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Nana Pratt peered past me into the kitchen. “You know, I was in charge of the budget for my family, and I was very strict. I’d be more than happy to take a look at yours and make some adjustments.”
I looked at her through slitted eyes. “Would you make me sacrifice my organic blueberries?”
“Not if you insisted on keeping them, but then we’d have to tweak your spending in other areas to make up the difference.”
“Come in, and we’ll give it a try.” I retreated into the kitchen and the elderly ghost followed.
I sat at the computer and pointed at the screen. “That’s the money in my account.”
“And where’s your budget?”
I gave her a blank look. “I just showed you. That’s how much money I have left. It needs to last as long as possible, taking into account the cost of food and house repairs.”
Nana Pratt frowned. “How have you gotten this far in life without mastering the art of the budget?”
“My grandfather was focused on other priorities.”
She tutted. “He did you no favors by ignoring finances. It was one good thing my parents did for me.”
I didn’t bother to defend Pops. She wouldn’t understand how much of his life he’d sacrificed for me. To educate me. To keep me safe. Money had been the means to an end; it had only been important to him for survival.
“Less criticism and more constructive feedback, please,” I said.
“I’ll need time to work up a budget for you. I can’t just snap my fingers like one of your magical friends.”
“They don’t snap their fingers. They use tarot cards.”
“I’ll also need to ask you personal questions.” She observed me closely.
“Okay.”
“Okay? Are you sure about that?”
I twisted in the chair to look at her. “Why are you saying it like that?”
“You’re not exactly an open book. You get irritable when people ask you personal questions.”
“If you need to ask me about present and future purchases in order to help me create a budget, I’m fine with that. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.”
She glanced at the counter. “Where’s a pen?”
“Will you be able to write?”
“My poltergeist skills are developing nicely. They’re not as advanced as Ray’s, but I’m pleased.”
“There’s a pen in the drawer by the coffeemaker. Paper too.”
It took her a minute to open the drawer and remove the pen and paper, but she managed.
“We’ll start at a macro level, then go micro,” she began.
“This sounds like it’s going to take time. Let me put the kettle on.” My skin prickled. “Actually, hold that thought. Someone’s here.”
I exited the kitchen and walked to the front door. A peep out the window revealed a middle-aged woman on the front porch. How did she get here so fast? Even at a brisk pace, she shouldn’t have made it past the bridge yet.
The visitor was average height, with close-set eyes and brown hair worn in a severe bun. Her skin was unnaturally smooth for a woman who looked like she frowned a lot. She wore a black coat over a white blouse and wool trousers. Her sensible heels were too chunky to get stuck between the floorboards. She held a brown leather briefcase in lieu of a purse. Camryn would’ve cringed at the sight of the mismatched black and brown. According to the mage, a woman’s bag should always match her shoes. I pointed out that designers didn’t make handbags to match steel-toed boots. She told me with an air of haughtiness that I clearly hadn’t been researching the right designers.
“I don’t recognize this lady,” Nana Pratt said. “Do you know her?”
