She shrugged. “Hey, I’m not management. But I think that Danny likes his other jobs, too. Strange fellow, but a good storyteller!”
David bought a ticket and moved out of the way for the couple who waited behind him. He glanced at his watch, and headed back home. He had left the police files on his grandfather’s desk. He set an alarm to warn him when it would be nearing eight.
A long, hot shower and shampoo felt wonderful, rinsing away the cakey salt and effects of the sun and the sea. Katie lingered under the flow of water, then emerged regretfully at last, aware that she should be conserving water-and that she was pruning.
She slipped into a terry robe and towel-dried her hair, then studied her reflection in the mirror. Wet, she decided, was really not her look. But too bad-she loved the water too much.
She looked over at the bathroom cabinet, choosing a moisturizer.
When she looked back at the mirror, there was someone behind her.
It wasn’t Tanya. It was a different entity. She had dark hair, too much makeup and her eyes were red and slightly bulging.
A tear slipped down her astral cheek.
“No!” Katie whispered. “Please!”
The girl remained, that tear sliding down her face.
“Please!” Katie whispered again. “I’m not nine-one-one for ghosts. I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know who you are!” she whispered vehemently.
She closed her eyes, praying for the image to go away. She opened her eyes. It did.
Her hands were shaking when she reached for her cosmetic base and looked back to the mirror.
The image was back.
The girl was no longer crying. She was just standing there, staring at Katie, as if she were in shock. Her face was starkly white. Her features seemed to have shriveled. Her eyes were clouded with red dots.
“I wish I could help you!” Katie whispered. “Please…”
The image faded.
Katie collected her makeup and went running down the stairs.
Bartholomew was perched at the kitchen counter. He stared at her, frowning. “What now?”
“Another ghost,” she said.
He looked annoyed. “What is this-spirit central?” he demanded. “This is my house.”
“It’s my house,” she corrected.
He sighed. “Actually, Katie, once upon a time, I lived in the upstairs bedroom. Well, I didn’t live there, I spent a great deal of time there. Eighteen twenty-six, to be exact.”
“But this house-”
“Oh, the house has been rebuilt. It was just a tiny wooden structure at the time. The place was a shantytown, really, except for some of the places built by big money. Simontons and Whiteheads… Anyway, I had a girl for a while. She wasn’t the kind you brought home to mother. But she was one hell of a woman. Never mind, that’s not the point. This is my haunt. You’re my mortal.”
“You’re being selfish,” Katie said, feeling a new strength. “They need help.”
“Everyone needs help.”
“She was murdered,” Katie said suddenly.
“Most ghosts were murdered.”
“No, Hemingway killed himself, and he’s haunting this country, Spain and Cuba, so I understand,” Katie argued.
Bartholomew sighed. “Katie, don’t let them in. I’m afraid for you.”
“Bartholomew, I’m not saying she was murdered this minute. It might have been years ago. Like…Tanya. Maybe it was the same person.”
He swung off the bar stool and came before her, planting his hands on his hips. “Katie, I am very afraid for you.”
“Sean will be here in another day or two and then I won’t be living alone. I’ll be fine. And I know the cops-I know everyone on the street. I’m from here, Bartholomew. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure that’s what Tanya Barnard thought!” he said dourly. “Well, I won’t be leaving you alone for a moment,” he assured her. He looked her up and down in her terry robe, her makeup clustered in her hands. “And you are afraid.”
“I was startled, that’s all.”
“Well, that robe is going to make a lovely outfit when you go to work.”
“I was startled. I’m not afraid.”
“I’ll follow you and guard the hallway, if you’d like to return to your bathroom and further prepare for the evening,” he told her.
She lowered her head, smiling. He could trip people; he could now press the on button to start the coffee brewing. She still wasn’t sure he could actually guard her. But he was quite the gentleman ghost.
“Thanks,” she told him.
But when she returned upstairs, no matter how many times she looked into the mirror and then away from it, no ghosts appeared.
The first ghost, she knew, was Tanya.
But who the hell was the dark-haired woman with the tear glistening on her cheek?