by Morgana Best
“Dinner will be at precisely five-thirty, so you may take John into the living room and get to know each other,” my mother said to me, and it was all I could do not to sigh and roll my eyes. I managed to control my emotions, and I led the man into the living room. We sat opposite each other on voluminous, antique couches, while my mother turned on the gospel music channel on the radio.
The uncomfortable silence stretched on for ages. John didn’t appear as if he were going to say anything, so I started. “What do you do for a living, John?” I asked.
“I enter data into spreadsheets all day.”
I stopped myself before I could say, “Of course you do.”
“Interesting,” I tried instead, even though it wasn’t interesting at all. It was so plain and boring that I thought my eyes would fall out of my head.
“Wow, this guy is neat,” a voice said, and for a wild minute I thought it was my mom, who had disappeared into the kitchen, even though the voice didn’t match hers at all. I looked over to my right and saw Tiffany sitting across from us on an easy chair, her feet propped up on the coffee table.
“Not my idea,” I said, before I could stop myself.
“What’s not your idea?” John asked, tilting his head to the side.
“Oh,” I said, looking back at him. “It wasn’t my idea to have you over, but I’m glad my mother asked you.” I thought that was a bit too strong, so I amended it. “You know, it’s been a while since I lived here, so it’s nice to make friends again.”
“I was under the impression that I’m here to court you,” John said stiffly, “not to be your friend. A man’s friend is another man. A man courts a woman.”
Across the table, Tiffany giggled.
“Right you are, John,” another voice said, and this time it was my mother. “A woman is a helpmeet, not a friend.”
“A help meat?” I said, startled.
“A helpmeet,” my mother said, glaring at me. “A helper. Woman was created as helper for man.” Before I could say something highly impolite, she turned to John. “I’m so sorry that my daughter is not familiar with the King James Version Bible any more. She’s been in the city, so she must’ve gone over to new, radical versions like The Amplified Bible and things like that.”
Both John and my mother screwed up their faces in disgust. I could see why my mother liked John so much. She joined us, sitting in the chair on which Tiffany had been perched, and I got to experience the ghost leaping up through my mother just as she sat down. Somehow I took pleasure from that. If only my mother knew that a spirit had just gone through her. It would freak her out.
“Do you work?” John asked me.
“I had a job in Melbourne, but it looks like I might be moving back to take care of my father’s business now.”
John shook his head, and my mother loudly clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “That won’t do,” the plain man said. “My wife won’t be working.”
“I am no one’s wife, and certainly not yours!” I said angrily, and would have said plenty more, but my mother stood.
“That’s enough, Laurel,” she said. “A woman need not control the conversation. I’ll go check on the dinner.”
I watched her go, and caught Tiffany’s eye. She shrugged her shoulders. “So,” she said, “find my killer, all right?”
I shook my head slightly, hoping John wouldn’t see.
“What else do you have going on? Dating?” the ghost woman asked me. I slyly shooed her away, and then endured another half hour alone with John.
It was a relief when we were finally seated at the dining room table. My mother whisked the dinner out from the kitchen, setting food before us: platters of potatoes, carrots, and green beans. Mom served us all and then sat down. She and John spoke more than I did, and my mother steered and dominated the conversation, even though, according to her, that wasn’t what a woman should do.
Halfway through dinner, John turned to me. “I’m out of water,” he said.
I looked at his glass, which was indeed empty. I nodded. “Yep,” I said cheerfully, wondering if the guy had a screw loose or something.
“A woman should serve a man,” John said.
My mother knew me well enough to speak up before I did. I was half out of my chair, not to fill his glass, but to kick him out of the house.
“Allow me, John,” my mom said, reaching for his glass. “I’m the hostess tonight, so you two get to know each other.”
After that, I had even less than my already zero desire to get to know the guy. It was an awkward and quiet dinner, and when John tried to hug me at the door as he was leaving, I shoved my hand between our bodies and stopped him, and shook his hand instead.
“How rude are you?” my mother said after she shut the door.
I held my finger up, practically waving it in her face. “Don’t do that again. I’m not interested in any men from your church.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I’m trying to save my own daughter’s soul.”
“Mom, I would rather be tormented for eternity than fill up a man’s glass because he ordered me to.”
She folded her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. “You’re never going to find a husband with that attitude.”
I was seething. “I don’t want a husband!” I said angrily. “And most certainly not a rude, sexist one like that!”
“Well, good, then you can work in the funeral home forever, and take care of yourself.”
“I would love that,” I said.
My mother snorted rudely, then turned and headed upstairs to her room. I gave her a few minutes’ head start, and then went up to mine.
Tiffany was waiting for me. She sat on the edge of my bed. “You should have just gotten him some water,” she said with a grin. “You know, to keep the peace.”
“Be quiet,” I said, “and I do hope you’re joking. How long are you going to be here?” I sat down beside the ghost.
“Until you agree to help me,” she said.
“While it’s true that I can talk to you people,” I said, “I don’t run a detective agency or anything.”
Tiffany sighed. “Don’t you want to help someone who needs it, though?”
I felt too grumpy to have this conversation. “You’re past help. You don’t need help. You just need to move on. You’re dead.”
The dead girl with the long platinum blonde hair frowned. “Harsh,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling truly bad. “I didn’t mean that. Sometimes I don’t think before I speak.”
“So you’ll help me?” Tiffany asked.
“I’d like to, but I don’t know what to do,” I said honestly. “Watching Law and Order as much as I did in college wasn’t enough to make me a detective.”
“I just need to know,” Tiffany said, sniffling. I hoped she wasn’t going to cry—but then, do ghosts cry? I thought I was about to find out. “I just need to know exactly what happened to me,” she continued. “I feel like I’m tethered here, and as far as I know, you’re the only person who can see me, much less talk to me.”
I sighed. “Okay, I’ll do what I can. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” Tiffany said.
“Why do you guys do such weird stuff? Like haunted houses always have chairs that move by themselves, and shoes that get flung across the room. What’s up with that?”
Tiffany laughed. “I have no idea. I’m a new ghost, remember? I guess some of us are just bored.”
I laughed, too. “Back to solving your murder, I really don’t know where to start.”
“Hey, me neither, but I guess I’ve got all the time in the world,” Tiffany said, and I grinned. She certainly did.
Just then my cell phone rang and I slid it out of my pocket. I checked the caller ID on the screen, worried that John had somehow gotten my number and was calling to set up another ‘date’, but it was Tara and I happily answered. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to co
me over for dinner tomorrow,” she asked me.
“Well, it can’t be any worse than the dinner company I had tonight,” I said, and when she asked me what I meant, I filled her in. When I had finished and hung up, dropping my cell on the nightstand, I saw that Tiffany had gone. I knew she would be back. I had agreed to help her, and she was going to hold me to it.
Chapter 7
When I knocked on Tara’s door the next evening at six, her husband, Duncan, answered. I stepped through the front door and was immediately enveloped by the same scent I had smelled at Basil Sandalwood’s place. That surprised me, considering I was pretty sure it was dope. I had never known Tara or Duncan to experiment with weed, but I stayed silent, at least in front of Duncan, with him being a police officer and all. I thought it odd, considering it was his own house, but still, no one wants to be a narc.
Tara was in the kitchen cooking, and Duncan led me there. He left us alone, saying he was going out to the shed to wrap up something. Tara turned and smiled when she saw me. “I hope you like enchiladas,” she said.
“I do,” I answered. “Do you need help with anything?”
“I think I’m about set,” Tara said. “Now if I can get him out of the shed again.”
“What’s he doing out there?” I asked. “Video games?”
“Painting,” Tara said.
“Like what, flowers or landscapes?” I asked, surprised. I had never known Duncan to paint.
“No, little figures, little soldiers and things. He uses a magnifying glass, and he paints these little metal men, from various historical wars, and things like that. Sometimes it’s knights and dragons. I’m just glad he has a hobby that doesn’t involve drinking with the guys, I guess.”
We laughed together. “Hey, by the way, what’s that smell? When I came in, err, it smells like…” My voice trailed away. “I don’t know. I thought it was dope.”
Tara laughed. “Nothing so naughty, I’m afraid. It’s incense. White sage, to be exact.”
I nodded my head, feeling foolish. “That makes sense,” I said. “I smelled it the other day at Basil Sandalwood’s office. You know, the accountant.”
Tara stopped what she was doing. “You did?”
I nodded.
“Oh.” Tara bit her lip. I didn’t see why she would think that information was interesting. Still, the interest was obviously there, and she seemed deep in thought. After a moment she snapped out of it and went back to her cooking. As she did, she teased me, a favorite pastime of hers back in school. “So what did you think of Basil Sandalwood exactly?” she said, a grin on her face.
“Oh no,” I said. “I could have stayed home for this kind of stuff.”
“I’m just asking,” she said, but I knew she wasn’t.
“Oh, I suppose he was very nice,” I said, trying to sound as indifferent as I could.
“Very nice looking you mean,” Tara said.
I wagged my finger at her. “I’m telling your husband.”
“Telling me what?” Duncan said from behind me.
“How hot is Basil?” Tara asked her husband.
“Basil Sandalwood? Oh, he’s just the hottest thing,” Duncan said, and we all laughed. He had always been the kind of laid-back guy who could go along with a joke. The smile quickly faded from my face as he joined in with his wife. “He’s single, you know.”
“Oh my gosh, not you, too!” I fake screamed, and they both laughed again. Thankfully, the two of them dropped the subject for a while. Duncan ate quickly and then went upstairs to get ready for work that night. When he was gone, Tara pushed me for more details about the so-called date I’d had the night before.
“I don’t know which was worse, John McSexist being there, or my mother being there,” I said with a groan. “It was just awful. Think the worst thing you could ever imagine, and then multiply it by a million.”
“What did he talk to you about?” Tara asked me.
“Why are you making me relive this?” I whined. “I told you last night.”
“You didn’t give me the juicy details.”
“What juicy details?” I snorted. “Believe me, the details are bone dry. This guy is the driest person I’ve ever met. So boring.” I drew out the word ‘boring’.
By then Duncan had returned, dressed in his police uniform. He bent to kiss Tara goodbye, and then smiled at me. “Good seeing you,” he said.
“You too, Duncan,” I said.
“Stay safe please,” Tara asked of her husband, and he smiled and kissed her again, and then he was gone.
“So do you know John, the guy my mom had over?”
“I’ve seen him around, but I don’t know much about him.”
“You do know a lot about most people here, though, don’t you?” I asked. “I know it’s a small country town and everyone pretty much knows everyone else, but lots of new people have moved here since I’ve been gone.”
Tara laughed and cocked her head to one side. “You’re acting mysterious all of a sudden,” she said. “What’s up?”
I paused for a moment, deciding how much I could tell Tara. I had known her since I was a child, so she knew I could speak to ghosts, but given the fact she was married to a cop, I couldn’t really come out and tell her I was going to try to solve Tiffany’s murder. “I have to run the funeral of Tiffany Hunter, the girl who was murdered.”
Tara nodded. “I knew her. It’s a shame what happened to her, the poor girl.”
“Well, she was stabbed,” I said. “And I don’t think there’s a lot for the police to go on. Of course, you’d know more about that than I would.”
Tara nodded. “Duncan isn’t on the case or anything, but he said it was all very odd. He doesn’t like to talk about work much, especially when stuff like that happens, so he didn’t open up too much.”
“She was attacked from behind,” I said, “and she never saw it coming.” Of course, I knew she hadn’t, because Tiffany had told me that herself.
“I don’t know. I know, well...” Tara said, hesitating.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said again. “I mean, I don’t want to be throwing people’s names out there. I’m not a cop or a detective, and I don’t want to speculate.”
I leaned forward over my half-eaten plate of home cooked Mexican food. “Speculate,” I said.
“What’s gotten into you?” she asked, laughing at me.
“I don’t know. Someone should help her. I saw her there, with the knife, and it doesn’t seem fair.” There was nothing enjoyable when you talked about death, and when it was someone so young, it was even worse.
Tara nodded. “How have you been, since your dad passed?”
I shrugged my shoulders and took a sip of water, so that I could make sure I wasn’t going to start crying. When I realized I wasn’t, I forced a smile. “I’m okay,” I said. “Every day is a challenge. I suppose it will get easier with time.”
“Is your mother all right?”
“You know her!” I said.
Tara grimaced. “She has her church. She would be getting a lot of comfort there.”
“That’s for sure,” I said. “Most of them work for me. She got my dad to hire only people from her congregation.”
“Oh, that’s where Scott goes. I knew that.”
Scott was the hearse driver at the funeral home. He had worked for Dad for about five years. He was a short guy, quiet and withdrawn, but he was friendly enough. He was awfully upset about my father dying, and I liked him because of that. He kept telling me my dad was a good man, and that he missed him.
“Why did you mention Scott?” I asked.
Tara clapped her hand to her forehead. “I’m an idiot,” she said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Tara sighed. “I can never stay away from good gossip, I guess.”
“Spill it, Tara.” I waved my fork at her.
“He used to bother that Tiffany girl. Not bother her, as such, but he as
ked her out a lot. She always turned him down. I was going to tell you that earlier. It doesn’t mean anything, does it? That doesn’t make him a killer. A lot of people wanted to date Tiffany, I’m sure.”
I nodded, thinking about Scott. Did he seem like a killer? No, of course not. He was just withdrawn. He could be so quiet he could be in a room with you for half an hour without you even knowing it. He could definitely sneak up on someone, though. I didn’t like where my mind was going, so I forced myself to think about something else. “So, when are you guys going to have kids?” I asked, trying to land on a happier subject.
Tara laughed. “Whenever he lets me,” she said.
“He doesn’t want any?”
“Not right now. He doesn’t think we have the money for a baby.”
“I don’t think you’re ever ready to have a baby. If you wait until you think you have enough money, you’ll never have one.”
“I know, but he won’t listen.”
“He always was stubborn,” I said with a chuckle.
By the time I left Tara’s house, the sky was black. I went upstairs and found Tiffany on my bed.
“This bed looks comfortable,” she said, looking at me as I came in. “I can’t feel it.”
“It’s all right,” I said in a soothing tone.
“What’s with all of the Jonas Brothers posters in here?”
“It’s my old room, all right?” I said.
Tiffany sat up. “Okay, okay.”
“Tell me about Scott,” I said.
Tiffany looked at me as I started to change into my pajamas. “You’re going to change in front of me?”
“You’re a ghost,” I said. “Turn around if you want.”
Tiffany did so. “Scott? The guy who worked for your dad?”
“Yes,” I said. “He works for me now.” The thought of having people working for me still took some getting used to.
“Oh. Well. He was nice, but quiet. A little old for me, you know? He asked me out a lot.”
“That’s what I heard,” I said.
“What about him?” Tiffany asked.
“Would he kill you?”
Tiffany’s mouth fell open. “Oh em gee!” she said. “Absolutely not!”
