Chapter 1 - Ghost Writer - by ReGina Welling & Erin Lynn

“Score first, stripper second,” Patrea warned in case I was doing it wrong.

“Are we talking about the wallpaper or my love life?” I couldn’t help teasing, then laughed when she rolled her eyes at me.

“If you have to ask,” she teased back, “you’re probably missing the point somewhere.”

We didn’t talk about why I’d been spending so much time helping her with her house-flipping project. She knew I needed the distraction from my falling out with Neena. Also, there was something oddly satisfying about peeling back the layers of old paper to reveal each successive pattern underneath.

Interesting layers so far on this wall. One with pink and white stripes, the next a bunch of chocolate blobs riding across a background of harvest gold—utterly seventies. Under that, splashy pink cabbage roses strewn across a field of dark blue, and the most difficult so far, also pink and stripey, but sprinkled with yellow flowers that never existed in nature.

“It’s coming off okay? And you’re not overdoing it with your wrist?” Covered in a fine layer of plaster dust and wearing a pair of faded overalls, her hair bundled under a scarf and her eyes wrapped with a set of protective goggles, Patrea put down the pry bar she’d been using and came to check on me.

This DIY warrior looked nothing like the put-together, slightly stuffy attorney who’d helped me during the first days of my divorce. The current version seemed looser, happier, and far more animated. With a new husband and a big move in her recent past, Patrea had come a long way since the day she’d turned up on my doorstep the Christmas before. She’d settled into small-town living like she’d been born to it. I liked to think I had something to do with the changes.

“So far, but it’s a lot of layers.” Five, to be exact. I pointed toward the section where I’d made the most progress. “And my wrist is fine. Doesn’t even hurt anymore. But should there be cloth underneath the paper? And should it be crunchy?”

Going in for a closer look, Patrea nodded. “That’s an old sheet and was probably applied using homemade wheat paste. You can tell by the color as it ages.”

“Wheat paste?”

“Flour, sugar, and water, basically. Boiled together, they form a thick glue.”

“Huh. You learn something new every day,” I said as my phone beeped to signal an incoming text.

“Jacy?” Patrea questioned when I checked to see who it was from, and I shook my head.

It wasn’t that my oldest friend, Jacy, had chosen her business partner over me when Neena decided she couldn’t handle my ability to see ghosts; that wasn’t Jacy’s way. I had been the one to pull back because I didn’t want to put her in the middle of a problem that had nothing to do with her.

“It’s Delilah Cannon.”

“Who?” With tender care, Patrea pried off a length of baseboard, crowed with pleasure when it came off intact.

“Davina Benet’s former doppelganger.”

Flipping the board over, Patrea tapped her hammer against a nail to push it back through the front far enough to grab with the forked end of the prybar. “Davina had a doppelganger? How did I not hear about this before?”

I remembered why. “She popped up here at Halloween when you were in, you know.” I flipped my hand to keep from saying the word jail. Plus, now that Patrea knew about my ghost issues, I could tell her the entire story, which I did.

“You should have seen the look on Martha’s face when Davina got all spookified and busted up her little publicity stunt. I know it’s not nice to laugh at people’s misfortune, and you know I appreciate everything Martha has done for me, but I made an exception because she totally brought that comeuppance on herself.”

While Patrea laughed along with me, I could practically see the questions dancing around in her head, but the only one she let out was, “Why’s this Delilah person texting you now?” She nodded toward the phone I still held in my left hand.

I glanced at the screen to double-check my facts.

“She says she’s writing a book about Davina.”

Patrea’s brows shot up. “Really?” She drew the word out long.

“A tell-all, she says. And she’s asked me to find her a place to stay in Mooselick River so she can be closer to Davina’s spirit while she works on it.”

“Davina’s spirit? Does that mean what I think it means?”

“No,” I shook my head. “She doesn’t have a clue Davina’s still hanging around here.”

“Okay, so this should be interesting.”

“You have no idea.” I sent a text back saying I’d look into it for her and followed up with a request for the timing of her plans. “Delilah was Davina’s biggest fan, but the admiration was a one-way thing.”

I put my phone away and went back to stripping wallpaper while Patrea finished pulling nails, slashed a number three on the back of the baseboard, and stacked it with the rest. “You’re numbering them because you plan to put them back?”

Nodding, Patrea moved on to the next. “Yes, that’s right, but back to Delilah. I’m fascinated by this book-writing plan. I wonder what Davina will think of it.”

“That’s the million-dollar question, and I haven’t got a clue what the answer will be. I haven’t seen much of Davina since the night we took Martin Walker down. In a way, I find that worrisome.”

A short silence followed before Patrea said, “Why?”

I shrugged. “She got way into helping Jober cross over, which did not turn out so well for me. And then, that same day you dragged me out of the house, she popped back up asking for my help with another spirit she ran into, but I couldn’t help because of how my ghost thing works.”

“Explain, please.” Fascinated, Patrea gave me her full attention.

“Not much to tell, really. I consulted a psychic, and according to her, Leandra’s meddling opened some kind of psychic door or something and probably set up some ridiculous beacon that lets spirits on this side of the veil find and haunt me.”

As usual, Patrea clued in when it came to the nuances. Head tilted, she gave me an up-and-down look. “Why are they on this side of the veil? And what does that make you? A medium or a sensitive? Clairvoyant? Is there a difference?”

Shrugging, I said, “According to Kat—that’s the medium’s name—a true medium can speak to those who have passed behind or beyond the veil. It’s an active talent, while mine is more passive. I’m limited to those who are stuck on this side. Like with unfinished business, or whatever. I don’t think there’s a name for it. I’m haunted.”

Patrea mirrored my shrug. “Okay. I guess I see the difference.”

Nodding, I continued, “Anyhow, Davina wants to set up some ghost outreach program, and she wants me to help.”

“Would that be so bad?”

Only if she decided to make it a lifelong—or rather a death-long—goal. One that would keep her on this side of the veil. In Mooselick River, and in my life.

“It wouldn’t, but I have a selfish reason for wanting her to cross over.” It felt good to talk about this stuff with someone like Patrea. Despite her absolute acceptance of the esoteric, she was a logical thinker, and always gave thoughtful advice.

When I hesitated to share, she circled a hand to get me to continue. I sighed.

“What I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room, but my mother also has mediumistic tendencies, so part of my ability is inherent. I might have eventually come into my talent on my own, or I might not have. We’ll never know because Momma Wade did her hoodoo on me and forced the issue.”

“Hoodoo,” Patrea repeated. “Good word.”

“Right? I think she hexed me to find bodies, too. Makes me feel like a death magnet, but I have no proof that’s the case.”

Hammer and boards forgotten for the moment, Patrea dug in. “Tell me more. I’m fascinated.”

“You’ve heard most of it,” I shrugged. “Basically, I find the body; I see the ghost.”

Except for that one time with the haunted pajamas, but even then, there was a tenuous connection between the girl who’d worn them and me. “So far, it’s been just the ghosts of murdered people whose bodies I found, or in one case, didn’t find, but was near the body shortly after the death.”

“Because the spirit was just hanging around waiting for justice.” Patrea proved she’d been listening. “And you don’t see just any ghost, so you couldn’t channel my dead grandmother and ask her where she hid her peach cobbler recipe.”

“Not that I know of, but I’m sure Kat would be happy to handle that for you. I’ll give you her number if you like.”

“Later.” For now, Patrea was more interested in my story than in connecting with her relatives. “Did she tell you anything else?”

“Not really. Once I help the dead find justice, they go into the light, and I never see them again, which is fine with me. Or some of them, anyway. Amber hung around awhile.”

Patrea slugged me in the arm.

“Ow,” I yelped, putting my other hand over the sore spot. “What was that for?”

“For holding out on me. Amber was in the house when I was there at Christmas, wasn’t she?”

I nodded. “She had a lot of energy, that one. Used to give me the news every morning before I got out of bed. Complete with the weather report.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

A complicated question, but the answer I gave was simple. “I didn’t want you to look at me like Neena did. Does.”

“Fair enough, I guess.” But I could tell she was hurt that I’d made an assumption about her.

“I’m sorry. If it helps, I wanted to tell you.”

“But you didn’t. You told Jacy, though, right?”

Oops, another minefield to navigate.

“Yes, but only under extreme circumstances.” Because there was no reason not to, I told her how my attempt to help Spencer Charles cross over had put Jacy’s life in danger. “And that’s why I’ve been careful about what I say to anyone. I don’t want my friends getting hurt on my account.”

Patrea’s voice went dry as dust. “How noble of you.”

“Don’t,” I pleaded, close to tears. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Don’t I? I watched you nearly get choked to death by something that shouldn’t have been able to touch you, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

The memory shivered across my skin. “That’s the first time anything like that has happened, and it wasn’t on purpose. Davina believes that Jober’s complete denial of his death caused something like the ghost version of a psychotic break. I think she’s half right. He was already suffering from mental health issues after the death of his family and couldn’t handle what happened, so he went over the edge.”

“So that doesn’t happen every time?”

Solemnly, I shook my head. “Never has before. Or not by a ghost. Hudson’s killer tried to choke me to death, but he was just a human jerk. Hudson saved me by rolling one of Catherine’s mannequin head down the stairs. Scored a perfect strike.”

“Ghost bowling. There’s a mental image I never thought I’d have.”

“You and me both. I could die happy if people would leave my neck alone. For a second there, I thought I was a goner.”

“You and me both, sister.” Satisfied with my response, Patrea went back to pulling nails. “That’s all very interesting, but you never said what’s in it for you when Davina leaves.”

“Well, you know that door Leandra opened? Davina thinks she can close it behind her when she goes.”

After a short pause, Patrea asked the big question, “Does that mean you wouldn’t see ghosts at all anymore?”

“That’s her theory, and she knows about my mother and whatever got passed down through her to me, so I’m hoping Davina actually does know what she’s talking about. Not that it matters if she decides not to cross over.”

The prying of baseboards stopped. “They can choose to stay?”

“To a point, I guess. I’m no expert on ghostly shenanigans, but Amber didn’t leave just because I’d found her killer. I had to make a deal with her to get her to move on. Saved my sanity when she finally went. Besides being my self-appointed news reporter, she lacked a sense of personal space.”

I shuddered every time I even thought about the way ghost touches felt.

Patrea noticed my expression. “What’s so bad about that?”

“Imagine if you washed the dirtiest, greasiest dishes ever to be used, then left your dishwater in the sink for a week. Nasty, right? With chunks of floating food and muck.” Must have been because Patrea grimaced. “Then imagine you put that greasy, scummy mess in the refrigerator to get nice and cold before you dumped it down your back.”

Now, it was Patrea’s turn to shudder. “Okay, that would be slimy and disgusting.”

“Add in the sensation of spiders crawling across your skin, and that’s what it feels like to touch a ghost.” Because even talking about it evoked the sensation, I shuddered again. “Amber preferred to ignore the rule about keeping her distance.”

“There are rules?” Dropping the last baseboard on the pile, Patrea picked up a putty knife to help peel back the layers of wallpaper. “Who makes them?”

“Me. They’re mine, and there are only three. No talking to me in public. Amber had trouble with that one, too. Another is that I don’t give messages to loved ones. Most of the time, anyway, and they have to respect my personal space, which also includes staying out of my bedroom and bathroom.”

Long sheets of paper fell under Patrea’s knife. How did she do that? All I could seem to manage were a bunch of small shreds.

“Do you think the messages part is what Neena’s having so much trouble with?” And now, Patrea got around to the most painful question. “You held out on her.”

It felt like my stomach rolled over. “I gave her the message. I just didn’t tell her it was directly from Hudson, but you’re right. I held out on her, and I shouldn’t have because it cost too much. Still, I’m not sure it’s just about that with her. She reacted badly when Viola didn’t understand Davina’s talent and tried to get her to channel Hudson.”

“Neena will come around,” Patrea repeated what Jacy had said.

“I hope so, but I’m not counting on anything.”

Wisely, Patrea changed the subject and showed me her trick for getting larger sections of wallpaper off at a time. Every so often, she’d give me a measuring look, and I couldn’t tell if it had to do with the ghost thing or if she hoped I’d get inspired to do some remodeling of my own.

In the end, it turned out to be neither.

“Chris thinks we’re ready to start a family.”

I dropped my putty knife, then schooled the surprise out of my expression when I bent hastily to pick it up. “That’s big news. What do you think?”

“You know I never expected to fall in love, and it happened so fast.”

“Same with Drew and me, so I get it, but does that mean you don’t want kids?”

Slowly, Patrea shook her head. “That’s the thing. I think I do. I mean, like, I really think I do.”

Excited, I nearly beaned her with the scoring tool when I pulled her in for a hug. “That’s fantastic. Will you start trying right away? Maybe you and Jacy will be baby-buddies.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you could put Drew out of his misery, marry the man, and we could all be baby-buddies together.”

“I’m not sure the world is ready for that.” If Patrea meant to tease, she missed the mark because I’d been thinking about my future with Drew a lot lately. “We haven’t even had our first big fight yet. I think it might be too soon to consider this a forever thing.”

Serious now, Patrea turned her full attention on me. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t measure Drew against what happened with Paul. You’re not that young, inexperienced person anymore, and besides, Paul was a predator who knew exactly how to play you. Not because of who you were, but because he’d taken being a sleezebag to an art form. He and Drew are night and day.”

“In my heart, I know that’s true. My head just doesn’t want to catch up.”

“Just because things happened fast both times, it doesn’t mean your judgment is skewed.”

How did she know exactly what I’d been worrying about?

“I guess not. My mother loves Drew, and she never liked Paul. As much as I hate to say it, I trust her judgment more than mine. But there’s this other thing. He remembers the first time we met—in detail—while I barely noticed him. Maybe I should have felt something or remembered him more if we were meant to be like soul mates, or whatever.”

Patrea snorted. “Or whatever. You’re a piece of work, Everly Dupree. So what if you didn’t remember meeting some boy for a day when you were just a girl? You love him now, and now is all that matters. Why haven’t you had the big fight?”

I frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” Patrea wasn’t having any of that excuse. “Think about it, and don’t tell me it’s because you agree on everything. If you say that, I will call you a liar, and I might also barf on your shoes. Nice boots, by the way.”

We returned to scraping wallpaper while I considered the question, and finally came out with, “We don’t agree on everything, but we don’t argue. We debate. We discuss. And if we’re both tired, we might snap a little at each other. But you can’t argue with Drew because he’s…I don’t know exactly how to put it.”

“A suck-up?” Patrea supplied helpfully. “Pushover. Under your thumb.”

“No, and that’s not very flattering because it makes him sound boring, and he’s not. He’s just Drew. He has a way of listening to what’s under the words and understanding what’s inside me. He has plenty of fire in him, but he doesn’t turn it into anger and then dump it on the people he loves. He’d rather beat the hell out of a punching bag than argue over who should have unloaded the dishwasher.”

“That’s all well and good, but it also sucks.”

“How do you figure?”

“Isn’t it obvious? The lack of make-up sex. You’re really missing out there.”

My face flamed. Thank you, red hair and light skin. “If things got any better in that department, I’m not sure I could handle it.”

“Okay, then.” Patrea let the conversation die, but she allowed herself a smirk and got me thinking, which was probably the point.