“Compared to what?” Jeannie was still close enough to me that I could hear her murmur, but Kerin was out of range.
“I know!” I pretended to be enthusiastic. If Kerin could, I could. “How have you been?”
Kerin twisted her face into an expression she must have thought looked contemplative but came across sort of constipated. “It’s been a trial,” she answered. “But I think we’re through the rough spots now.” The “rough spots” presumably included Kerin’s husband and all of Harbor Haven finding out about her affair with a real estate mogul. For this, I was fairly sure, Kerin blamed me. I’d been the one who’d discovered the truth while investigating Paul’s and Maxie’s murders, but it wasn’t my fault that everyone else in town had found out. I don’t run the local newspaper.
I just have a good friend who does.
“I’m so glad to hear it,” I lied. “You remember Jeannie, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Kerin said flatly. She didn’t need to be nice to Jeannie, because Jeannie lived in storm-torn Lavallette (although her home was intact), not Harbor Haven, and her son, Oliver, still less than a year old, would probably never attend Harbor Haven schools. Therefore, Jeannie, in Kerin’s world, didn’t exist.
“I feel exactly the same way,” Jeannie said, taking Kerin’s hand in hers.
I flashed a look at Jeannie in the sort of language only very close friends can exchange without fear of retribution, and she let go of Kerin’s hand. “Well, we should be moving on,” I said pleasantly. Sort of pleasantly. I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually gnash my teeth.
“Oh, I don’t want to hold you up,” Kerin said. “But I’m wondering. Why didn’t you help Everett with his problem?”
Huh? “I’m sorry?” I said. That’s the polite version of huh?
“Everett,” Kerin repeated, as if it were the identity of the homeless man that was the confusing part of the question. “He wanted you to help him with a ghost problem. Why didn’t you?”
Jeannie’s face hardened, but she knows I don’t let her off her leash unless I think I can’t handle the situation myself.
“You were listening to our conversation?” I asked, just to buy a little time and try to figure out Kerin’s motives.
“Well, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she said, affronted at the very notion. Clearly, this was my fault. “But I was right there.” She pointed to where she had stood, perhaps in an attempt to prove she’d been there.
“Must have been hard to ignore,” Jeannie said. “What with us speaking at normal volume and everything.”
I’d say the situation was threatening to turn ugly, but it hadn’t been that gorgeous when it had started. “I didn’t help Everett because I can’t help him,” I said. “I’m not a social worker, and I’m not a psychiatrist.”
“No,” Kerin agreed. “You’re the ghost lady.”
Jeannie made a sound like pfwah, which indicated that she considered Kerin’s comment something other than brilliant.
“I’m aware that’s what people around town call me,” I said, through what I hoped were not clenched teeth. “But you should know better, Kerin.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I know better than to know better.”
Kerin had witnessed actual ghostly behavior at my house and had gone around telling many people in town what she’d seen. Rumors had always circulated about my house being haunted, but everybody sort of believed them in the abstract, not the concrete. Kerin’s assertions had been dismissed as the lunatic ravings of a vengeful mind. Because that was more fun.
“You don’t really buy all that stuff, do you?” Jeannie asked.
“It doesn’t matter what people say,” I attempted. “I couldn’t help Everett, or I would have. But his problem isn’t something I can fix.”
Kerin narrowed her eyes. “Of course,” she said. “Well, I’ll see you around town, Alison.” She turned and walked away without acknowledging Jeannie again.
Jeannie shook her head as she watched Kerin turn the corner and disappear. “People in this town are awfully protective of that homeless guy,” she said.
“We are,” I agreed as we headed back to where Jeannie’s car was parked. “He’s a local institution.”
“Your pal there is the one who belongs in an institution,” she said, gesturing toward Kerin’s last known location. “The ghost lady. Really.”
Really.
No. Really.
I had to admit, the ghost-lady thing was more than just a rumor about the house being haunted. See, the ghosts are sort of an asset to my business, in a strange way. (As if they could be an asset in anything but a strange way.) Just before I opened for guests, I was contacted by a company called Senior Plus Tours, which provides vacation experiences with a little something extra to people over a certain age. Someone at the tour company had heard tales of spooky happenings at 123 Seafront—in part because word had gotten to them of the shenanigans the night Kerin was there—and offered me a deaclass="underline" Senior Plus Tours would guarantee a certain number of guests per season as long as I could assure them there would be ghostly “interactions” at least twice a day.
So I took the proposal to Paul, easily the more approachable of the two dead people in my house, and he’d agreed that he and Maxie—who took some persuading—would put on “spook shows” twice a day and cooperate at other times with the guests so I could start my business with a boost.
But Paul wanted something in return. He’d been just getting started as an investigator when his life had been cut short, and he had loved the work. He wanted to “keep a hand in,” and in order to take on the occasional investigation, he needed a partner (or as Paul put it, an “operative”) who had the advantage of still being able to breathe. He also needed someone who could leave the house and its surrounding property since Paul was unable to do so. And he needed someone who could talk to living people and be heard.
In other words, he needed me.
I had agreed, probably without thinking about it hard enough, to train for and receive a private investigator license, which I kept in my wallet mainly to impress the supermarket checkout “yenta” who loves to ask about everyone’s business. I had never intended to actually put the license to use, but Paul had other ideas. So once in a while, when Paul conjures up what is usually an already dead client, I do the legwork on an investigation and let Paul do the thinking. I know that seems backward—I should be the one out of harm’s way because nothing more can happen to Paul—but circumstances force us into illogical situations.
“People will just believe anything they hear, won’t they?” Jeannie asked, bringing me out of my reverie. Oh, yeah. Walking back to Jeannie’s car. Right.
“Anything they think is fun,” I agreed.
“I have to admit, you’ve done a great job of selling that ghost thing, got you a lot of business,” she said. We stopped, having reached her minivan. I’ve learned not to belabor the whole ghost subject with her. “You go get back to work,” I said. “I’ve got to get some cleaning done before I pick up Melissa, and then I have a new crew of guests on the way.”
Jeannie chuckled. “It sounded like you said you had a new crew of ghosts on the way,” she said, getting into the van. I waved her off and turned to head back to my vintage (that is, falling-apart) Volvo.
A new crew of ghosts? Bite your tongue, Jeannie.