Page 4 of The Ghost of Christmas Present

“‘Mortimer Ashfield, Pine Ridge’s First Librarian and Beloved Educator Laid to Rest.’”

That name was familiar.

Yes! His black and white portrait hung downstairs in the nonfiction section, next to several other portraits of previous librarians. His was the first in the line, and that made sense now.

His picture was faded with age, even though the newspaper was kept carefully and in pristine condition.

Handsome and haughty. He had an aristocratic face—but there was a playful smirk just under the surface.

“Well, hello, former colleague. Thanks for getting this place up and running.” Louisa murmured, gently unfolding the paper.

“‘Mortimer Ashfield, beloved son of Pine Ridge, was taken from us all too soon, having only just turned forty years of age this November. Students and families praised a kind teacher with a sharp wit. Mayor Glynn spoke at length at his funeral services, commending the lifelong bachelor as a pillar of thecommunity gone much too soon. Ashfield’s sister, Mrs. Maria Scribner, read aloud the verse of her brother’s own making, stating he wanted it to be placed upon his headstone.

Think of me whenever you pick up a book, my dears,

So that every word you see will light the lamp of memory.

Let every page and every note bring smiles, never tears.

I’ll never really leave, my loves, wrapped in the letters of eternity.’”

Louisa sat for a long moment, the paper resting reverently against her bare knees.

Later on, it would occur to her that finding this obituary under a loose board was peculiar. At the moment, she was struck with a profound sense of loss.

Mortimer Ashfield was a beautiful, poetic soul—a colleague who clearly shared her passion.

“A hundred years too late, my love,” she whispered, letting the paper fall back into its hiding place.

This time she didn’t imagine it. There was a loud banging noise from the side of the attic.

“Damn wind. I hope we don’t lose power.” She slowly finished tidying up the mess she’d made, but moved the table a few feet over where it would be less likely to tip during “enthusiastic reading.”

Louisa slid the board back into place, dark eyes taking in the slender stack of books and papers. “When I’m in my Nancy Drew mood, I’ll take another look. I wonder if that was Mortimer Ashfield’s little hiding spot in the library. No. That wouldn’t make any sense. He wouldn’t put an article about his own funeral in there. Although, maybe someone close to him knew about this spot. Left it here. Like a little memorial.” Her sentences were coming out shorter, broken by yawns.

She struggled back into the depths of her soft cushion, snuggling in like a cat curling up in a warm seat. With theradiator right behind and the golden, glowing light from the lamp... Everything was warm and sleepy, including her muscles and nerves, sated by the quick orgasm she’d delivered with her own hand.

“Maybe he still haunts this old place. Geez, Mortimer. Getting quite a show, you dirty dog,” she chuckled with a sigh. “But seriously, one librarian to another—you should totally stop by and visit. And if you look that handsome and write like that—I don’t care if you are a ghost, I’m asking you out.”

Another loud bang right in the vicinity of the radiator made her eyes flare open—but they soon fell shut. Emotional roller coasters made her sleepy.

Chapter Two

Ghosts can pace. They pace a lot. Mortimer was an expert pacer, especially when things were weighing heavily on his mind.

She said, “A hundred years too late, my love.”

She said my love because you wrote the words “my loves” in your little maudlin deathbed poetry, you twit.

But she also said she’d date me.

She wondered if I were haunting the place.

And heavens, yes, I’m getting one hell of a show.

Mortimer’s pacing took him in front of the sleeping woman, and he quickly yelped and covered his eyes with one hand. Louisa’s limbs had relaxed and come uncurled as she sank deeper into sleep. One leg dangled over the edge of the cushiony chair that served as her bed, slender brown calf leading to an expanse of soft thigh that took on a silk-like sheen in the lamp’s faded glow. He daren’t look any higher.

But yet he looked.

---