I cringed. “Please please please don’t start matchmaking again.”
Annabeth took one last swig of water, recapped the bottle and stuffed it back into its cubby in her bag. “I’m just trying to help you get over your broken heart.”
“I’m over it.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest in full-fledged pout mode. I peeked out of the corner of my eye, hoping I’d been convincing, but Annabeth had that Yeah, right expression.
I slumped down in my chair and let out a long, huge sigh. “Quince called me last summer,” I mumbled.
Annabeth rushed over to me. “What?”
I nodded. “Yeah. He started to ask me out, but when I told him I had clients…Same ol’ same ol’. It always creeped him out whenever I mentioned any of that stuff.”
“All the more reason for you to give Gary another look. He’s been there done that, and he won’t judge.”
“Give it a rest, Annabeth. It took me most of the summer to get over one stupid phone call, and I don’t need more aggravation.”
She studied me closely for a minute but didn’t say anything. Instead she peered over my shoulder. “Whatchya workin’ on?”
I relaxed a little, hoping she’d let go of the idea of matching me up with ghost whisperer Gary. I pointed to the keyboard. “Something that came in off the Info Line this morning.”
“Okay.” She scrutinized the screen.
“It’s about the Ghost Stalkers Club.” I grinned with amusement as that piece of information got her attention.
Annabeth bounced up and down on her toes. “You know I’m a member of that club, right? So what’s up?”
“Haven’t you checked the website lately? It seems the owner of that old abandoned farmhouse outside of town wants you guys to come figure out if the place is haunted.”
“Is it?” Annabeth asked.
I shrugged. “Ask Gary.”
She blew out a puff of air in frustration. “So do you at least have reliable sources? For the story, I mean. Sometimes the Info Line can be…”
“Unreliable, I know.” I toggled back to The Ghost Stalkers website. “So I did my research. This is straight from Barry Lansing.” I tapped my finger on his message to the club members.
Annabeth read silently. “Okay, so how can you already be writing your story? We don’t even know if it’s haunted yet.”
“I Googled the house and its current owner. Seems Ms. Pelson is the last living member of the once-prominent family.” I flipped back to my story. “So for right now, I’m writing background about her and the history of her home. I’ll wait and see what the Ghost Stalkers Club finds out before I go any further.”
Annabeth was thoughtful. “Hmm. This story involves a wealthy family, historical property, and ghosts. Could it maybe…?”
“Yes,” I said as a little mini-flick raced across my mind. “It could possibly go viral and attract media attention from Indianapolis.” I ignored her look of surprise and went back to work.
Annabeth’s eyes lit up. “Hey, Caryn, why don’t you go with us on the ghost hunt?”
My hands crashed onto the keyboard, making a mess of my story. I hurriedly deleted the inadvertent keystrokes and shook my head. “I can’t.”
“Why not? Sean and I will be there. And I think Gary—”
I put up my hand to stop her. “Don’t say another word about Gary Riddell.”
Annabeth groaned. “Sometimes it’s frustrating trying to have a conversation with a psychic.”
I turned to face her. “Sorry, but I’m still upset about what Uncle Omar told me this morning.”
She grinned. “What did his hotness say that’s got you so rattled?”
Annabeth, of course, has never seen my dead uncle, but I did show her the picture of him that Mom keeps on her dresser. “It seems being a psychic medium is different from talking to earthbound ghosts. Gary can apparently do something I can’t.”
Annabeth’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“And you can’t…?”
“No.”
Annabeth was silent for a moment. Then she got that sly look on her face, the wheels inside her head turning. “Maybe you and Gary could, I don’t know, work together. You get the psychic hits and he talks to the ghosts? Kind of a meeting of the minds.”
I went back to my keyboard. “Don’t you have work to do?”
She shrugged and re-checked the assignment board. “Ohmigod Caryn!” Annabeth squealed as she ran her finger down to the bottom of the board. “Did you see this? Del must already know about the Ghost Stalkers story because he’s assigned it to you!”
“Wait. What?” When I got here this morning I went straight to work, not bothering to check the board. I darted across the room to have a look for myself. Sure enough, there it was.
“Now you have to go. Besides, it’ll be fun. And look.” She ran her finger halfway up. “I’m your photographer.” Annabeth clapped her hands in delight. Then she looked up at the institutional wall clock. “Oops. I’m gonna be late for class! If Del comes in, tell him I’ll be back for the camera.” She grabbed her book bag and bolted out the door.
I went back to my desk and looked at the story I’d been writing about the historical background of the Pelson farmhouse. I read and reread it, sighed and hit Save. I nervously drummed my fingers on my desk, trying to decide what my next move should be. I silently offered up a little prayer to The Universe.
As if in answer, I heard Uncle Omar say, “If you decide to collaborate with Gary, you’ll find more than just ghosts in that old house.”
“Like what?” I asked him. But he was gone. Not being psychic about myself is so frustrating.
****
At least Gary’s English Lit exam went okay. It was an essay and laptops weren’t allowed. Students were required to write long-hand in blue books, for fear some enterprising student would download something from the Internet. The prompt was about Puck’s last line from A Midsummer Night’s Dream: “If we shadows have offended, Think but this and all is mended…” After last summer and Shakespeare in the Park, it was—Gary chuckled to himself—a walk in the park.
He stepped out onto The Commons and shivered. Note to self: break out the winter coat. The cold he’d experienced last night on his wanderings seemed to have settled in. He didn’t have time before work to go back to the dorm, so he pulled up the collar on his jean jacket, shoved his hands in his pockets, ducked his head and started walking in long strides toward the bookstore.
“Sir, a moment of your time if you please.”
Gary stopped mid-stride and turned to stare into the semi-solid face of a military officer, probably World War I era judging by his uniform. Great. Of all the campuses in Indiana, some rich benefactor had to choose this haunted one.
“You’re dead, dude. Go to the light,” Gary said, and hurried away. A quick glance over his shoulder told him the ghost was gone, wherever.
The bookstore was busy. Students were milling around the book stacks, grabbing HLAC-embossed hooded sweatshirts to ward off the chill, and of course stocking up on blue books and pens. “Yup, definitely midterms,” Gary muttered to himself. He rushed to the back room, grabbed his nametag while simultaneously clocking in, and hurried out onto the floor.
The coffee bar was also crowded. The sudden cold snap gave students an excuse to linger over a hot beverage while reading or studying. Every table was occupied, but of course some students were just there to socialize. There were even a couple of professors on their laptops, hard at work grading or writing lesson plans or whatever professors do.
His boss Ellis Garrett was motioning for him to come to the check-out area, so Gary stepped behind the counter and started ringing up purchases. It was so busy he barely had a moment to look up. And then his register ran out of receipt tape. Perfect. He reached into the cabinet underneath and fished out a fresh roll.
“I can’t find the flash drives,” said a customer.
“They’re over by the c
omputer accessories,” Gary said as he finished replacing the sales receipt roll, closed the cover and ran a test print. He tore that one off and threw it in the trashcan near his feet.
“Thanks. And by the way, this herbal tea is lukewarm.”
Gary glanced up to see Caryn Alderson, carryout teacup in her hand. He shrugged. “Not my department.” Ellis would kill him if he alienated customers, no matter how annoying, so with a level tone he said, “You’ll have to discuss the tea with the barista.”
Caryn stood there a minute too long, like she was on the verge of saying something else. Finally she shrugged. “Good talk.” She turned on her heel and went off toward the computer accessories.
The girl’s infuriating. “May I help you?” he said to the next customer in line.
****
Ghost-boy’s infuriating! How hard would it have been for Gary to just be civil? All I did was ask about a flash drive. Okay, and complain about the tea, but seriously. Like he said, not his department, so why did he get all huffy?
With no help from Gary, I found my flash drive and paid for it at a different register operated by a friendly-looking middle-aged woman. Out in the lobby, I took one more sip of the tasteless tea, grimaced and tossed it in a nearby trash bin. I was supposed to be on my way to the library to study, but I realized I was too honked off to concentrate. That Gary guy could sure make my blood boil.
I pulled my wrap sweater tightly around me, tied it at the waist, and started across campus. It seemed to be getting colder outside and I wished I’d worn a coat. But cold or not, angry or not, I had midterms to study for, and the best place for that was a quiet study carrel in the library.
Halfway there my phone buzzed with a text from Annabeth:
—Don’t make any plans for Thursday night. Big Ghost-Stalkers meeting!—
Despite my misgivings, Del had assigned me the story and I knew I had to go, but…I texted back a reply.
—Will Sean be there? Gary?—
She replied that they both would be. UGH. Yes, I was happy that out of all the reporters on The Herald, Del had trusted me to cover this big story. Maybe he thought a psychic medium had a leg up, or maybe I was just the best one for the job. I didn’t know, but I sure didn’t want to run into Gary Riddell. Again.
****
Gary turned the key in his dorm room door and stepped inside. It was after eleven p.m., he was tired and he still had to study. He tossed his keys on his desk and flung his jacket on the chair.
“Long day?” Sean asked. He was sitting at the built-in desk, working on his laptop, while half-listening to the eleven o’clock news on TV.
“Longer than yours, Mr. I-Never-Worked-a-Day-in-My-Life.”
Sean’s head jerked up as he frowned. “Mean, dude. I’m working every bit as hard as you are, trying to get a decent education here.”
Gary kicked his shoes off and flopped down on the bed. “Yeah, okay, cheap shot. I didn’t mean—”
“Wait,” Sean said, putting up his hand to silence Gary. He upped the volume on the TV and turned to watch.
“We’re continuing the story of Eddie Carson, an eighth grader at Belford Middle School, missing since this afternoon when he didn’t return home from school. An Amber Alert has been issued,” said the TV announcer. “His distraught stepfather, Clyde Seville, is asking for any information the public might have as to Eddie’s whereabouts. ‘All I want is my son’s safe return,’ Seville was quoted earlier today.”
Gary didn’t usually watch the news, but in this instance the story grabbed his attention as much as it had Sean’s. “Poor kid.” He thought the stepdad sounded a little insincere, but hey, what did he know about fathers?
Sean nodded. “Yeah, they’ve been talking about this all afternoon. One of the kid’s friends said he saw him talking to some strange guy in a white pickup and then he got in the truck instead of the school bus. No one’s seen him since.” He turned his attention back to the news report.
“And in other news, Belford, Indiana, will soon be in the local spotlight when students from Hamilton Liberal Arts’ Ghost Stalkers Club set out to investigate a reported haunting at the old Pelson Farmhouse. The property is currently owned by Clara Pelson, descendant of famed entrepreneur William Pelson. The farmhouse is located just outside of town near County Line Road, and Ms. Pelson had been planning to convert it to a bed and breakfast. According to the club’s website, a local medium…”
Gary couldn’t believe his ears. Surely they weren’t talking about him? He snatched the remote out of Sean’s hand and flipped the television off.
Sean lifted an eyebrow. “So I guess you heard from Barry, huh?”
“No thanks to you.”
“Well? What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. I didn’t reply to the email.” Gary didn’t want to get into this with Sean, partly because he was still mad and partly because it was late, he was tired, and he still had lots of work to do. He dug deep into his book bag, pulled out a script and thumbed through the pages.
“Why not? Gary, we really need you. All the EVP equipment in the world isn’t half as effective as you talking directly to the ghosts.”
Gary tossed the script aside. “Sean, for the last time, I’m not interested.” He bit his tongue before he said something he couldn’t take back.
Sean turned around in his desk chair and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Let me see the email Barry sent.”
Gary reluctantly pulled his phone out of a pocket in his book bag and scrolled around until his emails came up. “Here,” he said, shoving it in Sean’s face.
Sean backed away a little in order to see it. “Sounds innocent enough,” he said when he finished reading it. “Come on, man, just say ‘yes.’ What can it hurt?”
“It could hurt my reputation, that’s what. I’m trying to establish an acting career here.” Gary placed his phone on the nightstand between the beds. “I don’t relish the idea of being interviewed by that campus gossip rag your girlfriend works on.”
“That’s your reason?” Sean was incredulous. “You don’t want publicity? I thought that’s what actors were all about.”
“It’s not just the publicity, Sean. You know I’m not a medium.”
“So you’ve told me. Ad nauseum.” Sean reached over and picked up Gary’s phone. “But that’s a fine distinction most people—and the media—don’t grasp, that you can’t talk to the happy spirits in Heaven like Caryn does, just the miserable ghosts stuck here.” After a flurry of punched keys, he calmly handed the phone back with a sly grin. “Since I have to do everything for you, I—you—just accepted Barry’s offer. And don’t give me any of your tired excuses. You’ll thank me later.” Sean got up and slapped Gary on the back before turning the TV back on.
“I thought Caryn was the psychic,” Gary grumbled.
“And anyway, the publicity could help your career. Your next theatre production will probably sell out, and who knows, HLAC might get a nice donation from the Pelson family after you scare off their ghosties.”
Gary needed to wash this day away. “I can’t believe you got me into this.” He headed to the bathroom for a shower. “There’d better be some damn ghosts in that farmhouse.”
Chapter 4
It’s dark. Pitch dark. With trepidation I feel my way onto the porch of the rickety old farmhouse. There are cobwebs everywhere and I get an eerie feeling about the place. I don’t want to go in, but for some reason I’m compelled to continue on. Just as I reach for the torn screen door, I sense someone behind me. Right behind me. So close, in fact, I can feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. Shivers run down my spine as I jump and turn to see who’s there.
“Don’t worry, Caryn, it’s just me.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Uncle Omar, don’t scare me like that!”
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of ghosts!” he says with a chuckle.
I put my hands on my hips and scowl at him. “Of course not. Besides, you said I can’t see th
em.”
“Just a heads up, Niece. There’s more than ghosts in this farmhouse. And Caryn…”
“Caryn. Caryn? Your alarm!” Annabeth reached over from her bed and hit the snooze button.
I opened one eye and looked at the clock. “Sorry, I was dreaming about…” My voice trailed off.
Annabeth rolled over onto her back and rubbed her eyes. “About what?”
I blinked, sat up, and looked around our dorm room as I tried to recall the dream. Finally I shook my head. “I can’t remember it now. Must not have been too important.”
In late October it was still dark at seven a.m., so I got up and stumbled over my tote bag on the way to the bathroom. “We need to clean up in here,” I said as I massaged my stubbed toe.
Annabeth mumbled something in agreement. Her desk on the far side of her bed was a little neater than mine, but it still had a stack of books piled high next to her laptop. Her school textbooks were neatly arranged on the bookshelf over the desk, offset by a considerable collection of paperbacks teetering on the edge of the shelf. I couldn’t help wondering why they hadn’t fallen and hit her on the head. At least Annabeth’s closet was neat and organized. All her expensive designer shoes were lined up in pairs, and her couture clothes were arranged according to style, season, and color. In contrast, my closet was crammed full of off-the-rack or consignment store clothing I’d just shoved in. If there was no room for something, it landed on the floor or got stuffed into the built-in dresser drawers.
My side of the dorm room wasn’t much better than my closet. There was an unwashed tea mug sitting on my cluttered desk. New and used blue books were piled on top of the laptop, along with a couple of overdue library books. School books were sitting on my shelf in no particular order, and I’d also put some of my beauty products up there. At least I’d started keeping my appointment calendar online, which freed up a little space on my study desk.
I picked up the tote bag at my feet and dug my phone out. Something told me my mom was trying to get in touch with me. Sure enough, she’d sent me a text. I flipped on the bathroom light to read it.
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