Page 31 of Haunted Ever After

Cassie nodded. “He said that Nan…er, Mrs. Simpson…? Your grandmother? That she might be able to help me hammer out some peace with Mrs. Hawkins.”

“Hawkins?” The name was a squeak coming out of Libby’s mouth. “You live in the Hawkins House? Oh my god, I can’t believe I didn’t clock the address when you said it!” Computer forgotten, she put her elbows on her desk, cradling her chin in her hands. “This is great. Tell me everything.” Libby’s entire demeanor had changed from the professional receptionist Cassie had first met. Now she was less “filling out an intake form for a new client” and more “fishing for some great gossip.” But Cassie could roll with casual, and there was something so friendly about Libby’s big blue eyes, like she was the kindest cheerleader on the squad. The one who’d do your hair for you in the bathroom between classes and always had gum. It didn’t take long to tell her everything that had been happening since she moved in.

Partway through the story Libby had turned back to her computer, typing things in. “And nothing’s happened since then?” She didn’t sound judgmental, or like she didn’t believe Cassie. They could have been discussing symptoms of a cold.

“No. Things have been pretty quiet.” Sure, Cassie held her breath every time she went anywhere near the fridge, but nothing had changed since last Friday night. None of the magnetic poetry words had moved; my house remained in the middle of the refrigerator door. Cassie sure as hell wasn’t going to touch them. And at this point, they were, what, evidence? “Do you think she left already? Like made her point and then got the hell out?”

The thought gave her hope, but those hopes disintegrated when Libby shook her head. “I wouldn’t think so. If she went to all the trouble to let you know it’s her house, she’s not planning on leaving anytime soon. But don’t worry,” she hastened to assure Cassie. “If she was going to hurt you, she would have done it by now.”

Cassie wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She hadn’t even considered that being hurt was on the table. So she settled for a feeble “Yay?”

“That’s the spirit. No pun intended.” Libby grinned as she picked up the phone on her desk—an old-fashioned push-button landline that looked like a movie prop—and started punching in a number. She held up a finger to Cassie as the call connected. “Hey, Nan? I’ve got someone here with a job. I think you’re really going to want to—”

“Have the boy do it.” The voice on the other end was cantankerous, and loud enough that Cassie could hear it through the receiver.

“No, I think you’re going to want to—”

But the woman on the other end wasn’t letting Libby finish a sentence. “You know I’m getting too old to travel, Liberty. Like I said, let the boy do it. He should be able to handle—”

“The boy is doing that job up in Savannah, remember?” Libby was finally able to cut in by speaking a little louder, a little firmer. “You sent him up there last week.”

There was silence on the other end before Nan spoke again. “Shit. I forgot.” Her voice was contrite, and there was a little wobble in it.

“It’s okay, Nan,” Libby said smoothly. “I have the calendar right here in front of me. That’s why I remembered. And you pay me to remember, right?”

Another silence, broken by a sigh. “Right. So where is it?”

“It’s right here in town. The Hawkins House.”

There was no silence this time. “What?” Nan barked. “Are you shitting me?”

“I am indeed not shitting you.” Libby glanced up at Cassie with a grin, and Cassie couldn’t help but grin back. She tried to picture having this kind of relationship with either of her grandmothers. One had died when she was too young to remember her, and the other had called Cassie a slut in the seventh grade when her bra strap showed under her sundress. “The new owner’s here, and we think she may have met Sarah Hawkins. Had a couple run-ins, and she’d like us to come check it out.”

“Damn right I’m going to check it out. Tell her I can be there on Monday. Noon or so.” Libby raised her eyebrows in Cassie’s direction, and she nodded in confirmation. Once they hung up, Libby bounced in her seat, clapping her hands together like a child on her way to Disney World. “I knew she’d be excited. She’s been dying to get into that house for years. No pun intended.”

“People do that a lot around here.” Cassie had never realized until now how many ghostly idioms existed in the English language. If she stuck around she was probably going to hear them all.

First things first. Before she decided if she was sticking around, she needed to get these ghostly distractions out of her life. And out of her house. Enough was enough. It was time to confront Sarah Hawkins.

Fifteen

Monday at eleven forty-five there was a knock on the door. Well, not so much a knock as a pound. Nan Simpson was early.

Cassie closed her laptop with a snap; she hadn’t been all that focused anyway. In fact, she’d been scattered all morning. The appointment on the calendar—with an actual ghost hunter!—had activated waiting mode in her brain, so she couldn’t concentrate on this project brief she was supposed to be reviewing (and removing Oxford commas from, which hurt every time she did it because the Oxford comma was the only good comma, but all these briefs had to follow AP style for some reason…but she digressed). So even though Mrs. Simpson was early, the knock on the door was a welcome relief. Maybe she could be more productive after this was over.

Cassie wasn’t sure what she expected a ghost hunter to look like. Certainly not like the kindly looking grandmother on her front stoop. She had gray-white curls and wore a purple velour tracksuit in the Florida heat; a large bag made of crocheted granny squares was slung over her shoulder.

“You Cassie?” The question was a bark out of the older woman’s mouth. So much for kindly looking.

“That’s me. Mrs. Simpson?”

“Call me Nan.” Cassie barely had time to nod and step back from the doorway before Nan stepped inside.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee? I think I have some iced tea in the fridge, or a Diet Coke?” Cassie was halfway to the kitchen before realizing that Nan hadn’t followed. She turned to find the old woman in the center of the living room, eyes closed, breathing deeply. It was a little disturbing, but maybe this was part of the process? Cassie didn’t know anything about ghost hunting.

After a few moments of silence Nan opened her eyes again.

“Coffee would be great. Black.” She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and took a slow turn around the living room, examining everything. “This the original floor?” She tapped on the floor with the toe of one running shoe. Nan didn’t look like the kind of person who did a lot of running.

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