Chapter Three

After checking to see if Estella was still asleep, Rich refilled his glass and strolled out onto the back porch. He had always loved nighttime in Pennsylvania. Rural life in the evening was so different from the commotion, noise, and bright lights of the big city. The branches on a stand of pine near the carriage house sighed in the warm breeze like they were settling into a comfortable bed for a much-needed rest. Fireflies winked and danced out on the lawn to the harmony of caroling crickets and cicadas.

He leaned against a post and reread the letter, then stared off to the distant hills fading away as gray dusk turned to darkness. One more thing to add to his long list of things to do. Renovate the outdated monstrosity of a house. Find a buyer at a worthy price. Go on a wild goose chase to locate a half-sister he didn’t even know existed. And last, unearth century-old jewels from Austria—rubies to be exact—that no one else in over a hundred years could locate. Rich sighed. What a fine cactus patch he fell into! Now his plan to blow into town, sell the house, and make a quick exit within the month was shot to hell.

“Did I throw you for a loop, Richard Lee Junior?” a scratchy voice asked.

Rich jumped and looked around. From the farthest corner of the porch, a rocking chair moved slowly back and forth. Back and forth. But there was no one sitting on it. The night had become still and tranquil without a hint of a breeze.

Rich set the glass and letter on the railing and rubbed his tired face with his hands. “It’s been a long day,” he muttered to himself, “and now I’m hallucinating. I swear I’m hearing a voice sounding like Grandmother Gertie’s.” His gaze traveled to the moving rocker, and he gave it a quizzical look.

“You are hearing me, young man,” the voice said. “Hallucinating, my foot.”

Rich continued to peer at the rocker, now rocking at a faster pace.

“Grandmother? Gertie? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“I am dead.”

“Then aren’t you supposed to be somewhere else? Like in another dimension? In heaven or riding a cloud somewhere?” He pointed upward. “Or am I drunk and I don’t know it?”

“Phfftt, you’re hardly drunk. And I’m not going anywhere while I have unfinished business here on earth.”

“Didn’t anyone tell you to go toward the Light?” His voice rose an octave now.

“Of course.” The voice was getting as annoyed as he was. “But not when I know things you don’t. Not when I need you to finish a few unresolved issues for me.”

Rich moved a little closer to the moving rocking chair and blinked, still trying to process everything. “Can you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Just waltz around willy-nilly on earth after you die?”

The rocker slowed.

Rich dropped his head in his hands and mumbled, “Please, please, please. Let this be a dream…or the effects of good eighteen-year aged Irish whiskey. I’m losing my marbles.”

The voice interrupted, “Buck up, Richard Lee. You aren’t losing your marbles, although you may have a hole in your bag. You are my last hope. You need to find your half-sister, who needs your help, and you need to find those Austrian rubies I’ve searched for my entire life. If not for me, for Estella. It’s my great-granddaughter’s heritage and inheritance. Did you read the letter and understand it?”

“Yes, but for the record, how can I tell you’re really the ghost of my grandmother? Tell me something most people don’t know about me.”

“For goodness sake! What is this? Jeopardy? I see you still can be a pain in the backside with your endless quest for the truth. How about this? The kids used to tease you and call you Richie Rich. And every time you got yourself tied in a sanctimonious knot over it, I used to tell you they could have chosen worse names like Dumbo or Dimwit.”

Rich’s eyes widened as he stared at the rocker. “It really is you. Grandmother Gertie. Why me?”

“Because you’re the only direct surviving relative, Dimwit.”

“But I really don’t know where to start.”

There was a long whoosh of air, like a disgruntled sigh. “Just how did you pass the bar with such a dull, negative attitude? How about some creative thinking? How about your grandfather’s study for starters?”

“Where in the study?” he asked, but he instantly knew he wouldn’t get an answer. The rocking chair now stood motionless.

“Holy moly, let this be the effects of alcohol or a bad dream,” he muttered before turning and trudging inside, locking the door, and heading straight to his room to sleep.