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She reached inside the pockets of her tight little shorts to produce a folded up sheet of paper. “Go ahead and see for yourself,” she urged. “It’s a copy of an email I received six hours ago.”
Tom unfolded the paper and began reading while Rusty hung over his shoulder.
To: [email protected]!magazine.com
From: [email protected]
Dear Ms. Frazier,
I am writing to tell you how much I enjoy your magazine and the many entertaining articles I’ve had the privilege to read over the years. My particular favorite is the one about Perky the duck, who was shot by a hunter, presumed dead, and then later “came to life” and ended up being adopted by the wildlife people. What a heartwarming story! The author of the article seemed to have such empathy for her subject matter and, after giving this some deliberation, I decided she was the perfect person to write about the current situation plaguing us here in Whispering Bay. In case you’ve never heard of it, it’s a small town located on the panhandle between Panama City and Destin. I will be blunt, Ms. Frazier, there is a ghost haunting the old Whispering Bay Senior Center. I think this would be a perfect story for your magazine, but please hurry. The senior center is scheduled to be torn down any day now and it would be a shame if the story disintegrated into the ashes along with it.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Citizen
PS I’ve tried contacting the author of the Perky the Duck story directly, but all my correspondence has gone unanswered. Perhaps you could forward this to her?
“Let me guess,” Tom said. “You’re this infamous author. The one who wrote about a duck coming back to life? Why didn’t you get in touch with this Concerned Citizen yourself?”
She snatched the paper from his hands. “I’ll have you know that story was picked up by the Associated Press. And as for why I didn’t contact Concerned Citizen, that’s…none of your business.”
“I love that duck story,” Rusty said. “Made me look at huntin’ a whole different way. To tell the truth, almost made me quit altogether.” His voice cracked. “Sorry, Allie, I tried, but I just couldn’t give it up.”
“That’s okay, Rusty. I understand.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll have to read it sometime, but for now, let me get this straight,” Tom said. “You received a tip from someone you don’t know telling you the building is haunted. And you just, what? Jumped in your car and raced up here? Did it ever occur to you the whole thing might be some kind of hoax?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that? I didn’t just jump in my car on some whim. And in case you’ve forgotten, the letter was addressed to my editor. I’m here at her request on official Florida! magazine business, pal.”
So now he was pal. He wasn’t sure but it sounded a step down from being called Donalan.
“Naturally,” she continued, “I called my brother to try to validate the story but he didn’t pick up.”
“That’s probably because he’s at the big police convention in Tallahassee,” Rusty said.
Allie nodded like this was information she already knew. “So when I didn’t hear back from Zeke, I called Mimi and she filled me in. She hadn’t heard anything about a ghost but she told me the building was scheduled for demolition. I had no choice, really. It was either come investigate now or lose the story.”
Mimi was Allie’s sister-in-law. Tom had run into her at the Piggly Wiggly just last week. His son Henry and Allie’s nephew Cameron were becoming fast friends. No doubt about it. Moving back to Whispering Bay meant his life and Allie’s would eventually intersect. Was she married? He didn’t think so or he would have heard about it. But she had to be seeing someone.
“You know, Tom, maybe Allie’s onto something,” Rusty said. “We’ve gotten a few calls reporting some strange noises here late at night. Never occurred to me it might be a ghost.”
“Christ,” Tom muttered. “Rusty, there’s no ghost. It’s just some local kids breaking in looking for a place to get drunk. Here, let me show you.”
They followed him outside the building to a dumpster located at the edge of the parking lot. Tom stuck his hand in the garbage to fish out a grocery bag filled with empty beer bottles. “I drove by last night and chased some teenagers off the premises. Confiscated a couple of six packs and told them if I ever caught them here again I’d call the cops.” He shrugged. “Sorry, but there’s your ghost, Allie.”
She looked back to study the building, a glimmer of disappointment shadowed her eyes. He could almost feel sorry for her. If he weren’t so tired. He should have hired a security guard, but Tom had tried to keep the budget for this project as lean as possible, so instead, he’d personally spent the past four nights patrolling the building to keep out trespassers. At the moment it was damn near impossible to feel sorry for anyone except himself.
“Look,” Tom said, “it’s late. Let’s just call this a big misunderstanding.”
“Does that mean you’re not pressing charges?” Rusty asked.
“Sure. No charges. Let’s all go home and get a good night’s sleep and forget this ever happened.”
Rusty looked relieved. “Good idea.”
“But I still need to do my investigation,” Allie said. “According to the sign in front, the building is scheduled to be torn down tomorrow. Which means tonight is all the time I have left to—”
“To what?” Tom said. “Make contact with a ghost that doesn’t exist?”
