, Jessie rationalized, if she was losing
it, it wasn’t going to be in the dark.
Jessie entered the bedroom and eyed the
bed cautiously before tossing a half-dozen piglet-inspired pillows from the
bed. She sat down, sliding off her slippers. The twin Minnies looked lost in
the sea of piglet paraphernalia on the floor. Climbing in, she pulled the pink
satin coverlet with its ruffled edge up to her chin and then lay there staring
at the ceiling, her eyes wide open.
“Just watch over the place while I’m
gone,” she repeated the words her aunt had used over the phone. “Let this old
house soothe your troubles and give yourself the time to figure your life
out. . . . Right!” Jessie snorted in disbelief as she drew the
coverlet up tighter to her chin. “If it doesn’t drive you insane first!”
Jessie awakened, blinking back the
bright sunshine streaming in through pink sheers which had been drawn back in a
waterfall of cascading ruffles. The room looked like an advertisement for
piglets gone wild.
She looked over at the clock. Red
lights flashed ten twenty-two across Porky Pig’s tummy. Jessie could hardly
believe she’d slept so late . . . of course, what might be even
more surprising was that she’d actually fallen asleep at all.
Maybe
it was all just a bad dream, she thought as she rolled out of bed,
slipping on her stuffed footwear. The stress of leaving her home and facing the
unknown future ahead of her. . . . Yeah, that was it. It had to
be. The alternative was just plain crazy . . . literally.
Jessie went down the hall, turning off
lights as she went. Both her aunt’s room, which featured Betty Boop and a
heart-shaped bed, and the western motif one, where Yosemite Sam played a
prominent feature, had been lit up like Christmas trees. Jessie smiled as she
turned off a lamp, which looked like the gun-toting Texan, and headed down the
stairs. Her Aunt Katie definitely had a thing for all things cartoon. Not that
she could talk, dressed in full Minnie Mouse regalia.
The place hardly seemed haunted with
its cheerfully decorated rooms bathed in sunlight. Maybe she really did have
some sort of mental breakdown last night. Perhaps the storm, mixed with fatigue
and having been so cold. . . . She felt her head for a fever as she
thought of it. Certainly there was something more rational going on than seeing
a ghost.
Jessie paused at the threshold of the
kitchen, peeking inside the door just to make sure she was alone. Coast clear,
she busied herself with making coffee and toast. She hummed to herself as she
collected the milk and jam from the fridge while steadfastly ignoring the knife
that still rested in the sink. Its mere existence mocked her.
“Meow.”
Jessie jumped at the sound and turned
towards her aunt’s kitty. “There you are, Elvis,” Jessie greeted the black
feline as it sauntered across the floor towards her and rubbed against her leg.
“Where were you last night?” she asked as he sat innocently licking his
whiskers. “Are you ready for breakfast?”
“Oui.”
The voice was back.
Jessie paused. She was pretty sure it
wasn’t Elvis who’d answered, but then again, who knew what crazy could conjure?
Turning to look back over her shoulder, she saw her tormentor sitting at the
table with the local newspaper spread out before him.
“Hmm,” he chuckled as he read, “Farmer
Stevens lost his milk cow, and he’s seeing glowing lights in his pasture again.
Another fine article from the busy bee herself, Miss Patricia Parker.”
Jessie forced herself to look away,
carefully putting the things in her hands on the counter as she tried to
control her breathing. “Just ignore it, and maybe it will go away.”
“Why would you want the pussy to go
away?”
She turned around, watching as the cat
rubbed itself against the leg of the chair he was sitting on. She wasn’t going
to answer. . . . No, she was bound and determined to ignore him
and the amused expression on his face as he took in her pajamas and slippers.
“Minnie Mouse?” He cocked a brow.
“Leave Minnie alone,” she warned. Okay,
fine, so ignoring him worked for all of a second.
Distracted for the moment, he looked
past her out the window. “Mon dieu!”
he swore. “Here comes the little monster.”
“Monster?” Jessie repeated in alarm,
jerking around. When a ghost mentions a monster, one should take precautions,
right? She looked out the window, but all she could see was Aunt Katie’s
neighbor, Mavis, coming up to the back door with her little dachshund.
“His name should be Lucifer,” the ghost
whispered in her ear, causing goose bumps to race down to her toes. “And beware
of that woman too.”
“Stop that!” she said through a forced
smile as she swatted at him next to her ear. The little woman in question
coming up the walk looked like Aunt Bea from an old rerun of The Andy Griffith Show. “Why would you
say that about that little woman and her dog?” Jessie asked as she returned
Mavis’s wave cheerfully. When he didn’t reply, she turned to find herself alone
with Elvis, who flicked his tail rhythmically and watched her with large yellow
eyes. She blew a puff of air out in exasperation before going to open the door.
“Hello, dear.” The plump older woman
smiled warmly at her. “I saw all the
lights on last night and knew you had made it in safely.”
Jessie flashed a tight smile before
Mavis thrust her basket of warm muffins and squeezed her quickly.
“Thank you.” Jessie stepped back to let
her in. Her little dog immediately went over to Elvis, who jumped up on the
table and growled at him.
“Look at you, you’re all grown up. How
long has it been?” Mavis asked while Jessie peeked under the napkin that
covered the baked goodies. They looked like hearty bran muffins, the kind that
older people depended upon and swore by.
Jessie covered them up again quickly
and set them on the counter. “It’s been a while.”
“You must have been about ten the last
time you visited with your Aunt Kate.” Mavis continued to chat as she settled
herself into the chair that the tormentor had recently vacated.
Jessie smiled as the older woman turned
to look at her. Feeling slightly awkward with her full attention on her, Jessie
busied herself with two cups. “I just made a pot of coffee. Would you
like. . . ?” She stopped in mid-sentence after turning her
head . . . her tormentor was back, floating directly behind the
woman.
“What is it, dear?” Mavis looked at her
with concern. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Jessie practically choked on a response
but was saved by spilling hot coffee across the counter instead.
Mavis turned to look directly at the
apparition, but she saw nothing despite the fact that he doffed his hat in
greeting and bowed exaggeratedly. She turned back with a questioning glance.
Her little dog, the monster, started to yap. Mavis scooped him up on her lap.
Elvis elected to evacuate the kitchen
at that moment. The little traitor, Jessie thought as she
soaked up the coffee with a tea towel. “It-it’s nothing,” Jessie murmured. She
sure as heck wasn’t about to admit to anything.
“It’s okay, dear.” Mavis spoke kindly.
“Your aunt told me all about your recent difficulties.”
“She what?” Jessie asked, slightly
taken aback.
“I’m so sorry to hear about the loss of
your dog.” Mavis looked at her own pampered pooch. “I can’t imagine losing
Duke.”
Jessie didn’t know what to say. She’d
been devastated by the loss of her dog, especially since it had come on the
heels of everything else—her practice, her husband, her life. She sighed.
Losing her faithful old lab she’d had for 12 years was almost worse than losing
the jerk she’d been married to. . . . At least Dusty hadn’t been
screwing the office manager and the pharmaceutical rep. “It’s been very hard,”
she finally responded.
Truth was, she’d had so much loss
lately she didn’t think she could handle dwelling on that one right now. She
tried to change the subject. “Do you take sugar?” she asked as she carried two
cups over to the table, trying to ignore the apparition who was now dangling
the large feather in his cap near Duke’s nose.
“Yes, please.” Mavis accepted the cup
as she struggled with the yapping dog. “Do you have any cream, dear?”
“Ah,” Jessie responded absentmindedly
as she briefly glanced up at the pirate who was intent upon torturing the
little dog. “Yes.”
“I don’t know what gets into him.”
Mavis finally gave up the struggle and put her pooch down on the floor as
Jessie placed the sugar on the table.
Bored now that his subject had been
turned loose, the pirate turned his attention toward their unsuspecting
visitor, who remained oblivious to him.
Jessie gave him a warning glance before
turning her attention back toward Mavis. “I hope milk is fine. I haven’t been
to the store yet.”
Mavis intercepted the look and once
again glanced up at the apparition, unseeing. “Are you sure you’re alright,
dear?”
Jessie tried to ignore him as he
mimicked putting spoon upon spoonful of sugar in her cup and stirred. “Yes, of
course.” She smiled brightly, placing the milk on the table.
“You remind me so much of your aunt.”
Mavis smiled, reminding Jessie of a crafty fox as she continued. “I’m so glad
that you’ve decided to come and stay,” Mavis said as Jessie set the muffins,
toast, and jelly on the table and took a seat opposite her.
Jessie watched as Mavis stirred her cup
and took a sip. She couldn’t help but wonder if his ministrations had affected
the flavor. “I told her I’d be happy to look over the place while she was
gone.”
“So you’re not staying to help? But I
thought . . .” Mavis stopped short of finishing her sentence.
“Well, that’s no never mind.” She smiled sweetly.
Too sweetly, Jessie thought as she
watched the pirate pepper her cup with a pretend shaker, out of the corner of
her eye. “Does my aunt need help?”
“It’s none of my business, dear.” Mavis
again smiled like a crafty fox. “Forget I said anything.” She took another sip
and coughed. “The flavor of this is most different. It’s quite spicy.”
Jessie’s eyes went quickly over to the
pirate who now had his finger in the jelly. She briefly wondered if ghosts had
germs, as she pulled the jar away and put the lid back on. He grinned widely
before sticking his finger in his mouth. . . . Could ghosts
actually taste things?
Duke took that opportunity to bite at
his leg. The pirate did a little jig on the floor as the wiener dog attacked,
chasing after him in circles before the ghost up and vanished beneath the
refrigerator. The little dog scratched and dug at the grate at the bottom of
the fridge.
“I wonder why he always does that?”
Mavis chuckled as she watched the dog scratch at the black-and-white checkered
linoleum floor.
The pirate popped up on the top,
looking down at the little dog with a delighted expression on his face.
Jessie shook her head at him. There was
no stopping him, it seemed. “Why don’t we go to that little French café on Elm
for breakfast?” She stood quickly. “My treat.”
“But I made muffins.” Mavis looked at
the basket longingly.
“And they look delicious. . . .
Why don’t you have one while I get my purse?” Jessie nodded enthusiastically.
“We’ll have more privacy to chat.”
Mavis looked at her strangely. “But
we’re alone here, dear.”
“Oh, right.” Jessie headed for the
hall. “I meant fewer distractions,” she called from down the hall. “I’ve been
craving one of those fried dough thingies, sprinkled with powdered sugar.”
“You mean a beignet, dear?” Mavis
asked, shaking her head at Jessie’s retreating form. “It must run in the
family,” she whispered to her little dog as she picked him up from his hot
pursuit of something under the fridge.
Jessie sealed the deal on her
questionable sanity when she reappeared with purse in hand, ready to go.
“But, dear,” Mavis cajoled, as one
might a doddering idiot, “don’t you think you’d better get dressed?”
Jessie looked down at her flannel
pajamas with matching twin Minnies on her feet. “Oh, these.” Jessie laughed. “I
hurt my feet yesterday, and Minnie is just so comfortable,” Jessie said as she
led her to the front door.
“I wonder if they’d be good for my
bunions,” Mavis said. As they entered the foyer the TV clicked on, going
through a rapid succession of station changes.
“Your aunt still hasn’t had that short
fixed, I see,” Mavis said.
Jessie watched as the ghost pirate plopped
down on the sofa and kicked up his heels on the antique coffee table. She had
to resist the urge to ask him to remove them. Ghost shoes can’t mark furniture, can they? she found herself
wondering as she watched him stretch lazily.
“Dear, are you listening?” Mavis was
watching her strangely.
“Yes.” Jessie looked at her with an
apologetic smile.
“Oh, good.” Mavis beamed her approval.
“I’ll have my son come over to fix it.”
“Uh,” Jessie scrambled to catch up in
the conversation, “I’m sorry, what?”
“The fire hazard, dear. Oh my, you
haven’t been listening.” Mavis laughed. “You are so much like your aunt.”
Jessie narrowed her eyes on the pirate
as she grabbed a sweater coat from the rack and opened the door. This was his
fault.
“Actually, I’m surprised with all the
faulty wiring in this house that it hasn’t already burned down,” Mavis said as
she headed out onto the veranda.
Jessie threw an alarmed glance toward
the man sprawled across the settee. “Don’t you dare burn down this house,”
Jessie whispered.
He pointed to himself in a gesture of
innocence. “Moi?”
“What did you say, my dear?” Mavis
asked as Jessie closed the door and locked it.
Jessie turned the key in the old lock
and hoped it would keep him there. . . . Not that she wanted him
there, she told herself firmly. It was just that she didn’t want him to follow
her . . . that is, if he even could. Were ghosts attached to a
house? Could they leave? She suddenly wished she could call John Edward or
Sylvia Browne and ask. “I wonder if they make house calls?”
“Of course he does,” Mavis answered.
“He’s an electrician, dear.”
“Who is?”
“My son,” Mavis repeated for her,
looking at her with pity. No doubt because not only was she related to Aunt
Katie, but she was fast becoming just like her. Jessie smiled awkwardly.
“He’s coming over to check the wiring
tonight,” Mavis said.
“When?” Jessie looked around for a
Bluetooth or other communication device attached to the woman’s head. When had
she called him? Had she entered into a time warp while they walked to her car?
“I just said tonight, dear.”
“No, when did you speak with him?”
Jessie asked carefully.
“I spoke with him before I came over,
dear, and he said if you needed anything to let him know. So, of course, I just
assumed.”
Assume:
to make an ass out of u and me. The old joke about assuming anything
leapt to Jessie’s mind as she studied the deceptively sweet-looking woman. So, before the old dear had even arrived,
she had it all worked out, Jessie thought as she looked at the wily
blue-haired dynamo with a new perspective. But
why? Jessie couldn’t help but wonder.
“He’s single, you know,” Mavis added as
she set her dog down on the grass.
Bingo,
Jessie thought as she looked over to find Lucifer taking a healthy poop on the
lawn before a big hole near the mailbox.
“Did Luci . . . Duke
just do that?” Jessie asked. Mavis looked down at the poop. “No, the hole, did
he just dig that?”
“Of course not,” Mavis said, somewhat
insulted.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to
accuse,” Jessie said.
“That’s all right, dear.” She took a
breath and added, “Your aunt’s gardener says it’s the gophers.” She pointed to
several other holes across the lawn. “But if you ask me. . . .” She left the
rest unsaid as she scooped up the pooper, leaving his present behind, and
carried her dog towards the Fiat parked in the driveway. “Does this run?” she
asked.
“Yes, it runs,” Jessie said as she
clicked the locks open on her car.
Mavis seated herself, settling her dog
on her lap. “Jonathan works on cars too.”
“Who is Jonathan?”
“My son,” Mavis said in a voice that
said she would like her to start paying attention. “He is amazingly talented.”
The blue-haired dynamo beamed with motherly pride. “Oh, by the way, he’ll be
here after six.”
She was really going to have to pay
Lucifer’s mother more attention, Jessie realized as she started the motor and
smiled at the two of them nestled in the passenger’s side of the car. Jessie
cleared her throat. “So what do you think is making the holes?”
“Ever since that article came out a few
months back, there has been nothing but trouble.” Mavis tsked. “I really wish
I’d had nothing to do with it. Not the holes, mind you, but the article.”
“What was the article about?” Jessie
asked.
“It was horrible, if you can imagine.”
Mavis sniffed. “I only gave that Parker woman information on the history of my
family, mind you. My maiden name is Bancroft and, unfortunately, my son and I
are the last of the line.” She lifted her chin with pride. “The home your aunt
is living in right now was built by my great-great-great-great-grandfather.
Why, I was the one who placed it on the historical register.” She sighed, then
added distastefully, “To think that busy bee . . .
uh . . . woman turned my genealogical background into an article
on hauntings and treasure just upsets me no end.”
“How do you think this even remotely
applies to the holes?” Jessie asked her.
“In the past it’s been mostly teenagers
pulling pranks, digging for treasure.” Mavis sighed again. “It seems to be a
favorite pastime around here for them, but ever since that article, the gophers
have been awfully busy, if you get my meaning.”
Jessie wondered if Mavis would think
her crazy for asking her next question, but she just had to know. “Do you think
the house is haunted?”
“Oh no, dear,” Mavis scoffed. “No one
has died there, and if nothing else, I do know the history.”
“When did this article come out?”
“A few months ago,” Mavis said. “Don’t
worry, dear. Jonathan says it should blow over soon.”
~*~
“No, dear,” Mavis said as she peered
over at her from across the small café table. “It’s still there.”
Jessie wiped the powdered sugar from
her chin with a napkin and looked at Mavis. She was getting decidedly tired of
the no dears . . . among
other things.
“That’s it.” Mavis smiled her approval.
Jessie returned it weakly and then
looked down at Duke, who was yapping at a man reading the paper at the table
next to them. Because of the dog, they were outside enjoying the street café,
which would have been delightful if Lucifer had kept quiet and hadn’t whizzed
on her left Minnie, for that matter.
“I still can’t believe he did that,”
Mavis said, glancing down at her slipper. “You naughty boy.” She scooped up
Lucifer and fed him a piece of the doughnut on her plate. “It must be because
he feels threatened by it.”
The word it definitely held a note of scorn, Jessie noticed.
“But don’t you worry; I’ll get you some
proper house shoes today.”
Proper?
Jessie couldn’t believe her ears. This woman was worse than her
ex-mother-in-law, if that was possible. She counted to five, and then ten, as she
watched the little devil dog lick her plate.
“Oh,” Mavis sighed, pulling him back.
“Shame on you,” she scolded her dog.
“It’s alright.” Jessie scooted the
plate across the table. “I’m finished with it anyway.” She took another sip of
her coffee and glanced across the street to an old used bookstore.
“I think I’d like to take a peek inside
that store.”
“The Ancient Mariner?” Mavis asked in a
scandalized tone. “I never set foot there.”
Jessie knew then it was a heaven on
Earth.
“They carry P-O-R-N.” She spelled the
word, covering Lucifer’s ears.
Jessie choked on her coffee. She wasn’t
into the stuff herself, had actually had issue with her ex-husband’s obsession
with it. . . . Okay, perhaps she felt a little abused by what
people chose to do with it, but she tried not to judge. They were adults, after
all.
“Second-hand porn.” Mavis leaned close
to whisper.
Okay, admittedly, that was gross. Jessie looked again at the
store and its seemingly innocent window displays of books and gifts.
“The committee is hoping they close
their doors soon.”
“The committee?” Jessie asked,
wondering if she’d let her mind wander to the point where she might end up
signing a power of attorney over to the woman or having dinner plans with her
son, at the very least.
“The town’s historical committee.”
Mavis nodded, giving the man behind the paper a secretive glance.
The CIA would have approved of the
technique, Jessie thought. “Do you know of another book store in the vicinity?”
she asked.
“Dear, I know of something even
better.” Mavis beamed.
“What?”
“The library . . . and
it’s on the historical register.”
Jessie watched as Mavis smoothed her
hair, gloating over the news. Admittedly, she had scored on that one.
“And there is a lovely hairdresser
around the corner that does amazing things, and a clothing store.”
Jessie immediately lost her smile. Was
she actually suggesting . . . ?
“These shorter haircuts are just so
much more sophisticated, don’t you think?”
She was! Jessie tucked an errant strand
of hair behind her ear. If she wasn’t careful this woman was going to turn her
into a Stepford wife for her son.
Jessie stood abruptly, causing the cups to rattle on the table and spilling
coffee for the second time that day.
“Oh my,” Mavis said as a trickle made
its way over to splash on her dog. “Poor little Duchy.” She pouted as she
dabbed the spill with a napkin. “I guess you’re even now.”
Jessie just stared at her stupidly. Even? How could they be even? Her dog
had piddled on her foot and received a drop of coffee in return.
“Well, we won’t go into that now,”
Mavis managed to chastise her anyway.
“Where is the library?” Jessie asked as
she placed a tip on the table. She wasn’t going to let this get to her. She was
going to go back to the house and take a relaxing bubble bath, blow dry and
curl her long hair, and then after her shoe was suitably laundered she
would. . . . Well, she’d do something! She’d get a life! She
might even invite her fantasy pirate to join her.
To read more about Jesse and Jacques, you can find
THE GHOST
PIRATE’S TREASURE
on these world wide links
