Dead Companions

A HUMOROUS TWISTY PARANORMAL GHOST MYSTERY

AFTERLIFE ISSUES

BOOK ONE

A.W. HARTOIN

Dead Companions

Afterlife Issues Book One

Copyright © A.W. Hartoin, 2023

Cover designed by MiblArt

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Also by A.W. Hartoin

Jess and Libby Paranormal Cozy Mysteries

Dead Companions (Afterlife Issues Book One)

A Trunk, a Canoe, and all the Barbecue (Afterlife Issues Book Two)

Old Friends and Fedoras (Afterlife Issues Book Three)

The Trouble with Tinsel (Afterlife Issues Book Four)

Fun Ivy (Afterlife Issues Book Five) Coming soon

Mercy Watts Mysteries

A Good Man Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book One)

Diver Down (A Mercy Watts Mystery Book Two)

Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries BookThree)

Drop Dead Red (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Four)

In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Five)

The Wife of Riley (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Six)

My Bad Grandad (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Seven)

Brain Trust (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Eight)

Down and Dirty (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Nine)

Small Time Crime (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Ten)

Bottle Blonde (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Eleven)

Mean Evergreen (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Twelve)

Silver Bells at Hotel Hell (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Thirteen)

So Long Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Fourteen)

Black Bandana (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Fifteen) Coming soon

Mercy Watts Short Mysteries

Coke with a Twist (Mercy Watts Short Mysteries Book One)

Touch and Go My Book (Mercy Watts Short Mysteries Book Two)

Nowhere Fast (Mercy Watts Short Mysteries Book Three)

Dry Spell (Mercy Watts Short Mysteries Book Four)

A Sin and a Shame (Mercy Watts Short Mysteries Book Five)

Stella Bled WWII Historical Thrillers

The Paris Package (Stella Bled Book One)

Strangers in Venice (Stella Bled Book Two)

One Child in Berlin (Stella Bled Book Three)

Dark Victory (Stella Bled Book Four)

A Quiet Little Place on Rue de Lille (Stella Bled Book Five)

Her London Season (Stella Bled Book Six)

Double Duet (Stella Bled Book Seven)

YA Paranormal

It Started with a Whisper (Son of a Witch Book One)

Angels and Insects (Son of a Witch Book Two)

Young Adult fantasy

Flare-up (Away From Whipplethorn Short)

A Fairy's Guide To Disaster (Away From Whipplethorn Book One)

Fierce Creatures (Away From Whipplethorn Book Two)

A Monster’s Paradise (Away From Whipplethorn Book Three)

A Wicked Chill (Away From Whipplethorn Book Four)

To the Eternal (Away From Whipplethorn Book Five)

For Herb

Because sometimes the best fathers are stepfathers

Chapter One

Three months ago, my life was perfectly fine. I would’ve called it normal. There’s a lot to be said for normal. I just won’t be the one saying it. Not anymore. Normal, average, fine—call it what you will—was never particularly appealing to me, but with the constant demands of ordinary life I forgot that, and a lot of other things too.

It looked like my interesting days were behind me. No more harebrained schemes. No more trips where I didn’t know the exact destination. I knew what was real and what wasn’t. There were rules and I followed them. Facts were facts.

I had a house, a workaholic husband, two boys with common-sense issues, and a waistline I’d learned to accept. My best friend Jess was to-the-core happy, and life was, if not easy, predictable. I’d accepted predictable. I thought knowing what was coming wasn’t so bad, even if it was boring.

Then an ordinary day of golf turned all our lives upside down, and nothing would ever be predictable again.

Now the only thing I knew for sure was that I didn’t want to end up mangled in a horrific accident, but our car was still barreling toward a bank of black clouds in the distance at fifteen miles over the speed limit, causing me to question my life choices. I’d been doing that a lot lately, but I’d hoped that day would be an exception.

I should never have let her drive. What was I thinking?

“Slow down, Jess,” I said. 

“This is the answer,” she said. “I feel great about this.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.”

I crossed my arms. “You’re white-knuckling the steering wheel again.”

“I am not.”

“You are. Slow down,” I said.

Jess did get us to a less terrifying speed, but her hands stayed bloodless.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Everything’s fine.”

I can tell.

Jess stayed hunched over the steering wheel, wearing a threadbare college sweatshirt, with her usually sleek blond ponytail snarled up on the top of her head in an unruly knot. It looked like her hair hadn’t seen a comb in days or possibly weeks. I watched her and wondered when it would be time to say something.

“This place is perfect. Wait until you see it,” said Jess.

“We can’t afford to buy a house. The market is insane,” I said.

“This is going to work. You’ll love it.”

“People are getting into bidding wars over bungalows by the airport, and we need a five-bedroom.”

“That’s why it’s perfect. Seven bedrooms, five full baths, and an enormous kitchen. We could start a catering business.”

I bit my lip and watched my friend, who was glowing with purpose and a hint of hope. Since when did we want to start a catering business? Jess could barely handle making toast for the last three months, and I wasn’t much better.

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Jess. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not totally losing it.”

I bit harder. Jess wasn’t totally losing it because she’d already lost it when her super-fit husband dropped dead on the golf course two days after getting cleared to go mountaineering in Peru. Hal wasn’t supposed to die. The marathon-running, fifty-pushups-the-moment-you-get-out-of-bed guy was supposed to outlive everyone, but he had an aneurysm, and it took him out with no warning.

“I don’t think you’re losing it,” I said.

“Yes, you do. Everyone does. Jeff does.”

“Ignore Jeff. He’s always been a pain.”

“He loved Hal, and he’s really upset at losing his only brother.”

Time to change the subject. I could be even-tempered about most people, but Jeff was the exception.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re losing it or not,” I said. “We still can’t buy a house. We haven’t got the money.”

“Phillip and Felicity are letting me borrow the down payment and enough to get us through,” said Jess.

“I don’t want to borrow money from your parents, Phillip and Joanne.”

Jess smiled at me, and her brown eyes held a hint of their former sparkle. “She’s more Felicity than Joanne and you know it.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“There’s no maybe about it. And there has to be some advantage to having them as my parents.”

“They’re not that bad,” I said.

“They’re not that good, but they’re loaded and they don’t mind. We have to get out of the douchebag’s house.”

I sucked in a breath and Jess quickly said over her shoulder, “Sorry, boys. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Max. “Dad is being a douche.”

“He’ll get over it,” said Henri. “It’s gonna be fine, Mom.”

I turned in my seat to check on my sons. Looking at Max and Henri was like looking in a mirror. They had my dark hair, intense blue eyes, and wide mouth, but their personalities were all their father. Derek called them The Eggs because they were always sunny-side up. Derek had been sunny-side up until he wasn’t.

“It is going to be fine,” I said. “We’re going to be fine.”

“I mean, you’re not getting divorced,” said Henri. “Dad’s gonna get over it.”

“Henri, it’s not a phase. Dad’s moving on, and I have to as well.”

Max smiled at me. “Mom, he’s just freaked. Hal dying like that right in front of him…it was rough. Sorry, Jess.” Then he glanced sideways at Jess’s daughter pressed against the door with an enormous pair of headphones on her ears and eyes staring off into space. “Sorry, Mariah.”

Mariah shrugged, and Jess said in a tight whisper, “It’s fine. We have to learn to talk about him normally.”

“Not right now we don’t,” I said. “And we don’t have to move out. Derek can get a studio, and we can stay put.”

“Derek is not leaving that house,” said Jess, “and you know it.”

“Maybe.”

“There’s no maybe about it and having us there isn’t helping.”

“We wanted you to stay with us while you built the new house,” I said. “It can still happen. You can pay to finish the building when the insurance pays out. They can’t drag their feet forever.”

“I don’t want it,” said Jess, “and neither does Mariah. It’s a house for a life that doesn’t exist anymore. Right, Mariah?”

“Huh?”

Jess looked in the rearview mirror. “What are you listening to, honey?”

“You can play it,” said Mariah.

Jess touched a series of buttons on her Volvo’s screen. The Police singing “King of Pain” blared out of the speakers and the boys groaned. Jess picked up her water bottle and gulped down half of the contents.

“Do you have vodka in there?” I asked.

“I wish.”

“That is the worst song,” said Max.

“It is not,” said Mariah. “It’s meaningful.”

“You’re just making yourself sadder,” said Henri.

“That’s not possible.”

“Well, it’s not helping,” said Max.

“Nothing’s going to help. My dad is dead,” said Mariah.

I turned to give The Eggs a warning look, but it wasn’t necessary. For once, they weren’t sunny-side up. Max’s mouth was screwed into a knot, and he looked like he wanted to comfort Mariah but didn’t know how. It was too much for a sixteen-year-old, and he was struggling with what to do. Henri bit his lip the way I did but then reached across his brother to touch Mariah’s sleeve.

“Why is it always stuff from the eighties? I thought Hal was more into the seventies?”

“He liked both,” she said.

“Our dad likes the eighties too,” said Max. “There’s great stuff. We get to pick the next song.”

Mariah shrugged and looked out the window while Sting sang about skeletons choking and black spots.

They’re not wrong. It’s making me sadder.

“All right,” I said. “You pick.”

The song ended and Max chose Boston’s “More than a Feeling.” He looked at Mariah in triumph and she rolled her eyes before putting her headphones back on.

“What? It’s meaningful, just not morose,” said Henri.

“It might be too happy,” I said.

“Listen to the lyrics,” said Max. “It fits.”

“We’re almost there,” said Jess, turning down the volume.

I read a sign as we passed. “Welcome to St. Sebastian. Why does that town sound familiar?”

“I probably told it to you,” said Jess.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Well, it’s famous for having a lovely downtown, and there are wineries across the river.”

Where have I seen something on St. Sebastian?

“That’s not it.”

Jess drove past the suburban outer limits of the town and wound through streets that were increasingly more charming with vintage Victorian and Craftsman houses.

This looks expensive.

“Where is this house, exactly?” I asked.

“On the best street in town,” said Jess.

“We can’t afford that. Derek is fighting me for every dime, and your parents are in Guatemala.”

“Bhutan.”

“Whatever. How much is this house?”

“It’s reasonable,” said Jess.

“How is that possible?” I asked. “These houses are amazing. Is it really a house we’re going to? Are we touring a large shed or something?”

“It’s a house.”

“A fixer-upper? I’m not that handy, Jess. You’ve known me for twenty-five years. I can’t do wiring or plumbing, and neither can you.”

“The plumbing is fine and so is the wiring.”

“What’s wrong with the house?”

We drove down a street lined with ancient oaks and houses that bordered on mansions. My chest got tight. I’d have to say no. I hated saying no, especially to Jess, and especially now.

Max reached out between the front seats, pointed, and said, “Is that it?”

Jess smiled. “That’s it.”

“Holy crap! That’s awesome!”

We turned into a wide driveway next to a three-story Victorian with a huge wraparound porch that had a kind of gazebo attached on one side.

“What do you think?” Jess asked.

“It has a turret,” I said.

“Dibs on the turret!” Max yelled, and the boys tumbled out of the car to run across the lawn to the porch.

“Hold on!” I yelled. “Come back here!”

“Wow, Mom,” said Mariah. “That’s pretty cool.”

Jess’s eyes watered. “I knew you’d love it.”

No. No. No.

“This is insane,” I said. “They’re getting excited and we can’t afford this house.”

“We can,” said Jess. “I promise.”

“Don’t get out, Mariah,” I said.

Mariah was out and moving faster than I’d seen her move since Hal died. She was still pretty slow but moving like she wasn’t in pain, for once.

“Look at my baby girl go,” said Jess, beaming. “I did good.”

“Jess, no.”

“Yes. Come see.”

Jess got out and walked across the lawn, looking like she had rheumatoid arthritis. She never looked like that before Hal died. It hurt me to see her like that, and I looked at the roof of the Volvo. This was going to hurt so bad, and everything already hurt so bad.

“Hi, there.”

I jumped and looked over at a smiling woman standing outside the car with a clipboard. “I’m Shelly Kaplan, the agent.”

Fantastic.

Since it didn’t look like she’d go away, I opened the door and shook her hand. “I don’t know what Jess told you, but we’re not in a position to⁠—”

Shelly’s face fell. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that we don’t… I mean, I don’t have the money for this.”

She brightened up. “It’s just the money? Money’s not a problem.”

Who do you think we are? Lotto winners?

“It kinda is,” I said.

Shelly handed me a flyer. “See.”

I can honestly say my mouth fell open. That’s only happened a couple other times in my life, bad times, not “you’re gonna get the deal of the century” times.

“Right,” said Shelly. “Come on. Let’s take a look.”

“Hold on. Is this a murder house or something?” I asked.

Shelly fidgeted with her clipboard but said, “No one has been murdered in this house. We have to disclose things like that.”

“How old is it?”

“One hundred and fifty-two years young and in excellent condition,” said Shelly.

“One hundred and fifty-two years and nobody’s died in there?”

“Not that we know of.”

“Why’s it so cheap?”

She hooked her arm through mine and dragged me onto the lawn. “It’s not cheap. It’s a bargain. The sellers are very motivated.”

“How long has it been on the market?”

“A while.”

“How long is a while?”

Shelly ignored my question and focused on the exterior, telling me about the original spindles and woodwork.

“What’s wrong with it?” I asked.

“Nothing. Prime condition.”

We walked onto the porch, where my boys were practically vibrating, and even Mariah looked excited.

“Are we in luck or what?” Jess asked.

“Or what,” I said.

“You can’t be serious. This house is amazing,” said Max.

“Hey,” said Henri, pointing past us toward the lawn. “What’s that?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Jess reached out to grab him, but Henri was too quick for her and raced down the steps to where there was an odd crowd of For Sale signs. He plucked one out of the ground and revealed a permanent sign. It was electrified and had a space where words could be placed to advertise something, kind of like an old movie theater sign.

“Cool,” said Max as Henri ran back to him. “Was this a theater for plays and stuff?”

“Not exactly,” said Shelly, pulling out her key and quickly opening one of the enormous oak front doors. “Let’s go in, shall we?”

“No, we shall not,” I said.

“Why not, Mom?” asked the boys together.

“This house is way better than our house,” said Max. “Dad’ll be pissed.”

“You want to know why this house is so cheap?” I asked.

They shrugged.

“It’s a funeral home.”

The boys looked at each other and high-fived. “Awesome!”

The Eggs were back to sunny-side up and ran into the house, shouting about the coolness.

I looked at Mariah, waiting for something terrible to happen, a burst of tears, vomiting, or who knows what, but Mariah shrugged and followed the boys.

“See,” said Jess.

“We can’t buy a funeral home,” I said. “Your husband just died and I want to kill mine.”

Jess snatched the flyer out of my hand and waved it around. “For that price, we certainly can.”

“You have lost it.”

“Well, let’s take advantage before I get it back.” Jess went into the former Otto Funeral Home, leaving me slack-jawed and the realtor thrilled.

“Wonderful,” said Shelly. “I’ve been trying to sell this house for ten years.”

I crossed my arms. “No kidding.”

“Really. Ten years, and this is an amazing property.”

“That was chock-full of dead people,” I said.

Shelly smiled in a strained way, and I began to feel sorry for the poor woman. Ten years was a long time to be stuck with a property.

“Only for a hundred years,” she said. “Before that, it was a family home.”

“That’s something, I suppose.”

“Libby. May I call you Libby?” Shelly asked.

I nodded.

“In all honesty, this is a wonderful house, and it’s not only its former use that’s caused a problem with selling it.”

“Enlighten me.”

“It’s huge for one. How many families want a house this size?”

“Seven bedrooms is a lot.”

“And two offices, double parlors, two staircases, and servants’ quarters in the attic,” said Shelly. “I’ve had a huge amount of interest in turning it into apartments or another business, but it’s not allowed.”

I frowned. “Why not?”

“The town zoning that was done in 1920 included this house known as the McCormack mansion. It’s only allowed to be used as a funeral home. That’s it.”

I gazed up at the beautiful woodwork. Even the roof of the porch had gleaming wood and ornate moldings. “Why not apartments? Is that considered a business too?”

“No. The house is on the national register of historic homes and the town charter says it can’t be significantly altered,” said Shelly with a sigh.

“Hold on,” I said. “We can’t renovate the kitchen if we want?”

“You definitely can.” Shelly smiled. “You just can’t change it structurally. And once you see the kitchen, you won’t want to change it.”

I pursed my lips and eyed the realtor.

Shelly crossed her heart. “I swear to you it is truly amazing. A real cook’s paradise.”

“I still think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Shelly avoided my eyes. “I’m telling you everything I can tell you.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

The realtor took a breath and said, “I’m telling you everything that is on the record with the house.”

“What’s off the record?”

“How would I know?” Shelly asked with a bright smile. “It’s off the record.”

Smooth.

“Alright. Fine. Let’s see this bargain,” I said.

“You won’t be sorry.”

Now I know it’s a bad idea.

Shelly hustled by me and I followed her into an incredible foyer with an open curving staircase. Every inch of the room was paneled in dark wood, with a gorgeous chandelier hanging from the ceiling that was covered in decorative plasterwork.

“Holy crap,” I said.

“I know,” said Shelly. “Every time I walk in, it takes my breath away. The carpets are included. They were custom-made for the room. I had them cleaned about five years ago, but they are a little dusty.”

Everything was a lot dusty, but that didn’t mar the workmanship that went into the room. I spun in a circle to take it all in. I never imagined living in a house like that. The closest I thought I’d get was watching HGTV.

“Do you love it?” Shelly asked.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Max and Henri ran in and grabbed me by the arms.

“Come on, Mom. Look at this,” said Henri. “It’s the best.”

The boys dragged me through an arched doorway into an enormous room that had two fireplaces with mantels that went clear to the ceiling.

“We could play basketball in here,” said Max.

“Or lacrosse,” said Henri. “This is more a lacrosse room.”

I smiled at the enthusiasm. “You don’t play either.”

“We could learn,” said Max. “In here. It’s huge.”

Shelly started telling us about the specs of the room, where the mantels were made, and which artist made the stained-glass windows that flanked both fireplaces.

“This is a parlor?” I asked as the boys started doing sprints down the length of the room.

“Technically, it’s a ballroom, but we call it a parlor,” said Shelly, getting nervous again. “Parlor is less…grand.”

“Oh, it’s grand alright,” I said. “What are we supposed to do with this?”

Max ran as fast as he could, dove onto his belly, and slid across the wide planks in the hardwood floor. “Anything we want!”

“We don’t have this much furniture.”

Jess and Mariah walked in and Jess said, “We have two households’ worth. It’ll be fine.”

“What’s it cost to heat this place?” I asked.

“Jeez, Mom,” said Henri. “Who cares?”

“I do. We have to pay for that.”

Jess put an arm around my shoulders and said, “We’re splitting it, remember?”

“We don’t have the money for even a split. You’re not up to teaching right now, and I haven’t worked outside the home in forever.”

“The insurance has to pay me,” said Jess, and her bottom lip quivered.

That made my lip quiver, and I hugged her. “They will. I’m not trying to be a killjoy. I’m being practical.”

“We need a place to live.” Jess pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. “That is practical.”

“Nothing about this place is practical,” I said.

“It has an elevator,” said Mariah.

I spun around. “What?”

“Where?” yelled the boys in unison.

“At the back of the house,” said Mariah.

“Awesome!” The Eggs ran out, chortling with glee.

I put my hands on my hips. “Are you trying to say we need an elevator?”

“It’ll be easier to put things in the basement,” said Mariah. “I hate carrying all the Christmas stuff up and down the stairs.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“That’s because you make the boys do it. Who’s gonna do it when they move out and you’re old?”

Jess wiped a tear off her cheek. “We’re not quite geezers yet.”

Mariah wrinkled her nose.

“We’re not.”

“I know, but do you smell that?” Mariah said.

Jess and I sniffed.

“Let’s look at the kitchen,” said Shelly. “Right this way. Come on. Time’s a wastin’. Things to do. A fabulous house to see.”

The realtor grabbed Jess and me by the arms and pulled us out of the ballroom.

“Smells like cigarette smoke,” said Mariah.

“Maybe,” I said. “Could it be from the fireplace? Has someone been squatting in here?”

“No, no,” said Shelly. “Those fireplaces haven’t been lit in ten years, but they are sound. We had them checked.”

“It’s cigarette smoke,” said Mariah.

“No one has been in here in months,” said Shelly. “Right through this archway. Look at that craftsmanship. You don’t see that anymore.”

“I’m a supertaster,” said Mariah. “It’s cigarette smoke.”

“Are you tasting the air?” Shelly asked. “I don’t think so.”

“Supertasters have other heightened senses,” said Jess. “If my daughter said there’s cigarette smoke, there’s cigarette smoke.”

“Okay. You got me. They used to allow smoking during funerals. They weren’t supposed to, but they did. I’m sure when the house is lived in again, it will go away.” Shelly got behind Jess and gently pushed her through the archway.

Mariah looked at me. “It’s fresh cigarette smoke.”

“I know,” I said.

Shelly came back and started pushing me. “You’ll love the kitchen.”

“The smoky kitchen? In the smoky house?” I asked.

“It’s not that smoky,” said Mariah.

“Whose side are you on?”

Mariah gave me her usual wan smile. “My mom’s.”

“You always have the right answer,” I said.

The girl’s face fell. “No. That was Dad.”

“Where do you think you got it from?” I took her arm, and we walked into the kitchen. “Wow.”

Jess spread her arms wide. “I know, right? It has two dishwashers. Look at the Sub-Zero fridge, and I’ve never even seen a stove like that before.”

We gathered around a black stove that looked like it was out of the 1800s with brass fittings and two wide ovens and a couple of large drawers.

“It’s a La Cornue,” said Shelly. “Top of the line.”

Jess started opening doors. “It’s amazing.”

“Why did a funeral home have this?” I asked.

“It was the family home as well, and they had catering for the…events,” said Shelly.

Jess went over and ran her hands over one of the countertops. “This one’s marble. Perfect for your baking, Mariah.”

“Baking?” I asked.

“She was thinking of starting a custom cake business.”

“That was before,” said Mariah. “I don’t want to anymore.”

“Dad would be sad to hear that,” said Jess. “He wouldn’t want you to give up because he’s not around anymore.”

“You make it sound like he’s on a business trip. Dad died. I don’t want to bake or eat or do anything.” Mariah’s cheeks flushed, and she reached up to put on her headphones again, but then stopped with a funny look on her face.

Jess touched her arm. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“The smoke’s gone.”

Shelly sucked in her lips and her eyes darted around.

I frowned and said, “Now it smells like…”

“Cologne,” said Jess.

I nodded. “That’s so weird. It smells like Ralph Lauren Polo.”

Shelly waved her clipboard. “That’s probably the cleaning stuff they used. Very fruity.”

“You said nobody had been in here,” I said.

“Well, not nobody.”

“Then who—” Before I could finish my sentence, the boys ran in so fast, they rammed into the enormous center island.

“We’ll take it!” they shouted.

“Hold on.”

“We have to buy this house, Mom,” said Max. “It’s going to make the best haunted house ever.”

I looked at them and then Mariah, who’d frozen in place. “I don’t think we’re going to do the haunted house this year.”

“We have to do it,” said Henri. “It was Hal’s favorite thing.”

“Come on, Mariah,” said Max. “You and your dad rocked Halloween. You always had the best costumes. It was your thing. This year, we’ll do it together. It’s gonna be great.”

Mariah swallowed hard and then asked, “Why?”

“There’s a super creepy room in the basement with body fridges in it. Can you imagine how terrifying we can make that? It’s going to be better than the year you did the haunted swamp, and that made people pee.”

“No peeing,” said Jess automatically.

“Oh, they are so going to pee,” said Max. “We should hand out diapers.”

“Okay,” I said. “This was nice. The house is amazing, but obviously, not for us.”

“Why not?” Jess asked, although she’d gone super pale.

“Why not? There’s a morgue in the basement.”

Shelly stepped up. “Technically, not a morgue. They called it the preparation room.”

“Not a big difference.”

Jess put her shoulders back and said, “There is a difference. It’s fine. We can take out those fridge things and make it a game room or something.”

“No way,” said Henri.

“Yeah, it’s too cool,” said Max.

A smile flickered for a moment on Mariah’s face.

“It’s creepy,” I said. “Heck, it’s beyond creepy.”

“I think it’s okay,” said Mariah.

I turned to her. “Sweetheart, it’s morbid, and you’re grieving. You both are. We can’t live here.”

“We’re all grieving,” said Jess.

Mariah looked around, sniffing. “So weird,” she muttered.

“Yeah, we’re all sad,” said Henri. “We loved Hal too. He was the greatest.”

“He really was,” said Max. “He’d have loved this house.”

I don’t know how to fight them all.

I took a breath. “We have to get rid of those fridge things.”

Shelly stepped up with moist eyes. “I’m sorry. You can’t.”

“What?”

The realtor swallowed hard. “They’re vintage. Removing them would be considered a structural change.”

“Oh, dear Lord,” I said. “Well, that does it.”

“Please, just look at the rest of the house,” begged Shelly. “It’s worth it. It really is.”

“I agree,” said Jess. “Mariah and I have seen the whole thing. We love it.”

Mariah nodded.

“You can’t be serious, Jess,” I said. “There are other houses. We’ll find a place that wasn’t death central.”

“I can’t avoid death,” she said.

“You don’t have to live in it.”

“We need this,” said Jess.

I shook my head. “We don’t. I’ll figure something out. Derek can move. I’ll get a better lawyer.”

“Better than Derek? That’s not a thing,” said Jess. “This house is perfect for us.”

“Except for all the reasons it’s not perfect.”

“Trust me.”

I looked at my friend and I just couldn’t. Jess could barely feed herself since Hal died. I took care of the bills, pestered the insurance company, and hired a lawyer to pester the insurance company. Jess forgot what day it was, and I once caught her walking down the street in her bathrobe and bare feet. She didn’t know where she was going, and that was only last week.

“I’m sorry. No,” I said.

Jess took a breath. “Can I speak to you privately?”

“We have no secrets from the kids.”

Jess eyeballed me and repeated, “Privately.”

“Okay, if you insist.”

Jess led the way out of the kitchen and into a huge pantry. At least, I assumed it was a pantry from all the shelving. I found myself fantasizing about filling it up. My collection of Le Creuset and Staub would finally have decent space.

“Libby, I have to tell you something.” Jess pulled a cord that dangled from the light switch and then closed the door.

“This isn’t creepy at all,” I said.

“It’s just a pantry. Your dream pantry.”

“Jess, we can’t. I know Mariah says she likes it, but she’s so depressed. This could make it worse.”

“It’s the right house,” said Jess. “The boys are right. Hal would love it, and the haunted-house idea is wonderful. It’s a great way to honor him.”

“It’s a funeral home. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end right now.”

Jess looked to the side. “Oh, yeah. Mine are too.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

She shrugged.

“That was fresh cigarette smoke. Shelly is lying.”

“I know, and I don’t care,” said Jess.

“Why? I know you. You’re so careful about everything. You never leave anything to chance.”

“And look where that got me.”

“It’s not your fault he died. The doctors said nothing could’ve changed it.”

“If he’d been closer to the hospital…” She trailed off.

“No, Jess,” I said. “Even if he’d been in the hospital, he might not have made it.”

“I know. I’m trying to know.” Jess hugged me and then stepped back. “We have to get out of your house.”

“We can wait,” I said.

“No, we can’t,” said Jess. “You said we don’t have secrets from the kids.”

Not loving that tone.

“Yeah?”

“I have a secret that I’ve kept from all of you.”

A pit formed in my stomach. “Are you going to tell me?”

Jess went on to say that she’d woken up in the middle of the night on the previous Friday and caught Derek sneaking the woman he was having an affair with into the house.

“Our house?” I said in astonishment. “With the boys and Mariah there?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“That it was his house and if he wanted to have a guest, he would.”

I grabbed one of the shelves to keep myself from keeling over. “He’s lost his mind.”

“He has. Hal’s death threw him for a loop.”

“So he has an affair with his paralegal and decides to divorce me six weeks later? He was happy before. Everything was fine.”

“It’s a midlife crisis on steroids. We have to get out of the house. The boys are doing fine, but they can’t see that. They don’t know about the affair.”

“Well, he saw reason when you talked to him. He left,” I said.

Jess grimaced.

“He didn’t?”

“I may have called his side piece a dingbat whore.”

I broke into a smile that surprised me. “Oh yeah?”

“She scurried out pretty fast, but we can’t kid ourselves. It’s going to happen again.”

“What an idiot. I married an idiot.”

Jess sighed. “Once you two opened the firm, Hal said Derek was on a freight train to the top and he never bothered to look out the window to see the view.”

“Well, he’s soaking up the view plenty now,” I said.

“I don’t want the kids to know, and I think he’s getting crazier. Have you noticed all the empty liquor bottles?”

I nodded. “Why won’t he just move out?”

Jess patted my arm. “It doesn’t matter why. He’s not going, so we have to.”

We have to leave. We really do.

“This house?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re sure.”

She smiled. “I’m sure.”

I opened the pantry door to find the kids and Shelly hovering outside. The realtor had her phone to her ear.

“I’m authorized to lower the price by ten percent,” she said.

That’s not desperate at all.

I turned to Jess. “I still have a weird feeling about this. Don’t you?”

“I’ve felt weird for three months—when I can feel anything at all, that is,” said Jess, smiling faintly at Mariah.

“Alright. Let’s pick bedrooms,” I said.

The kids high-fived, and Shelly dabbed away a tear. She wasn’t the only one.

Chapter Two

“What in the world?” I stuck the tip of my shovel under the edge of the metal sign mount in our new front yard and put all my weight on it. The shovel bent and the sign didn’t budge.

“It must be set in the concrete,” said Jess, panting from the other side with a pry bar in her hands.

“Or it’s bolted down. Is that a thing?”

“How would I know?”

“We have to get this thing up,” I said.

Jess stepped back and tugged at her ponytail, which had gotten slightly less snarled since we bought the house. “It’s not that bad. Maybe we can do something with it. It doesn’t say it’s for a funeral home.”

“It doesn’t have to.” I looked at the sign that was deceptively flimsy looking. It was old, metal, and missing the bulbs and letter brackets it would’ve had in its funeral heyday. The top only sported the address #8 Elizabeth Street.

“The address is nice. We can put planters around it,” said Jess.

“It will still be what it is.”

“Who are we kidding? Everyone knows. I went to the grocery store yesterday and six people stopped and asked me if we really bought the place.”

“That’s weird.” I stuck the shovel tip under the edge again for another go.

“We’re celebrities,” said Jess.

“What did they say?”

She shrugged. “Not a lot. They wanted to know if we really bought it. If we’d spent the night yet.”

“Why’d they ask that?” I asked.

“I don’t know. They did want to know if we were messing up the interiors, like stripping or painting the wood.”

I put my weight on the shovel again. “That would be a nightmare. Half the house is woodwork.”

“That’s what I said. They were relieved. The house is a local landmark. Everyone seems happy that it’s going to be occupied again. Oh, and one lady from the historical society asked if we’d consider doing an open house when they do a home tour at Christmas.”

The shovel bent further, and I tossed it onto the lawn before looking over at the moving men hauling boxes inside. “Do you think we’ll be unpacked by then?”

“What else do we have to do?” Jess asked.

“Get jobs,” I said.

“Besides that.”

I kicked the sign. “And remove this thing.”

“That will take more than a swift kick, I’m afraid,” said a man.

I spun around to find an elderly couple walking around the moving van. The lady wore a pretty red coat and held a cake on a stand.

“Oh, hi,” I said. “I didn’t see you there. I’m Libby and this is Jess. We just bought the house.”

“We know, and we’re so excited,” the man said. “I’m Vern, and this is my wife, Peg. We’re from next door.”

“Two doors down,” said Peg. “The one with the Mansard roof.”

“I love that house,” said Jess. “It looks just like a dollhouse.”

Peg beamed at her. “That’s what I said the first time I saw it. I knew it was the house for me, or us, rather.”

“We’re sorry to disturb you,” said Vern. “But we wanted to introduce ourselves and see how you were getting on.”

“Fine,” I said. “Except for this sign.”

“They put that in the year we moved in, 1970. They used a kind of industrial glue, the kind of stuff that’s probably illegal now. I think you’ll need a backhoe.”

“Vern, that is not good news,” I said with a smile. “Lucky for you, we don’t kill messengers around here. Would you like to come in?”

“We’d love to,” said Peg. “I brought a Bundt.”

“That’s so nice,” said Jess. “Thank you.”

The couple joined us to walk up the front steps and then stepped aside as a couple of movers came out, wiping sweat from their brows.

“At least it’s chilly out,” said Vern.

“I’m burning up,” said one man. “Ma’am, do you mind if we take a break?”

“Of course,” said Jess. “Go ahead.”

They nodded and went over to the van to pull out a cooler.

“Come on in.” I led them into the foyer.

“My goodness,” said Peg. “It hasn’t changed at all.”

“We haven’t been in here since…” Vern trailed off.

“It happened in 2004,” said Peg. “It just wasn’t the same after.”

“After what?” Jess asked.

Peg and Vern lit up.

“You don’t know the history of the house?” Vern asked.

“Only the basics,” I said. “Come into the kitchen and tell us.”

We walked through the house, skirting towers of boxes and plastic-wrapped furniture. One of the movers, a young man with a wispy blond mustache, was trying to talk to Mariah while she pulled a lamp out of a box. Jess raised her eyebrows, but Mariah just shrugged. I eyeballed him as we went past and into the kitchen. He grinned in response.

“This is the best kitchen,” said Peg. “Are you ladies cooks?”

“Well, Libby is,” said Jess. “I’m mainly a dedicated eater.”

Peg put the Bundt cake on the island between two boxes labeled Pots and Pans. “You certainly don’t look it. Thin as a rail.”

“Peg!” exclaimed Vern.

“She knows she’s thin. It’s not breaking news,” said Peg.

“My wife is⁠—”

“A mother and a truth-teller,” interjected Peg.

“Overly honest,” said Vern, with a sharp look at his wife.

Jess smiled. “That’s not a bad thing, and she’s right. I’ve lost a lot of weight recently.”

“We heard,” said Peg, “you lost your husband. We’re very sorry.”

Jess swallowed hard and said, “Where did you hear that?”

“Word gets around. Everyone is curious. Number Eight has been on the market for so long, but we’re all glad you bought it. This place is perfect for you.”

“Why in particular?” I asked.

“It’s a very comforting house,” said Vern. “It’ll help you.”

Peg adjusted the cake stand. “Number Eight has just been waiting for the right person, and now you’re here.”

“Why are we the right people?” Jess asked.

“Because you’re grieving. The Otto family was wonderful with the bereaved,” said Vern. “Truly wonderful. You were lucky if you departed from Number Eight. Your family was lucky. They had a waiting list.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” said Peg. “People waited instead of going elsewhere, sometimes as long as two or three weeks.”

“Or a month,” said Vern. “Remember that flu epidemic in ninety-five?”

“I forgot about that. Mildred Haas waited five and a half weeks. Her daughter refused to go anywhere else. She had to have Leo. No one else would do.”

“Leo?” Jess asked.

“He was just wonderful. Such a comfort and so kind. Not like Darren.” Vern made a face. “That boy tried, but he just didn’t have Leo’s way with people.”

“Who are we talking about?” I asked as I dug through a box in search of my coffee maker.

“The Otto family,” said Peg. “Didn’t they tell you? This was the Otto family home for a hundred years. They were the funeral directors and lived upstairs. Darren was the last generation. He ran the business right into the ground.”

“He didn’t have half of Leo’s charm,” said Vern.

“Half?” Peg said. “He didn’t have any charm at all.”

Vern sighed, and his wife just eyed him.

“I found it.” I lifted my beloved coffee maker out of the third box I tried. “Would you like some coffee? I’m sure I can find the cups.”

“No, thank you, dear,” said Vern. “We didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

“It’s no trouble,” said Jess. “We’d love to know more about the house.”

“We’re full of stories,” said Peg. “We’ll come back when you’ve settled in. Enjoy the cake.”

“What kind is it?” I asked. “It smells delicious.”

“It’s Peg’s own invention. An apple ugly cake.”

We all looked at the cake on its pedestal, and it was not attractive the way cakes usually were. The Bundt was lumpy and craggy, with chunks of apple hanging out.

“It looks bad, but it tastes great,” said Peg with a wave. “See you soon.”

“Bye now,” said Vern. “Oh, and you should watch that mover boy. I think he’s on the make.”

The couple walked out and Jess said, “On the make?”

I laughed. “Hitting on Mariah, I guess.”

“Good luck with that.”

“No kidding. Coffee?”

“Absolutely. I’ll find the cups.”

Mariah dug through a box and started tossing out baggies of cupcake papers.

“We don’t need the Halloween mugs right this instant,” said Jess.

“It’s October,” said Mariah.

I grabbed the box cutter and sliced open a box marked Dishes. “I’ll help.”

“What if they got lost?”

“They’re not lost,” said Jess with worry creeping into her voice.

I looked up and saw tears flood my friend’s eyes. “We’ll find them. Don’t worry. Remember, we have two kitchens’ worth of stuff to dig through.”

The three of us went through box after box until Mariah crowed, “Here they are.”

She held up Hal’s favorite, a black and white mug covered in dancing skeletons. “Can I use it?” she asked her mother.

Blinking rapidly, Jess nodded, and Mariah made herself a hot cocoa. After the first sip, I watched her thin shoulders drop as she relaxed.

“See. It’s all good,” I said.

Mariah nodded but looked less certain, and her shoulders crept back up.

“What?” Jess asked.

“Do we have to start school tomorrow?”

Jess looked at me, and I nodded. “It’s all arranged. You and the boys have your schedules. They’re expecting you.”

“Do I care what they expect?” Mariah asked, with a hint of bitterness in her young voice.

Jess went over and wrapped her arms around her daughter. “No, I suppose not, but it has to happen sometime.”

“I can home-school.”

“You’d miss out on prom and homecoming,” I said. “All the stuff.”

“I don’t care about that,” said Mariah.

“Your dad did.”

She looked over at me with blazing eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“But it’s true,” I said. “Hal loved all your school stuff. He wanted you to do everything, try everything, just like he did.”

She pulled away from her mother and said, “You think I’m letting him down?”

I started pulling out more mugs. “Not at all, but if you think the best way to honor him is to lock yourself away and stop enjoying life, you’re wrong. Nobody loved life more than him.”

“Who’s gonna walk me down the aisle?” Mariah asked in a harsh whisper.

“What?” Jess asked.

“Nothing.”

One of the movers came in, an older man named John, and looked nervously around at us, a trio of tense women. “I’m sorry to bother you, but we’re ready for the bedrooms. Can someone come and tell me which furniture goes where?”

I started for him, but Mariah pushed past me. “I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have to⁠—”

“I’m doing it.” Mariah went through the archway, and John looked at Jess and me.

“Is she okay?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said. “She recently lost her father.”

He ran his hands through his scant hair and said, “That’s rough. I lost my dad when I was ten.”

Jess wiped a tear off her cheek. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It gets better. Takes a long time, but it does get better. I’ll tell the guys to be extra sensitive.”

“We appreciate that,” I said.

John started to leave and then stopped. “Do you smell that?”

“We do, but we don’t know where it’s coming from,” said Jess.

“Smells like cologne.”

We shrugged, and he smiled. “There’s worse smells when you move into a house. Trust me. Last month, we were moving a family into a house in Owensville. We were almost done when the owner started putting in a new light fixture in the kitchen. The ceiling collapsed, and it was filled with dead rats. The smell was unbelievable.”

“Didn’t they get an inspection?” Libby asked.

“The inspection was falsified. They’re suing. We thought it smelled off in there, but you never want to say, ‘Hey, your new house stinks.’”

“Holy cannoli,” said Jess, looking around.

“I’m sure this house is fine,” said John. “It doesn’t smell. Well, not bad, anyway. I better go herd some cats.”

He left a feeling of unease in his wake. Jess and I looked at each other. The cologne smell had been intermittent. We hadn’t smelled it all day and then suddenly it was there, subtle and oddly comforting.

“Do you think we should check out our inspector?” Jess asked.

“What was her name?”

“I don’t even know, but I’m nervous.”

“It’s cologne, Jess,” I said. “Not rotting rats.”

“It could be covering up the rotting rats.”

I shook my head. “There’s not enough cologne in the world.”

We drank our coffee and started back on the boxes, negotiating whose plates went in which cabinet and which cookware would be for everyday use. About half the boxes were empty when Jess spun around so fast on the foot ladder that she fell off, nearly cracking her head on the island.

I ran over and grabbed her. “Are you okay? Are you dizzy?”

“Is that Mariah?” Jess asked.

“What?”

Then I heard it, a high-pitched screech. We took off running, bumping into each other as we went through the archway and sliding around on the newly polished hardwood.

“Mariah!” Jess yelled.

“Mariah!” I yelled.

John ran in through the front door. “What is that?”

There was a loud thump, and we looked up the staircase to see the mover with the wispy mustache bump into the wall on the second floor. He screeched and batted the air around his head, spinning in a circle.

“Terry, what are you doing?” John yelled.

Terry just screeched louder and started down the stairs. Mariah appeared at the railing and yelled, “What happened?”

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Jess.

“Mom, what’s wrong with him?” Mariah yelled.

“I don’t know!”

John started up the stairs as Terry picked up speed. He’d made it halfway down when he tripped, still waving his arms wildly, and fell, tumbling down until he hit John and took him out too.

“Holy cannoli!” Jess yelled.

I went to help, but Terry jumped to his feet, screeched, spun in a circle waving his arms, and ran out the front door past two guys carrying a mattress. His screeching faded away, and I turned to John, groaning at the foot of the staircase.

“Jess, call 911.”

Jess fumbled for her phone and John struggled to sit up. “No, I’m okay.”

I knelt by him. “You can’t be. You fell really hard.”

“I played football for Mizzou. I took worse hits than that on a light practice day,” he said with a smile. “Help me up.”

“His neck,” said Jess. “Don’t let him move.”

John got up on his own. “Too late, ladies. I’m fine. Don’t call an ambulance.” He put his large hands on either side of his neck and gave it a good crack. “All better now.”

I looked out the front door. “What about Terry?”

“Hey, Bart, did you see where Terry went?” John asked one of the guys carrying the mattress.

“To the left, I think,” said Bart. “Can’t hear him anymore.”

“Can you go find that idiot?”

“Sure thing, but what about this mattress?”

“I’ll take it,” said John.

Bart propped the mattress against the wall and left.

The other mover asked John, “Are you gonna fire him this time?”

“I hate to do it, but the kid can’t be acting like this,” said John.

“Fire him?” Jess asked. “We don’t know what happened.”

The other mover said, “He was probably tripping. Not the first time.”

Mariah came down the stairs, gripping the handrail a little too hard.

“Are you okay?” John asked her and then sniffed. The cologne was a lot stronger in the foyer.

“Yeah,” she said as she stopped next to the newel post. “It was so weird. One second he was fine and the next, he freaked out.”

Jess went over and hugged her. “Did he say anything?”

“To me?” Mariah asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, kinda.”

John went to attention. “What did he do?”

“Nothing, really.” She blushed and looked away.

I will wring his scrawny neck.

I turned to John and said, “You can take that as a something.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.” John cracked his knuckles. “We can call the police.”

Mariah blushed harder. “It’s nothing. He was just kinda hitting on me and got closer when I was reaching into a box. Then he was screaming, but I didn’t do anything to him, I swear.”

“We know, honey,” said Jess.

“He’s fired,” said John.

“Oh, no. I don’t want him to lose his job,” said Mariah. “It was fine. Really.”

“Young lady, I can only imagine how close he got. We’ve been on the edge of firing him for months. It’s one problem after another. This is just the last straw.”

“I don’t want it to be my fault,” she said.

“It’s his fault,” said John with a smile. “Now, where does this mattress go?”

Mariah smiled back and said she’d lead the way. The movers got the mattress into my room and were back for my head and footboards before Bart returned with a sniveling Terry, who claimed he was being attacked by bees. He had no stings but was genuinely distraught. Bart put him in the van and said, “Definitely tripping. What a loser. Getting high at work. Geez.”

The boys walked in and asked why one of the movers was crying in the van.

“Did you already fire him?” I asked.

“Not yet,” said John.

“Maybe we need to take him to the hospital,” said Jess.

Bart shook his head. “I tried. He said no. The cops said it was fine.”

“Cops?” I asked.

Bart laughed and said that he’d caught up with Terry at the riverside park, where local law enforcement had corralled him. Bart tried to talk them out of charging Terry with disturbing the peace, since he had hurt no one but himself, and the kindergarten group he’d startled were fine. Still, they would not let it go until he told them where they were working and that he was sure that the owners wouldn’t want anything to be done.

“As soon as I said we were at Number Eight Elizabeth Street, they totally dropped it,” said Bart. “You ladies got some pull.”

Jess and I looked at each other.

“We don’t have pull,” said Jess. “We don’t know anyone except some people at the school and the realtor.”

“Guess that’s enough.”

“What happened?” Max asked.

“Yeah, we miss everything,” said Henri.

Mariah took the bags out of their hands. “I’ll tell you all about it later. I’m starved.” She dug in the bag. “Who wants a meatball sub?”

“John?” I asked. “You look like a meatball sub guy?”

“We didn’t order anything,” he said hastily.

I smiled. “We ordered it all. The least we can do is give you lunch. That’s a lot of stuff and a lot of stairs.”

“That’s very nice of you. Most owners don’t offer so much as a glass of water.”

“We’re not most people,” said Max. “You like chips or Fritos?”

John picked Fritos and the rest of the guys got their subs, including the still-crying Terry, who was begging to keep his job. He wanted to take a drug test to prove he did nothing wrong. John wasn’t quite convinced, but he said he would take him over to the police station if he insisted.

After eating, everyone got back to work. John’s crew finished for the day at six and he said they’d come back with the second load at eight the next morning.

“With Terry?” Mariah asked with a tinge of guilt.

“No,” said John. “Even if I don’t end up firing him, he won’t be back here.”

“The cops really said he wasn’t high?” I asked.

John frowned and said yes, they had. He’d taken Terry to the station after he kept insisting that he wanted to be tested. The cops gave him a breathalyzer and ran him through their normal field sobriety test, and when he passed both of those, they gave him a roadside oral fluid test. He passed, but he kept with his story that he’d been attacked by bees. The cops were oddly on his side and said that under the circumstances, he should be given another chance.

“What circumstances?” Jess asked.

“Beats me, but they were really nice about the whole thing.”

“Weird,” I said.

“I thought so,” said John. “See you tomorrow. Have a good night.”

John left, and Jess closed the door behind him.

“I don’t know what to think,” I said. “Why bees?”

“He really believed it,” said Mariah. “He wasn’t faking.”

Jess nodded. “He wasn’t.”

We looked up the stairs and listened.

“You didn’t see any bees?” I asked.

“I didn’t see any bugs at all. We’ve got spiders,” said Mariah, “but I don’t mind them.”

Jess held out her hand to Mariah and said, “Let’s see if we can clear a place for dinner.”

“Shouldn’t Max and Henri be back by now?” Mariah asked, taking her mom’s hand. “They did almost nothing today.”

“They skated, for sure,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll work them hard before bed. We’ve got two china cabinets to fill.”

“Sweet.” Mariah looked back up the stairs. “What do we do if the bees are real and come back?”

Jess and I looked at each other. There wasn’t a single idea between the two of us, not a single one.

Chapter Three

Kitchen organization continued until the boys walked in an hour later with a stack of pizza boxes and a two-liter bottle of Dr Pepper.

“I told you no Dr Pepper,” I said. “It spazzes you out.”

“We didn’t buy it,” said Max. “They gave it to us.”

The boys put the boxes on the island and grinned at me.

“The pizza place gave you soda for free?” Mariah asked. “How come?”

They shrugged. “We ordered and gave our address. When we went over, they gave us Dr Pepper.”

“You asked for Dr Pepper?” Jess asked.

“No,” said Max. “I swear. They just said it was included for Number Eight.”

I frowned. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. I swear, it was free, and they just gave it to us,” said Henri.

“They must’ve said something,” said Jess. “A new-customer promo, maybe?”

The boys looked at each other and Max said, “Well…”

Jess and I put our hands on our hips.

“We didn’t do anything,” said Max.

“But?” I asked.

Max looked around and said, “Well, they said it was tradition.”

“What tradition?” Jess asked.

Mariah made a face. “Since when is free soda a tradition?”

“I don’t flipping know,” said Max. “They said it was a tradition for Number Eight and they were glad that they could do it again.”

Henri flipped open the top pizza box and took a whiff. “We didn’t know what to say. It’d be impolite to say no when they were happy.”

“And…” Max trailed off.

“And what?” asked his mother.

He pointed at me. “I am not making this up, Mom. You can totally ask them.”

“Alright,” I said. “What did they say?”

“That we had to drink it with the pizza.”

“Oh, come on,” said Mariah. “You just want Dr Pepper.”

The boys crossed their hearts, and Max gave me his phone. “Call them. I am not making it up.”

I took the phone, torn on whether or not I should trust my boys. They weren’t liars, as a general rule.

Mariah snatched the phone out of my hand. “I’ll call them.”

“Go for it,” said Henri. “I’m eating.”

He grabbed a slice, and Mariah dialed. Jess got the plates out while Mariah had a brief conversation about Dr Pepper.

“So?” I asked.

“They’re telling the truth,” said Mariah.

“Told you!” crowed the boys.

I held up my hands. “Okay. Okay. But did they say why they gave us the soda?”

Mariah grabbed the bottle and cracked it open with a rush of fizz. “She said what Max said. It’s a tradition for Number Eight.”

“Our house has a soda tradition?” Jess asked.

“Yep.”

“Um…why?”

“She didn’t know. She just works there, but the owner said that whenever Number Eight orders pizza, free Dr Pepper comes with it, and we have to have it with the pizza. She thought it was weird too.”

This makes me so nervous.

I got out some glasses. “Alright. Dr Pepper it is.”

“This is weird, right?” Jess asked.

“Weirder than a phantom bee attack?” I asked.

“Well, maybe not weirder.”

Mariah poured us all glasses of Dr Pepper. We got our slices and then raised our glasses.

“To Number Eight and free soda,” said Max.

“To making a home,” I said.

“To home,” we all said together.

After we finished eating, Mariah shot to her feet. “Poptart!”

Max and Henri looked around. “Where?”

“I totally forgot. He’s still in his box,” she said. “Can I let him out?”

“Of course,” said Jess. “I put his pan in the utility room. You’ll have to show him.”

Mariah left and came back with a blue plastic cat carrier. “I thought I better let him out where we all are so he won’t be scared.”

“Good idea,” I said.

She squatted down and opened the door. Poptart slinked out. He was a black cat with long fur and golden eyes, easy to purr, and surprisingly smart when it came to getting kibble.

“Hey, Tarty,” said Max. “What’s ya doing there?”

Poptart went around sniffing everything and rubbing his cheeks on the legs of our stools.

“He’s chill,” said Henri, picking up another slice. How he fit it in was a mystery to me.

“How can you still be eating?” asked Mariah.

He shoved half a piece in his mouth and said, “Like this.”

“Gross.”

“It’s time to clear,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Max. “Eating.”

“Speaking of eating.” Jess started looking around through the boxes still on the island.

“What are you looking for?” Mariah asked.

“The cake.”

“What cake?”

“Our neighbors Peg and Vern brought over a cake,” I said. “Where’d it go?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Mariah. “That smelled amazing.”

We started searching the kitchen and then I looked at the boys, who were still stuffing pizza in their faces.

“Alright. Did you eat the entire thing?” I asked.

“What are you talking about?” Max asked.

“The cake.”

“What cake?” Henri asked.

My cheeks got hot. “That is not nice at all. They brought that cake for all of us.”

The boys looked at each other and frowned.

“Mom,” said Max. “I didn’t see any cake, and I sure didn’t eat a whole one.”

“Me either,” said Henri.

Unbelievable.

I slapped the granite of the island. “It was right here. Where did it go if you didn’t eat it?”

The boys looked at Mariah.

“Seriously? You two are the eating machines,” she said.

“We didn’t eat it,” said Max.

“Then where’d it go?” Jess asked.

The boys balled up their fists and Max said, “We weren’t lying about the Dr Pepper. Why don’t you believe us now?”

“It’s a whole cake,” said Mariah.

“Maybe that weird mover swiped it,” said Henri. “We sure as heck didn’t.”

“They weren’t even in the kitchen this afternoon,” said Jess. “This is ridiculous.”

“What kind of cake was it?” Max asked.

“Oh, come on,” said Mariah. “Just admit you ate it. You eat everything.”

“We do not.”

“Last week I saw you eat an entire loaf of bread. By yourself.”

“I was hungry,” said Max.

Mariah put her hands on her hips in an imitation of Jess. “When aren’t you? I really wanted that cake.”

“What kind was it?” Henri asked.

“An apple ugly cake,” I said.

The boys made faces, and the way they did it gave me pause. Their distaste was genuine. I looked at them, trying to judge what to do. How to be a good mom and do the right thing? To believe or not to believe. That was the question.

I was about to say something when Poptart started growling in a low, threatening way.

“Tarty, what’s wrong?” asked Mariah.

The instant she asked, the cat started puffing up, the whole cat, not just his tail and the ridge on his back. He looked like a cartoon, all pointy fur and a pair of round golden eyes staring out of the fluff.

“What’s wrong with him?” Henri asked.

In the short moment of silence that followed his question, there was a click, and then a loud creak.

“What was that?” whispered Mariah.

We all started looking around, and the boys frowned.

“It smells like perfume in here,” said Max.

“Yeah,” said Jess. “It does that.”

The boys got very still.

“What does that?” Henri asked.

“The house. It smells like cologne,” said Mariah.

Be calm. It’s fine.

I got off my stool and stepped away from the island. “We all heard that, right?”

The group nodded.

“So there must be a door open somewhere.” I made a waving motion at them. “Get up. Let’s go find it.”

“Pass,” said Max.

“I’ll stay here and watch the pizza.” Henri took a huge bite.

Jess poked Henri in the shoulder. “You will not. There’s going to be a frost tonight. We can’t have an open door, and Poptart could get out.”

“That’s right,” I said. “We’re going to check every door and⁠—”

There was another loud click and creak. Poptart screeched and streaked out of the kitchen up the back staircase. A bite of pizza fell out of Henri’s mouth, and Max put his hoodie up.

“Okay,” I said. “It’s just a door, a creaky door.”

“In a funeral home,” said Max.

“You liked that it was a funeral home,” said Jess.

Max looked sideways. “Things change.”

“We’re going to look for that door,” I said.

Mariah shook her head. “No, we’re not.”

“Why not?”

She pointed. “I already found it.”

I turned to look and gasped. “That was not there before.”

“I’m freaking out a little,” said Henri.

Jess grabbed Mariah, holding her tight to her chest. “Who wants to walk over there?”

I looked around, and naturally, there were no volunteers. “It’s fine. Just a cabinet door that opened…on its own.”

“Two cabinet doors, to be exact,” said Max.

“Very helpful.” I walked over to the end of the bank of cabinets. Shelly had told us that the cabinets were custom and done by a local woodworker who installed them in 2002. They were elegant and simple but managed to look right in the house. The woodworker had put in thick decorative edges that mimicked the columns in other parts of the house, and two of those edges that I thought were wasted space weren’t wasted at all. They were slim cabinets about eight inches wide and went all the way up to the top of the cabinet. There were two shelves in each cabinet, and each one was full of books and papers.

This is so crazy.

I took a breath, held it, and touched the narrow door. It creaked loudly. Then I closed it and heard the click.

“Can you open it again?” Jess asked.

I tried pulling and pushing to release some hidden spring, but it didn’t open again. The boys joined me, looking underneath the cabinet for a button.

“Man, we have to get that open again,” said Max.

Jess went to the other cabinet on the opposite side of the kitchen and checked the door. “This one has little built-in clasps.”

“What’s on the shelves?” I asked.

Jess hesitated, but she pulled out a book and then smiled. “It’s a cookbook.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Nope. It’s full of recipe binders and cookbooks.”

The boys and I went over to see. I picked up one binder and smiled. “It’s all vegetarian meals.”

Max held another up. “This one’s potatoes.”

“A whole thing for potatoes?” Henri asked.

“Yeah. Somebody really liked potatoes.”

I turned around to look at Mariah, who was still on her stool. “Come look.”

“You are all missing the point,” said Mariah.

“Are we?”

“The cabinets opened by themselves.”

Max shook his head. “It’s probably just something wrong with the mechanism. No biggie.”

“Take off your hood, then,” said Mariah.

Max took off his hood triumphantly and went back to rooting around in the cabinet. “Do we have a pizza oven?”

“What makes you ask that?” I asked.

“Look here.”

I bent over a binder to look, and then it happened again. Click and creak.

We spun around and the other secret cabinet was open again. Mariah was staring at it, shaking slightly. “I know how to open it.”

“How?” Jess asked.

“Lift and pull.”

Do not panic. You’re Mom. You can’t freak out.

I swallowed hard and asked, “You saw it lift up?”

“Uh-huh,” said Mariah.

“For real?” Henri asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

“I’m out!”

Henri and Max sprinted out of the kitchen like their bottoms were on fire. Jess was frozen to her spot, and my heartbeat was triple its normal speed.

“Okay. So that’s not great,” I said.

“We can’t move,” said Jess. “We bought this house. I made you buy this house.”

It’s fine. Totally fine. You can handle this.

I threw back my shoulders. “We’re not moving. It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

“How is it?” Mariah asked. “Terry was attacked by bees. It smells like cigarette smoke and cologne. Sometimes. Now doors are opening by themselves.”

“Well, you looked up St. Sebastian,” I said. “What did it say?”

“It’s supposed to have ghosts,” said Mariah. “I told you that, but you didn’t believe it.”

“I’m looking for specifics.”

Mariah threw up her hands. “Like what?”

“Are they…bad ghosts?”

She bit her lip. “I didn’t find out until you had already bought the house, but stuff went down at the Catholic high school last year.”

“What kind of went down?” Jess asked.

“It flooded for no reason and people got hurt. There was a ghost nun, but they think she’s gone now.”

“Good thing you’re going to the public high school,” said Jess.

“Not the point, Mom.”

“Sorry.”

“Was there anything on this house?” I asked.

“Not that I saw, but it’s been empty for a long time,” said Mariah. “Should I look again?”

“Yes!”

Mariah got out her phone and started googling. “I don’t even know what to ask.”

I looked at Jess. “Remember when Poltergeist came out and everyone said what idiots the family was for staying?”

“Now we’re the idiots,” said Jess. “But where are we going to go? This took everything we had until you get a settlement and the insurance pays⁠—”

I grabbed her arm. “What is it? What happened?”

“Look,” said Jess.

“I don’t want to.”

“You want to.”

I turned around to see a piece of paper slowly sliding out of the cabinet, completely on its own. It got free of the crowded space and gently floated to the floor.

“Did you pee?” Jess asked. “I think I peed.”

“You’re always peeing,” said Mariah.

“Not like this.”

I totally peed a little.

“What do you think it is?” I asked.

Mariah slid off her stool.

“Don’t!” cried Jess.

“We have to look,” said Mariah.

My job. Do it.

I held up my hand. “I’ll do it. You take your mom to the bathroom.”

“Are you kidding?” Jess asked. “I’m not leaving. I’ve got a pad on.”

“Huh?” Mariah asked.

“I leak, okay. There, I said it.”

“You leak? Like a faucet?”

I waved at them. “Now who’s missing the point?”

“Sorry,” said Mariah. “I just think that’s weird.”

“It’s not great,” said Jess.

“For goodness’ sake, you two. We’ve got bigger problems than urinary incontinence,” I said.

“That’s a pretty big problem,” muttered Mariah.

“Quiet. I’m going in.”

“In where?” Jess asked.

I heaved a sigh. “I meant I’m going over there to pick up the paper.”

“Good luck,” said Mariah.

Not making me feel better.

I crept forward and Jess got behind me, practically suctioned up to my back.

“What are you doing, Jess?” I asked.

“You’re not leaving me.”

“Fine.”

We crept over and I picked up the paper. “I don’t believe it.”

“What is it?” Mariah asked. “Is it a news story on a bunch of gruesome murders that happened in our attic? Or did a serial killer live here? Or did some poor woman throw herself off the turret? Or⁠—”

I waved the paper at her. “It’s a recipe.”

“Really?” Mariah sounded disappointed, and she got back on her stool. “What’s it for?”

“Apple ugly cake.”

“No way!”

Jess collapsed against the island. “Oh, thank goodness.”

“Why are you so happy?” I asked her.

“If we have a ghost, it’s nice.”

“What do you mean, if?” Mariah asked. “You saw that paper.”

Jess shrugged and said, “I need wine. Who wants wine?”

Mariah held up her hand.

“Not you.”

“Then why did you offer?”

Jess and her daughter started bickering while I began going through the cabinets, gathering flour, sugar, baking soda, and vanilla.

“Do we have eggs?” I asked.

“Eggs? What are you doing?” Jess asked.

“Making the cake.”

“Now?”

I picked up a bowl off a shelf and asked, “You think the ghost meant later?”

“Um…”

“We have eggs,” said Mariah.

She got the eggs, and we made the apple ugly cake together. The smell got the boys back in the kitchen, and they went through the recipes. The left cabinet was all savory recipes and the one on the right was desserts. The smell of cologne competed with the fabulous smell of apples, cloves, and cinnamon.

“We have to find out who it is,” said Max.

“Shelly said nobody died here,” said Jess.

Mariah started organizing the recipe binders and said, “Somebody did.”

“Are we still scared?” Henri asked.

“I’m not thrilled,” I said. “But we wanted apple ugly cake, and they gave us the recipe.”

Henri took a bite, groaned with pleasure, and then looked at the paper. “It says it’s Peg’s recipe.”

I nodded. “Right. That’s the neighbor.”

“You can ask her who she gave the recipe to.”

Jess gave him a hug and a kiss. “Good idea.”

“Gross. Get off me.”

“Never.”

“Look at this.” Mariah held up several different sheets of paper.

I went over. “What are we looking at?”

Mariah spread the papers on the island and pointed at the handwritten heading on a recipe for butterscotch brownies. “For Leo. Always bake with extra love, Gina.”

“So it’s Gina?” Max asked.

I shook my head. “No, I think these recipes are Leo’s.”

“Right,” said Mariah. “His name is on all these recipes. People were giving them to him.”

Jess raised her glass and took a healthy sip. “Peg and Vern mentioned a Leo, didn’t they?”

I smiled. “They did.”

“Um…” Henri trailed off and looked nervous.

“What?” I asked.

“Did they like him?”

I accepted a glass of wine from Jess and thought about it. “I think so, but I didn’t have the impression that he was dead. Did you, Jess?”

“Not really.”

“They seemed to think Leo was wonderful.” She tapped the glass against her lip. “I think he must’ve been a funeral director here.”

“But if he’s not dead,” Henri asked, “then it’s not him.”

I thought back to what Peg and Vern had said. They were very warm about Leo, Darren not so much. “It sounded like Darren took over and wasn’t good at the job. Leo might be dead.”

“Did you see Darren on anything?” Max asked.

“Nope,” said Mariah, sticking her fork in the remains of her slice of cake. “There are recipes from lots of people, but they’re only addressed to Leo.”

She started riffling through the recipes again, and Jess put a hand on her back. “Time for bed. You have school tomorrow.”

My boys pumped their fists.

“Yes!” they said in unison.

“How can you be excited?” Mariah asked. “It’s going to be a nightmare.”

“You just have to have a plan,” said Henri. “We have a plan.”

“A plan for what?”

“School domination.”

Mariah made a face and turned to Jess. “Can I please stay home? I’m not ready.”

Jess looked at me and my heart sank. I’d have to be the strong one. Jess wasn’t ready yet.

“No,” I said. “You have to go. This is our life now and besides, if I remember high school correctly, it’s gossip central.”

Mariah took a last bite of cake and reluctantly left the recipes. “What do I care about that? I don’t know anyone here, and they’ve probably lived in this little town their whole lives.”

I hugged her and said, “Exactly. Ask around. People know about Number Eight. See what you can find out.”

“That’s an awesome idea,” said Max.

“Yeah. I bet we can find out everything,” said Henri.

“Maybe,” said Mariah.

“It’ll be great,” said Jess. “Come on. Let’s pick out something for you to wear.”

They all left, but I stayed behind in the suddenly silent kitchen. I was scared, with an all-over tingly adrenaline-type feeling, but something told me I shouldn’t be afraid. I couldn’t put my finger on why, and it didn’t make any sense. I’d never been as scared as I’d been when I saw the recipe slide out of the cabinet.

I had to see if something else would happen, so I leaned on the island and waited, but nothing did. It was totally silent. No clicking. No creaking.

“Well, whoever you are, thanks for the recipe. It was just what we needed, and I hope you like us, because we’re not leaving.”

The smell of cologne flooded in and mingled with the lingering scent of fresh apple ugly cake.

I smiled and raised my glass. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Chapter Four

Istood over the sink while eating my toast because I was too tired to find a clean plate. Moving was always exhausting, and moving into a house with a ghost was more so. I’d been totally fine with it, or at least I thought I was until I’d gone up to bed and closed the door.

That’s when my mind started going. Who was it? What were they going to do? What was going to happen? That, naturally, led to the questions I’d been plagued with since Derek said he wanted what he called a trial separation and then went to his law firm’s company picnic and made out with his paralegal, a twenty-three-year-old nitwit who posted photos of herself on Instagram wearing cat ears and occasionally a tail.

That kind of thing called your whole life into question. Where had I gone wrong? Why did I marry him? What would this do to the boys? Should I beat Derek to death with a hammer? Had I gone insane? Why did I buy a haunted funeral home? Did I buy a haunted funeral home? Did that really happen?

So I watched the clock for eight hours, unable to quiet my panicking mind, and then stumbled down the stairs at first light. The kitchen was quiet and didn’t smell like anything except cake and leftover pizza.

“Good morning,” I said. “Please don’t do anything. I’m on the edge.”

Mariah walked in, wearing a pair of her mother’s old jeans, her dad’s favorite concert tee from The Cure, and a flannel shirt that I’d never seen before, and said, “Who are you talking to?”

“Whoever.”

“You don’t look so good.”

“Awesome,” I said. “That’s what I was going for. Exhausted and disheveled.”

Mariah rummaged around and found a box of green tea. “Nailed it.”

I eyed her outfit, questionable at best for a first day. “What are you going for?”

“Depressed and possibly unclean.”

I brushed the crumbs off my oversized hoodie that hid the fact that after an epic struggle, I’d been unable to button my favorite jeans and said, “Nailed it, but why?”

“I tried to put something else on, but I couldn’t,” said Mariah. “I just kept coming back to this.”

I looked down. “I understand.”

Mariah put the kettle on the enormous stove and fired up one of the many burners. “No, you don’t.”

“Have you looked at me lately?” I asked.

Mariah turned around and looked me over. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I hate Derek.”

I felt a little better. And yes, I know that’s not a good thing, but it’s a true thing. Mariah saw me and knew things were messed up. She was only seventeen, but even through her own pain, she could see mine. I hadn’t been seen in a while. Derek definitely didn’t see me.

“Thanks,” I said. “I needed that.”

“Mom’s the same. She just doesn’t want to say it in case you get back together,” said Mariah.

“That’s not a huge risk.”

The kettle started whistling and Mariah took it off the burner. “What will you do if he comes back or whatever?”

A weight formed in my chest. “He won’t.”

“You don’t want him to?”

I couldn’t think of what to say. I didn’t know. The boys wanted it. But there was Jess and Mariah, not to mention the house.

“We’ll see,” I said.

“That means no.”

Jess walked in with her hair combed and wearing a clean sweater. “What means no?”

Mariah stared at her mother for a second and then said, “I don’t want any breakfast.”

“You have to eat,” said Jess with a smile. “I’ll make you something.”

Mariah looked at me in astonishment.

“You want to cook something?” I asked.

“Sure. Why not?”

I could think of a dozen reasons, starting with the fridge full of Ensure shakes we had because Jess basically stopped eating the day Hal died. I’d gotten two bites of the apple ugly cake down her and considered that a triumph.

“I’m just surprised,” I said. “That’s all.”

Jess looked at Mariah and asked, “What would you like?”

“Mom, are you okay?”

Jess tilted her head and thought about it. “I think so. Why?”

“Well…”

“You just haven’t cooked in a while,” I said, giving Mariah an intense look. “I bet Mariah would like pancakes. Wouldn’t you?”

Mariah opened her mouth to protest but then nodded.

“Excellent.” Jess started gathering ingredients and found the right skillet when music started blasting outside the kitchen. We all froze and my terrified feeling came back in an instant, but then Max yelled, “Wait for it!”

“For crying out loud.” I bent over, clutching my chest.

“They’re trying to kill us,” said Jess.

“Dirtbags,” said Mariah.

The music got louder and then changed.

“Ready?” Henri yelled.

No one answered.

“Ready?”

So not in the mood for crazy.

I sighed. I knew The Eggs couldn’t be put off, so I yelled back, “Go ahead.”

Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince started singing the theme song to The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. The boys ran in and started lip-syncing while popping and locking.

“This can’t be happening,” said Mariah.

I looked at the ceiling and tried not to laugh. My boys. The Eggs at their eggy best. They were wearing Ralph Lauren Polo shirts, two each, with popped collars and acid-washed jeans. They’d managed to do their shaggy hair into something that resembled mullets.

Max cut the music and asked, “What do you think?”

“Where did you get those clothes?” I asked, controlling my smile for the sake of Mariah, who was clearly horrified.

“There’s a cool resale shop downtown. They have everything. Check out Hen’s high-tops.”

Henri stopped dancing to hold up a foot, showing off a pair of ancient blue and white Converse basketball shoes. “They are so comfortable.”

“I haven’t seen a pair of those in thirty years,” said Jess.

“There’s a reason,” said Mariah. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

The boys crossed their arms and posed.

“We’re starting a new school,” said Max. “We have to make an impression. We have to have a brand.”

Mariah’s face turned red. “What’s your brand? 1983?”

They pointed at her and said, “She gets it.” Then they high-fived each other.

“This is going to rock,” said Henri. “Everyone will know us. We’ll be famous.”

“You mean infamous,” said Mariah. “Mom, please, I can’t be seen with them.”

“Why not?” Max asked. “You’re doing the same thing.”

“I am not.”

Henri pulled out a pair of battered Wayfarer sunglasses and put them on. “Yes, you are. You’ve got a theme.”

“I do not,” she said.

“Do too.”

She crossed her arms. “What’s my theme, then?”

The boys looked at each other and then said, “1993.”

Mariah’s mouth fell open. Jess clamped her hands over her mouth and I felt so much love for my boys, I was a little dizzy. They were odd but in the best way possible, the way Derek had been before he started the firm and Hal died.

“But the tee is wrong,” said Max. “You need Nirvana.”

“Or Pearl Jam,” said Jess from behind her hands.

I tapped my chin. “I’ve still got my Stone Temple Pilots shirt from that concert we went to.”

“Oh, yeah, but that one is kinda ugly.”

“I know. Where’s your Alice In Chains tee from the European tour? It’s gorgeous.”

Jess grinned. “And the right year. 1993.”

Mariah gaped at them and stomped past the boys. “I’m changing.”

“Why?” yelled Henri. “Your theme is awesome. Everyone will totally get you.”

“Shut up!” Mariah yelled from the back stairs and then stomped up so loud, we could hear every step.

Jess pointed a spatula at the boys. “Somebody deserves chocolate chip pancakes.”

“Why?” Henri asked, and Max elbowed him. “Never mind. Bring on the pancakes.”

Jess made a huge amount of chocolate chip pancakes, hash browns, and eggs while the boys planned their school-domination strategy. It hinged on their innate coolness, of which they had no doubt, and living in a funeral home. They figured it was an irresistible draw.

I packed their lunches. All we had was Fritos and cold pizza, but since the boys thought those were two of the major food groups, it was fine. I set their lunchboxes on the island as Mariah walked back in wearing a red and black plaid mini, patterned tights, combat boots, and a fitted black top. She’d flat-ironed her long blond hair and put on makeup for the first time since her dad died. I blew on my coffee to cover for my eyes welling up.

“Ah, crap,” said Max. “Why’d you do that?”

Mariah flipped her hair back over her shoulders and flounced past them to get a cup of tea. “Someone has to be normal around here.”

“But that’s too stylish. It’s not your brand,” said Hal.

“It is too,” she said. “This is me.”

Max handed her the syrup and rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not. You’re grunge. Angst and anger. Go with it. It works on you.”

“Since when?”

Henri lifted his shades, and they both looked at her with raised brows.

“Oh. Well, I’m not doing it today,” said Mariah.

“Man, that sucks,” said Max. “You’re just doing it to spite us.”

Jess held out another pancake to Max, one with extra chocolate chips in it. “Another pancake?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

“What about me?” Henri asked.

“Certainly,” said Jess.

Mariah frowned and looked at me. I’d been hoping she wouldn’t.

“Why are we getting chocolate chip pancakes?” Mariah asked.

I shrugged. “Your mother feels better.”

Mariah eyed them all and then ate her pancake. Very suspicious. The boys went back to their plotting, and Mariah looked like she wanted to throw food at them.

“I have an idea,” said Henri.

“Please, no,” said Mariah.

He shoved her shoulder. “You’ll love it.”

“Is it us going to different schools?”

“No.”

“Then I hate it,” she said.

Henri looked at me and said, “She doesn’t mean it.”

I was certain she did but didn’t say so. That kind of enthusiasm was sometimes too much for normal people. Derek’s had overwhelmed me on occasion, and I’d have to get away for a bit to regroup. If anyone had told me that joy could go away, I wouldn’t have believed it. Because it had, I intended to embrace my boys’ enthusiasm as much as possible.

“What’s your idea, Hen?” I asked.

“We should have a sleepover on Friday.” He grinned at the group, each in turn. “Great, huh? Sleepover. Haunted house. Brilliant, right?”

Mariah slapped her hand on the island. “You’re in high school. You can’t have sleepovers.”

Max nodded. “Yeah, I think we’re too old, but…you know what we’re not too old for?”

Mariah looked at the ceiling. “Please help me.”

“A campout.”

I went over and patted him on the shoulders. “I love you, but we are not spending the night in a campground in October. It’s freezing.”

Max grinned at her. “Not at a campground. Here.”

I glanced out the window. We had a large yard, but that didn’t change the temperature. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s brilliant,” said Henri.

“It’s cracked,” said Mariah. “You don’t know anyone. Who’s going to come?”

Jess shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t have you sleeping outside.”

“Not outside,” said Max. “In the ballroom.”

“What?”

“It’s huge and we have like five tents,” said Henri. “I had to pack them.”

The boys hatched their plan for a campout in the ballroom with s’mores in the fireplaces, ghost stories, and a rousing game of Murder in the Dark, their version of tag that Derek made up.

“So,” said Henri. “How many people can we have?”

“Honey, Mariah’s right. You don’t know anyone here yet,” I said.

The boys snorted and Max said, “It’s only Monday.”

“You think that’s long enough to find enough people for a campout?” Jess asked.

“Dad could do it,” said Henri. “Why can’t we?”

I sighed. “Mariah, are you alright with this?”

Mariah bit her lip and then said, “It’s actually kind of cool, but I don’t think they’ll get enough people to pull it off.”

“We will, and so will you,” said Henri.

“Me?”

“You’re coming,” he said.

“Am I?”

“Of course. Jeez. Anyway, Mom,” said Henri. “How many people can we have?”

I looked at Jess, who was smiling, and said, “I don’t know. Ten?”

“Ten?” Max blew a raspberry. “We need twenty, at least.”

“Twenty?” Mariah asked. “You’re completely nuts.”

Max held out his hand. “Bet me.”

They shook hands and wagered dinner dishes for a week on it. Then they got their lunch boxes. Mariah was too cool to bring her lunch.

“Mom, can I have the car?” she asked.

“Afraid not. We need it for errands. You can go with the boys.”

Max held up my car keys. “We’re all set to make an entrance.”

Henri started popping and locking again, making Mariah groan as she followed them to the back door.

“Oh, wait.” Mariah turned around. “Where’s Poptart?”

“Behind my clawfoot tub,” I said.

“Again?”

“I guess he feels safe there,” said Jess.

Mariah looked at the closest Leo cabinet. “This is not okay.”

I turned her around and opened the back door. “He’ll be fine. Most of the stuff was delivered yesterday. They’ll probably be done by two.”

“Libby, it’s not the movers,” said Mariah.

“I know, and I’ll give him lots of love when they’re gone.”

Jess put the skillet in the sink and said, “I will too.”

Mariah lowered her voice and glanced over at her mom, who was staring off into space with the blank look she so often had. “Promise? She forgets stuff.”

“We will look after him,” I said. “I love that little guy.”

Mariah smiled. “I think he’s going to love this house.” She raised her voice. “If it gets better.”

She went out the door and followed the boys to the four-car garage at the end of the property. It was oddly long, presumably because it was built for hearses. The thought made me shiver, and I turned around to find Jess looking at me.

“When are they coming?” Jess asked.

“The movers?”

“Yeah.”

“Eight.”

“Then we have time,” she said.

I got nervous. Whenever Jess had a plan lately, it ended up with us casket shopping (for her) or buying a funeral home.

“Tell me we’re not planning for something that will not happen for a long, long time,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Jess asked.

“No caskets. I can’t do it again.”

“Oh, that. I’m over it. You all can toss me in a pine box, for all I care.”

“Then what?” I asked.

Jess picked up the stack of recipes with Leo’s name on them. “Let’s go visit Peg and Vern before the movers get here.”

I tossed back my lukewarm coffee and said, “Now you’re talkin’.”

Peg and Vern decorated their stoop with multiple pumpkins, a ghost hanging from a string, and a pair of wooden black cats that looked a lot like Poptart. We’d knocked and stood waiting with only recipes in our hands.

“I wish we had something to bring them,” I said. “We should’ve made something.”

“We didn’t have time,” said Jess. “We’ll have them over for dinner. I bet they like pot pie. You make great pot pie.”

I raised a brow at her. “But will you eat it?”

Jess frowned and then said, “I think so. I feel better now that we’re away from Derek.”

“Do you think he’s noticed we’re gone yet?” I asked, with the familiar sadness blooming in my heart.

“Probably,” said Jess, but she was unconvincing.

I knocked again. “Maybe they’re out.”

“They’re in their seventies. Do you really think they’re out and about at seven thirty on a Monday?”

“Well—”

The sound of locks being unbolted came from the door, and then it creaked open to reveal a young woman about thirty wearing ratty flannel PJs with a cloth diaper thrown over her shoulder.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Oh, um,” I stuttered.

Jess pushed in and said, “We’re your new neighbors down at Number Eight.”

“Right,” she said with a relieved smile. “You bought the funeral home.”

“That’s us. We had a visit yesterday from, I guess, your parents, and we were wondering if they’d have time to talk for a few minutes.”

“Not long,” I said. “The movers are coming again with another load. We just have a couple of questions.”

The young woman frowned at us. “My parents?”

“Yeah,” said Jess. “They were so nice, bringing that cake and everything. We really appreciate it.”

“Somebody brought you a cake?” she asked.

“Your parents did,” I said, with a feeling of unease coming over me. “Or maybe they’re your partner’s parents. Peg and Vern.”

“Um… I’m sorry. There’s no one here by those names,” she said. “You must have the wrong house.”

Jess and I stepped back and looked at the roof.

“That’s a Mansard roof, right?” Jess asked.

“It is, but what’s that got to do with it?” the woman asked.

“Well, Peg and Vern said they live two houses down in the house with the Mansard roof,” I said.

The young woman shook her head. “There must be some confusion. I’m Lydia, and my partner is Kendall. I don’t know anyone named Peg and Vern. I don’t think she does either.”

“How long have you lived here?” Jess asked.

“Ten years.” Lydia smiled. “We just had a baby, or we would’ve come down yesterday to meet you. What are your names?”

I put my hand on Jess’s arm, since she had started swaying. “I’m sorry. I forgot to say. I’m Libby, and this is Jess.”

A baby started fussing somewhere in the depths of the house, and Lydia glanced back nervously.

“We’ll let you go,” I said. “Sorry to disturb you so early.”

Lydia laughed. “I was up.”

“Sorry anyway.”

We said goodbye, but then Jess held up a hand. “Hold on.”

“Yes?” Lydia asked curiously.

“Have you ever heard of someone named Leo that used to work or possibly live in our house?”

Lydia pursed her lips and then said, “It sounds vaguely familiar, but like I said, we only moved here ten years ago. Number Eight has been empty the whole time.”

“Thanks anyway,” said Jess.

“No problem.” Lydia started to close the door but then opened it again. “You know who you should ask?”

“Who?”

“Tank Tancredi at the Sentinel. He’s lived here his whole life, and he knows everyone.”

“The Sentinel?” Libby asked.

“Our town newspaper,” said Lydia. “My wife plays softball with him. He’s great and very helpful. Don’t let the shoe factory put you off. Just don’t park there and you’ll be fine. Tank’ll make sure you’re okay.”

“What do you⁠—”

The baby went into a full wail and Lydia said, “I have to go. He’s serious this time.”

She closed the door, and we looked at each other.

“Are you nervous?” I asked. “‘Cause that made me nervous.”

Jess turned around and looked at the other houses. “Peg and Vern are old. Do you think they used to live here and don’t remember that they moved?”

“Or they didn’t move,” I said.

Jess wrinkled her nose.

“Think about it.”

“They brought us a cake,” said Jess.

“That we can’t find.”

“The boys ate it. They’d eat a skunk if you put barbecue sauce on it.”

I nodded. “They would, but they don’t eat cake stands. Where’s that?”

“There’s no such thing as ghost cakes,” said Jess as we walked down to Number Eight.

“Hello. There’s no such thing as ghosts, but yesterday it sure looked like we’ve got one.”

We went up the front walk and Jess said, “They were real. We could smell the cake, remember?”

“I forgot about that, but we can smell cologne and cigarettes too.”

“They got out of the way of the movers and walked around the van.”

“That’s true,” I said. “But admit it, that was super weird. Lydia has been here ten years, and she’s never heard of them.”

“Do you want to see if the Sentinel is open yet?” Jess asked.

Before I could answer, the moving van turned the corner, nice and early.

“I guess not,” I said with a groan.

“Better make some more coffee.”

I hooked my arm through Jess’s. “Absolutely.”

Chapter Five

Idashed through the house, dodging around boxes and jumping over wads of packing paper. Where was my purse? I’d have asked Jess, but she’d unearthed her wedding album, and the sight of it had sent her into a tailspin.

“Hold on, John!” I called out.

“Don’t worry about it!”

“Just a minute!”

Come on. Come on. Come on.

It wasn’t in the kitchen, the foyer, or my bedroom. Where else would I have put it? When did I have it last? I paid for the gloriously fattening subs and we ate them in the dining room.

“Dining room!”

“What?” John yelled.

“Just a minute!”

I ran into the dining room that was crowded with two dining sets and boxes galore. My purse sat in the middle of Jess’s prize art deco table.

“There you are.” I snatched it up and ran back through the house to John, who stood at the front doors, looking less relaxed than I would’ve thought, considering they’d gotten done earlier than expected. Instead, he was picking at his cuticles and glancing around the hall like he expected bees. But there’d been no bugs or oddities of any kind. Terry wasn’t there, but John had been silent on the subject, and I didn’t want to bring it up.

“Okay. Sorry about that.” I pulled an envelope out of my purse and handed it to him. “You did a fabulous job. Above and beyond. Thanks for putting together the beds. It was a huge help.”

“Tips aren’t expected,” he said, “but we appreciate it.”

“You and your guys deserve it, and we’ll pass along your information to our friends when they move.”

“Thanks. That’d be great.” John held the envelope awkwardly and didn’t move.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, thinking something had gotten broken and he was reluctant to tell me.

“Not exactly.”

“That doesn’t sound too good.”

“I feel weird about leaving you here,” he said. “After what happened with the bees, ya know.”

I crossed my arms and said, “But you left just fine yesterday.”

“I told my wife about Terry, and she’s kinda nosy.”

“She found something out about Terry?”

“No. About this town. There’s some crazy crap that goes on. I didn’t know that. Did you?”

I smiled. “We know about the nun ghost thing. I can’t say we’re thrilled, but we bought a house here, so it’s deal with it.”

“That’s just for starters,” said John. “Confederate soldiers marching through the hospital freaks me the heck out.”

What in the world?

“I…didn’t know about that. Is there anything else?”

John turned to look up the stairs at Poptart slinking down the stairs so low, it looked like he didn’t have legs. “Your cat is scared to death.”

I nodded. “That can’t be what you’re talking about.”

“It doesn’t help, but no. There was a serial killer living in the old folks’ home, and somebody went in there and murdered him,” said John. “There was a little girl’s body buried in the lake, and people keep jumping off the bridge.”

“All that happened in St. Sebastian?” I asked.

“Yeah, so I didn’t fire Terry.”

“What’s that got to do with Terry?”

“I think that whole bee thing was this town,” said John. “My wife said I got to give him a second chance. He might’ve been scared straight. The idiot showed up early at another job and worked like he never has before, so maybe getting chased by ghost bees put him right.”

“For Terry’s sake and yours, I hope that’s true.”

John leaned forward. If he hadn’t been such a sweet guy, I would’ve stepped back.

“Do you really think you should stay in this house?” he asked.

I took his hand and shook it. “You are very sweet to worry, but we’ve got a mortgage and we’re locked in.”

“Your husband might come to his senses. I look at you and your boys and I think he must’ve taken a blow to the head or something.”

“Or something,” I said.

“Huh?”

“Try not to worry, and if we decide to move, you will be our first call.”

John opened the front door and said, “I will cancel other jobs to move you outta here.” He stopped and sniffed. “Do you smell something?”

“It’s cologne,” I said.

“Is that new?”

“Nope.”

“Ma’am, seriously, I don’t want to see you on the news,” said John.

I walked him out and said, “I’m fairly certain you won’t.”

“I warn you. My wife might call you. She’s a tough nut.”

“I’ll expect her call.”

He laughed and went down the steps to join his guys. I waved and went back into the house that was now so fragrant, it was a little stifling.

“Back it off,” I said. “We’re not leaving.”

Jess looked over the handrail on the second floor. “What happened? It’s like a cologne factory up here.”

“John thinks we should move.”

Poptart screeched, puffed up, and streaked back up the stairs.

“I loved him up, I swear,” said Jess.

I nodded and looked around, seeing nothing at all to cause the cat to freak out.

Jess came down the stairs while finger-combing her hair and putting it back into its pony. “Why does John think we should move?”

“Weird stuff goes on in St. Seb.”

She waved a hand in front of her nose. “You don’t say.”

The cologne scent vanished but had a chaser of faint cigarette.

“Thanks,” I said to the ceiling because I didn’t know where else to look. “I guess.”

“He’s got feelings,” said Jess. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“No cologne all day. Poptart was normal. Then John tries to convince me to move out, and it’s cologne city and Poptart popped. You figure it out.”

“But it’s definitely a man?”

“Cigarettes and Polo? I’d say so. Plus, I was thinking about the whole bee thing.”

Jess went over to the coats we’d left piled up on the floor. The house was enormous, but there was no coat closet, and we didn’t have a coat rack yet. She picked up her woolly plaid trench and said, “What were you thinking?”

I went through the timeline. Terry was flirty with Mariah. When she was upstairs alone, he came up close while she was unboxing stuff. The next thing, bees were chasing him out of the house.

Jess put on her coat. “I thought that too. He was protecting Mariah.”

“When did you think that?”

“Last night when the recipes happened, he gave us what we wanted. It makes sense that Terry wasn’t random. He did it for a reason.” Jess grabbed a scarf and wound it around her neck. Then she put on her favorite red stocking cap.

“Are we going somewhere? The Arctic, perhaps?” I asked.

“To the Sentinel. Lydia says we have to walk, and it’s twenty-eight degrees out.”

“Do you think she was serious about that?”

“I think I’m not taking any chances.”

I crossed my arms. “But we have so much to do.”

“Like figure out who’s haunting us,” said Jess.

“Shelly should know. She’s the realtor,” I said.

“There’s no way she’s going to confirm a ghost. We’d write terrible reviews.”

“You would.”

“Yes, I would. I’m the review writer, but she still won’t tell us.”

I pulled out my phone. “There’s no reason she won’t tell us where Peg and Vern live.”

Jess snapped her fingers. “Yes. Call her and be nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

She rolled her eyes at me and I said, “‘This restaurant served a beautiful-looking burger that smells like cat turds and tasted like offal.’”

“It did. That was a terrible burger. You’re the one that said it tasted like offal,” said Jess.

“Mean reviewer,” I said.

“Accurate.”

“Whatever.” I dialed Shelly and waited for two rings before she picked up.

“St. Sebastian Realty. Your dreams are our dreams. Shelly speaking,” she said.

“Hey, Shelly, this is Libby over at Number Eight,” I said.

Nothing.

“Shelly?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Busy day over here,” said Shelly, sounding a whole lot like The Eggs when I was logging in to check grades.

“Just a quick neighbor question.”

She blew out a sigh and said in a normal voice, “Shoot. I’m all yours.”

“We met a couple of neighbors yesterday and they were wonderful, but we’re not sure which house they live in.”

“It’s a great neighborhood. Everyone is very tight. Block parties, barbecues, they do it all. You’re very lucky with that street,” said Shelly.

“I don’t doubt it,” I said. “So can you tell me where Peg and Vern live? They didn’t give me their last name, but they’re elderly and like to bake. They said they live⁠—”

“Oh, no. Oh, no!” exclaimed Shelly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Going through a tunnel.”

Click.

“Did she hang up on you?” Jess asked.

I looked at my phone. “Yes, she did.”

“There aren’t any tunnels around here.”

“I know.”

Jess grabbed a couple of gloves. “So off we go to the Sentinel.”

“I guess so.” I put on my ski coat and hat. “I’m ready.”

Jess led the way out and took long strides with her longer legs. Even though her eyes were red-rimmed, she looked more like herself than she had in months. Her cheeks were pink, and she’d eaten at lunch, half a sandwich, and even some chips.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Excited.”

“Huh?”

“To find out about Leo and who’s in our house,” said Jess.

I struggled to keep up and then grabbed her arm to slow her down. “You were so upset about the album. I didn’t think you’d want to do anything.”

“I was, and I didn’t.”

“Am I missing something?” I asked.

I was missing something. When Jess was up in her room, crying her eyes out, a box had fallen over, spewing its contents all over the floor. It was a box Jess hadn’t opened in years. One she hadn’t thought about or planned on opening, but inside were old envelopes of photos, dozens of them. She started looking through them and stopped crying.

“I was lucky. I really was,” she said.

“You were happy. I didn’t know one single person who didn’t envy you,” I said.

We turned a corner and Jess asked, “Did you?”

A lot.

“Sometimes.”

Jess nodded, and we walked through the quaint streets of St. Seb to the Great Missouri Shoe Factory. It was supposed to house the Sentinel but really just looked like an abandoned factory with no thriving newspaper in it at all. The building was brick and must’ve been built in stages, because it wasn’t a cohesive design. Much of the building had broken windows; some were boarded up and others weren’t. The parking lot was blocked off completely with heavy chains, and there were warning signs that said parking in the parking lot was not permitted under any circumstances. But on the far side, there were signs of construction with scaffolding and a large sign for a management company.

“This is it?” I asked.

Jess held up her phone. “That’s what it says on the website.”

I pointed. “There’s a sign next to that door. It is the Sentinel.”

“This is weird. Should we walk through the parking lot?”

“It doesn’t say that we can’t.”

We stepped over the chain and walked across the debris-filled lot. There were car parts strewn about, broken glass, and shards of metal.

I do not have a good feeling about this.

“Tank Tancredi better be in,” I said.

“He’s the editor, so he probably is,” said Jess.

I checked the hours posted on the door, took a breath, and put my hand on the knob. I didn’t want to turn it, but I couldn’t say why.

“What are you waiting for?” Jess asked.

“I don’t know.”

Jess took my hand off the knob and opened the door. I winced, expecting to see a disaster area, but was pleasantly surprised. The room was clean and organized, with rows of desks. The smell of burnt coffee and burritos filled the air.

The only person in residence was a skinny man with a long, grey ponytail and wearing two flannel shirts. He didn’t look up for a minute, typing furiously, but said, “Deadline. Be right with you.”

We walked in and looked at the wall covered in framed newspaper clippings. Jess pointed at the headline, “Bertram Stott Murdered in his Bed.”

I pointed to another, saying, “Former Chief of Police to Enter Rehab.”

“That could be considered good news,” whispered Jess.

“Ya think?”

“He’s not the police chief anymore. That’s good.”

Now who’s sunny-side up?

“Whatever you say,” I said. “In other news, some doctor was running an adoption scam.”

“But that ghost hunter show found no evidence of ghosts,” whispered Jess, pointing at another headline.

“They should’ve come to our house.”

We giggled together like we had since we moved into our first dorm room. The university matched us, for what reasons, nobody could guess. We had nothing in common. I was the daughter of a pair of teachers whose idea of a good time was reading poetry to each other and square dancing. I’d been nowhere and had done nothing. In walked Jess, wearing clothes she’d gotten in London, with a punk hairstyle, green and half shaved. Her parents were a company president and a romance writer. Joanne, aka Felicity Woodward, had translated into thirty-six languages and was world famous. It was fair to say that Jess had been everywhere and done everything.

Jess listened to bands that I didn’t know existed. I read authors that Jess didn’t know existed. Jess thought she was a vegetarian, and I was raised on meat and potatoes. But somehow the school was right, and we’d been inseparable ever since.

The man looked up and smiled. “Sorry about that, but it was flowing. You can’t interrupt the flow, ya know?”

“Sure,” said Jess.

“It’s fine,” I said.

He stood up and straightened his collars. “I’m Tank Tancredi, the editor. What can I do for you today?”

“A neighbor of ours sent us over. She said you’ve lived here your whole life and know everyone, so you might be able to help us,” I said.

“Who’s your neighbor?”

“I’m embarrassed to say that I didn’t get her last name, but she’s Lydia and her partner is Kendall.”

“The Rosses. Lovely girls. New baby. He’s a screamer.”

Jess smiled. “We heard.”

“Lydia is such a nice—hold on, you’re Lydia’s new neighbors?” Tank asked.

We nodded.

“You bought Number Eight?”

“We did,” I said.

A huge smile spread across Tank’s face. “That is fantastic. Come on. Sit down. I have coffee. A fresh pot. Ignore that smell. It’s not my fault.”

He pulled up a couple of chairs for us and dashed over to a fancy espresso machine that sat next to an old-school Mr. Coffee that looked to be the source of the smell.

“Cappuccino? Espresso? I’ve got oat milk, whole milk, the works.”

“I’d love a cappuccino with oat milk,” I said.

“Espresso,” said Jess.

Tank made our coffees and one for himself. Then he got out some cinnamon rolls and heated them in the microwave.

“My wife, Mallory, made these. They’re amazing.” He held out the plate with an eager smile.

We both took one, and I’m happy and a little guilty to report that they were amazing. Jess ate half of hers.

Thank you, Mallory.

“So, Tank?” Jess asked.

He grinned. “From my football days. I was not a tank, obviously. It stuck. Jess and Libby are short for…”

“I’m Jessica Cleary, and this is Liber⁠—”

“No,” I said.

“No, what?” Tank asked.

“I’m Libby. Let’s leave it at that.”

“No way,” said Jess. “Your name is fabulous, and your parents are awesome.”

Tank grinned. “Now I have to hear it.”

I groaned and copped to the name my hippie parents gave me. “Liberty Sunshine Moss. I married Derek Forest.”

He clapped his hands together. “I love it.”

“Everyone does,” said Jess.

“Not everyone,” I said.

“Her parents were the absolute best.” Jess took off her hat and unwound her scarf. “Her mom still is. Her dad passed away a year ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and a funny look came over his face. “So you’re bereaved?”

I took off my hat and unzipped my coat. “It was a year ago, but I suppose you could say that.”

Tank looked at Jess, and she quickly picked up her cup to stare down at it.

“So,” I said, “Lydia sent us over.”

Tank seemed embarrassed and on the edge of saying something, but then he just said, “Right, right.”

“She said you might be able to help us find someone, two someones, actually. Neighbors.”

He picked up his cup of black coffee and said, “On one condition.”

I frowned and Jess looked up sharply, her eyes moist again.

“What condition?” I asked.

“That you grant me an interview,” he said with an enormous grin. “The whole town is thrilled to have Number Eight occupied again, and they want to know who managed to get in there.”

Managed to get in?

“Um…Jess?”

Jess looked over and said, “The boys will love it.”

“They will, but what about Mariah?” I asked.

“She’ll probably hate it, but it’s not like everyone doesn’t know we’re there,” she said.

“You have kids?” Tank asked.

I nodded. “Jess has a daughter, and I have two sons. They’re all in high school.”

“Ladies, I was kidding about the interview. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, but the town really wants to meet you. I’m a newsman. I have to try.”

Jess took a drink and said, “It will be a positive piece?”

“Absolutely. I’m not supposed to do this, but I’ll give it to you before publishing and you can decide how you feel about it.”

She smiled. “It’s fine with me.”

“Me too,” I said. “So you’ll help us?”

“Either way, I will,” he said. “Who are you looking for?”

“An elderly couple. They came over yesterday, and we’d like to go see them.”

Tank set down his cup and started typing on his computer. “Names?”

“No last name,” I said. “They’re Peg and Vern.”

Tank stopped typing instantly and looked over at us. “Peg and Vern?”

Jess dabbed a bit of icing off her lip and asked, “You know them?”

“Everybody knows them,” he said. “Well, not everyone. Some people. Select people.”

“What do you mean by select people?” I asked.

Tank leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. “How much do you know about St. Sebastian?”

“Not a lot,” said Jess. “The schools are excellent, and we thought it was low-crime.”

“Thought?”

“Our moving guy told us some gruesome stuff,” I said. “You had a serial killer?”

He nodded. “Bertram Stott, but you don’t have to worry about him. He appears to be gone.”

Appears to be gone?

We looked at each other, and I had so many questions, I couldn’t decide which to ask first.

Jess glanced back at the headline on the wall. “So he’s dead?”

“Yes. Very,” said Tank. “I don’t know if this will help, but Stott only lived here, on and off. He didn’t kill here.”

Not a huge help.

“What aren’t you telling us?” I asked.

“A lot,” he said. “I don’t know where to start. It is a great town. Wonderful, in fact.”

We were silent, so he went on to cite multiple low-crime statistics, high test scores, and their excellent economic growth.

“Is that why you decided to move to St. Seb?” he asked.

“That, and we could afford Number Eight,” I said. “It was a bargain.”

Tank sat there for a moment, looking at us.

“It was a bargain, wasn’t it?”

“You didn’t research us?” he asked.

“Not really,” said Jess.

Tank stood up, and for a second, I thought he was going to say that we should leave, but instead, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

He left, and I turned to Jess. “This is weird, right?”

“I have a feeling we should start expecting weird,” she said.

“How do we expect weird?”

“It becomes normal.”

I gritted my teeth and then took a sip of my cappuccino. I didn’t want daily weird. I needed normal, and Jess certainly did.

Tank came back with a brown accordion file labeled Possible Ghosts. “Sorry that took so long. We’re still not completely organized after the bombing.”

We both went stiff in our seats.

“Bombing?” I asked.

“It was really a firebomb,” he said quickly. “No one was hurt, and the guilty party is in juvenile hall.”

Where are we?

“Someone firebombed you?” Jess asked.

“Yes, but that’s all done with. Totally fine.” He sat down and opened the folder. “Since you are normal people, I thought you might need to see this to believe what I’m going to tell you.”

“If you say Peg and Vern are the local lunatics that break into houses and set fires or steal house cats and sell them for meat, we’re moving,” I said.

“We’ve got a cat,” said Jess.

“Even if we didn’t.”

Tank pulled out a pile of news clippings. “Your cat is safe. Stott was the cat killer, but like I said, we’re pretty sure he’s gone.”

Pretty sure? What in the heck?

“Tank, please, you’re freaking us out,” I said.

“I’m afraid it’s going to get worse before it gets better.” He selected a clipping and slid it across the desk to us. “Is that who visited you yesterday?”

We bent over the clipping. It was old and yellowed but easy to read. The headline said, “Elderly Couple Dies in Bed.” The picture was of Peg and Vern. They were sitting together at what looked like a celebration, holding up champagne glasses with huge smiles on their faces.

I wasn’t wrong? I’m always wrong.

I looked up. “Is this a joke?”

“Is it them?” Tank asked.

“It can’t be,” said Jess. “We talked to them yesterday. They brought us a cake.”

He nodded. “Yeah, they do that.”

“I don’t think you understand,” I said. “They brought us a real cake. We could smell it. Mariah smelled it.”

“And now you can’t find it,” he said. “Don’t hold it against them. They mean well. They’re nice people.”

“They’re dead people,” I said.

“Lots of people are.”

“Are you pranking us?”

Tank leaned forward and pointed to the date on the paper. “I wouldn’t do that.”

The date was October 15, 1972. Peg and Vern died in their sleep after their newly installed furnace malfunctioned and started spewing carbon monoxide. They were survived by four kids and twelve grandchildren. The paper named them all, and the funeral was in our house.

I sat back and said, “I don’t believe it.”

“I can see that,” said Tank. “But Peg and Vern are buried here. You can visit their graves. But if you want to talk to them, that’s not the best place to start. I don’t think they’ve ever been seen there. They love the library. They helped raise the funds to build it. You could run across them in restaurants or their house. Lydia and Kendall’s house, I mean.”

“You’re serious,” said Jess faintly.

Tank eyed me and said, “You believe me.”

I did, but I didn’t want to. Peg and Vern were absolutely real. They weren’t faded or see-through. They had mass, and I’m pretty sure one of them used Bengay like my grandpa. I smelled it. I knew I did.

“You’re not crazy,” he said. “If anything, I’d say you’re special. Peg and Vern don’t bring cakes to just anyone.”

“Have they brought you a cake?” Jess asked.

He shook his head. “I’ve never seen them, but Mallory has twice. They turned up at a vegan cooking class she was in. Peg tried to convince her to add chicken.”

I couldn’t do anything. This was happening. I was pretty sure it was. After the recipe thing, I shouldn’t have been so surprised, but there was a big difference between doors opening and having a normal conversation with dead people.

Tank let us sit and absorb what wasn’t very absorbable. He made us more coffee and offered some chocolate.

“It’s good for shock, or so they say in Harry Potter,” he said with a kind smile.

I took a square and ate it without thinking. Jess was practically catatonic. I was afraid of what she was thinking. Her mind was so unpredictable since Hal died.

“So, can you tell me why you went looking for Peg and Vern?” Tank asked after a couple of minutes.

“We…had an incident,” I said.

A smile flickered on his face. “I thought you might’ve.”

“What do you know?” Jess asked.

“Depends on what happened.”

I told him everything. The bees. The cologne. Cigarette smoke. And then I got to the cabinets opening and the recipes.

Tank couldn’t stop smiling. “You have the recipe for apple ugly cake?”

“We do,” said Jess. “Why?”

“That was Peg’s secret recipe. From what I heard, her family searched for it, but they couldn’t find it in her recipe collection. They never saw her use a recipe, so they thought it was just from memory.”

“We’ve got it,” I said. “And we made it.”

“You didn’t!”

We jolted back.

“Why? Is that bad?” Jess asked in a squeak.

“It’s great,” Tank said. “How was it? Did it smell like the cake she brought?”

We nodded.

“Her granddaughter would love that recipe. I went to school with her. Meg was named after Peg. They’re both Margarets.”

“We’d be happy to give it to her,” said Jess.

“Fantastic,” said Tank. “She’s in Mallory’s cooking club. She tries to recreate that cake every year and never gets it right. When can I tell her?”

“Whenever,” I said.

“Sorry,” he said. “I got off track. So you went to find Peg and Vern because of the cake recipe?”

I shook my head. “No. We thought they might know who’s in our house.”

“I can tell you that.” Tank shuffled through the news clippings.

“Is it someone named Leo?” Jess asked.

He looked up. “How did you know that?”

“We’re right?” I asked.

“Yes. Seriously. How did you know?”

I told him about Leo’s name on the recipes, and he nodded.

“He was a great cook and a great guy.” Tank pulled out a clipping. “You could do worse.”

He slid the new clipping across the desk and we bent over. The headline was in all caps and in bold, but the article was short with bare-bones facts.

“Tragic loss,” I read. “Local mortician, Leo Pereyra, died today after a fall at the Hideaway Motor Lodge.”

Jess put her finger under the large black-and-white photo. “This guy is in our house?”

“That’s Leo,” said Tank. “Not bad, huh? Lefty and Irene have a pair of floating eyeballs. It’s not great.”

I couldn’t comprehend the eyeball thing, but he was dead on, pardon the pun. Leo Pereyra was hot, and I don’t mean kinda hot. I mean, that guy was gorgeous. He had thick, curly hair and chiseled cheekbones, and a generous smile that made it to his large, dark eyes.

“How old was he?” Jess asked as she skimmed the article.

“Forty-five,” said Tank. “It was an absolute tragedy. Everyone loved him.”

I tore my eyes away from Leo’s face and asked, “Everyone loved the local mortician?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but we did. He was great. The nicest guy you’d ever want to meet. Number Eight had a waiting list because of him.”

“Peg mentioned that,” said Jess.

“Did she? That’s interesting. I never heard of them being seen at Number Eight.”

My eyes went back to the picture. “She said they hadn’t been there since 2004.”

“Even more interesting.” Tank reached over and pointed to the date. March 6, 2004. “What did she say?”

“That it was never the same after 2004 and that someone named Darren ran the business into the ground,” said Jess.

“The dead are well informed.”

We looked up and Tank told us a short, recent history of our house. The Otto family owned it for its entire one-hundred-year history of being a funeral home. Thomas Otto III would have inherited the operation when his parents passed, but Thomas died in a car accident in 1983. His widow was Carol, who worked in the business and was the mother of his three sons. Five years after Thomas died, Carol went to a mortician’s conference in Los Angeles, and that’s where she met Leo. They fell instantly in love and married less than a year later. Leo worked at Number Eight side by side with Carol’s in-laws, and the business expanded rapidly to the point where there was a waiting list and burials deferred for weeks to get a slot.

“Leo was wonderful with the bereaved. He always knew what to say and how to help. He had a gift,” said Tank, “and he loved women.”

We both frowned simultaneously, and Tank laughed.

“I mean that in the best way possible. Leo genuinely liked women. He liked their company. That’s helpful in the funeral business. I thought that might be why he picked you.”

“What do you mean, picked us?” Jess asked.

“Shelly’s been trying to sell that place for ten years, and nobody could get past Leo.”

“We thought it was because of historic house restrictions,” I said.

“Oh, it was, but lots of people tried to buy it as a family home, but Leo wouldn’t allow it,” said Tank.

“He wouldn’t allow it?” Jess asked.

“Terry’s bees aren’t the first time that’s happened.”

“What else?”

“There were bad smells that didn’t come from anything,” he said.

“Like cigarettes?” I asked.

“Like dead badger and pig farm.”

We drew back and wrinkled our noses.

“Leo had a way of getting his point across,” said Tank, “but he never hurt anyone. You should know that. He wouldn’t do that in life or death.”

“Good to know,” I said. “I wonder why we’re okay.”

“You’re more than okay,” said Tank. “He gave you his recipes. He was a superb cook. Carol, not so much. She said that was one of the many reasons she married him, the food.”

“It’s good news that he likes us,” said Jess. “We can’t leave.”

“May I ask why not?”

“Financial reasons.”

Tank left it at that, but said, “The question is, why are you special when so many others were not? You’re women, so I can see him liking that, and you lost your father, Libby. He’d want to comfort you, but other prospective buyers had losses too. Shelly thought he’d want to help them, but it was a no-go.”

Jess swallowed hard and said, “I just lost my husband three months ago.”

Tank nodded. “That’ll be it. It’s just like Leo to want to help you. He did it for a living in more ways than one.”

“How’s that?” I asked.

Tank reached down and opened a drawer. “He had a column with us. Weekly and extremely popular.” He put a book with an elegant, embossed cover on the desk and pushed it over. “So popular, in fact, we had all his columns made into a book. It’s now traditionally given as a gift when someone dies.”

I looked down at the book and then ran my finger over the gilt imprint of our house on the black cover. “Departures at 8.”

“That was the name of his column. He covered grief, planning, and even took anonymous questions, like Dear Abby. People asked him all kinds of things, not just about death but about life too. How do you tell someone you love them? What’s the best meal to propose over? It was a great column. We really miss it.”

“He sounds wonderful,” whispered Jess. “How did his wife handle it?”

“Not well. Carol never got over it, and she died a few years ago. I’m not sure the rest of the family got over it either. You mentioned Darren. He took over, but he wasn’t suited to the work the way Leo was. The grandparents passed away before Leo and the family ended up selling to a corporate outfit.”

“How did that go over?” I asked.

“Lead balloon.”

Jess kept looking down at Leo’s face. “Because of him?”

“No. I don’t think Leo interfered. It just wasn’t the same. Leo buried both my grandfathers. Both times I went into Number Eight feeling so low that I wanted to sink into the floor, but Leo, he just made it better. He took me aside for a talk, and we weren’t even talking about anything important, but it got better.”

“What were you talking about?” Jess asked.

Tank chuckled. “One time it was hunting. My grandpa was a hunter. Next thing I knew, I was thinking about those good times and not the bad time I was having right then. Like I said, it was a gift.”

I picked up the book and started leafing through it. “Have you seen him?”

“Leo? No. I’m one of those people that St. Seb doesn’t reveal herself to. It stings a little.”

“You’ve never seen anything?” Jess asked.

“Oh, I’ve seen a lot, but not people, per se.”

“Like doors opening?” I asked. “That sort of thing?”

“Exactly. We have a bit of an infestation here at the factory, but I’ve never seen them.”

“How do you know they’re there?” Jess asked.

“They make themselves known. Don’t ever come here outside of our business hours. There have been issues.”

“No problem.” I closed the book and went to hand it back, but Tank shook his head.

“Take it with my compliments. Tell Leo I said hello.”

We stood up and thanked him. It was time to leave, but I didn’t want to go.

“Another question?” Tank asked.

“Do you think we’ll actually see him?” I asked.

“I’d lay money on it.”

Chapter Six

Two hours later, my back was killing me and the room we decided to call the family room, not the parlor, was only half unpacked. When did we get so much stuff? I left all of Derek’s stuff, including the it’s-so-ugly-it’s-criminal wingback chair that his dad gave us. It was orange and its fabric all knobby, but when I thought about him sneaking into our house with his nitwit paralegal, a kind of rage came over me and I wished I’d had John pack that ugly chair so I could gut it. And maybe his golf trophies so I could throw them in the river or barbecue them.

You’re not vindictive, Lib. You’re going to be civil.

I wadded the plastic that had been wrapped around our sofa into a trash bag and sat down next to Poptart, who’d slid down the stairs again and had stayed unpuffed. He didn’t purr, which was unlike him, and he didn’t go to sleep. Poptart was alert and watching, which was worrying when you had the world’s sleepiest cat.

So far, there had been no cologne or cigarette smoke, and I had to admit I kind of missed it. The bad part of me wanted to say “Hey, we might move” just to see what would happen, but I didn’t want to do that to Poptart. I didn’t know if cats could have heart attacks, but I didn’t want to chance it.

“Mom!” Max’s voice came from somewhere in the house.

“The family room!”

“Mom!” yelled Mariah.

“Grocery store!”

The kids came rushing in with rosy cheeks and heavy backpacks. Henri had his phone to his ear and was listening intently as he flung his stuff on the floor. Max flopped onto the rolled-up rug at my feet and Mariah stripped off her backpack and coat and dropped them in a pile next to Henri’s before picking up Poptart.

“You fixed him,” she said.

“He wasn’t broken,” I said. “How was school?”

“Awesome,” said Max. “It was only the best day ever.”

I looked at Mariah, and she smiled.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Max. “We’re famous, not infamous.”

Mariah rolled her eyes.

“So 1983 worked?”

“Hello. Of course it worked. We’re awesome. Mariah’s lame, but we made up for it.”

Mariah sneered. “Hey!”

“You know, this thing you’ve got going on is the same as every other girl at school.”

She stuck out a leg. “My tights are spiderwebs. I got like twenty compliments on them.”

“Because you were with us.”

Mariah sat down on the sofa. “It wasn’t them. It’s the house.”

“The house?” I asked.

Mariah had been ready to be miserable. Starting school halfway through a semester was bound to be a nightmare, except it wasn’t. Everyone knew who they were before they arrived and couldn’t wait to talk to them. She had people to sit with at lunch and she was Zooming with a study group that night for calculus A.

“Did they ask you about the house?” I asked.

Henri held up a hand. “Wait. Don’t tell her.”

“Who are you talking to, Max?”

My son grinned. “Dad. He’s really upset that we moved out, and he wants to come down to see the house.”

Be nice. Be nice.

“That’s not necessary, Max. You can drive up to see Dad anytime you want. He doesn’t need to come here,” I said.

“He wants to come. He misses us.”

I held my tongue. Max was smiling and so happy, I couldn’t point out the obvious issues with that statement. We hadn’t seen Derek for two weeks before the movers came. I didn’t tell him because I didn’t see him.

“Bye, Dad.” Max shoved his phone in his pocket and came over. “Dad says hi.”

I nodded.

“He really misses us.”

I nodded again.

“You okay, Mom?” Henri asked.

“I’m good. Now, what are you going to tell me?”

“We know who’s haunting us,” the three of them said in a rush.

I put my feet up on the rug. “Oh, yeah? Who is it?”

“The mortician,” said Max.

“Everyone says that this place is super haunted,” said Henri. “Ethan Estes’ family tried to buy it when he was in seventh grade and the mortician wouldn’t let them.”

“What happened?” Mariah asked.

“Bees. They chased them out of the house and down the street like that mover guy.”

“That’s nothing,” said Max. “I heard that when Mr. Fuentes tried to buy it, the mortician filled it with black fog. They couldn’t even see the staircase when they opened the door. When they closed the door and looked in the window, the smoke was gone. They tried again, and the fog was back. The realtor cried.”

“Who told you that?” I asked.

“Everybody. I asked Mr. Fuentes in chemistry and he said that he doesn’t discuss Number Eight,” said Max. “Then I told him we live here and he got all funny-looking and left the room. He didn’t come back for the rest of the period.”

“He threw up,” said Mariah.

“Oh, come on,” I said.

“No, really. Samantha Otto told me. Her family used to own our house.”

I scratched Poptart’s head. He still wasn’t purring. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“Samantha said that her dad said that the mortician didn’t like Mr. Fuentes, and after he tried to tour it, he was out sick for a week.”

“That still doesn’t mean he threw up today,” I said.

“Oh, yeah,” said Mariah. “She went into the office to pick up flyers for Homecoming and he was horking into a trash can in the nurse’s office.”

“Gross,” said Henri.

“He probably has the flu,” I said.

“Yeah, right, Mom,” said Max. “And it came on the second I mentioned Number Eight.”

“It could happen.”

“So,” said Henri, “the mortician has been running people out of here for decades. People tried to break in and he stopped them.”

“How’d he do that?”

“Nasty smells and a lot of bugs. One time, a bunch of kids got in and the house started on fire. Seriously, they called the fire department, the trucks came, and then the flames were gone. Lots of people saw it.”

“Everyone wants to know how we did it,” said Max.

“Did what?” I asked.

“Bought it.”

I got uneasy, looking at their eager faces. “What did you tell them?”

The boys got excited and explained in graphic detail how they told everyone about the bees chasing Terry out of the house and the cologne and cigarettes.

I looked at Mariah. “What about the secret doors and the recipes? Those are the big-ticket items.”

They shook their heads and Mariah said, “We agreed not to say anything about that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It seems like it was for us, and everyone would want to come and see,” she said. “We don’t want to be some sideshow thing.”

I reached over and hugged her. “That’s good thinking.”

“So, Mom, what do you think about having the mortician be part of our haunted house?”

“That is probably a terrible idea,” I said.

“Ya think?”

“Like Mariah said, we aren’t a sideshow, and neither is he. We’re talking about a person.”

The smell of cologne flooded the room, and Poptart started growling.

“Okay. Okay,” said Max. “We won’t do it.”

Henri’s phone buzzed, and he scooped it up. “It’s Ethan. Can we go down to The Grind? It’s a coffee shop.”

“Where is it?” I asked.

He pointed toward the riverfront.

“Not helpful.”

Max pulled up a map. “We can walk. It’s six blocks. I love this town. They have everything and it’s right downtown.”

“You must have homework.”

“Dude, so much homework,” said Henri. “But we’ll be back by six. Ethan has Greek school.”

“Ethan Estes has Greek school?” I asked.

The boys just looked at me. Their brains were probably saying duh.

“Fine. Back by six.”

The boys ran out and Mariah said, “His mom is Greek and the school is online, but he still has to do it.”

“So you know Ethan too?”

“It’s not that big a school,” she said, and something in her voice made me alert.

“Was today really okay?” I asked. “Your mom will be back in a minute. She found a pulled pork recipe in the cabinet and she wants me to make it tomorrow, so she had to go get the stuff.”

“It was okay,” said Mariah.

I gave her a look.

“Really. It was fine. Fun, actually. I know more people here than I did at my old school, which is pretty weird.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” I stood up and stretched my back. “I guess I better get back to work and you must have homework too.”

“Libby?”

I turned to look at her, and Mariah looked up with a face full of concern. “What is it?”

“Can we take a walk?” she asked.

“A walk?” That was new. Mariah never took walks with me or anyone else as far as I knew.

“Not a long one. I just want to talk to you.”

“What about?”

She stood up. “I’ll tell you on the walk.”

“It’s cold out.” I was a big fan of heat, especially since the wind was whipping the trees around and the temperature was dropping.

Mariah picked up her coat. “It’s not that bad.”

Since I appeared to have no choice in the matter, I followed her out into the foyer and grabbed my ski coat and hat off the floor.

“We really need a rack or something,” said Mariah.

“It’s on the list.”

She looked up the stairs as the boys started yelling at each other to hurry and Max ran by without a shirt on.

“Why are they changing?” she asked.

I smiled as Max ran back by wearing a Blues jersey, yelling that Henri couldn’t wear his.

“I don’t know why they do anything,” I said, and opened the door.

Mariah walked out, tugging her cap low and then shoving her hands deep in her pockets. Leaves were skittering across our wide porch, and the heavy cloud cover made the street ominous.

“People asked me so many questions about them today,” said Mariah.

I closed the door and put my hat on. “More than about the house?”

“I think so.”

The weight came back. “What did they do?”

“Where do I start?” Mariah turned left toward the riverfront and I followed.

Please don’t let this be really bad.

“The beginning usually works,” I said.

“We had an assembly during third period.”

Where’s this going?

“Uh-huh.”

“The principal introduced us, and we had to stand up,” said Mariah.

I died a little inside. Me at seventeen would never recover from that embarrassment. I’d probably have hidden in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, “but people will forget about it.”

She shook her head. “They won’t. Not a chance.”

Mariah told me what happened next, and there were no words. Seriously, none. The principal, for whatever reason, introduced the three new students. Then he made the entire school say hi to them like they were in kindergarten or something. I thought it couldn’t get worse, but then The Eggs saw that as an introductory opportunity. Instead of turning red and sitting down as quickly as possible, my two weirdos came out of the bleachers and went up to the principal, shook hands, and took over the microphone from the astonished man.

“They rapped,” she said.

I stopped walking. Derek had done something similar when he took over a halftime show during college. It made him a legend, but as much as the boys took after him, I never thought that was something they’d do. Sometimes I thought I hallucinated Derek’s takeover, it was so unreal.

“You okay?” Mariah asked.

I nodded.

“They did ‘Walk this Way.’”

I may have made a croaking sound.

“Max did the Run DMC part and Hen was the other guy, the skinny one.”

“The school just let them do it?” I asked.

“I think they were so surprised, they didn’t know what to do. Somebody started playing the music and then everyone was up and dancing.”

I stopped walking. “That song is about sex.”

“I know,” she said.

“Nobody called me.”

She nodded. “I heard the assistant principal say that the principal asked for it. She thinks he’s an idiot, but everyone really liked it. Best assembly ever was what I heard. I don’t think they’re going to call you, but it’s up on YouTube and everything.”

I took her arm and said, “I’m so sorry. I never thought that would happen in a million years.”

“Who would? It’s insane.” Mariah gave me a shy smile. “But it was pretty great. That’s another reason that everyone knows us. I’ve never been popular or cool before. It’s nice. People talk to me.”

“I guess it’s okay, then.” I turned around to go back to the house and then it dawned on me that this wasn’t a story that we needed privacy to discuss. “Why are we out here?”

“That rap is how I met Samantha Otto. She’s a sophomore like Max. I don’t have any classes with her or lunch or anything.”

“Not following,” I said.

Mariah turned me around with a glance back toward our house. “She only came up to me because the boys were so friendly, and she assumed I would be too.”

“You are friendly.”

Mariah sighed. “Nobody thinks that. I look intense.”

You are intense.

“I get that, but why is Samantha important?”

“She caught me between classes and asked to meet me after school for a few minutes,” said Mariah.

“I assume you did,” I said.

“You get that this was her family’s house, right?”

“I do.”

Mariah squeezed my arm. “I know who the ghost is, and he’s not just a mortician.”

I didn’t want to burst her bubble about this being new information, so I just nodded and kept walking. Mariah got a lot more than Leo’s name. Samantha’s father was Leo’s youngest stepson, Eric, and he loved Leo. She’d grown up hearing all about Leo and how great he was. Her dad really missed him. Samantha wanted to know if we’d seen Leo, if he said something, or showed us anything.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“I just mentioned the bees, not the recipes. I didn’t want to get her too excited.”

“It’s fine if you tell her about them. I think they should go to the family.”

Mariah shook her head.

“Why not?”

“They lived in the house after Leo died. He could’ve shown them where his stuff was and he didn’t.”

That was true. It certainly didn’t take long for Leo to show us. Why not give them to the family? We took a right and entered the riverfront park with its beautiful view of the river that wasn’t so much beautiful as intimidating that day, with roiling clouds and thunder in the distance.

“I guess maybe he didn’t want them to have his recipe collection,” I said.

“And I know why,” said Mariah. “Leo was murdered.”

Chapter Seven

An icy raindrop hit my cheek, and I wanted to run back to the house, but Mariah dragged me toward a pavilion instead, chattering a mile a minute. I could barely keep up. No, that’s not true. I couldn’t keep up at all.

“Why do you think Leo was murdered?” I asked.

“Samantha’s dad thinks he was. He always has since the day it happened.”

“It was an accident.”

Mariah made a raspberry. “An accident. Give me a break.”

“The police must’ve investigated,” I said.

She pulled out her phone and put it in my face. “Look at this guy. You think he fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck?”

I looked at a picture of Leo Pereyra wearing a slim-fitting button-up shirt, open at the neck and showing off an impressive physique. He didn’t look weak or likely to trip and fall, but I didn’t know. Maybe he was drinking or had a stroke. A million things could’ve happened.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“We have to do something,” said Mariah.

“Do something?”

“Leo is haunting us because he was murdered. He can’t rest, and that really bothers Samantha’s dad.”

I pulled out a tissue and blew my nose. “Why didn’t he do something?”

“He tried, but Leo never shows himself. Nobody’s ever seen him.”

“And you expect us to do what?”

“Solve the murder,” said Mariah, with an optimism that only the young have. All possibilities are open. No ways are barred.

“How are we supposed to do that?” I asked.

“You used to be an investigator. You can do it.”

I started laughing. It was rusty, but it felt good. “Me? Are you kidding?”

“You were. Mom told me.”

“That was for an insurance company. I just checked people out to see if they were faking back injuries. I was really a claims adjuster. I just got stuck with it when they were cutting back on expenses.”

“So you know how to do it,” she said.

I hadn’t seen Mariah that excited and happy since July fourth when we all went on a float trip and she was sitting with Hal making s’mores on the riverbank over a fire and laughing at his dad jokes that were in rare form.

“Honey, that was a long time ago. Before Max was born. I’ve been a stay-at-home ever since.”

She kept smiling. “I know Derek’s being a douche right now.”

Understatement.

“But he always said you could do anything,” said Mariah.

“Did he?” I asked, dripping with doubt.

“Yes. You could’ve been a lawyer if you wanted to. A doctor. Anything. He said you were smarter than him. You helped him get through law school and ran the practice when he was starting out.”

He never said that to me.

“I just helped out,” I said. “All I really wanted to do was be a mom.”

“You have a degree.”

“In business, not criminal justice.”

“It’s still a degree, and I know you can do it. I’d ask Mom, but she might get upset.”

“That’s a good reason why we can’t. Another is that I wouldn’t know where to start. Leo died almost twenty years ago.”

Mariah stepped back, and her expression changed to the sad, resentful look that had taken up residence when Hal died. “You’d do it for my dad.”

Low blow.

“It’s not your dad,” I said.

She crossed her arms and stuck out her chin. “It’s somebody’s dad. It’s Eric’s dad. Samantha’s grandad.”

“Mariah…”

She lit up and said, “I knew you’d do it.”

“I didn’t say that,” I said.

“I’ve known you since I was born,” she said with a huge smile. “You’re going to do it. You say no and then when we make a good case, you do it.”

“When does that happen?”

“When you made me that moose costume for Halloween because Mom can’t sew,” said Mariah.

I found myself smiling at the memory. She and Hal dressed up as a hunter and a moose. Mariah was an adorable moose. “This isn’t a moose costume.”

“I know what we should do first.”

“Hire someone who knows how to do it?” I asked.

“No. We get Leo to talk to us.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. Then we can just ask him who murdered him.”

Mariah drew back in horror. “We can’t do that.”

“Because we don’t know for certain that he was murdered?”

“He’ll get upset,” she said. “He could sic the bees on us or fog us out.”

“Sounds like an excellent reason not to do anything.”

She started pulling me toward the pavilion exit and said, “We just have to ask the right questions.”

“For example?” I asked.

“Did you have any enemies?”

“Subtle.”

We stood just under the edge of the roof as rain started pelting the ground, and I grimaced. Cold and wet. Awesome.

“Well,” said Mariah, “what did you ask the fakers?”

“Mostly, I took pictures of them loading lumber at Home Depot,” I said.

“We’ll think of something.” Mariah pulled me into the storm, and we ran home so fast that I was wet on the outside of my clothes and sweaty on the inside. Not a good way to start anything.

The boys came tumbling in the back door, mildly damp, but still smelly. I don’t know how they did it. They were always funky.

“What’s for dinner?” Max asked as he peeled off his coat and dropped it on the kitchen floor.

“Hey,” I said. “Pick that up.”

He looked down at his coat. “I thought that’s what we do now.”

“It is not what we do. We just don’t have a coat closet.”

Max looked down at his coat and then back at me.

I pointed at the kitchen table. “Pick it up and put it on the back of your chair.”

“Alright,” he groaned.

Picking up his coat was such an imposition. Henri had wisely waited and saved himself the effort, but he did throw his hat in the corner. I couldn’t deal with it. I just couldn’t.

“Henri!” Jess exclaimed as she wadded up more packing material.

“What?”

“Hat.”

“What about it?”

Jess stared him down until he picked it up and went through the arch. I’m pretty sure he tossed the hat on the floor there, but I didn’t care. Once Mariah and I got home and dry, she went off to have her Zoom study group and I was left to, as she put it, “come up with a rad plan.” She was back in the eighties with the boys. I’d have liked to go back there. Nobody expected much of me then, and everything was so hard now.

The boys came back in and Max repeated with emphasis, “What’s for dinner?”

“Pasta and cheesy bread,” I said.

“Cool beans,” he said.

“Totally tubular,” said Henri.

“What is happening to my life?” I asked.

The boys went to the fridge and pulled out the orange juice.

“We both had Mrs. Doyle for English today,” said Henri. “We did an entire class on slang.”

Max spun around. “Did Mariah tell you?”

The Eggs did the Run DMC pose, back to back with arms crossed.

“She told me,” I said.

“What possessed you?” Jess asked.

“The spirit of coolness,” said Henri.

“We’re just like Dad. Totally legend,” said Max.

I’m not sure that’s a good thing at the moment.

I got the pasta plates out of the warmer in our fancy stove and started setting the table. “It’s a wonder they didn’t give you detention.”

“The assistant principal stuck up for us. Mrs. Johns said we were entertainers and they should support us for our talent.”

Be good. You can do it.

“Just like your dad,” I said.

The boys grinned at me.

“He was really proud,” said Henri. “He showed everyone the video at the firm.”

Including the nitwit, I bet.

“That’s great,” I said. “Let’s eat. We need to discuss something.”

“Oh, no,” said Henri.

“What?”

“The last time you said that, you told us Dad wanted a divorce.”

I sliced the cheesy bread and said, “It’s not that.”

“You’d think Dad would’ve told us,” said Max. “Why didn’t he tell us?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

Max looked at me, his eyes questioning, thinking. I don’t mean to disparage my boys. I love them and they’re very smart, but they aren’t deep thinkers. That was the first time Max questioned anything about what had happened. Both of them just seemed to accept everything and decide that it would blow over, making it not worth worrying about.

“Ask Dad what?” Henri asked.

“Nothing,” said Max.

“Is the food ready?”

“Yeah, I’m starved.”

Moving on. That’s my boys.

I put the vodka cream pasta we called love pasta on the table. It was my comfort food, creamy and warm with a hint of alcohol flavor. Jess called up the stairs for Mariah, who came in wearing her 1993 outfit and getting snorts out of the boys.

“It’s comfortable,” she said, sliding into her seat.

Jess and I sat down, and the boys attacked the pasta like they hadn’t eaten in days. Mariah started talking about Leo, and Jess told the kids about going to the Sentinel.

“That’s genius,” Mariah said.

“What’s genius about going to the paper?” Max asked.

She thought for a second and then said, “We need to know as much as we can about Leo.”

“Why?”

“Libby and I decided that we should see if we can get him to appear,” said Mariah.

“That would be cool,” said Max.

“It’s not as spooky,” said Henri.

“Are you kidding?”

The boys and Mariah argued about what was spookier. A visible or invisible ghost. It was all spooky, as far as I was concerned. Jess didn’t seem to care one way or another. She’d been silent the entire time, barely picking at her dinner. It was Hal’s favorite dish of mine. I should’ve remembered that, but I was just thinking about comfort. For me, that is.

“Come on,” said Mariah. “If we’re living here, we should at least be able to see our roommate.”

Henri grinned. “Our roommate is a ghost.”

“That is so cool,” said Max. “I think you’re right. We should see him. I mean, it’s only fair. He can see us.”

The boys and Mariah started making entreaties to the empty air, begging for Leo to show himself. Nothing happened. Not even the faintest creak.

“He’s not here,” I said. “You can save your breath.”

“How do you know?” Henri asked.

I pointed my fork over at the stools by the island where Poptart was slinking around and sniffing. He spent a lot of time sniffing, which made me wonder if ghosts had a scent that he could detect and we couldn’t.

“Even if he’s not here now,” said Mariah, “he’s going to show up.”

“What makes you say that?”

She told them about Leo’s book. I’d given it to her when we got back and she loved it. There was a lot to love, I had to admit. For a column that was mainly about death, it had a lot of life in it.

“So he worked for the paper,” said Max. “So what?”

“Leo helped people. That’s why we got in and nobody else did,” said Mariah.

“Huh?”

“It’s so obvious. He helped people after someone died. He wants to help me and Mom.”

I looked at Jess, but she was staring down into her pasta bowl, not eating.

“Maybe we should talk about this later,” I said.

“Tonight is a good night for it to happen,” said Mariah. “I can feel it.”

“All I feel is hungry,” said Max, going for more bread.

“Get serious.”

“I’m always serious about food.”

Mariah looked up at the ceiling. “Don’t leave me hanging, Leo.”

Henri got up. “He’s leaving you hanging, Mariah. Maybe he’s on vacation.”

“Quiet,” she said. “He’s going to show. I know it.”

He went over to the fridge, got out the orange juice bottle, and filled his glass. “You’re out of luck, Mariah. Who wants juice?”

“I do,” said Max.

Henri turned around and dropped like a stone, sinking to the floor in one fluid motion without a word or even a syllable.

I jumped up and ran to him with Jess right behind me.

“Henri. Henri.” I shook his shoulder.

My boy’s face was slack. I didn’t think he’d hit his head on the floor. I didn’t see that, but it happened so fast. He could have a concussion.

“Is he breathing?” Jess asked.

“I think so.”

I checked his pulse, and his heart was thumping rapidly. “Call 911.”

Nobody said anything.

“Call 911!”

Henri stirred. “Mom?”

“It’s alright, honey. It’s fine. You’re going to be fine,” I said, cradling his head. “What did 911 say?”

No one answered.

“Somebody talk to me. When is the ambulance coming?”

“Libby,” said Jess.

“Did you call? Somebody call!”

“Mom!” Max yelled.

I looked up. “What?”

Next to the kitchen table stood a young man that I’d never seen before in my life. That’s the last thing I remember.

Chapter Eight

Coming back to consciousness was hard, and I didn’t want to. I fought it, and hands were pushing and pulling at me. I batted them away, but they got more insistent.

“Libby! Libby!”

“Mom!”

“It’s okay, Lib.”

“Open your eyes, Libby. Henri, say something.”

That got me. I had kids. I opened my eyes to find myself surrounded by worried faces.

“What happened?” I asked.

“You tell me,” said Jess in a choked voice.

“Henri? Where’s Henri?”

Someone squeezed my hand, and I looked over to see Henri smiling. “I’m okay.”

“Did you hit your head?”

“Nope.”

“Did I hit mine?”

They all laughed. I took that as a no and sat up. That’s when I saw him again, and the air went out of my lungs. This was no Hollywood-type ghost, and it couldn’t be Leo Pereyra either. The young man who stood next to the island was as solid as everyone else in the room, and I couldn’t understand what I was seeing. I expected a man of forty-five in a dark suit with greying temples. This was a twenty-five-year-old with long, curly hair, in full makeup, including heavy black eyeliner and glossy pink lipstick. He wore what I supposed could be called a costume of a metal-studded black leather jacket, a pink feather boa, and tiger-striped spandex pants.

I jumped to my feet, got in front of Henri, and yelled, “Who are you? Get out!”

“You wanted to see me,” he said with a grieved expression.

“Get out!”

He frowned and tossed his long hair back over his shoulder. “I live here.”

“We live here,” I said.

“Libby,” said Jess. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” I pointed past the ghost. “Look at Mariah.”

Mariah had retreated to the archway and was peeking around the woodwork with a fireplace poker in her hand. “I’m okay.”

“I can tell,” I said, and then looked back at the ghost. “You heard me. Get out.”

Max grabbed my hand. “Mom, chill.”

“I can’t chill. Who is that?”

“It’s fine. He must live here,” said my son, looking completely calm.

Henri elbowed Max.

“Sorry,” said Max.

The ghost frowned, slightly puzzled. “In a manner of speaking, of course.”

“We didn’t ask for you,” said Jess, sounding more strained.

He held his arms wide. “Yes, you did.”

“We did not,” I said. “We asked for Leo Pereyra.”

“That’s me.”

Mariah waved the poker. “It can’t be.”

“I gave you the apple ugly cake recipe,” he said. “Who else could do that?”

I couldn’t think of an answer, but then something dawned on me. “You don’t sound twenty-five.”

The ghost looked befuddled and then looked down at himself. “Oh!”

There was a pop, and then a forty-five-year-old man with greying temples stood at the island. I screamed. We all screamed.

He grinned at us. “You are a hard bunch to satisfy.”

“Who are you?” Jess whispered when the screams faded away.

“Leo Pereyra,” he said, still grinning. “I’m sorry. I forgot what age I was at. I should’ve been paying attention.”

Max tried to let go of my hand, but I had a death grip, no pun intended.

“So you changed your mind,” said Max. “That’s cool.”

“What?” the ghost asked.

“You were trans, right?” Henri asked. “That’s pretty progressive for back in the day.”

I looked at Henri. “What are you talking about?”

Henri rolled his eyes. “He was trans. Don’t freak out, Mom, jeez.”

Max nodded sagely. “People got to be who they be, Mom.”

Mariah started laughing and leaned the fire poker against the wall. “You idiots. He’s not trans.”

“What’s trans?” the ghost asked.

She walked over to us, giving him a wide berth. “They think you used to be a girl.”

“Huh?”

“He was a girl. That was a girl,” said Henri. “Don’t get me wrong, you looked good.”

Max nodded. “A lot better than Mrs. Meyer at our old school. She forgets to shave sometimes, but nobody says anything,” he said hastily. “We wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings. She’s super nice.”

“You two are such idiots,” said Mariah.

“And I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “You saw a girl?”

The boys nodded. Then I looked at Jess and she shook her head.

“For crying out loud,” said Mariah. “You all saw the same thing.”

The ghost took a step forward, and we all took a step back. “You boys saw me as a girl?” Then he grinned wider and started laughing. “I was in a cover band. I was in costume.”

“A cover band?” Max asked.

He nodded. “Glam rock. We were pretty good.”

“Oh,” I said. “You were Poison?”

“We covered them and a bunch of others.”

“So you weren’t…huh?” asked Henri.

Mariah pulled up a photo and showed it to him. “This is Poison. My dad has their albums. I’ve got them upstairs.”

“Wow,” said Henri. “You nailed it.”

The ghost smiled. “Thank you. It took some time to apply all that makeup. Not now, obviously.”

“So you are…”

“Leo Pereyra,” he said, “as requested.”

I forced myself to release my boys and took a deep breath. “I need chocolate.”

Leo smiled and went over to the draining board to point at a large mug. “I know just the thing.”

Nobody moved.

“Trust me,” he said.

“How come you were twenty-five and now you’re not?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s nice to be an age when I didn’t have back hair.”

“So you can be any age you want?” Mariah asked.

“I can be any age I was.” Leo explained that he wasn’t locked into the age he died at. He could go from birth to the exact moment of death, but not beyond.

“I’ve never heard of that before,” said Max.

“Hollywood,” he scoffed. “So many tropes. Please, come here and get the mug. I know a great mug cake recipe.”

Nobody moved, but Leo looked so disappointed that I walked over without actually making the decision to do it. “Were mug cakes a thing back when you were alive?”

“No, but I get around.” He gave me the directions, and I put the mug in the microwave for exactly one minute and thirty-five seconds. The cake came out amazing, and everyone wanted one.

Ten minutes later, we were sitting at the island eating our cakes and looking at a ghost who was so real, I could smell his Polo cologne and see the hint of stubble on his cheeks.

“You like the cake?” he asked eagerly.

“Perfect,” I said, and everyone nodded. “So how exactly do you get around?”

Leo’s eyes were a warm brown and crinkled at the edge with good humor. “You think I should be stuck where I died?”

“Well, yeah,” said Henri. “I thought you had to be.”

“That’s Hollywood again. I can go wherever I want,” Leo said.

“How come?” Max asked.

Leo crossed his arms. “Ask yourself this. Why would a ghost’s movements be restricted by property lines? Those are set by the currently living and change from time to time. It’s really just a legal thing. Why would I care about that?”

I’d never thought about it that way. Why indeed?

“Furthermore, why would anyone stay in the place where they died?” Leo asked. “It wasn’t a good time, and I had no attachment to the motel where it happened.”

Mariah raised her brows at me and I asked, “So…you remember what happened?”

“Vaguely, but I read the papers,” he said with little interest.

“You had to read the papers about your own death?” Max asked.

Leo nodded. “Death is traumatic. I don’t remember a lot about it.” He smiled again. “Who wants a butterscotch mug cake?”

The boys raised their hands, but I said, “You’ve got homework.”

“You all do,” said Jess.

Leo shook his head. “Moms. Always with the homework.”

“Yeah, Mom,” said Max. “Talking to a ghost beats out homework.”

Before I could say anything, Leo shook his head and said, “It does not. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

My boys grinned at him and Max said, “But you could. How do we know you won’t leave and never come back?”

“Because this is my house, the place I loved more than any other place in the world,” said Leo.

“Works for me,” said Jess. “Mariah has dishes before homework.”

I turned to the boys, who weren’t convinced that Leo wasn’t going to disappear, or maybe they just didn’t want to do homework.

“What do you have?” I asked.

They groaned, and both said, “Math.”

“I can help,” said Leo.

Henri wrinkled his nose. “Weren’t you an undertaker?”

“Funeral director is the current term, but yes, that was my job. You think undertakers don’t do math?”

“Not a lot of math,” said Max.

“Well, I have a mathematics degree from MIT, if that helps,” said Leo.

I went to the sink and filled my mug with hot water. “Your obituary didn’t say anything about that.”

Leo nodded. “My first degree, while I was alive, was business. I got the MIT degree after I died.”

I looked around the kitchen at the blank faces and then said, “After you died?”

“MIT, and universities in general, are chock-full of dead professors,” said Leo, as if that was an obvious thing that would happen.

“Okay,” I said, feeling slightly woozy.

Leo came over to me at the sink, and I swear I could feel his presence like he was a living man. There was body heat and a kind of feeling that’s hard to define. Like when you know someone else has entered a room behind you without hearing them. You just know they’re there. Something changes and you sense it. I sensed Leo Pereyra in that room.

“I know this is a lot to take in, but I also know you can handle it,” he said.

“You do?” I asked vaguely.

“Of course. You can handle anything.”

I looked up at him, and Tank Tancredi was right. Leo had a way about him. I believed every word and felt lighter somehow.

“Hello?” Max asked.

“Yes?” Leo asked, tearing his eyes from mine.

“How good are you with trig?”

“It’s my favorite. I had the best professor for that. He really knew how to make it make sense.” Leo went to the island, and the boys got out their books, chatting away and complaining about the amount of math the teacher assigned. Jess sat down and kept looking furtively at Leo. I knew how she felt. He looked like you could reach out and touch him, but at the same time, you knew you couldn’t.

Mariah came over to the sink with a funny look on her face and started loading the dishwasher.

“Okay?” I asked.

She nodded but didn’t say anything.

The boys started doing problems and Leo said, “Mariah, you can ask me if you want to?”

“Ask what?” Henri looked up, always eager for a distraction.

“Nothing,” said Mariah.

Leo looked at her and waited patiently. I started to say something, but he gave me the slightest shake of the head, and I closed my mouth. I obeyed a ghost. I don’t know why. It was just right.

“You won’t sleep until you do,” said Leo.

Jess wrapped her arms around her waist and stared at the floor. Mariah watched her and then said, “So you could see those professors and talk to them?”

“Yes,” said Leo.

“So you see other ghosts, then?”

“I do, but it’s a two-way street.” Leo told us seeing ghosts, even for ghosts, was a complicated business. He had to allow himself to be seen and the other ghosts had to want to see him to have it happen, and vice versa.

“Then you can’t see all the other ghosts?” Mariah asked as she closed the dishwasher.

“Not if they don’t want me to.”

Mariah mimicked her mother and looked down.

“What do you want to ask?” I asked, although I had a pretty good idea and wanted to ask for her, but Leo’s mild admonishment still held me back.

“Have you seen my dad?” she whispered without looking up.

“No,” he said, “I haven’t, and I think I would if he were around.”

She swallowed hard and wiped a tear off her cheek before meeting his eyes. “How come?”

“Because the newly dead aren’t so good at controlling themselves. It takes a while to master it when the emotions are fresh. Your dad loved you, and if he were here, I think he wouldn’t be able to control his visibility around you. At the very least, I would see him.”

“So Hal isn’t a ghost?” Henri asked.

“I doubt it,” said Leo. “I could be wrong, of course.”

I gave Mariah a tissue, and she blew her nose. Jess looked relieved, and the boys went back to their math, slightly disappointed.

“Why wouldn’t he stay for me?” Mariah asked.

“I didn’t know him,” said Leo, “so it’s hard to say. Maybe he didn’t feel the need, or maybe he didn’t decide at all.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “You didn’t decide to stay?”

Leo shook his head. “I don’t remember deciding.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Mariah asked, suddenly alert.

“Mariah,” said Jess. “That’s private.”

“I don’t mind,” said Leo. “Honestly, it’s all fuzzy. I remember going to the motel, and that’s about it.”

“You don’t remember falling?” I asked. “Seems like you’d remember that.”

“It is rather strange, but I don’t remember the events around my father dying either. We were in a car accident. I never lost consciousness, but I remember very little about it. We were going to the store and then I was at the hospital. I was talking the whole time and coherent, but my memory just isn’t there.”

Jess nodded. “I don’t remember anything about finding out Hal was dead. I think I was in the yard. Libby came outside, and we talked. I know you told me, you must’ve, but then I’m sitting on the sofa trying to figure out how to tell Mariah. It’s like a dream, so fuzzy, like it happened to someone else. Afterward, I kept thinking that it didn’t happen.”

I nodded. “You’d come and ask me again and again if I really told you that Hal was dead for the first week until after the funeral.”

Mariah dried her hands. “I remember you telling me, but I don’t remember what you said or what I said.”

She looked like she was thinking, but not about her dad or what happened.

“So did you just wake up dead?” Mariah asked.

Leo chuckled. “Pretty much.”

“Was it totally gross?” Henri asked.

“Waking up?”

“Yeah. It would be so freaky,” said Max. “Seeing your body and stuff.”

“Oh, I didn’t. Not until the funeral,” said Leo. “I looked good. Darren did a good job handling everything. That’s my stepson. He took over after me.”

I made a face, and Leo said quickly, “Not the embalming. We’re not crazy. He had an outside contractor come in to do that, but he ran my funeral. I was in the ballroom.”

“Didn’t need to know that,” I said.

“Sorry. I forget that death to you is scary.”

“You weren’t scared?” Mariah asked with an intensity I’d only seen on her face right before dropping her off for the SATs.

“I was confused, but never scared,” said Leo. “Life’s little fears and anxieties seemed to vanish along with my life.”

“Why do people stay?” Jess asked. “Is Hollywood right on that one? Unfinished business?”

“Good question. I don’t know. I didn’t have any. I just showed up in this kitchen on the day of my funeral and that was that.”

“What about all the professors?” I asked. “Did they know why they stayed?”

He chuckled. “They did. Every single one wanted to keep teaching. It made them happy, so they kept doing it.”

Leo turned back to the boys and their math questions. Mariah held out her phone to me. On her notes app, she’d typed, “He doesn’t know he was murdered.”

Great.

Chapter Nine

Jess lay on the floor amid piles of books, boxes, and packing paper. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t asleep. It was more like an act of passive resistance.

“I’m telling you no more,” she said.

“Get up and put those books on the shelves,” I said.

“Let’s hire someone to do it.”

“With what money?”

She rolled over, belly down, and spread-eagled. “I’ll sell my shoes.”

“You’d have to unpack them first,”

“My art supplies. I found those,” said Jess.

“Never,” I said. “You’ll get back to art when you feel better.”

“I don’t know. Teaching art and creating used to make me so happy. Now I can’t remember why.”

“That will change,” I said from the other side of the room where I sat, unwrapping the knickknacks Jess’s mom had given me, a collection of little wooden boxes too small to really store anything that she’d bought on her many travels.

“You don’t have to keep those,” said Jess.

“Yes, I do.”

“They’re useless.”

I walked over and nudged her with my foot. “A lot like you.”

“I hate moving. I’ve spent half my life moving. It sucks.”

“And yet here we are,” I said.

“Where do you think he is?”

I glanced around like I had been since the moment I’d woken up that morning, expecting to see Leo Pereyra standing there, but he hadn’t shown up all day. We’d stayed up until eleven with the kids doing homework and us arranging the kitchen according to Leo’s instructions. He had definite opinions on kitchen storage, and we couldn’t have cared less, so we did as he suggested.

When it was time for bed, he said goodnight, and with a pop, he was gone. Poptart immediately slinked into the kitchen, looked around, and started cleaning. We took that to mean Leo was well and truly gone.

“Who knows? Yale?” I unwrapped another box and set it on the mantel.

“He said Yale ghosts are snotty.”

“I guess he could be anywhere.”

“A nightclub in Paris.” Jess closed her eyes. “Or at the Borough Market in London. Hal loved the salt beef on a bagel. I wonder if Leo knows about salt beef.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, but you know, he could just be sleeping,” I said.

“Do you think he sleeps?”

“I hope so. I love sleeping. Sleeping’s the best.”

Jess laughed and rolled back over. “Hal would like to be able to nap.”

I stopped what I was doing and looked over. “You okay?”

“I think so.”

“Did it upset you that Leo hasn’t seen Hal?”

She stared up at the ceiling. “No, but I think it upset Mariah.”

“I think so too.”

Jess sat up and stretched. “But I don’t want him to be unhappy with unfinished business.”

“Do you think Leo’s unhappy?”

“I don’t know. We should ask.” She got up and started for the door.

“Hey, where are you going?”

Jess rolled her eyes. “To get some tea, if that’s all right with you.”

“We have to unpack. Stop delaying.”

She walked out, and I heard her say, “I’m not delaying. I’m just not doing it.”

“Same thing!” I yelled.

With Jess gone, I flopped on the sofa and put my head on the arm, closing my eyes. I’d just about drifted off when my phone dinged. It was a text from Mariah.

“Talked to Samantha. Go to The Grind.”

“What for?” I answered.

“Meet her dad. Don’t tell Mom.”

I looked at the door and texted, “I have to tell her.”

“She’ll get upset,” texted Mariah. “In class. Bye.”

Wonderful.

Jess walked in and kicked some wads of paper out of the way while blowing on her cup. “Do you remember that mug cake recipe? I think I need one.”

“Not really,” I said.

“What’s wrong?” Jess spun around. “Did we get a new one?”

“A new what?”

“Ghost?”

“One is quite enough,” I said.

She plopped down next to me and asked, “Then what is it? The Hal thing?”

“No.” I checked my phone. Ten to eleven. “I think I need to get out and walk.”

We both looked out the large window next to the fireplace. Rain was pelting against the glass and threatening to turn into sleet.

“Why in the world?” Jess asked. “Let’s build a fire and put on our pajamas instead.”

“It’s not pajama time,” I said.

She eyed me suspiciously. “It sure isn’t ‘go out for a walk’ time, ya nut.”

“Just out then…for coffee. The Grind roasts their own. I’ll go down and get some.”

Jess sat up straighter. “Are you missing your mom?”

“Oh, uh, I guess.”

“When’s she coming?” Jess asked with her eyes lit up.

“Thanksgiving, I think.”

“That’s so long.”

“Mom’s on a cruise,” I said.

Jess grimaced at me. “She hates Florida. She should come back.”

My mom didn’t exactly hate Florida, but moving there had been her dream, and like all dreams, it didn’t live up to the hype.

“I don’t know. She might. Why are you asking about Mom all the sudden?” I asked.

Jess blew on her tea and said, “She loves her gourmet coffee. It made me think of her.”

It was more than that. Jess was very attached to both my parents, and she took my dad’s death almost as hard as I did.

I went out into the foyer, found my hat and coat, and then popped my head back in. “Your mom said she would come and help.”

“Felicity? No thanks,” said Jess with a sniff.

“Joanne, your mom.”

Jess looked out through the rain-soaked window. “I’m not in the mood to be research for her next book.”

“Maybe it won’t happen this time.”

“That’s what you said last time,” said Jess. “I tell Felicity something and she puts it in a book. It’s how she works. Everything and everyone is material, including Mariah. I’m not having it.”

“She’s better than before.”

“You mean when she told the world that her teen romance series was based on me, including the sex stuff, and I had to go on talk shows to promote it?”

I grinned. “That didn’t work out for her. Shaving half your head and writing ‘Romance Sucks’ on your cheeks with Sharpie was a nice touch.”

“She rolled with it. She always does,” said Jess. “Sales went up after my appearances. Felicity became relatable. The poor beleaguered mother.”

“Are you serious?” I asked. “You never told me that. How could anyone think Felicity Woodward is relatable? She’s so…fancy.”

“That’s one word for it. By the way, she asked me to do it again when the next series came out,” said Jess.

There’s nothing I can say to that.

“Well, they were great at the funeral,” I said.

Phillip and Joanne had flown in immediately, taken over in the way only they could, with precision and an eye to the moment. Hal’s funeral went off without a hitch, just the way he’d have liked it. Then Phillip and Joanne, true to their natures, flew out on the redeye that night and hadn’t been seen again.

She nodded. “I know.”

“And they let us have the money for this place,” I said, feeling disloyal but bound to remind my best friend that we were lucky.

“I’m paying them back every cent,” she said.

“We’re paying them back,” I said.

“Your mom should come sooner.” Jess pulled one of my grandmother’s afghans up to her chin.

“I’ll ask her when she gets back from her trip.”

“That would be good. The kids would love for her to come.”

I don’t know where it came from, but I asked, “Do you want to come with me? Maybe you need to get out?”

“No, thanks.” She put her head back and closed her eyes.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay.”

I turned and walked into the foyer and nearly ran right into Leo. Well, I guess I couldn’t actually run into him, but it seemed that way to me.

“Oh, jeez.” I bent over and clutched my chest. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” Leo whispered.

“Did you say something?” Jess called out.

I looked back in at her curious face and said, “No. Just trying to find my keys.” I held them up. “Found ‘em.”

“Get some of those chocolate-covered espresso beans, if they have them,” said Jess, closing her eyes. “We need the zing.”

“On the list.” I closed the door and turned to the concerned ghost in the foyer.

“She’s not alright,” he said. “I should talk to her.”

I reached for him, and my hand went through his shoulder. My hand, arm, and right up into my shoulder turned ice cold, like I’d stuck my arm in a blast freezer. I jumped back and asked, “What was that?”

“Me,” he said. “I can’t help it. When I’m upset, I get colder.”

“I thought you didn’t get upset.”

Leo began pacing. “She’s grieving for so many things. We have to help.”

I checked my phone. I had to go. “Not right now.”

“Now is exactly the time,” he said. “If you hold on to grief too long, it takes hold like a bad infection, and then it’s almost impossible to get rid of. It becomes part of who you are.”

“Doesn’t it always?” I asked.

“No.” Leo looked at me with such kind eyes, and I could see why he’d been so loved in St. Sebastian.

I had questions but no time to ask them. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Why are you leaving?” he asked. It wasn’t an accusation. With anyone else, it would’ve been.

“Mariah wants me to do something for her. Don’t tell Jess for now. It’s to do with a school friend. Just let her alone in there.”

The ghost looked over at the door, and the edges of his mouth twitched. “My instinct says not to.”

“My experience says you should. Right now, it’s her mom, not Hal. She just needs to wallow for a little while. I won’t be gone long.”

Leo nodded, and I marveled at how the light shone on his thick curls and the curve of his jaw as if the light was actually hitting him. Maybe it was. Looking at Leo Pereyra made me think anything was possible.

“I’ll be back.” I went for the door.

He stayed rooted to his spot and said, “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

I frowned.

“From a distance.”

I couldn’t do anything about a ghost bodyguard, so I nodded and went out into a day that was getting colder by the moment.

The Grind was right on the riverfront and was getting blasted by the cold coming off the water. I was half-soaked and regretting my failure to grab an umbrella by the time I got from the parking lot to the door.

A bell jangled overhead when I walked in, and it surprised me to see so many people there at eleven on a Tuesday, but it was practically a full house. After I stripped off my wet hat and coat to hang them on one of the coat racks by the door, I took a look around. The boys told me that The Grind slapped. That was a good thing, and they were right. The place smelled of freshly baked carrot cake and excellent coffee. It had brick walls, open rafters, photos, and signs from many different eras hung all over, and plenty of tables to sit at or squashy-looking chairs to curl up in. A calico cat sat on one of the chairs, kneading on a pillow, and next to the cat sat a man, who looked up and smiled tentatively at me. He was blond and almost delicate in his bone structure. Nothing like Leo, not that he should be, but I was still surprised.

I took a breath and hesitated. I’d been so eager to get out of the house, I hadn’t had a moment to plan what I’d say to Eric Otto. I wasn’t even sure why I was there and, by the look of him, he didn’t either.

Go on. You can do it.

I walked over and asked, “Samantha’s dad?”

He broke into a grin. “Yes. Mariah’s mom’s best friend?”

“That would be me.”

He stood up and shook my hand. “Eric.”

“Libby.”

“Short for?”

I grimaced. “Liberty. My parents were hippies.”

He laughed and said, “Samantha told me that, but I thought she might be kidding.”

“Nope. Liberty Sunshine at your service,” I said.

“Wow.”

“Tell me about it.”

Eric sat down and said, “Just push Poppy off the cushion. She’ll get over it.”

“I’m going to order first, if you don’t mind,” I said.

“Not at all. Tell them you’re with me,” said Eric. “You’ll get a discount. This is my wife’s place.”

“Thanks.”

I went up to the counter where a man with an enormous amount of red hair in dreadlocks was waiting. His name tag claimed his name was Hank.

“How can I help you?” he asked.

“I need a giant cappuccino with a shot of hazelnut and some beans, please,” I said. “Eric Otto told me to tell you that I’m with him.”

“No problem. I got it. Would you like a real mug or paper?” He pointed out a crazy collection of mugs that must’ve come from garage sales far and wide.

“Real,” I said.

“Your name?”

“Libby.”

“Nice to meet you, Libby.” He offered me samples of their coffees while a young woman made my cappuccino. I chose a Peruvian light roast and a Kona dark.

“So is Hank short for Henry?” I asked.

He smiled. “It is.”

“You don’t get a lot of Henrys these days, although my son is one, so you’re in good company. He’s Henri with an I, though, after his grandfather.”

“You’re Henri and Max’s mom?” Hank asked with a grin.

I winced. “I am. What did they do?”

“Are you kidding? Those two are legend.”

“In their own minds.”

“No, seriously, that thing they did at the assembly was amazing. I told them to come down to open mic night. It’s every Friday.”

“They’re not entertainers,” I said.

“I’d think twice about that if I were you. Totally legend.”

The young woman finished my beautifully made cappuccino in a cup that was the size of a cereal bowl and decorated with cacti and coyotes. I got a heart and what appeared to be a ghost in my foam.

“You bought the funeral home, right?” she asked with a shy smile.

“I did. This is beautiful. I hate to drink it.”

“It’s meant to be enjoyed,” said Hank. “That’s how we keep you coming back.”

I paid and thanked them before going back and squeezing in next to Poppy, who was none too pleased. I tasted the cappuccino and closed my eyes.

“Good, huh? They make all their own syrups.”

When I opened my eyes, Eric was smiling at me.

“That might be the best cappuccino of my life,” I said.

“So you’ll be back?”

“Are you kidding? I want to move in.”

Eric looked around. “You’re not alone.”

“I can see why it’s so full.” I put my coffee on a stump that served as a table and asked, “So why am I here?”

Eric blinked and said, “I was going to ask you that.”

“Oh. Mariah just texted and told me to come. I thought you’d know why.”

Eric shrugged and drank some coffee before saying, “I assumed you wanted to ask me about the house.”

“No questions about the house, really.”

He looked at me patiently, and I tried to think of what to say. Mariah must want me to ask him about Leo, but how could I say, “So…about your dead stepdad. Why do you think someone murdered him? Oh, and by the way, he’s hanging out in our kitchen and smells great.”

“It’s maybe about the house. Kinda,” I said.

“Is there a problem? You know we sold it a long time ago. We’ve had little to do with it since then,” he said.

Gently. Ease into it.

“We’ve heard some rumors.”

He nodded. “Ah, yes. The rumors. Don’t let that get to you. That’s just St. Seb. Everyone here thinks there are ghosts, but it’s just part of our charm.”

What now?

“So you don’t think…”

“That there are ghosts in St. Seb?” Eric asked. “No. There aren’t any ghosts. Think of it as a kind of mass hysteria. One person believes it and then another does. Next thing you know, we’ve got ghost hunters and lots of tourists. I’m not against the tourists. Great for the shop.”

“Um…what do you do?” I asked for something to say.

“I’m in insurance,” said Eric. “You should know that I grew up in that house and I never saw a single odd thing. Not once.”

“You’re an insurance agent?”

“I own an agency. Do you need insurance?”

“I need a job.” I don’t know what happened. I like to think of myself as relatively smooth, but that was not smooth.

“Oh,” he said. “Have you worked in insurance before?”

I gave him my history, and he nodded. “I don’t have any permanent openings, but I do need someone to fill in while my main adjuster is on maternity leave.”

“I could do that,” I said.

Eric smiled at me and pulled out his card. “Send me your résumé and we’ll talk. Ashley’s thinking about taking six weeks, but I think she might do more once the baby’s here.”

“That would be great. When’s she due?” I asked.

“Any minute.” He smiled. “That must be why Samantha wanted us to meet.”

I nodded and tried to think of some way to bring up Leo, but he didn’t believe in ghosts and he had a job. I needed a job.

Eric shook my hand and said, “Great to meet you. I look forward to getting your résumé.”

“I’ll send it as soon as I get home.”

He stood up and went out into the increasing storm. I gulped down the rest of my coffee and started to stand up when a beautifully manicured hand set another enormous cup down on the stump.

“On the house,” said the woman, and she sat down in Eric’s chair.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. She was stunning in a way that was almost unreal, and I had the urge to poke her hand to see if she was solid. Since I couldn’t do that, I stared at her. She filled the chair with voluptuous curves, and her head was well over the seat back. Her eyes were pale green, stunning with her skin that was the color of almonds and her short blond hair, no more than an inch long. She looked like she should be wearing expensive perfume, but instead, she smelled strongly of licorice.

“You didn’t come here for a job, did you?” she asked.

Who are you? Why do you smell like licorice? 

“You’ve got questions,” she said. “Let’s get those out of the way. Yes, I was a model. No, I don’t miss it. Yes, I’m happy in St. Seb, and to the last and most popular question, no, I’ve never been in a reality show.”

I frowned as I tried to process both her and the weird questions she thought I was going to ask.

“Those were your questions, right?” she asked.

“No,” I said, surprised at hearing my own voice.

She leaned back in the chair with a deep frown, distorting her lovely features into a scowl. “Please don’t ask me if I’ve done porn.”

“Ew. I would never. Who does that?”

She relaxed and said, “You’d be surprised. So what are your questions? I know you have some. I can always tell.”

I picked up my new coffee and took a sip. “Guatemalan?”

“Yes. You have a good palate. But that can’t be your only question.”

“Who are you, and why do you smell like licorice?” I asked.

A smile spread over her face, and I watched her body relax.

“I’m Sylvia Otto, Eric Otto’s wife.”

“Thanks for the discount.”

“You’re welcome,” Sylvia said. “So you’re a supertaster. Good to know.”

“Huh?”

“Only supertasters smell my perfume as licorice.”

I gave Poppy a scratch that got me a little love bite, and I said, “Mariah thinks she’s a supertaster, but I don’t know if I am or not. Are you?”

“Yes, and I hate licorice,” said Sylvia.

“So…”

“Eric had the perfume made specially for our anniversary. He isn’t a supertaster. It smells like flowers in the sunshine to him.”

“But you still wear it, even though you hate licorice?” I asked.

She smiled, and Hank came over with a tiny espresso cup for her. She took it and thanked him before saying, “He was so excited about the perfume. I couldn’t disappoint him.”

“I get that.”

“Back to my original question,” said Sylvia. “You didn’t come here for a job, did you?”

“I need a job,” I said, trying to gauge what to say. “Badly. I’m getting divorced, and my husband is being a pain.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but you’ve answered one of my questions.”

“What’s that?”

She laughed. “Why in the world did you buy a haunted funeral home?”

“Do you really think it’s haunted?” I asked.

She set down her tiny cup on the stump and scooted her chair closer to mine. “I know it is.”

“How?”

“You can’t tell Eric any of this,” said Sylvia.

I crossed my heart, and Sylvia told me her story. She’d met Eric online on a website that didn’t use pictures, and they’d fallen in love. He asked her to marry him and move to St. Seb without mentioning the ghost factor. Sylvia thought she was going nuts. She saw Confederates at the hospital, a see-through cop directing traffic, and a paddleboat on the river on fire with bodies floating around it. She made an appointment with the town’s psychiatrist, thinking she was on her way to a rubber room, but the doctor just laughed and told her about the town. Sylvia was fine.

“Have you ever seen anything at our house?” I asked.

“You mean, have I seen Leo?”

“Yeah.”

“No, but I have driven by and seen all the lights on and what looked like a Christmas party going on,” said Sylvia. “There was a tree, lights, and decorations.”

“Maybe they rented it out for an event,” I said.

“It was April.”

“Okay. So that’s weird.”

Sylvia leaned in closer and asked, “Why are you here?”

I wasn’t sure what to do. She believed. That was good, but she hid it from her husband, and that was bad.

“Hank,” Sylvia called out. “Can you bring out the cake?”

“Sure thing, boss!”

A few seconds later, Hank came over with a slab of carrot cake that was so moist, it was practically oozing. He set it down with a small white pitcher next to it and looked at me with curiosity before heading back to the counter.

Sylvia picked up the pitcher and said, “We do a molten cream cheese icing.” She drizzled it on the slab and my mouth watered as the tangy scent hit me.

“Are you trying to bribe me?” I asked.

She smiled. “Is it working?”

“Definitely.” I forked up a generous bite and enjoyed the best cake on earth. “How many times have you used this cake to get what you want?”

“A few,” she said. “It’s never failed.”

“I can see why.”

She scooted even closer and asked, “What do you know?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Look. I know you’ve seen something in that house. My daughter tells me everything,” said Sylvia.

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Okay. Most things. Sam and I are close. She reached out to Mariah, and that means something. She’s very shy.”

“What did Mariah tell her?” I asked.

“Just the regular things we’d already heard of, bees and whatnot, but Sam is sensitive. She knows that something else has happened to you all since you bought the house, and she wants to help her dad,” said Sylvia.

I took another bite and had to wait a second to get my mind back on the matter at hand. “Does he really think someone murdered Leo?”

Sylvia nodded. “Definitely. Have you seen Leo? I swear I won’t tell anyone if you have.”

“What about Eric?”

“Especially him.”

“Why not? I’d think he’d want to know,” I said.

“He would have,” said Sylvia, “at one time.”

Eric Otto didn’t believe in ghosts, but after Leo died, he tried to see him. He tried for years, but nothing happened. No one else saw Leo, either, including his mother, and that was the one comfort. Because he hadn’t appeared, they believed Leo was at rest. Sylvia didn’t want to take that away from Eric. Leo’s death had been extremely painful. The two of them were very close.

“I’ve seen him,” I whispered. “We all have.”

“What do you mean, all?”

“All of us. The kids. My friend Jess. All of us.”

Sylvia drew back, and her lovely eyes grew moist. “Why couldn’t Eric see him then if he’s there?”

I told her about what Leo said about believing in ghosts. My guess was that as much as Eric wanted to see Leo, he didn’t truly believe, so he couldn’t. Desire wasn’t enough.

Sylvia pulled out a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “What did he say? Did he tell you who did it?”

“He doesn’t remember much about it,” I said. “His death, I mean.”

“But you asked him who murdered him.”

I explained why we hadn’t and she understood, but I could tell she wasn’t happy about it.

“What does he remember?”

“He was at the motel and he woke up, or whatever you want to call it, on the day of his funeral.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“That’s nothing to go on,” said Sylvia. “What’s your plan?”

The fork stopped halfway to my mouth. “Plan for what?”

“Finding out who killed him. Sam said Mariah totally wants to figure it out.”

I took the bite and, like most sweet things, it numbed my anxiety. “I know, and I’d like to find out. What did the cops say?”

As it turned out, the cops labeled Leo’s death as an accident with nothing but the most cursory investigation. Eric, believing there had to be more to it, had hired three separate private investigators over the years. They’d come up with nothing but large bills.

“Then why is Eric so sure?” I asked.

“Leo was forty-five and in amazing shape. He ran and did those rope challenge obstacle course things for fun.”

I nodded, but said, “Accidents do happen.”

“Old people fall down the stairs and break their necks. Sick people. They did an autopsy. Nothing was wrong with him. He didn’t have a stroke or a heart attack. There’s no reason for a man in the prime of his life to fall down the stairs at a seedy motel and wind up dead.”

I drank some of my fabulous cappuccino and thought it over. “If the cops and all those detectives found nothing, I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“You’ve got something they didn’t have,” she said with a hopeful smile. “You’ve got Leo.”

“Who remembers nothing and clearly doesn’t think he was murdered,” I said.

“You’ll have to ask the right questions,” said Sylvia.

“I have no idea what questions would be the right ones, and I’m not sure I think he was murdered. By all accounts, everybody loved him.”

Sylvia lowered her voice. “Not everyone.”

“Really?”

Leo was beloved in general. In particular, not so much. There had been another funeral home nearby, owned by the Fischer family in Whiskey Ridge. St. Seb was a metropolis compared to that tiny town, and the Fischer operation was one of the few businesses that were doing well. That is, until Leo married Carol. That was well before Sylvia’s time, but she’d heard that Leo took the town by storm. They’d never seen anyone like him, a young, charming Latino who was so handsome, every female from twelve to ninety-two had a huge crush on him. Quite a few of the men did, too, but they were less obvious and didn’t bring baked goods to Number Eight.

The Otto funeral home was holding its own before Leo came. Eric’s grandparents ran the operation with help from his mom, Carol, but it wasn’t setting the world on fire. Leo changed everything. Soon there were waiting lists, and the Fischer family lost business. They usually got all the farm families from the neighboring tiny towns that liked a no-frills, practical approach. Leo didn’t have to have frills. There was something undefinable about him. He didn’t steal the Fischers’ customers. He didn’t have to. They came on their own. When he added a cremation option, they were done for. They closed five years after Leo arrived, after having been a family business for over a hundred and twenty years, longer than the Ottos, and the loss burned.

“Hold on,” I said, my stomach going tight. “Are you saying we have a crematorium in our house?” I might throw up. I might. I might.

“Oh, no. Sorry. That facility was outside of the town limits. It was a zoning thing, apparently.”

I sagged in my seat. “Thank goodness. Having the fridges is bad enough.”

“You still have those fridges?” Sylvia asked.

“We do, and we can’t get rid of them.”

“Gross.”

“Tell me about it.” I refocused with the help of the coffee, and said, “So the Fischers hated Leo.”

“Very much. Still do. They even sued the family a couple of times.”

“What for?” I asked.

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, but it was basically that Leo put them out of business and they wanted money. Judges threw them all out.”

“I can’t see anyone murdering someone ten years after they lost their business.”

“You don’t know the Fischers. Larry Fischer spit in my hair last Tuesday at a JV football game.”

I drew back. “That’s disgusting. Why?”

“Who knows? Sam’s in the band, and they were practicing their halftime show, so I went to watch. Larry’s son is on the team. I don’t know how he made it. The kid’s a real cantaloupe, but we were in the stands at the same time. Larry was muttering about how Ottos ruin everything, saying that Sam screwed up the halftime show. All kinds of bull. The next thing I know, he spits on me.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

Sylvia raised a fist. “My father didn’t raise me to take that. I went for him, but the crowd kept us apart and the assistant principal, Mrs. Johns, threw him out. He accused her of favoritism because we’re both Black. It couldn’t be the spitting and the litany of obscenities he was yelling in front of the kids.”

Leo’s a Latino.

“So he’s a racist too.”

“I’d never heard that, but I guess maybe,” said Sylvia. “I got a bunch of nasty emails over it as well. Not from the Fischers, though.”

“And I thought this town was so nice,” I said sadly.

She reached over and scooted the plate closer to me. “It is, but every place has its crazies. The Fischers are ours.”

“They don’t live in Whiskey Ridge anymore?”

“No, unfortunately. They moved into St. Seb after the business closed,” said Sylvia.

Hank came over with a fresh espresso and a peanut butter cookie for Sylvia and said, “I heard you mentioned the Fischers. I thought you might need this.”

“Thanks. You’re right, as usual,” she said.

He asked if I needed anything and then went back to the counter, where a line had formed during his minute’s absence.

“You know, it’s not just the Fischers,” said Sylvia.

“There can’t have been another funeral home in the vicinity,” I said.

“No, but there were husbands.”

Leo had stirred up a lot of jealousy, and a few angry husbands had threatened him. When a man’s wife bakes for another man, it’s war, except Leo wasn’t interested in fighting. Sylvia heard he was unfailingly polite to those husbands, even when someone egged Number Eight, and Carol got emails about her husband’s so-called extracurricular activities.

“What does Eric say about all that?” I asked.

“Nothing. He won’t talk about Leo anymore. It’s too painful. I’m glad you didn’t mention him. Sam doesn’t understand. She wants to know what really happened. Leo wasn’t just a step. He was her grandpa, and she never met him.” 

I thought about Jess and her parents. Even at our age, she was still grieving not having a normal relationship with them. She never had a real mother the way I did, and it hurt.

“I understand. You can feel the loss of something you never had.”

Sylvia finished her second espresso and said, “Yes, you can.”

“Was there anyone in particular that Leo had a problem with?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Eric may have said at one time, but I don’t remember. I could try to ask, but I’m not sure how far I’ll get. He’s given up on learning the truth. That’s why I’m so glad you’re going to work on it.”

“I can try, but I’m not a detective, and I do have to get a job. That’s not a joke. I really need to work.”

Sylvia leaned over to me and said, “How about a little incentive?”

“I’m listening,” I said.

“I’ll make sure you get that temp position with Eric. Between you and me, there are about six people bucking for that job. It’s sweet. You can work at home.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“And all your coffee is on the house.”

I drummed my fingers on the arm of my chair. “I do love coffee, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“If you can see Leo, I’m willing to bet you can figure it out,” said Sylvia. “If you do, I’ll pay you the same amount that Eric paid those detectives who didn’t get anywhere.”

“I’ll be working on spec?”

“With free coffee and a job.”

I held out my hand. “Deal.”

Chapter Ten

The house was completely silent and with no scents except for my pulled pork when I got back from The Grind laden with bags. Sylvia was out of the chocolate-covered espresso beans, unfortunately, but I got a couple of espresso brownies that might do the trick.

I peeled off my wet jacket and hung it on the back of one of the dining room chairs I’d carried into the foyer. We really needed coat racks. It looked like L.L. Bean exploded in our beautiful foyer. I should’ve asked Sylvia where she got the ones at The Grind. A couple of those would be perfect.

The family room door was still closed, so I carefully opened it a crack and peeked in. Jess was now sprawled on the sofa, making little snores.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

I jumped and dropped my beans and brownies. “What did I say about not doing that?”

Leo crossed his arms. “I thought you saw me.”

“Well, I didn’t.” I picked up my beans and closed the door again, leaving Jess in peace.

“I’m serious,” said Leo as he dogged my steps back into the kitchen.

I put the bags on the island and grabbed a glass of water. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re going out again,” he said. “You need to stay with her. She’s at a low ebb.”

“What makes you think I’m going out?”

“I can tell.”

“How?”

Leo’s incredibly handsome face turned grumpy. “I don’t know. I just can. I’ve always been that way.”

“Don’t be mad at me. It’s not my fault you’re some kind of Betazoid.”

His face went back to sunny. “You like Star Trek.”

“I do.” I got a bag of carrot sticks out of the fridge, hoping to counteract the slab of carrot cake I ate down to the last morsel. My jeans fit worse every day. Sylvia was a very bad influence.

“What’s your favorite show?” Leo asked.

“Deep Space Nine.”

He clutched his chest. “The original is the best.”

“You’re cracked,” I said. “So why were you upset when I asked how you could tell about things?”

He thought about it and said, “People get upset when I can’t give them a straight answer. It caused problems.”

“Not with me. If I can believe you’re standing there, anything goes.” I ate a carrot stick. Healthy, but I preferred them in their baked, sugar-coated form.

“So you’ll be staying home for the rest of the day,” he said happily.

“Wrong.”

“Jess needs you.”

“Jess is snoring, and I’ve got stuff to do.”

Leo eyed me with suspicion. “What stuff?”

“Mom stuff. Girl stuff. You’re worse than my husband,” I said.

“Take that back. I know all about him.”

That took me aback. We hadn’t talked much about Derek since we’d been in the house.

“I’m sorry about what he’s done,” said Leo, and tears welled up in my eyes. What was it about that mortician?

“I don’t want to talk about Derek, but I do take it back.”

“Thank you,” he said. “About you staying⁠—”

“Nope.” I put a carrot stick in my mouth and shoved the bag back in the fridge. “I’m going out for a little while. You stay with her. You’re the Departures at 8 guy. Grief is your thing.”

Leo puffed up with pride. “I was good at counseling the grieving.”

“If she wakes up, do that,” I said.

“You said not to talk to her.”

“I changed my mind. I do that.” I went back to the front doors and found a coat that wasn’t soaking wet and put it on. “I’ll be thirty minutes, maybe less.”

“Are you going to the store?”

“I might be.”

“Please pick up some whiskey, lemon drops, and Tension Tamer tea,” said Leo.

“What are we making?” I asked.

“A hot toddy.”

“For me?”

“You can have one,” he said.

“No love for Libby. I see how it is.”

“Jess needs it more,” said Leo, and he stepped out of the way when I went for the door handle.

“Why do you do that?” I asked.

“So you won’t get chilled again,” he said.

“It doesn’t hurt you, though?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing hurts me anymore.”

I had a powerful feeling that I was going to prove him wrong.

Umbrellas weren’t super effective in my new hometown. I walked through the door of the St. Seb Sentinel five minutes later, once again soaked. Tank stopped typing, welcoming me in with pleasure and the offer of coffee or hot chocolate.

“It’s the powdered stuff, I’m afraid,” he said. “We have tea too.”

“Tea would be great. Decaf, if you have it.”

Tank walked over to the coffee area and said, “I know we’ve barely met, but you don’t seem like a decaf person.”

“I had two cappuccinos down at The Grind.”

He grinned at me. “You’re full up, then.”

“Very.”

“Peppermint?”

“Perfect.”

Tank made himself a coffee and then brought me a steaming cup. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Are you ready for the interview?”

“Not quite.”

“I’m intrigued.”

I got nervous and looked around at the other desks. I didn’t want anyone to hear what I wanted to know about. “Where is everyone?”

“It’s a busy news day in our waterlogged mini metropolis,” said Tank.

“Are they coming back soon?”

Tank leaned back in his office chair, making it creak loudly, and watched me over the rim of his coffee cup. “We’ve got a while. There are things happening.”

The newsroom was completely silent. Granted, my knowledge of news organizations was limited to watching Spotlight and The Morning Show. Even so, I would’ve thought there’d be more action.

“What kind of things?” I asked.

Tank tugged at the collar of his top flannel shirt and smiled. “I assume feeding your curiosity will pay off, so I’ll tell you. Frank Owens got drunk and broke into the sports store again last night. He peed on all the basketball jerseys and locked himself in the office with a Nerf gun and is threatening to kill himself.”

“Wow. I’ll hand it to you. That is news,” I said.

“It’s not as exciting as you think. This is the third time. We’re getting used to it.”

“What’s up with the peeing?”

“They cut him from the team,” said Tank.

“It’s early for basketball, isn’t it?” I asked.

“In 1966. Frank isn’t much for getting over things, especially when tequila is involved.”

I counted the desks. “Everyone is covering Frank?”

“You have a good eye for details,” said Tank. “No. We’ve also got the grand opening of the new sushi bar at McCann’s Market. Two-for-one California rolls.”

“Are you teasing me?”

He shook his head. “I am not. That is news, or what passes for it. It’s not all fire bombings and serial killers around here.”

“Thank goodness.”

“So, Libby, what’s on your mind?” Tank asked.

“I was hoping you could give me some information about⁠—”

Before I could finish, Tank popped forward on his chair, causing a screech that hurt my ears, and slammed his mug on his desk. “You saw Leo?”

“What? No.”

“You did. You have the look.”

“What look?”

He waggled his fingers at me. “The I-see-dead-people look.”

“Um…”

“Hot damn. You saw him. I knew something was seriously up when he allowed you to buy Number Eight.” Tank grabbed a pen and paper. “What did he say? Why you? Is it the kids? He was great with kids.”

“I’m not here about that,” I said.

Tank tilted his head sideways. A few strands of greying hair had escaped his ponytail and hung loose around his thin face, making him look slightly demented. “Oh really. You see a ghost and your next stop is me. You want information about someone. I’ve got it.”

I breathed deep the peppermint steam coming off my cup and regrouped. “For your information, you are not my first stop.”

Tank watched me for a second and then said, “Eric Otto. How’d you get him to talk about Leo?”

“Jeez.”

“I’m right.” He slammed a fist on the desk. “This is a lot better than two-for-one sushi. Glad I didn’t take that one.”

“I may have talked to Eric Otto, but it’s not what you think. I just need to ask you a few questions.”

Tank got some napkins out of a drawer and started wiping up his spilled coffee. “Information isn’t free around here.”

“Seriously? You want to charge me?” I asked.

He tossed the soaked napkins in the trash can with a heavy thwack. “This isn’t my first rodeo. You want info. I want a story.”

“I already agreed to an interview.”

Tank gave me a sly smile. “Not about Leo’s murder.”

I sucked in a breath, and his smile grew.

“What did Leo tell you?” Tank asked.

I blew out a breath and said, “Nothing. He doesn’t know a thing about it.”

Tank’s disappointment was palpable as I told him the same thing I told Sylvia.

“So you’re doing this as a favor to Sylvia?”

“I’m doing it for free coffee and a job,” I said. “And possibly a bonus, if I figure it out. Are you going to help me or not?”

“I get the scoop when you figure it out,” he said.

“If,” I said.

He shook his head, loosening more strands. “You’ll do it. None of those other detectives had access to Leo or the rest of them. You’ve got resources. My money’s on you.”

“The rest of what?” I asked.

“St. Seb’s other population. Let’s call them the living challenged,” he said.

“Cute,” I said. “So what do you know about Leo’s death?”

He held up his hands. “Very little.”

“Come on.”

“Come on yourself. It was an accident, and that’s how everyone treated it.”

“But you didn’t think it was an accident?” I asked.

Tank Tancredi stood up and waved me to my feet. “How do you feel about microfiche?”

“Not my favorite.”

“It’s the price we pay,” he said. “Now stick close to me.”

I don’t like the sound of that.

“Why?” I asked.

“This is an occupied building, and it’s why my construction project is going so slow. We’re going to have apartments for the upwardly mobile.”

“In a haunted building?”

“That’s the draw.”

I followed him to a door at the back of the room and asked, “What’s going to happen?”

“Beats me, but they have been riled up lately.”

“Are you saying they’re not the Peg and Vern-style living challenged?”

“Oh, no. These are angry.”

I stepped back. “I think I’ll pass.”

“I need to show you the history. You need a complete picture of the situation.”

Do I, though?

“Just tell me,” I said.

“You think I’ve got everything memorized?” Tank asked.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“We can skip it,” I said.

“Come on. You’re a mom. You can handle it.”

“Does your wife handle it?”

He nodded. “She can go back, but not in the second storage room.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t like her,” he said, taking me by the arm.

It?

“What happens to her?” I asked.

“Nothing. It’s fine.”

Tank led me into the depths of the shoe factory. I held onto his arm like a toddler as we walked around a large open area filled with ancient equipment and, oddly, new posters of scantily clad young women posing by cars. It seemed okay, but then the hairs on the back of my neck went up.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I got them the posters and they’re better.”

“Better than what?” I asked.

“This and that.”

My chest got tight, and that’s when I saw him standing directly in our path. It was a large man wearing filthy overalls and holding a large lug wrench. He was just as real as Leo was. Totally solid, and he was looking directly at me with an expression of menace and intense interest.

Tank kept walking. My feet kept moving. Why were they moving?

“No,” I said.

“Almost there.”

“No.”

“Libby, it’s fine. Looks like they’re quiet today.”

“No.”

Tank stopped and turned to me, puzzled. “Are you seeing something?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

I turned to look, and the man was walking toward us. His heavy boots were kicking up dust on the floor. I could smell hot grease and rank sweat. His hands were in fists. He swung the wrench in a wide swathe in front of him and then all the machinery started clanging.

“Holy crap!” Tank yelled. “Go! Run!”

I couldn’t move. He was coming and I couldn’t move.

Tank spun me around and shoved me back the way we came. “Run, Libby!”

I ran. The door to the Sentinel was only about twenty yards, but that seems like a hundred when you’re terrified. I was going full steam when another man appeared in front of the door to the office. This one was small, just as filthy as the first, but missing an arm. The ragged stump spewed blood on the floor, and he grinned at me with a nasty smile.

I didn’t think. I didn’t choose. I ran right through him, getting a tremendous jolt of icy cold. I whipped open the door and looked back. The amputee ghost was staggering around, spraying blood all over, and Tank was just beyond him, holding his arms out, trying to block the path of something he couldn’t see, and yelling, “No!”

The first man walked right through Tank, swinging his wrench, and Tank staggered to the right, gasping. I didn’t know what to do with angry ghosts, but I’d riled them up. The best option seemed to be to get out, so I dashed into the newsroom and slammed the door.

I backed away, my heart pounding, and then heard someone ask, “Who are you?”

I screamed and spun around to find a handsome boy, about eighteen, standing just inside the front door, holding a bag that said “World’s Best Donuts.”

“Are you…” I trailed off, panting.

“I’m Taylor, the intern,” he said. “Are you okay?”

I waved at the door. “I…there’s a…Tank’s in there.”

“Did something happen?” Taylor tossed his donut bag on a desk and ran for the door. “Finally!”

Before he could grab the knob, the door flew open and Tank staggered in. He slammed the door and put his hands on his head. “That was intense.”

Taylor darted past him and went for the door.

“No!” I screamed, but the kid was undeterred. He threw open the door and ran out.

“Get him! Get him!”

Tank just walked in a circle, so I ran past him and looked out at a dejected Taylor, who glanced around and then walked back in. “I miss everything.”

“Consider yourself lucky.” I went over to my chair and collapsed into it.

“I don’t,” said Taylor. “I’m working in what’s probably the most haunted building in the United States, and what do I see? Nothing. What does a guy have to do to get a little ghost action around this place?”

“Be a girl, for starters,” said Tank.

“Huh?”

“You’re a dude. They don’t have a thing for dudes.”

“They do stuff to you and the other guys,” said Taylor.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Tank walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” I said. “Who were they?”

Taylor came over. “You saw someone in there?”

I nodded.

“That is so cool.”

“Trust me. It’s not.”

Taylor got out his phone and pressed a recording app. “Okay. Who are you, and what did you see?”

Tank took the boy’s phone. “Knock it off, kid.”

“I’m a journalist. I have to take down the details,” said Taylor.

“What are you doing here?” asked Tank. “You’re supposed to be in school.”

“I skipped out on lunch. Bean burritos or fish sticks. No, thanks. I got donuts.”

Tank pulled the ponytail holder out of his hair and finger-combed all his wild hair before retying it. “Go back to school.”

“There’s nothing going on there, and besides, I secured some interviews.” Taylor smoothed back his thick brown hair and smiled a triumphant smile.

“With who?”

“The kids that live in Number Eight. Well, I got Max and Henri. The girl wasn’t interested, but I’ll get her. Don’t worry about that.”

Tank looked at me, and I looked at the ceiling. Of course the boys would want to be interviewed. That was right up their alley.

“What?” Taylor asked.

“Max and Henri are my sons,” I said.

“No way.”

“It’s true.”

Taylor started pelting me with questions. Everything from how I managed to buy Number Eight to where do Max and Hen get their musical talent from. Since I didn’t know they had musical talent, I had no answer for that one.

“Taylor, Libby is here on business,” said Tank.

Taylor looked over at the door to the factory and said, “And she sees ghosts.”

Oh, no.

“Taylor,” said Tank. “She needs some background on Number Eight. I want you to go to the second storage room, get the microfiche going, and print everything on Number Eight you can find, starting in 1989.”

“She sees ghosts.” Taylor started grappling Tank for his phone. “Have you seen Leo Pereyra?”

Tank smacked him upside the head and the boy let go.

“Hey, you can’t do that,” said Taylor.

“And you can’t have an internship at the only paper in town if you don’t knock it off.”

Taylor held out his hands. “I’m a journalist. It’s in my blood.”

“Your parents are dentists.”

“But my dad wanted to be a journalist.”

Tank rolled his eyes. “That’s the same.”

Taylor turned to me and asked, “Will you at least tell me what you saw out there?”

I raised my brows at Tank, and he shrugged.

“Fine, but I’m a confidential source,” I said. “No revealing my identity.”

He nodded, and I described the whole thing to him before asking Tank what he saw.

“That’s easy. Not a darn thing, but I sure felt something,” said Tank.

“What did it feel like?” Taylor asked.

“Like I’d been stuck in a freezer while being microwaved at the same time.”

Taylor ran over to the door. “1989?”

“Yeah,” said Tank, and Taylor ran out, probably hoping to run through a ghost at top speed.

Tank shook his head. “Idiot.”

“Aren’t you worried about him going in there?” I asked.

“Nope. They ignore him. They ignore me most of the time.”

My heart rate slowed down, but I kept glancing at the door. “That whole thing doesn’t bother you?”

“Are you kidding? I nearly peed myself when you were telling me what you saw.”

“Haven’t you heard that before?”

“People have seen them, but it’s been a good long while. Usually, it’s the equipment running and we get a green fog.”

I considered asking about the fog, but then decided I didn’t want to know.

“Well, they really don’t like me,” I said.

“They have a thing about women. It’s usually not so aggressive, but you’ve seen Leo, so maybe that’s it.”

“Do you know who they were?”

“I’ll have to do some research, but I have some candidates,” said Tank. “Let’s talk before Woodward and Bernstein gets back.”

“You make it sound like Taylor’s a goofball,” I said.

Tank chuckled and then went over to microwave his coffee. “Oh, he’s a goofball. All thrust and no vector.”

I didn’t know what that meant, so I stayed silent, sipping my lukewarm tea. Tank came back and sat down to type on his computer. “I’ve got the more recent stuff online, but the older information is on microfiche. It will take Taylor a while to print it all.”

“Do you think Leo was murdered?” I asked. “Sylvia’s convinced.”

“So is Eric, or at least, he was. Hasn’t spoken about it for years as far as I know,” said Tank.

“Answer the question.”

He stopped typing and smiled. “Someone sounds like a real investigator.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said. “I promised.”

“And you take your promises seriously. I like that, and I imagine Leo does too.”

I set down my tea and crossed my arms.

“Alright. Alright. Yes, I do, for the same reasons Sylvia stated.” He scooted over and pulled another chair up. “Here’s the longer article I wrote the day after it happened. I have to admit, I thought I’d be getting more information, but there wasn’t much to get. This is it in a nutshell, and it’s not a very big nut.”

I went around the desk and sat down next to Tank. I skimmed the article and then started rereading it. He was right. There wasn’t much to it.

“The Horny Hotel?” I asked, eyeing the picture of a run-down motel that looked like it was guaranteed to have bedbugs.

He chuckled. “That’s what we call the Hideaway Motor Lodge.”

“Um, why?”

“That’s where you went if you wanted to have an affair. The new owners hate that nickname and they’ve since rebranded, but to the locals, the Hideaway Motor Lodge will never be Exclusive Escapes, a getaway for yuppies. Do they still say yuppies?”

“I don’t think so.” I went back to reading and I could see why people didn’t buy a tragic accident. It had no reason for happening. The Horny Hotel was one of those old-school motels with stairs and entrances on the outside. The manager, Drew Anders, found Leo Pereyra at the foot of the stairs with a head injury and a broken neck at ten in the morning on a Saturday. Drew hadn’t heard a thing, and he’d been in the office the entire morning doing paperwork. The office was at the other end of the building, but close enough to hear a ruckus, as Drew stated at the time. No other staff was on site. It was too early for the maids to show up. Rooms could be had for an hourly fee, and there’d been several of those rooms occupied, but all those guests had checked out by leaving their keys in a drop box in the early morning hours. A family of four had spent the night, and at the time of the incident, they were at Denny’s having breakfast. They didn’t see Leo or anyone else.

I pointed at the screen. “It says that you were looking at why Leo was there. What did you find out?”

“Nothing. No one knows why he was there,” said Tank.

I grimaced. “It was the Horny Hotel.”

“People did question if he was having an affair, but there was no evidence of that. Carol saw him at nine thirty at Number Eight. They were working on arrangements for a funeral that day. Leo left to go pick something up, and the next time anyone saw him, he was dead.”

“What was he picking up?” I asked.

Tank looked at the screen, but the information wasn’t on there. I’d checked.

“I can’t remember. I’m not sure if Carol was specific, but look at this.” Tank switched to a later article.

“Kornatz funeral goes ahead,” I read.

“They pushed that funeral back two days, but it went ahead on Monday exactly as planned.”

I gave Tank a blank look, and he pointed at a time on the screen. Eleven.

“Oh, and Leo would’ve been there at that time if he hadn’t died?”

“Absolutely. Leo was at every event. Sometimes people came to funerals just to see him. As far as I know, he was never late, not even a minute. Beyond that, there’s a lot of last-minute prep work to do. I was at Number Eight a few times before events started. Leo and Carol would be running around, checking every little detail.”

“If that’s true,” I said, “didn’t Carol wonder where in the world he was?”

Tank switched to a third article. “It took a while to get an interview with Carol. She was distraught, but she told me she started calling at ten, but he didn’t answer. Drew heard the ringing when he was going to the laundry room. That’s when he found Leo.”

“How long does it take to get to the Horny Hotel?”

“About fifteen minutes. I drove it door to door to check.”

I sat back and gave it some thought. It couldn’t be an affair. There was time, but his wife was expecting him and an event happening in short order. It didn’t make sense to try and squeeze in a roll in the hay. Plus, there was no room booked, and Leo didn’t go to reception to get one. He went directly up the stairs.

“He must’ve been meeting someone,” I said.

“That’s what I thought, and so did the cops, but they didn’t find any evidence of anyone else being there, and there were no calls on his phone during the time in question.”

“Is that it?”

Tank nodded. “Sadly, yes.”

I went back around the desk, sat down, and picked up my tea. “How do you know the cops never found anything?”

“I got a peek at the police report, and they had zippo.”

“Do you have it?” I asked.

“No, but Eric had a copy. If it still exists, you could ask Sylvia for it,” said Tank.

I nodded and said, “I think someone lured him there to kill him.”

“I think so, too, but there’s nothing that says anyone else was there.”

“What about Drew?”

Tank smiled. “Drew was sixty-two at the time, and he has scoliosis. There’s no way he could’ve tossed Leo down the stairs. He couldn’t have tossed him a bagel, but you could go out and interview him.”

“Where is he?” I asked.

“The Horny Hotel. Where else?”

“He’s still working?”

“Yep. Despite being bent like a pretzel, that geezer just keeps going, but I don’t think he’ll have anything new to say. I’ve revisited the case with him several times, and it upsets him to this day. He had great affection for Leo, and finding his body was traumatic for him.”

I sighed. “I guess I’ll leave him alone, then.”

“I’m not trying to put you off,” said Tank. “I just don’t think that there’s anything that he can say that he hasn’t said a thousand times before.”

“What do you know about the Fischers?”

Tank perked up. “Everyone’s favorite villains. They’re fun. You’ll like them.”

“Er…why?”

“‘Cause they’re bat crap crazy.”

“Larry Fischer spit on Sylvia at a football game,” I said.

“I heard about that,” he said. “I considered running a piece on it, but I figured that guy would take it as a declaration of war. We’ve been firebombed once, and that was enough.”

“You think they might’ve killed Leo for revenge?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them, but go meet them for yourself. As an outsider, you might get a different vibe from them.”

I made a face. “Larry spit on Sylvia. My first impression is set.”

“Try to let that go,” he said. “You don’t want to go into the lion’s den already on the Ottos’ side. Fischers can smell that a mile away.”

“This sounds worse all the time.”

“If you’re rethinking the job, I hear Denny’s is hiring.”

I shook my head. “So what about the affair thing? Who do you have on that?”

Before Tank could answer, Taylor banged through the door, holding a stack of paper and smiling like he’d won the lottery. “I saw the fog. It was amazing.”

“Congrats,” said Tank. “Did you get all the articles?”

“Of course,” said Taylor. “What do I look like? An amateur?”

“That’s exactly what you look like. Hand ‘em over.”

Taylor slapped the papers on the desk and went for his donut bag. “You were right. That fog does look solid. It was freaky. I didn’t see anything else, though. How do I get the machinery to work? What’s the trigger? Could it be a certain word? Or maybe I could go in and start kicking stuff around. Do you think that will work?”

Taylor didn’t stop and wait for answers, he just kept asking questions. Tank stood up and picked up the papers. “Save yourself, Libby, while you still can.”

I followed him to the door and put on my damp outerwear. “Thanks for all the help.”

He grabbed a file folder from a cabinet and tucked the papers inside. “Good luck, and come back when you have more questions.” He opened the door and stepped outside with me.

“What’s up?” I asked.

Tank glanced back at Taylor, who was attempting to stuff an entire glazed donut in his mouth in one go. “Watch out for the kid.”

“The goofball worries you?”

“He’s not totally without skills, and he’s caught the scent that something’s going on at Number Eight. You haven’t seen the last of him.”

I looked inside, and Taylor was gagging and spewing crumbs.

“If you say so,” I said.

“Trust me.”

I did trust Tank Tancredi. He might not have had Leo’s innate charm, but he wasn’t far off.

Chapter Eleven

Iran up the front stairs of Number Eight with the folder clutched to my chest and my poor umbrella getting turned inside out from the wind. I tried to bend it back once I was on the shelter of the porch, but it refused to flip back, so I tossed it aside and ran in to find Leo Pereyra standing next to the newel post with his arms crossed and one foot tapping.

“Where have you been?” he demanded. “Where’s the hot toddy supplies?”

“I forgot.”

“You had one job.”

I peeled off my coat and said, “You sound like my dad.”

“Jess is in there, broken-hearted and all alone.”

“Is she awake?”

He looked down his perfect nose at me. “I don’t think so.”

“Then why are you yelling?”

“I’m not yelling.”

“Sounds like yelling.”

Leo scowled and raised his voice. “This is yelling.”

I looked over at the furious ghost and checked my fear level. Nope. Nothing. I guess once you’ve had a wrench-swinging madman going after you with his companion spewing blood from his severed arm, a hot ghost with a bone to pick wasn’t so intimidating.

“Sorry,” I said.

“That is not convincing.”

I imitated Mariah and assumed the ultimate bored posture. “Really sorry.”

“You are not sorry,” said Leo.

“Now you’re gettin’ it.”

“Where were you?”

The living room door opened and Jess stepped out, wearing a frown and wrapped in the afghan. “What is going on?”

“Leo’s mad at me,” I said with a laugh.

Jess’s frown turned to puzzlement. “Why?”

“I went out.” I tossed my wet stuff on the chair and sashayed past him toward the kitchen.

“Stop,” Leo bellowed, and I froze.

“What’s wrong?” Jess asked. “What happened?”

I turned around, not knowing what to expect. Leo was a ghost, after all. Maybe he could be like those guys at the shoe factory. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but it was definitely occurring to me then.

When I saw Leo’s face, it wasn’t terrifying anger that I saw. It was just plain terrified.

“You were at the shoe factory,” he said in a shaky voice.

“Um…”

“I can smell them on you.”

I wrinkled my nose and then sniffed. “Ew. What?”

Jess dashed over to me and sniffed. “What? I don’t smell anything.”

“She was at the shoe factory,” said Leo.

“How do you know?” I asked.

Leo’s face flushed, somehow making him more handsome than ever. “What happened? What did they do?”

“Why were you over there?” Jess asked. “Who are they?”

I held up the folder. “I went for information on the house. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You left the accounting section,” said Leo.

“Which part’s the accounting section?” I asked.

“The safe part. What did they do?”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“They came after you. I can smell it.”

And pop, he was gone.

“Leo?” I called out. “Leo? It’s fine. I swear.”

Jess took my arm. “What in the world was that about?”

“I don’t smell, right?”

Jess sniffed me. “You forgot deodorant again, but I don’t think that’s what he was talking about.”

I sniffed my pit. “What is wrong with me? Deodorant’s easy. Get up. Put on deodorant. How do I forget that?”

Jess grabbed my arm. “What is going on?”

“Oh, well, I might’ve seen a couple more ghosts,” I said. “Is it too early for wine?”

“It’s barely noon. You’re not having wine now. You’re not Felicity.”

“As we have daily proof.” I peeled her hand off my arm and said, “I’ll settle for tea.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I will, but I’m going to tell Tank first.” I went to the kitchen and called Tank.

He answered with a “Holy crap! What happened?”

“This is Libby,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “What in the world happened?”

“Leo smelled me.”

“What?”

I told him what happened, and he said, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Neither do I,” I said. “What are you upset about?”

“All hell’s breaking loose over here. I have to call the fire department.”

“There’s a fire?”

“Maybe. It’s hard to tell.” Tank hung up, and I stared down at my phone.

Jess put the kettle on and asked, “Did he say there was a fire?”

“It doesn’t sound like he knows for sure,” I said.

“Should we go over there?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. That’s what started this whole whatever it is.”

Jess pulled out the tea bags and said, “Tell me.”

I told her, and then immediately wished I hadn’t. She went pale and shaky. I had to sit her down and put the mug in her hands to warm her up.

“It’s fine. Nothing really happened.”

“Do you think they’ll come over here?” she asked. “The factory is only a few blocks away.”

Then I had to sit down. That had not occurred to me. Leo got around. Surely, they could too.

“You sure we can’t have wine?” I asked.

“No wine.”

“I’m sorry, Jess.”

“Why were you really over there?” she asked.

The sound of fire engines erupted in the distance and Poptart was curled up in his bed, so I was fairly certain Leo was not in the house. I put the folder in front of her and told her what happened with Sylvia. I thought she’d flip out or be mad that I didn’t take her along, but she just smiled and said, “You got a job.”

“Not yet,” I said.

“You kinda have two jobs.”

“Kinda.”

She put her head on my shoulder and opened the folder. “You’re going to be great at this, and I can help.”

“You don’t know anything about insurance,” I said.

“I meant with the case.”

“Jess, I don’t think you’re up to it.”

She sat up and turned to me. “I’m up to it. I need something to do.”

“Have you looked around? There’s plenty to do.”

“Something interesting. Do you think Eric has something for me?” Jess asked.

“At the agency? Why would you want to do that? Won’t you go back to teaching? You must miss the art and the kids.”

“I do, but I have no urge to create at all,” said Jess. “I do need to do something, though. We need the money.”

“Once the insurance comes in⁠—”

“It’s not coming in,” she said. “Not for a while, anyway.”

I frowned, and she explained. Her brother-in-law Jeff had lodged a complaint with the insurance company. That’s why they were dragging their feet with the payout. Jeff questioned Hal’s death and whether it was natural causes. The company had launched a new investigation and had sent a request to have Hal’s body exhumed.

I couldn’t have been more stunned if she’d pulled a trout out of her pocket and started eating it raw.

“Are they serious?”

“The lawyer says they are.” Jess was dried-eyed and oddly calm.

“Why are you so…normal?”

“I’ve been so upset wondering what was going on with the money, and now I know,” she said. “It’s kind of a relief.”

“Did those bastards call you?”

“The lawyer did. Mr. Carter has been trying to resolve this without telling me, but he couldn’t hold them back anymore.”

“What can we do?” I asked as tears welled up.

“The police have reopened the file at the company’s request. We’ll have to wait to see what they say,” said Jess.

“Why would he do this? I mean, Jeff’s a pain, but why? What does he think happened? There was an autopsy.”

“Not a good enough one, according to him.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say,” said Jess, and she started riffling through the pages Taylor had printed.

I wanted to do something. Drive up to Jeff’s house and beat him with a tire iron. Why? What was in it for him? He couldn’t possibly believe that Jess murdered Hal. She wasn’t even there when he died. Derek and Hal had been at the golf course for around three hours when it happened. Jess and I were at the mall with the kids, buying swimsuits for vacation.

“Why did you have this stuff printed?” Jess asked. “It’s not about Leo.”

I refocused and looked at the pages. “It’s background. Look. Here’s a lawsuit.”

Sylvia was right, and she was wrong. There weren’t two lawsuits. There were twenty. Twenty lawsuits filed by the Fischers, starting a mere six months after Leo married Carol. They alleged everything from corporate espionage to libel and slander. The judges always dismissed them, and after the initial two suits, they started making the Fischers pay the Ottos’ legal fees. That just added fuel to their anger. Larry Fischer’s father filed police reports saying that Leo had broken into their office and stolen their customer files. Leo and Carol were on vacation in Miami during the first alleged break-in. When that didn’t work, he accused the sons, each one in turn, of doing other break-ins. The sons were kids, but that didn’t deter the Fischers. They also accused Leo’s parents-in-law, but no one believed a couple of funeral directors in their seventies were going to be booting themselves through windows and rummaging through a rival’s files.

The lawsuits continued even after Leo’s death. The Fischers accused the Ottos of spreading rumors that they’d killed Leo and it was hurting their lawn care business. Larry tried to file a lawsuit on behalf of the Horny Hotel saying Leo’s death had hurt their business and it was somehow Carol’s fault. That one didn’t make it past go. Tank reported that the clerk chased Larry out of the courthouse with a broom when he tried to file it.

“Those people are crazy,” said Jess.

I picked up the earliest report on the fight between Number Eight and the Fischer Funeral Home. “They’re nuts, but I can kind of see the anger.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“That business supported the entire Fischer family, great-grandparents, grandparents, the current generation that was running it, and seven kids. They had nothing else.”

“That’s no different from the Ottos.”

I pointed at some background on the family. Carol’s first husband had three brothers, but none of them were involved with Number Eight. They lived all over the country and worked in various large corporations. It was the same with aunts and uncles. Number Eight was a family business, but not the only thing the Ottos had. After Leo died, Carol retired and moved in with her sister in Boston.

“She had somewhere to go,” I said. “The Fischers didn’t.”

“I still think they’re crazy.”

“They are crazy. I’m just pointing out the reason. I wonder if the crazy started with Leo?”

“Do we care?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

We looked through the rest of the stack, and Taylor had been thorough. There were the historical society open house articles. Some on historic preservation. Number Eight won best Christmas decorations nine years in a row. But in addition to the Fischer issues, there were the other incidents that Sylvia mentioned with the headline “Local Funeral Director Threatened.” Another had a picture of Number Eight covered with eggs and the outpouring of help from the community to get it cleaned up. There’d been some graffiti that Sylvia didn’t mention, and the exact nature of what they wrote wasn’t specified.

“That’s a lead,” said Jess. “Did they catch who was threatening Leo?”

“They were threatening Carol,” I said as I reread the article. “This is just bizarre.”

“They thought Leo was sleeping around and they threatened Carol?”

“That’s the way it sounds. Someone thought it was her fault.”

Jess checked her phone and then cocked her head to the side. “The sirens are gone. That’s a good sign, right?”

“Let’s hope.” I gathered up the papers and tucked them inside the folder. “We better get to work, or the kids will rightfully claim we’ve done nothing all day.”

“Do you want to text Tank?” Jess asked.

I did, and he texted he was okay, but said we shouldn’t come to the Sentinel until he said it was okay. I asked about sending the apple ugly recipe and he asked me to scan it to send through email. We did that first thing so we wouldn’t forget, ignored texts from Taylor asking for quotes, and then we went back to unpacking knickknacks and books. A couple of hours later, the kids came home with tales of fresh triumphs for the boys and sly looks from Mariah. I told her Leo wasn’t there, but she dragged me out for another walk in the drizzle.

“That’s pretty good,” she said as we walked down the street.

“Glad you think so. I didn’t particularly enjoy being chased by irate ghosts,” I said.

“No, the rest of it.” Mariah held onto my arm and smiled. “You’ve got leads.”

“Your mom knows.”

She let go and pushed me away. “I told you not to tell her.”

“It just came out with the whole factory thing,” I said. “You didn’t really think I’d keep anything from her for very long, did you?”

Mariah scowled. “I hoped you would.”

“She’s happy about it.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s something to think about other than what’s happened,” I said.

Mariah looked away and started walking again. I jogged to keep up, and I hate jogging. It’s too much like running, and I still hadn’t put on deodorant.

“I thought you’d be happy,” I said. “She’s excited to help with the investigation.”

“Did she say anything about Uncle Jeff to you?”

Please don’t let that bastard have called this girl.

“Regarding what? He’s a world-class pain, and I’m not entirely convinced he’s your father’s brother. They are nothing alike.”

“He called me today,” she said.

“During school?”

“Yeah.”

Maybe I can lure the factory ghosts over to Jeff’s and leave them there. Everybody’s happy, except Jeff, which makes me super happy.

“What did he want?” I asked.

“He said he wanted me to know that I could come live with him and Lynette,” said Mariah.

There we go. That’s it.

“He probably heard we moved into Number Eight,” I said. “It is kind of outside the lines.”

“That’s the funny thing. I don’t think he knows. He said something about living with you and Derek too long.”

I put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I’m not sure what he’s up to, but you’re staying right here with us.”

“I said I was staying with you and Mom, but he didn’t like it and said sometimes adults know what’s best. I said you and Mom are adults and then he said, ‘We’ll see.’ What does that mean?”

“Honey, I don’t know, but we’re going to take care of it,” I said.

“Are you going to tell Mom?”

I squeezed her. “Not right now. Let’s let this day end with no more drama.”

“I hope he doesn’t call Mom and say anything about it,” said Mariah.

That makes two of us.

After dinner, I went upstairs to take a hot bath. I’d never really felt warm after running through the severed-arm guy, so I figured I’d boil myself and see if that helped. Jess seemed to be doing okay after a rough patch during dinner. Leo’s pulled pork was fantastic, but it reminded her that Hal loved pulled pork. She got tearful, and I wished Leo would show up and spread some of that comfort he exuded, but he didn’t.

Henri was the one with the good idea that time. He went and got the Departures at 8 book and found an article he thought would help. A woman had written Leo about the smell of bacon making her cry because it was her husband’s favorite food. Leo wrote a lovely answer about sensory triggers and how to cope. A follow-up letter from the woman said it helped, and she could even eat bacon again.

Jess read the book during the rest of dinner and was dry-eyed by the end. She said she’d keep an eye on the homework situation while I defrosted. I was a little worried about leaving her with the boys squabbling about who had the worst math teacher, but I couldn’t treat her like an invalid, so I went up and turned on the taps in the huge claw-footed bathtub. It had to be original to the house, being six feet long and so deep, I couldn’t comfortably rest my arms on the rim.

When there was a reasonable amount of water in the tub, I plopped a bath bomb in and stripped. The water was just inside the tolerable range, and I sank down, wincing a little. It took a while, but I started to feel warm. Before running through that ghost, I didn’t know you could be cold on the inside, but that’s where the cold was.

Once it had eased, I closed my eyes and drifted off.

“Libby?”

My eyes opened, and I pulled a skimpy washcloth over my chest. “Leo, where are you? Don’t come in here.”

“I need to talk to you.” Leo’s voice was all around me. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

“I’m good. No, thanks.”

“I can’t see,” he said. “Can I come in?”

“What do you mean, you can’t see?” I asked.

“I’m coming in.”

“Do not come in here! I’m naked.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“No, it isn’t.” It really wasn’t. I wasn’t a huge fan of seeing myself naked, and I sure didn’t want the world’s hottest ghost to see me.

“Trust me.”

I looked around for cover. “Nope. Not gonna do it.”

“Here I come. Don’t panic. It’s me.”

“Do not⁠—”

He did, or at least, some version of him did. Leo walked through the door, solid as usual, but he was wearing all black with a cape, gloves, and boots. To my relief, he couldn’t see. He had a black bandanna tied over his eyes and a flat, wide-brimmed hat covering his hair.

“Don’t let me bump into anything,” he said with his arms outstretched.

“Very funny,” I said. “What is that getup about?”

Leo flipped his cape back over his shoulder and revealed a sword on his hip. “Halloween 1998.”

“Um…”

“Come on.” He posed in the en garde position.

“Are you Zorro?”

He affected a Spanish accent and said, “I am Antonio Banderas as Zorro.”

“Wasn’t Zorro allowed to see?” I asked.

“We played Pin the Head on the Zombie and I wore a blindfold,” he said. “I can take it off.”

“No, no. That’s good,” I said, still clutching my washcloth. “What do you want?”

“First, I would like to apologize,” said Leo with an elegant bow.

I admit I was struck dumb for a moment. Apologize. What now?

“Libby?”

“Yes, Zorro.”

“I am sorry I snapped at you. I should not have done that. I had no right to yell or demand.”

I tried to think of the last time Derek apologized to me and came up empty. When he had apologized in the distant past, he’d always followed up with reasons why it was fine. Leo didn’t do that, and it was a novel experience.

“Since I can’t see you, I don’t know what’s happening,” said Leo. “Will you accept my apology?”

“Sure,” I said. “Of course. Thank you.”

He relaxed and asked, “Are you okay?”

“I seem to have defrosted finally.”

“So they got you. Touched you.”

“I ran through one, if that’s what you mean,” I said. “Where did you go?”

“They will not be bothering you again,” said Leo.

“Oh, yeah? Does that mean they can’t come over here?”

Leo drew up to his full height. “Have you seen someone?”

“No, no. Jess was worried. The factory is pretty close to us.”

He smiled, and Antonio had nothing on him. “They never leave the grounds, and I don’t think Tank will be having any trouble with them for a long while.”

“What did you do?”

He lifted a shoulder. “A little of this. A little of that.”

“Was the factory on fire?”

“It was a memory of a fire. No harm done. To the living, that is.”

“I didn’t think you could harm ghosts,” I said.

“There are ways,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

I slid down into the water to wet my hair and grabbed the shampoo bottle. “I have one more question.”

“Go ahead,” said Leo.

“How come you can go wherever you want and they can’t?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” He sheathed his sword and then tapped his chin. “I think it might have something to do with emotion. They’re angry at the factory and they don’t leave it.”

“Are you saying they’ve trapped themselves?” I asked.

“That’s my theory. I’d ask, but I’ve never been able to have a coherent conversation with any of them. For the most part, we can go wherever we want.”

“So they could possibly untether themselves from that factory,” I said, getting chilly again.

“If that hasn’t happened yet, I don’t think it will,” said Leo in a very warm, comforting voice.

This was a chance to ask a question, and I had to take it.

“Leo?”

“Yes, Libby?”

“Does this mean you weren’t angry when you died?”

He tilted his head and tapped his chin again. “I guess not. I certainly don’t remember being angry, much less enraged.”

“I’m glad,” I said.

He smiled and said, “So am I. Imagine being stuck at a motel for eternity because you can’t get over it.”

“I’d rather not.”

Leo stepped backward through the door, and I sank into the water, rinsing my hair. What did that mean? He wasn’t angry, so there wasn’t a confrontation? Or did he just not see it coming? I had to find out why Leo was at the Horny Hotel. That was the key.

Chapter Twelve

It’s always hard to get kids out of the house on a school day, especially my boys. Max and Henri mastered the art of the slow shoe tie and the I-can’t-find-the-thing-I-don’t-need-for-school move early on. But that morning, Mariah was the problem. She couldn’t find a sweater that hadn’t fit her in years. She didn’t like her backpack. The Volvo keys were missing. She had cramps.

Jess finally threw up her hands when Mariah went off to find a pair of worn-out Converse that were probably buried in a box somewhere if they hadn’t been thrown out a year ago.

“This was Hal’s department,” said Jess. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

“I’ve got it,” I said, and ran out of the kitchen to nab Mariah as she started up the stairs. “No, you don’t.”

“I need my Converse,” she said.

“You need to leave. You’ll be late.”

She checked her phone. “It’s fine. I have time.”

“The boys are already in the Volvo. You have to drive them.”

“They can take your car,” said Mariah.

I crossed my arms. “If you take the Volvo, we have no vehicle. How are we supposed to do…stuff?”

Mariah smiled. “I can help. I’ll go with you. I know people.”

I got a whiff of Polo and quickly said, “We don’t need help on an ordinary day in St. Seb.”

Undeterred, Mariah said, “I could drive you.”

“We don’t need a chauffeur. Do we look decrepit?”

“Well…”

I grabbed her wrist and pulled her down the stairs. “That’s it. Go to school.”

“I want to take a mental health day,” she said.

“That’s not a thing,” I said.

“Sure it is. There’s a TikTok⁠—”

“We don’t take child-rearing advice from TikTok,” I said.

“There’s good stuff on there.” She leaned in and closed her eyes. “That’s how I learned to do cat’s-eye liner the right way.”

“Congrats. Go learn physics or whatever.”

“That’s tomorrow. I can skip today,” she said. “It’s just⁠—”

“Math,” said Leo behind me.

Mariah made a face. “You already caught me up. I know the section. I don’t need to sit through some boring lecture.”

Leo walked over, filling the foyer with the scent of Polo and the feeling of warmth that he carried with him everywhere. “I’ll tell you what. You go right now without another word and I’ll teach you how to make a giant volcano cake tonight.”

Mariah eyed him for a moment and then looked at me.

“You are not coming with us,” I said.

Then the girl grabbed a coat, the backpack she suddenly hated, and went out the door, slamming it by way of protest.

I turned toward Leo and said, “Bribery? Really?”

“You know you want that cake,” he said. “I saw you checking out the recipe.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point? She went to school,” he said.

I crossed my arms. “I don’t know, but you’re going to make me fat. I’ve never had so many desserts in my life.”

“You sound like Carol,” said Leo wistfully.

“Did you make Carol fat too?” I asked.

He shook his head, and his dark eyes grew moist. “Carol was perfect.”

I reached for him but caught myself before I got too far. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

Leo smiled and shook his head. “They’re not painful. I had a good life and a wonderful marriage. I just miss her sometimes.”

He loved Carol. There’s no way he cheated.

“I miss Derek, the old Derek. The Derek before it was all work, work, work. Does that make sense? He’s not dead, but I miss him like he was.”

“Yes,” said Leo. “It’s not always about how things ended up. We grieve different parts of people at different times.”

I got choked up, and Jess came out of the back at just the right time, carrying a pair of travel mugs. “Thanks for getting my kid outta here. Let’s go!”

Leo eyed the mugs. “Where are you going?”

“Um…The Grind. I need one of their fab cappuccinos.”

“Mariah wanted to go to The Grind?”

Jess grabbed her coat and said, “She didn’t want to go to school. Any excuse will do.”

Leo appeared skeptical, and Mariah wasn’t normally a school avoider. She’d gone willingly enough on Tuesday.

“But she’s so smart and capable,” he said. “Are you really doing something else?”

“You know how it is with a new school,” said Jess.

“She likes the school,” said Leo, growing more skeptical by the moment. We couldn’t have that. He’d be all over us.

“I don’t know about that,” I said.

“What?” Jess asked with worried eyes.

“Just a feeling.”

Leo moved closer, and I got a whiff of cigarettes. That was his tell for worry. For a ghost who’d left life’s anxieties behind, he sure did a lot of worrying, but it didn’t seem polite to point that out.

“What feeling?” he asked.

“I’m kinda wondering if something’s going on over there. I know the kids started off with a bang, but there might be backlash. You know how kids are. Even teachers aren’t always nice.”

Leo’s expression became tense and the cigarette smell got worse. “Do you want me to go to the school and check it out?”

“Would you?” I asked. “I’m sure our minds would be easier if we knew they weren’t being harassed at all during any part of the day.”

Leo nodded and said, “Consider it done.”

There was a pop, and he was gone.

“Did Mariah say something to you?” Jess was wringing her hands.

I poked her shoulder. “No, ya goober. If he’s there tracking the kids, he can’t be watching us.”

Jess grinned. “Great idea.”

We high-fived and I said, “I never thought I’d be spending my limited brain power on outwitting a ghost.”

“Get used to it,” said Jess. “Now where do those Fischers live?”

I held up my phone with maps displayed. “On the edge of town in a kind of trailer park.”

“That’s rotten.”

“Larry spit on Sylvia.”

“I forgot about that,” said Jess. “I’m surprised Leo doesn’t haunt them.”

I shook my head. “Leo wouldn’t do that.”

Jess slipped on her coat and said, “You’re right, and that makes them all the worse.”

“We’ll see. They’ve had a hard time.”

“Don’t be making excuses for them,” said Jess.

“It’s not an excuse. It’s sympathy. I’ve read some of Departures at 8 too. Empathy is important when dealing with the bereaved.”

“They’re not bereaved. They’re mad.”

“Maybe anger is how they express grief,” I said, thinking of the factory ghosts.

“Whatever,” said Jess. “Let’s go see the furious Fischers.”

“The Grind first.”

Jess pointed at our travel cups. “We have coffee.”

“I’d rather have Sylvia’s.”

“And stick to the story as much as we can.”

Exactly.

We dumped our mediocre coffee and went to The Grind. Sylvia wasn’t there, but Hank hooked us up with fabulous lattes in our travel cups. True to her word, there was no charge. Hank was very curious, but we said it was a Number Eight thing and he accepted that instantly. Maybe he knew about the free Dr Pepper or how the car wash gave Jess fifty percent off for no reason at all. The owner asked if she lived in Number Eight and it was discount city.

The clean Volvo was at school, so we drove my dingy car out to the Fischer homestead. The closer we got, the more I started dreading it.

“What do we say?” Jess asked.

“I’m hoping something will occur to me.”

“That’s not much of a plan.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” I said, and my best friend was notably silent for the rest of the ride.

I followed the map guidance to a dirt road half covered in weeds and pulled onto the shoulder. “That’s supposed to be it.”

Jess leaned forward. “There’s a mailbox.”

“Where?”

She pointed at a bush about five feet past the dirt road. “It’s under the bush.”

“That’s not a good sign.”

“But it is a sign. Maybe it has a name on it,” said Jess. “I’ll go look.”

Before I could offer to go, she hopped out and dashed over to the mailbox. She opened it and pulled out a stack of mail. Then she shoved it back in and gave me a thumbs-up. I wasn’t sure if I was happy to see that or not. This looked worse than I expected.

Jess got in. “There was no name on it, but the mail is all addressed to the Fischers.”

“Why was the mailbox on the ground?”

“Looks like it just fell over and nobody picked it up,” said Jess. “There were a lot of bills in there.”

I took a breath and put the car in drive. “Great.”

“We knew they weren’t doing well.”

“I’m just glad we have my Camry and not your Volvo.”

“It’s not a luxury car,” said Jess as we drove down the bumpy dirt road through water-filled gullies and over fallen tree branches.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“It could be worse.”

Just then, we came over a rise, and a group of dilapidated trailers came into view. If I had to guess their year of manufacture, I’d have said sometime in the seventies. One was burnt out, and the rest had considerable rust. There was a toilet lying on its side next to one, and a collection of old refrigerators sat next to another. Everything was overgrown, and there was a pile of garbage at the end of the row.

“It’s worse,” I said.

“I think you’re right about the Volvo,” said Jess.

A man came out of the refrigerator trailer, wearing a pair of grimy coveralls similar to the ones the factory ghosts wore. He was smoking a cigarette and took a long drag as he eyed us with loathing.

“And now it’s even worse.”

“That’s Larry. I recognize him from their website. Why’d it have to be Larry?” Jess asked.

“Well, it’s us. What’d you expect?” I opened the car door. As I got out, more Fischers came out of their trailers and walked down their rickety wooden staircases, arms crossed.

This could be a really bad idea.

“Hi,” I said.

“What do you want?” Larry asked.

“I’m Lib⁠—”

“We know who you are.”

That gave me pause, and I glanced at Jess, who bravely walked right up to Larry and held out her hand. “Then you know I’m Jess.”

Larry looked at her hand in surprise and shook it. “Yeah, I do. You bought Number Eight.”

Larry offered his hand as I joined Jess. I wasn’t sure how to take that, since he was looking at us like we were something he found barfed up on the carpet, but I shook hands with him anyway. I glanced around with a plastered-on smile and saw only one face that wasn’t outright hostile. A teenage girl had come out of the nicest trailer, which wasn’t saying much, but it had less rust and pretty window boxes filled with orange and yellow chrysanthemums and ornamental cabbages. She watched the exchange with her arms wrapped around her middle.

An elderly lady who’d joined Larry followed my gaze and called out, “Go to school, Keely.”

Keely nodded, but she didn’t move. The rest of the Fischers joined Larry, and it was us versus five of them. I didn’t like our odds.

“What do you want?” the old lady said.

What do we want? I don’t know.

Jess took a breath and said, “We heard you might know something about Leo Pereyra’s death.”

They all sneered in unison, all except the girl, who sucked in her lips and winced.

“Of course you did,” said Larry. “I bet the whole town accused us.”

“Nobody accused anybody,” I said. “We’d just like to know⁠—”

A man in his sixties cut me off. “If we did it.”

The old lady poked a gnarled finger in my direction. “We didn’t kill that oily bastard.”

Oily?

“I didn’t say you did, but you must know who could’ve done it.”

The old lady sniffed. “Like you care what we think. The whole town’s been laying that crap on us for almost twenty years, with no proof, mind you.”

“Why?” Jess asked, and I had to give it to her. My friend was at her incredulous best. I hadn’t seen that doe-like look since Hal died, but she used it to get out of speeding tickets quite a few times.

The old man snorted. “‘Cause he put us out of business and ruined our lives.” He flung an arm out. “You think we like this? This was not the goal.”

Following Jess’s lead, I widened my eyes and asked, “I don’t get it. How did he do it? Nobody explains that.”

“He stole our customers with oily patter and special services,” said the old lady. “We offered good, solid service at reasonable prices. Nobody complained until he showed up with his finger food and stupid column.”

“Finger food?” I asked.

The Fischers started telling me or yelling at me, if you want to be accurate, about how Leo made Number Eight into some kind of posh funeral oasis. The Ottos started catering in a big way. According to the Fischers who offered something called mostaccioli, sandwiches, and deviled eggs, which they deemed hearty and sufficient, Leo made ridiculous gourmet food like tapas, and he’d make specialty menus that were all about the deceased. If they liked barbecue, he’d have a full barbecue menu with all the favorites. He did a pie funeral once, all pie because the deceased loved pie.

“It was insane and a waste of money,” said the old man. “The grieving need hearty food. The dead don’t care what folks are eating at their wake. It’s stupid.”

And yet…

“Did people hate him for that?” I asked as Jess got distracted by a calico kitten that had come over to rub on her legs.

“Sure. People were pressured into doing their funerals at Number Eight instead of coming to us.”

“Who was doing the pressuring?”

“Whoever was coming to the funerals, that’s who. Making families spend their hard-earned money on string quartets. That’s right. You could have a string quartet if you wanted or a DJ or a flipping harpist. Who wants a harp at a funeral?” yelled the old lady.

Somebody, apparently.

“That’s different,” I said.

“Would you want a harp at a funeral?” Larry demanded.

“I would not.”

He threw up his hands. “There you go.”

Jess followed the kitten around the side of one of the trailers, cooing and giving it scratches. No one seemed to mind. They were too busy telling me about Tank and his unfair advertising practices.

“He was always giving them ink,” said a woman who’d been silent before.

“Free advertising?” I asked. “Why would he do that?”

“‘Cause that oily bastard got to him,” said the old man. “Probably gave him a discount on his grandpa’s service or something.”

The woman sneered. “It was always ‘Number Eight is so historic. Look at how the architect is famous. Woodwork! Fireplaces!’ We had fireplaces.”

“With gas,” said Larry. “We didn’t waste wood on funerals.”

I’m starting to see a pattern.

“Gas is…efficient.”

The old man pointed at me. “Yes! Efficient funerals. That’s what we offered, and he put us out of business.”

“I’m very sorry about that.” I was completely sincere. They couldn’t see what had happened. I was very sorry for that.

“Good,” yelled Larry.

“So who do you think might’ve killed him?” I asked.

They looked at the sky and then the old lady said, “It was an accident.”

“You think so?”

Larry spit a glob of mucus at my feet. “Why is that so hard to believe? He went to meet one of those women he was messing around with and fell down the stairs.”

“There wasn’t time,” I said.

“For what?”

“He had a funeral that day at eleven.”

The old lady raised her fists. “He stole that Kornatz funeral from us.”

“Weren’t you⁠—”

“What?” she yelled. “Out of business?”

“Um…you were, weren’t you?” I asked.

“And whose fault is that?”

You’ve got to say it.

“Leo’s, obviously.”

They sneered again, but this time they were kinda happy sneers, if there was such a thing.

“But if he didn’t fall accidentally, who do you think⁠—”

“Not us,” Larry yelled.

Angry sneers were back, and the woman yelled over her shoulder, “Go to school now, Keely!”

Something about her tone got the girl going and made my mouth go dry. Keely ran down the steps of her trailer and jumped into a battered Ram truck to peel out and drive away, leaving a spray of dirt in her wake.

“I know it wasn’t you,” I said, “but if he was messing with women?”

Larry lit another cigarette and said, “You’re not going after him again.”

“Him?”

“Lloyd just egged Number Eight. It was no big deal, and Leo deserved it. Mary was off-limits. Everyone knew that.”

Lloyd and Mary.

“Who are these people?” I asked.

“Forget it!” yelled the old man. “It was an accident and no one’s fault. Why are you bringing all this crap up? Just because you bought that ridiculous mansion?”

“Well, we’re just curious, and we’d like to know all the history.”

Before the Fischers could yell something back, there was a piercing scream and Jess came tearing around the trailer with a young man wearing orange hunting gear and waving a shotgun, chasing her.

“Get off my property!” he bellowed and took aim.

“I didn’t know!” yelled Jess.

“What?” I yelled.

The Fischers just stared as we scrambled toward the car. I grabbed the door handle, looked back, and he fired. Directly at me. A loud crack filled the air and then nothing, except my screams.

“There you go, you Leo-loving witches!” Then he was gone.

Jess ran to me and I started patting myself down, looking for blood and not finding any. “Where is it? Call 911!”

“You’re fine,” said Jess. “You’re fine.”

“He shot me, Jess.”

“No, he didn’t. He couldn’t.”

She shook me and pointed at where the hunter had been. “See.”

I was panting and collapsed against the car. The Fischers’ sneers turned to scowls.

“I should’ve known,” said Larry.

“What?” I said, bewildered.

The old lady pointed at me. “You saw him.”

“Everyone saw him. He tried to shoot me.”

They came closer, their eyes narrowing with intensity.

“You can see him,” said the old man. “That’s why you’re here.”

I pointed at where the hunter had been. “You saw him too.”

“Not him,” said Larry. “Leo Pereyra. You can see him.”

“Oh, I uh…”

“Don’t lie,” said the old man. “If you can see my grandpa, you can see Leo. That’s how it works.”

“That was your dad?” Jess asked. “I didn’t mean to bother him. I thought he was alive.”

“And you asked him about Leo,” said Larry. “Thanks a lot. Now we won’t have any peace for a month.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Did Leo send you here to harass us?” asked the woman.

“Of course not,” I said.

She snorted. “You come around stirring things up so people can keep hating us and you want us to believe he didn’t send you?”

“We’re trying to find out what happened so he can rest in peace,” said Jess.

“I don’t want him to rest in peace,” said the old man. “I want him to rest in misery, if at all possible.”

“He didn’t send us, I swear,” I said. “We just want to know who did it.”

The old lady’s voice went high and squeaky. “It was an accident that we got blamed for.”

“That doesn’t make sense. He was in the prime of his life. How does a man as fit as Leo Pereyra fall down the stairs for no reason?”

“Ask him,” said Larry.

“He doesn’t remember,” said Jess.

“News flash! He’s lying.”

“Why would Leo lie about his death?” I asked.

Jess put her hand on her heart. “That’s not Leo.”

Larry flung his arms wide. “Look around. That’s exactly who he is.”

“I’m telling you it’s not.”

“Get off our property before I call my dad!” yelled the old man.

“We’re trying to help,” said Jess.

“You’re doing his bidding!”

“But if we find out who really⁠—”

The entire Fischer clan yelled, “Get out!”

So we got out, and I felt lucky not to have been pelted with rocks as we drove away.

“That was pointless and stressful,” said Jess.

“It wasn’t pointless,” I said.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I smiled at her. “We got a name. Lloyd.”

“Who’s Lloyd?” Jess asked.

I turned left and passed Keely’s truck. She pulled out behind us and I groaned.

Jess twisted in her seat and looked back. “She’s not going to do anything. She’s just a kid.”

“Forgive me for being cautious. One of her clan just tried to shoot me.”

“You were the one who felt bad for the Fischers,” said Jess.

“I’m over it. We’re going to have to put Depends on the shopping list at this rate,” I said.

Keely stuck right with us, and just when I started wondering what her plan was, she flashed her lights and honked.

“Pull over,” said Jess.

I groaned again and pulled on the shoulder, noting there was some cross traffic ahead, so if Keely was crazier than she looked, we might have a chance of witnesses.

“Get out, Libby,” said Jess.

“When did you become fearless?” I asked.

Jess looked at me and then smiled. “Remember who I was when we met? She might be back.”

“I’m not sure this is good for me.”

“It’s good for solving this case.” Jess got out, and I followed her to the back of my car, where Keely was waiting with a twisted scarf in her hands.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” I said.

“I have a free period first,” Keely said in a gentle voice, nothing like her relatives.

“Did you want to talk to us?” Jess asked.

“Can you really see Leo Pereyra?” she asked.

“Who told you that?” Jess said.

“It’s all over school.”

I sighed. “High school rumors.”

“Don’t tell my family,” Keely said, twisting the scarf tighter.

Oh well. Why bother to lie?

“They already know,” I said.

Keely gasped and said, “You told them. They’re gonna get so mad.”

Jess told Keely about her great-grandfather shooting me and the girl said, “I wish he’d stop doing that.”

“This is an ordinary thing?” I asked.

“You must’ve mentioned Number Eight or Leo Pereyra to him. That’s what sets him off, and now everyone is going to be in a bad mood for weeks.” She glanced back in the direction of her family’s land. “I’m sorry they were like that.”

“We’re sorry we riled him up, but we are trying to find out what happened.”

“He didn’t tell you who did it?” Keely asked.

“Leo doesn’t remember much. He doesn’t think he was murdered.”

Keely sagged against the bumper of her truck and put her head down. I wasn’t sure if she was crying until she looked up with brimming eyes. “There’s no hope, then.”

“Hope for what?” Jess asked.

“To clear my family. They didn’t do it.”

We didn’t have to say anything. Our doubts must’ve shown on our faces.

“You caught them on a bad day. They’re not always like that. They’re hurt and angry, but they’re good people too. My dad does yard work for the old folks in town for free. My grandparents know everyone who lives alone, and they check on them to make sure they’re okay. Uncle Larry found Theresa Ritter on the floor of her bathroom once. If he hadn’t checked on her, she would’ve died, but they don’t put that in the paper,” she said, sticking out her chin and clenching her jaw. “And they didn’t kill Leo Pereyra.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said.

“No, you won’t, but you should,” she said. “I would know if they did it.”

Jess reached out and rubbed Keely’s shoulder. “They wouldn’t tell you something like that.”

Keely laughed. “They wouldn’t mean to, but they would. You heard them. My family doesn’t have inside voices, much less inside thoughts. They say everything they think. If they killed him, I would know. Everyone would know. It wouldn’t be some rumor. It’d be a fact.”

“They hated him,” I said. “That’s a huge motive.”

“Leo Pereyra’s death made our lives worse, not better.”

Jess kept rubbing her shoulder. “Is that why they’re so angry, even after all this time?”

“They’re angry because they know the truth,” said Keely.

My stomach got tight as I looked at that young person with the weight of so much family history on her shoulders. “What’s the truth?”

“Leo Pereyra was something special. We’re not.”

That’s so sad.

“Why didn’t they change, adapt to the new reality?” I asked. “They could’ve hired harps and made barbecue.”

Keely brushed the tears away and said, “I’ve heard about Leo my whole life, not just from my family. We could’ve done that stuff, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. People would’ve switched to Number Eight without any of it. He gave people things that we don’t have and could never have. My family knows that deep down and it hurts.”

“If we solve it, that might help,” said Jess. “They’re trapped in their anger. Maybe they could let it go.”

“Maybe,” said Keely. “But if Leo doesn’t know, how could you possibly find out?”

“Who’s Lloyd?” I asked.

“Lloyd Doyle, and you should know my family’s nice because they never pointed the finger at him. It might’ve helped us, but they didn’t.”

“We might be wrong about your family, but they make it hard to believe them,” said Jess.

Keely nodded. “I know. They just can’t help themselves. Please don’t do anything to Lloyd. He didn’t do it either.”

“Is there anyone else you’ve heard people mention?” I asked. “We don’t believe that Leo was at the Horny Hotel by accident.”

“My grandma has a file on the whole thing. She tried to figure it out, but she couldn’t. I can look in the file.”

“So she thought it was murder?” Jess asked.

Keely untwisted the scarf and wrapped it around her neck. “At first, but the cops said it was an accident, and the Ottos hired people that didn’t find anything either. My family thought he just wanted to hassle us, but I think Mr. Otto just wanted to know what happened to his dad.”

“Let me give you my number,” I said. “If you find something, you can text me.”

She shook her head. “My mom keeps tabs on me. She’ll want to know whose number it is.”

“I know,” said Jess. “You go to school with my daughter. You can tell her. She knows what we’re doing.”

Keely shook her head. “She’s friends with Samantha Otto. I saw them talking.” She checked her phone. “I better go. I can’t miss the entire period or Mrs. Johns will call my mom.”

“Keely,” said Jess. “Just because Mariah is friends with Samantha, that doesn’t mean she can’t be friends with you.”

Keely went to the door of her truck and said, “It kinda does. I’ll leave a message at The Grind if I find something. You go to The Grind, right?”

I smiled at her. “There are no secrets in this town.”

“Except for who killed Leo Pereyra,” said Jess.

Keely nodded. “Except for that.”

“Hold on,” I said. “You said Lloyd Doyle?”

“Yeah.”

“Any relation to Mrs. Doyle that teaches English?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I never thought about it.” Keely got in and drove off with a wave.

We got back in my car as a drizzle started.

“That is one unhappy kid,” said Jess.

I took a drink of my latte and pulled onto the road. “She loves her family.”

“Do you think she’s right?”

“That that crew couldn’t keep a secret to save their lives?”

“Yeah.”

“Definitely. They’d have spilled the beans forever ago, and besides, why would Leo go to the Horny Hotel to meet one of them?”

“He was always trying to help people,” said Jess.

I shook my head. “That’s taking it too far. On a busy day, go meet one of the furious Fischers? I don’t buy it.”

“So they’re off the list?”

“I think so,” I said.

“What do you think about going to the school?”

“Nope,” I said. “Stuff to do.”

Jess slid down in her seat. “Please don’t say we have to unpack.”

I smiled, and she slumped against the door. Sometimes a mom’s got to do what her kids won’t do.

Chapter Thirteen

We got the kids’ rooms unpacked, lots of laundry done, and finished the kitchen by the time the boys rolled in looking for food. They barely said hello before they attacked the rest of the apple ugly cake. They used forks, which is a step up, I’m sad to say.

Jess looked out the back door and asked, “Where’s Mariah?”

“She went to The Grind,” said Max through a mouthful of cake.

“What for?”

The boys shrugged, and Jess’s phone dinged.

“It’s her,” said Jess.

There was a pop, and Leo appeared wearing a grandpa sweater and horn-rimmed glasses.

“Is this another costume?” I asked.

“Costume?” Henri asked. My boy was always up for a costume. He was currently wearing his old hockey gear because he thought he looked cool.

“Leo was Zorro for Halloween once.”

“When did you see that?” Jess asked.

“Last night.”

Jess raised her brows but didn’t inquire.

Max swallowed an enormous lump of cake and choked out, “Were you a librarian for Halloween once? That’s not cool.”

Leo sighed. “I’m not a librarian. I’m a tutor.”

“You were a tutor for Halloween?” Henri asked. “Lame.”

“Not for Halloween. I’m just a tutor. I wore this all the time,” Leo said.

“I want to see Zorro,” said Max.

Leo shook his head. “I’m here to tutor you in math.”

The boys started chanting, “Zorro! Zorro! Zorro!”

“Did you have to mention Zorro?” he asked me.

“Just show them,” I said.

He put his nose in the air. “I am not a trick pony.”

Max gave him a sidelong look. “We’ll get down to homework if you show us.”

“No whining?”

“Well…”

“No whining or no deal,” said Leo.

The boys crossed their hearts and pop, Leo was Zorro.

“Dude, that is awesome,” said Max. “Mariah should see this. She and Hal did Halloween right.”

Leo popped back to tutor mode, and the boys groaned, but they got their books out.

“Later, we get to learn guitar,” said Henri.

“We don’t have a guitar,” I said.

“I borrowed one from school.”

Please don’t let that really mean steal.

“I’m not going to ask,” I said.

Max grinned and picked up his pencil. “Solid choice, Mom.”

I sighed and glanced at Jess, who inclined her head toward the arch.

“On that note, I think I’ll go back to putting three thousand knickknacks on shelves.”

“Me too,” said Jess, and Leo followed.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “You can’t leave them alone. They’ll never even start.”

Leo frowned. “They’re good kids, and they know how to start.”

“Look.” I pointed back at my boys, who were having a slap fight and nowhere near getting started.

“Boys,” Leo said. “I have to talk to your mother. Get started on that math.”

Max cracked Henri on his knee. “I’ve started whooping butt.”

“Loser!” Henri hit him back with a book.

Leo walked over and said, “You promised to get to work.”

“We’re not whining,” said Henri.

“Loopholes,” I said. “They are sons of a lawyer.”

“I need to talk to you,” said Leo.

Jess waved him off. “It’s fine. Get those two started. There’s no hurry.”

Leo went to the island and gave my boys the evil eye. Jess and I hurried out to the foyer. Jess grabbed her coat and tossed me mine.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To The Grind. Mariah wants us to come down.”

“Why?”

“She didn’t say. Hurry up before—too late,” said Jess.

Leo came walking down the hall, and I whispered, “Is he even more attractive as a tutor or is it me?”

“He definitely is,” she said.

“Where are you going?” Leo asked, his eyes concerned behind his adorable glasses.

“Mariah wants us to pick her up,” said Jess.

“I need to talk to you before she gets home. I did as you asked and checked out the school.”

Jess clutched her coat to her chest. “And?”

“It’s not terrible,” he said.

“That’s not exactly what a mom wants to hear,” I said, “but you should go back to the boys. You never know what they’ll do.”

“They’re good kids,” said Leo as David Bowie’s “Under Pressure” started blaring in the kitchen.

I crossed my arms and said, “I think they stole a guitar today.”

“What?”

I told him we didn’t own a guitar and the ghost’s cheeks went pink. “I will talk to them. That is not how we behave.”

For a second, I was speechless. A dead mortician was going to have a talk with my boys about proper behavior, and it was a good thing. I knew that, but it was so weird for many reasons beyond even the dead thing. Derek hadn’t had a talk with Max and Henri about anything real in forever. He was disengaged to the point that the boys had to ask me if he was home, meaning not traveling for work because he had so many out-of-state cases and they never knew where he was. He rarely ate dinner with us anymore and hadn’t helped with sports or homework since they were in elementary. When I asked him to be involved, he just told me I wanted the firm to be successful, and that was the end of the conversation.

Jess looked at me and then said, “That sounds good.”

“Is it?” Leo asked. “I don’t want to overstep my bounds.”

“You’re a ghost,” I said with a smile. “You have no bounds.”

“I do. Is it alright with you?”

“Yes, please help.” My eyes got watery, and I longed to get out the door. Jess saw my face and said, “Libby, you go pick up Mariah. I’ll get the skinny on my girl and start dinner.”

I put on my coat, grabbed Jess’s keys, and left.

It was still drizzling, and my hair was damp by the time I got in the Volvo. I glanced in the mirror and it told me I had to get it together. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. When had I become a makeup-free woman? I liked makeup. Makeup was fun. Now I skipped everything, including moisturizer, and let my hair drip-dry. That’s not a good thing with my hair. Not to mention that I was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, with a sports bra again. I had a uniboob, for goodness’ sake. I used to look at the other moms at school that looked like me and wonder what happened. I’d ask if they were okay, and they were invariably not okay. People must be looking at me and wondering if I was okay. And I was not okay. I was sad and it showed.

To make it worse, I was going back to see Sylvia, the supermom, looking worse than I did this morning. I nearly went back inside to reconstruct the woman I wanted to be again, but the high chance of being waylaid by Leo made me back out of the driveway.

Once on the street, I put the car in drive, but a couple of people ran up and waved at me through the passenger window. Peg and Vern were standing there under an enormous purple umbrella with looks of deep concern.

I rolled down the window. “Hi. What’s going on?”

“Are you okay, dear?” Peg asked.

Great. Even the dead know.

“I’m fine.”

They pursed their lips.

“Really. It’s just been hard.”

“Losing a friend is very difficult,” said Vern. “At our age, we should know.”

Peg nodded. “It will get better.”

“I know it will.”

“We better get going,” said Vern. “Dinner to make.”

I said goodbye and watched them cross the road behind me after looking both ways. Did they not know they were dead? A young couple was living in their house with a screaming baby. That was pretty hard to miss.

Pushing that to the side, I drove down to The Grind and reluctantly walked inside. The place was bustling. I had the feeling that it always was. This time, the smell of cinnamon rolls filled the air. I started drooling, but a cinnamon roll would be a giant mistake. I refused to buy bigger sweats. That could not happen.

I walked toward the counter and spotted Mariah and a girl that had to be Samantha, sitting at a table with their heads together, talking a mile a minute and smiling. All thoughts of my appearance left me, and I wished Jess was there to see her daughter smile like that, open and without the tinge of pain that had decorated her lovely features for so long, it looked like it’d become permanent.

“They are two peas in a pod.” Sylvia came up beside me. “It’s nice to see. Sam is so shy. She could really use a good friend.”

“Looks like she’s found one,” I said, starting for the table.

Sylvia grabbed my arm. “Let’s leave them to talk about Friday. I’ve got what you need in the back.”

“What’s Friday?” I asked.

“Aren’t you hosting a bunch of kids this Friday?” Sylvia led me into a side room with a sign saying Private Events on the door. The room had a long table that was stacked with boxes labeled Halloween Decor.

“We are. I forgot.”

Sylvia gestured to a chair, and we sat down. “It’s not like you aren’t moving into a haunted house and investigating a murder at the same time.”

“It’s been a busy week.”

“Apparently, Friday is either called a camp-in or camp-over. Does that mean there are tents involved?”

“Yes. The boys are setting up tents in the ballroom,” I said.

“This is a girl and boy event?” Sylvia asked with some worry in her eyes.

“It is, but we will be there, and”—I glanced around at the empty room—“so will Leo. He won’t let anyone get up to anything.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He’s tutoring the boys in math right now. Our ghost has dadding down.”

Sylvia sat back and smiled. “Sounds like the person Eric describes. Leo was a great father to him. By the way, I talked to Eric. He got your resume, and the job is yours. I didn’t have to persuade him. He was very happy with what he saw, so I guess you don’t owe me anything on the job front.”

“You would’ve helped if needed, so I think I do.” I told her what happened with the Fischers and, in particular, Keely Fischer.

“I never thought about it that way,” said Sylvia, “but she’s right. That family does not keep their opinions, thoughts, or whatever to themselves. They’d have slipped up by now. Heck, I don’t think they could’ve kept it secret for a month, much less years.”

“I tend to agree, and I only just met them.”

“You got the full Fischer experience. Hank got chased by the grandpa, too, by the way. He said it was terrifying.”

“It was. This town is something.” I looked around at the boxes. “You said that you have what I need?”

“Oh, right.” Sylvia reached into a box and pulled out a folder. “I got the police report for you. Mariah told Sam you wanted to see it.”

“Thanks. I was going to ask if you could get it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t give it to you. Eric might notice if it’s gone. He goes through the papers every so often.”

I took the file from her, and from the size of it, I didn’t think I’d need to keep it. I’d seen fatter police files on car accidents resulting in whiplash. You’d think a death investigation would be a lot thicker.

“There’s not much in it,” said Sylvia. “I reread it today, and it makes me think this is all pointless.”

I opened the file and started reading. First was the initial report just stating the facts that the responding officer observed and noted from the one so-called witness, Drew Anders. The officer interviewed the manager, and he said Anders was nearly hysterical. An ambulance had to come because he was hyperventilating. They gave him oxygen, and he improved. Anders’ story was simple. He was the only staff there that morning. When he went out to check the laundry, he found Leo Pereyra dead at the foot of the stairs.

The cops tested whether Anders should’ve been able to hear a car pulling into the parking lot, but they concluded that he couldn’t have. The only security cameras were at the entrance to the lobby and inside the lobby itself. The motor lodge got a lot of guests paying cash, and robbery was the worry, not guest security. The report noted that the motor lodge was built in the sixties and had only logged one crime in its entire history. A guest had been stoned out of his gourd, trashed his room, and tried to set fire to it. No one blamed Anders for not having cameras everywhere. The officer thought Leo had fallen down the stairs. There were no signs of a struggle, and when he interviewed the only other guests staying, they’d seen and heard nothing before they went to Denny’s. Leo had his watch, an expensive Tag Heuer, his wallet, and the car, a BMW, wasn’t taken, so robbery was out.

I turned to the autopsy report that mercifully included no photos. The doctor declared Leo’s death an accident. There were no signs of struggle or assault on the body. The blow to his head happened when it connected with a step, and he broke his neck when he hit the concrete. A weapon wasn’t used.

“I always think there should be more,” said Sylvia.

“It does look like a tragic accident.” I flipped the page. “But they investigated.”

“Nobody could believe a guy like Leo would fall to his death by accident.”

I nodded and said, “I don’t think it was an accident. Something brought Leo there.”

“Can’t you just ask him?” Sylvia asked.

“I will when I can think of a way.” I read the next section on the investigation. Not bad for a tiny town with no regular murders. They started with the family. Carol couldn’t speak to them until the next day, and she was noted as being genuinely upset. She stated that they were incredibly busy that morning with the Kornatz funeral, which was a huge event. Sometimes they had two visitations or wakes at the same time, but the Kornatz family was large and booked all the space. Carol was on the phone all morning with other families making bookings and arrangements. There’d been a ten-car pileup on the interstate and they got all the funerals from that. Plus, there was the normal number of deaths to contend with. Every day was filled for the next month. Leo had been working on the final prep work and then came in to say he was going out on some last-minute errands, kissed her cheek, and left. It was nine thirty. She didn’t ask where he was going. She was on the phone, which the cops verified. The eldest son, Darren, was setting up in the ballroom with Leo’s assistant. Leo told them he’d be right back, and the assistant, Chaz, stated that he saw Leo drive away. That group was together the entire time. The next known location for Leo was the ATM. There was video footage of him, and no one was around. He seemed perfectly fine.

Carol clear. Darren clear.

“What about Eric and his other brother…?”

“Patrick,” said Sylvia. “Next page.”

Eric was at college in Columbia at Mizzou, confirmed by his roommate and a study group. Patrick was at the brokerage firm where he worked in Chesterfield, confirmed by his secretary and security. The other family members were too distant to worry about.

Then I got to the furious Fischers. They were less clear-cut, except for the kids old enough to be considered. They, including Larry, were all at various sporting events: football, volleyball, and cross-country. Coaches and other athletes confirmed. The adults were the problem. They were all out working on their lawn care business. It was fall, so there was a lot of seasonal cleanup and it was all hands on deck. A few customers could confirm that they’d been at their houses that morning, but none could swear that they’d been in the yard for the entire time. The cop noted that it would be easy to slip away for half an hour, toss Leo down a flight of stairs, and get back, with no one being the wiser. Of course, the whole family vouched for each other, which was worth exactly nothing.

Then it was onto the angry husband theory, and the cops talked to no less than six husbands with wives that liked Leo in a way they deemed inappropriate. They all had solid alibis, but there was one name missing from the list.

“What about Lloyd Doyle?” I asked.

Sylvia’s eyes widened. “How’d you know about him?”

“The Fischers mentioned a Lloyd and Mary. Keely said it was Lloyd Doyle.”

She pulled the file back over to herself and looked. “I didn’t notice that he’s not in there.”

“But people thought he was a suspect?”

“Sure. Everybody thinks he egged Number Eight.”

“The Fischers do, but they don’t think he killed Leo. They think it was an accident,” I said.

Sylvia kept looking down at the report. “I can’t believe they didn’t check him out.”

“Why would Lloyd Doyle egg Number Eight? That’s something kids would do.”

She sat back and said, “It’s hard to imagine now. Lloyd is a normal guy. He used to be a house painter. He painted this place before he retired and they moved to Ohio to be near their son.”

“But back then, he wasn’t so normal?” I asked.

“Eric said he was awful. He was a drunk and used to beat up his wife, Mary.”

“Why didn’t anyone do anything?”

“I think Leo did. It was something to do with the funeral of Mary’s mother. I’m not sure what happened, but Eric did say Leo made a police report. Lloyd called Number Eight and started harassing them. He stalked his own wife. He used to follow her to work and sit outside, or he’d call repeatedly to make sure she was there. The Lloyd I knew was nothing like that, sober and very nice to Mary.”

“They’re still married?” I asked.

“Yes. I think he went to AA.”

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea. I wasn’t around at the time.”

I flipped through the file three times, looking for Lloyd Doyle, but he wasn’t there. No mention whatsoever. What was going on? The cops checked out a guy that got sassy with Leo at McCann’s Market over Leo talking to his wife about which was better for pulled pork, Boston butt or picnic roast. Sassy was the cop’s word, not mine, by the way. How come sassy rated an interview and violent drunk didn’t? They were so thorough otherwise. They even logged Leo’s phone calls. That morning, there were only calls from the Kornatz family making new requests, and the series of calls from Carol, trying to find out where Leo was. Nothing else. No one called and lured him to the Horny Hotel. It would’ve had to be prearranged.

“It doesn’t look good, does it?” Sylvia asked.

“No.” Back in the day when I was looking into people who were faking whiplash or back injuries, something always jumped out. Other than Lloyd Doyle, I didn’t see anything, but I read through it again just in case.

Then the door banged open, and the girls barged in. Sylvia closed the file and shoved it into a box.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” asked Mariah.

“We didn’t need to tell you,” said Sylvia. “Here you are.”

“Only because Hank told us,” said Samantha.

Her mother got up and hugged her. They were so alike, although Sam didn’t have her mother’s forthright gaze or height. “Remind me to fire him.”

“Yeah, right.” Samantha detached herself from her mother and went for the box before Sylvia could stop her.

“The police report,” said Sam. “Why’d you hide it? I’m the one that told you they needed it.”

“That doesn’t mean I want you reading it.”

“I want to read it,” said Mariah, but then she hesitated. “Is it gross?”

“Not really,” I said, and Sylvia reached for the file. Sam ducked, and the girls dashed to the end of the table.

“Samantha, give that back,” said Sylvia.

“We’re helping,” said Sam.

Sylvia looked at me, and I said, “If she’s seen the news or watched murder docs, she’s seen worse.”

“Fine, but let’s leave Daddy in the dark on this,” said Sylvia.

The girls didn’t answer. They bent over the file and began whispering.

“Shall we leave Nancy Drew and her buddy to it?” Sylvia asked.

I stood up and Mariah said, “Why’d he have so much money?”

“Yeah,” said Sam. “Three hundred bucks is a lot.”

It was a lot, but I hadn’t thought much about it. Derek started carrying cash like that for tips and, I suspect, to impress clients, so I’d gotten used to it.

“Maybe he paid cash for some things,” I said. “People do that.”

Sam wrinkled her nose. “I guess it was a long time ago, but didn’t you have debit cards?”

“We did,” said Sylvia. “And cellphones, before you ask.”

“Crappy ones,” said Mariah.

“I’ll grant you that.”

I sat back down. “Bring that file back over here.”

The girls complained, but they brought it back after I said they’d found a lead. I had no clue if it really was a lead, but I wanted the file.

“What are you looking for?” Mariah asked.

“Exactly what you asked about,” I said. “Why’d Leo have that money?”

The section about the money was brief. The cops thought the most important thing was that there was no robbery, and that took a motive off the table. They questioned the amount, but Carol told them it was normal to pay bills in cash. They shared all accounts, so it wasn’t like Leo was hiding anything from her. The money was written off. It shouldn’t have been.

“Who wants cash like that for bills?” I asked Sylvia.

“Don’t look at me. We like plastic. I buy our supplies online and I always have.”

“Okay. What kind of businesses like cash?”

“Bookies?” Sam suggested.

“Have you been watching Law and Order again?”

“It helps me sleep.”

Sylvia shook her head. “That makes no sense.”

“Does St. Seb have a bookie?” Mariah asked.

“No,” said Sylvia. “There are the slots at the bowling alley, but that’s about it.”

I looked through the file again. “What would Leo have bought regularly?”

“Food and flowers.”

“And the Fischers said they had string quartets and harpists,” I said. “They might prefer cash.”

Sam drew back. “Did you go to the Fischers? They’re crazy.”

“Keely’s not,” I said. “She was very helpful.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you two should reach out to her. She’s trying to find out more information from her family.”

Mariah looked at Samantha, who ducked her head.

“Her uncle is Larry,” said Sylvia. “There’s a lot of bad blood.”

“And none of it’s Keely’s or yours, Samantha,” I said. “Anyway, I don’t think Leo would be buying food for the Kornatz funeral that morning. It was way too late.”

“What are you getting at?” Sylvia asked. “Why does it matter?”

“Because Leo was going somewhere. He got cash on the way. Something happened, and he ended up at the Horny Hotel instead.”

“Maybe that’s where he was going,” said Mariah, and Sam shot a look at her. “I don’t mean for that.”

“As far as I know,” said Sylvia, “that was all that place offered back then.”

“We need to find out where he was going,” I said.

“Did the cops try?” Mariah asked.

“Yes,” I said. “But not hard enough.”

“Are you sure it’s important?” Sam asked.

“Positive.”

Chapter Fourteen

Mariah and I ran in the front door to escape a fresh deluge. I was starting to think it would never stop raining. We peeled off our wet coats and hung them on the back of the dining room chairs.

“We really need hooks or something,” said Mariah, and then she stopped. “Are the boys here?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Homework time.”

“It’s too quiet.”

It was too quiet. The boys liked music, and so did Leo and Jess. Mariah and I looked at each other and then we dashed back into the kitchen, where we found not one ghost but three. Peg and Vern stood at the island smiling happily, but the rest of the room was a whole other story. The boys sat frozen in their seats, staring at Peg and Vern. Leo looked embarrassed, and Jess was tearful.

“Oh, thank goodness, I mean, you’re home,” said Jess. “Look who’s here.”

“Peg and Vern,” I said. “So nice to see you.”

“You were looking so down, we brought you dinner,” said Peg. “Tuna casserole.” She smiled at the boys. “Don’t worry. I put the chips on top.”

The boys didn’t reply. They looked over at Leo, who was standing by the sink. Peg and Vern looked, frowned, and then said, “Is everything okay?”

Leo nodded at me, and I said, “Yes, of course. We just…we’ve never had tuna casserole before.”

“What?” Vern asked. “That’s a sin and a shame. There’s nothing more comforting than a good tuna casserole.”

“My parents hated fish,” I said. “So we never had it.”

Peg and Vern looked at Jess, who said, “My parents don’t cook. They raised me on takeout.” That was the complete truth, but the ghosts from 1972 looked skeptical.

“Takeout?” Vern asked. “What’s that?”

“You don’t know what takeout is?” Mariah asked.

I gave her a little pinch and whispered, “1972.”

“Oh, I mean, yeah, takeout,” said Mariah. “It’s this thing they do…in New York.”

“Oh, a big-city thing. What is it?” Peg asked.

Mariah explained takeout as if it were an exotic experience, not an everyday thing, and fascinated our guests.

“Well, Jess, I’m sorry you didn’t get home-cooked meals growing up,” said Vern, and he opened a blue Pyrex casserole dish with tulips on the side. “You will love this. It’s the most requested casserole at our church’s potlucks.”

The kitchen filled with the smell of cheddar and tuna. I have to be honest. It smelled fantastic.

Mariah went over and looked. “It has potato chips on top.”

“That’s what gives it that special crunch,” said Peg.

“It smells really good.”

The couple smiled and looked at me. “We hope you feel better,” said Peg.

“Tomorrow, we can bring soup,” said Vern. “That’s my specialty.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” I said, walking over to the boys. “We appreciate it.”

Jess and Mariah echoed my sentiments, but the boys didn’t move until I nudged them.

“Yeah,” said Henri. “Great.”

“Uh-huh,” said Max. “Thanks.”

“We’ll let ourselves out,” said Peg. “Have a wonderful evening.”

None of us moved for a few minutes. Then I went and looked. The foyer was empty.

“Okay,” I said. “They’re gone.”

Max and Henri were white-faced and pointed at the now-empty counter.

“Mom, where did it go?” Max asked.

“Beats me,” I said. “They bring things to people and then they disappear.” I opened the fridge and got out the carrot sticks. Carrot sticks were my future.

“Who was that?” Henri asked.

“Peg and Vern. The ones that brought the cake that we thought you ate,” said Jess.

Max looked like he was about to tip off his seat. “That was a real thing? We thought you were messing with us.”

“We weren’t messing with you,” said Mariah. “Are we having leftovers? I’m starving.”

Jess nodded and turned to Leo. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Leo put his hand on his chest. “Me?”

“Yeah,” said Max. “They couldn’t see you.”

“What’s up with that?” Henri asked.

“I explained this to you,” said Leo. “You have to believe in ghosts to be able to see them.”

“But they are ghosts,” I said. “How can they not believe in themselves?”

“It’s complicated.”

I put my fists on my hips. “We have time, and you have eternity.”

It seemed that Peg and Vern were a little forgetful at the time of their deaths. At one point, they knew they had died, but since then they’d completely forgotten and went on as if nothing had happened.

“They haven’t noticed that Lydia and Kendall are living in their house?” Jess asked.

Leo shrugged. “If they have, they don’t seem upset about it.”

“Have they ever seen you?” I asked.

“No, but they’re how I knew that I’d died. They were at my funeral and very upset. I’d seen them when I was alive and we’d been friendly, but then they couldn’t see me anymore, and they haven’t seen me since.”

“That’s blowing my mind,” said Max. “I’d rather think about math, and I hate math.”

“Is it weird that I want that casserole?” Henri asked.

Mariah got out the pulled pork. “We all want that casserole. How come you never made that, Mom?”

Jess gaped at her. “How come I never made tuna casserole?”

“Yeah.”

Jess and her kid went round and round about casseroles. Leo watched with a drink in his hand, frowning.

“What are you having?” I asked.

“Gin and tonic,” he said.

“Is that your upset drink?”

“What makes you think I’m upset?”

“Your face.”

Leo walked out of the kitchen, and I followed him through the foyer into the family room, still filled with boxes. We had to get on that mess ASAP. It was Wednesday, for crying out loud.

“I think you’re the one that’s upset,” said Leo.

“I’m okay.”

“Peg and Vern think you’re upset. They brought tuna casserole. That’s their comfort food.”

I’m so tired. Why deny it?

“I saw myself in the rearview mirror.”

“So?” Leo said, with an adorable double furrow appearing between his brows.

“I’m a mess. Why didn’t anyone tell me I’m a mess?”

“You’re not a mess. You’re perfect,” he said.

Perfect?

“That’s not true,” I said.

“I know you, and you’re perfect,” said Leo.

“Do you see these sweatpants? Perfect women don’t wear these.”

“Then why do you wear them?”

I was momentarily stumped. “I think I forget not to wear them.”

“Then stop wearing them,” he said.

“I guess I will.”

Leo smiled. “Do you feel better?”

Do I?

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Give it time,” he said. “Would you like to talk about why you’re wearing the sweats?”

Not even a little bit.

“Can I ask you a question about Peg and Vern?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Is their forgetting in any way related to your forgetting?”

“Was I in the early stages of dementia when I died?” Leo smiled at me. “No, I wasn’t. Why do you ask?”

“Because you don’t remember anything like why you were there at the motor lodge.”

“I don’t know why I don’t remember,” he said.

Don’t be suspicious. Don’t be suspicious.

“Aren’t you curious?”

“Not particularly. Are you?”

I swallowed and went for it. “Yes, I am. You shouldn’t have died. I don’t get it.”

Leo’s warm brown eyes crinkled at the edges. “It’s kind of you to be concerned, but I had an accident. People have them every day. In my business, you learn to accept that.”

“But why were you there?” I asked.

“At the so-called Horny Hotel?”

“Yes. Did you go there with Carol for a night away or something?” I was grasping at straws, but I had to say something.

Leo chuckled, and the sound made me feel all warm and cozy. “Carol wouldn’t go to the Horny Hotel. She wasn’t that kind of lady.”

“Would you go to meet families or something?”

“Grieving families didn’t stay there. They stayed in town. We have wonderful bed and breakfasts.”

“Could you have been meeting someone?”

A strange look came over Leo’s face. “I…maybe.”

“What’s the last thing you remember clearly?” I asked.

Leo lit up. “Kissing Carol’s cheek.”

Come on. That’s it?

“And then you went to?” I wanted to prompt him with the ATM, but that would give away knowledge I wasn’t supposed to have.

Leo didn’t respond.

“You must’ve had a destination that morning. Where would you normally go?” Tell me where you went. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.

“I haven’t ever really thought about this,” he said. “I feel odd.”

He certainly looked odd. Like he’d eaten bad clams or something.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “Is it the remembering?”

“I don’t want to remember.” And pop, he was gone.

Jess got mad, and I mean really mad, like epically mad. That hadn’t happened since I was holding a month-old Mariah and sneezed. My life was in danger there for a few minutes. Jess was one of those moms who believed babies had to be cocooned for the first six months to avoid illness. When she discovered she couldn’t sterilize the world or enjoy agoraphobia, she got over it, but it took a while.

This time around, I didn’t have a while. Yes, I upset our ghost, but I had to get information.

“How could you?” Jess asked.

“I was just asking a normal question. Where did you go?”

“A normal question about an abnormal day. Of course he doesn’t want to remember. Who can blame him?”

Somebody’s forgetting the goal. A job for me. Find a murderer and all that jazz.

I had to say something innocuous in case our ghost was hanging about. “If he’s ever going to move on⁠—”

Jess balled up her fists. “Do you want him to leave? What about them?”

She pointed at the island where the kids were staring at us, aghast. They’d never witnessed a fight between us.

“Yeah, Mom,” said Henri. “Leo’s cool. We want to keep him.”

“Mariah didn’t even get to make the giant volcano cake yet,” said Max. “We have to keep him.”

“Leo’s not a pet,” I said. “He’s a person who isn’t at rest.”

Mariah had gone pale. “You think he’s going to leave? Nobody said anything about that when we started.”

“Started what?” Max asked.

“Living here,” I said. “Everything’s fine. Ghosts get upset, apparently.”

“No, they don’t,” said Jess. “Leo said that life’s anxieties and worries went away when he died.”

You would remember that and not the whole job thing.

“I got chased by insane factory workers at the Sentinel and shot by the furious Fischer grandpa from hell.”

“They’re nothing like Leo.” Tears dripped down Jess’s face.

“Well, they are all dead.”

“Why do you have to keep bringing the dead thing up?”

“Because that’s what we’re talking about,” I said.

“We’re talking about Leo,” said Henri. “He’s the best tutor ever, and you better not get rid of him.”

Max concurred. Jess and Mariah were in tears, and to say I got ganged up on would be the understatement of the year. I wasn’t trying to get rid of Leo, far from it, but it wasn’t up to me. It was his afterlife. I told everyone that they were off their rockers, grabbed my carrots, and went up for a bath.

I hoped Leo would show up while I was soaking, but Zorro didn’t return. I asked him to come back. He didn’t even have to wear the blindfold. I had a towel draped over the tub. I was ready, but nothing worked. Not begging. Apologies. Nothing.

When I got out of the tub, I found all doors closed to me. My people were very attached to that ghost, and they weren’t all about me anymore. Jess was crying in her room and playing Air Supply’s “All Out of Love” over and over again. The boys were plinking around on their most-likely stolen guitar and were mad at the lack of a lesson. My fault, obviously. And Mariah, who wanted to investigate for Sam, was blasting “King of Pain” again. All that progress, gone in a ghostly pop.

Since company wasn’t happening, I went and blow-dried my hair. I straightened it and realized I hadn’t had it cut since before Hal died. My chin-length bob was pretty scraggly and down to my shoulders with uneven, brittle ends. It looked better than it had, and I went on to dig out my creams and lathered my body up with the nice lotion that I used to love but now couldn’t remember why.

Then I snuck down to the kitchen, got some pulled pork because a girl’s got to eat even if everyone hates her, and took it to bed with me. I’d proven long ago that I could eat and work at the same time, so I started googling Lloyd Doyle. There are a surprisingly large number of Lloyd Doyles in the world, and it took about an hour of persistence to narrow them down to three. It was AA that got me to the one and only Lloyd Doyle, formerly of St. Sebastian. His Facebook account was not set to private, unwise in this day and age, but he was sixty-eight, so maybe he didn’t know.

I went through Lloyd’s life, and I admit Sylvia seemed right about his current circumstances. Mary was by his side in most pictures, smiling. They’d celebrated their fortieth anniversary in grand style with the whole family, and I didn’t see any resentful faces in the crowd. Lloyd himself was overweight and red-faced with a thick head of white hair. He favored large belt buckles and plaid shirts. Most importantly, Lloyd was sober and listed that as his greatest accomplishment. I went through various pictures of Lloyd with his AA chips, starting in 2012 and going all the way to the present. Then I went back to the original post when Lloyd was new to Facebook and blew up that picture of his chip. Eight years. That meant his sobriety started during the year of Leo’s death.

I finished my sandwich and then brushed my teeth, letting that roll around. Could it be that killing Leo was his rock bottom? It made sense, but why hadn’t the cops investigated him? Lloyd should’ve been the number-one suspect.

Back in bed, I searched around for any clue to when he stopped drinking and found no specific date until I broke down and started watching the anniversary videos he’d posted. They were typical. Lots of speeches were given by the kids and grandkids praising their parents for sticking it out and staying together through thick and thin. Mary refused to take the microphone, wiping away tears, but Lloyd stood up and began talking about Mary and how lucky he was that she stayed when she had no reason to. Then he said the words I didn’t expect to hear. Lloyd Doyle said his real life began on a sunny Sunday morning when he decided to get sober and went into treatment. That day was the day after Leo Pereyra died at the Horny Hotel.

That can’t be a coincidence.

Chapter Fifteen

The next morning, my boys were back to being eggs. Sunny-side up all the way. They gobbled down gigantic bowls of the baked oatmeal that I’d made as a peace offering and drank a half gallon of whole milk. I don’t know where they put it all.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” said Henry. “Leo’s not leaving.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mariah asked with a resentful look at me. “Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to,” said Max. “He likes us. He’s not leaving.”

She crossed her arms and refused all offers of food from Jess, whose eyes were so swollen, she could barely see. “He might if he remembers what happened to him and we solve the murder.”

Jess made a choking noise and went to the coffee maker to grip the counter with viselike hands.

“Nope,” said Henri. “Not gonna happen.”

Like a crazy person, I asked, “Why not?”

Jess turned around and said, “You admit he’s going to leave.”

“I admit nothing. I’m asking a question. The boys have thought it through. Why’s Leo going to stay?”

Their theory was simple. Leo had stayed out of sight since his death. No one had seen him until we showed up. We were special, and he would not leave us. Their hopeful eyes made me think of Derek. He’d left long ago, only making it official after Hal died. Leo was a new father, and a darn good one too. What in the world was I thinking? We needed Leo.

“I hope you’re right,” I said.

“You’re not going to”—Mariah glanced around the kitchen and at Poptart, in particular, who was purring happily in his cushy bed—“keep going?”

“Going where?” Max asked.

“Crazy. It’s a short trip.” I checked the time. “Better go or you’ll be late.”

The kids gathered their stuff, and Jess turned back to the coffee maker. As they walked out, I went into my stash of emergency rations and grabbed a bunch of Poptarts before chasing the kids to my car. The boys got in and I grabbed Mariah’s arm.

“You have to eat,” I said.

“I’m not hungry,” she said.

I held up some Poptarts. “Take these. No nutrition, but it’s something.”

The boys started crabbing about how they didn’t get Poptarts, and I opened the door and threw in a couple of packs the way they threw fish to seals at the zoo. The boys dove for them the same way too.

“Do you want me to tell her, or do you want to do it?” I asked.

“Huh?” Mariah asked as she tucked her pack into her backpack.

“Samantha. She wants to know who killed her grandfather. That’s what started all this. Do you want me to tell her, or do you want to do it?”

“Tell her what?”

“That we’re not doing it,” I said. “Investigation over. I can go down to The Grind and tell Sylvia after you go, but I think Samantha should hear it from us.”

“You’ll lose that job,” said Mariah, lowering her eyes.

“It’s a temp job. I can work at Denny’s or something.”

“You can’t work at Denny’s.”

I hugged her and smiled. “Sure, I can.”

“No, you can’t. You’re slow, and you’ll forget the orders.”

Not as supportive as I hoped for. Typical.

“I’ll figure something out.”

Mariah looked at Number Eight and whispered, “What if he is trapped here because he was murdered?”

“I think that’s likely, although Peg and Vern stayed, and that was an accident.”

She shook her head. “I can’t tell her.”

“Then—”

“We can’t be selfish. Sam wants to know. Her dad wants to know, and if it were my dad…”

I hugged her tight and said, “We could be wrong, you know.”

“We’re not. There’s no way he fell down those stairs by accident, and everyone knows it.”

“Then we’ll ask him to stay,” I said.

She pulled back. “You think we can?”

“We can do anything.” I glanced in the Sentinel's direction. “If those ghosts can control leaving the factory or not leaving it, then maybe Leo can choose.”

“He might choose to go,” Mariah said, looking away at nothing in particular.

I nodded. “He might, and it will be hard, but we’ve handled hard before.”

Max pounded on the window. “Let’s go! We’re gonna be late.”

“Hold on!” Mariah hugged me and asked, “You’ll explain it to Mom?”

“If she’ll speak to me.”

Mariah got in the car and Max drove off, spraying Poptart crumbs all over my dash as he went. Nice.

Then I went in to face the music, literally. Jess was back in her room playing Air Supply. I grabbed our Leo alarm from the kitchen and carried him up to her room in hopes that Poptart would let me know if Leo was lurking around. Poptart didn’t pop, and I went in to find Jess on the bed with her laptop.

“I know,” she said.

I put Poptart on the bed, and he slinked over to nestle in her lap. “What?”

“We have to do it.”

“That’s what Mariah thinks too.”

She nodded. “She always surprises me. Can you just do it, though?” She pointed to her eyes. “I’m not fit to be seen, and I have to find a job.”

“Okay. I do have a lead,” I said.

“Good.”

“Anything from the lawyer about you-know-what?”

“Digging my husband up so my brother-in-law can get control of Mariah and the insurance money?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I said no to the exhumation, and now Jeff is trying it through the courts.”

“What is wrong with that guy?”

“Mr. Carter thinks his business is going down the tubes. He’s hired an investigator to look into it.” Jess looked up at me. “He called Mariah. Jeff, I mean. Did you know that?”

“She told me,” I said. “We didn’t want to upset you.”

“Jeff told Mr. Carter that Mariah said she’d be happy to live with him and get out of here.”

That made me smile for the first time that morning. “Now, you know that’s not true.”

Jess surprised me by smiling back. “I know. What a jerk.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“This is costing a lot of money.”

“We’ll sue Jeff to recover it, since it’s his fault.”

She chuckled and leaned back on her pillows. “That’s a pleasant thought.”

“Keep it, and I’m going to get to work.”

I left her to her job hunt and thought evil thoughts about Hal’s brother. I wasn’t in a good place, but having a job to do helped. I called the school and requested a meeting with Mrs. Doyle. She’d turned out to be Lloyd Doyle’s sister-in-law, and she wasn’t at the anniversary party, one of the few missing people. Maybe I’d get lucky, and she hated Lloyd as much as we hated Jeff.

Mrs. Doyle’s free period turned out to be second period, so I got to unpack more junk before going over to the school. The secretary, June, didn’t ask why I wanted a meeting, so I didn’t have to lie. She just asked if I had kids in Mrs. Doyle’s class, and I said I did. Not really a lie, right?

The high school sat in the middle of town surrounded by Craftsman homes on one side and a newer suburb with split levels, probably built in the eighties, on the other. The school was a rambling brick building about a third the size of the kids’ old school. I parked in the students’ lot between an ancient pickup and a rusting Honda. There were no BMWs or Audis like there were at the old school. I hated the reasons that we left our high-end city life behind, but I wouldn’t miss the entitled kids or the comparisons our kids got for not getting luxury cars for their sixteenth birthdays. Max got to drive my car. Before Hal died, Derek and I were considering a very used compact car, but that was the extent of our indulgence. That was one of the few things we agreed on.

I arrived right at the moment the bell rang and had to worm my way through crowded halls to the office, where the extremely curious June gave me directions to Mrs. Doyle’s room. The halls magically cleared, and I made my way to ambush a teacher who had no idea I was coming, according to June.

The door was open, but I knocked anyway.

“Come in,” called out a woman.

I walked in and found Mrs. Doyle sitting at her desk, surrounded by stacks of papers. She had faded red hair, an incredible number of freckles, and glasses in purple frames.

“Sorry to bother you,” I said, and she jerked to attention.

“Oh. I thought you were a student.” Mrs. Doyle took off her glasses and let them hang by a chain around her neck. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m Libby Forest, Max and Henri’s mother.”

She laughed. “I should’ve known the instant you walked in. They are the spitting image of you. Take a seat if you don’t mind plastic chairs.”

I didn’t mind and picked a blue one.

“Your boys are very bright. I haven’t detected any issues so far,” said Mrs. Doyle. “Is there something I should know?”

“I’m not actually here about the boys,” I said, feeling a little guilty.

“Oh?”

“Are you aware that we bought Number Eight? The old Otto house.”

The smile on Mrs. Doyle’s face lost its sparkle and became fixed. “Yes.”

“I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions,” I said.

The smile began to drop away. “I don’t know anything about that house.”

“It’s not about the house, but rather a former occupant.” Or current, if you want to get technical.

Mrs. Doyle put her glasses back on and said, “I didn’t really know any of the Ottos.”

“But your brother-in-law did,” I said.

She looked up, her blue eyes glacial, and I wondered if I’d just caused a tremendous problem for the boys. “I can’t speak to that.”

“You know he had a problem with Leo Pereyra.”

“That’s ancient history. I’m sorry. I do need to grade these essays.”

I scooted my chair closer to her desk. “It won’t take long.”

“Because I know nothing about it.”

“About Leo’s murder?”

I didn’t think she could get more glacial, but she did. “He wasn’t murdered. This town has been speculating about that for nearly two decades, and it’s all ridiculous.”

“Where was Lloyd that day?”

She took a deep breath in through her nose. “I will not talk about Lloyd. He was cleared of any wrongdoing, and that is that.”

I stuck out my legs and crossed them at the ankles. “No, he wasn’t.”

“What?”

“Lloyd wasn’t cleared.”

“He certainly was,” she said.

“I saw the police report. They never even looked at him. Do you want to tell me why?” I asked.

“Because he didn’t do it,” said Mrs. Doyle with an air of finality.

“How would they know that if they didn’t check him out?”

“I’m sure they must’ve.”

I watched her face. I’d chatted with numerous fraudsters who were trying to bilk the insurance company I worked for. Very few of them were any good at lying. Anyone can lie. The talent is believing the lie yourself. Mrs. Doyle didn’t believe.

“No, you’re not,” I said. “Why didn’t they investigate Lloyd?”

“He didn’t kill Leo Pereyra.” Her eyes were no longer glacial. They’d turned hot and intense.

“How do you know that?”

“I know.”

I watched her silently long enough to make her nervous. My old boss at the insurance company taught me the value of a stare. The fraudsters would come in to file their claims, limping or with a fat neck brace, convinced that was all it would take. A stare convinced them otherwise.

“You know because you were with him, or because drunken wife-beaters never ever kill people?” I asked.

Mrs. Doyle gasped. “How dare you?”

I held up my hands. “I get it. Lloyd is a sweetheart now, and you don’t want to think of who he was.”

“That’s right. Lloyd turned his life around, and I won’t have you throwing dirt on him.”

“If he’s so great, why weren’t you at the anniversary party? Everyone else was there,” I said.

“I… How do you know that?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Is it a secret?”

Mrs. Doyle straightened her shoulders. “I had a hip replacement. I wasn’t up to the drive.”

If it was a lie, she believed it.

“You never said whether you were with Lloyd the day Leo died,” I said.

“No, I didn’t.” Mrs. Doyle stood up. “I’ll thank you to go now. We’re not dredging this all up. Lloyd and Mary had to move to get away from the rumors, and my husband is still sad about that. You have no right to point the finger.”

“I’m simply asking why he wasn’t investigated.”

She walked to the door. “He didn’t need to be. He didn’t do it.”

Mrs. Doyle believed that too.

I stood up and asked, “You sound sure.”

“I am absolutely positive.”

I went over to her and said, “Then tell me why and we can all move on.”

She went glacial again and said, “No, it’s none of your business.”

“I was asked to look into this because I have a special connection to the Otto family,” I said.

Mrs. Doyle’s hand hesitated as she reached for the door handle. “It’s ancient history.”

“It might be to you, but it’s not to Samantha Otto. She wants to know what happened to her grandpa. Eric Otto is still grieving.”

Mrs. Doyle’s face was stricken. Her mouth opened and closed without emitting any sound.

“Just because you’re over it doesn’t mean everyone else is,” I said.

She opened the door, and I left with an “I’ll be back,” tossed over my shoulder.

She closed the door softly behind me, and I chose to think the lack of a slam meant something, but I was feeling optimistic.

I started down the hall and heard a door open behind me.

“Hey.”

I turned around and saw a man wearing jeans and a windbreaker standing in the doorway of what appeared to be a storage closet.

“Hi,” I said.

“Are you an eight?” he asked.

I used to think so.

“Not sure what you mean.”

He came out further into the hall with one hand on the handle of a mop stuck in a bucket. “Are you one of the eights? The ladies that live at Number Eight?”

“Yes, I am. And you are?”

“Clint Ford, head of maintenance, building and grounds.”

I stuck out a hand, and he shook it with a rough, callused hand that was warm but not sweaty. Then he stepped back so that I could see inside the good-sized closet filled with shelving covered in supplies, paper towels, and the like.

“Can you come in for a minute?” he asked with a glance at Mrs. Doyle’s door.

That sounds like the title of a Dateline. The Woman that went in the Closet.

I stepped back. “I’ve got to go.”

He glanced back in the closet and said, “Oh, right. No woman would do that unless she’s crazy. I can meet you in the parking lot.”

“What for?”

“Are you here about Leo Pereyra?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure if I should admit it, but I said, “I am. Do you have information?”

“I do. Which car?” Clint asked.

“How did you know I was here about that?”

“June called me. She said you wanted to talk to Liz, Mrs. Doyle. Your kids haven’t been here long enough to be in trouble.”

“Well…”

Clint chuckled. “I take it back, but seriously, I do have information.”

I told him which Camry was mine and headed out as fast as I could.

That wasn’t fast enough. Clint was leaning on my hood, smoking a cigarette by the time I got there.

“Wow. That was fast,” I said.

“I know all the escape routes.”

Ominous.

“You don’t say.”

He chuckled. “People are so suspicious. Fire exits. The ones that nobody uses below the gym.”

I went to lean on my hood next to him. The cigarette smelled like Leo when he was worried and made me determined to help him.

“So what do you know about Lloyd Doyle?” I asked.

“Nothing,” said Clint.

“Why are we here?”

“Half the town thought Lloyd killed Leo Pereyra and the other half didn’t,” he said.

“Thanks, but I figured that out on my own,” I said.

“Everyone wanted to know where he was that day.”

“I bet. Do you know?”

He took a puff and blew out a perfect ring. “No, but I know where his wife, Mary, wasn’t.”

Clint’s story was the kind that ought to have made it into the police report. He worked at High Quality Metal Fabricators in 2004, when he was eighteen. Clint only worked weekends because he was still in school, and he knew Mary Doyle. They worked side by side every weekend, punching out metal doodads. The morning of Leo’s death, Mary showed up with a shiner that was a couple of days old and some scrapes on her chin and cheek that looked fresh to Clint. They were still moist and a little bloody. Mary was also limping, and her eyes were swollen.

“That wasn’t unusual,” said Clint. “I’d actually say it was normal.”

“Why didn’t anyone do anything for her?” I asked.

“Our manager called her into the office as soon as we clocked in. I saw her through the glass, shaking her head no like she always did. When she came to the line, she told me she fell down the stairs.”

“What did you say?”

“Man, I was eighteen. My parents told me to leave it alone, so I did. I don’t know what anyone could’ve done, though. She’d never have pressed charges on Lloyd.”

“Is that all?”

“I’m getting to it,” said Clint.

He continued to say that Mary was very nervous that day. She kept checking her watch, and her hands were shaking. She’d look at the office and the manager would shake his head at her. Only an hour after their start time, Mary went back to the office and spoke to the manager. Then she packed up her stuff and left without a word to Clint.

“You remember all that? It’s been nearly twenty years,” I said.

“You’d remember too if you had to work sixteen hours to make up for Mary being gone and your girlfriend dumped you ‘cause you couldn’t meet her parents so you could take her to prom.”

“You’re right about that.”

“Not to mention that Leo Pereyra turned up dead an hour after Mary took off. Everyone knew about the bad blood between Leo and Lloyd.”

“What was it?” I asked. “No one has said specifically.”

“What do you think?” Clint asked. “Leo wanted Lloyd to stop beating the crap out of Mary. He went after her at her own mother’s funeral. Can you imagine? Leo and Darren had to throw him out, and then Mary refused to press charges. He split her lip. She had stitches.”

“Did you ask your manager why she left?” I asked.

“He wouldn’t say, except that she was worried about Lloyd.” Clint curled his lip. “That man was a nightmare. He used to call work all the time to make sure she was there. Sometimes he’d sit outside and threaten people as they were going in or out. After Leo died, I kept thinking, why couldn’t it have been Lloyd? He was freakin’ awful.”

“Did Mary ever come back to work?” I asked.

“She was back the next weekend. All she said was that there was a death in the family, but she never said who or mentioned a funeral. And here’s the thing, Mary was a real chatty lady. I think she was lonely. It used to drive me up the wall. Half the time, I was hungover, and all I wanted to do was work, but she’d be talking my ear off.”

“Nothing about Lloyd or Leo?”

“Not a thing, but she never showed up bruised again, not once.”

“I heard he joined AA,” I said.

Clint nodded. “My uncle’s in AA. They used to do meetings together, but he wouldn’t say anything about Lloyd.”

I zipped my coat up to my chin and asked, “How do you know they were in it together, then?”

“AA meets in the community center at six on Saturday nights. Everybody knows who’s going to those meetings, just not what’s going on inside,” said Clint.

I gazed at the school and thought about the pictures and videos on Lloyd’s social media.

“Do you think Lloyd and Mary had something to do with Leo’s death?” I asked.

Clint ground out his cigarette under his work boot. “I hate to think Mary did. She was real sweet and timid, ya know. But Lloyd, back then, he was capable of anything…”

“But?”

“If you’d asked me back then how Lloyd would kill Leo, ya know, before Leo died, I’d have said he’d beat him to death with a tire iron or run him over a dozen times. That was Lloyd. Not subtle.”

I leaned away and looked at Clint, who was lighting another cigarette. “Seriously? That’s awful.”

“Well, he threatened me with a tire iron once, and I’m not the only one. I guess Mary mentioned me to him and he thought something was going on,” said Clint with a grimace. “She was older than my mom. The idea was gross.”

“So pushing Leo down the stairs wasn’t his style? Did he egg the house?”

Clint shook his head. “Nope. That was their sons that did that. Lloyd just said it was him.”

“And you know because?”

“They told me they did it. Wanted to make Dad happy, I guess. Who knows?” Clint stood up and smiled at me. “I don’t know if that helps, but it’s been weighing on me this whole time.”

“Why didn’t you tell the cops?” I asked.

“I did.”

“It’s not in the police report.”

“Figures. That Chief Gates told me to mind my business. My dad was so pissed, but what are you gonna do? It’s the cops.”

“The chief of police blew you off?”

“He was a drunk too. Maybe they were buddies. I don’t know,” said Clint. “Gotta go. Auto repair won’t teach itself. I’ve got to prep.”

“You wear many hats,” I said.

“It’s a small school. I also coach track.”

“You might be seeing my boys, then.”

He shook my hand and said, “I hope so. They are a breath of fresh air.”

“Nice to hear.”

Clint started toward the school, but I called after him, “Hold on.”

He turned and said, “Yes?”

“You’ve lived here all your life, right?”

“Born and bred,” said Clint with a smile.

I told him about Leo paying cash for things, large amounts of cash, and asked who in town would’ve required cash.

Clint took a drag, thought it over, and then shook his head. “I don’t know. My family wasn’t exactly rolling in it, but we did have a few family funerals at Number Eight. My mom loves flowers, and she said Leo always had the freshest blooms and the best taste in arrangements.”

“Any idea what shop that would be?” I asked.

“Had to be The Poet’s Garden,” said Clint. “They’re the best in town. Leo always had the best.”

“Tell June thanks for me,” I said.

“The school busybody comes in handy sometimes. June’ll be thrilled if you get somewhere with this.”

“You never asked me why I was doing it.”

“You’ve seen Leo, and he told you someone pushed him down the stairs. You want to find out who,” said Clint, without an ounce of amusement or doubt. That was St. Seb for you.

He waited to see if I’d confirm, but I just smiled. He winked at me and went back to work.

I got in the car to blast the heat. It wasn’t that cold out, but I always felt chilled to the bone since we moved to town. I checked my phone for messages, and Jess had asked for an update. The boys wanted to know if they could have thirty kids over for the camp-over, and Mariah wanted to know if we’d seen Leo yet. I answered them all and then googled The Poet’s Garden.

Would you look at that?

The flower shop was right down the street from the ATM where Leo got his cash. Another coincidence? Doubtful.

Chapter Sixteen

The Poet’s Garden sat across the street and a block down from the ATM. I’d wondered if you could see the kiosk clearly, and you could. I parked on the street and then went into a floral wonderland. It was gorgeous. Fall and Halloween decor filled the shop in the most elegant and fun way possible. Witches and ghosts floated around the ceiling on wires. There were beautifully carved pumpkins and floral displays that had me wanting to break out my credit card in a huge way.

I wandered around and found a display of black-and-white photos covering one wall. Since the clerk was handling several customers ordering elaborate yard decorations, I took a good look. Each photo was of a heavily haunted spot in St. Seb. The hospital made the list, along with a fancy hotel and the shoe factory, of course. There was also a bed-and-breakfast down the street from us, and the town bowling alley for some reason. Our house was not there. I checked twice.

“Looking for someplace in particular?” the clerk asked with a genial smile as he joined me at the wall. He was tall and what my mom would call husky. His hair was shoulder length, salt and pepper, and tied back with a leather band, but the most striking thing about him was his thick, curly beard that made me instantly think of a show I liked as a kid, Grizzly Adams.

“My house, actually,” I said.

His smile grew warmer, and he asked, “Did you buy Number Eight?”

“Word gets around.”

He shook my hand. “Kip Styles. No, it’s not a nickname. That’s my actual name.”

“Libby Forest. Libby is a nickname. Liberty is the original.”

“We have unusual parents,” said Kip.

“I definitely do,” I said, turning back to the wall. “So Number Eight didn’t make the cut.”

“It’s a judgment call. We discuss it every year. On one hand, invisible bees and terrible smells. On the other, nothing’s actually been seen.”

“Wasn’t there some kind of fog?”

“Yes, but it was only once, so we put that aside,” said Kip. “Congratulations. I’d thought Leo would never let anyone live in his house.”

“You think he’s there?”

Kip put a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I do, and I’d be very happy if you’d tell me that you’d seen him.”

Instead, I asked, “You knew him?”

Kip looked disappointed, but he told me that he and Leo were good friends. They were in the same bowling league and played softball and poker together.

“Leo was great. The day he died, we all lost a friend.”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said. “I wanted to ask the owner or whoever was here back then if they remember that day.”

“You’re in luck,” said Kip. “I was here. This is a family business. My dad owned it then and now it’s mine.”

“Fantastic. Did Leo show up here that morning?”

More customers came in and Kip attended to them before calling for someone named Kelly. A young woman came out of the back, and Kip took me into a side room that was filled with flower-arranging supplies and an unbelievable number of cut flowers.

Kip cleared a space and offered me a stool. “Sorry for the mess. It’s our busy season.”

“Do you have a slow season?”

“Not really,” he said. “It slowed down when Leo died and other funeral homes picked up his business, but they started coming to us after a while.”

“I’m curious. Was Leo here that morning?”

“No, he wasn’t, and I would’ve seen him. I was only front of house back then. My dad did all the arrangements, and my mom was accounting.”

“Did the cops ask you if he was here?” I asked.

“No, but my dad would’ve told them if he had been. There was a lot of speculation about his death, as I’m sure you know. Still is. So has Leo asked you to look into his death?”

“No, he hasn’t,” I said.

“Really. I talked to Tank Tancredi, and he gave me the impression that something was going on.”

“Oh, something’s going on, but Leo didn’t ask for it.”

Kip nodded and stroked his beard. “It’s still for Leo?”

“Partially.”

“What can I do to help?”

I told him about the money Leo took out. “Did you only take cash back then? I saw all the signs for Visa and MasterCard you have now.”

Kip chuckled. “Yep. That was my dad’s thing. He hated paying the minuscule credit card fees, especially for large orders. Leo always paid cash to make him happy.”

“Was any other supplier like that?”

“Not that I know of. Dad was a dinosaur. He didn’t use credit cards himself and thought they were a corporate conspiracy to keep people in debt.”

“I think he was onto something.”

“Dad was right about a lot of stuff, but nobody’s handing us two thousand cash for their wedding flowers anymore. It’s nuts. We take everything now. Venmo. The works. You have to make it easy.”

“Do you know if Leo put in an additional order that morning?”

Kip shook his head. “I didn’t take a call from him, but Dad might’ve.”

“Can you ask him?” I asked.

“I could, but Dad’s got some dementia going on. He might remember or he might not.” Kip got up and said, “Let’s look at the ledgers.”

He took me deep into the shop to an office that was a throwback to a different era. A wooden desk sat in the middle surrounded by shelves completely covered in green cloth-covered ledgers.

“Wow,” I said.

“Yeah, we don’t know what to do with it all, so we just left it as is. My office is next door. I use a computer. When I told Dad, he went into mourning.”

“What did he say about the credit cards?”

“I haven’t told him. We hide the machines and signs when he comes in,” said Kip as he selected one ledger marked 2004. “Here we go.”

He flipped through the pages.

“It was the Kornatz funeral that day, if it helps.”

“Yep. There it is.” Kip looked up. “There is an extra order.”

I bent over the ledger and saw in neat handwriting under the heading Kornatz/#8 and the date, a plus sign, the time of eight thirty, and three dozen yellow roses.

“So Leo called and ordered three dozen yellow roses at eight thirty?” I asked.

“Yes, but that wasn’t unusual. He got a lot of last-minute requests. People panic and remember, Mom loved violets. They want violets. Leo or someone was always calling in things. Happens with weddings too.” He pointed to the words hold two days written in red ink. “The funeral was delayed. I remember that.”

“Right. They did it two days later, so your dad kept the roses until then?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

Leo was coming here. He went to the ATM and then something happened.

“Do you remember anything else unusual about that day?” I asked.

“Other than my friend dying? No.” Kip closed the ledger and put it back in its spot.

I told him my theory as we went back to the front of house. People were coming in, and Kelly was pretty busy. I was about to thank Kip and say goodbye when he stopped walking and stared out the front window at a couple of women hugging before they went on their way.

“There was something,” he said. “Now that I think about it.”

Yes, please have seen a Fischer or Lloyd or somebody. Anybody.

“My son was working here that day,” said Kip. “You know how boys are.”

“Useless?” I asked with a smile.

“Very, but Kyle was especially useless that day. He saw a girl outside the window and she distracted him.”

“What was she doing?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Just sort of standing there and she would pace a bit.”

“Was she hot or something?” I asked.

“Kyle was all about her. He was sixteen and a walking hormone, but that was the first time he ever talked to me about it.”

“About girls?”

“That one, in particular. He wanted to go out and talk to her.” Kip smiled. “We worked on strategy. Opening lines, you know. I shouldn’t have encouraged him.”

“Why?” I asked.

“He was sixteen and pretty gangly. She was probably twenty, maybe twenty-two, and very adult. I was just happy he was talking to me,” said Kip.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Just when he got the courage up, she left.”

“What exactly happened? When did it happen? Before you heard about Leo?”

Kip looked at me with his brow furrowed. “Let me think. It was definitely before, because we closed the shop the minute we heard and went to Number Eight. Kyle only worked mornings, so before twelve, and he did deliveries. Started those…”

Kip spun around and went into the back with me on his heels. In his dad’s office, he pulled out the ledger again. “We did have deliveries that day. Quite a few.”

“When do you start deliveries?” I asked, and then held my breath.

“Usually ten. We don’t want to come too early, especially on a Saturday.” He looked down. “Most are scheduled for the morning. Some were for the afternoon. We rescheduled those after we heard about Leo.”

“So you think your son left at ten?”

“Probably around then.”

“What time did you open?”

“Eight, but Kyle was late that day. He was always late. Couldn’t get him out of bed.”

I was so excited, I thought I might hyperventilate. “What time did he get here?”

“I couldn’t say exactly, but he usually rolled in around nine,” said Kip. “That kid. What a pain.”

“You didn’t recognize the girl?” I asked.

“Nope, and neither did Kyle. She was blond, leggy. That’s about all I remember.”

“You saw her legs?”

He frowned. “Yeah, I did. She was wearing a short skirt.”

“Wasn’t it chilly in March?”

“Now that you mention it, I think it must’ve been.” Kip closed the ledger. “Do you think she had something to do with Leo’s death?”

“Can we go back to the front?” I asked.

“Sure.”

When we got out there, I asked Kip where he would’ve been to see that girl. He thought they were behind the counter with a clear view out the display window. “If there’s a slow time, that’s it. After Valentine’s Day and before the Easter excitement. Our window wouldn’t be super full.”

We went behind the counter and a curious Kelly made space after she rang up a customer.

I pointed out the window. “That’s where she was. Can you picture her?”

“Yes,” said Kip.

“Which way did she wave?”

He thought for a split second and said, “To the right.”

“Toward the bank?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. She was mostly looking that way.”

I shook Kip’s hand and said, “Thank you so much.”

“Does that help?”

“Yes, I think that girl is our interception,” I said.

Kip pulled up a stool and sat down heavily. “You think if we’d gone out there, she wouldn’t have talked to Leo?”

“What’s going on?” Kelly asked.

“Nothing, sweetie. Can you go make me a coffee?”

Kelly glanced at me and said, “Sure, Dad.”

When she’d gone, I said, “I think if she was there to lure Leo somewhere, a short chat with you or Kyle wouldn’t have stopped her.”

He looked up, and his face reddened. “Leo wasn’t like that. He couldn’t have been lured by some random chick to the Horny Hotel. Not possible.”

“Something took him there,” I said. “She’s my best lead.”

Kip wasn’t convinced, but he said he’d call Kyle and see if he remembered anything else from that day. I left and headed for comfort food. I needed a burrito, and not a tofu one either.

“Do you smell that?”

I rolled over and said, “I smell nothing.”

Jess poked my back. “Libby, wake up. It’s six o’clock.”

“What?” I sat up and looked at the clock on Jess’s side table. It was indeed six o’clock. “What the heck happened?”

“Jessica Fletcher,” said Jess with a yawn.

I looked at her TV that was playing Murder She Wrote. I’d brought home a couple of fat burritos, we’d had lunch, and then finished organizing Jess’s room. We were so tired by the end of breaking down the boxes and hauling them downstairs that we decided to take a break. Jess’s comfort watching is always eighties stuff like The Golden Girls or Fantasy Island. I should’ve said no. That stuff knocks me out cold.

“We are never going to finish the unpacking,” I said.

“You brought home enormous burritos,” said Jess. “That’s not exactly energy food.”

I got off her bed and sniffed. “Is that… What is that?”

“Peg and Vern must be here again.” Jess looked down at herself. “I never got dressed. I’m still in my PJs.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s okay.”

She looked at me. “I don’t think it is. I’m supposed to be better by now.”

“Says who?”

“The internet.”

“The thing that has flat earthers and tells people that drinking green bean coffee is better for you?”

“There’s good stuff on there too,” said Jess as she found some jeans on the floor and put them on.

“Not if it’s telling you that there’s a timeline for grief. There’s no such thing,” I said.

Jess gave me a fierce hug. “I’ll be down in a minute. I think I should find a bra.”

“Not the worst idea you’ve ever had.” I went downstairs, and the smell got stronger. It smelled fantastic and also familiar.

I found the kids in the kitchen. The island was a wreck with stuff strewn all over it. “What did you do?”

The boys looked up from their books. “You and Jess were sleeping, so we made dinner.”

There are moments in life when there are no words, and that was one of them.

“Don’t look like that,” said Mariah. “We can cook.”

“I know, but you did cook, unprompted,” I said.

She sneered at me and said, “Guess what it is?”

“Tuna casserole?”

The boys high-fived. Any excuse to celebrate.

“Nailed it,” said Max. “It’s ready in fifteen minutes.”

“How do you know how to make tuna casserole?”

Max rolled his eyes. “We have the internet, Mom.”

Mariah held up a piece of stained paper. “And Peg and Vern’s recipe.”

“Sweet,” I said. “What about a veggie?”

Henri went to the fridge and got out a bag of green beans.

“What are you going to do with that?” I asked.

He tossed it to me. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

I laughed. “Nice. I’ll just make some green beans then.”

There was a hiss behind me and I turned to see Poptart arch his back and go into full “black cat on Halloween” mode.

“Leo,” said Mariah, looking around.

Then there was a pop and Leo stood next to Henri, wearing his tutor getup and smiling sheepishly. Poptart streaked out of the kitchen with a squeal and Leo said, “I keep hoping he’ll get used to me.”

The boys high-fived again and started clamoring about math and evil math teachers.

I shushed them and said, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“You say that like you thought I might not come back.”

Mariah crossed her arms. “Well, you might not.”

“I wouldn’t leave you,” said Leo. “Not for long, anyway.”

That brought tears to Mariah’s eyes, and she turned away.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” I said.

Jess walked in, looking like her old self minus twenty pounds. She’d combed her hair and everything. “We all are.”

“Is Poptart okay?” Leo asked.

“He’s fine.”

“Do you think I should come differently? I could walk in. Maybe that would help.”

They went back and forth about the cat, and I got the impression that Leo was avoiding looking at me.

“I am really very sorry,” I said. “My curiosity got the better of me.”

Leo turned to me. “I shouldn’t have vanished like that. I don’t know what happened. I’ve never felt that way before.”

“How did you feel?” Mariah asked.

“Upset. But I didn’t think I could get upset. Not anymore. I haven’t before.”

“No one’s asked you about it before,” said Jess. “Libby’s a great question asker. She asks the questions nobody wants to answer.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“It’s true, Mom,” said Max. “You grill our teachers like they’re in front of the Supreme Court.”

“I do not.”

“That’s what Dad said. He thought it was cool,” said Henri.

That’s surprising.

“Well,” said Leo, “it’s not Libby’s fault. Nobody has asked me anything for a long time.”

“You forgive me?” I asked.

“Nothing to forgive.” He looked toward the stove. “Is that tuna casserole I smell?”

“We made it,” said Henri. “Mom wouldn’t.”

“You didn’t ask,” I said.

Max gave me the evil eye. “You wouldn’t even if we asked. You think it’s grandpa food.”

Jess smiled, and it was good to see. “It kinda is grandpa food.” She pointed at the soup cans. “Condensed soup. The good stuff.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” said Leo.

“The tuna casserole is going to be based,” said Henri.

“You’re using that wrong,” said Mariah.

“You always say that.”

“‘Cause you’re always wrong. Based is not that.”

Henri elbowed Max. “The tuna casserole is going to be bussin’.”

“Wrong again,” said Mariah.

Before Henri could reply, Peg and Vern walked through the back door with another casserole dish.

“Did someone say tuna casserole?” Peg asked.

Max took a breath and then said, “We liked it so much, we made it again.”

“How nice,” she said. “I’m so glad you liked it.”

Vern put the new casserole on the island and opened it with a flourish. “For dessert, bread pudding.”

“Oh, I love that,” I said. “My grandma made it all the time.”

The smell of custard and cinnamon filled the kitchen, and it briefly transported me back to my grandma’s kitchen. She was the best.

“We put in raisins,” said Vern. “I was going to do the soup, but I thought you needed a little something sweet.”

The ghost looked at me and said, “Libby, you look much better. Very pretty.”

“Thanks, Vern.” I must admit that felt good. I tried, and it paid off.

Peg went over to the boys and looked at their books. “So nice to see kids doing their homework here again.”

She and Vern started talking about how Leo helped his stepsons with their work. Carol was good with history, but Leo did the math and science.

“I helped with their papers,” said Peg. “I was always good at English.”

“You did a lot for the boys,” said Vern. “Especially Eric. He was in so many advanced classes.”

“Patrick, too, but he didn’t need much help. So smart and popular too,” she said. “Darren wasn’t so much interested in school, but he tried hard.”

“They were such good boys.”

“How well did you know them?” I asked, confused. Eric didn’t believe. How in the world did Peg help him with school?

“Oh, very well,” said Peg. “We watched them grow up. Such good boys and so active. Leo and Carol were always going to this sport or that one.”

Max leaned toward the ghosts. “So they could se⁠—”

“See all the games,” I said. “They must’ve been so busy.”

“Oh, they were. Very busy.”

I glanced over at Leo and he put his finger to his lips. Max and Henri nodded, but I could tell they were as confused as I was. Peg and Vern talked until the casserole came out of the oven.

“We better let you have your dinner,” said Vern. “Enjoy the bread pudding.”

He and Peg walked right through the oven and were gone.

I looked at Leo. “What in the heck was that?”

“This is one of their more confused days,” he said.

“They don’t notice that they walk through walls?” Mariah asked.

“Not as far as I can tell,” said Leo.

“You said people had to believe to see,” I said, trying to keep the accusation from my voice.

“They do. Peg and Vern remember being here in this kitchen when the boys were doing homework because they were. They only ever interacted with me, not the boys, but they remember the way they want to,” said Leo. “There’s no reason to ruin that for them.”

“They can help us with homework,” said Henri. “Mrs. Doyle hates me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” said Jess.

“She gave me the worst topic for the next paper.”

Oh, no.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Shakespeare’s tragedies.”

Mariah started snapping the beans with me and said, “That’s not so bad. Romeo and Juliet is pretty easy. I did that last year. I’ll help.”

“I didn’t get the easy one,” said Henri. “I have to compare and contrast the themes of Hamlet, Othello, King Lear, and Macbeth. Everybody else got stuff like what’s the theme of Huckleberry Finn? It’s finding a family. Duh. So obvious.”

“This is a freshman class?” Jess asked. “Sounds like an AP.”

“It’s worse than my AP English lit,” said Mariah. “What’s up with Mrs. Doyle? I thought she was nice.”

“She’s not,” said Max. “I got assigned Medea. It’s world lit, but we’re not even working on Ancient Greece.”

I’m gonna have a talk with Liz.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll have a meeting with her.”

Henri did a fist pump. “Get her, Mom. Ask her how I’m supposed to compare four plays in five pages.”

“I will ask her.” I got the skillet going for the green beans and Mariah took the casserole out. It looked amazing. “So, Leo?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

I turned around and Leo was practically glowing. I was going to ask where he had been all day, but instead, I asked, “Why are you so happy?”

“I missed this,” he said.

“You missed kids griping about teachers? Insane essays and⁠—”

Mariah raised her hand. “I got a D on a physics quiz today.”

“And that,” said Jess.

“Yes,” said Leo. “You miss it when it’s gone. I thought I would have a second chance with grandkids, but that’s not how it worked out.”

I tossed the green beans in the skillet and stirred them in a little sizzling olive oil. “Don’t you go visit them?”

Leo’s face went blank.

“Yeah,” said Mariah. “Samantha knows all about you. How come you don’t visit her?”

“I don’t do that,” he said with a strange hollowness in his voice.

“What about the boys?” Jess asked. “Even if they can’t see you, you could see them.”

He shook his head.

Max looked up from his book and asked, “How come you don’t go visit? You like this, so you must miss them.”

“Very much,” Leo said, so low I could barely hear him over the sizzling beans. “I don’t feel very good.”

And then he was gone.

Max looked around at us and asked, “Was that bad?”

I gave the spatula to Mariah and went over to hug him. “It must be upsetting.”

Jess sighed. “Leo’s sad. I don’t think he knew how many feelings he had before we came. He was so isolated. Sadness doesn’t just go away.” She looked at Mariah.

“I’m not going to therapy,” said Mariah.

“Yeah, she doesn’t need therapy,” said Henri. “She needs to join our band.”

“You don’t have a band,” I said.

“We’re working on it,” said Max. “And some other things for Halloween.”

Mariah turned around, her shoulders hunching, and Max gave Jess a thumbs-up. I had no idea what that meant. I just hoped they took the guitar back.

Chapter Seventeen

Iwas at the sink the next morning, scrubbing out the casserole dish that Henri had left to soak, when I heard what I can only describe as fight music and then a deep male voice say, “Let’s get ready to rumble.”

Oh, please. Let’s not.

“Mom! You gotta look,” said Henri.

Here we go.

I turned around with soapy hands, expecting anything from pro wrestling outfits to band uniforms. Anything was possible.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Mariah asked as she put on an enormous flannel shirt. During the week she’d slipped back into her 1993 mode, but the boys didn’t seem to notice. I dyed my hair blond once and Derek didn’t notice at all. Hal had to point it out.

The boys posed by the arch like they had guitars, looking pretty normal for them if a bit confused clothing wise.

“Come on, Mom,” said Max. “You know this.”

“Er…”

Mariah laughed and said, “You’re nerd boy and you’re his brother, Dork.”

“Jess?” Henri asked from behind a pair of thick black glasses frames with no lenses.

Jess winced. “I don’t think you should wear a plaid shirt over a striped one.”

“It’s the look.”

“Of what?” Mariah asked.

“Weezer.”

Someone help me. Where’s Leo?

“Why are you dressed as Weezer?” I asked.

“There’s a pep rally today for the football game tonight,” said Henri.

Mariah threw an orange at him.

My son watched it sail past his head. “You know you like it.”

“No,” she said. “Don’t do it.”

“We gotta do it,” said Max. “We upset Leo.”

“What’s Weezer got to do with Leo?” Jess asked.

It turned out Leo liked Weezer, and he thought the boys’ performance at the school assembly was brilliant, so my boys combined the two, hoping to cheer our ghost up and get him out of his shell. He needed more than us. That was for certain.

“Mom, please,” said Mariah. “Once was bad enough.”

Jess hugged her. “Don’t worry. Mrs. Johns will not let them on stage again.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Last time was a fluke.”

“Shows what you know,” said Max. “We got permission.”

“How?” Mariah asked.

The boys shrugged. “We asked.”

Max and Henri used Derek’s powers of persuasion and my super questioning abilities to wear down Mrs. Johns into letting them perform Beverly Hills because Leo said it was a crowd-pleaser.

“It’s gonna be great,” said Max. “Where’s the oatmeal?”

Mariah held out her phone. “Beverly Hills was after he died.”

“He went to college after he died,” said Henri. “Release date is not a problem.”

Mariah kept arguing, eventually getting around to homeschooling again. Request denied. For one thing, we had thirty kids coming after the game, and one was her friend, Samantha.

“Can we take both cars today?” Max asked. “We’re staying after school to do the refreshment stand stuff.”

“I’m staying too. Samantha wants me to join the art club,” said Mariah.

“Really?” Jess perked up.

“Don’t get excited, Mom. It’s just a club.”

“You have talent.”

“You have talent. I have the ability to draw a straight line,” said Mariah. “But Sam wants to go, and she’s scared to go alone.”

“You could’ve asked more people tonight,” I said. “Like Keely Fischer.”

Mariah looked at me like I was crazy, then grabbed her stuff and the Volvo key. “See ya.”

“One car,” I said. “We have to get stuff for your party.”

“It’s not my party.”

“Yes, it is,” said Jess. “It’s going to be fun.”

“We’ll see you at the game, right?” Henri asked.

I started drying the casserole dish and said, “You want us to go to the football game?”

“You used to go,” said Max, looking at Jess.

She nodded and looked away. Games were a Hal thing. He loved sports and did a lot for the school teams, even though Mariah wasn’t a sports kid.

“Come on,” said Henri. “Ethan’s playing. Everybody will be there. All the parents. You have to meet alive people.”

He had a point.

“Mariah’s going,” said Max.

“No, I’m not.”

“Samantha’s in the band,” said Henri. “She asked me if we were all coming. The band is pretty good.”

I looked at Jess and asked, “You want to go to a football game?”

She looked like she’d rather grind up her hand in the food processor, but she did nod.

The boys cheered.

“It’s gonna be just like it used to be,” said Max.

“No, it’s not,” muttered Mariah, and the trio took off.

Once they were gone, something dawned on me. “They won’t be home to set up for their own party.”

Jess put her head in her hands. “We have to put up the tents. I’m so bad at that.”

“We have to find the tents first. Have you seen the sleeping bags?”

She had not. And that was our day. Party setup and food buying. No investigating, and I had wanted to go over to the school to see Liz Doyle. I had a bone to pick with her, and not just about the assignments.

I placed the last log of firewood on the pile and wiped the sweat from my brow.

“I’m thinking we didn’t need an entire cord.” Jess lay sprawled out on the back steps, not caring that they were wet.

“It was cheaper, and you know we are going to want fires,” I said.

“That’s a lot of wood.”

“Hand me that tarp.”

I covered the neatly stacked woodpile and checked my phone. “We have to go. The game starts at seven.”

“I’ll pass,” said Jess. “My butt is wet.”

“Change your jeans.”

She checked her phone and groaned. “Mariah is staying for Samantha.”

“You knew she would,” I said. “She’s sweet like that.”

“Did you watch the video yet?”

“Nope. I’ll save that for later.”

The video she was referring to was Max, Henri, and a couple of other boys they’d pulled out of the crowd to perform at the pep rally. Tank sent me the video. He’d actually gone to cover the rally, a high school pep rally, because my sons were rumored to have something cooked up. Tank said it was a blast and the entire school got into it. They were viral on TikTok. He took that as a good thing. I wasn’t so sure.

Jess and I changed into our football game-watching gear and headed out. I had on my flannel-lined jeans, ski coat, and my thickest hat. Even so, I’d be freezing. Jess was the same, and we waddled into the stands just in time to get terrible seats.

I always forgot how long football games were and how hungry they made me. Jess stayed in our seats after the halftime show and I went to get snacks. There was a huge line, probably because my boys were chatting everyone up and I suspect upselling. Derek was good at that. “You don’t need a small bag of popcorn. A big one is only fifty cents more.” Back when he did stuff for the school, his concession stand stints always raked it in.

While I was waiting in line, I glimpsed faded red hair in the crowd of people going to the bathrooms. I left the line and went teacher hunting. I caught up to Liz Doyle when she stopped to talk with a woman who matched the description of Mrs. Johns, the assistant principal who let my guys run amok. I wasn’t sure if I liked her or not.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Doyle,” I said.

Liz Doyle turned to me and paled even further under her freckles. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” I turned to the other woman. “Are you perhaps Mrs. Johns?”

The tall black lady with iron-grey hair and twinkling eyes nodded and said, “You must be Max and Henri’s mother.”

I shook her hand. “Guilty. I hope it wasn’t too bad today.”

“Not at all. Best pep rally ever. Everyone participated. If you know kids, you know how hard that is to accomplish. Your boys are gifted.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Is there something you want to discuss?” Mrs. Johns asked.

“Actually, I wanted to speak to Mrs. Doyle.”

Mrs. Johns nodded and said, “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“No, no,” said Mrs. Doyle. “We need to talk…budget.”

“At a football game? I don’t think so.”

Mrs. Doyle looked around. “I have to leave. I’ll speak to you on Monday, Mrs. Forest.”

“Fine,” I said. “I can talk to Mrs. Johns about essays. I’m sure she’ll be interested.”

Mrs. Johns was interested. “What essays?”

“Nothing,” said Mrs. Doyle. “I’ll handle it. You go back to the game.”

The assistant principal eyed her for a moment. Then she left, but I could tell she wouldn’t be letting it go. I did like her.

“What do you want?” Mrs. Doyle asked. “More accusations?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She was momentarily stunned. I guess she expected me to lie or be ashamed. I wasn’t big on shame. Not a fan.

“I’m not listening,” Mrs. Doyle said.

“You should, because I have information, and I will let it out if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

“You don’t have anything.”

“I have Mary,” I said.

Mrs. Doyle gasped. “Mary? You can’t possibly think Mary did it.”

“Sure I can.” I told her about Mary being beaten up, leaving work, and not coming back.

“You have no proof of that.”

“Do you actually think I don’t have the work records and eyewitnesses?” I had one witness and no records, but it sounded good.

“Who said that?”

“Does it matter?” I asked. “You know it’s true.”

“Leave Mary and Lloyd alone. They have a right to privacy.”

“Please. I’m the wife of a lawyer. There’s no privacy when it comes to murder, except for Lloyd and Mary, I guess. Why is that?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said as she tried to back away.

I matched her inch by inch. “The cops didn’t look into them, but they sure looked at everyone else. Everyone had to provide alibis. Leo’s kids had to prove where they were. The cops rooted around the family finances, emails, everything.”

“That’s different.”

I put my face close to hers. “That’s right. They were the family, and they got treated like suspects. Your in-laws didn’t have alibis, had motive, and they weren’t. Explain that.”

“I’m not explaining anything to you,” said Mrs. Doyle.

“Then you can explain it to the new police chief. The drunken one that let them off is gone. Let’s have another go-round and see what she turns up.”

Mrs. Doyle grabbed my arm. “No. You can’t. It would just kill Lloyd, and he’s doing so well.”

I softened my tone. “I know. I could tell, but like I said at the school, Sam and Eric need to know the truth.”

“I swear on my children’s lives that Lloyd and Mary had nothing to do with it.” Her blue eyes were desperate, and she clung to my arm. I believed that she believed what she was saying.

“That’s not enough,” I said. “How do you know they didn’t do it?”

“I can’t say. I swore I wouldn’t. We all did.”

All?

“Who is all?”

“The family.” She lowered her voice. “And Chief Gates and a deputy.”

“If that many people know, then one more won’t make a difference,” I said.

“You’re an outsider,” said Mrs. Doyle with a note of panic in her voice.

“And the cops weren’t? They kept the secret. So can I.”

Mrs. Doyle looked around. Whether it was for help or an escape route, I couldn’t say.

“They really didn’t do it?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Let me move on to other suspects. This has hung over their heads long enough. Help me find out who did it.”

I don’t know what the magic words were that opened the Doyle family’s secret vault, but Liz Doyle cracked. She knew Lloyd and Mary were innocent, because at the time of Leo’s death, Mary was miles away, pulling Lloyd out of their garage where he’d tried to asphyxiate himself with carbon monoxide. That’s where the cops were when they got the call about Leo. There was no way either of them could’ve done it.

I took her hand and squeezed it. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

Mrs. Doyle drew back. “He was mentally ill.”

“Yeah?”

“We couldn’t say that. Everyone would know.”

“And they wouldn’t think that he murdered the town mortician,” I said. “Seems worth it.”

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“Correct.”

“Your generation thinks mental illness is just hunky dory.”

“I wouldn’t say that. We just think it’s an illness like any other.”

She squeezed my hand back. “But it isn’t. If you have cancer, people feel bad. They bring casseroles. If you’re bipolar, they cross the street to get away from you.”

“Is that what Lloyd has? I thought he was an alcoholic?”

Mrs. Doyle told me that Lloyd got diagnosed after Mary put him in a mental health facility in the city so no one in town would find out. He’d been using alcohol to cope. Once they got him clean and put him on meds, he got better. Therapy and AA did the rest.

“It was hard, but he did the work,” said Mrs. Doyle. “He could be an alcoholic. Nobody cares about that. But a suicidal mental patient, no one would hire him to paint their houses then. They’d be scared he’d do something.”

Now I’m getting it.

“Thank you,” I said. “That helps.”

“He’s going to hate me for telling.”

“Lloyd doesn’t need to know.”

Mrs. Doyle met my eyes. “You won’t go to the police and ask them?”

“I might ask the old police chief at some point, but I promise I won’t make it public if you tell me the name of the facility that Lloyd went to.”

She told me, along with the doctor’s name and the name of the deputy. He was still a deputy, so I could ask him if I needed to, but that was enough for me. Lloyd and Mary were out. I had a big fat nothing to go on, except that girl in front of the florist, and that was basically nothing.

“I won’t tell anyone, and if they ask, I’ll say I cleared them,” I said.

Mrs. Doyle nodded. “I wasn’t very nice to your boys. It was a moment of anger. I’ll change the assignments.”

“It really wasn’t fair to them.”

She had the decency to look ashamed and said, “I’ve never done anything like that in forty years of teaching. I don’t know what came over me.”

“As long as it doesn’t come over you again, we’re good.”

We said goodbye, and I went back in the stands to sit down next to Jess, who’d pulled out another scarf and wrapped it around her head so that only her eyes were visible.

“It’s not that cold,” I said.

“Where’s the hot chocolate and pretzels?”

“I forgot.”

“How did you forget? You were gone forever and a half,” said a shivering Jess.

I leaned in closer to her and said, “I cleared Lloyd and Mary.”

“How?”

“I can’t say, but they’re out.”

“Who does that leave?” Jess asked.

“Nobody.”

“That is not great news, but I think that might be.” She pointed a mittened hand beyond the field to where the band had gathered with their director.

“What am I looking at?” I asked.

“He’s there. Look.”

It took me a minute, but I finally saw him. Leo was standing on the sidelines, wearing a coach’s windbreaker emblazoned with the school mascot. He was watching the band, or rather, he was watching Samantha. The shy girl was looking like she wanted to run away and hide, but she stayed put not talking to anyone, very isolated in the middle of a crowd.

“I think it worked,” said Jess.

“What?”

“The boys’ plan to cheer Leo up. Beverly Hills. I bet he came and saw Sam there. It must’ve broken the ice.”

“Did you see him on the video?” I asked.

“Can he be recorded? I didn’t think that could happen,” said Jess.

“Nothing I thought about ghosts is right, so who knows?” I excused myself and left the stands again. Once I was away from everyone, I pulled out my phone and watched my boys in action. They were incredible. I forgot to look for Leo. I forgot everything. They were wonderful. I forwarded the video to Derek. And he came back immediately with a We should talk.

I responded by texting, Are you ready to get on with our settlement?

That he didn’t respond to. I sighed and went back to the game just in time to see a cheerleader run right through Leo and nearly collapse from the shock of it. The EMTs ran over, and in the ensuing melee, Leo vanished. He didn’t return for the rest of the game, which was pretty good. Leo missed out, like he had on so many things.

Chapter Eighteen

The melee at our house that night outdid anything I’d ever seen before. We had thirty kids coming. I had assumed that meant thirty kids would be dropped off. I was wrong. We lived at Number Eight, and everyone wanted to see inside. Parents came in. Sometimes grandparents and siblings showed up for a look-see. We got random people walking in from down the street and some that were just passing by and thought we were having an open house.

It was pure insanity. People just went upstairs to look in bedrooms or to explore the turret. I caught one couple helping themselves to tea. They complained about my lack of gluten-free options. We’re talking about tea. I didn’t know what to do. The town was crazy.

Jess was trying to push people out the door as more people came in. I was on the edge of calling the cops when I spotted Tank Tancredi coming in with Taylor, his nosy intern.

“I see you’ve met everyone,” he said with a laugh.

“This town is one sandwich short of a picnic,” I said.

Taylor perked up. “Can I quote you on that?”

“No. What are you doing here? Trying to get an interview with Mariah?”

“Your sons invited me,” said Taylor with a grin. “I’m covering the story.”

“There’s no story,” I said.

“Local Funeral Home’s Second Act,” he said. “I’ll make the front page.”

Tank shook his head. “That sucks. Try again.”

“Number Eight is Ghosthunting Bait.”

“Better.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said. “There are no ghost hunters. This is a sleepover.”

“Camp-over,” said Taylor, holding up a small tent. “Genius idea. How much are you charging?”

“Nothing. What are you talking about?”

“It would be a great business,” said Tank. “Haunted sleepovers. Children’s parties.”

“We’re not doing that,” I said. “It isn’t even haunted.”

A lady pushed in and showed me a photo. “This is my mother. She was here in 1985. Have you seen her yet?”

“What? No?” I pushed the photo away and stepped onto the stairs to get away from her, but she thrust her card into my hands. “Call me when you see her.”

“Why would she be here?”

“We had her funeral here,” she said.

“Our house isn’t haunted,” I said.

More people crowded around me, all with requests. Had I seen their loved ones? Were they happy? Did my dad say where the insurance papers are? Where’s grandma’s jewelry?

“Number Eight isn’t haunted,” I said to the crowd.

“Well…” said Tank with a smile.

“It’s not on the wall at The Poet’s Garden,” I pointed out, and the crowd got confused. That was true. Number Eight was not universally acknowledged as a haunted house.

“But Leo Pereyra is here,” called out one man.

“Says who?” I asked.

Everyone had heard from someone who heard from someone else that Leo was there. He was behind the bees and the other stuff. He was, but I couldn’t admit it. They’d never leave.

“Help,” I said to Tank.

“Alright! Alright!” He held up his hands. “This isn’t open season at Number Eight. Everybody go home.”

There was a collective sigh.

“I’ve waited for this for ten years,” said a young woman.

“Twenty for me,” said a man.

“Forty-two.”

Beyond the crowd and invisible to them, Leo appeared, wearing his black suit and a calm, comforting air. He put a hand on his chest and, without thinking, I mimicked his action.

“I’m sorry to tell you that they’re not here,” I said.

“Are you sure?” asked a man.

“This was a funeral home,” I said. “It might mean something to you, but it means nothing to them. If you were a ghost, would you hang around a funeral home? Or would you be in a place that you loved with people you love?”

Tears flowed. There were so many questions, and I had no answers. If their people were ghosts, they weren’t at Number Eight. Tank got the crowd moving and everyone left, except the kids that were supposed to be there.

“Welcome to St. Sebastian,” said Tank. “They’ll be back.”

“Why? We don’t know anything,” said Jess.

“Rumor has it that you’ve seen Leo. They figure if you’ve seen him, the sky’s the limit. You’re special if he picked you.”

I glanced past Tank’s shoulder to where Leo was smiling at me.

“You are,” he said.

Tank looked back to where I’d been looking. “That’s not going to help.”

“What?”

“I know you just saw him.”

Taylor came out of the ballroom with his phone in hand. “What did I miss?”

“A chance to haul firewood,” said Tank. “The ladies are going to need a lot for that crew.”

“Come on. I heard you talking about Leo. What did he say? Did he reveal⁠—”

“Firewood. Now.”

Tank and Taylor hauled in a load of firewood with the help of some other boys. Pizza was delivered. Dozens of glasses of free Dr Pepper were poured, and Number Eight settled down for the night.

Tank put a couple of logs on each of the fires and then went to the door with me. “I’m ready for our interview whenever you are,” he said.

“Can I come back to the Sentinel yet?”

“No. I’ll come to you,” he said. “Good night and good luck.”

Jess came down the stairs with extra pillows. “Don’t say that.”

“You’ve got thirty-three teenagers under one roof. I’ll pray for you.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Tank smiled and went out.

Jess and I looked at Leo and Jess asked, “You’re going to help, right?”

Leo looked a little concerned, but he nodded. A chorus of screeching laughter came out of the ballroom and Jess went running in. Then she popped her head back out. “Tent collapse. It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

I went into the kitchen, hoping Leo would follow, and he did.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’ve been trying,” he said.

“To see Samantha? She’s here. In the ballroom right now.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Did you go in there?”

“Not yet.”

I poured myself some Dr Pepper and said, “The boys did Beverly Hills at the assembly today. That was for you.”

“I know,” he said with a wan smile. “That’s why I’m trying.”

“Did you go see any of your boys?”

Leo’s face changed. I thought he might pass out, if that was even possible.

“Leo, what is it?” I asked. “They loved you. Eric would be so hap⁠—”

And he was gone again. Jess walked in with three empty two-liter Dr Pepper bottles.

“The bathrooms are going to get a workout,” she said with a smile, and then she stopped. “What?”

“It happened again,” I said. “I mentioned his kids, and he vanished.”

“Can ghosts get therapy?” Jess asked. “I think he needs it.”

“He needs something.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

I sighed. “Will we? We don’t have anywhere to go. Not a single lead left.”

“There’s the girl.”

“She’s probably just a girl meeting a friend and I’m making something out of nothing. There’s no way to identify her, anyway. It’s impossible.”

Jess put the bottles in the recycling and said, “Lots of things that were impossible aren’t anymore. This house proves that.”

“I thought we could do it,” I said.

“We can,” said Jess.

And if we can’t?

Poptart slinked into the kitchen the next morning and sniffed around until he was satisfied that Leo wasn’t there. Then he curled up in his cushy bed and had a good snooze. The kids had kept him up all night, the same as us. Having a black cat in a haunted house was considered adorable, and they hunted Poptart down for love and ghost stories. If the kids slept, I don’t know when that was. Jess and I took shifts, making sure nobody got up to anything, and I was now flipping pancakes with one eye open.

“They can really put it away,” said Sylvia, coming in with an empty tray. “I thought my cinnamon rolls would fill them up, but no can do.”

“Thanks for helping,” I said. “We’re exhausted.”

“The least I can do. Sam is talking to people. Did you see that?”

I laughed. “How could she avoid it? Henri insists on talking to her.”

“He’s sweet, and I think there might be a little crush there.”

“I think you might be right,” I said. “He wants her in the band.”

“There’s a band?”

I flipped a pancake and said, “That’s what I hear.”

“Do the boys play instruments?” Sylvia asked.

“No, and I can’t explain anything they do. Before we moved here, they didn’t sing.”

I stacked pancakes up on a plate as high as I dared and Sylvia headed off a pack of girls looking for food. “I’m coming. I’m coming.”

The back door opened and Taylor came in with two bags filled to the brim with orange juice and milk.

“I got everything,” he said, putting them on the island.

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” I said with a considerable amount of suspicion. Taylor had been great. He’d been in the thick of ghost stories and interviewed all the other kids about their most haunted experiences. There were more than I would’ve thought. What he hadn’t done was bother me and Jess. I figured I was due.

“So,” he said. “Since I’ve done you a solid.”

“People still say that?”

“I do.”

“I guess you are a people, even if you are a reporter,” I said.

“Journalist,” Taylor corrected me.

“Fine. Journalist. Does that mean you write in a journal all your hopes and dreams?”

“No, it means I want to know where you are in the, ya know.”

I unpacked the bags and said, “You will be disappointed.”

Taylor’s eyes were sparkling with interest. I almost hated to ruin it. No, I did hate to ruin it. Holding back what we had was one thing. Having zippo was another.

“What did you find out?” Taylor came over to me and whispered, “Did he tell you something?”

“Nope. We’ve got nothing.”

He lowered his voice further. “He must’ve said something. An enemy? A secret diary?”

“You don’t have to whisper,” I said. “He’s not here.”

Taylor looked around. “How do you know?”

I pointed at the contented Poptart. “Cat alarm.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” I said. “You’ll have to trust me that we’ve run out of leads.”

“But the Fischers⁠—”

“Nope. I don’t think so.”

“Those husbands,” he said. “Lloyd, what’s his name?”

“Cleared,” I said.

He pulled out his phone and started recording. “How’d you clear him? No one has been able to do that.”

“Turn that off. I’m not telling you or anyone else. He’s cleared and we’re exactly nowhere.”

“What’s next?” Taylor asked.

“Denny’s. I have to get a job.”

“You don’t look like server material.”

“Tell me about it.”

Taylor started pouring glasses of orange juice. “What did the manager say?”

“Who?”

“The manager at the Horny Hotel.”

“Nothing. I didn’t go out there,” I said.

Taylor overflowed a glass as he gaped at me.

“Taylor!”

“Oh, jeez. Sorry.” He mopped up the mess with a dishtowel and asked, “You really didn’t go out there? You gotta go out there.”

“No, I don’t. Tank said the manager didn’t know anything. What do you think? He’s going to magically remember a second car or another person hanging around the joint?”

“No, but the others might,” he said.

“Drew Anders was the only one there,” I said, and Taylor snorted.

Mariah came in with a tray of empty glasses and said, “Oh, hi.” She blushed, and I was momentarily shocked. Mariah had on lipstick and mascara. It was seven in the morning.

“Hi, yourself,” said Taylor. “Are you gonna let me interview you or what?”

More blushing.

“I might,” said Mariah, and she started loading her tray with fresh glasses.

“We could do it at the bowling alley. Everybody’s going tonight.”

“I guess so.”

“Pick you up at seven?” Taylor asked.

“Oh,” she said.

Taylor mirrored Mariah’s blush. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said.

The kids stood there looking around awkwardly, and when I couldn’t take the silence anymore, I asked, “Are you asking Mariah out on a date?”

“Kinda,” said Taylor.

“Either you are or you aren’t.”

“I am.”

“She’s not going to give you an interview just ‘cause you ask her out,” I said.

“I know.”

“Mariah, yes or no?” I asked.

She looked at him, and I saw Hal in her face. That smart, wonderful man was there in his daughter. “Let’s meet at the bowling alley, do the interview, and see how it goes.”

Taylor smiled. “Deal.”

Mariah left with her loaded tray and I asked, “What others?”

The boy had to tear his gaze away from the arch where Mariah had disappeared. “She’s really nice once you get her to talk to you.”

“I know,” I said. “The Horny Hotel. Who else was there?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Could be a bunch of people or nobody?”

“The police report said nobody but Anders was there,” I said.

“Well, they wouldn’t know. They’re cops.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Taylor turned to me. “You can see Leo. The cops can’t. Nobody can but you guys that live here, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re special. Go out there and see what the ghosts say,” said Taylor before pounding a glass of orange juice.

“There are ghosts at the Horny Hotel?”

“I heard you went to The Poet’s Garden. Didn’t you see it on the wall? It’s right by the bowling alley.”

“That’s the Horny Hotel? It looks totally different from the Sentinel coverage.”

He nodded. “Yeah. They should use one of our archive photos. The renovation makes it look so not haunted.”

I leaned toward him. “But it is?”

“Oh, yeah. There have been sightings there for, I don’t know, forever. We have articles about it going back to the start of the town before there was a Horny Hotel.”

“Who died there?” I asked.

“Leo Pereyra,” said Taylor.

“Besides him.”

“I don’t know. My Great-Aunt Shirley saw some guys with a campfire while she was out turkey hunting with her uncles.”

“When was that?”

“She was young, so a long time ago.”

“Anything recent?”

Taylor finished cleaning up. “No, but that doesn’t matter. They might have been haunting the place when Leo died.”

“Why didn’t Tank tell me about it?” I asked.

“It’s not one of the hot spots, like the bowling alley or the hospital.”

I crossed my arms. “Is that why everyone is going to the bowling alley?”

He snorted. “We’re not going to bowl, and they have good burgers.”

“And they have ghosts?”

“Oh, yeah. Pretty regular, and the shoe rental guy’s pretty interesting.”

Weird.

“What makes you think I can see someone out at the hotel?” I asked. “Just because we’re special to Leo, that doesn’t make us special to anyone else.”

Taylor poured a second glass. “I think it does. You got the attention of the factory ghosts in a big way. Plus, you’re a girl.”

“And that’s important because?”

He drank his juice and said, “Only women have ever seen anyone out there. Great-Aunt Shirley was a beauty queen. So I think being good-looking helps, but some people think the ladies are full of it. Men, mostly.”

“Tank thinks the women are lying?”

“No way. But it has been a long time since a sighting has been reported. I think they are there, though. They’re just particular about who sees them. I figure if you’re good enough for Leo, you ought to be good enough for whoever’s there,” said Taylor. “When do you want to go?”

“Where are you going?” Sylvia walked back in with an empty platter.

“Can you make pancakes?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“Now?” Taylor asked. “You want to go now?”

“No time like the present,” I said.

“Where are you going?” Sylvia asked.

“The Horny Hotel.”

“What for?”

I grabbed my best lipstick out of my purse. It was covered in lint. “A Hail Mary.”

Chapter Nineteen

Jess reached up, smoothed her ponytail, and checked the route guidance. I told her what Taylor said about the ghosts preferring women and it had an unexpected effect. She straightened her hair, put on makeup and her favorite sweater and jeans. They used to be form-fitting, but now they hung on her with all the weight loss. Hal loved her in that outfit, and I’d wondered if I’d ever see it again.

“Do I look normal?” she asked.

“Yeah, you do.”

“You sound surprised.”

A couple of days ago you didn’t get dressed, so…

“Not particularly,” I said.

“Are you excited?” she asked. “I’m excited.”

“I think I’m nervous about seeing new ghosts,” I said. “Or maybe about not seeing new ghosts. We really need this.”

Jess smiled at me. “I think it’s going to happen.”

“I hope so.”

“And I bet they saw something.”

The route guidance said to turn left, and Jess turned onto the Exclusive Escapes drive. It was newly paved and had manicured lawns around the twisting turns that finally led to the hotel.

“That’s beautiful,” said Jess.

The Horny Hotel had turned from run-down motor lodge to a resort that would’ve looked at home in Charleston. The new owners had replaced the outside staircases and old metal railings with wide verandas. They must’ve expanded the rooms, because there were half as many, and they all had teak doors. There were plants and rockers everywhere and a group of people doing yoga in a gazebo. Another group was doing Tai Chi on the lawn. I thought I would feel weird seeing the place where Leo died, but it was so different, it may as well have been in another state.

Jess parked and the Tai Chi group finished. A couple of attendants rushed over to offer towels and an assortment of juices. A young man about Taylor’s age came over and asked if we’d like to use the valet service. It was included.

“We’re not staying,” I said. “Can you tell me where the office is?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave us directions, and we walked around the side of the hotel. Nobody had mentioned that the hotel had an incredible view of the river. The leaves were changing, and it was a beautiful sight.

“Wow. I get why they bought out the Horny Hotel,” said Jess.

“No kidding.”

We looked around. The valet said to follow the signs, but I didn’t see any signs. The back of the hotel had another veranda, and another young man was leaning on the railing, gazing out at the view. He wasn’t wearing the hotel uniform, but he was wearing a conservative blue suit. Since he was the only one wearing a suit, I figured he probably worked the front desk, or back desk, considering the location.

“Excuse me,” I said.

The young man didn’t move.

“Sorry,” said Jess. “We need to find reception or the office.”

I was about to say something else when he looked at us, startled. His blue eyes were wide with shock, and his mouth fell open.

Is he? Could he be?

“Are you okay?” Jess reached for him.

And pop, he was gone.

“Whoa,” said Jess. “I didn’t expect that.”

“He’s so young,” I said, thinking of my boys.

“Excuse me, ladies. Can I help you?”

We turned and found an elderly man with two canes hobbling across the veranda toward us. One of his shoulders was significantly lower than the other, matching Tank’s description of the manager.

“Are you Mr. Anders?” I asked.

“The very same. I’m afraid we’re fully booked out until after the holidays, but I can put you on a cancellation list.”

“It’s not that,” I said. “I’m Libby Forest and this is Jess Cleary. We just bought Number Eight in town.”

A grin spread across his weather-beaten face. “You don’t say. I was wondering if I’d get a visit from the ladies that charmed Leo Pereyra. This way. This way. Come have some coffee. We have excellent coffee now. Not like back then. Only the best now.”

Mr. Anders led the way to reception that was only marked by a painted stone on the veranda by the door.

“I’m not surprised you couldn’t find your way,” said Mr. Anders. “The new owners don’t like signs. They think signs disturb the mood or some such nonsense, but who am I to say different? They kept me on, and this place is going gangbusters.” He opened the door for us and we walked into a gorgeous reception area that had the worst smell I had ever smelled in my life.

I grabbed Jess’s arm, and she pinched her nose. Mr. Anders didn’t notice anything. He walked past us. “Come around here. We have a nice fire going. Good for a chilly morning. Don’t ask me why those yoga nuts are out in the cold. I do not know.”

“Libby, what the…”

“Just go. It might get better,” I said.

It did not get better. We turned a corner to an area with luxe seating around a large slate fireplace. In the middle of the seating area, a group of men sat on the floor around an open fire with some sort of animal roasting on a spit. A couple were completely dressed in leather, with fringe hanging from the sleeves and pants. The other two were wearing loose, blouse-type shirts in red and blue. Their feet were bare, but they wore raccoon caps like Daniel Boone on their heads. All the men were filthy, and it was hard to say what smelled worse, them or the thing that was sizzling on the spit with fat falling into the flames.

Mr. Anders turned around and asked, “What would you like? I have everything, including bloody Marys.”

“Um… Cappuccino with hazelnut if you have it,” I said.

“Same,” said Jess.

“Are you alright?” Mr. Anders asked.

I nodded, and he looked at where I was staring.

“See something, do ya?”

Jess tore her gaze away and said, “We wanted to ask you about Leo’s death.”

“I figured you would.” He offered us some seats, looked at the area where the men were, and then went off to get the coffee. By then, the group had noticed us noticing them and waved cheerfully.

We sat down not three feet from them, and the smell was unbelievable. I glanced around to see if anyone else alive was listening, and then asked, “What is that?”

“Opossum,” said the oldest man. “Don’t it smell good?”

I was trying to keep down my pancakes, so I couldn’t answer. Jess rallied and said, “Have you been here long?”

They chortled.

“What d’you think?” asked the youngest, a boy that might’ve been Max’s age, but his face was so dirty, it was hard to tell.

“Two hundred years?” I guessed.

They looked at each other and nodded.

“Thereabouts.” The other one with the fringe gave me a rakish grin and asked, “You need all them clothes?”

“We do.”

“Pretty ladies don’t need so much clothes,” said the young one.

The last of the bunch made a jump like he’d been startled and said, “They can see us.”

“Yeah, boy, that’s right,” said the oldest with a weary sigh. “He ain’t so bright.”

“I’m bright,” he said. “I noticed.”

“I like their lips,” said the not-so-bright one.

The men all agreed that our lips were fine, and I had second thoughts about the lipstick.

I glanced over and saw Mr. Anders coming in through another door. Not much time.

“Are you always here?” I asked.

“Where you want us to be?” asked the young one. “You want us in town? We go into town. They can’t stop us.”

“Who wants to stop you?” Jess asked, and she looked like she might be sick right then and there. Opossum smells terrible. The worst.

“You know, them uppity ghosts in town saying we smell,” said the oldest. “We smell fine.”

Jess and I nodded. I wanted to ask another question, but my mouth had started watering unpleasantly.

“I think we have to leave,” I whispered.

Jess nodded.

“Oh, no,” said Mr. Anders. “What happened? Did you see them? What did they do?” The old man looked around and poked one of his canes toward the men that he couldn’t see.

“You can’t?” I asked.

“No. I’m a man, aren’t I?”

“He’s not a man,” said the oldest. “He don’t do nothing but sit around looking at books.”

The trappers had plenty of opinions on Mr. Anders’ manliness, and they found him lacking in every capacity.

“What are they saying about me?” Mr. Anders asked.

“Um… Can we go outside?” Jess asked.

“Certainly.”

He led us back outside to a group of rockers, but unfortunately, the men followed, gathering around us and stinking up a lovely fall morning. They introduced themselves as Johnny, Wheeler, and Jedidiah. The dumb one was known as Boy. He’d forgotten his name long ago.

“Just ignore them,” said Mr. Anders. “What would you like to ask?”

“Actually, I think we need to ask them.” A server brought us our coffee, and I held mine under my nose to combat the smell. Hazelnut. Thank goodness.

The men rubbed their hands together and agreed that they would exchange information for nudity.

“We’re not that desperate,” I said.

“You are if ya’ll are comin’ to us,” said Wheeler. “How about a little titty?”

“Gross. No. You can go away.”

The group was so deflated, I almost felt bad. Mr. Anders was frowning and looking around. “I’ll tell you anything I can about that day, but I didn’t see anything.”

“What day?” Johnny asked.

I told them we wanted to know if they saw anything on the day Leo died. Boy said he did, but the rest of the group reminded him that he didn’t. They were very excited to tell us how they died. Johnny, the oldest, was killed by an arrow to the chest. He showed us, but it wasn’t as bad as I expected. We braced ourselves when Wheeler told us that wolves attacked him, but he didn’t show us, thankfully. Jedidiah didn’t know what to call what he died of, but it sounded like chronic diarrhea. Boy didn’t remember, but a bear ate his body.

“On that cheerful note,” I said. “Are you sure none of you were here that day?”

“We get around,” said Wheeler as he smoothed the fringe on his jacket. “If there weren’t nobody here, we go off to the other places.”

“What other places?” Jess asked.

“Where the ladies are.”

They couldn’t get more specific, but we knew no one was here on the day Leo died, except for the family. I didn’t think they would be of interest to the trappers.

“Why do you stay here at all?” I asked.

Jedidiah looked out at the view. “Beautiful like the ladies.”

Mr. Anders raised a hand. “So nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing,” I said, slumping back in my rocker.

“We can ask the other one,” said Jess. “Where does he hang out?”

That got everyone’s attention, especially Mr. Anders. “There’s another one? My wife never said that. She said four fur trappers, and that was it.”

“When was she last here?” I asked.

“My Ruth died twenty years ago.”

“She was a beut,” said Wheeler. “Always stopped to cut the wind.”

“We liked that Ruth,” said Boy. “She smelled like flowers and said good things.”

I turned to Mr. Anders. “They liked your wife.”

“Did they say anything rude?” he asked. “Ruth said they were naughty.”

The men laughed and grinned, showing off some seriously gnarly teeth.

“No,” said Jess. “Very complimentary.”

“You said you saw another one?” Mr. Anders asked. “Are you sure? We have had no deaths here since Leo, and as far as I know, he’s never been back.”

“It wasn’t him. It was a young man, handsome, blond, and wearing a blue suit,” said Jess.

Mr. Anders was baffled. The new ghost was news to him, but he wasn’t to the trappers, and they weren’t fans. Whoever he was, he wouldn’t have anything to do with them. They liked company, which was one reason they came back to the hotel. Lots of people, particularly women. I got the impression they weren’t above hanging out in bathrooms for some eye candy. But the new ghost did nothing but walk around and gaze at the river.

“Did he say his name?” I asked.

“He don’t say nuffin’,” said Boy. “I try to talk and pop, off he goes.”

Jess sipped her coffee and said, “Same with us.”

“He seemed shocked that we saw him,” I said.

“You must be the first,” said Mr. Anders, and then he looked around. “Except for you all.”

The trappers nodded and scratched themselves. I knew I couldn’t get fleas from them, but I was so itchy.

“When did he show up?” I asked.

The trappers debated and tried to come up with an idea. Time was difficult for them. Mr. Anders had been working at the hotel for thirty years, but they thought it was no time at all.

We tried to get an idea of the time frame out of them, but they started telling stories about their lives, short as they were, and I found myself fascinated. It wasn’t helping with Leo, but Wheeler knew Daniel Boone. That was pretty cool.

Then a group of women in swimwear dashed past us on their way to the heated pool and the men stopped talking and followed like a pack of hound dogs on a scent.

“They’re gone,” I said, taking a deep breath.

“Where’d they go?” Mr. Anders asked.

We pointed toward the pool.

“Randy old bastards.”

“That’s about the size of it,” said Jess. “So who do you think that guy is?”

“Ladies, I wish I could say. We haven’t had any deaths.”

“Ghosts aren’t restricted to their death place,” I said.

“Ruth told me, but what else can we go on?” he asked.

I put my finger to my lips.

“What?” Jess whispered.

“He’s back.”

Jess and Mr. Anders turned to look down the veranda. The young man was leaning on the railing again.

“I wish I could see him,” said Mr. Anders.

“Let’s go ask him about Leo,” said Jess. “He won’t be surprised this time. He knows we can see him now.”

We got out of our rockers and casually walked toward the ghost. He didn’t appear to notice us until I said, “It’s us again.”

He turned his head so slowly, I expected something horrible to happen, but he just looked at us with disinterest.

“We wanted to ask you a question,” said Jess. “I don’t know if you’ve been here a long time. The suit looks reasonably recent, but do you know anything about the death of Leo Per⁠—”

She didn’t get it all out. The ghost went bolt upright and with a panicked look on his face, he changed, a mile a minute. He went through dozens of versions of himself, faces flashing, different ages, different clothes, and then pop, he was gone.

I was clinging to Jess, and she was clinging to me.

“Did you see what happened to him?” she asked. “What was that?”

“I don’t know, but it happened when you said Leo’s name.”

“We have to find out who he is,” she said.

“How?”

“I’ll sketch him,” Jess said.

Mr. Anders came up beside us and said, “I have charcoal and paper.”

Chapter Twenty

We peeled out of Exclusive Escapes forty-five minutes later with a pair of portraits in hand. Mr. Anders enjoyed sketching the view, and Jess used his supplies to sketch our mysterious ghost. Some guests caught sight of Jess working, and in true teacher fashion, Jess automatically started explaining perspective and shading.

Unfortunately, Mr. Anders didn’t recognize the boy, and neither did any of the guests. When the fur trappers came back, following some more women, they confirmed the boy had been hanging around for a while. We worked on them, asking questions about the renovation and trying to narrow down the time frame when the boy showed up. To keep them interested, Jess sketched each of the trappers, giving both the dead and the living a thrill. But it didn’t do any good. The trappers could only say that he’d been around for years. Our guess was as good as theirs on how many.

“So that’s them,” said Mr. Anders, holding up Wheeler’s portrait. “After all these years, I finally get to see them.”

The manager was a bit misty about it and the guests couldn’t get enough, both of the ghosts’ portraits and of Jess’s style. Offers were made, and the most interesting one came from Mr. Anders. Classes were big at Exclusive Escapes. They’d had an artist doing workshops, but he’d proved unreliable. Mr. Anders offered Jess a regular gig, and fifteen guests signed up immediately. She agreed to come back the next morning and do her first class, Intro to Charcoal.

Mr. Anders walked us out to the car and said, “This is perfect. They’ll pay through the nose. Our guests have more money than sense. I’d like to license those sketches of the trappers. We’ll make a bundle.”

Jess hugged him, and they made a deal. Then we drove away with a lead that we weren’t sure what to do with. Clearly, that boy had something to do with Leo’s death, but what?

“Somebody has to know who he is,” said Jess.

I looked down at the face Jess had reproduced so beautifully. “I think he did it. There’s no other reason I can think of that he’d freak out at Leo’s name.”

“Who do we ask?”

Tank was first on my list, and I texted him as we drove into town, but he was out of commission for the time being. He’d been up all night researching the stories he’d gotten from the families who’d been at Number Eight looking for answers and had finally gotten to bed around four. Mallory said he’d be up by one and we should get in touch then.

“That’s too long,” I said.

Jess glanced at the clock. “It’s three hours.”

“I want to know now.”

“What do you suggest? We wander the streets and ask strangers if they recognize a drawing of a dead kid?”

“No. We have to ask the family,” I said.

“We’re not asking Eric,” said Jess.

“Sylvia’s at the house.”

“She never even knew Leo.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s clueless.”

Jess pulled into the driveway and we went in past kids coming out, yawning and carrying their sleeping bags. Sylvia met us in the foyer and said, “Thank goodness you’re back. I have to go.”

“What happened?”

“Power’s out.”

I looked up and no lights. “Is this normal?”

“No. Somebody hit a pole and half the downtown is out. I have to go. We have a generator, but Hank can’t get it going,” said Sylvia. “Most of the kids are gone. See ya.”

“Hold on.” I grabbed her arm. “Do you recognize this kid?”

I held out the portraits, and Sylvia took a quick look. “Taylor?”

“Huh?”

We looked again, and I could see it. Handsome, with good bone structure.

“No,” said Jess. “This guy’s blond with blue eyes.”

She looked again. “He’s kinda familiar, but I don’t know him. Sorry. I have to go. Can Sam stay?”

“Sure.”

Sylvia rushed out, and we got on with sending the rest of the camp-over guests home. Samantha and Mariah were crashed out in front of one of the ballroom fireplaces with Poptart purring between them. Max and Henri trudged up to bed and the house went quiet.

Jess looked around the kitchen. “What a disaster. The dishwashers are out, and they used every dish we have. We might have to hand wash.”

“Sounds like a job for the kids,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“The library.”

“What? Why?” Jess asked.

I dragged her through the house and out the door. “Who do we know that knows everybody?”

“Tank.”

“Besides him?”

“Kip the florist?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” I said. “Scratch the library.”

“Who were you going to say?”

“Peg and Vern. They’ve been here forever.”

“Good idea.”

We drove the few short blocks to The Poet’s Garden, but it was dark and closed. Kelly was there, but she said her dad was out trying to find a generator at a friend’s house. She didn’t recognize the boy, so we drove to the library. It was dark, too, but still open. Large skylights let in enough of the morning sun to get us through the stacks. We found Peg and Vern curled up on a loveseat in front of a window, reading Gore Vidal and James Michener.

“There you are,” I said, and the ghosts looked up in surprise.

“Oh my,” said Peg. “What are you doing here? Silly question. You’re looking for a good book.”

“We’re looking for you,” said Jess.

“Even nicer,” said Vern. “Do you need a recipe?”

“I wouldn’t say no to the bread pudding.”

“Focus, Jess,” I said, and I held up the portraits of the boy.

The couple looked and then smiled up at us. “Where’d you get those? They’re lovely.”

“Jess drew them. Do you recognize him?”

“You’re so talented,” said Peg. “What a likeness.”

“Who is it?”

Vern pointed toward the shading around the eyes. “She really captured his expression.”

For crying out loud.

“I know,” said Peg. “Better than a photo.”

“Who is it?” I asked again.

“And the chin dimple. Just a hint.” Vern looked up at Jess. “How in the world did you do these?”

Jess bit her lip and I said, “First, tell us who it is.”

“If you don’t know who it is, how did you draw him, Jess?”

Today you’re sharp as a tack.

“That’s not so much the point,” I said.

“I think it is,” said Vern.

“Um… Old photo?” Jess said.

“Are you asking us?” Peg asked.

I clasped my hands in begging position. “Please, it’s important. Who is it?”

“Well, it’s Patrick, of course.”

My brain went blank, and by the look on Jess’s face, she was in the same place.

“Patrick who?” I asked.

“Patrick Otto,” said Peg. “Such a lovely boy.”

“Patrick Otto is dead?” Jess asked. “Since when?”

The couple drew back.

“Are you angry with us?” Vern asked.

“No, no,” said Jess.

“You sound angry,” said Peg, and her eyes watered.

I held up my hands. “Not angry. Confused. No one said Patrick was dead. When did he die?”

“Oh, a long time ago now,” said Vern. “He was young. Such a pity.”

Jess pointed to the portraits. “That young?”

“No, not that young,” said Peg. “It was a closed casket. They buried him out of Number Eight. Carol was distraught, poor lady.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“He hit a tree,” said Peg.

Vern lowered his voice. “He’d been drinking.”

I heard a rustling behind us and turned around to find the librarian peeking around the stacks at us.

That’s not good.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I said.

She came out and walked toward us. “Who are you talking to?”

“Well.” I looked back at the sofa. Peg and Vern were gone. Figures. “Nobody.”

The librarian’s name was Betsy, and she reminded me of Mrs. Doyle with her pink glasses on a chain and wide flowered skirt and sweater vest over a high-collared blouse.

“Who did you see?” Betsy asked as she straightened her name tag.

“We were just talking to each other.”

Betsy sighed and tapped her foot. “I wasn’t born yesterday. Was it Peg and Vern?”

“Er…”

“Good. The rumors have been flying, and I have a question for you.”

“Okay.”

“How many can you see?” Betsy asked.

“How many what?”

“Ghosts, of course.”

“We haven’t said we’ve seen any,” said Jess.

Betsy shook her head. “Everyone knows you’ve seen Leo Pereyra.”

“How?”

“You’re going around asking questions about his death and you’ve seen Peg and Vern. Tank Tancredi gave the apple ugly cake recipe to their kids. He didn’t just pull that out of thin air.”

“We have to go.” I nudged Jess toward the door.

“I’m not asking to annoy you,” said the librarian. “Ghosts are quite common in St. Sebastian, but people who can see a lot of them aren’t.”

“Meaning what?” Jess asked.

“It’s a talent, and I have a friend that needs someone with talent.”

Are we talented?

I looked down at the portraits. Jess certainly was.

“Do you recognize this person?” I asked the librarian.

She put on her glasses. “No. Sorry. Is it a ghost?”

Why not?

“Yes. We think it’s Patrick Otto. Do you know anything about him?” Jess asked.

“You mean like one of the Ottos that owned Number Eight?” Betsy asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Sorry. I don’t really know the family. We have our insurance with Farmer’s.”

I looked around. “Do you have archives or anything? We need information about him.”

“Not really,” she said. “If you want something like that, you ought to go over to the Sentinel, but they’re closed to anyone but staff. There was an incident.” Then she raised a brow. “Was that to do with you?”

“It could be,” said Jess.

I elbowed her.

“Or not. We don’t know.”

“You should call Tank Tancredi. He’s a sweet man.”

“Taylor,” I said, getting out my phone. I hadn’t deleted Taylor’s many requests. “I’m going to call him.”

“You can’t send him over to the Sentinel,” said Jess.

“He’s staff.” I walked away, and Taylor picked up immediately.

“I know the house is a mess,” he said. “I’ll come back and help. I just have to file my story first.”

“Good morning, Taylor.”

He took a breath. “Good morning.”

“Do I take it to mean that you are at the Sentinel right now?”

“I am. Do you want to read the story about the camp-over because it’s all good? I swear.”

“It’s fine. Can you do me a favor?”

“It worked,” he said. “Did it work? Who did you see?”

“Breathe and listen. Can you get me everything the Sentinel has on Patrick Otto?”

“Who’s that?”

I explained, and the kid was on it, typing away. “I can print the articles. Should I bring them to Number Eight?”

“No. The library.”

Taylor said he’d be on his way immediately and hung up. I turned to Jess and Betsy. “Taylor’s coming.”

“Her friend has an infestation,” said Jess.

“Ew. Of what?”

“A ghost,” said Betsy. “They can’t get rid of her.”

“Why is she there?” I asked.

“That’s just the point. They don’t know.”

“What do you want us to do?”

“Get rid of her,” said Betsy.

Another librarian came over and said that they were closing for the day and we’d have to leave. We said we’d go and headed out, but Betsy grabbed my arm. “What do you think?”

“We don’t really do that,” I said.

“They’ll pay,” she said.

Interesting.

“We’ll discuss it,” said Jess.

Betsy seemed to take that as a yes and said she’d call her friend.

“What have you done?” I asked Jess.

“They’ll pay,” she said. “What do you think we can charge for that kind of thing?”

“I have no clue.”

We met Taylor on the way out and went to the back of the Volvo to lay out some of the articles he’d printed in the cargo area.

“Looks like him,” said Taylor. “Only younger. So it must be someone else.”

“They can do that,” I said. “Be any age they once were.”

“Cool.”

“It is.”

We looked through the articles and a picture emerged, but I wasn’t quite getting the full view. Patrick had died three years after Leo. Peg and Vern were right. He wrapped his car around a tree going ninety while three times the legal limit after being indicted on embezzlement and misappropriation of funds charges.

“Survived by his wife, Emily Greer Otto, twenty-four,” said Jess. “We need a picture of her.”

Taylor shuffled through his papers and laid down the wedding announcement. There she was in black and white, obviously blond and very pretty.

“Would you look at that,” I said with a huge smile. “She worked at his investment firm.”

Taylor looked closely at the brief announcement. “So?”

“As a secretary.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Patrick said he was working at the time of Leo’s murder in Chesterfield, and his secretary was his alibi,” said Jess.

“Security confirmed it too,” I said, “but I bet he knew how to sidestep them if he was a thief.”

Taylor sneered. “It could be a coincidence.”

“Check out the date of the elopement in Las Vegas.”

“Jeez. A month after his stepdad died. That’s kinda gross.”

“And Kip at The Poet’s Garden saw a pretty blonde woman at the time Leo would’ve been arriving there to pick up some roses that he’d just ordered that morning. He never arrived. Someone intercepted him.”

“So she sent Leo out to the Horny Hotel, and then what? Patrick married her to thank her?” Taylor asked.

Jess shook her head. “You can’t be forced to testify against your spouse.”

Taylor looked at the two of us. “But nobody thought he did it. I never even heard his name. Why would he do it? Tank said Leo was a great dad.”

“There’s only one person to ask,” I said.

“Leo?”

“There’s no way I’m telling him I think his kid killed him.”

“Then who?”

“Let’s see if Kip is back at the shop yet,” I said.

Taylor gathered up his papers and held them to his chest. “You have to let me come.”

“Fine, but you’re not printing that we see dead people.”

“Deal.”

Chapter Twenty-One

The Poet’s Garden was open, and Kip stood behind the counter with a smile that faded when he saw us.

“Hi,” I said with forced cheer. “This is my friend Jess, and that’s Taylor. He’s helping us.”

“Did something happen?” he asked. “Kelly said you were in.”

“We think we know who did it.”

The big man swallowed and stroked his beard. “Okay.”

Jess put her portraits on the counter. “Do you know who this is?”

He looked up at Taylor, who quickly said, “Not me.”

“Blond,” I said. “Blue eyes.”

“I’d have to say that it looks like Patrick Otto.” The beard stroking got worse, and a few wiry hairs fell onto the counter.

I folded the wedding announcement so that only Emily’s face showed. “Do you recognize her?”

Kip picked up the paper and took a good look. “Are you asking me if she’s the girl I saw on the day Leo died?”

“Yes,” said Jess. “Is that her?”

“It’s been a long time, and I didn’t get a close look. It could be her,” he said.

I unfolded the paper and gave it back to him. “We think he married the secretary that gave him his alibi.”

Kip stopped stroking his beard and gripped the counter instead, staring at the inscription Jess had written on the portraits. “You got these drawings at Exclusive Escapes?”

“Jess drew them this morning,” I said.

“Patrick’s dead.”

“We know,” said Jess. “We saw him at the hotel.”

“Patrick was at the hotel?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Did he speak to you?”

“No.”

Kip’s face reddened, and he started breathing hard. “Why would he be there? He didn’t die there.”

“They don’t have to stay where they died,” I said. “But I do think they often hang around places or people that hold an emotional tie. Like how Grandpa Fischer’s at his kids’ trailers or Leo staying at Number Eight. We just saw Peg and Vern at the library. They helped build it and they love it.”

Kelly came out of the back, took one look at her dad, and went to close the shop.

“You think Patrick killed Leo,” said Kip.

Kelly muttered an expletive and pulled out her phone. “Hi, Mom. You better come over here right now.”

“I have to sit down.” Kip bolted into the back, and we chased after the big man as he knocked into walls and ended up in his office with a trash can between his knees.

“It’s my fault,” he said, and then vomited into the can.

“Ah, Dad,” said Kelly. “How could it be your fault?”

Kip was panting and had a death grip on that can. “It is. I told Leo to⁠—”

He threw up again, and we waited. Kelly got some wet paper towels and said we should leave.

“No. I have to tell them. I can’t tell Eric. They’ll have to do it.”

“What could you have possibly done to make Patrick kill Leo?” I asked.

“I told him to lie.”

That was it. A lie. Four months before Leo died, his wife Carol’s mother-in-law, Enid Otto, passed away in her sleep. She’d been ill and the family had expected it. The elder Ottos had adored both Carol and Leo. Thomas Otto Jr. died in 1995 and left the business to his wife. Enid’s will left the business to Leo. He was the obvious successor. The business boomed under his leadership. No one disputed that, but Patrick had thought he would inherit. He was an Otto, he was blood, and he had the head for business. Darren was a mortician, but he wasn’t very interested in actually running the show and happy to have Leo take responsibility.

Enid’s will was clear-cut, but Patrick couldn’t accept it, and to make matters worse, Grandma’s will had a stipulation in it. She wanted Darren to inherit the business from Leo, and that included Number Eight, the whole shebang. There were individual bequests. Each of the sons inherited a tidy sum, but the elder Ottos had been traditional in their thoughts of inheritance. If the boys all inherited a third of the business, that would lead to problems. They didn’t want it broken up. That’s how things got ruined. Everything had to go to one person, and that person was Darren.

Eric was in college, and he didn’t care. He wasn’t interested in running a funeral home. Darren made sense to everyone except Patrick. He claimed he’d planned on moving back to St. Seb. He said he wanted to run the business. Leo didn’t know what to do. No one thought Patrick would want that, and he had no practical experience in the funeral business. He’d avoided it as much as possible when he lived at home, but he was very successful at being a broker. It showed in the big Mercedes he drove and the house he was building in the city.

Kip wiped his mouth and said, “Carol was so upset. Darren was embarrassed, but Patrick kept going on about it. He was very close to his grandmother. The closest of the boys, and it stung. Everyone understood that.”

“What was the lie?” Kelly asked.

“Leo had so much experience with grief. He said people get emotional about things they don’t really care about. They insist on splitting their dad’s gun collection even if they don’t hunt. Daughters fight over Mom’s ugly jewelry and cracked dishes.”

I nodded. “I’ve seen that.”

“Leo thought Patrick was having an emotional response to his grandmother’s death. We talked about it and I suggested, God help me, that he lie and say he was going to leave the business to Patrick.”

“Oh,” we all said in chorus.

“We thought it would soothe him and he’d get over it. I mean, Leo was forty-five. His family was long-lived. We thought we had plenty of time for Patrick to calm down and admit he didn’t actually want the business.”

“Then Leo died,” said Jess.

“About two months later,” said Kip. “I never thought it was connected. Everyone was happy and getting along again.”

“He had an alibi,” said Taylor, looking up from his phone where he’d been taking notes.

Kip nodded. “He did, but more importantly, Leo raised him. Leo loved him.” Tears ran down the big man’s face, soaking his beard. “It’s my fault.”

Jess went to him and rubbed his back. “You couldn’t have known what Patrick would do.”

“I don’t understand,” said Kelly. “If Patrick didn’t really want the business, why’d he do it?”

Taylor rifled through his papers and handed her the one with Patrick’s arrest. She glanced at it and said, “Oh.”

“What?” Kip asked.

“I don’t think he wanted the business to run it,” I said. “He probably wanted to sell it.”

Kip shook his head. “And put his mother and Darren out on the street? The family wouldn’t have allowed that.”

“If he inherited, he could do what he wanted.”

“What happened when Leo’s will was read?” Kelly asked.

“About the way you’d expect. The business went to Darren with individual bequests to others.” Kip told us that Carol had come to him afterward to ask about Patrick’s allegations that Leo promised him the business. Patrick was talking about contesting the will. Kip had to tell her what had happened, and Kelly’s mother confirmed it. She was in the room when they discussed what to do to calm Patrick down.

“What happened?” Taylor asked.

“Nothing. Patrick didn’t sue. He went back to his job and Darren took over. That was it. I never thought…”

Kelly read the article again. “There’s no way anyone would, Dad. It says here that they arrested him almost three years later.”

Taylor leaned over and pointed at something. “But they were investigating for over two.”

“Maybe Patrick thought he could replace the money in his company’s funds,” said Jess.

“And my lie made him think he could do it,” said Kip.

“You can’t take responsibility for Patrick being a thieving psycho,” said Kelly.

“Can I quote you?” Taylor asked.

“Only if Tank says it’s okay.”

“He will. This is front page. It’s going to get picked up by the nationals.”

“Wonderful,” said Kip.

“Sorry, but it’s good news,” said Taylor. “We solved Leo’s murder.”

Kip picked up the wedding announcement. “It’s not over. Patrick’s dead, but where is she?”

“That sounds like a job for the cops,” I said.

Taylor’s shoulders sagged. “Really? I’m into it. Let’s go find her.”

“And do what?” Jess asked. “The cops can arrest her.”

A woman’s voice burst out somewhere in the store and Kelly yelled, “In the office, Mom!”

A plump, dark-haired woman wearing a mud mask and yoga clothes ran in and said, “What’s this about Leo’s death?”

“Murder,” said Kip.

“We’re not sure.” She looked around and then asked, “Are we sure?”

Kelly started explaining it and we took off to go to the police station with our evidence in hand, knowing that it would take a miracle for us to be taken seriously by law enforcement.

Miracles aren’t in short supply in St. Sebastian. Jess and I marched into the police station with Taylor in tow, sat down, and told the truth. Police Chief Candace Stratton and Deputy Dallas Mosbach listened to us with almost no interruptions. The only thing I left out was how I cleared Lloyd Doyle, and it only took Deputy Mosbach about fifteen minutes to dig through their records to find a call that came in the morning of Leo’s death from the Doyle address. The old chief, William Gates, had scrubbed all the other records, but he forgot about the phone log.

A quick questioning of an older deputy named Kreidt got the truth, and he was happy to be relieved of the burden of keeping the Doyles’ secret. Taylor wasn’t happy about it being off the record, but Chief Stratton informed him that if he wanted to be respected as a journalist, some things had to remain confidential.

With a few quick database searches, Chief Stratton found that Emily Greer Otto had a record of arrests in Missouri, Iowa, and Illinois. It seemed she didn’t learn from Patrick’s mistakes and she tried her own hand at misappropriating funds and embezzlement. She served six years and was currently in a drug treatment program in Kansas City.

The chief thanked us as we walked to the door of the station.

“What are you going to tell the KC police?”

She smiled. “The truth. A couple of amateur detectives got interested in the case and made connections nobody else noticed.”

“No ghosts?” Jess asked.

“Are you kidding? I might be chief here, but I do have a reputation to hold onto. You two⁠—”

Taylor held up his hand.

“With the help of a young journalist, tracked down a financial motive that was previously unsuspected,” said the chief.

“Perfect,” I said.

“What about the Ottos?” Jess asked. “Kip seemed to think we should tell them, but I don’t know about that.”

“Oh, no. You leave that to us,” she said. “It’ll be better.”

We thanked her, left, and dropped Taylor back at the library. It thrilled him to get to work on his first big story, and we were excited to go home to a warm fire and a nap.

It was not to be. When we walked into the kitchen, the kids were all up, making more of a mess. Every condiment we had was on the island. They’d found my bread maker, and it was kneading dough. Somebody had burned some bacon and put it in Poptart’s bowl, where the cat eyed it with disdain.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“We’re starving,” said Max.

“Didn’t you eat eighteen pancakes?” Jess asked.

“That doesn’t last. I need meat.”

“You have to watch bacon,” said Mariah. “You can’t wander off.”

“But we’re so good at it,” said Max.

Mariah eyed him with a look very similar to her cat’s. “Sam and I are going to make more bacon.”

Sam came down the back stairs and went to scratch Poptart.

“Hi, Sam,” I said. “Somebody please tell me there’s pulled pork left.”

“Ate it,” said Henri.

“Pizza?”

“Ate it.”

“Mustard?”

Henri shook the container. “We’ve got that.”

I looked at Jess and said, “You want some mustard?”

She put down the portraits and the articles to pull out a drawer. “We’ve got some ancient takeout menus.”

“More pizza,” suggested the boys.

“No,” said the girls.

Sam stood up and looked at the menus. “These places aren’t even around anymore. I can call my mom. The power has been back on for a while, and we have stuff.”

“I would love anything your mother makes.” I went to the fridge for juice, but the boys drank it. We had pickle juice. No pickles. My onion bagels were gone, and so was Jess’s soy milk.

“What is wrong with you two?” I asked. “You don’t even like onion bagels.”

I turned around and Sam was standing at the end of the island with the portraits in her hands. For a second, I thought it would be fine. Sylvia didn’t recognize Patrick.

“Jess,” I said.

“This is my Uncle Patrick,” said Sam.

You’ve got to be kidding.

Jess ran over and tried to get them back. “Don’t worry about that.”

Sam kept them away from Jess, and Mariah joined her with the boys. I didn’t know what to do. Chief Stratton was going to meet with her dad any minute. She shouldn’t find out like this. It was a family thing. Her parents should tell her however they wanted to.

“Sam, please give those to Jess,” I said. “It’s just something we were doing today.”

“Taylor said you were going out to the Horny Hotel to talk to ghosts,” said Mariah.

Taylor. Darn it.

“Well, we did go out there. It’s really nice, and Jess got a job teaching art classes,” I said. “It was a good morning. It was good.”

“Did you see any ghosts?” Max asked.

“Um…”

Sam held up Patrick’s portrait. “Did you see Uncle Patrick?”

“Well…”

“This is Uncle Patrick when he was valedictorian. We have a picture of him just like this in an album at home.”

“He’s not dead, is he?” Henri asked, and Mariah showed him an article.

“Oh, dude. That is not good,” said Max.

Sam stared at me with huge eyes. “This is who you saw at the Horny Hotel?”

“Let’s call your mom about that food,” I said. “Our blood sugar is dropping.”

“This is Uncle Patrick. You saw him out there. Why would he be out there?”

“I… well…”

Poptart rose into an arch, hissing.

“Did Uncle Patrick⁠—”

Jess and I held up our hands. “No!”

Poptart streaked out of the kitchen.

“Uncle Patrick killed Grandpa Leo?”

There was a pop, and Leo stood there in his black suit, reeking of cigarettes. “What did you say?”

Samantha’s eyes grew even bigger, and she stuttered without saying a coherent word. Leo looked at me and then Jess.

Leo’s handsome face contorted with shock and anger. “What did you say?”

Please don’t bee us. Please don’t bee us.

“We’ve been looking into your death,” I said as calmly as possible.

“Patrick killed you,” burst out Max, and then he clamped his hands over his mouth in horror.

Leo turned around and yelled in a way that went right through our souls and turned our legs to jelly. “Patrick!”

There was a pop, and Patrick Otto stood in our kitchen wearing a pink polo and plaid golfing pants. He looked around, confused.

“You killed me!” Leo yelled, and leapt at him.

Patrick screamed and pop, they were gone.

“Was that Grandpa Leo?” Sam asked.

Leo popped back. “Yes, it’s me. I love you.”

And then he was gone again.

We waited, not moving for the longest time, but nothing happened. The cigarette smell dissipated immediately, but the scent of his cologne lasted for hours. Leo didn’t come back, and happily, neither did Patrick. Was Leo at rest now? We had absolutely no idea.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Halloween night would be the subject of debate and speculation for years to come. Number Eight was at her best. The Camp-over Kids, as they became known, had a decorating party and designed the mother of all haunted houses. The proceeds all went to the St. Sebastian community center and food pantry. Our neighbors, Lydia and Kendall, were web designers. The ladies made a great website for booking tickets with timed entries. The Departures at 8 Haunted Mortuary, named in honor of Leo’s column, sold out completely for its five-day run. We finally had something fun to put on the sign in our yard. A good thing, since it wasn’t going anywhere.

Tank and Mallory Tancredi got a block party going for the most haunted section of town, including our street and the Sentinel. There were food trucks, and every house was open to trick-or-treaters. People drove in from other towns because my boys also added a Battle of the Bands competition, because if you’re going to do something, why not overdo it? Number Eight’s wide front porch was now a stage. We had sound equipment and sixteen groups performing. Some were lip-syncing and some weren’t. It would prove to be a popular concept.

Jess and I had been working nonstop in the run-up to Halloween. Ashley at Eric Otto’s insurance agency had her baby the day after we uncovered Leo’s murderer, and I got the job. Jess’s art lessons were so popular, she taught five days a week and had started giving private lessons too. Our financial problems were far from over, but we could keep the lights on, so we called it a win. The best news was that our side hustle looked like it would be the most lucrative of all. Lots of people had ghosts, and they weren’t necessarily happy about it.

I was one of those people. An incredible smell filled our kitchen, and I spun around in my Lydia from Beetlejuice costume and yelled, “Get out!”

The fur trappers came walking through the stove, carrying their beloved dead opossum by the tail and stinking so badly, I thought my makeup was going to melt.

“Don’t be like that,” said Wheeler. “We done good.”

“In the basement,” I said. “You get to be in the basement during the haunted house only or outside. That’s it. No exceptions.”

“Nobody’s seeing us. All the ladies are duds,” complained Boy.

I gagged. “You’re worse. Why is the smell worse?”

“We changed it to when we was rotting,” said Johnny. “They sees us better if we stink more.”

“Change it back!” I grabbed a can of Lysol and started spraying it at them. Mariah was the one that discovered that the smell of Lysol was offensive to the fur trappers, and we’d loaded up on it at Costco. Once they discovered where we lived, it was the only way to get rid of them.

The trappers protested, but they backed out through the wall.

“Who are you yelling at?”

I turned around and jumped. “I cannot get used to that.”

Liz Doyle smiled at me from under some truly horrifying makeup. The English teacher agreed, after some serious haranguing from her students, namely Max and Henri, to play a dead teacher in the morgue in our basement. Sylvia did her makeup, and it made me queasy.

“Nobody,” I said, breathing deep as the smell evaporated.

“It was the trappers, wasn’t it?”

“The smell is god-awful.”

“I keep trying to see them, but no luck,” said Liz. “They’ve scared a few girls silly.”

“Look in the mirror,” I said with a grin.

“I never look in the mirror,” said Liz. “I scare myself. Got any coffee? I’m getting tired.”

“Oh, yeah.” I filled a mug from an enormous urn Jess borrowed from the Elk’s Lodge and handed it over.

Larry Fischer walked in, bloody with half a face, carrying a weed whacker and leaving a trail of dirt and leaves wherever he went. “Got any Dr Pepper? Playing dead works up a thirst.”

I cracked open a fresh bottle. “Who’s manning the mortuary?”

“Twenty-minute break to watch the opening of the Battle of the Bands,” said Larry. “We should consider going an extra couple of days with the mortuary. People are starting to scalp tickets.”

“How much?” Liz asked.

“A hundred bucks, last I heard.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Your kids know how to put on a good scare.” Larry smiled at me with a terrifying, bloody mouth.

“They couldn’t do it if you hadn’t helped. You’ve all been fantastic,” I said.

Larry lifted his glass. “Thanks to you. Our business has tripled.”

Liz nodded. “Exoneration will do that for you.”

“I’m so glad we could help,” I said.

Once the cops had the basics that we handed over, they ran with it. Patrick Otto’s phone records placed him near St. Sebastian on the day of Leo’s death. His secretary, soon-to-be wife, Emily’s phone, placed her in downtown St. Seb. When the Kansas City cops went to Emily’s rehab, she was well into the twelve-step program and taking it seriously. Emily confessed to everything that we suspected, with details we couldn’t possibly have guessed at.

Emily claimed she didn’t know Patrick was going to kill Leo. He told her he only wanted to talk to him and persuade him to “do the right thing” by signing over the business to him. Patrick chose the Horny Hotel because he knew from experience no one would be there at that time of day, and certainly no one from his family. Emily only had to flag Leo down and tell him that Patrick was at the Horny Hotel and needed him. Then she went directly back to the brokerage in Chesterfield, sneaking in a side door they’d propped open that morning when they left and avoiding security in the lobby.

When Patrick showed up at the office, Emily said he was distraught, saying that Leo had an accident. She was in love and believed him. It wasn’t until after he married her that he confessed what really happened. Patrick had stolen money from the company to use in a short-selling scheme that he thought was a guaranteed winner. It wasn’t. Then, to make back the money, he started playing high-stakes poker. He was an excellent poker player, but then he got on a losing streak and owed a bundle to the Fibonacci crime family.

Patrick thought he was saved when his grandmother died. She’d promised to leave him the business. Emily heard her on the phone, telling Patrick the very same lie that Leo told him after her grandson badgered her relentlessly. When the will was read and she left it all to Leo, Patrick convinced himself that he could get Leo to sign the business over to him if he got the right offer. He’d negotiated with a national chain to buy Number Eight for an enormous amount, with Leo staying on for a fat salary.

That was what Patrick told Emily he was going to discuss with Leo that day at the Horny Hotel, but while he was waiting, a bagman from the Fibonaccis called him with a very specific threat. Start making payments or say goodbye to three toes. Patrick would get to pick the toes, which the bagman thought was rather generous, considering how much he was into them for. Patrick didn’t think it was generous or fair at all.

So when Leo drove up that morning, Patrick was in full-out panic mode. When he saw Leo walking up the stairs, he hid around the corner, having changed his mind because Leo would know something was very wrong and get it out of him. He had to hide what he’d done at all costs. But then Leo called out to him, saying things like “I’ll do anything for you,” and suddenly Patrick was enraged. Leo wouldn’t hand over the business. He wouldn’t do anything for him. Once he knew Patrick was a criminal, it would be all over. Patrick looked around the corner. Leo’s back was turned, and Patrick pushed him out of rage and frustration. When he saw Leo was dead, he ran.

Patrick claimed he didn’t kill Leo to inherit. Emily didn’t even know that Leo had promised him that until the police told her. They asked her to take a polygraph, and to everyone’s surprise, she passed. Twice. She told them a sad tale of Patrick’s guilt and decline until he died. Emily didn’t think it was an accident. He’d become an alcoholic, but he kept his toes. Leo had two life insurance policies. One for the boys to share equally and one for Carol. They were large policies. Patrick paid off the Fibonaccis with his but had to keep moving money around through accounts, trying to hide his theft at the brokerage. When the company caught on, he was done.

Tank and Taylor wrote a series of articles outlining the case and, as Taylor predicted, they got picked up by the nationals. The Fischer family and Lloyd Doyle were finally cleared of any wrongdoing. Taylor got offered a great scholarship to journalism school, and Tank was selling ad space at a record pace. At our request, they left ghosts out of the equation, but we were fielding interview requests and a few other special requests too.

Larry finished a second glass of Dr Pepper and asked, “So are you ever going to let us in on the secret?”

“What secret?” Jess walked in, dressed as Sally from The Nightmare before Christmas.

“What your kids are doing for the Battle of the Bands?” said Liz.

“I have no idea,” I said.

Max’s voice came from the back stairs. “Are you ready to be shocked and amazed?”

“Always,” said Jess.

“Is Mariah there?” Henri asked.

“No,” I said.

“Get her.”

Jess shook her head, and for the first time, Larry and Liz were glum. They knew Mariah wasn’t into the whole Halloween thing. She and Hal had loved the holiday, but she was sitting it out. Nothing we could do could persuade her that her dad wouldn’t want that.

“Sorry,” I said. “She’s not into it.”

“She will be into it,” said Max. “Get her.”

“Just come in,” said Jess. “We can’t stand the suspense.”

There was a conference on the stairs and Max said, “We did it for Mariah. She has to come see.”

“We’ll figure something out,” I said. “Come on. For us. We want to see.”

Larry and Liz chimed in, so the boys and Keely Fischer came down into the kitchen. I’d like to say in all their glory, but I had no clue who they were supposed to be. I thought we’d get the “Thriller” cast. Henri had been practicing moonwalking. Jess’s money was on them singing the Ghostbusters theme. The song was great, but the kids were wearing old seventies-type clothes and a strange array of wigs.

Larry burst out laughing.

“You like it, Uncle Larry?” Keely asked. She had a white-blond wig and a scraggly mustache with a purple vest and a large metal cross on a chain around her neck.

“That is awesome. You look amazing,” he said.

I looked at Jess, and she had her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were watering.

Liz elbowed me. “Do you know?”

“Not a clue.”

“Come on, Mom,” said Henri. He wore a white tux, a frizzy wig, and a truly terrible beard.

“I’ve got nothing.”

Max spread his arms, showing off a wide-collared white shirt. His wig was a dark brown mullet, and he also had a wispy mustache. “It’s Hal’s favorite.”

“Favorite what?” I asked.

Taylor, the intrepid journalist, stepped in front, wearing an enormous, frizzy red wig down past his shoulders and a full beard and mustache. “If you don’t know me, there’s no hope.”

It was starting to come to me, but I wasn’t sure. “This is for Mariah?”

“Yeah,” said Taylor. “Her dad’s favorite, but it’s good for her too.”

“Give me a hint,” I said with a smile spreading across my face.

Max turned to the group. “Let’s do it.”

They did it, harmonizing beautifully the opening to “Carry on Wayward Son.”

By the time they finished, I was crying.

“You’re Kansas,” said Liz. “It’s perfect. Look at that hair.”

We were all over them. Jess hugged them and thanked them.

“You better not outdo me,” called out Mariah into the kitchen.

“Outdo you?” Max asked. “What are you doing?”

“Feast your eyes on this.” Mariah walked in with Sam, and there was a collective gasp. She was Joan Jett in full black leather, a spiked-out black wig, and heavy eighties makeup. Sam was a man, wearing a huge eighties blond mullet, a green fringed jacket, and carrying a guitar.

“Mariah.” Jess ran over and hugged her. “I thought you didn’t want to do anything.”

“I changed my mind. Dad and I planned this before it happened,” she said. “He wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

The kids all marveled over the illusion, which was amazing. Mariah was Joan Jett.

“What are you singing?” Max asked. “Are you singing?”

Sam smiled and said, “You’ll see.”

“Is it for your dad?” Henri asked.

“It’s for you two dirtbags,” said Mariah with a laugh.

“Us?” Max and Henri asked.

“Yeah. And there’s a surprise for Libby and Mom.”

Sylvia came in and asked, “Who’s up first? We’ve got six groups lined up ready.”

“Mariah and Sam!”

“Alright. Alright. No need to yell,” said Sylvia. “Let’s get to it. The crowd is restless.”

Mariah and Sam went out through the arch toward the front porch, and we went out the back to walk around the side of the house to get a good view from some risers Tank had constructed for the event.

“Excuse me,” said a man on our right. “Are you Jess and Libby?”

“Yes,” I said. “Can we help you?”

“I hope so. I heard you’re taking commissions,” he said.

“We are. Do you have afterlife issues?”

“Boy, do I.”

Sylvia came out onto the porch and announced Mariah and Sam. But when the girls came out the front doors, they weren’t alone. There was a third person with them. Leo took the microphone to Mariah’s right. He was about twenty years old, wearing a white shirt and brown vest, and holding a guitar.

“Who’s the guy?” the man next to me asked.

That question rippled through the crowd, confusing a good many who couldn’t see the ghost on the stage. The girls got all set and Leo pointed into the crowd. I turned and saw who he was pointing at. It was his stepson. Eric Otto stood in the crowd, his face astonished and tears rolling freely down his cheeks.

Mariah waved at the crowd. “Welcome to the first annual Halloween Battle of the Bands.”

The crowd went wild. Mariah spoke briefly about moving to St. Seb and how she met Sam, who, despite her shyness, was holding up well with her grandfather on the stage with her.

“To kick off the night, I want to dedicate this song to the guys that make me crazy. Max and Henri.”

Max and Henri jumped up and down, pointing at themselves.

“You’ll know why I chose the song in a second.” Then Mariah reached over and pulled Sam close. “And we both want to dedicate all tonight’s performances to the dads that are here in spirit.”

Everyone started clapping as the music started. Mariah sang “I Hate Myself for Loving You.” The perfect song for the perfect night. The crowd, living and dead, was happy. Peg and Vern mingled. The fur trappers cleared a space with their smell wherever they went, and there were others. The word was out and spreading fast. Number Eight was open for business. Jess and Libby at your service. We solve what you can’t see.

The End

Preview

A TRUNK, A CANOE, AND ALL THE BARBECUE (AFTERLIFE ISSUES BOOK THREE)

Glum ghosts are the worst. Okay, maybe not the worst in the grand scheme of things. Compared to floods, famine, and various catastrophes, living with a grieving ghost isn’t so bad, but for me, in my little corner of the world, #8 Elizabeth Street in St. Sebastian, it was the worst.

I sat at my new desk in my office, working away on my laptop and trying to ignore Leo Pereyra’s presence. He tried to be discreet, I’ll give him that, but I can always tell. First of all, I was home alone, in a manner of speaking, and our cat, Poptart, wasn’t with me. He was a social cat who would normally be curled up in the cushy bed I’d put on the desk for him, but he wasn’t.

And then there was the smell. When Leo’s upset, he puts off the odor of cigarettes. I have a sensitive sense of smell, and it was there in my office. Just a whiff. Try as he might, Leo couldn’t control the smell of his distress.

Smells bother me. I needed to concentrate. I’d landed a temporary job as a claims adjuster at Eric Otto’s company, and I needed it. We needed it. My best friend Jess’s husband, Hal, died almost four months ago, and his brother held up Hal’s insurance money for self-serving reasons and my divorce was going nowhere, so my settlement would not come in anytime soon. If I could prove myself invaluable, maybe, just maybe, Eric would keep me on, but I just couldn’t focus. The claim in front of me was important. The report, the numbers, and the people were important. They needed me to be accurate and fair.

I stopped typing. “Can’t you just go visit Tank, Eric, or Darren?”

Silence, but the cigarette smell got just a tad stronger.

“Seriously. You’re distracting me. The Clancy family needs this money, like yesterday.”

Nothing.

“Their house burned down. They lost everything.”

More cigarettes.

I closed my laptop and put my head down on it. “Please, Leo.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he said.

“You’re here,” I said.

“Oh.” His voice reeked of sadness and regret.

“It’s not you exactly.”

“Sounds like it is,” said Leo. “You don’t want me around anymore.”

I sat up and turned around. “You may as well be visible. You’re obviously here.”

There was a pop and Leo Pereyra, the handsomest man not alive, stood in the far corner of my office. He wore his funeral attire from when he was a living mortician, a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. Since he’d found out that his stepson, Patrick, murdered him, he wore it all the time. That was what he’d been wearing when he died, but ghosts weren’t trapped in the place, clothes, or condition that they died in. He could wear anything that he’d worn in life, from Halloween costumes to swim trunks, anything. Before he’d found out, Leo had worn a lot of different things. My favorite was what he called his tutoring outfit, a grandpa sweater, jeans, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. I didn’t mind the mortician getup. It was his job, and he was darn good at it, but now he wore it in grief, and that wasn’t so great.

“I don’t understand how I’m bothering you,” he said. “I’m not even close.”

“It’s the cigarettes,” I said.

His broad shoulders slumped. “I only ever smoked when I was stressed or upset. I wish I’d never taken it up.”

That makes two of us.

“Nobody else minds,” I said.

“Mariah does,” he said, with sadness decorating his features.

“She’s the only one. Go see Jess at Exclusive Escapes.”

“She’s busy.”

I’m busy.

“You could chat with the fur trappers. They love you,” I said.

Leo grimaced, and I didn’t blame him. Exclusive Escapes, better known around St. Seb as the Horny Hotel, where Jess taught art classes, was a boutique hotel with a well-heeled clientele and a set of unusual residents that we’d met just before Halloween when we were investigating Leo’s death.

Wheeler, Johnny, Jedidiah, and Boy were four fur trappers that had died about two hundred years ago and taken up residence on the hotel grounds long before it was a hotel. They were a pleasant bunch for the most part, but they smelled awful and they liked it. Their favorite thing, other than following around unsuspecting women hoping to get an eyeful, was cooking opossum over a spit. The smell was beyond description. Just the thought made my eyes water. The trappers themselves stank to high heaven, having believed in life that bathing was bad for you.

“Maybe you could talk them into being less smelly?” I asked. “Consider it a public service.”

“They love their smell,” said Leo. “They think stinking means you’re a man. Men smell.”

“You don’t smell,” I said.

Leo eyed me and crossed his arms.

“I mean, you personally. The cigarettes are different from body odor.”

“That’s what I’m saying. They like body odor.”

“Haven’t they noticed you don’t stink?”

He ran a hand through his thick curly hair and said, “They have, and they don’t consider me a man in the strictest sense.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “They like you.”

“Because I’ll talk to them,” said Leo.

“It’s nice to be acknowledged. You should go see them. Talk them into being ten years old. They couldn’t have smelled so bad at that age.”

“You’re just trying to get rid of me.”

Sadly, yes.

“I’m supposed to get this done before my appointment with Betsy’s friend,” I said. “It’s due today.”

Leo walked over and said, “I can help.”

“With claims adjusting? I don’t think so.”

“No. With the librarian’s friend.” He showed me a hint of his old self, a glint in his dark eyes. “I’ve helped before.”

I couldn’t deny that. Jess and I had a side hustle going. It happened without us even trying. We could see ghosts with surprising frequency. Seeing individual ghosts in St. Seb isn’t all that rare, but being able to see lots of them easily is, so we’d gotten hired to talk to them. Sometimes just to find out information or sometimes to talk them into buzzing off and stop pestering the occupants of their former homes. Leo was great with that. It turns out a lot of ghosts don’t realize what they do is distressing, and once we explain it to them, they knock it off and everyone’s happy, especially our bank accounts.

“I could use the help,” I said. “Definitely, but I have to get this done first.”

“You want me to go?” Leo looked at the floor.

“Why do you want to stay?” I opened my laptop. “I’m working. This cannot be entertaining.”

“I like you,” he said.

I’m a big jerk.

“I like you, too, but you’re sad, and the cigarettes just make things hard,” I said.

“I can’t help it.”

“What can we do?” I asked. “How do we help?”

An armchair with thick padding and bright flower-patterned fabric appeared behind Leo, and I knew I was done for. That was Leo’s wife’s chair, and he loved to sit in it. Once he did, it was over. He wasn’t moving.

“Grief takes time,” he said, settling in for the long haul. “I can’t just get over what happened. I wish I could.”

“Won’t you at least tell me what he said?” I asked.

Leo shook his head, as I knew he would. When Leo found out his stepson had killed him, he’d summoned him. I guess ghosts can do that if they really try, and Leo pounced on Patrick. We hadn’t seen Patrick since. He’d died three years after he killed Leo, and we’d discovered him at the Horny Hotel. Jess kept an eye out and so did the trappers, but Patrick hadn’t returned. I kinda hoped he’d moved on to the bad place, but I knew I couldn’t say that to Leo.

“Okay. Fine.” I turned back to my laptop and started working. It was like swimming through mud. I’d always hated the smell of cigarettes, and having Leo sitting behind me, however patiently, wasn’t helping. Why me? It was always me. Eric could see him. Sylvia could see him, and so could their daughter Samantha. Not to mention Jess and her daughter Mariah, and my boys, Max and Henri. Tank Tancredi, the editor of the Sentinel, finally saw Leo, and they’d been friends in life, but I was the one Leo hung out with. He told Jess that I was soothing. I couldn’t see how. I was currently gritting my teeth so hard, I’d be surprised if I wasn’t damaging the enamel.

“You made a mistake,” said Leo.

“Huh?”

“You transposed three and five.”

I looked, and he was right. I fixed the error and glanced back. “Thanks.”

He gave me a wan smile. “I’m good at math.”

“Yes, you are.” I turned back and tried to focus as the doorbell rang.

“Is that him?” Leo asked.

“If it is, he’s early.”

“I’ll get it.” There was a pop and Leo was gone.

I rolled my eyes. Sometimes our ghost forgot his own ghostly guidelines. To be seen, ghosts have to want to be seen by an individual, but that’s not enough. The individual has to want to see them and, this is the important bit, believe in ghosts deep down for real in their very soul. Lots of people think they believe in ghosts, but they don’t, not really. So far, out of all the random people who showed up at Number Eight and told me they believe in ghosts, zero had been able to see Leo. He’d wanted them to see him, but no such luck.

I closed my laptop and stood up as Leo popped back in.

“He can’t see me,” he said with a furrowed brow. “What do you think I’m doing wrong?”

“Nothing.”

The doorbell rang again.

“I must be doing something wrong,” said Leo. “He has a ghost. He must believe in them.”

I left the office and worked my way through our enormous Victorian that had once housed the Otto Funeral Home. That fact and Leo haunting it was the reason Jess and I could buy it dirt cheap and restart our lives post death and divorce. The ghost that made it possible walked right with me, behaving as though he could bump into walls or me, although he couldn’t, and it made me smile. I had the feeling he did that for our benefit because Leo looked solid. He wasn’t faded or indistinct. Having a solid person walk through walls is disconcerting. The trappers did it, and I couldn’t get used to it.

The doorbell rang a third time just as I reached the foyer. Leo stepped to the side as I swung open one of the oak doors to face a figure that filled the entire space of the doorway. I was nose to pecs. I’m a normal height of five six, and that had never happened before.

I looked up at a man that was absolutely enormous. He was the size and shape of a refrigerator with a head.

“Libby?” he asked with a strong accent I couldn’t place.

“Um… yes,” I said.

“Hello. I’m Miroslav Blazevic. We have an appointment.” The man stuck out a hand that resembled a catcher’s mitt, and my hand was completely engulfed.

“You’re Betsy’s friend?” I asked when he released my hand from his viselike grip.

He chuckled. “Yes. You are surprised?”

I couldn’t think of a polite way to sell my reaction, so I went with the truth. “Very. She didn’t tell me anything other than the time, and I thought your name was Mika.”

“That is what my friends call me,” he said. “I hope to count you in that number.”

I stepped back and welcomed him into the house, marveling at how thick his chest was. We’re talking thick, over a foot, well over a foot. I didn’t know they made real people like that. He looked like a character from a superhero movie with his well-groomed beard and long hair pulled back into a stubby ponytail. His eyes sparkled under bushy brows, and his smile was wide and easy.

“I hope so too,” I said. “Do you mind if we talk in the kitchen? I have to baste the turkey.”

“Of course.” He sniffed. “Oh, now I smell it.”

“It’s only been in the oven for an hour and a half.” I led the way past the ornate, curved staircase into the depths of the house, through the archway into our kitchen. To tell the truth, even though it was our kitchen now, I really thought of it as Leo’s kitchen. He designed it and he was the master there, teaching the kids how to make pizza and applesauce while tutoring them in math and physics. Even in his grief over Patrick’s betrayal, he never stopped helping the kids.

Leo went to stand next to the stove, and I gestured to a stool at the island, although I questioned whether a stool like that could hold Miroslav Blazevic. “Please have a seat.”

“It’s early for Thanksgiving turkey, is it not?” he asked.

“Well, Mr. Blazevic, my friend Jess is a planner. This oven is new to us, so we had to do a practice turkey to see how it works.”

“Please call me Mika,” he said. “I think Jess is a wise woman.”

“She is,” I said. “But that’s a lot of turkey to have within two weeks.”

I opened one of the oven doors and basted the twenty-three-pound turkey Jess insisted we buy because bigger is better in her book.

“It smells good already,” said Mika.

I closed the door and smiled. “It will be great. It’s my mom’s recipe, perfected over the course of forty Thanksgivings.”

“Will you share the recipe?”

“Of course,” I said. “Can I get you something to drink? I’m afraid all I have is coffee, tea, and water. My boys keep our tank continually empty around here.”

“Water without ice would be nice,” he said.

I gave him a glass and made myself a cup of green tea before sitting down on a stool next to him. “I have to ask. How do you know Betsy?”

“I’m in her knitting group at the library.” He grinned at me and I grinned back after I glanced at his meaty fingers.

“Is knitting a challenge?” I asked.

“Yes, but I have mastered it. Knitting is good for the stress, and it keeps the fingers nimble. I have arthritis from a young age and it helps.”

“I didn’t know that. I’ll have to tell my mom.”

“Does she live with you?” Mika asked.

“Not yet, but we’re hoping to talk her into it.” I stirred my tea and asked, “So you’ve got a ghost problem?”

“Yes,” he said, and two spots of color appeared on his high cheekbones.

Leo walked around the island and put his hand on his chest. “He’s nervous about people thinking he’s crazy.”

I nodded and sipped my tea. “Mika, whatever you say is between us. I won’t run around town and tell people about your private business.”

He heaved a sigh and took a drink of water. “This is good. I am a physical therapist, and no one wants a medical practitioner that is crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” I said. “I assume Betsy told you about us and this house.”

“And Leo Pereyra,” he said. “Do you really see him?”

I told him I did, but I didn’t mention that Leo happened to be standing right behind him.

“Betsy said you see a lot of ghosts,” said Mika.

“I’m not sure what a lot is, but we’ve seen a few.”

He glanced around and searched for his next words. It was hard. I understood. Jess and I lived in a world where the extraordinary was ordinary. Most people weren’t quite ready for that reality, so I waited until he was ready.

“What are they like?” Mika asked.

“The ghosts? They vary, but I’d say overall they’re normal people.”

He blinked at me. “Normal people?”

“I mean, they’re dead people, but they’re normal, or they were when they were alive. We’re not talking about supervillains or nasty characters, for the most part.”

Mika smiled and took another drink. “That’s good to hear.”

I frowned. “You seem relieved. Don’t you know who you’re dealing with?”

“That’s just the thing, Libby,” he said. “We don’t.”

The Blazevic family had a problem we’d yet to encounter. Mika was married and had two young children. They’d moved into their house on Third Street a little over two years ago with no problems. He was very clear on that. No issues whatsoever until four months ago, when his kids started mentioning a person in the house. It started with his older child, his son Marko, who was eight years old. Marko started telling them about a lady who sat with him at night by his bed. The child didn’t seem concerned. The lady was calm and comforting. Mika’s wife, Sandra, had had imaginary friends when she was young, so that’s what they thought it was. But then their four-year-old daughter, Jelena, said she saw the lady, too, and claimed she’d seen her first by her bed. The children argued about that to their parents’ astonishment.

After some questioning, the kids convinced Mika and Sandra that they weren’t talking about an imaginary friend. They were seeing an elderly woman wearing a sweater, skirt, and a kerchief on her head. Sometimes she was wearing different clothes, but the kids were certain it was one person.

“And you haven’t seen her?” I asked.

He shook his massive head. “No, and Sandra hasn’t either.”

“What does the woman do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the dead can do things like move furniture and turn off lights,” I said. “Those are common complaints. The dead don’t like wasting electricity.”

Mika stared at me. His mouth opened and shut, but he said nothing.

“I’m serious. They have opinions. We had a case where a ghost kept moving the living room furniture. She wasn’t trying to scare anyone. She just didn’t like the arrangement.”

“She didn’t like the arrangement,” he whispered.

“Yep. And between you and me, her arrangement made more sense for the flow through the room,” I said.

“So what happened? What did you do?”

“We discussed the family’s concerns, and we came up with a compromise. The family would move some of the furniture to where she wanted it and she agreed to leave the rest alone and go visit her sister more often.”

“That worked?” Mika asked.

“It did. She hasn’t moved anything since, but she turns off the lights when they leave the room. We couldn’t stop her from doing that, but the dad was all for the energy savings, so we’re all happy. The family’s getting used to it.”

“That is remarkable.”

“All in a day's work. So what does she do?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

I sipped my tea and tried to think of a diplomatic way to ask why he was there. “I’m not sure what the problem is, then.”

“The children can see her,” he said. “A lot. All over the house and outside sometimes.”

“But she’s not doing anything to them?” I asked.

“No.”

“Does she scare them?”

“Not at first, but she is upsetting them now.” Mika gripped his glass so tightly, I feared it would shatter.

“What does she do? Startle them? Please tell me she doesn’t show herself as dead,” I said with a grimace.

“No, but she’s always there. At first, she wasn’t, and now the children say she’s always talking to them. She won’t stop, and she’s crying a lot.”

That’s not good.

“What is she saying?”

“They don’t understand her. She doesn’t speak English or Croatian. Those are the languages they know.”

“That’s a new one,” I said. “What else?”

Mika glanced around and said, “She’s in the bathroom a lot.”

“Dead?”

“What?” he asked in horror.

“Sorry. I meant, does it look like she died in the bathroom?”

“No, no. She’s in there doing bathroom things.”

I raised a brow, and Mika reluctantly told me that their ghost liked to take baths. The kids kept going in the bathroom to find a naked elderly woman in there. Sometimes she was sitting on the toilet and it smelled.

“That is a problem,” I said.

“Did you know ghosts can make smells?”

“I did.” I glanced at Leo, who looked embarrassed. “It’s not uncommon.”

Mika shook his head. “I don’t know what to do. Sandra was okay at first. Now she’s freaking out, and she wants to move. We can’t afford to move.”

“I understand completely,” I said. “Have you talked to your realtor?”

He nodded. “It’s Shelly Kaplan, and I called her. She said no one died there, but that lady must’ve died there. Why else would she be there?”

I explained that ghosts didn’t have to haunt the places where they died. Sometimes they did, but it wasn’t required by any means. I thought it would comfort him, but it didn’t. If anything, he was more upset.

“You mean ghosts can go anywhere and haunt anyone?”

Cat out of bag.

“Well, yes, but they don’t, as a general rule. They usually haunt people and places they love. If she’s in your house, she probably loves your house.”

“Why is she talking to my kids? They say she’s upset.”

“Do they think she’s trying to get them out of the house? Like she doesn’t like them?”

“Oh, no. They don’t think that at all. Marko says she’s trying to tell him something important, but he can’t understand her. The more she tries, the more upset she gets.”

“So she wants to be heard. She has a story to tell.” I looked at Leo and he nodded. “When do you want us to start?”

“Today. Immediately,” said Mika. “We can’t go on like this.”

“Let me get you our contract so you can check out our terms,” I said.

Mika placed his big hand over mine. “Whatever the terms are, I accept them.”

Read the rest in

A Trunk, a Canoe, and all the Barbecue (Afterlife Issues Book Two)

Also by A.W. Hartoin

Jess and Libby Paranormal Cozy Mysteries

Dead Companions (Afterlife Issues Book One)

A Trunk, a Canoe, and all the Barbecue (Afterlife Issues Book Two)

Old Friends and Fedoras (Afterlife Issues Book Three)

The Trouble with Tinsel (Afterlife Issues Book Four)

Fun Ivy (Afterlife Issues Book Five) Coming soon

Mercy Watts Mysteries

A Good Man Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book One)

Diver Down (A Mercy Watts Mystery Book Two)

Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries BookThree)

Drop Dead Red (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Four)

In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Five)

The Wife of Riley (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Six)

My Bad Grandad (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Seven)

Brain Trust (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Eight)

Down and Dirty (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Nine)

Small Time Crime (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Ten)

Bottle Blonde (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Eleven)

Mean Evergreen (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Twelve)

Silver Bells at Hotel Hell (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Thirteen)

So Long Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Fourteen)

Black Bandana (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Fifteen) Coming soon

Mercy Watts Short Mysteries

Coke with a Twist (Mercy Watts Short Mysteries Book One)

Touch and Go My Book (Mercy Watts Short Mysteries Book Two)

Nowhere Fast (Mercy Watts Short Mysteries Book Three)

Dry Spell (Mercy Watts Short Mysteries Book Four)

A Sin and a Shame (Mercy Watts Short Mysteries Book Five)

Stella Bled WWII Historical Thrillers

The Paris Package (Stella Bled Book One)

Strangers in Venice (Stella Bled Book Two)

One Child in Berlin (Stella Bled Book Three)

Dark Victory (Stella Bled Book Four)

A Quiet Little Place on Rue de Lille (Stella Bled Book Five)

Her London Season (Stella Bled Book Six)

Double Duet (Stella Bled Book Seven)

YA Paranormal

It Started with a Whisper (Son of a Witch Book One)

Angels and Insects (Son of a Witch Book Two)

Young Adult fantasy

Flare-up (Away From Whipplethorn Short)

A Fairy's Guide To Disaster (Away From Whipplethorn Book One)

Fierce Creatures (Away From Whipplethorn Book Two)

A Monster’s Paradise (Away From Whipplethorn Book Three)

A Wicked Chill (Away From Whipplethorn Book Four)

To the Eternal (Away From Whipplethorn Book Five)

About the Author

USA Today bestselling author A.W. Hartoin grew up in rural Missouri, but her grandmother lived in the Central West End area of St. Louis. The CWE fascinated her with its enormous houses, every one unique. She was sure there was a story behind each ornate door. Going to Grandma’s house was a treat and an adventure. As the only grandchild around for many years, A.W. spent her visits exploring the many rooms with their many secrets. That’s how Mercy Watts and the fairies of Whipplethorn came to be.

As an adult, A.W. Hartoin decided she needed a whole lot more life experience if she was going to write good characters so she joined the Air Force. It was the best education she could’ve hoped for. She met her husband and traveled the world, living in Alaska, Italy, and Germany before settling in Colorado for nearly eleven years. Now A.W. has returned to Germany and lives in picturesque Waldenbuch with her family and two spoiled cats, who absolutely believe they should be allowed to escape and roam the village freely.