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“You know she does,” Nana Pratt said accusingly. “You told me about that copy ofPride & Prejudiceshe keeps on her bedside table.”
I counted to ten in my head, so I didn’t banish them right here and now.
“I do like to read, Ray.” I stuffed the broken-down cardboard box into the recycling bin. “And right now, I’d like to read about Fairhaven.”
“Wouldn’t you rather talk to the dead about it?” Nana Pratt asked.
“I’d rather talk to nobody at all,” I said pointedly.
“There’s a whole section in the library about Fairhaven and other local towns,” Ray said.
Neither one of them mentioned strange occurrences, so I decided not to raise the issue. I’d rather read about it, and I had work to do anyway.
I took the washer into the bathroom and managed to fix the leak without input from Ray. I returned to the floorboards, careful to hold the hammer in a way that wouldn’t summon the older man’s spirit.
A knock on the front door startled me and I nearly whacked my thumb.That would’ve delighted Ray, I thought to myself as I answered the door. I couldn’t imagine anybody in their right mind stopping by this place unannounced. I must’ve been too friendly in Hewitt’s. Now people would mistake me for someone approachable.
A young man stood on my doorstep. Midtwenties. I classified him as reasonably attractive, albeit too young for me. By my calculations, twenty-five was still too close to the teen years.
He blinked rapidly at the sight of me. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” He was lucky I was no longer holding the hammer. “Were you expecting someone else?”
He swallowed hard. “Someone older, maybe.”
I couldn’t decide whether that was an acceptable answer. “Can I help you with something?”
“I don’t know. I hope so, but it’s going to sound kind of crazy, unless it’s true. Then I guess it’ll sound perfectly reasonable.”
I peered at him. “Does every man in this town ramble?”
He blew out a breath and shook his wrists like he was preparing for a competition. “Sorry, I’m not doing this right. Let me start over. My name is Steven Pratt.”
“What could I possibly help you with that’s kind of crazy, Steven Pratt?”
His gaze flicked nervously in the direction of the cemetery. “Would you mind if I come in?”
“Oh, let him in,” Nana Pratt said. “Steven’s my grandson. He won’t hurt you.”
I glanced over to see the ghost in her fuzzy pink bathrobe hovering at the edge of the porch. The dead could manifest any outfit they wore in life. The bathrobe had likely been her favorite item.
“He wouldn’t hurt an ant,” she continued. “As a matter of fact, he used to walk around them on the sidewalk, so he didn’t squish ‘em. His grandfather called him a sissy, a word I always hated, but I knew he had a gentle spirit.”
Steven followed my gaze with unease. “What are you looking at?”
“Tell him it’s Nana Pratt,” the old woman said.
I didn’t want to say that, or anything else. Once word got out that I could talk to ghosts, I’d have people driving up the hill for a glimpse of the lunatic, and then I’d be forced to get a ward installed.
“Nothing,” I said. “What brings you here, Steven?”
The old woman crossed her arms. “That’s just rude. I am that boy’s grandmother. He’s got nobody left in this world apart from his sister, Ashley.”
I shushed her.
Steven recoiled. “Sorry, I thought you wanted me to tell you why I’m here.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” I sighed inwardly. I knew what the next question would be.
