Page 47 of Ghost in the Cupboard

“I know that it’s eat this or maybe nothing,” Ginny was saying, “but I still feel bad scooping this up. Even for the folks at the camp.”

I was methodically packing a bag for Sal in advance of her arrival, barely listening to Ginny talk. My mind was on the previous night’s events. Even though I liked to be present in most aspects of my life, I couldn’t get myself to focus. Thoughts kept swirling around my brain, invading every moment of every task I took on at the diner.

After my evening prowl into The Eternity Inn, I had gone home, made sure everything was locked up tight, and checked all the silver pieces in the corners of doors and windows. Then I’d cleaned up, crawled under the covers, and fell into a fitful sleep. When I woke up, my mind began racing with thoughts.

Breakfast went by in a flash I was so unfocused on my toast and coffee. I was barely able to remember my morning shower, getting dressed, and getting in my car to go to work. How I arrived at The Lunch Counter without running off the road was incredible. The fact that I’d been quiet all morning, lost in thought, and Ginny hadn’t mentioned, it was a miracle.

“I mean, tuna noodle casserole, Si?” Ginny said.

Her cooking spoon squished and squelched in the dishes as she served up portions into plastic to-go containers.

“They’re already homeless. Must we continue to punish them with tuna noodle casserole?”

I snapped another lid on another full container of the concoction as I made a humming sound with my throat.

Ginny said nothing, but she stopped talking, which let me know she had gotten the hint. I wasn’t in the mood, or capable, of carrying on a decent conversation. I could feel the clock ticking until the moment she asked me what was wrong, but I was delaying it for as long as possible. Of course, my answer would be that I slept poorly, had a crick in my neck, had a lot of work with my website, the usual excuses I made when I was in a mood. And she’d pretend to believe it.

Then I’d come in the next day, right as rain, and all would be forgotten and forgiven.

I found myself glancing at the front window every few minutes. The ghost that had been following me was staring through the front window, unmoving. Floating in the air outside, its eyes framed by the O in the diner’s name painted on the window, it refused to move. It was going to spend all day watching me as I worked. Until I left to go home for the day, I knew it would be there, watching me.

“Okay,” Ginny finally said, “you’ve been ho-humming all morning long. Ignoring me. What’s up, Si?”

“I didn’t—”

“Sleep well,” Ginny finished for me, drawing my attention from the window.

When I turned to look at her, her arms were folded over her chest, the cooking spoon still gripped in one hand. The sauce from the casserole decorated the spoon, but fortunately, it was clean enough that nothing was dripping off of it.

“Sorry,” I said automatically.

Ginny’s brow rose, crinkling her forehead.

“Are you okay?” she asked, going back to scooping up portions of the casserole. “Is the smell coming off this making you sick, too?”

Somehow, I managed to a chuckle.

“It’s just tuna,” I said. “It doesn’t smell bad. We’re in the Midwest. Stop acting so fancy.”

Ginny gave a genuine laugh. I shot a look at the window to find the ghost was still staring at me. I don’t know why I would have expected anything different. Once a ghost decides you’re a target, they tend to stick around them as much as they can. Travelers are the worst. Especially when they want something from you.

“This isn’t about Victor Grimm, is it?” Ginny asked. “The article?”

I looked at her.

“In the Grove Gossip?” Ginny asked. “Them mentioning his upcoming appearance in Dubuque and the ticket sales and all that?”

I snorted. “I didn’t know the Grove Gossip was still putting out…flyers?”

“Papers.”

“Sure,” I said. “If you want to call the one sheet of postings about local happenings a paper. I didn’t know they mentioned him.”

She nodded. “He’s got that show coming up in Dubuque next month. Thought maybe you—”

I waved her off. “I don’t care about Victor Grimm. He’s a fraud anyway.”

“A fraud who rakes in the dough,” Ginny said. “Heard he might be getting a T.V. show or something.”