Keep Me Ghosted (Sophie Rhodes Romantic Comedy #1)

by Karen Cantwell

  The mother stood, handing me the clip board. “I’m sorry, I’ve been filling these out too slowly. The air here is a little...” she eyed him carefully before finishing her sentence. “Thick.”

  Dr. Callahan, somewhat befuddled by her comment, looked around the room as if he’d see the thick air himself and understand her better. “That’s okay,” he said finally, obviously still confused, “we can get started anyway. Sophie, will you bring me those files after you’ve entered the boys’ information in the computer?”

  “Will do, Dr. Callahan.”

  He gestured to the boys. “Robert, Michael, come along.” They were up and moving, the mother following behind down the hall, but just before the exam room door closed, I heard her say, “Aha. There it is.” I was very certain she wasn’t talking about Dr. Callahan’s exam equipment.

  I entered the boys’ information into the computer, put together two patient files, took them back to Dr. Callahan as he had requested, then set back to work organizing my project for promoting Dr. Callahan’s practice. During the hour that he spent examining his two patients I managed to make a good amount of headway, in between phone calls and a drop-in salesman determined to peddle three pieces of artwork at cut-rate prices.

  When I heard the exam room door open and Dr. Callahan’s pleasant voice, I minimized my internet browser and opened the billing window, readying for my next orders. The boys tore around the corner of the desk and dropped to the floor again to play, while Dr. Callahan handed me to two files and gave the mother a forced smile.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you again,” he said, shaking her hand. As Moonflower hovered around his right ear, he turned his head to me. “Sophie, Mrs. Wiley wants to make an appointment for Robert to return for more testing.” He attempted a slight swat at Moonflower, hoping, I think, that Mrs. Wiley wouldn’t notice. “That’s a two hour appointment,” he added, retreating back to his exam room.

  Mrs. Wiley shook her head as if she felt sorry for the man, then gladly gave me her attention to make the appointment and pay for the eye exams. She was just putting her credit card away when, even from behind the closed door, we both heard the doctor chastising someone. I winced. When the lights flickered, Mrs. Wiley removed something else from her wallet and handed it to me. “Here.” She placed a business card in my hand. “Give me a call if this gets too...” She waved her hand around for effect. “Wild.” She threw me a wink then lowered her voice. “That spirit in there—she’s on fire.”

  She rounded up her sons and headed out the door while I inspected the card. Nothing fancy—just plain white paper stock with black typeface. Tara Wiley. Spiritual Medium. 555-3355.

  Aha! I was correct. She had seen Marmaduke. I tucked the card away safely in my purse hoping things would never get that wild, but thankful to have someone to call just in case.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE REST OF THE DAY proved touch and go for poor Dr. Callahan. Moonflower was stressing him terribly. I’d planned to tell him about the suspicious visitor and her cohort, but decided it would add needlessly to his tense state. I’d already called the condo manager soon after it happened to let her know that we definitely had a situation on our hands. Beyond that, there was nothing to be done. Why make him more upset than he already was?

  As we closed up for the night after the last patient, I decided to see if he knew anything about Jina Bhandari and her father.

  “So,” I started as casually as possible. “You just bought this office condo recently?”

  He nodded while checking to make sure the coffee pot was off. “April.”

  “Was the previous owner nice?” I cringed inwardly at the silliness of the question. Luckily, he seemed distracted with checking lights around the office, and didn’t seem to notice or care.

  “Never met the owner,” he said from down the hall. “The entire deal was handled through lawyers.”

  “The lawyers never said why the owner was selling?”

  He returned to the waiting room, briefcase in hand, ghost companion close on his heels. He gave her an irritated glance, sighed, then answered my question. “Nope. I spent over an hour signing a mile-high stack of papers, and the place was mine. And now, so is the debt. Why?”

  I grabbed my purse and positioned myself in front of the security alarm. “Ready?”

  He placed his hand on the doorknob while I punched in the numbers. The unit beeped twice, Dr. Callahan opened the door and we exited, locking the door behind us. I smiled. “Yes! I got it right the first time.” I raised my hand for a high five. The crooked smile curled on his lips and I swear, those blue eyes twinkled. When his hand slapped mine gently, I was aware of its warmth and for an instant, I imagined that hand caressing the small of my back. Nerves all over my body began to tingle from the short contact. My stomach knotted and my knees went wobbly.

  And I don’t think I was the only one affected by the touch. “So,” he said, shoving the hand into his pants pocket, his cheeks pinking slightly. “I’m beginning to wonder if I did the right thing inviting the group to meet here. What do you think?”

  I tried hard to push the hand-caressing-my-back thought from my head, but it wasn’t easy. “What are you worried about?” I asked, throwing my purse over my shoulder in a move that was intended to appear cool and nonchalant. As if to say, Yeah, I didn’t just picture you stroking my naked body or wonder if your chest is as soft and smooth as your wonderfully warm hand.

  “Oh, I’m not really worried about anything, I guess. I’m just not ... really the hosting kind of guy, you know. And I don’t want you to think I’m adding to your job duties or anything, because that’s not what I meant to do. In fact, I don’t want you to feel...you know...obligated.”

  “It’s fine. They’re a motley crew, but I think they’ll grow on me. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the job—is it growing on you too? Enough to stay?”

  “Definitely. I really, really love...the job.”

  The hairs on my arms were standing on end. A result, I thought at first, of Dr. Callahan’s endearing smile and my lingering lustful fantasy. But when Marmaduke appeared and whispered in my ear, I realized the culprit was Moonflower, who had drifted up to the branches of the dogwood, stewing up some electrical energy. One look at her wrathful eyes told me that I’d better say “goodnight, Doctor” and move out before another streetlight blew.

  “See you tomorrow!” I waved and hoofed it to my car, leaving poor Cal...I mean, Dr. Callahan...in the dust looking a little bewildered.

  At home I indulged in another dinner of salami, cheese, and crackers, chasing the delight with a penny-saving drink: a glass of tap water. It was a quiet and sort of lonely dinner. Marmaduke was absent, as he sometimes was. Unlike Moonflower, who seemed forever attached to poor Dr. Callahan, Marmaduke came and went without warning. Soon after we had met, I asked him about his habit of popping in and out. He admitted that even he didn’t understand it entirely. He suspected his moments of “consciousness” as he called them, were connected to thought and energy in the physical plane. Oftentimes he was in control to come and go freely, yet there were times when he experienced a pull and then, the next thing he knew, there he was, in my world or out.

  After stashing away the dwindling gift basket goodies, I slipped on my fuzzy gray cardigan and opened Peter Pan’s cage. He was still slumbering peacefully in his hammock, but a little tap roused him. He poked his sweet, furry little head out, blinked twice, then scampered up my arm and onto my shoulder. I held a pecan treat up for him. He snatched it quickly with his two, tiny hands and began chewing greedily as if he might never eat again. His large, bulging eyes, which were perfectly designed for night vision, seemed to say, Thank you, Sophie. I love you, but I think I love this pecan more.

  Once he consumed the nut, I removed him from my shoulder and placed him gently in the cardigan pocket. We were still a couple of hours from sunset—he’d likely rest
in the pocket for a while before waking fully and tackling a night of rigorous exercise wheel workouts.

  I plopped down on my couch. The worn springs creaked and sighed under my weight. Watching TV was out of the running for an evening activity since I’d canceled the cable. Food and gas were more important than mindless entertainment. Sadly, the one thing I really craved at the moment was mindless entertainment.

  Uno must have sensed my disappointment because the cardboard box that served as his cat bed teetered as he pulled himself through the round cutout opening. He stretched, then made a leap for the couch, rubbing his pointy nose on my sweater, and purring in a sympathetic tone. At least I decided it was a sympathetic tone. He was probably communicating a desire to be fed.

  I rubbed his neck with loving attention. “How are you tonight, Uno, old pal?”

  He meowed in response, which I translated to, Not so bad, Sophie, but how about you? You look sad.

  Another sigh escaped my throat. “Not sad really, just...frustrated I guess.”

  He meowed again. You really like that Dr. Callahan, don’t you?

  I stopped the neck rubbing and raised an eyebrow. “How do you know about Dr. Callahan?”

  “Taken to fictional conversations with animals, have you?” asked Marmaduke as he appeared near the door, arms folded over his chest.

  “How can I be sure that my conversations with you aren’t fictional? For all I know, you could be a figment of my imagination. Maybe that psychiatrist was right. Maybe I’m a crazy narcissist.”

  He shook his head. “I’m very real. Just as real as your growing infatuation for Doctor Do Good.”

  “I thought you agreed he was a nice guy.”

  He sniffed. “True enough. He seems altruistic, self-sacrificing, magnanimous. A good egg.”

  “Then why the sarcasm?”

  “Let’s not waste our breath on my cynical tendencies, but instead focus on what you’re going to do about this dark phantom that’s getting in your way.”

  “I’m not infatuated, by the way.”

  “Oh, of course not. And I’m not incorporeal.”

  “No, I’m serious. Do I find him somewhat attractive? Sure. But I think a lot of guys are attractive. The checkout guy at the grocery store, for instance. He’s cute. If you were alive, I’d think you were handsome. That doesn’t mean I’m infatuated.”

  He cocked a brow at me. He thought I was full of it, and I probably was—but only mildly full of it. Infatuation was too strong a word. Enamored. I was sort of, maybe, possibly becoming a wee bit enamored.

  “What I am,” I continued, not copping to any sexual interest, “is concerned.”

  “Concerned?”

  “That’s right. For his business. If Moonflower keeps on like this, she’s going to scare away all of his patients. And he’s certainly never going to be able to keep a receptionist.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Well, then, what are you going to do about this...concern?”

  I sat for a contemplative minute, having gone back to rubbing Uno’s furry neck while he purred with pleasure. Of course, I knew exactly what he was getting at—that I should get on the phone with that mother who gave me her card.

  “What if the lady tries to send you into the light like that last medium?” I asked him.

  “It is very kind of you to be concerned, but do not trouble yourself with such mundane inanities—I can take care of myself. You take care of your...concern.”

  “Would you stop saying it like that?”

  “Most sorry. Now, the card?”

  Taking his cue, I went to my purse on the kitchen counter, retrieved the business card from the wallet, and dialed Tara Wiley, Spiritual Medium. She picked up on the third ring. “Thank goodness you called. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I left the office today.”

  Wow. She was talented. “Um...you know who this is?”

  Her response was confident. “Sophie from Dr. Callahan’s office?”

  I was in awe. “That’s so cool. I wish I could do that.”

  “You don’t have caller ID on your phone?”

  “Oh. Right. I see. You didn’t pick up my...never mind.”

  “You don’t know much about mediums, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Well you should. You are one after all. But we can talk more about that later. It’s nearly the witching hour around here, and by that, I mean that the boys are so revved up that I’ll be getting on my broom soon. Let’s get to the point: is that female spirit causing problems?”

  “Is she ever.”

  “She’s unique. Powerful. Hang on.” She took a break to yell at her sons, but despite the fact that she’d obviously covered the phone with her hand, I could still hear her rebuke. “Robert! I told you to take that Lego out of your brother’s ear or you’ll be doing some serious contemplation time.” Some muffled clattering and she was back with me. “I’m sorry about that. Where were we? Oh, yes. And she doesn’t like you. Her...intense connection to Dr. Callahan feels almost frantic. Misdirected. There’s something unnatural about her presence.”

  “You got all of that from seeing her just once?” I could hear Robert and Michael screaming in the background and felt guilty for keeping her on the phone.

  “She’s not your everyday run-of-the-mill ghost—that’s for sure. Something kept nagging at me when I was driving home after our appointment, then it hit me while I was cooking the spaghetti. She’s not residual.”

  A crash on the other end of the phone made me wince. “It sounds like I caught you at a bad time. Do you need to go?”

  “Yes, but it’s important you understand the anomaly here.”

  “What do you mean when you say she’s not residual?”

  “That’s really my own term to describe what I believe is happening with this particular spirit. In the paranormal world, the term ‘residual haunting’ describes a lingering event that just keeps playing like a record that skips. For instance, a horrible car accident that ends fatally. Drivers on the road where that accident happened may report seeing a ghost image of that incident. That’s a residual haunting. There is no interaction between the energy and the living. That isn’t what I’m talking about here. What I mean when I say she’s not residual is that her spirit didn’t remain when her body died. She moved on. Again, this is just a suspicion based on my experience in Dr. Callahan’s examination room.”

  “Why are we seeing her then? I mean, if you’re right, and she did move on when she died.”

  “Someone would have summoned her to return.”

  Oh man. This was a little too creepy for my comfort. “Summoned? I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “It’s very possible that her presence is the product of witchcraft.”

  Marmi had been hovering over my shoulder during the unsettling phone conversation and didn’t wait even a beat to plunge into interrogation when I clicked the receiver off. “What did she say?”

  I rubbed my temples to ward off the headache that had appeared out of nowhere. “I must be losing my mind.”

  “She told you you’re going mad? What kind of medium is this woman?”

  Leaning against the counter for support, I attempted to keep the world from reeling around me. Witchcraft? That felt way too “out there” for my comfort. True, I talked to ghosts, so who was I to question. But witchcraft? To me, the idea was crazy and far-fetched. Kind of like alien visitations and Elvis sightings. In my mind, witches were only real on Halloween when people donned costumes and roamed the streets, and they certainly didn’t have real powers or cast real spells.

  Marmi wasn’t appreciative of my quiet moment to contemplate. “Sophie, why does she think you’re losing your mind?”

  I blew out a releasing sigh. “She didn’t tell me that I’m losing my mind. Do you believe in witches?”

  “Is that what she said? Moonflower is a witch?”

  “Marmi! Could you please just answer the
question?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what? Yes, you believe in witches or yes you can answer the question?”

  “You’re making this very complicated.”

  “Marmi...”

  “Yes, I can answer the question, and yes, I believe in witches. It was a witch that brought me here to America. My great aunt Nettie Jane. A trouble maker, she was.”

  “You’re being serious. Your aunt was a witch?”

  “Sadly, she couldn’t cast a spell correctly to save her life. And her love potions...” He shook his head solemnly. “Let’s just say she should have called them hate potions. It was my job to bring her home before she wreaked more havoc overseas.”

  “What happened?”

  “She didn’t put up a fight. She was quite pleased that her family cared enough to send me. Unfortunately, she cast a security spell on me to ensure our safe passage home, and minutes later I was dead in the middle of Main Street. Never saw that motor car coming.”

  I knew that Marmaduke’s death had been the result of being struck by a car while crossing the street, but he had never mentioned the Great-Aunt-Nettie-Jane-the-witch connection. “I’m sure you loved your aunt, Marmi, but it seems a stretch to believe that the car ran you over because of a bad spell. I mean, accidents happen.”

  He shook his head again. “You don’t understand. The vehicle had no driver.”

  “It slipped out of gear and rolled into you?”

  He cast me a disapproving scowl. “The possessed jalopy ignited its own pistons and accelerated toward my exact location with the intent purpose of ending my life. Witnesses were frightened half out of their wits and Great Aunt Nettie Jane did retire from witching thereafter. I guess something good came of my demise, my termination, my exit to the afterlife.” He paused, chewing on that last statement. After a few thought provoking moments, he stated matter-of-factly, “So, yes, dear Sophie. I believe in witches.”