by Sonia Singh
Scott set up the video camera so it faced the sofa where Rhett and Anjali would be sitting. He attached a miniature broadcasting unit to the camera. “This has a radius of one hundred and fifty yards so we’ll be able to hear and see everything that happens.” He held up his PDA. “We can watch on this. It has a receiving unit.”
“How do you know all this stuff?” Coulter asked.
“The guys at Best Buy helped me out.”
28
“So,” Anjali said. “Is there a special woman you’re trying to get to know?”
Rhett shook his head. “There was Patty but she’s busy with her great-grandkids now.”
“I like your house,” she said, unsure of what else to say.
“It’s my inheritance. Hey, maybe we should sit closer. Otherwise she might know we’re just foolin’.”
Anjali grudgingly moved half a cushion closer.
“You’re much prettier than Patty,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Your hair is so black and shiny, like a Labrador’s coat.”
Shakespeare, Rhett wasn’t. “You like Labradors?” she asked.
He shook his head. “They’re mean dogs. Not as mean as golden retrievers though. They’re the meanest.”
“They look it.” Anjali crossed her legs and waited.
After a moment she turned to see Rhett staring at her. She quickly turned away.
“Your lips look real soft too,” he murmured.
Oh God. If he told her they were as soft as a Labrador’s, she’d gag.
She looked directly into the camera in front of her and glared.
Rhett slid over, closing the gap between them. “What is that sauce your people like to eat? The one with the onions and the tomatoes?”
“My people?”
“It’s real hot. I’ve had it with a taco before.”
“Salsa?”
“That’s right. Mexico food sure is tasty.”
Anjali opened her mouth to correct him about her ethnicity and then closed it. What was the point?
“Golden retrievers sure are mean,” Rhett said. “One of ’em could kill ya in a heartbeat.”
That’s it, Anjali thought. If there was a ghost, she was going to make an appearance now.
Anjali turned toward Rhett and smiled. “Your mustache sure is cute,” she said. “And I do love salsa. I find it…spicy.” She curled up on the sofa next to him and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I like a strong, well-built man like yourself.” She reached out and squeezed one of his bony arms. “No wonder your ghost is jealous.”
Rhett stared at her, his eyes drifting down to her lips, and he leaned forward.
She forced herself to sit still as his pale, anemic face moved closer and closer and—
He burst into a horrible hacking smoker’s cough.
Anjali leaned over and hit him on the back a few times.
And the room suddenly became cold.
With her hands still on Rhett, she looked around the room. Now she could feel something all right.
Rhett had been telling the truth all along.
The jealous female had arrived.
Anjali looked right at the camera. “It’s getting cold in here, guys, but…” She paused. “I can handle this.”
Rhett yelled up at the ceiling. “Angela’s my lady friend, you best leave her alone.”
Anjali stood up. She could feel anger and bitterness rushing toward her.
She reached out with her mind. The presence was tied to her own circle of bitterness and anger, and Rhett and his lady friends were just a catalyst.
So Anjali closed her eyes, opened the doorway of light, and eased the spirit through.
The air warmed.
Anjali turned to Rhett and put her hands on her hips. “Well, Rhett, looks like your farmhouse has a vacancy.”
“I want to kiss you, Angela.”
“There isn’t enough moonshine in the world, Rhett.”
29
The next morning they were on their way back to the city, having spent the night in Reno. Coulter was driving, Scott sat in the passenger seat, while Anjali lay in the back sleeping.
“I think we should request a limousine for our next case,” Coulter said. “Do you think Colin Farrell has to drive to and from the location when he’s on a shoot?”
“We’re not exactly movie stars,” Scott replied.
“Not yet. It’s only a matter of time before a movie is made about us, and I’ll be damned if I let them cast Owen Wilson to play me. Only I can play me.”
Scott stretched. “Well, I suppose Tom Cruise could play me then.”
“Tom Cruise?” Coulter raised an eyebrow. “Please. Tony Randall maybe.”
“Tony Randall passed away.”
“What about that Niles Crane dude?”
Scott opened in mouth to answer. And then he saw the girl. She was standing in the middle of the road. She wore a light blue and white gingham dress, covered with an apron. Her hair was a mass of perfect sausage curls. “Stop!”
Coulter slammed on the brakes, but it wasn’t fast enough and they ran right into her.
It was like driving through air.
Scott jumped out of the car with Coulter behind him. The little girl was still standing in the same place.
“Is she a freakin’ ghost?” Coulter asked.
“Oh my God,” Scott whispered. “It’s Nellie Olesen.”
“Huh?” Coulter said.
Scott continued to stare straight ahead at the girl. “You know, from Little House on the Prairie.”
“Did you play with dolls too, Wilder?”
“It was a good show,” Scott said just as the girl turned and darted into the thicket of trees to the side of the road.
Scott went after the girl.
“Shit!” Coulter looked back at the sleeping Anjali and took off after Scott.
Scott was standing outside a saggy wooden fence bordering a small property when Coulter caught up to him. “So where is she?” Coulter asked.
“I don’t know. I saw her just a moment ago.”
“I don’t think we should be here,” Coulter said, looking around.
A dilapidated cabin stood in the center of the fenced-in border. Small pockets of dead grass and gravel made up the front and back yards. On the hole-infested porch was a scarred wooden rocking chair and a rusty toolbox. “There she is.” Scott pointed.
Looking out at him from one of the dusty windows was the blond girl. “Come on,” he said and went into the yard. Coulter sighed and followed.
They crossed the yard and went up to the porch. One of Coulter’s feet went right through a rotten board. “Goddamn it!”
“Quiet,” Scott said. He tried the door, and it opened easily.
Coulter stepped aside and gestured for Scott to precede him. “I’ve got your back.”
Scott glanced around the small room. An old stovepipe stood in the corner. A tattered braided rug covered part of the floor. The girl stood at the window, looking at him. Sunlight filtered in through the dusty pane and made her golden hair gleam. She was smiling.
“Ah, Scott?”
“Shh.” Scott put a finger to his lips and moved forward.
“Really, man, I think you’ll wanna hear this,” Coulter insisted.
“We have to find out what she wants. Why don’t you go and get Anjali and—” He stopped as cold steel was pressed against the back of his neck.
“This is breaking and entering,” a raspy voice growled.
Slowly Scott put his hands in the air. “I can explain. You have a supernatural being currently inhabiting your domicile.”
“And you have a rifle cocked up against the back of your head. Still want to argue?”
“No sir,” Scott said.
“Turn around.”
Scott kept his hands in the air and did just that. A tall, stoop-shouldered man with a thick mane of gray hair glared at him. He had his rifle trained on Scott. Coulter stood in view, his
hands at his sides. “Do something,” Scott murmured to him.
Coulter smiled. “Why?”
“Didn’t you see the No Trespassing sign?” the man demanded.
“I’m sorry, sir, my name is Scott Wilder and I head a paranormal investigations firm.”
The man cocked his rifle. “You have thirty seconds to go on and get.”
“But you have a ghost—”
“She don’t bother me,” the man rasped. “She leads silly fools like you here all the time. Now get!”
“See ya,” Coulter said cheerily and was out the door and across the yard in a matter of moments.
“But—” Scott began.
“You now have ten seconds,” the old man said.
Scott turned to see where the girl was grinning at him. She didn’t look cute any longer. “Brat,” he murmured.
“Five seconds!”
Scott took off in a flash.
They were back in the car driving. A smile continued to play along the edges of Coulter’s mouth. Scott sat rigidly in his seat.
From the back came the sound of a yawn and then Anjali’s voice. “Are we almost home?”
“Yeah,” Coulter said.
She leaned forward, placing one hand on each of the seats. “So have you guys been entertaining yourselves while I slept?”
“Scott’s been keeping me pretty entertained,” Coulter said.
Anjali looked at Scott, who continued to stare straight ahead, silent.
“Hey, do you know what the first rule of ghost hunting is?” Coulter asked. “Always look for No Trespassing signs.”
30
Anjali sat on her sofa and stared at the coffee table. One bottle of Pinot Grigio and one cordless phone. The phone was for calling her parents and finally telling them about her new career. The wine was for courage.
She’d already had two glasses but bravery still eluded her.
She blamed the vintage.
She should have gone with a heartier yield.
Then again, what was the drink of choice for calling one’s parents and delivering potentially devastating news?
How about half a liquor store?
She poured another glass, took a large gulp, and grabbed the phone. Kali was stretched out on the windowsill, yellow gaze fixed on her. Anjali patted the spot beside her. “Come here, sweetie, I need your support.”
Kali jumped down, bypassed the sofa, and went into the kitchen. Anjali wondered if the Pet Psychic had an easier time communicating with her cat.
“Okay, let’s do it.” She dialed her parents’ number, pressed the phone to her ear, gritted her teeth, and ignored the pounding of her heart.
Her mother answered. “Hello?”
“Hey Mom, it’s me.”
“Zarina, my favorite daughter! How are you?”
Great, two seconds into the conversation and Anjali was already the bearer of bad news.
“No Mom, it’s Anjali.”
Her mother didn’t miss a beat. “Anjali, my favorite youngest daughter! I knew it was you.”
“Nice, Mom. What were you doing?”
“Going through these yoga studio brochures. Your father and I are going to start taking classes.”
It figured. Her parents hadn’t done a single yoga pose growing up in India, and now it took a studio in Tempe, Arizona, to get them to do it. But then, none of her relatives did yoga, and back when she’d experimented with it, Anjali had been the only Indian person in her class.
“Yoga’s good but…I have to tell you something. I have a new job.”
“When are you coming to Tempe? There’s so much to do here. Last weekend your father and I went camping. We made dal over the cookstove and roasted naan in the campfire. Tomorrow we’re going boating in Tempe Town Lake.”
Anjali had been hearing about Tempe nonstop since her parents had moved there. She wondered if the chamber of commerce was paying them to promote the place. “Sounds like fun, Mom, but about my new job—”
“You have a new job?”
Anjali reached for the glass of wine, changed her mind and grabbed the bottle, taking a hefty swig. “I…I’m a professional psychic now, at a ghost-hunting agency.”
Her mother was silent.
Anjali could feel a cold draft moving in from Tempe.
“Mom?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you. Are you mad?”
“What good is there in being mad?”
“Nothing I guess, I just really needed to tell you. I mean, this is who I am. I don’t want to pretend anymore.”
“So who asked you to?”
Did she hear correctly? Did she need to whip out the family album and point to people? “Well, you and Dad—”
“Oof, your father and I thought we were protecting you. We wanted you to feel normal. We didn’t want people looking at you differently.”
If there was one thing Anjali had learned from ghost hunting, it was this: You can’t cling to the past.
She took a deep breath. “I know, Mom. I do. It can’t have been easy raising a psychic child.”
“It wasn’t so bad. At least you and your sister never did the drugs. Not like that Shivani Jain.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Did you know she was kicked out of Berkeley? She’s going to a junior college now and probably still doing—”
“The drugs,” Anjali finished. “So you’re really okay with this?”
“I am. But how am I going to tell your father? Are you at least making good money? He’ll take the news better if he knows you’re making good money.”
“Umm…”
“There’s this Indian family in Tempe—the Tandons. They have three sons. The eldest is a lawyer, but the middle son became a hairdresser. The family was deeply ashamed. They told everyone he was in jail for tax fraud. But then this year, that same son opened a second salon in Phoenix. He now makes more money than the lawyer! The parents are pushing the youngest son into hairdressing too.”
“But forcing the youngest son is the same as—”
“How much do you charge for being psychic? The Tandon boy charges three hundred dollars for a haircut. Three hundred dollars!”
“Well…”
“You should move to Tempe. There are lots of ghosts here. Better than the ones in San Jose.”
“It’s too hot in Arizona.”
“What are you talking about? Your ancestors all hail from one of the hottest climates on Earth. You should be used to the heat.”
“No thanks, but I will come and visit. I’m just glad things are okay between us.”
“They are. You’re my daughter. You’re perfect.”
Anjali felt cuddled in the warm embrace of maternal approval. “Aw, Mom—”
“Of course it would be nice if you were married. And maybe you could lose a little weight? And don’t drink so much—no man wants to be with an alcoholic.”
Anjali quickly placed the bottle of wine on the floor and out of sight.
“And maybe you should try and get one of those TV specials like that James Van Praagh,” her mother continued. “He was here in Tempe, you know. I don’t know what the big deal is about him. He has those beady eyes and he’s not half as pretty as you. You would need to wear less makeup though and style your hair differently and not slouch so much and…”
Anjali lay back against the cushion and smiled.
31
Scott drove around the Embarcadero looking for parking. Tourists thronged up and down the historic boulevard.
“Just try not to hit a streetcar,” Coulter said.
“Scott, there!” Anjali pointed to a spot opening up in front of the Harbor Court Hotel.
“Nice.” Scott moved forward and was nearly sideswiped by a black SUV that came out of nowhere. He hit the brakes just as the SUV slid neatly into their spot.
“Don’t let some soccer mama get the best of you,” Coulter said. “Parking is all about survival of the fittest.”<
br />
“Forget it,” Scott said. “This is California. I don’t want to get killed over a spot.” He was about to hit the gas when the occupants of the black SUV exited. “Vivica,” Scott said as the tall redhead strode forward, tailed by three men. “What the hell are they doing here?”
Anjali stared out the window. “That’s Vivica?”
Coulter whistled. “We’ve got a little saying in Tennessee…she’s hot.”
There was a short siren burst from behind them. Scott looked in the rearview mirror and saw the police car. He rolled down the window and leaned out.
As they passed Scott’s car, Vivica met his gaze and smirked. “You’re blocking the lane. He wants you to move.” The henchmen smirked as well.
Scott put the car in gear and made another circle of the Embarcadero.
“There on the right.” Anjali pointed. “I think this family is leaving.”
They sat there for another ten minutes while the parents loaded up a bundle of kids and all their packages. A little boy around five jumped out of the car and began running, a big smile on his face. His father caught him around the middle and the kid shrieked with laughter.
“Remind me never to have kids,” Coulter said in a bored voice.
“I’m a kid’s worst nightmare,” Anjali said. “An adult who reads minds.”
The tension among the group assembled in the dining room of the ocean liner, the Santa Perla, was thick.
Anjali figured it was almost as thick as the bad weave on Sly Tullins’s bulbous head. Sly—the owner of the ship—gazed at them with watery blue eyes. His face had a tight, stiff expression, and the smoothness of his forehead seemed unnatural considering his wrinkled hands.
Botox, thought Anjali with a curl of her lip. The expensive suit Sly wore served to make him look slick instead of distinguished. And then there was the little fact that he had called up Vivica Bates after hiring them.
“Mr. Tullins,” Scott said coolly. “Would you please explain why you hired both my team and Dr. Bates’s?”
Sly gave a fake laugh. “Come on…two are better than one. What happened to the spirit of competition.” He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow.
