Chapter Three

“Okay. Are you ready? You remember what we talked about?” Mel stood on the sidewalk in front of the old but modest Victorian. It had a high-pitched roof and a small porch fronting the door. As beautiful as it was from the street, well preserved and completely redone, that did not do the inside justice. The interior was impressive, refurbished with minute attention to detail to the era. Everything, or nearly everything, was period accurate. The kitchen did have a regular stove, the bathroom a real shower and a real toilet, and she was pretty sure Mrs. Featherman had a washer and dryer, but other than that, it was accurate. If Mel was stuck in the 1980s, Mrs. Featherman was stuck in the 1880s.

They walked along the sidewalk and through a set of wrought-iron gates with arrow tips pointing toward the sky. Mel helped Mumford up the stairs to the small front porch, then rang the doorbell. Waiting for the old-fashioned doorbell to perform its job, Mel rocked from foot to foot. “You know what you’re doing?” she whispered to Dougal out of the corner of her mouth in case Mrs. Featherman was looking through the lace-panel curtains at the front door.

“Yes, Mel. You don’t have to worry about me. I talked with Chester some more last night, and even Mrs. Hatchett offered a few words of encouragement.”

“No way! Mrs. Hatchett?” Mel gaped. “Stop yourself!” Mel said those last two words just as Mrs. Featherman answered the door. Damn.

“Is your dog being naughty, Melanie? I’m fond of dogs, but I don’t know if I want a naughty one in my house.” She peered over the half glasses perched on her nose. The glasses were secured around her neck with the same metal chain she’d had since Mel was a teenager. Mel knew it had never been replaced because she’d asked last time. Mrs. Featherman was very proud of her possessions.

Mumford backed up a step and sat on his hind end. Poor baby. But Mel couldn’t exactly tell the librarian she was talking to a ghost, not the dog. Then and there, she decided to give him extra treats as soon as they got home.

“He’s fine. Just excited to be out and about. The junkyard can get boring after a little while. Only so many tires to pee on, you understand.”

Mrs. Featherman’s lips remained pursed, but she did open the door wider, motioning Mel and Mumford in, and by extension Dougal, though the woman had no idea there was a third guest. Normally, Mrs. F was as happy as could be when Mel left, but this was often how she found the former librarian upon arrival. Mel felt bad for not thinking to warn everyone about her demeanor before they’d stepped onto the porch. Along with those treats, she'd be apologizing, too.

“Welcome to my home.” Mrs. F bent forward to pet Mumford, who remained on his rump, staying very still as the older woman’s hand caressed his ears, the top of his head, and down his back. Since there was a lot to his back, she didn’t make it to his tail, but she stood up with a slight smile on her face. That, at least, was a step in the right direction. Mel waved her hand behind her back to let Dougal know he could be on his way to get started.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him fly up the stairs, staying away from Mrs. F in case he accidentally touched her. The chill in the air was not always something a ghost could control, nor was the slight gust of wind.

“So how was the visit?” Mel sat down on the settee and accepted a delicate china plate decorated with vibrant orange flowers and feathers. On a larger plate with a similar design, small finger sandwiches made a pinwheel. If she was right—and she usually was—they would be chicken salad with cranberries, cucumber with cream cheese, cheese with turkey, and one that was a surprise.

Sure enough, Mrs. F did not disappoint. Mel always ate the surprise one first, just in case she didn’t like it. As soon as she picked it up, she was in love. Mrs. F had taken peanut butter and marshmallow fluff and made Fluffernutter finger sandwiches. Mel briefly wondered how many she could sneak into her purse without looking like she was a glutton.

Mrs. F gave a slight smile, just one side of her mouth. Another good sign. “The rest are for you and that man of yours when you leave, so don’t worry about not eating enough now. You won’t be leaving me with too much food.”

Mel’s heart, and most likely her stomach, swelled. “Thank you so much. Becker is going to love that.”

“He’s a good man, that Becker. What are your intentions with him?”

Mel almost choked on a cucumber, but she cleared her throat before she could go into a full-on coughing fit. This conversation was much different than any previous ones. She’d been prepared for book talk or a conversation about the ridiculousness of banning books. Certainly not relationship talk.

Normally, she asked all the questions and let Mrs. F talk it all out while Mel ate sandwiches and nodded in the right places. She was not used to people asking her anything personal.

Sinking back into the couch, she appreciated the warmth of Mumford against her leg. When had she become so dependent on the dog? He was like a touchstone to her, but she couldn’t regret loving the sweetheart.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. We’ve been seeing each other.” She shrugged, fighting off the urge to stuff another sandwich into her mouth so she could stop talking. “He lives at the house. He’s a good guy. I really like him. I don’t know about intentions.” And that choppy, confused mess was all she was giving if she could get away with it.

Dougal swooped in through the ceiling and held up one finger. He’d gotten one ghost back into its place. Normally, there were about ten, so if he was fast, maybe she could get out of here unscathed from the interference of a well-meaning woman.

She jumped into her own questions to stave off any follow-ups from Mrs. F. “Tell me about your family. Were they happy to see the new peacock wallpaper you put in the hallway upstairs?” It wouldn’t surprise her if they had hated it, just like they hated anything that cost money they wanted for themselves. As far as she could tell, they only came so that when Mrs. F died she’d leave all her worldly possessions to them. In a just world, the older woman would leave them nothing and donate her house to a museum or the local heritage society.

“I’ll let you have a pass on the relationship talk this one time, Melanie, but if you ever need any advice, or a woman to talk to, you know where to find me.” She patted Mel’s knee. “I was so sorry when your mom passed. I’m sure your father tried his best, even though he wasn’t home much. I don’t know if he told you, but I offered to take you when he was gone. He assured me you’d be fine. According to him, sixteen was old enough to be on your own for a few days at a time. That it might be better for you to get used to being alone early on in life.”

Mel sat forward. Her father had said that? This time she did cram another sandwich into her mouth to keep from spouting the words that were begging to come spilling out.

“To be perfectly honest with you, I thought it wrong. But I was so happy you continued to come to the library long after some others your age decided they were too cool to read. At least that way I could keep an eye on you there. Help you if you ever needed me.” She patted Mel’s knee again and handed her another fluff sandwich.

At this rate, Mel was certain she wouldn’t be able to fit in the car, even with only a ghost for company, if she kept scarfing these things down.

Dougal swooped in and held up three fingers. “Thank you, Mrs. F,” Mel said. Thank God, he was moving right along. “It wasn’t easy, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciated all you did do. You and the books meant a lot to me. The freedom to get lost in other worlds was a saving grace.”

“Then I did my job.” The first real, full smile came to play on her lips.

Dougal shot through and held up six fingers.

He was fast, he was awesome, and if they could get out of there soon, before Mrs. F tried to dig into any other pockets that Mel wasn’t ready to examine, she might just survive the afternoon.

“But silly me,” Mrs. F went on. “You asked about the family.” She placed a finger sandwich on her own plate, then poured herself a cup of tea from the silver tea service. “It was fine. I don’t think they want to come around anymore, since I seem to be taking too long to die.”

“Oh, Mrs. F, don’t say that.”

“No, dear, don’t worry about it. I’ve known it for years, but I kept hoping I might be wrong. However, some things were said this time that I just can’t ignore. I don’t believe I’ll be inviting them back. I do hope you’ll still come to visit me, though. The only time I see you in my house is right after they leave. Your attempt to make me feel better after they go is much appreciated, but I hope your visits won’t stop just because the relatives don’t come around anymore.”

“No, of course not. I love to spend time with you.” And surprisingly enough, that was true. Plus, Mel might ask her some questions about this whole thing with Becker. Not today, of course, because she wasn’t ready. Another time, though, and at least she knew she had someone alive in town who cared.

Dougal swooped through and flashed a thirteen at her—ten, then three. That was more than normal. And he was moving fast. Soon she’d be leaving. No matter how she’d felt earlier, now she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

“Your dog is handsome,” Mrs. F said between bites. “I heard he came to you through that lovely Becker.”

Mel launched into the revised version of the story, since she couldn’t tell her about the evil woman turning to dust and the crossing that they’d had to do once she was dead. But she’d become adept at telling only the fringes of stories, and that was just fine with her.

Dougal flashed through again and made a zero with his hands. So they were done, quicker than they ever had been before. He was good, really good. So good that she didn’t feel any negative energy left in the place at all. Nice. She’d known bringing him was the right thing. Originally, it had been just to see how he would do on his own on a relatively easy cleaning. Now, she was extremely pleased that he’d passed with flying colors.

Time to make her excuses and her exit.

“Mrs. F, I’d better get back. It’s time for doggie treats for Mumford, and he usually takes a nap in the afternoon.”

Mrs. F smiled, and it crinkled her blue eyes. “What a cutie he is and, really, so well-behaved. Aren’t you, sweetie?” She bent over to give him a scratch behind his ears. “I admit I was nervous when you first arrived, but now, I must say, I feel so much better. Perhaps I should think about getting myself a dog. They certainly do brighten a place up.”

Or destroy a home, if she didn’t get a good one. Mel couldn’t imagine all this refinished furniture surviving a brute of a dog, but she’d leave that to Mrs. F. And maybe the local vet, who had a heart of gold. “Let Becker know if you’re looking. He could help you out.”

“I’ll certainly keep that in mind. And you remember that if you need anything, I’m right here. I won’t have many people coming around anymore, so I’d welcome the company.”

Mel waved on her way out, then was pleased to see Dougal already in the car. What she wasn’t pleased about was seeing someone—or something—in the back seat with him.