Chance of a Ghost (47 page)

“It lacks a certain…ambience. And it’s twelve degrees outside. Tomorrow.” He touched me on the cheek and then turned as I unlocked the car door. Maybe if I pulled away fast enough I could leave Maxie stranded here. It’d probably take her a few days to walk back to Harbor Haven. Or if I were really lucky, she’d get lost.

Alas, she appeared in the seat next to me as I put the car into gear. “That was great!” she crowed. “Definitely worth sitting out here all evening.”

“I’m surprised you showed that much restraint,” I told her.

“I had work to do, but I didn’t want to stay at the house,” she said, producing my ancient laptop from her coat. “Luckily the restaurant’s Wi-Fi extends to the parking lot.” Maxie stretched her legs, which dropped her feet out of sight under the floorboards and gave the odd impression she was making the car move with her feet, like Fred Flintstone.

“What’d you find out?”

“I hacked into the files of your pal Lawrence’s lawyer,” she said. “Your mom gave me his name. Turns out the old guy really didn’t have much to inherit. Nobody killed him for money.”

“You could have done that at home. Did you just sit out here all night waiting to humiliate me?”

Maxie grinned. “That was just a perk.”

“You are so lucky you’re dead,” I told her. “Because if you weren’t, I’d kill you.”

You’ve heard the expression “She laughed all the way home”? I’m here to tell you, it’s not just an expression.

I did not utter another word to Maxie in the car, which didn’t seem to bother her in the least. Even when I parked the car under the port behind the house, I got out without looking to see if she followed me. This whole new development about Maxie being mobile outside the property where she died was really getting to be a drag.

On the other hand, the thought of
Paul
being able to follow me on a date was somehow even less appealing.

It must have been at least eleven p. m. by the time I walked in through the kitchen. The lights were on and voices were audible in the den, so I headed that way. I swung the kitchen door open, and I could see Mom on the sofa and Liss on the floor. They weren’t playing a board game or anything, just talking. That was unusual.

“I don’t understand what it means,” Melissa said.

“Neither do I,” Mom answered. “Do you think we should—” She stopped when she saw me walk in. “Alison! How was dinner?”

But Melissa looked like she wanted to talk about something else. “Mom…” she began. She looked…scared would be too strong a word. More like unsettled.

“Fine, Mom.” I turned toward Melissa. “What’s the matter, baby?” I asked.

Melissa caught a glimpse of her grandmother, who gave her an expression that wasn’t exactly disapproving—such a thing would be unthinkable—but slightly impatient. “We weren’t going to say anything to you right away,” Mom said a touch pointedly. “We wanted you to enjoy your evening.”

A few hairs stood up on the back of my neck. “You weren’t going to say anything about
what
?”

Mom stood up and Melissa followed her lead. “Come on,” my mother said. “We’ll show you.”

I didn’t like the way that sounded, but I followed them out of the den and into the hallway. Mom hit the light switch and turned in the direction of the library and the game room.

She waited. So did Melissa. For that matter, so did I.

“Okay,” I said finally. “What am I looking at?”

“You don’t see it?” Melissa asked.

“See what?”

“There!” she said.

To avoid shouting, “Where?” I scoured every inch of the hallway and finally saw a small mark on the crown molding near the ceiling by the library. It was red and looked like letters.

“What does it say?” I said. Moving closer, the letters were larger than I’d first thought, and the molding angled toward the floor, so they were easier to read when standing directly beneath them.

The message read, “STOP GO UP.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I said.

“Hey,” my mother scolded, shooting her glance toward Melissa.

“I’ve heard a lot worse, Grandma,” my daughter said. Thanks for the help, Liss.

I took a step back when Paul’s head stuck itself through the ceiling directly over the message. You never really get used to that.

“I’ve been trying to decipher it,” he said, “but it’s not as direct as the other messages.”

“Other messages?” Mom asked. Oops.

“Um…yeah,” I said. “There have been a couple others. But they weren’t like this.”

“There were?” Melissa said. Double oops.

“Over the past couple of days,” I explained, giving Paul a dirty look. “But like Paul said, this one is different. I don’t understand it.” To avoid giving out any more details about the previous messages, since they’d only alarm Mom and Liss, I quickly said to Paul, “What do you suppose it means?”

He shrugged. “No idea. Did Maxie come back with you? I want her to run a search on the phrase ‘stop go up,’ and see what she gets.”

“Yeah, Maxie came back,” I said sourly. “Things were a lot easier when she couldn’t get around so far, you know.”

“Maybe for
you
.” Maxie was right behind me, of course. “I’m thrilled to be out from these same four walls.”

Paul ignored her remark, since she probably didn’t realize how hurtful it was to him. “Can you run that search? I’m at a loss. I don’t know what ‘go up’ might refer to. We looked all through the upper floors, the attic and the roof, and found nothing unusual.”

Maxie seemed to fight the urge to say something mean, then shrugged one shoulder and disappeared into the ceiling. She’d be at work on the laptop in Melissa’s room in no time. “Don’t get too comfy,” I called after her. “Melissa has to go to sleep soon.” There was no answer from above. There so rarely is.

Melissa, having heard that part about going to sleep, made a show of thinking in order to delay the inevitable. “Maybe this is a theatrical ghost,” she suggested. “When we did the school play last year, Mr. Lester said that ‘go up’ was something actors said happened when they forgot their lines.”

That made an odd kind of sense, but it still didn’t decode the message. “It’s possible, sweetie,” I told Melissa. “Do you understand what it means, then?”

She thought it over and shook her head. “But it doesn’t make sense any other way, either.”

She had me there. “I’m not going to worry about it any more tonight,” I said. “I have a lot to do tomorrow and you, young lady, should have been in bed a half hour ago. Move it.”

Melissa looked at me. “But I had to show you the words on the ceiling,” she protested.

“I get it. You did. Say good night to your grandmother and get up there.”

Mom had already packed up her backpack and gave Melissa a very enthusiastic hug. I kissed Melissa on the head, knowing I’d be upstairs before she was in bed, and gently nudged her toward the stairs. Children, who medical science insists need more sleep than adults, avoid going to bed with every fiber in their bodies. Adults would fall onto a mattress at three in the afternoon and sleep until Thursday. Nature is funny.

Once Liss was up the stairs, Mom gave me a meaningful glance. “Other messages?” she asked.

“Nothing to worry about,” I lied. “Thanks for watching Liss. Drive home safely.”

She clucked her tongue. “Of course I’ll drive home safely. But that ‘nothing to worry about’ isn’t fooling anyone.” She left.

I looked up at Paul, who was at eye level with the words over the library door. “What do you think?” I asked.

“It’s a little worrisome,” he acknowledged. “What bothers me is that this doesn’t look like it was written by the same person as the other two.”

I let that sink in for a moment. Were there
two
ghosts sending me strange and unsettling messages instead of just showing up to speak their piece? “What do you mean?”

“The handwriting’s different. The style is different. This is less neat but still carefully written to be legible.”

“I can barely read it from here, anyway,” I said.

That comment had the opposite effect of the one I was trying to induce. Where I’d been attempting to close down this line of inquiry, instead Paul swooped down, wrapped his arms around my waist, and lifted me up into the air to get closer to the ceiling, so I could get a better look. I managed to overcome the urge to yell, “Whoa!” when I realized what he was doing.

“You’ve come a long way,” I told him instead. I remembered a time when Paul had trouble picking a quarter up off a radiator in the den.

He didn’t respond. Even though the ghosts’ strength seems…stronger than that of a living person, it was probably still an effort to lift a whole human, and he had to concentrate. “Look at the message,” he said, making his best effort not to sound like he was straining. I gave some thought to cutting back on carbs and hitting the treadmill. As soon as I bought a treadmill.

Given a complete lack of options, I looked at the message close up. The words were still the same: “STOP GO UP.” But I realized almost immediately what had been making me uneasy about getting this near the ceiling to read this. “Put me down,” I said to Paul.

He returned me to the floor, which was a relief for both of us, I think. I made a point of not looking back up again. And he must have noticed that.

“I should have asked first before picking you up,” Paul said. “Did I startle you?”

I shook my head. “It’s not that. It’s just that I had a strange feeling about this message, one that I didn’t have with the other two. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to see it that close.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so abrupt.”

“No. It’s good that you were. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have seen what I saw up there.”

“Cobwebs?” Paul joked, trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t work.

I looked him straight in the eye, which must have meant that he was about ankle-deep in floor, because he’s a few inches taller than me. “I recognized the handwriting on this one, Paul. You were right. The style was different.”

Given a clue, Paul is as happy as a beagle given a chew toy. “You recognized it? Whose handwriting is it, Alison?”

“My father’s,” I said.

Twenty-four

Monday

Nan and Morgan Henderson were up early the next morning
, so my usual six o’clock alarm was just barely in time for me to get myself presentable and start a pot of coffee before they came into the den. Morgan was still bordering on bubbly over the investigation, which he called “the Laurentz case,” and Nan seemed very happy to have her husband in such a vital mood. I invited them into the kitchen, and they sat at the center island and drank coffee. I still had most of the breakfast feast I would have cooked had there been a blizzard last Tuesday, so I offered to cook them bacon and scrambled eggs. Yes, I
can
cook when I absolutely have to.

I did not mention the scrawl on the crown molding in the hallway. Explaining that it had been written by a ghost, and that it was, in my opinion, Dad’s handwriting, would have simply been too bizarre and it wouldn’t have advanced Morgan’s ability to analyze the situation any better.

“What’s on your agenda for today?” I asked. “More crime scenes?”

Morgan shook his head. “I think for our last full day here, we should concentrate on the Laurentz case,” he said. “Check in with Chief Daniels of the Monroe PD. Maybe he can tell me something he wouldn’t tell you. Daniels and I were in the academy together,” Morgan said smiling.

“I hate to take up your vacation doing my work,” I protested, but secretly, I was thrilled to have Morgan helping out.

Nan waved a hand at me. “Don’t give it a thought,” she said. “He hasn’t been this happy since he retired.”

“All right, then,” I agreed. I wasn’t about to try and dissuade them. “What do you think I should be doing?” I saw Paul slide in from the hallway through the stove. He was wearing a serious expression, though that wasn’t the least bit unusual for Paul.

“You’re going to the show with all Laurentz’s buddies tonight?” Morgan asked. I nodded. “Okay. Would you get us tickets, too? And during the day, if you have the time, you need to try to trace the person who left you those two messages, the one on your mirror and the one on your dresser.”

“I think I might have a lead on that,” I told Morgan, although “lead” might have been overstating it by a factor of about 185. “What time will you be back? I’m thinking for your last evening here, maybe I’ll actually make you dinner. It’s the least I can do.” Considering how poorly I cook, the very least.

“If the play begins at seven thirty, I think we should be back here at five the latest,” Nan said. “Morgan can make his inquiries well before then. And then maybe
I
can get some shopping done.” Morgan didn’t react, not even by repeating “shopping done.” He really was a changed man.

“Great. Let’s plan on dinner at six,” I said, thinking I’d ask Josh to come earlier so he could have dinner with us, too.

That would fit in nicely with the plan I was making for the day.

I heard Melissa starting to stir upstairs, getting ready for another inconvenient day of school. Then I suddenly remembered I’d been in the process of frying bacon and scrambling eggs. I looked at the stove.