“Well, you saw the movie Misery, right?” Carl asked, taking charge of the interview. “Sometimes fans can kill a creation with their love.”
“Misery was a wonderful movie, Mr. Plummer, but it was fiction.”
Carl looked directly at the camera and raised one eyebrow. “Was it?”
The screen flashed with a test pattern. The feed abruptly switched back to a news desk and an unaware male anchor gazing dreamily at something off-camera. He tilted his head and began to scratch the tip of his nose.
Meanwhile, in the diner, everyone had gone silent, waiting to hear what was said next. The town of Copeland was having its fifteen minutes of fame, and nobody wanted to miss a second of it.
Suddenly, the large flat-screen TV went dark. Otis was standing below the TV on a chair, having yanked the power cord out of a ceiling socket.
“Nothing to see here, folks,” Otis said to the diners. He looked deeply uncomfortable—agitated about the television while forcing himself to smile and be professional. “Please continue your meals in peace. The coffee's on me today, so drink up and enjoy a refill or two.”
A mixed murmur of irritation about the TV and appreciation for free coffee rose from the crowd.
Otis stepped down, returned the chair to its table, and disappeared into the kitchen. He hadn't said goodbye to Piper or even made eye contact after abruptly walking away from their conversation, which made her feel confused and shut out in the cold. What had changed his mood so drastically?
A waitress came by the booth and refilled Piper's coffee cup without asking. Piper pointed at the black TV screen and gave the woman a questioning look.
“Don't mind the boss man,” the waitress said. “Otis gets a bit testy when his father, Carl, stirs up trouble.”
Carl Plummer, the smarmy Realtor, was Otis's father? Ah, the perils of a small town, where everyone was connected.
The waitress sighed and rested her hand on her hip. “It's all my fault for turning on the darn TV, especially when it seemed like you two were getting along so well.”
Piper nodded, her smile carefully enigmatic.
“What Otis needs is a girlfriend,” the waitress said. “His mother and I agree on that point, at least.”
Piper raised her eyebrows.
The waitress needed little prompting. “A nice girlfriend would keep our Otis away from other sorts of shenanigans.” She shook her head. “I saw him the other day, digging around and making such a mess.” She shook her head, dropped Piper's bill on the table, and walked away without further explanation.
Piper grabbed her purse and counted out the amount plus a tip. Unlike most of the other guys she'd met, she had been attracted to Otis instantly. There was something about him that made her feel comfortable, like she could tell him all her secrets and not be judged. Plus he loved small dogs. She'd fallen for him hard, which made it devastating to learn he was the son of the man she suspected of fleeing the Morrison residence on Friday.
Now what? She ought to get out of the diner. People were staring again, murmuring about whether or not she was the same girl who'd found the body. Someone mentioned a viral video. A moment later, Piper heard her own voice playing from a video on someone's phone.
It all clicked together. At her party, she'd started talking about the ghost. Naturally, some jerk at the party had been filming. There was always someone filming. That explained why the nosy woman had known her by name and face.
Piper slipped out of the booth and left as quickly as she could without running.
She was outside untying Teddy's leash from the tree when a hand grasped her forearm. She could sense, even through her leather jacket sleeve, that the hand was ice-cold. Piper turned to face the woman.
She was not just any redhead in a gray Nike jogging suit. She was Nancy Dowd, the nation's leading celebrity-crime reporter.
Piper had heard her on CNN yesterday, hinting about visiting Copeland, and now here she was, in the flesh.
The forty-something woman had coppery red hair that fell in a swingy, chin-length, asymmetrical bob. The jogging suit acted as a disguise, because the woman usually dressed in a flamboyant mix of stripes and patterns, looking more like an eccentric fashion designer than a journalist.
“Young lady, I was once like you,” Nancy Dowd said. “I was in free fall, with no parachute.”
Piper yanked her arm from the woman's grasp. Teddy, her black-and-white bodyguard, positioned his body between them and let out a warning bark.
Nancy took a step back, her asymmetrical haircut swinging like disturbed curtains. Her hair was the artificial red of candy apples, but she did have the pale complexion of a natural redhead, combined with breathtakingly lovely orange-brown eyes. Between the orange eyes and the red hair, she was the human embodiment of the fire element.
Nancy's orange-brown eyes dared Piper to try to look away. She said, “Young lady, I was once like you.”
Piper doubted that very much, because Nancy seemed like the embodiment of determination. Nancy had never slept through an entire Saturday. She might not sleep at all.
The woman continued. “In my twenties, I just sort of bobbed around in the wind.” She used both hands to make floating gestures. The ash tree above them let down some red leaves as if on cue. “I thought I was going with the flow. But the truth is, I was lacking. Lacking any sort of passion.”
Piper exhaled sharply, as though struck. Nancy's words felt like a punch in the gut. Lacking any sort of passion. How had the woman known?
“No English,” Piper said through gritted teeth. Teddy snorted by her feet.
“You're wasting our precious time,” Nancy Dowd said, her copper eyebrows arching together in a warning look. “You can pretend you don't understand me, but this video says otherwise.” She held up her phone and clicked the command to play a video. It was Piper at her Friday night party, and the hit counter was already in the low ten-thousands. It hadn't gone hugely viral yet, but the views exceeded the population of Copeland. In the video, a red-faced Piper was telling the crowd about discovering George's body and having his ghost follow her home. She was speaking English, albeit not perfectly, due to being inebriated.
Nancy gave her a self-satisfied look.
Piper picked up Teddy and held him in her arms as protection, part shield and part sword.
She looked the older woman straight in her orange-brown eyes and demanded, “What do you want from me?”
“An interview.”
Piper eyed the video still playing on the woman's phone and frowned. “No interviews. I've already said more than enough.”
“That's not the kind of interview I want.” Nancy gave her the kind of smile a snake might make to widen its mouth for a particularly juicy mouse. “You are going to be the reporter. You are going to conduct the interview.”
“With whom?” As soon as Piper asked the question, she guessed the answer. George Morrison. This woman wanted her to interview a ghost. A mute ghost!
To Piper's surprise, however, Nancy Dowd responded with a shrug and no mention of the ghost. “Anyone, close to the story. There's George Morrison's long-time best friend and editor, Robert Jones, or members of his family, or the president of the House of Hallows fan club. It doesn't matter who you talk to, just that it's exclusive.”
“Why me?”
Nancy's orange-brown eyes twinkled like dangerous fire. “Why not you? I read some of the pieces you did for your school papers. Both of your schools. You're a talented writer.”
“Are you offering me a job?”
“Freelance for now,” Nancy said. “And then we'll see.”
Piper looked down at Teddy, who was still in her arms. He was being more patient than usual. She looked into his big brown eyes and considered Nancy's offer. It probably wouldn't pay much, but that didn't matter if it was interesting.
Nancy let out an impatient sigh. “Don't your parents expect you to find your own path to success? Is your big life plan to hide away in your family's nou
veau riche mansion posting on a pop-culture blog that gets traffic of approximately four and a half people a day?”
Piper frowned. She'd all but abandoned her blog weeks ago. Most of her efforts lately had been reading about other people's exploits.
Nancy went in for the kill. “Instead of cashing your allowance checks, wouldn't you like to see a paycheck with your name on it? Like a real grown-up?”
Ouch. Like a real grown-up? Teddy wriggled in Piper's arms and then—since he was so close to her mouth—investigated the pancake smell on her lips. He quickly covered her lower face in dog spit. She set down the dog and glared at the pushy woman. It was hard to work up serious indignation with slobbery cheeks.
“You don't know anything about me,” Piper said icily, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “And if I do interview anyone, it will be for my own blog, not for someone else.” Piper turned, unfastened Teddy's leash from the tree, and started walking toward her home.
She was ten feet away when her manners kicked in with a vengeance. She didn't want to shame her family, so she glanced over her shoulder and called back, “It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Dowd.”
Nancy Dowd stood under the tree with her arms crossed. By the look on her face, she was surprised by Piper's rejection. Perplexed, even.
Piper walked as quickly as her short legs would take her. A short trek outside of the house for breakfast had taken some surprising twists. She had shaken the unshakable Nancy Dowd.
The truth was, she admired the woman. The freelance job offer was, in many ways, a dream come true. So why had she rejected it?
An answer came to her as she walked.
Fear.
The main reason she'd rejected Nancy's offer was her fear of disappointing another person she admired. She'd already been a letdown to one of them. While George Morrison hadn't come right out and said he was disappointed in her, he wasn't exactly impressed. So far, he'd been more interested in watching CNN than in communicating with her.
Piper Chen was a nobody, but Nancy Dowd was a power player in the news media. Her career had gone supernova four years earlier, when one of her spinoff podcasts had captured the imagination of the nation. Over the course of three months, the audience grew rapidly as the show covered the week-by-week process of solving the cold case of a celebrity death. The whole country practically came to a standstill for the final episode, the arrest of a star witness who was startlingly uncovered as the killer.
Any aspiring journalist would be lucky to meet Nancy Dowd, let alone work for her.
As Piper walked and recovered from the surprise of it all, she wondered if she hadn't made a terrible decision. Winnie would shake her head when she found out. It was just like Piper to be suspicious of anything that looked like an opportunity. She'd been burned badly in real life and gotten wary. Maybe too wary.
She thought of an old Chinese proverb. Four things come not back: the spoken word, the spent arrow, the past life, and the neglected opportunity.
Had she foolishly cast aside the opportunity of a lifetime?
Teddy tugged at the leash and glanced back at her, black ears pivoting for clues to explain her slowing pace.
“Sorry,” she said, speeding up. “Just thinking, Teddy. Life isn't easy for us humans. Sure, we can open the fridge and eat dinner whenever we want, but life is lonely and full of uncertainty and…” She trailed off, lost in self-pity.
The weather was mild—a perfect fall day in Arizona. She detoured into the dog-walking park automatically. They walked briskly, with Teddy chasing after falling leaves and Piper stewing over her life choices.
When they returned to the house, Piper found an envelope taped to her front door. She glanced around self-consciously. Some neighbors were out pushing their grandchild on a squeaky swing set, but nobody seemed to be watching her. She used her thumb to rip open the envelope as she let herself and Teddy into the cool, air-conditioned house.
Inside the envelope were papers of various sizes, including a silver business card from Nancy Dowd. Piper was anything but surprised that the woman knew where she lived. She must have driven by while Piper and Teddy were circling the dog park, leaving a note so she could get in the last word.
There was a handwritten note, which read:
Dearest Piper,
I apologize for being so direct. My passion and determination can be overwhelming, I'm told. Forgive me, but I strongly feel we can be of service to each other. Enclosed is payment in advance for your first interview, as well as the location and time. I would attend myself, but my face is too well known and, to be completely honest, I'm tired of getting thrown out of funerals. You'll do a great job of this, I just know it.
Sincerely, Nancy Dowd
Piper unfolded the check and sighed. Nancy was right. It wasn't much cash, but then again, it did feel good to see her name on a check that wasn't from her parents.
She opened a stiff white card, which was an invitation containing the details and location of George Morrison's top-secret memorial.
She held the check in one hand and the invitation in the other.
The house around her was very still, as though the walls were watching, waiting to see what she'd do.
The dog door leading to the backyard creaked and swung on its hinges. She glanced out the window at Teddy, who was back to merrily excavating the corner of the yard, dirt and freshly laid turf spraying up between his hind legs.
She looked back at the papers in her hand. Sure, working for Nancy Dowd might be a great career opportunity, but it might also be digging her own deep grave.
She ripped the papers into confetti and tossed everything into the kitchen trash. She dusted off her hands and enjoyed the satisfaction that came from a decision made, right or wrong.
Piper couldn't know it yet, but she would come to deeply regret ripping up the invitation.
Chapter 5
Day 4
Halloween - Monday, October 31st, 5:40 p.m.
Chen Residence
Piper was in the kitchen filling silver bowls with treat-sized chocolate bars when the ghost of George Morrison showed up, right on schedule, at sunset. It was the same time as he'd manifested the previous evening. There he was, standing in front of the glass doors that framed the backyard. Behind him, the sky glowed orange as the yard's landscaping lights flickered on. Tonight was the second night in a row that Piper had observed his entry.
Once again, he appeared hazy at first, the way everything outdoors appears not-quite-real during the crepuscular moments between day and night. As the sun's last rays disappeared, the apparition became more solid, but if she stared at the ghost directly, his features became indistinct, like the fleeting boundary of a cloud of flying insects.
“Happy Halloween,” she said cheerily. “Are the rules different tonight? On account of it being All Hallows' Eve?”
George scrunched his face and slumped on a kitchen barstool, looking bored. He didn't seem at all excited about tonight.
She said, “In your books, this is the one night of the year your ghosts get to talk to the living.”
George continued with the grumpy face-scrunch and added an eye roll.
“So you just made that up?”
He gave her a look that could only be described as DUH.
Of course he'd made up the ghosts-talking-on-Halloween rule, the same as he'd made up everything else in the epic fantasy series.
Piper had noticed there were other differences between George's fictional ghosts and reality. His ghosts only appeared when summoned by witches or sorcerers, and they were able to affect their surroundings. The male ghosts in particular enjoyed making love to their surprised widows, or anyone else who'd let them. Piper had started re-reading the series the previous night, freezing and sweating in horror when she came across the first such instance. She'd forgotten about that “romantic” aspect, which seemed all too upsetting now that she had a ghost of her own. But, to her relief, George's ghost wasn't corporeal. When she poked
at him, her hand passed right through, detecting only a chill in the air. Plus they were just friends. He didn't think of her like that.
The doorbell rang, and George's dour expression brightened by a couple degrees. He glanced at the bowls of candy and raised his eyebrows so that they disappeared in the shadow cast by his jaunty fisherman's cap.
“Come on,” Piper said, grabbing two big bowls of candy. “You can help me hand out candy to the kids. You could even try scaring a few.”
He shrugged, slid off the barstool noiselessly, and followed her. When Piper glanced back over her shoulder at George, his appearance had changed. Gone were the suspenders, trousers, and cap. He wore a furry, orange-brown costume with animal ears and big paws over his hands.
Piper looked him over and laughed until she thought she might cry. “What are you supposed to be? A teddy bear?”
He reached behind his padded bottom and swung a tufted tail with one paw.
“Oh, I see it now. You're the Cowardly Lion from The Wizard of Oz!”
With his free paw, he gave her a clumsy thumbs-up.
Piper fluffed the hair of her bright-red wig. “I'm dressed as a Riddle Witch, but I can ditch the red wig and go as the Wicked Witch of the West, so we match. If you want.”
George reached up and pawed her hand. He shook his head and twitched the lion whiskers drawn on his cheeks, as if to tell her not to change anything. She fluffed the wig hair once more and checked her face in the mirror. She hoped people would see her as a witch, and not as an Asian version of Nancy Dowd, which she very well could have been. Thinking about Nancy and the tossed-away job offer made her heart feel heavy. She sighed and opened the front door.
A crowd of six pint-sized trick-or-treaters had assembled, treat bags held up expectantly.
Piper cooed, “Where did all these princesses and fairies come from? Don't you know it's Halloween? There are ghosts and werewolves and all sorts of spooky things on the loose tonight!” She pointed at the one werewolf boy in their midst and squealed, “One of them's sneaking up on you right now!”
Witches and Ghosts Supernatural Mysteries Page 4
