Page 19 of Ghostridden
“Can I walk you home?” Ricky asked.
Tempting. So tempting. But I was trying to makegoodchoices for once in my life. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.”
I lifted my hand in farewell to Ricky’s family—his sister behind the bar, his mother pushing through the kitchen door with two sizzling platters of fajitas, and his father visible through the pass-through into the kitchen—and stepped out into the twilight.
Ghost’s Main Street was lined with brick storefronts, its sidewalks protected by striped awnings. There were honest-to-goodness parking meters along the curb, but they were all markedDonations only. There were also shorter metal posts with iron rings hanging from their tops, from the days when the regular mode of transportation had been horses.
I ambled down the street, the chilly breeze teasing my curls, smiling when I noted the needlework-and-occult shop, its window displays a mix of crystals, yarn, candles, and a variety of pointy things from knitting needles to athames. It was closed for the evening, as was a bakery, unfortunately, although music drifted out of the pub across from Taqueria Vargas. On thecorner, set back behind a white picket fence, was the Ghost Public Library. I peered at its sign in a neat patch of grass. Its hours were listed as Tuesday afternoon, all day Saturday, andBy Appointment.
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my fleece jacket as I crossed Main Street and headed down Iris Lane toward the house. Somehow, I wasn’t sure I could actually claim it asmineanymore.
Did I even want to?
I stood on the sidewalk, gazing up at it. The turrets, the gingerbread trim, the gables, the pristine spindlework. Did it hold secrets? Undoubtedly. But although most of its many windows were dark now, the house didn’t seem angry or threatening orominous.It seemed… lonely.
I could relate.
And despite last night’s events, I still loved the place. If the vandalism was caused by humans, I’d figure it out and stop them. My retired detective client’s book had alotof ideas for trapping criminals.
If the house truly was haunted? Well, Gil and I would just have to learn to cohabit with a ghost.
“Although I’d really rather it would stop trashing the books,” I muttered as I stalked up the flagstone walkway, digging my key out of my jeans pocket.
I squinted in the amber glow of the porch light as I aimed the key at the lock, but when I tried to insert it—
“What the—”
I crouched down and peered into the keyhole, and even in the dim light I could tell that it was once more packed with what looked like sawdust.
“Are youkiddingme?”
Heck, the lock had been clear when I left to meet Taryn and Ricky for dinner. I’d only been gone a couple of hours, for cripes’sake. No way could mason bees mount a nesting campaign so quickly.
Wait. Could they? What did I know? Nobody’d ever hired me to ghostwrite a book about native Oregon pollinators.
I stormed down the porch steps and rounded the corner of the house. When I spotted Professor DeHaven’s spectacles gleaming in her window, I eased back on my scowl and waved at her on my way to the keypad next to the garage door. Ricky had showed me how to reprogram it, so I punched in the code and crossed my arms, smirking in satisfaction as the door trundled up.
“Ha! Take that!”
I marched into the garage, giving my Civic a pat on my way past, and slapped the button to close the door. Since I didn’t want Gil to dart out into the darkness, I waited for it to shut all the way before I opened the kitchen door and stepped inside.
I’d left the lights on over the kitchen counter, as well as the hall light, the light on the second floor landing, and the lamp on the library desk. Hey, don’t judge or report me to the utility police. Whether my nocturnal visitors had been physical or phantasmagorical, I still didn’t want to come home to a dark house.
I shrugged out of my jacket and hung it on the back of a chair in the breakfast nook as Gil came trotting in from the hallway. “Hey, boy.” I picked him up and cuddled him under my chin as I considered what to do with the rest of my evening.
I was grateful for the gig Taryn had scored for me with her dad at the Manor, but with the state of my finances, I really couldn’t afford to turn down any work right now.
“What do you think, Gil?” I looked down at him and he touched my nose with his. “Maybe that boring memoir isn’t as bad as I recall.”
I hadn’t completely refused the job. Yet. I could take a look at the sample pages the prospective client sent me tonight and decide whether I could face it.
What I couldn’t face, however, was working at the desk in the library, the epicenter of last night’s… events. I didn’t want to go up to the sitting area in my bedroom, either. In fact, I might sleep on the family room sofa tonight. You know. Just in case.
I retrieved my laptop bag from where I’d hung it on a hook by the front door and settled down at the breakfast table. I closed the blinds. Although the backyard looked quite lovely in the light from the full moon, I didn’t fancy looking up to find my burglar—or something worse—staring in at me from the porch.
I booted up the laptop and opened the client’s file. “Oh, lord, Gil,” I muttered, “it’s actuallyworsethan I remember.”
I scrolled down. Maybe it got better. Not everyone knew how to craft a good opening hook. But page after page was just as—
