These Haunts Are Made For Walking (Haunted Tour Guide Mystery Book 1) (6 page)

I was grateful for the subject change. As we walked up the stairs, Dana continued, “I have the best coffee this side of the Mason-Dixon line. But she still brings her own. Now I ask you, does that make any sense? I can take a hint though. She just doesn’t like my coffee.”

It was going to take a lot to get used to small-town life again. I didn’t have an answer for her. She did have a point though. Apparently the woman didn’t like her coffee. I would have felt the same as Dana if I had been in her situation.

“I do like your coffee,” Katherine said from behind us. “You just have a lot on your plate, so I try to lighten your load.”

I almost fell backward and dropped the tray of cupcakes. How long had Katherine been listening to us?

Katherine chuckled as she ascended the stairs behind us. “Is this woman putting ideas in your head, Ripley?”

“Oh, shut up, Katherine. You’re going to scare the girl. This is her first day at Bilson. Let her think we’re sane for at least another week or two.”

I chuckled.

“Do you like cupcakes, Ripley?” Katherine asked.

“Almost as much as I love books and the paranormal.”

She looked at Dana. “This girl is going to fit in just fine in Devil’s Moon. You see, Ripley, I always say, a cupcake a day keeps the sweet tooth away. You drop by Sugar Buzz and I’ll let you sample all our flavors. We’ve got red velvet, chocolate cherry cola, banana pudding, and my favorite, caramel bourbon cupcakes, just to name a few.”

My mouth had already been watering as I carried the tray full of sweets. After hearing her list, I knew I had to sneak one off the tray. They wouldn’t miss one.

“Is Marion here?” Katherine whispered.

Dana nodded. “I’m afraid so. That woman thrives on power like a vampire thrives on blood.”

Katherine chortled. “Dana, put down the
Twilight
books.”

Dana shrugged but didn’t argue her defense for Bella and Edward.

Once upstairs, we hurried down the hall and to the conference room. When we stepped into the room, you could have cut the tension with a knife. Marion and Sue sat ramrod straight in the metal chairs right across from each other. Both women had their arms crossed in front of their chests.

“Well, I’m not paying that much for rent, Marion,” Sue said.

“It’s just a little increase. I can’t believe you expect me to keep up that building and not charge more. What kind of friend are you, anyway?” Marion fumed.

Oh, boy. It was time for me to get out of there before they started throwing things at each other. I placed the cupcakes down, but the tray shifted and so did the cupcakes. The women’s voices grew louder as I straightened the cupcakes back into neat little rows. Once they were in order, I turned and rushed out of the room.

I returned downstairs to busy myself while waiting for the women to finish their meeting, relieved to escape the tense scene. But I jumped almost three feet in the air when I reached the reference desk. The woman I’d seen floating above the bookshelves now waited by the computer monitor as if she wanted to check out a Penguin classic. She was looking right at me. Jane Austen purred as she weaved around the ghostly woman’s Victorian skirts.

Suddenly the computer screen on the counter behind her lit up. I distinctly remembered turning it off. The cursor moved across the blank screen and wrote a name over and over again—
Annie, Annie, Annie, Annie
—until it had filled up the entire screen. In all the years I’d been fascinated with the paranormal nothing like that had ever happened.

My mouth gaped open but no sound came out. Could this really be the same woman I’d seen floating above the stacks? Her appearance was more solid this time, making her features stand out vividly. The longer I stared, the less transparent she became. Had she manipulated the computer screen?

“May I help you?” My voice squeaked.

She didn’t answer. Had I lost my mind? Maybe she was a real person and the stress had finally caused me to flip my lid. Yes, that had to be it. She was a living person and I had forgotten to lock the doors. She’d come to check out a book. In Victorian costume. See, there was a logical explanation. Though that didn’t explain why I’d seen her floating like a balloon at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

No, I couldn’t brush this off. I knew what was happening. I was finally seeing a real ghost. After all this time.

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed,” I said.

Talking to the ghost as if she was still one of the living was the only way to go. How else would I communicate with a ghost?

She gave me a warning with a point of her finger. Her eyebrows crinkled together in an expression that made her look like an old schoolmistress.

My phone dinged at that exact moment. This wasn’t the best time for a text message. I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked the screen.

Get used to me hanging around if you’re going to be the new librarian.

Wait… had the ghost just sent me a message? How had that happened?

Her eyes narrowed with a look of concern. The phone dinged again and I peered down at the screen.

You do realize that I’m a ghost?

I was realizing it more than I wanted to.

Jane Austen meowed loudly as if she was part of the conversation.

“But how are you sending me messages?”

My chest felt tight as I considered my next move. My heart thumped in a crazy rhythm. I gauged the distance to the phone, but realized her hand was practically resting on the receiver. It was just as well. Who would I call, Ghostbusters? Definitely not Officer Landon. If I called the police for assistance, they’d send someone with a straitjacket to carry me away. I was a haunted tour guide, for heaven’s sake. This was part of my job and now I was freaking out. Wasn’t this what I’d wanted all along? To see a real ghost?

A blinding flash of lightning followed by a shattering crack of thunder filled the room. I blinked and attempted to adjust my eyes. Maybe the woman was really just a shadow. Or a bookshelf. Nope, the shelves were behind me. Plus she’d sent me a text message. Text messages! Did she have an iPhone in her ghostly pocket? No matter how hard I tried to come up with a logical explanation for what I was experiencing, there was no rationalization. Maybe I was having an honest-to-goodness nervous breakdown. This was it. I’d finally gone cuckoo.

“What do you want with me?” My gaze was transfixed on her.

The first day on the job and I’d already cracked. How did I get myself into these messes? I was a magnet for disasters. I sucked in a deep breath and forced myself to look at her. Really look at her. She smiled and then stuck her hand out and it shot right through the counter.

I stumbled back and let out a gasp. “How did you do that?”

Besides that counter maneuver she looked as solid as any living person now. The arms of her ivory-colored dress swooshed every time she moved.

Her cheekbones became prominent as she flashed a warm smile. My phone chimed again and I raced to look at the message.

It’s what we ghosts do, dear.

She really had this texting thing down. “How are you doing that?” I asked.

Another message on my phone.
Need to get upstairs to the book club meeting. Attend every week. Don’t want to miss out. Book is downright riveting.

I shook my head. This was not happening. Hey, maybe I could feature a book pick of the month from the resident ghost. Yeah, the board members would love that.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if you’d like to come back tomorrow when the library is open, I’m sure I can help you find the books you’re looking for.” I tried to sound crisp and professional.

Now I was just babbling. Why was I trying to pretend this wasn’t happening? I should be embracing this experience.

She smiled and my phone indicated another message.

My name is Annie Gibson. I’m the librarian. I’ve been the librarian here for many years. Well before you were even born.

“And I’m the fairy godmother. Now where did I leave my magic wand? Oh, right, maybe the Easter Bunny took it. Ghosts don’t send text messages!”

I had a tendency to get a bit snarky when nervous. It was either that or run away.

Please remember your manners. I’m here to help you, dear. There is no need to be rude.

“Me being rude? I’m not rude,” I said. Did I sound a wee bit defensive? Was I being charged for these messages? Good thing I had the unlimited text message plan.

From what I’ve seen so far, you’ll need my help.
Now this little old lady ghost was insulting me.

I waved my hands. “Okay, if you say so.”

I let out several deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating. What should I do now? I couldn’t tell anyone. They’d think I was crazy and fire me immediately. I definitely couldn’t tell Brannon Landon. He’d have the Ghostbusters over here faster than I could say Casper the Friendly Ghost. And then the board would fire me. I wanted to know how she was doing this.

I turned my back on Ms. Annie Gibson and began flipping on light switches. It would be completely dark soon and there was no way I was roaming around this place in the dark with a ghost following me. Again, why was I scared of a ghost? I was used to this kind of stuff. I walked around graveyards and haunted building all the time, but I’d certainly never expected to communicate with a ghost… via text message.

“I don’t think following me is the best idea. What do you want?” I said over my shoulder.

Jane Austen hurried along beside me, meowing loudly.

“See, you’re scaring the cat,” I said.

I glanced down at my phone and got the message.
Little Jane loves me.

Annie wiggled her index finger, beckoning the fluffy feline closer. The cat sauntered over to Annie, then brushed up against her leg. The traitor. I couldn’t believe the cat picked a ghost over me.

Thunder rolled again and I jumped. The sound sent shivers chasing down my spine.

Get used to working with me. Been here since 1884. Not going anywhere anytime soon. Library is where I want to be.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in heaven or something? How did you get here?” I quickened my steps.

All questions I wanted to know the answers to. But I was torn. Talk to the ghost and possibly have the board find out about it—or ignore her and forever wonder about the unknown.

It didn’t look as if she would give me a choice though. There was no getting away from her. She moved along behind me as I straightened books on the shelves.

My phone hadn’t received this many texts in… well, forever.

Don’t place book like that. Shift a little to the left.

When I looked up from my phone, she motioned with a wave of her hand. I stopped and shifted the book ever so slightly.

Better.
Now do something about that terrible coffee they’re trying to give customers.
She punctuated the message with a frown and shook her head.
Cookies not much better.

“Now the ghost is telling me how to do my job,” I mumbled.

She did have a point about the coffee and cookies. The cookies had already caused one injury today. I supposed Annie Gibson was trying to help, but she had to realize it was a bit of a shock to the system to see a ghost for the first time, one who talked, no less.

They can’t see me though. You’re the only one who sees me.

“Lucky me,” I said drily.

You should be aware of the books that your patrons like and want.

More unsolicited advice? “Mrs. Gibson, do I look like a walking card catalog? I don’t know every book ever written. I’m good, but I’m not that good.” I paused, then said, “So, you’re saying I’m the only one here who can see you?”

I needed to get a hold of myself. I was being quite snippy to this ghost. I had no idea what kind of haunting she was capable of, so maybe I should be a little nicer.

I may be old, but I stay current with the times. Why, I even know about that Twitter and Facebook stuff on the internets.

I bit my lip to stifle my laughter. “It’s the internet.”

She wiggled her finger.
Don’t be sassy. It’s not becoming. Now, back to the books. The first one in the series is
Hidden Secrets
, then there’s
Chilling Secrets
, and the last is
Deadly Secrets
. All by an author named Ted Alistair. If you like a good mystery novel, then you’ll love the books. They are quite good. I’d even go as far to say that they’re addicting.

“Why are you telling me about these books? I have more important things to worry about. Like my sanity.”

You don’t have to be so testy about it.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so tough on her. After all, she was dead, bless her heart.

The lights flickered off, then back on as a flash of lightning lit up the sky. As I stood there in a showdown with this ghost librarian, a woman’s scream pierced the air. Annie Gibson and I locked eyes. Then my feet couldn’t move fast enough as I raced toward the stairs. Had one of the women seen the ghost of Annie Gibson? The appearance of a see-through woman was scary, sure, but did it warrant that dramatic of a reaction?