bed, he’d been drifting around downstairs, doing his pacing thing. He’d been clearly distressed by the news about the break-in at his house. Moaning up a storm, he gestured wildly, and wanted to head out to see what had happened with his own eyes.
It had taken more patience than I thought I possessed to talk him out of that. Dylan was right—it was best to wait until morning. For multiple reasons. The first being that the deputies at Haywood’s home would undoubtedly turn me away. The second being that midnight had marked the coming of Halloween.
And more ghosts.
Oh, I hadn’t seen any more of them, but I knew they were out there.
Waiting. Watching. Searching for someone to help them.
Guilt pricked at my conscience.
After all, I could help them . . .
But when the memory of that one bad experience slid into my mind, a shiver ran down my spine, reminding me why I’d stopped assisting the ghosts in the first place.
Helping Haywood was a big enough step outside my self-imposed ghostly comfort zone to give me peace of mind. I was doing the best I could right here and now.
The phone on my nightstand rang, and when I reached over to pick it up, I saw who was calling: My mama. I set the handset back down and let the call go to voice mail.
Later. I’d deal with her later.
I said good-bye to the two feline lumps under my duvet, told them the house would soon be theirs for a while, and reached for the bedroom doorknob. Willed myself to turn the handle.
Now that it was almost time to leave the house, my nerves were kicking up something fierce. I didn’t want to go out there.
Didn’t want to want to have to deal with Haywood.
Didn’t want to think about murder.
But I also knew I had no other choice. Not really. Not if I wanted to help Haywood cross over so I could return to my regularly scheduled hibernation period. Taking a deep breath, I gave myself a silent pep talk and swung open the door just as my front bell pealed. I left the door ajar for Roly and Poly to have free rein and dashed down the narrow steps.
The first thing I noticed was that Haywood was nowhere to be seen.
Was it possible that he’d decided he didn’t need me after all? My hopes picked themselves up, dusted themselves off.
The second thing I noticed was that it wasn’t Dylan on my front porch but rather my aunt Eulalie. She had her hands cupped on each side of her face and her nose practically smushed flat as she peered through the leaded glass of my front door. Her sullen features brightened when she spotted me.
A gentle rain was falling outside as I unlocked the door, and although the gray weather fit my melancholy mood, I hoped the skies would clear by evening. Once upon a time I had been a happy-go-lucky trick-or-treater, and there had been nothing worse than bad weather while going door to door.
“Carly Bell, I’m glad you answered, what with you being in your current state of hibernation.” She noisily kissed my cheek.
I quickly closed the door behind her before any wayward ghosts wandered by. There was a nervous energy around my aunt as she sashayed into the living room, her pleated full skirt swinging like a pendulum.
“What’s going on?” I asked, studying her. “Everything go okay on your date with Mr. Butterbaugh last night? Well, minus the murder?”
She wrinkled her nose. “It was fine.”
Fine. That was the kiss of death for poor Mr. Butterbaugh. “Not your type?”
Aunt Eulalie rarely looked anything other than perfectly put together. It helped that she could easily pass for Meryl Streep’s twin sister, but her fashion sense played a huge role as well.
She preferred retro-looking fashions. From the forties, fifties, sixties . . . she loved them all. Today she had on a fitted navy blue blouse, a purple cardigan, a gray, blue, and purple plaid skirt, and dark purple Mary Jane heels—with sheer hose of course. Aunt Eulalie seemed to have an endless supply of stockings. And gloves, too. Today she wore
It had taken more patience than I thought I possessed to talk him out of that. Dylan was right—it was best to wait until morning. For multiple reasons. The first being that the deputies at Haywood’s home would undoubtedly turn me away. The second being that midnight had marked the coming of Halloween.
And more ghosts.
Oh, I hadn’t seen any more of them, but I knew they were out there.
Waiting. Watching. Searching for someone to help them.
Guilt pricked at my conscience.
After all, I could help them . . .
But when the memory of that one bad experience slid into my mind, a shiver ran down my spine, reminding me why I’d stopped assisting the ghosts in the first place.
Helping Haywood was a big enough step outside my self-imposed ghostly comfort zone to give me peace of mind. I was doing the best I could right here and now.
The phone on my nightstand rang, and when I reached over to pick it up, I saw who was calling: My mama. I set the handset back down and let the call go to voice mail.
Later. I’d deal with her later.
I said good-bye to the two feline lumps under my duvet, told them the house would soon be theirs for a while, and reached for the bedroom doorknob. Willed myself to turn the handle.
Now that it was almost time to leave the house, my nerves were kicking up something fierce. I didn’t want to go out there.
Didn’t want to want to have to deal with Haywood.
Didn’t want to think about murder.
But I also knew I had no other choice. Not really. Not if I wanted to help Haywood cross over so I could return to my regularly scheduled hibernation period. Taking a deep breath, I gave myself a silent pep talk and swung open the door just as my front bell pealed. I left the door ajar for Roly and Poly to have free rein and dashed down the narrow steps.
The first thing I noticed was that Haywood was nowhere to be seen.
Was it possible that he’d decided he didn’t need me after all? My hopes picked themselves up, dusted themselves off.
The second thing I noticed was that it wasn’t Dylan on my front porch but rather my aunt Eulalie. She had her hands cupped on each side of her face and her nose practically smushed flat as she peered through the leaded glass of my front door. Her sullen features brightened when she spotted me.
A gentle rain was falling outside as I unlocked the door, and although the gray weather fit my melancholy mood, I hoped the skies would clear by evening. Once upon a time I had been a happy-go-lucky trick-or-treater, and there had been nothing worse than bad weather while going door to door.
“Carly Bell, I’m glad you answered, what with you being in your current state of hibernation.” She noisily kissed my cheek.
I quickly closed the door behind her before any wayward ghosts wandered by. There was a nervous energy around my aunt as she sashayed into the living room, her pleated full skirt swinging like a pendulum.
“What’s going on?” I asked, studying her. “Everything go okay on your date with Mr. Butterbaugh last night? Well, minus the murder?”
She wrinkled her nose. “It was fine.”
Fine. That was the kiss of death for poor Mr. Butterbaugh. “Not your type?”
Aunt Eulalie rarely looked anything other than perfectly put together. It helped that she could easily pass for Meryl Streep’s twin sister, but her fashion sense played a huge role as well.
She preferred retro-looking fashions. From the forties, fifties, sixties . . . she loved them all. Today she had on a fitted navy blue blouse, a purple cardigan, a gray, blue, and purple plaid skirt, and dark purple Mary Jane heels—with sheer hose of course. Aunt Eulalie seemed to have an endless supply of stockings. And gloves, too. Today she wore
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