“That’s Wilson’s,” I corrected.
Esther hummed, considering. “Then why is your handwriting all in the margins?”
“There was no way I was driving all the way down here without knowing what the woman stands for.” I switched my phone from one hand to the other so I could wipe my sweaty palm on my jeans. It had to be a million degrees and climbing.
“And what does she stand for?” There was a flip of a page on Esther’s end. She was still reading the margins. Probably disrupting my sticky note placement.
“A ton of BS,” I lamented. “But also, some sound business advice.”
In between the lines of paranormal bull, Rae Jones offered glimpses of a head for marketing. Iripped the seams of her writing to find a perfect, solid base. A base I could actually work with.
“‘Does it even matter if she believes her own lies?’” Esther read and paused to think before saying, “I mean, I would hope so.”
“Yeah?”
“Who wants to work with someone who doesn’t believe in what they’re selling?”
I tilted my head back and forth, allowing the question to occupy both sides of a scale. “I don’t know, I think it’s infinitely more interesting if a person doesn’t believe what they’re selling but can sell it.”
A good salesperson convinced you. An incredible salesperson sold you, themselves, and the rest of the world. That type of talent was game-changing. That type of knowledge was something I hadn’t been able to find in any books or videos.
“This investigation stuff is a”—I lowered my voice, cupping my hand around the phone’s speaker—“big scam. She can’t solve our string of bad luck.”
“Bad luck,” Esther repeated under her breath. She’d slowly started to subscribe to Wilson’s school of haunting thought over the past couple of weeks. He’d littered our entire living room with articles about ghosts and hauntings. We couldn’t have one conversation with the man without a tangent on the afterlife and crossing over.
“You were a professor,” I’d reminded him one night when his ranting had gone on long enough for his whiteboard to be filled with equations and doodles.
“Ofphysics. You can’t really believe in ghosts and the afterlife.”
“Being a professor is why I believe, Via,” he’d said.
“We’re all overworked. These things can easily be tricks of light. House settling. Clumsiness.”
“Right,” Esther’s tone was flatter than freshly laid concrete.
“It’s temporary. But good branding’s not.”
“You’re going to ask a celebrity paranormal hunter for branding tips?”
“She doesn’t have much else to offer.”
The line moved. My aching limbs rejoiced.
“Do you two think you’ll be okay for the night?” I pivoted. Every minute that ticked by, it was looking less likely I’d be able to drive back home tonight.
“We got this,” Esther promised. “I’m driving Wilson to The Inn tonight once I finish up chores here.”
Despite my disbelief, I didn’t like the idea of either of them staying on the ranch at night alone. Esther had taken too many falls off the ladder, and each one seemed to be worse than the next. “Sounds good.”
“One more order of business.” Esther released a barely audible sigh. “Dr. Klein called.”
My stomach churned. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to manage the sensation.
“He says he’s willing to do a payment plan,” she continued. “But it’ll include interest.”
Just what I needed. “Yeah, okay. Tell him to call me next time and take your number off his contact list.”
I wasn’t a fan of my one employee having to field my debtors. For practical and optical reasons.
