Read Online Plain Jane by Fern Michaels - Free Book Online

Let me see if I get this right. This is not a dream. And I am not asleep. I am, in fact, wide-awake and conversing with a spook.”
    â€œYes, to everything. But please, I am not a spook. When you call me that, you hurt my feelings.” The boy laughed, then disappeared.
    When he reappeared, he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Jane reared back and pulled the coverlet to her chin. “How’d you do that?” she shrilled.
    â€œThere is a scientific name for it, but I keep forgetting what it is. Let’s just say it’s a ghostly thing. You know, like walking through walls and stuff like that.”
    Jane could feel her body trembling beneath the covers. “Olive, come over here. Right now, dammit!” Olive and Jeeter jumped up on the bed. Jane grabbed Olive and put her arms around her. “What—What do you want of me?”
    The boy shrugged. “I just want to be your friend. I know you’re scared of me, but you don’t need to be. I won’t hurt you.”
    Jane struggled to relax. This had to be a dream. Had to be. Didn’t it? She stared at the young man sitting on the edge of her bed. He appeared young, fifteen or so, with a million freckles dotting his face, brown eyes, and curly, sandy-colored hair. He wore coveralls and a long-sleeved plaid shirt.
    â€œI don’t believe in ghosts, spirits, spooks, or other . . . unearthly things,” she said. She rolled over and thumped her pillow. This was one dream she hoped she would remember in the morning. She felt her mattress lift and heard a thump on the floor. Olive was still on the bed.
    â€œGood night, Dr. Lewis.”
    â€œWoof.”
    Oh God! Olive hadn’t barked. Her head was plastered against her chest so she would . . . Jane closed her eyes. That was one hell of a dream, she thought. It must have been the bourbon. She looked at the clock beside her bed: 5:10 A.M. She still had an hour until the alarm went off.
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    Jane limped up the driveway to her godparents’ house. Her legs felt like they were on fire. Why would she be getting shin splints now? Probably because this was the first time she’d gone running in over a month. “Hey, what’s for breakfast?” she yelled as she let herself in the back door.
    Trixie came out of the pantry, a small bird of a woman with brilliant pinkish red hair, pounds of gold jewelry hanging around her neck, and multicolored half glasses resting on the end of her nose. Gold hoop earrings, big enough for a bird to fly through, dangled from her ears. As always, Jane marveled at the frail body with the stick-thin arms and legs as she hugged her godmother. Eighty-nine pounds dripping wet, she thought.
    â€œYou’re gonna have to drive me home, Trix. I’m outta shape. My run this morning proved it. You cooking breakfast, or are we eating it out of a box?”
    â€œPop-Tarts,” Trixie said. “Strawberry or blueberry? Never mind, I only have blueberry.” Trixie laughed as she put the pastries into the toaster oven.
    â€œNice outfit,” Jane said, giggling. “What do you call it?”
    Trixie’s laughter tinkled around the kitchen. “It’s my hanging-out-at-the-police-station outfit. Today is Friday. I always hang out there on Fridays. You never know what you can pick up in a police station. Just a word or an action will trigger something. Then there are the criminals who are innocent. The stories would fill a book. Tell me about last night,” Trixie said as she expertly removed the Pop-Tarts from the toaster oven. She tossed one to Jane.
    â€œI still can’t believe no one in this town knows you and Fred are T. F. Dingle. That’s worthy of a book in itself. Mike Sorenson was terribly impressed that I had a complete set of your books. There’s nothing I would have liked better than to tell him that I personally knew his favorite author, but I didn’t. Your secret is