Page 19 of Ghosts, Ghouls, and Growls
“Of course.” I nod, watching as she pauses to wave goodbye to the men with the equipment who are now heading out the front door. “I’m so sorry for your loss. This must be incredibly difficult.”
“Thanks,” Hazel says, a complicated expression crossing her face. “To be honest, I’m still in shock.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,she thinks to herself with theconfusion of someone whose emotional processing system has temporarily short-circuited.But Bizzy wouldn’t understand that.
I never judge anyone for their thoughts, especially about grief. People process trauma in wildly different ways—some sob uncontrollably, some make inappropriate jokes, and some feel nothing at all until it hits them weeks later while they’re in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. Grief is weird like that.
“Did you find anything worth recording last night?” I ask, genuinely curious.
Even if I have my doubts about the paranormal investigation business, their equipment is legitimately impressive.
“You won’t believe it,” Hazel says as her eyes light up with the excitement of someone who’s just won the supernatural lottery. “Heck, I hardly believe it myself.” She pauses as she tips her head. “But we did find something. If you’ve got a minute, I could show you now.”
“I’m all eyes and ears,” I reply, parking Ella’s stroller beside the counter.
Hazel sets up her phone on the edge of the marble counter just as Mom and Georgie bustle through the doors with all the subtlety of a hurricane that’s decided to take up residence in our lobby.
“There’s my precious angel!” Mom coos, making a beeline for the stroller and scooping up a still-sleeping Ella with the practiced ease of a grandmother who doesn’t believe babies need to complete full sleep cycles. “Come to Grammy, sweetie pie. Grammy is so sorry she missed your photo shoot this morning. Entirely Georgie’s fault, of course.”
“My fault?” Georgie sputters, adjusting her kaftan with indignation. “You’re the one who insisted we stop at Bean There, Done That for a triple shot espresso because, and I quote, ‘I refuse to face another pumpkin patch without caffeine reinforcements.’”
“And we would’ve made it here in time if you hadn’t flirted with the barista for fifteen minutes,” Mom counters with the exasperation of someone who’s been dealing with Georgie’s romantic adventures for far too many decades. “The poor boy was young enough to be your grandson.”
“Age is just a number,” Georgie says with a wink. “And that number was at least twenty-five.”
“I’m sorry you missed the photo shoot,” I tell them. “But you’re just in time to see what Hazel’s paranormal team caught on film last night.”
“Please tell me it’s a hot ghost,” Georgie says, peering over Mom’s shoulder at Hazel’s phone with the enthusiasm of someone who’s just discovered a new dating app. “Older, but no more than six hundred years—that’s my limit. After six centuries, the conversation just gets stale. All they want to talk about is the plague and how much better the jousting used to be.”
“Please, you have no limits when it comes to men,” Mom says with an eye roll. “Living or dead.”
“You know me well,” Georgie replies with an exaggerated waggle of her brows. “I’m an equal opportunity enchantress.”
The pets converge on our little gathering, with Fish leaping gracefully onto the counter, Sherlock sitting up attentively at my feet, and Fudge looking expectantly up at me until I give in and scoop him into my arms. Everyone knows I’m incapable of resisting pleading puppy eyes.
I know for a fact there aren’t any ghosts at the inn,Fish declares with the certainty only a feline can muster.I’d have seen them by now. Nothing escapes my notice.
There are ghosts at Halloween,Sherlock counters as if he’s clearly been researching supernatural protocols.Those are the rules. The veil gets thin and spooky things happen.
Yup!Fudge adds with enthusiasm, because apparently, even tragedy can’t dampen a Westie’s natural optimism.Heath used to say most ghosts are friendly. The scary ones just get all the attention!
I keep it to myself, but I can’t help wondering if the ghost we’re about to see might be Heath’s. The thought sends a chill down my spine despite the warmth of the inn.
The guests begin to clear out of the immediate area, so I wave Grady and Nessa over. “You two should see this, too.”
“We’re not missing it,” Grady says, practically vaulting over the counter in his eagerness. “Paranormal activity is my jam.”
“If there are ghosts in these halls, I’m asking for a raise,” Nessateases. “The job description said nothing about working alongside the dead.”I suppose they’d be better tippers than some of our living guests. It couldn’t get any worse.
I frown her way, but I’m grateful she didn’t say that last bit out loud.
Hazel taps at her phone screen, and we all lean in as the video begins to play.
“This was from last night before we called it quits,” she explains. “We steered clear of the crime scene but got a lot of footage from around it and then came into the inn. That’s where we saw this.”
The video shows the very bay window we’re standing near, looking much more ominous in the dark with only the orange twinkle lights providing illumination like tiny beacons in a sea of shadows. For a moment, nothing happens, then a faint blue aura begins to materialize like special effects in a movie with a really good budget. As the camera zooms in, the aura takes shape—a woman in a flowing white dress, her features becoming clearer with each second. And her face?—
A breath catches in my throat.
