by Josie Belle
“Mrs. Krasinski,” Maggie said. “You know my clientele is not really the china shopping sort and a full service for twelve including platters and tureens is not going to move unless I break it up.”
Mrs. Krasinski gasped and put her hand over her heart as if Maggie had just blasted her with a poison dart.
“‘Break it up’?”
“Not into pieces,” Maggie assured her. “But into smaller lots. Instead of service for twelve, I might have better luck moving it as three sets of four.”
Mrs. Krasinksi looked a little woozy. “Parcel it out? Who would get the dessert bowls? How could you divvy up the sugar bowl and creamer pitcher?”
Maggie put her hand over Mrs. Krasinksi’s age-spotted one and gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze.
“Mrs. Krasinski—Eleanor—why are you trying to sell it when it is so clear that you love it?” Maggie asked.
Eleanor Krasinksi gave Maggie a wobbly smile. “I was hoping that it would prove to be of such value that my son and grandsons would reconsider and beg me not to sell it.”
“So, you’re hoping to incite some interest by putting fear into their hearts that they’ll be losing out on a cash cow, is that it?” Maggie asked.
“Yes,” Mrs. Krasinksi admitted. She gave Maggie a sheepish look, letting her know that she knew she was being foolish. “I know it’s silly, but when I picked those plates out in 1950, just before my wedding, I had a happy little daydream that one day I would be at my child’s house and we would be setting the holiday dinner table with my china that I passed down.”
“I don’t think that’s silly at all,” Maggie said. “I think it’s lovely.”
Eleanor sighed and wrapped up her salad plate. “No, it’s just an old woman’s foolishness.”
“Maybe,” Maggie said. “But it doesn’t make it any less lovely. Tell you what, how about I do some research on this pattern. Maybe we’ll find out that it is exclusive, and maybe we’ll have to let certain people know that their grandmother is about to sell certain pieces of their inheritance for a song.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed at Maggie. “You’re sneaky.”
Maggie shrugged.
“I like it,” Eleanor said. “Let me know when you start the rumor so I can put my poker face on.”
“Will do,” Maggie said. “Oh, you’d better leave that piece with me so I can make it look authentic in case one of your grandbabies comes in here demanding to know why I’m absconding with the family china.”
Eleanor looked worried and Maggie added, “I’ll guard it with my life, I promise.”
Eleanor carefully checked its wrapping before handing it to Maggie. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Maggie said.
Eleanor Krasinski turned to leave and then she turned back. “Oh, I nearly forgot, if you’re looking for a place to pick out your china, you should go to the Lenox outlet in Dumontville. They have amazing prices, and you don’t have time to dillydally. The big day is coming up, isn’t it?”
Maggie felt a shiver move down her spine. “Yes, in a few weeks.”
“Have you finished your registry?”
“Almost,” Maggie lied. She hadn’t registered for diddly-squat. “With Sam and I merging houses, there didn’t seem to be a need to register for too much.”
Eleanor looked appalled. “That’s exactly why you do need to register, to start a new life together with new things so you’re not just dragging the broken-down bits of your old life along with you.”
Maggie frowned as she watched Eleanor leave. Broken-down bits of her old life? Is that what her miscellaneous collection of cookware and dishes represented, all that was wrong with who she had been? She had thought the years she had scraped by with her daughter, Laura, were actually some of her finest. She had learned how to make a good life for them without any of the extras.
Did she really need to throw away all of the strong and serviceable goods she had collected over the years just because she was starting a new life with Sam? Did he want her to do that? She could feel the hair on the back of her neck rising as she felt a balk coming on. This needed to be nipped in the bud and quick.
She circled the counter and put Mrs. Krasinski’s plate on a shelf where it would be safe while she hatched her nefarious plan to help Eleanor out. Then she picked up the cordless phone receiver and dialed Sam’s number.
“Collins,” he answered.
“Do we need to register for china?” Maggie asked.
“Huh?”
“How about linens?” Maggie asked. “Do we need new sheets and towels? Whose bed are we going to use at the new house or are we going to have separate rooms?”
“No!” Sam barked.
“No, what?” Maggie asked. “No to china, linens or—”
“Separate beds,” Sam interrupted. “I don’t care about any of the rest of it.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he said. “Now explain. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“Mrs. Krasinski,” Maggie said.
“Trying to unload her china again?”
“Yes, but we made progress this time,” Maggie said.
“Are we getting stuck with the china?” Sam asked.
“No, but I’m going to research it and convince her grandsons that they are missing out on a veritable gold mine,” she said.
“This is when I stop listening because it sounds like you are doing something illegal,” he said.
“More like charitable,” Maggie said. “In that I am trying to give an older lady who loves her china some peace of mind.”
“That does sound like something you would do,” he conceded. “So why the panic about registering?”
“Because we’re getting married in a matter of weeks and I don’t have a dress or a place for the reception or anything,” Maggie said. “I’m a failure as a bride.”
“We just bought a house,” he said. “You’ve been busy. I bet everything falls into place now.”
“I hope so,” Maggie said. “I’m taking the girls over to see the house tonight. Care to meet us?”
“I can’t. I’m on patrol,” he said. “But while you’re there, you might want to see which of our beds would fit better in the master bedroom.”
His voice was low and seductive and Maggie felt her pulse kick up a notch.
“Nice to know your priorities are perfectly in order,” she said.
“Natch,” he agreed. “Call me later?”
“Of course,” she said. “I have to tell you about my visit with Blue Dixon.”
“You have been busy,” he said. “Nuts, Deputy Wilson is signaling me.”
“Go, you don’t want Dot getting mad at you,” she said.
“No, indeed, but we’ll talk later,” he said.
Maggie hung up, thinking Sam had sounded more like a cop than a fiancé and then realized she must be crazy in love with the man because it charmed her way more than it should have.
Chapter 5
“And this is the dining room,” Maggie said as she led Ginger and Claire into the room off of the kitchen. Joanne was home with the baby and couldn’t join them as she was trying to keep little Patience on a schedule.
“Oh, I like this,” Ginger said. “There’s plenty of room for your family and a lot of guests if you got it into your head to host a holiday dinner for your nearest and dearest.”
“You don’t think it’s too big?” Maggie asked.
“No,” Claire said. “It’s perfect.”
“What about the backyard?” Maggie asked. “Do you think Sam and I could keep up with that? I mean it’s really big and we both work.”
Ginger and Claire exchanged a look.
“All right, Maggie,” Ginger said. “I’ve known you since we were in kneesocks and plaid skirts and I can tell when you are waffling on a decision.”
“I’m not—” Maggie protested.
“Yeah, you are,” Claire said. “It’s been going on since you told us about Marshall Dillon getting trapped
in the basement. What we can’t figure out is if you’re trying to get us to talk you into loving the house or hating it. So give us a little direction here, would you?”
Maggie sighed. “I don’t know.”
Ginger put her arm around her friend and gave her a squeeze. “Let’s approach this like we would a sale at Stegner’s.”
“Excellent idea,” Claire said. “Let’s start with the number one question: Is the price right?”
“We’re getting a smoking good deal,” Maggie confirmed. “It needs some work and it’s been on the market for a long time.”
“Will it retain its value if you decide to sell it?” Ginger asked.
“It’s in the historic area of town, and if we put in the work, it could double in value,” Maggie said. She felt her nerves calming a bit.
“All right, now the critical question,” Claire said. “Do you need it?”
“Yes, Sam’s house is a rental and my house, well, it’s full of a lot of memories of a different life, you know, with Charlie and Laura. I think starting our marriage in a fresh place is wise, don’t you?”
“Definitely,” Claire said. “You don’t want any ghosts of the past living with you and Sam.”
“Funny you should mention ghosts,” Maggie said. She glanced at her two friends and wondered if they were going to think she was crazy. “I think our house has one.”
Ginger and Claire looked at her and then at each other. Claire laughed first and Ginger followed.
“Oh, Maggie, you are so funny,” Claire said. “You almost had me going.”
“Me, too,” Ginger said. She waved a dismissive hand and walked back into the main living room. “Look at this place. Does it look creepy and scary to you? I mean there’s not even a cobweb in sight.”
“No, but—”
“And I haven’t heard any strange noises like rattling chains or moaning,” Claire said. “You pretty much always have to hear moaning.”
“Agreed,” Ginger said. “You know, it was probably just a case of buyer’s panic giving you the shivers.”
“You’re right,” Maggie said. She felt her tension ease. Thank goodness for the Good Buy Girls talking her out of her crazy spell.
“Come on, let’s eat,” Claire said.
They had brought a pizza and a bottle of wine with them to eat after they toured the house. Because there was no furniture, they sat on a blanket Ginger had brought in from her car and ate the pizza off paper plates and drank the wine out of paper cups picnic-style. Claire dished the pizza and Ginger poured the wine.
Maggie sat quietly, trying not to think about the cold air she felt moving in the room. It’s just a draft, she told herself. The girls were right. The house wasn’t haunted. She was just being ridiculous.
“You know what it could be,” Claire said after swallowing a bite of pizza. “Wedding jitters.”
“Absolutely,” Ginger agreed. “You’re uprooting your entire life. It is perfectly natural that you’re having anxiety which has manifested itself into the idea of ghosts in your new house.”
“But I’m not nervous—” Maggie began but Claire interrupted her.
“It makes perfect sense if you think about it. I mean moving and getting married are two of the three biggest life changes a person can make. Good thing you’re not having a baby, too, or you’d have a trifecta of anxiety going on.”
“I don’t think—” Maggie began but she was interrupted by the sound of a door slamming up above.
All three of them jumped and glanced up at the ceiling.
“What was that?” Ginger hissed.
“It sounded like a door slamming,” Maggie said. Her voice was faint, and she cleared her throat. “It’s an old house. I suppose it could just be settling.”
“Of course,” Ginger said. Maggie noticed that her voice sounded a bit faint as well.
Claire forced a laugh. “Look at us. We’re as jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
Ginger took a long sip of her wine and then laughed. “You’re right. We are so lame. The boys would tease me no end if they saw me acting all scared.”
Maggie glanced up at the ceiling. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just the house settling. She didn’t want to say anything that would freak the others out but she was sure she felt a presence in the house.
“You know, Sam and I never really figured out how Marshall Dillon got shut in the basement,” Maggie said. “Neither one of us remembers closing the door.”
“I’m sure it was just an accident,” Ginger said.
Claire slowly lowered her pizza onto her plate. “Did Marshall Dillon stare past you like he could see something that wasn’t there?”
“No,” Maggie said.
“Did he freak out and run out of the room or try to get out of the house?” Ginger asked.
“No, he pretty much just went all big and fluffy, hissy and spitting, as he scurried past us into the room,” Maggie said.
“Maybe the door was shut by a draft,” Claire suggested.
“Yeah, or maybe Marcy did it, not realizing the cat was down there,” Ginger said.
“Or a ghost did it,” Maggie said and glanced around the room as if she was afraid of being overheard.
“Jitters, it’s just wedding jitters,” Claire insisted. “There is no such thing as ghosts.”
Ginger nodded. “She’s right. It’s just your nerves. Once we get your dress and you have your cake ordered and the place for the reception nailed down, you’ll feel much better.”
Maggie bit a piece of pizza to keep herself from saying anything. Maybe her friends were right. Maybe she was just nervous about the wedding. The dress, if she could just nail down the dress, then she wouldn’t be freaking out so much.
“You’re right,” she said. “I suppose I am just on anxiety overload.”
“It’s completely normal,” Claire said.
“Absolutely, but we’ll get you through it,” Ginger agreed. She held up her paper cup of wine and Maggie and Claire tapped theirs against hers.
Maggie glanced around the room that would be her living room. It was a nice room. She could see herself enjoying cold winter evenings curled up on the couch reading while Sam watched his favorite sports teams and did his armchair coaching thing. The thought made her smile, and she felt herself relax.
“Okay, so what is our next move on the dress?” Ginger asked.
“I was thinking—” Maggie began but her voice trailed off as a noise from the kitchen sounded.
They all turned their heads toward the noise, which was the distinctive creak of a door opening very slowly and with great reluctance.
“House settling,” Claire said. “A place this old is probably always adjusting itself.”
“Right,” Ginger agreed.
The lights flickered once, then twice, and the three of them looked at one another.
“Settling, my ass,” Ginger said and she jumped to her feet.
A door slammed upstairs again and Claire shrieked. She and Maggie hopped to their feet as well. Claire moved to pick up the pizza box but Ginger grabbed her hand and said, “Leave it!”
A moan sounded and Maggie felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
“Go! Go! Go!” she yelled. Ginger led the way with Claire behind her and Maggie following, only pausing to grab the open bottle of wine.
They ran out of the house, across the porch and down the front walk, not stopping until they were standing on the sidewalk in front of the house, huffing and puffing as they tried to catch their breath.
“Lord-a-mercy, girl.” Ginger was the first to speak. “You have a ghost.”
Maggie looked at her friends. They were both wide-eyed and gasping for breath. She knew she probably looked the same.
“I have to tell Sam,” she said. “We can’t live here. We can’t live in a house with a ghost.”
“What if it’s a mean ghost?” Claire asked. “You could be possessed or it might make one of y
ou kill the other.”
Maggie felt all of her insides twitch in full-on panic. “Do you think it’s evil? Did you get that feeling?”
Ginger put her hands on her hips while she considered. “No, I didn’t get that feeling, but we were moving out of there so fast, I don’t know that I would have noticed if it was a benevolent spirit or not. And really, if it is nice, why is it banging around so much?”
“And flickering off the lights is a totally passive-aggressive thing to do,” Claire said.
Maggie turned to look at the house she’d been planning to call home. The porch was wide and welcoming. She knew exactly where she wanted to put the porch swing. She’d had daydreams about her and Sam sitting on it, sharing a pitcher of lemonade on a hot summer afternoon.
The wind whipped down the street, tossing her hair about her head. A glance at the sky and the ominous clouds of an incoming storm got her feet moving toward the car.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Maggie said.
“Aren’t you going to lock the door?” Claire asked her.
Maggie looked at her and then the house. “I am not going back there. You two go home. I have to talk to Sam.”
Ginger nodded as if this was the most sensible thing Maggie had said all evening.
“Call us later,” Claire said. “I’m going to stop by the library on my way home. I bet I can find some information on exorcisms.”
Maggie gave her a faint smile. She had a feeling she was going to need something stronger than an exorcism spell. Especially when she told Sam they definitely had a ghost, and she was not moving into the house. Yeah, she was going to need a calm-the-heck-down spell.
Chapter 6
“What are you doing here?” Sam asked. He was sitting at his desk, working through a pile of paperwork, and his eyebrows shot up on his forehead when she appeared in his doorway. “And why are you carrying around an open bottle of wine?”
“To calm my nerves,” Maggie said.
“What nerves?” Sam asked.
“These,” Maggie said. She held out her hand so he could see her fingers trembling.
“Whoa,” Sam said. He came from around his desk and held out his hand to take the bottle from her. Then he opened his arms and pulled her close.
