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Jenn and I had met on the first day of preschool and become BFFs. No idea why. We were so different it was scary and yet... we worked.
Even without the long, perfect mane of golden hair and equally gorgeous face, complete with a pert little nose—although this Jenn’s nose was actually her nose, plastic surgery being a no-no in New Bergin—Jennifer Anderson was too close to Jennifer Aniston for high school kids to resist. When she’d begun dating the only Brad in town, she’d just been asking for it. As a result, one did not mention Friends, or Brad for that matter, ever. Do not get her started on Ross.
Jenn, who was several inches shorter than me, had to take three steps to my one. The flurry of her tiny feet, combined with the spiky ponytail atop her head, made her resemble a coked up Pomeranian.
“Where’s the fire?” she asked.
A breeze kicked up, making her silly hairstyle waggle. For an instant, I could have sworn I smelled smoke; I even heard the crackle of flames.
But if there were a fire, the local volunteer fire department would have been wailing down First Street by now. Which meant...
I turned my head, and I saw him. Nothing new. I’d been seeing this one for as long as I could remember.
Clad in black, he reminded me of the pictures in the Thanksgiving stories I read to my kids. Puritan. Pilgrim. One or the other. Although why the Ghost of Thanksgiving Past had turned up in Wisconsin I had no idea. According to the stories all those persecuted Puritans had lived, and died, on the East Coast.
Maybe he was Amish.
Neither case explained the sleek black wolf that was often at his side. The creature’s bright green eyes were as unnatural as the creature itself.
Every time I approached, they melted into the woods, an alley, the ether. Unlike all of the other specters that just had to talk to me, neither my Puritan, nor his wolf, ever did.
Jenn snatched my elbow. Considering our daily walk, you’d think she’d be in better shape.
I slowed, and as soon as I did the man in black—no wolf today—went poof. Now you see him—or at least I did—now you don’t.
He’d be back. Most of the ghosts went on, eventually—wherever it was that they went—but not that guy. Some day I’d have to find out why.
“Sheesh,” Jenn muttered. I’d started speed walking again. She stopped, leaning over and setting her palms on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.
I kept going; the sense of urgency that had plagued me as soon as my Keds touched First Street that morning had returned.
“You—” Deep breath. “Suck!” Jenn shouted.
I squashed the temptation to comment on her shoes, which were too high for walking and too open toed for a northern Wisconsin October. But then, as Jenn always pointed out, she didn’t have to chase children. Ever.
The days of a school nurse had gone the way of the Dodo. If a child became sick, they were sent to the office—Jenn’s office—then sent home.
Certainly they puked, or sneezed, but usually not on her. Her fashionable clothes discouraged it—today’s body-hugging, red sweater dress appeared fresh from the drycleaners—her attitude ensured it. The instant a student walked into her office, she jabbed a pointy, painted nail at the bank of chairs against the far wall. If they puked or sneezed, they did it over there.
Jenn always told me my comfortable jeans, complemented by soft tees and sweatshirts, often of the Packer, Brewer, Badger variety, invited disaster. Maybe so. But at least I matched everyone else in New Bergin.
Except Jenn. Funny how she was the one who fit in.
I reached the cross avenue B—those New Bergin founding fathers had been hell on wheels in the street naming department—and stopped so fast I nearly put my toes through the front of my shoes.
Gawkers milled about, blocking the sidewalk and spilling into the road, but since the police had roped off the avenue they weren’t in danger of becoming people suey.
Brad Hunstadt—yeah, that Brad, Jenn’s Brad, make that ex-Brad—stood on the inside of the rope, arms crossed, face stoic. He’d only recently joined the force following the relocation of another officer to Kentucky so he could be nearer to his grandchildren.
Before that, Brad had been kind of a loser. He might be pretty—like the famous Brad—but he’d never been a candidate for rocket science school. He’d graduated from high school, gone to tech school. I’m not sure for what because he’d never worked for anyone but his father, the local butcher, until now. Jenn and I figured his daddy had paid someone off to get Brad out of his business and into another.
As I approached, my gaze was drawn to the woman standing at the edge of the crowd, staring at the dead body propped against the wall of Breck’s Candy Emporium—home of twenty-five different types of caramel apples. The staring itself was not remarkable. Who wasn’t? What was remarkable was that this woman could be the twin of the one she stared at.
She was a stranger—believe me I knew everyone—in a place where strangers stuck out, even when they weren’t covered in blood and lying dead on the sidewalk.
I’d seen hundreds of ghosts, but each one still made my heart race. They were dead. I could see them. It was hard to get used to, and really, I probably shouldn’t.
“Huh.” Jenn had caught up. “I can’t remember the last time we had a murder.”
