Some Like it Haunted (A Sophie Rhodes Ghostly Romane Book 2) (3 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

L
uckily, the day was so crammed full of patients there wasn’t any additional time to dwell on ex-boyfriends with amnesiac ghosts or villainous ex-wives with mysterious plots. Unluckily, the frenetic workday made for two exhausted people by the time the last patient walked out the door and we locked up for the day.

“I’m bushed,” Cal said, snapping his briefcase closed.

I ran my hands over the smooth cotton of his shirt sleeve. “Me too.”

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t feel like going home tonight. I can stop by Buon Italia for takeout and bring it to your place.” He nibbled my neck. “How does that sound?”

“Mm,” I moaned, loving his nibbles and the idea of Buon Italia pasta for dinner. Maybe Rachel hanging with Dianne was working in my favor. “It sounds perfect. I have wine.”

“Do you have the horn?”

“Trust me.” I tugged on his tie and bit his bottom lip. “I have the horn.”

Marmaduke made himself apparent. “A horn? You have a horn? Do you mean like a French horn? Or perhaps a bugle? I played the bugle as a young lad in Kent.”

“Marmi,” I said, feeling Cal’s hands tense as he held me, “we’re planning a romantic evening together.”

Marmaduke’s shoulders slumped. “Say no more.” He faded away slower than usual. “Say no more. I shall leave you be. Another evening alone, but do not fret. It is the plight of a ghost. Loneliness.” The word loneliness hung heavily in the air even after his visage had vanished completely.

Cal snickered quietly, and I gave him a little slap, feeling a twinge of guilt.

“He’s playing you,” he whispered.

“I know,” I whispered back. “It still works.”

“I can hear you,” Marmaduke said without making himself seen. “And by the by, I believe I have translated the innuendo intended when you referenced ringing the horn. That is not an error I shall make again. May your evening be...amorous.”

“See,” Cal said, “now we have permission.”

We made our way to the front door. “Not that I’m anxious to bring up your ex-wife,” I said, feeling the need to address the odd occurrence, “but what’s up with your mother and Rachel?”

He shook his head. “I’d like to know, and yet, I really don’t want to know, all at the same time. Hopefully it’s a one-day thing, and then she’ll remember how much she loathed the woman when we were married.”

I punched the code onto the alarm pad to set it for the night. “You don’t think Revolting Rachel is up to something?”

“Revolting Rachel? I thought you called her Raging Rachel.”

“I like mixing it up. Tomorrow I’ll try calling her Ratty Rachel.”

He laughed and opened the door. “What could she be up to? We’re divorced now. She can’t get anything from me.”

He was so sweet and innocent. That was what I loved about him.

Back at my apartment waiting for Cal and the pasta, I fed my one-eyed cat, Uno, and gave some love to my flying squirrel, Peter Pan, who, being nocturnal was just beginning to stir for his evening of activity.

I’d just finished putting Peter Pan back into his cage when someone knocked on my door.

Marmaduke materialized in the chair beside me. “I hope you don’t mind that I took it upon myself to peek, but I felt compelled to warn you that the guest who knocks is Shane.”

“Marmi, you’re my friend and I love having you around. Cal and I just need our private times.”

“Your apology warms my heart, and I say that with the utmost sincerity. But you needn’t. It is I who should apologize to you. I shall make a greater effort to keep boundaries.”

“Thank you.”

“Sophie!” Shane called through the door frantically. “You’re home, I saw your car. Please open up. I can’t take it anymore!”

I crossed my arms and stared at the door. “Guess I should let him in, huh?”

“He peeves me greatly, but I think it would be wise. The desperation in his voice is grievous.”

I opened the door to find Shane, his dark, wavy hair tousled, and very dark circles under his eyes. He leaned on the door frame, drained.

Myrtle, of course, was perky and plump, her cheeks as red as ever. “He ain’t doin’ nothin’ fer me. Just keeps starin’ at that toy in his hand and mutterin’ ‘Call me, call me, Sophie, call me.’ I think he’s got a problem in his head if you’re catchin’ my drift.” She knocked her noggin with her index finger a couple of times to drive the point home.

Shane pleaded silently with his eyes.

“Come in,” I said. “Both of you.”

Shane dragged himself to my couch while Myrtle floated in, inspecting my small one-bedroom apartment. “It’s a nice place ya got here.” She peered into Peter Pan’s cage. “That’s an odd lookin’ critter. Such big eyes.”

Peter Pan never reacted to Marmaduke, so I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t seem to notice Myrtle. Uno, on the other hand, hissed the minute she entered, and disappeared under my bed. He’d eventually grown accustomed to Marmi’s presence, but it had taken some time.

“Shane, you want something to drink?”

“You have a beer?”

“One left.” I took the last bottle of beer from my fridge, popped the top and handed it to him. “So,” I said, sitting at the opposite end of the couch, “why don’t you tell me how you two met.”

Myrtle settled between us and jumped right into the answer. “Sometimes I see people and sometimes I don’t, but...”

I held my hand up to stop her. “I’m looking forward to hearing your side of the story, Myrtle, so hold that thought, but I think it will be easier if I heard from Shane first.”

She crossed her arms and huffed. “Isn’t that a nice howdy-do? Be my guest. Let him talk.” She floated away.

Shane swigged the beer. He finally burped and looked at me. “I went to the store and bought ear plugs. Do you know, they don’t work? She’s there in my head all of the time. Yappity yappity yap.”

“Pull it together, Shane,” I said. “She’s not really in your head. It just feels that way because you can’t see her. Right now she’s in my kitchen.”

A plate rattled in my sink. “And apparently she’s a ghost who likes to move things.” I rolled my eyes. “Please don’t break anything, Myrtle.”

“I say,” Marmaduke said to Myrtle, “my own aptitude for moving objects is abysmal. Perchance, could you take it upon yourself to share with me how you do so with such ease?”

I turned back to Shane. “Where did she connect with you? Do you know?”

“Oh, I know alright.” He chugged down the rest of the beer.

“Slow down, buddy. I need you sober enough to tell me what happened.”

“You know Spencer House? In Old Town?”

Oh, boy. Did I know Spencer House. “You were there today?”

“Last night. I was on a call. They increase the number of haunted house tours this time of year because of Halloween. Two women got into a hair-pulling fight over their kids. So I show up, do my thing, nothing major. They both want to press charges, but I talk them out of it, the manager is happy, I leave. Except, just before I walk through that wrought iron gate out front, I hear a woman say my name. I turn around. No one is there. I don’t think much about it. Then I hear her again and I feel someone tap me on the back. I turn around again. I’m alone. Now I’m thinking that I’m just really imagining things because it’s this famous supposedly haunted house and it’s almost Halloween, you know?”

“I get it. Been there, done that.”

“And then my fingers went all tingly. I tried to look cool, cuz, you know, I’m a cop. But I got to my car as fast as possible. But before I could call in my location, she started jabbering a mile a minute. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”

“I certainly wasn’t sayin’ no such thing,” Myrtle said from the kitchen. “I ain’t never said no blah, blah, blah.”

“You’re the one. You’re the one. That’s what she kept saying over and over again. You’re the one.”

“The one? What do you mean by that Myrtle?”

“I already told ya. Don’t no one pay attention ‘round here? He’s the one that’s gonna tell me who I am.”

A quick knock on my door drew everyone’s attention. Cal walked in hefting a big brown bag from Buon Italia.

He stopped abruptly, obviously surprised at Shane’s presence. He closed the door and set the takeout bag on my round dining table. “Am I interrupting something?”

“That smells good,” Shane said. “Lasagna?”

Cal leaned against a chair. His expression was flat. “Spaghetti with meat sauce.” He slid me a questioning glance. “Sophie?”

I shrugged. “He just showed up.”

“Did you guys have plans?” Shane asked.

Cal pulled two Styrofoam containers from the bag. “Something like that.”

“Sorry, man.” Shane slumped over, cradling his head in his palms. “I’m not dealing with this so well. It’s...I hate to admit it, you know, but it’s...”

Cal picked up the empty brown bag. “Scary.” He folded it, pressing the seams neatly. “Yeah. I know what you mean.” He set the bag back down and pulled one of the chairs around from the dining table to sit. “So what do we know so far?”

I smiled. I knew the problem would take precedence eventually. He was the type of man who solved problems, regardless of circumstances. “Apparently, Shane picked up Myrtle at Spencer House yesterday. He can hear her, but can’t see her. And Myrtle thinks Shane can help her remember who she is.”

Cal’s head swiveled to find Myrtle. “Why?”

“Somethin’ about him,” she said. “Sometimes I seen the livin’ clearly and sometimes only a glimmer of sorts. But him I saw clear as day. He was talkin’ to another man. They was starin’ at somethin’ and I just felt a pull, you know?”

“Who were you talking to?” I asked Shane.

He shrugged. “A lot of people. It was a busy night.”

“That’s not much to go on,” I said.

Myrtle floated in circles. “I’ve been miserable for a long time now not knowin’ who I am or why I’m dead. But when I seen Shane, I knew he was the one that’s gonna save my poor soul.”

I got up from the couch. This wasn’t getting us anywhere, and I was too hungry to think straight anymore. Snatching up a plastic fork, I opened one of the containers and twirled spaghetti.

“I can’t believe I’m going to suggest this idea,” Cal sighed.

“Go to Spencer House?” I asked before shoving the forkful into my mouth.

He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Good. Now, if it blows up in our faces, I can say it was your idea.”

CHAPTER SIX

T
wo minutes into the drive to Spencer House, Cal’s mother called in a panic. Cal had her on the car speakers through his Bluetooth connection. The sun had set and we stared into the darkness with just Cal’s headlights and a few street lamps illuminating our way.

“Mom, are those sirens I hear?”

“Fire engines,” she said. “I smelled gas. I think your house might blow any minute.”

“My house isn’t going to blow up. Where are you?”

“On your front lawn. You’ll come home straight away, won’t you?”

“I’ll be right there.” He disconnected.

“It’s on the way,” I said.

“So we’re not going to Old Town?” Shane sounded more than a little desperate. He leaned forward from the back seat.

“My house is on the way,” Cal reassured him. “You can drop me off, go do what you need to in Old Town, and pick me up afterward.”

“Aren’t you worried about the gas smell?”

“She smells danger around every corner. She has the fire department on speed dial. It will be fine.”

It might have been fine if we hadn’t seen Rachel comforting Dianne when we pulled up to Cal’s house.

“Oh for crying out loud,” Cal groaned.

“What’s the problem?” Shane asked. “Don’t tell me we’re not going to Old Town.”

“The woman with the black hair is Cal’s ex-wife,” I explained.

Cal pulled up to the curb and shoved the gear into park. “This is not how I pictured this night going.” He threw open his car door and gave me a quick kiss. “Have fun at your haunted house. I’ll be dealing with my own demon here.”

“Good luck,” I said, crawling over to his seat to take the wheel. “I’ll be back.”

“You’d better be.” He closed the door and stomped off, a very unhappy man.

Shane climbed out to take a seat up front. “Thanks for this Sophie,” he said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I said, pulling out onto the road. “This could be a big dead end for all we know.”

Spencer House is a grand, three-story Victorian house set in the heart of Old Town Stephens City. Built in the mid-1800s, it went through many owners and renovations. At some point it had been converted to an apartment building, but when it fell into disrepair, was purchased in the 1980s and renovated as a historic house by the Old Town Historical Society. They offered tours throughout the year to help fund its upkeep. Some tours were historical and some ghostly in nature since Spencer House had earned a very distinguished history of being haunted.

I’d done the historical tour myself several years before meeting Marmaduke. While I didn’t see ghosts back then, I did experience many odd sensations, including shortness of breath, an odd feeling of my throat being constricted, and distinct moments of being chilled for no logical reason.

I parked the car three blocks from Spencer House, feeling lucky to find parking that close on a night just a week before Halloween.

Shane and I walked the brick paved sidewalks toward the majestic Victorian. A nearly full moon had risen in the sky, providing plenty of light. I pulled my sweater tight to keep the cool October air from making me shiver. Marmaduke and Myrtle floated silently behind us. It was the first time Myrtle had gone an extended amount of time without gabbing about something.

“Did you tell Amy about this yet?” I asked Shane.

He shook his head. “She’s been working long shifts at the hospital so I haven’t seen much of her.”

Amy was an ER nurse and a darned good one at that. She and I had become friends when I worked administratively at the Stephens City Police Department. That’s when Shane dropped me to date her.

“Well, maybe we’ll sort this mystery out quickly, and she won’t ever need to know.”

“Solving this thing tonight would be good. Can we get rid of it tonight?” He looked hopeful.

“There he goes calling me an ‘it’ again,” Myrtle complained.

So much for peace and quiet.

“She’s right you know,” I reprimanded. “She is a person.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He craned his head back in Myrtle’s direction even though he couldn’t see her. “Sorry about that. Don’t take it personally.”

We stopped in front of the brightly lit house. A sign pointed us to the back to purchase tickets for the Halloween Haunted History Tour. “I’m not even sure what to do when we get in there. I’m making this up as we go.”

“I guess maybe we’ll, you know, talk to other...” He let the sentence dangle, unable to finish.

“You can say the word, Shane. Ghosts. It’s not offensive. Calling them ‘it’ is rude, but they know they’re ghosts.”

“But saying the word makes it real.”

“Yeah, well, get used to that, buddy. You may be seeing a lot more of them from now on.”

“I don’t see one now.”

“Okay, hearing them then.”

Once we were in line for tickets, Myrtle made Marmaduke an offer he couldn’t refuse.

“Come on in, cutie. Let me show you around the place,” she said to Marmi.

Marmi harrumphed and fiddled with his hat, but followed her quite happily.

A young woman wearing a bonnet and a brown Victorian-era dress walked past the line, handing out brochures. “The next available tour is the midnight tour,” she said. “All others are sold out.”

I really didn’t want to do the tour, I just wanted in the house to see if there were other ghosts we could talk to. And I certainly didn’t want to be out after midnight. “Excuse me,” I said to the woman, “I was wondering if we could speak to the owner. Or maybe a resident manager. This is Officer Daniels, the policeman who responded to an altercation last night. He, um, thinks he dropped something in the house.”

“What did he drop?” she asked.

“I’d rather discuss that with a manager.”

She nodded. “Give me a minute. I just need to hand these out to the rest of the line, then I’ll go find someone for you. There’s a bench just inside that door there. Wait for me there.” She pointed to a black door with panes of glass. I was thankful to wait inside because it was warmer. Just a few minutes after sitting down, a man clothed in period gentleman’s slacks, shirt and bowtie walked our way. A tag pinned to his vest said his name was James Haviland. He smiled and extended his hand to Shane. “Officer Daniels,” he said. “What brings you by again this eve? Hopefully we did not call you here because of another fight?”

Shane shook his head. “No. No. I, um...”

“Mr. Haviland, this matter is somewhat sensitive in nature,” I said. “Could we talk somewhere privately?”

A concerned crease formed between his eyebrows. “Surely,” he said. “Surely. This way.” He stepped around us and ushered us into a room. He closed the door behind us. “This is my office. You can speak your piece here. Is this matter police-related?”

“Um...”

Poor Shane. He wasn’t himself since Myrtle.

“Not exactly,” I said. “Officer Daniels left here with something, or rather, someone. Well, sort of someone. We think he has acquired one of your ghosts.”

Mr. Haviland blinked quickly several times, the smile fading quickly from his face. “He has one of our what?”

“Ghosts,” I said.

He blinked some more. He wasn’t buying my story, but seemed at a loss as to how to refute it. Ah geez. I’d assumed that since he ran the place, I could just talk openly about Myrtle’s attachment to Shane, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Mr. Haviland, despite his position at Spencer House, wasn’t a believer.

The baffled expression on his face faded as a twinkle in his eye appeared. A smile tugged slowly into a wide grin.

“Am I being punked?” He squinted at Shane’s shirt. “Is there a hidden camera in your button?”

I winced. “You don’t believe in ghosts?”

His eyes narrowed the grin into a grimace. “Don’t tell me this is one of those news show exposés. I really don’t have time for this. It’s Halloween season. Officer Daniels, after our nice talk last night, I’d think you’d have more respect for me than this.”

“How long did you talk last night?” I asked Shane. Myrtle had mentioned that she first saw Shane when he was with another man.

“I don’t know, a few minutes. After the dust had settled. We’re both getting married soon. I showed him our engagement photo.”

“We have the same photographer,” Mr. Haviland added. “It’s a small world. But really,” he said, growing annoyed again, “this business about taking a ghost home with you. What’s that all about?”

“Where were you having this nice chat?” I asked them.

Mr. Haviland pointed. “Upstairs. The Red Room.”

A rapping on the closed door pulled his attention away from our business.

“Mr. Haviland,” a girl’s voice said. “Come quickly, please. We have a problem.”

He opened the door. “Can it wait? I’m in the middle of something here.”

The girl shook her head. Her eyes were wide and her voice shook with fear. A loud crash caused her to flinch. “No, sir. I really think you need to come now. To the Red Room.” A louder crash caused us all to jump. When we heard an eerie wail, Mr. Haviland dashed out the room and up the large staircase.

Shane and I followed on his heels.