“You’re dating your friend’s big brother?” She whistled. “I hope for your sake that you guys stick.”
I winced but hid it behind a fierce yank on the carpet. The fallout of a breakup would get ugly. Amelie and I would survive it, that much I had no doubt. But my friendship with Boaz? It would crash and burn if I didn’t guide us through this exploration carefully.
The sound of our voices echoed throughout the room as we exposed more of the steel underfloor, and it drove home the absurdity of one girl demoing this entire deck. “Are we the only two working this level?”
“It’s The Haunted Dining Room, and yes. You heard that in all caps.” She bent to tuck the frayed ends of the carpet so we made a tight roll. “No one wants to be in here. I’ve done most of this myself.”
“That’s right.” I acted like my interest was casual instead of sparking hot in my chest. “A friend of mine was telling me about the ghost boy scaring people away.”
“How did you miss the news coverage? Do you live under a rock?”
“I was out of town for a few weeks.” Locked in an ocean-themed room and drugged out of my mind. Ah, just like the good old days. “I’m not current on all the local happenings.”
“I bet you were kicking yourself for that, huh? Papa mentioned you work for Ms. Meacham. That makes you a Haint, right? Tips must have been amazing with everyone all revved up for ghosts.”
Another time, yeah. I would have bemoaned the missing of an opportunity, but I was too grateful to be here at all to regret I’d missed the surge. It helped, too, that I was no longer dependent on tips to feed myself.
“Well, I’m back now.” I grunted when the carpet snagged on a bolt that would have to be ground smooth before the new flooring was laid. “And I’m on the boat in the heart of the action, right?” We finished crossing the room then sat on the roll to catch our breaths. “Have you seen him?”
“The guys are calling him Timmy.” She scrubbed her forearm across her cheek, scratching an itch. “Have you ever noticed all the bad things happen to guys named Timmy?”
“I can’t say that I have.” Bad luck seemed pretty equal opportunity in my experience. There was no person too high to be brought low, and no person too low to sink farther. We crossed back to the starting point and picked at the next seam. “So, have you seen Timmy?”
“No.” She paused for a quick breather. “He doesn’t bother me, and I’m in here most nights. Alone. Maybe he likes girls. His victims were mostly guys.”
Or maybe an audience of one wasn’t large enough to make manifesting worthwhile. Poltergeists were known for moving objects, touching people, causing mischief. All that required energy, and when you were a ghost who didn’t eat, drink, or sleep, you had finite amounts of it before your tank emptied for good.
The nature of poltergeists was yet another reason why the Society couldn’t be bothered with banishing any but the most violent souls. Left to their own devices, except in the rarest of cases, they burned their rage or grief or whatever remnant of emotion fueled them, and the problem took care of itself without intervention. Eventually, all poltergeists became lamppost flickers like the one on Whitaker Street.
Cricket wasn’t going to be thrilled with the reason why it was taking so long to update her new toy. Then again, if rumors spread that not even workmen could finish their jobs thanks to the ghost, that might boost the spook factor right there.
“What’s next?” I surveyed our efforts and grimaced at the tacky clumps of foam padding left behind. “Let me guess. It involves a lot of kneeling and scraping.”
“You catch on quick.” Marit presented me with a chisel that had seen better days, a match to her battered tool, and we knelt on carpet scraps she’d had the foresight to save, which protected our knees from the hard floor. “You’re not a bad worker. Will you stick around if Timmy pops in to say hello?”
“Not much choice if I want a paycheck at the end of this week.”
“For pretty girls like you in a tourist town, there are always opportunities.” She burst out laughing at the expression on my face. A High Society dame working a street corner? Maud’s heart would roll over in its box. “You should see your face. I wasn’t suggesting prostitution. Though, I mean, that is an option.”
The virgin prostitute. Boaz would bust a gut laughing if he could hear us. And then he would bust anyone else in the gut who hinted they might be interested in taking me up on the offer.
“I meant there are other ghost tour companies. I can think of two more off the top of my head, and one of those buses its victims around in air-conditioned comfort. The other doesn’t require its girls to wear costumes. There are a billion shops on River Street or in City Market who would love to hire a local. You could check with the thrift shops on Broughton Street or the boutiques on Whitaker.”
“I’m a history geek,” I confessed. “I love haunted history, the grimmer and grislier the better. Spending five nights a week talking to people eager to hear my version of a story is addictive.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Public speaking falls in the same category as waterboarding with me.” Her scraping slowed. “Why are you here instead of working your beat if you love it so much?”
“That trip out of town I mentioned? I didn’t clear it with my boss first.” I gave one greenish clump of musty foam my particular attention. “I had a family emergency, and there was no time to do anything but go.” To be fair to Cricket, I added, “It’s not the first time I’ve vanished on her, so I get why she’s leery of penning me on the schedule again. It’s next to impossible to find people willing to fill in last minute, and tours that get cancelled mean refunds and bad reviews. Those are her top two pet peeves.”
“I get that.” An earnest quality entered her tone. “Papa’s the same. He’s always…”
The overhead lights dimmed to a soft glow, flickering in eerie pulses that reminded me of a beating heart.
Knowing better, I still played clueless human. “Electrical problem?”
“Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced, but she didn’t act worried either. “It’s still bright enough to see. We should keep at it and let the guys handle the wiring.”
The hesitant scritching of our chisels grew heartier the longer the twilight lingered and nothing else happened. Marit exhaled a small laugh, perhaps surprised our conversation about Timmy had gotten under her skin. She didn’t bother hiding her relief, since she had no way of knowing about my acute night vision.
The chill that exhaled through the room could have been blamed on the air conditioning switching on, except that the dimness made it hard to believe the vents could pump out more than an anemic gust at this point.
“This kind of thing never happens to me,” she marveled. “Timmy must have sensed what you do for a living.”
Seeing as how that was a distinct possibility, though not for the reasons she supposed, I worked on looking sheepish. “Guess so.”
The clatter of metal against metal wasn’t alarming at first. There were rooms below this one where others worked, and someone, likely Mr. Voorhees, would be coming up to check on his daughter if the electrical issue wasn’t addressed soon. Assuming it affected the rest of the boat and wasn’t a contained phenomenon.
“Ouch,” Marit cried out, slapping a hand over her thigh. “I think…” Her hand came away bloody. “Grier?”