by Maria Geraci
“That was twelve years ago.” First love. Ha! What a joke. First love implied a reciprocal relationship. “I’m pretty certain he has absolutely no romantic feelings toward me whatsoever. And I feel exactly the same toward him.”
“Oh.” Kitty looked disappointed. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be nosy. It’s just, I can’t help myself. I’m a hopeless romantic.”
“Hopeless would be the key word in any relationship between Tom and myself.”
Kitty suddenly looked uncomfortable, making Allie regret her last words. She sounded bitter. What happened to last night’s love, peace and que sera, sera moment? Maybe she should try to channel the Beatles again. Although, she hadn’t consciously channeled them last night…
“What I meant to say was, Mimi exaggerated. Tom and I dated one summer. You could pretty much say I was a rebound for him. Honestly, I’d forgotten all about it,” Allie said, forcing a smile.
“A rebound, huh?”
Normally, Allie would brush Kitty off. Talking about her sad little past with Tom Donalan wasn’t something she enjoyed. But Kitty seemed genuinely interested and she owed her. Not only had Kitty gone out of the way to try to help her with this ghost story, she was now giving up her morning to help chauffer Allie around town.
“It’s kind of a long story,” Allie said. “But basically, it’s a case of girl and boy date heavily all senior year of high school, then one week before prom girl breaks up with boy and boy turns around and asks his best friend to the dance, which then ends up in a summer romance. Best friend falls hard. Boy, not so much. Then two weeks before everyone goes off to college, girl discovers she’s four months pregnant and boy goes running back to her and they get married. Best friend ends up with a ‘Hey, it was nice, but…’” She shrugged.
Kitty frowned. “So Tom would be boy, you would be best friend, and Lauren is… Oh. I get it.”
“Yep. Then girl ends up divorcing boy and somehow, girl, boy and best friend all end up back in Whispering Bay like some bad alignment of the planets. Sorry to burst your bubble, but that’s it in a nutshell. Not much to resurrect in the form of a romance, I’m afraid.”
If Kitty doubted her, she was polite enough not to say so. “How long do you plan to stay in town?”
“Probably just until I get the story.” And fix her suspended license, of course.
“If you’re still here on Thursday, you should play Bunco with us. It’s at my house this week.” Kitty smiled proudly. “Most groups only play once a month, but we manage to meet every Thursday. Of course, some nights we don’t even play. It’s a great excuse to get out for a girls night and to gorge on Shay Masterson’s super-secret margaritas, which are the best you’ll ever drink.”
Allie nodded politely.
Mimi was always going on about Bunco night. When Allie was younger it had sounded like a suburban nightmare. But now she could see how it would be a nice diversion from her sister-in-law’s regular routine of picking up kids and doing housework. “Sounds fun, but I’m not sure what my schedule is going to look like,” she said, not wanting to make a promise she couldn’t keep.
“Sure, but if you’re available, we’d love to have you. We always need subs.”
*~*~*
Mimi left to go to the grocery store, leaving Allie home alone to do research. The first thing she did was call Emma with the good news. “So you plan to spend the entire night in the senior center? By yourself?” Emma asked.
“Just me, my camera, and I.”
“Ooh! Do you really think you can get a picture of this ghost?”
Well, first she’d actually have to find one. “Why not?”
“I thought ghosts didn’t like being photographed and that’s why they always end up looking like these funny looking orbs. You know, like little white blobs.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” It occurred to Allie that she knew almost nothing about the paranormal.
“Well, whatever you can get, I’m sure it will be great. I filled Ben in on what you were working on.” Pause. “He’s really excited to read the piece.”
Oh Lord. Emma was an even worse liar than Tom. Ben was so not enthusiastic about her little ghost adventure.
“So what made this guy, what’s his name, the head of the construction crew—”
“Tom Donalan.”
“Yeah, him. I thought you said he was a jerk. What made him change his mind and delay the demolition to let you spend the night in the building?”
“Well, that’s the million dollar question.”
“Maybe he’s not such a jerk after all.”
“Maybe.” She thought about the guilty conscience theory then dismissed it. Tom was more of a responsibility junkie. Which made his decision to postpone the demolition all the more confusing. But who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth?
Allie promised to call Emma back in the morning and was ready to dive into her research when her cell phone rang.
“I can’t believe you got your driver’s license suspended,” Zeke said.
“Well, hello to you, too.”
“You’ll be happy to know I looked into this mess for you. There’s a hefty fine and you have to present proof of insurance at a courthouse before you can drive again. You can do it locally and we can fax the information to Hillsborough County, which should take care of the suspension.”
“Excuse me, but isn’t this a little out of your jurisdiction?”
“Yeah, and you can thank me later.” Beneath Zeke’s gruffness lay an undercurrent of affection making it impossible for Allie to resent his interference.
“How about I get this over with and just thank you now?”
“That’s more like it. You know, if you’re short on funds I could pay the fine.”
“Absolutely not. I’m thirty years old. I pay for my own mistakes.”
Speaking of which, she had to pay that overdue electric bill. She said goodbye to her brother then whipped out her computer and logged onto the electric company site, then nearly emptied what was left of her checking account. She transferred some of her meager savings into her main account then sent up a little prayer to St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes (and overall desperation). Which was the perfect way to describe her finances.
Buela was the one who had turned Allie on to St. Jude. She had also made sure Allie and Zeke towed the line by going to Sunday mass and the obligatory semi-annual confession. Allie had to admit, she’d been a pretty crummy Catholic the past few years but her faith in St. Jude had never wavered, probably because Buela herself had been such a staunch believer. But Buela had also been a firm believer in the old adage God helps those who help themselves. And getting a permanent job at Florida! seemed like the perfect first step in helping herself.
She rummaged through the kitchen, grabbed a piece of the best zucchini bread she’d ever tasted, then set up her laptop on the dining room table and fired away.
Unfortunately, what Allie knew about ghosts was limited to the stuff she’d seen on T.V and in the movies, neither of which were credible sources. Of course, neither was Wikipedia, but it was a start. She read the definition aloud: “A ghost was the soul or the spirit of a person or animal that was once alive and now managed to make itself known to the living.”
Okay. Nothing she didn’t already know there.
Next, she perused a list of websites but most of them looked sketchy and absolutely none of them gave her any more information beyond what she’d learned from watching those ghost hunter shows.
A couple of weeks ago, Jen and Sean had an American Horror Story marathon. They got the first three seasons from Netflix and stayed in all day on a Saturday, eating popcorn, drinking mojitos, and laughing. Yes, laughing. Since they were watching TV in the living room of their small apartment, Allie couldn’t help but absorb a few episodes. While Jen and Sean had found the whole thing humorous, Allie literally had the crap scared out of her. She came down with a stomach flu that night and had had to sleep with her bedroom light on.
> It occurred to Allie that Jen, of all people, might be able to help with her research. She hit her roomie’s number on speed dial. After a few rings, Jen picked up. “Did you pay the electric bill?”
“Doesn’t anyone start a conversation with a simple hello anymore?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sigh. “Nothing. And yes, I paid the electric bill.”
“Good. Because I mean, you know, it is your turn.”
Allie wanted to dispute that, but she forced herself to hold back. “So this ghost story is going to take me a little longer than I originally thought, so I’ll be sticking around Whispering Bay for a while.” She left off the part about her suspended license. In order to pay the fine she’d have to wait for her next paycheck from The Blue Monkey. Thank God she had it automatically deposited. Still, that wasn’t till Friday, which meant she’d be here for at least four more days.
“I’ll probably be here till the weekend,” she told Jen.
“No problem,” Jen said, sounding unusually happy, which probably meant Sean had spent the night. Allie envisioned Sean walking around their little apartment in nothing but a loincloth. Oh no. She should have had more than coffee for breakfast.
“Yeah, uh, one more thing. I know this sounds kind of crazy but I was wondering if you had any idea where I might be able to get some general ghost information. Other than what I can find on Wikipedia.”
“I love Wikipedia,” Jen gushed, “but yeah, probably not the most reliable source, especially if you need to quote it or anything for your magazine. Have you tried contacting any mediums?”
“Is that like a psychic?”
Jen sighed impatiently. “Psychics are people with ESP—extra sensory perception.”
“Like the little boy in The Sixth Sense?”
“No, he saw dead people, which would make him a medium. Which is exactly what you need. Only he’s fictional and you need someone real.”
“How do I find someone? I mean, I can’t very well advertise.” It was T-minus ten hours, which barely gave her enough time to do computer research let alone search for a reputable ghost expert.
“Aren’t you the Queen of Google?”
“You think I should do a Google search for ghost mediums?”
“Why not? The Internet knows everything, right? Hey, listen, Sean’s here. Gotta go!” Jen said, then hung up.
Allie stared at her blank computer screen. Jen had a point. What could it hurt to do a Google search? She typed “Ghost Mediums in North Florida” into the subject line. Immediately, several pages popped up. Allie scrolled through the links. There were numerous sites for ghost societies, ghost hunters, psychics, and even a group that claimed to sunbathe with ghosts.
Wouldn’t Tom Donalan just love to hear that one?
Who cared what Tom Donalan thought? And why was she thinking about him anyway? She had work to do. A vision of Tom in a loincloth suddenly popped into her head. This time, it wasn’t her stomach that threatened to rebel. It was her pulse that went up a notch.
Allie frowned. So what? Tom was delicious. She’d already acknowledged that last night. But looks weren’t everything. Thank God she was no longer attracted to him.
She went back to studying the links.
Now she had the opposite problem of just a few minutes ago. With so many potential sources to ask for help, where did she start? She clicked several of the links but without more information she was more confused than ever.
What if she called one of these places and they went to another media source? She could have her story ripped out right from under her. What she needed was someone she could trust. Or at least, someone who might share her interests. Maybe she should call Viola Pantini and ask if any of the Gray Flamingoes had gotten in contact about the anonymous email. She thought back to their meeting this morning and how Roger Van Cleave had reacted when she’d produced the email, and the way he’d been all ninja stealth-like when slipping her his phone number.
She dug in her purse to retrieve the paper and dialed his number. It immediately went to voice mail: “BOO! Thank you for calling The Sunshine Ghost Society. All of our investigators are currently busy, but your haunting is very important to us, so please leave a brief message and a number where we can reach you. And remember, ghosts are people, too.” This was followed by an eerie sounding cackle. “At least…they used to be.”
What? The Sunshine Ghost Society? Allie immediately hung up. She thought she’d been calling Roger. But it was no coincidence that the number he’d given her belonged to a ghost investigation group.
Allie checked the names of the groups from her Internet search. The Sunshine Ghost Society was one of the groups she’d put on her short list. Their website described them as a non-profit organization dedicated to the investigation of the paranormal. Allie had to admit, she rather liked the name. It sounded almost…friendly.
She thought about it a few minutes, then called again and got the same message. The voice on the phone sounded like a cross between Kathleen Turner and Harvey Fierstein.
She waited until the beep.
“Um, yes, this is Allison Grant. I’m a journalist for Florida! magazine and I got this number from Roger Van Cleave. I’d appreciate it if someone could give me a call back.” She gave her cell phone number then hung up.
She briefly thought about contacting one of the other groups from her Google list, but immediately eliminated that idea. She didn’t want anyone else stealing her scoop, so it was best not to get too many people involved. Hopefully someone from the Sunshine Ghost Society would call her back ASAP.
Next, she Googled the Margaret Handy Senior Center but, unlike her search for mediums, this one produced only a few links, all from the Whispering Bay Gazette, a local paper that used to come out daily, but now only printed once a week. She called their number and got a recording saying that their office was open till 1 pm. Since she couldn’t drive without breaking the law, she’d have to wait till Mimi got home and throw herself on her sister-in-law’s mercy. Thankfully, Allie didn’t have to wait too long.
“This is actually kind of fun,” Mimi said, backing out of the driveway.
“What? Playing chauffer to your husband’s ditzy little sister?”
“Investigating ghosts. Maybe you can give me a byline?”
“If this article lands me a permanent gig with Florida! then you’ll get more than a byline. What do you want? Champagne? Chocolate? Eternal baby-sitting duties?”
“I hardly need a babysitter anymore, but chocolate sounds pretty good right about now.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“You know what they say about chocolate, don’t you?”
“That it’s a substitute for sex?” Allie snorted. “In that case, I need a couple of crates.” She glanced at her sister-in-law. “Everything is cool between you and my brother, right?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I thought maybe the chocolate thing…”
“Zeke and I have been married sixteen years. We’re not kids anymore.”
“But you’re happy?” Funny, she’d asked Tom that same question just last night. Irrationally, she stiffened, as if preparing herself for an answer she might not want to hear.
“Sure we are,” Mimi said in a perfunctory way. Then she smiled, and Allie relaxed. Of course Zeke and Mimi were happy. They were the most in love couple Allie knew.
*~*~*
They arrived at the offices of the Whispering Bay Gazette, where they were greeted by the receptionist, who happened to be none other than Boston Betty, the Prepper.
“Nice to see you again,” Allie said, inwardly cringing. Not that Betty didn’t seem like a nice enough lady. Except she was so… negative.
Betty immediately honed in on Mimi. “Hey there, Mrs. Chief-of-Police. You bring your hottie husband with you?”
“Zeke is at a police conference in Tallahassee.”
“Too bad. I could have used some pretty scenery around here today.”
Mimi smiled as if she were used to this kind of thing.
Allie coughed. “Um, yeah, Betty, I was wondering if you could help me?”
“I take it this visit has something to do with that anonymous letter and the ghost?”
It occurred to Allie while she was doing her computer research that Concerned Citizen might have contacted other journalists with a similar version of that anonymous letter. Her vanity hated to think that, (after all, Concerned Citizen did state they’d chosen her because of the Perky the Duck story) but the pragmatist in her had to consider that a slightly different version of that letter could be in circulation.
“I was wondering if maybe the Gazette had received a similar letter.”
“Would have told you this morning if we had,” Betty said, cracking her knuckles. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Well, maybe if you know of anything unusual that ever happened in the senior center? Something that would inspire a person, or, I guess a former person, to come back and haunt the place?”
“That’s it?” Betty said. “Sounds like you don’t have much to go on.”
“I have other leads. This is just one facet of my investigation,” Allie said, putting a little steel in her voice. The thing was, Betty was right. Allie had precious little to go on. “So, back to the information I need. Can you recall anything dramatic happening in the building?”
Betty perked up. “Like a murder?”
“Um, well, I was thinking more along the lines of a heart attack or something. But yeah, a murder. That would be unusual, all right. Especially for Whispering Bay.”
“I’ll say, this town is about as boring as it gets.” She warmed up her computer and went through the files but all Betty came up with was some general background information on the building. Nothing Allie didn’t already know. Not that Allie was surprised. If anything as sinister as a murder had ever occurred in Whispering Bay, she’d have heard of it. No matter how long ago it had occurred. What she was looking for was probably something much simpler and less…evil. Of course, the ghost (assuming there was a ghost) could be attached to the senior center because he or she just liked hanging out there while they were alive. The journalist in her, however, wanted to scratch out that possibility. One, because it opened the field to too many potential ghosts, and two, it simply wasn’t as good a story.
