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“So I know you don’t need it,” Francine said, “but can I help you?”
Cam’s first reaction was to say no thanks. But she was starting to suspect that her usual go-it-alone routine wasn’t doing her any favors. And Francine’s enthusiasm was a nice counterbalance to her own attitude toward this ghost, which felt like curiosity tempered with a pinch of annoyance. Cam had her own problems to deal with, and at the moment, she wasn’t too thrilled about taking on some dead woman’s issues, too. But still, she couldn’t shake the sound of Ada’s insistent voice. And from what she knew about hauntings, which was admittedly not much and probably gleaned from bad movies, she figured that this ghost wouldn’t leave her alone until she had gotten what she wanted.
“You know what,” Cam said finally, “I would love that. Do you want to meet me at the library tomorrow? I think we need to get to know a little bit more about our ghost.”
Francine drove Cam home, and they made a date for the following morning. As Francine pulled her truck up to Birdie’s house to drop her off, Cam noticed an unfamiliar car parked on the street out front. It had out-of-state tags, which struck her as unusual. Did Birdie have guests?
The answer, Cam found when she swung open the door to the kitchen was yes—and no.
“Summer Sister!” cried Avery, getting up from the table where she and Birdie had been sitting with mugs of tea.
“What the heck are you doing here?” Cam asked as she threw her arms around her cousin’s willowy frame. She was thrilled to see her but seriously confused. “You’re supposed to be in Budapest.”
“It was freezing there, and I was miserable,” Avery said. “And then I got a call from a gallery that wants to show my work in New York, so I had to head back to the States anyway. But I don’t have to meet with the gallery people until next week, so I thought I would pop in to Ye Olde Silver Cove and have a little visit.”
Despite her joy at the idea of spending time with her beloved cousin, Cam was instantly suspicious. Avery had flown halfway around the world to check up on her, she just knew it. Birdie, though, seemed oblivious to her granddaughter’s ulterior motives.
“It’s so good to have both my girls here, even if it is kind of a mess at the moment,” she said, joining them and drawing them both in toward her. “It’s been too long.”
Parsley jumped up from his cozy bed near the space heater and joined the cluster of women, putting his front paws on Cam’s leg. Avery scratched his ears, and he gave a soft bark of happiness.
“But wait. Can we even be Summer Sisters in the middle of winter?” Cam asked with a smile. “Is that like wearing white after Labor Day or something?”
“No one follows that rule anymore,” Avery answered confidently. “Besides, despite the name, Summer Sisters are for all seasons.”
Birdie soon shooed them off to bed, just like she had when they were girls, and Cam didn’t even bother protesting the way she might have long ago. She was tired, and she knew Avery was exhausted after her international flight and long drive to Silver Cove. Whatever her cousin’s reason for coming, Cam was glad to have her there, in the twin bed opposite hers.
“I’m about to sleep like the dead for twelve straight hours,” Avery informed her when the two women were settled in under their matching quilts. “But tomorrow, I want to hear all about your ghost. And this snack of a carpenter. And Izzy Jones. I want every last detail.”
Aha, Cam thought. So much for Avery’s cover story about a random visit. “Better rest up, Summer Sis, because that is going to be one epic tale.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I just love the smell of old books,” Francine said in a hushed voice, inhaling the air in the periodicals section of the Silver Cove Public Library. The library was bright and modern, having been renovated a few years back, but the scent brought to mind an ancient lair filled with leatherbound volumes. “You know, I read that it actually comes from mold and mildew, but I don’t care. I would wear a perfume that smelled like this.”
Cam sniffed appreciatively. She preferred cooking smells, and not even just the sweet ones. Shallots softening in butter. Beef bourguignon simmering in a heavy pot, with the meaty aroma mingling with the sharper notes of red wine… She snapped her thoughts back to their present circumstances and checked the delicate cookbook she had brought with her in a canvas bag. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go ID a ghost!”
“This is so exciting!” Francine replied.
The two women passed a row of computer stations and approached the main desk.
“Hi,” Cam greeted the man behind the counter. “We’re looking for Miles?”
“That would be me,” he said, straightening up and giving them his full attention. Although he had gray at his temples, his face had a boyish look, and his round glasses gave him a slightly Harry Potter–esque appearance. Appropriate, Cam thought. He was wearing a sweater vest in an apparently unironic way. “Miles Brooks, head librarian. How can I help you?”
“I’m Cam Parker,” she said.
“And I’m Francine Jensen,” her friend chimed in.
“Roxy Shipman suggested I come talk to you,” Cam continued, and she noticed that Miles sat up even taller at the mention of the mayor’s name. Roxy had that effect on people, it seemed. “I’m… I mean, we’re looking for information about a woman who lived in Silver Cove in the 1920s, we think. She identified herself as A. Poulson, and Roxy seemed to think it might be an Ada Poulson that we’re looking for?”
Miles nodded in apparent recognition of the name. “Ada Poulson was the maiden name of the woman who married Marshall Merriweather, whose name you probably know quite well.”
“Of course—he’s the author of Stormy of Silver Cove!” Francine replied, and the name instantly clicked in Cam’s mind, too.
“Yeah, if you grew up here, you pretty much got fed a steady diet of Marshall Merriweather in school,” Francine continued. “I think we were all assigned essays on him in fifth grade. I remember decorating the cover with yarn. He had a big beard, right?”
“Yes, a very impressive one.” Miles chuckled as he stood and walked around the counter, motioning for them to join him. “The bookshop and gift store in town actually sell fake beards in honor of it. Here at the library, we have a section that’s devoted just to Marshall Merriweather and Stormy.” He led them past a glass door to the children’s reading room, where a story-time reading was underway. A group of what Cam guessed were six- and seven-year-olds were clustered at the feet of a woman wearing a hat like the one in Dr. Seuss’s The Cat in the Hat, which was the book she held open. They looked transfixed. Books really did have magical powers, even the ones without a ghost living in their pages.
