on the subject,” Jase allowed. “After all, there’re a lot of ’em around.”
In a matter of moments, the atmosphere in the pub had gone from cozy and welcoming to surreal. The dog woke up and looked at her.
She propped her elbows on the table. “Okay, here’s the deal: Most of the time, when folks tell me they’re seeing things that can’t be real? I, like, refer them to a psychiatrist who can prescribe antipsychotic meds.”
“Questionable strategy,” Tom pointed out. “You’d have to dope up half the town.”
“Cute.” Jordan pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re serious.”
“Well … yeah.” Darcy shrugged. “We’ve heard about Hattie and Charlotte for years, though this is the first time we’ve heard anyone has talked to them.”
“You think that because Hattie Longren was murdered in my house, she—what—roams the halls at night, clanking her boyfriend’s prison chains and moaning?”
“She’s being sarcastic,” Darcy explained to the others.
“My coping skills are stretched a bit thin these days, and I’m not feeling all that flexible about sharing my house with a couple of ghosts!” Jordan’s voice rose, and there was a lull in the conversation as patrons craned their necks to look at her.
She took a deep breath, then another, holding up a hand. “Where I come from,” she said, lowering her voice, “California has real estate disclosure forms—TDS, SSD, and SPQ.” She ticked them off on shaking fingers. “You’re required to disclose even the smallest things, like whether there’s a children’s playground nearby that the buyer would consider too noisy, for chrissakes. You’re required to tell the buyer about bad things. Ghosts” —she paused for emphasis—“are bad things!”
“Actually, many of the old homes are thought to be haunted,” Darcy said. “So people don’t necessarily think a resident ghost or two is all that awful.”
“Okay, ‘normal,’ then. Ghosts aren’t normal. And I make a point of dealing in ‘normal.’”
“In this town, we prefer ‘quirky’ over ‘normal.’” Jase laid a soothing hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Bill? Bring me a brandy, would you?”
“Hattie and Charlotte are known for their pranks more than anything else,” Tom continued. “While the prior owners were living there and operating a B and B, the ghosts used to run the guests off in droves. It put the owners out of business.”
“Gee, how reassuring.”
“They’re probably more reasonable if you don’t do things they object to,” Darcy assured her. “From all accounts, they really didn’t want Longren House turned into a B and B.”
“So you think they impersonated Nora and Delia as some kind of prank?” Jordan shook her head, still not believing she was having this conversation. “Follow the logic—why would they do something like that? I’m not buying it.”
“They’ve gotten some pretty negative reactions over the years,” Tom said.
“Imagine my surprise.”
Darcy grinned. “They probably figured it was better to disguise themselves this time. At least, until you’d gotten settled and they knew what your intentions were.”
Jordan studied each of their faces. They appeared to be accepting Darcy’s explanation as plausible—even Jase. She shook her head back and forth. “No, no, no. I’m calling the real estate agent. I want those disclosure forms.”
“What good will they do you now?” Tom asked pragmatically.
“How the hell should I know?” Jordan gulped down the brandy Jase handed her. “Hey, I’ve got it.” She waved the brandy snifter in the air. “Since you all are so fond of your ghosts, maybe the local judge is a true believer and will let me back out of the sale.”
“Now you’re really being sarcastic,” Darcy said.
“It’s a gift,” Jordan snapped.
“You might as well accept the inevitable.”
A new thought occurred to her. “Oh, God, I get it now.” She stood abruptly, feeling ill. The
In a matter of moments, the atmosphere in the pub had gone from cozy and welcoming to surreal. The dog woke up and looked at her.
She propped her elbows on the table. “Okay, here’s the deal: Most of the time, when folks tell me they’re seeing things that can’t be real? I, like, refer them to a psychiatrist who can prescribe antipsychotic meds.”
“Questionable strategy,” Tom pointed out. “You’d have to dope up half the town.”
“Cute.” Jordan pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re serious.”
“Well … yeah.” Darcy shrugged. “We’ve heard about Hattie and Charlotte for years, though this is the first time we’ve heard anyone has talked to them.”
“You think that because Hattie Longren was murdered in my house, she—what—roams the halls at night, clanking her boyfriend’s prison chains and moaning?”
“She’s being sarcastic,” Darcy explained to the others.
“My coping skills are stretched a bit thin these days, and I’m not feeling all that flexible about sharing my house with a couple of ghosts!” Jordan’s voice rose, and there was a lull in the conversation as patrons craned their necks to look at her.
She took a deep breath, then another, holding up a hand. “Where I come from,” she said, lowering her voice, “California has real estate disclosure forms—TDS, SSD, and SPQ.” She ticked them off on shaking fingers. “You’re required to disclose even the smallest things, like whether there’s a children’s playground nearby that the buyer would consider too noisy, for chrissakes. You’re required to tell the buyer about bad things. Ghosts” —she paused for emphasis—“are bad things!”
“Actually, many of the old homes are thought to be haunted,” Darcy said. “So people don’t necessarily think a resident ghost or two is all that awful.”
“Okay, ‘normal,’ then. Ghosts aren’t normal. And I make a point of dealing in ‘normal.’”
“In this town, we prefer ‘quirky’ over ‘normal.’” Jase laid a soothing hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Bill? Bring me a brandy, would you?”
“Hattie and Charlotte are known for their pranks more than anything else,” Tom continued. “While the prior owners were living there and operating a B and B, the ghosts used to run the guests off in droves. It put the owners out of business.”
“Gee, how reassuring.”
“They’re probably more reasonable if you don’t do things they object to,” Darcy assured her. “From all accounts, they really didn’t want Longren House turned into a B and B.”
“So you think they impersonated Nora and Delia as some kind of prank?” Jordan shook her head, still not believing she was having this conversation. “Follow the logic—why would they do something like that? I’m not buying it.”
“They’ve gotten some pretty negative reactions over the years,” Tom said.
“Imagine my surprise.”
Darcy grinned. “They probably figured it was better to disguise themselves this time. At least, until you’d gotten settled and they knew what your intentions were.”
Jordan studied each of their faces. They appeared to be accepting Darcy’s explanation as plausible—even Jase. She shook her head back and forth. “No, no, no. I’m calling the real estate agent. I want those disclosure forms.”
“What good will they do you now?” Tom asked pragmatically.
“How the hell should I know?” Jordan gulped down the brandy Jase handed her. “Hey, I’ve got it.” She waved the brandy snifter in the air. “Since you all are so fond of your ghosts, maybe the local judge is a true believer and will let me back out of the sale.”
“Now you’re really being sarcastic,” Darcy said.
“It’s a gift,” Jordan snapped.
“You might as well accept the inevitable.”
A new thought occurred to her. “Oh, God, I get it now.” She stood abruptly, feeling ill. The
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