by J. L. Salter
Muir eyed Lucy from top to bottom and grinned. “Then they were lovely indeed, though I doubt they wore sneakers. And we’ve already established they didn’t have tanned legs.”
Lucy could have been warmed by his remark, but a distracted Muir soon dragged a kitchen chair over in front of the portrait and sat to study it even more carefully.
Over his shoulder, he asked, “What else do you know about Danielle Gregg?”
“Not very much besides what I’ve already told you. She died on the train tracks not far from here. But we’ll get what we need at the museum archives next week.”
Muir nodded as though he’d tuned out her reply.
To get his attention again, Lucy stood in front of the portrait. “I figure you were kidding about spending the night in that horrid storeroom, but it would be really cool to get some of my chapter buddies here in this parlor with instruments to take a few readings.”
He had already started shaking his head. “Don’t even believe that’s legit. No offense.”
Though it was not the time to be offended, she was. “Well, just think about it. Maybe this Gregg ghost wants us to know more about her.”
“Assuming there is a ghostess, why would she want that?” Muir leaned way over to peer around Lucy.
“Can’t say. Won’t know until we establish contact.”
“No, I’m opposed to letting a group in here to pick this lady’s departed brain.”
“I thought you wanted to get to know her better.”
He nodded. “But just us.” After a pause, “So how would we reach her anyway? I mean besides some nutty séance.”
“Our instruments and readings would detect presence or activity, but not necessarily instigate contact, as you might think of it. If the ghostess Gregg wants contact, I suspect she’ll find a way to reach you.”
“But I still don’t believe in ghosts.”
Lucy finally moved out of his view and patted his firm, broad shoulder as she passed. “Ghosts have a way of making you believe.”
****
As Lucy busied herself in the kitchen, Muir finally rose and moved closer to the painting. Noting the height was wrong, he dragged his chair to the wall and placed the frame on its arms. There was something about her lips in the portrait — far lovelier than the Mona Lisa, but with a similarly enigmatic smile. Standing directly in front of it, with the portrait’s face as high off the floor as her real face would have been if still living, he said softly, “Miss Gregg, if you were still around, I’d sure want to kiss you.”
A soft, cool, concentrated breeze moved across his face. “Did you feel that?” He called out to Lucy.
“Feel what?” She raised her voice over the noise of sink water.
“Never mind.” It had passed as quickly as he’d felt it. Muir made his way into the kitchen and stood behind Lucy as she rinsed his several dishes.
“You know, Levi,” she said without turning around, “it works better if you put them directly in the dishwasher instead of piling everything in the sink.”
“I keep forgetting.” Standing close behind her, he placed his large hands on both her shoulders. “Guess I need somebody to watch over me.”
Lucy stopped in mid-maneuver, with a glass nearly slipping from her grasp. “Careful, mister… I have sensitive shoulders.” When she turned to face him, his arms dropped to his sides and he took a half step back.
Muir smiled self-consciously. Why did I do that? “Uh, thanks for coming over here… you know, giving me the lowdown and helping me find the picture.”
She scrutinized his face. “Glad to help out. It combines three things I’m interested in.”
He arched his eyebrows.
“Local history, haunted sites, and, uh, helping newbies get acclimated to our school.”
“Do all the rookie teachers get your personal assistance?” He reached for her hand, found it still damp, and dried it against his shirt. Then he raised her knuckles and kissed them chivalrously.
She eyed him with a puzzled expression. “Actually, I’m pretty selective.”
“Well, if I’ve made the cut, I’m glad. And I’d like to repay your kindness. How about lunch? I’ve worked up an appetite with all that jogging.”
“It wasn’t jogging — and you only took about one lap, as I recall. Plus it’s not yet time for lunch.” She checked her watch. “Besides, I can’t.”
Probably has to hurry home to her honey. “Oh… okay.”
She took a final look around the suite. “But I’ll take a rain check for that meal. After we visit the museum archives, you can take me to supper.”
“Okay, it’s a deal. Monday?”
“Let’s play it by ear, Levi. That’s your first day of class and you might be too shell-shocked to interact with an adult.”
****
Saturday night
During the afternoon, Muir had located the grocery southeast of downtown to stock up on staples. On the way home, he’d driven by the address Lucy had provided for her duplex and wished he would spot her so he’d have an excuse to stop. But he didn’t.
After dining on nondescript fast food from about three blocks down Park Street, Muir settled in his antique living space into the comfortable stuffed chair nearest the east window. Monday’s syllabus was in his hands but his mind was distracted by thoughts of Lucy. Was she taken by someone else or potentially interested in him? Was he ready yet to start something new?
As he had previously, Muir again sensed he was being watched. This time, however, he chalked it up to the painting’s beautiful piercing blue eyes, which seemed to follow him no matter where he was in the suite.
After a hot shower, a tired Muir headed toward the bedroom with a new sensation he was being monitored. Passing the portrait, he said, “Good night, Miss Gregg.” Immediately, he felt another concentrated puff of air on his face and neck, and also thought he heard a faint whisper. “Okay,” he grinned. “If you’re haunting me, I guess that’s your way of saying good night.” Then he turned out the light and got into bed. “Good thing I don’t believe in ghosts,” he muttered.
During that night, Muir had another set of dreams — slightly less hazy than those of the prior night. In these, he had a much clearer view of the woman with the beautiful face and striking figure, the same individual he’d seen in the east-facing window — the lovely Danielle Gregg in the portrait.
In his dream, he’d called out her full name, but she did not reply. And even though the figure in his vision did not interact, she seemed like someone Muir had known all his life.
Chapter Six
Sunday, August 17
“One more day ‘til D-Day,” said Muir to himself, as he poured milk on his breakfast cereal. Reviewing lesson plans might increase his confidence in what he was hoping to cover, but he needed a strategy to win over the students or at least establish who was in charge. Hopefully both. But Muir couldn’t shake the apprehension that the first day of his initial teaching job might not accomplish either.
He was also quite distracted. Not only did the portrait’s eyes seem to follow him around the dark and moody suite, but he could hardly take his own gaze off the lovely Miss Gregg.
Unable to concentrate on his prep for the start of school, Muir phoned the only person he knew in Magnolia besides his aunt. “Sorry to pester you on a Sunday, Lucy, but I kind of need to get out of the apartment for a few minutes. Wondered if you felt like joining me for lunch somewhere.”
“This wouldn’t count as our date, would it?”
Muir laughed. “No, that’s still set for after the museum junket.”
“Just checking. A single girl can’t let dinner dates fall through the cracks, you know.” She paused, perhaps expecting a reply. “So where did you have in mind for lunch?”
“I still don’t know my way around except to the campus and back, basically. Got any suggestions?”
“Well, the Hop Stop Railroad Car Diner is only a couple of blocks from you, and it’s about the right
distance for my walking exercise today.”
“Sounds like a greasy spoon, but I’m game. Tell me where it is and I’ll meet you there.”
“Northeast of the town square, across Pecan Street from the courthouse complex. Can’t miss it.”
“Usually when people say that, I find I can easily miss it. But that’s okay, I’ll find it or get somebody to point it out.”
“Ask the cops at the police station… they eat there a lot. Safest place in town.”
He eyed his watch. “What time?”
“Uh, give me half an hour. I’m still in my jammies.”
It was actually about thirty-five minutes before Lucy appeared, breathing heavily, with a healthy tanned glow emanating like it was her aura. Having waited on the small bench outside the diner, Muir rose as she approached and waved awkwardly over the heads of several uniformed police officers and firefighters approaching the diner’s stairs. The platform in front — featuring several steps and a handicapped ramp — was large enough to resemble a stretch of an old time rail station. “Thanks for meeting me. Glad you took pity on the rookie again.”
She eyed him closely. “It’s not pity, Levi. I actually like you.” Then she whapped his upper arm. “Now let’s get inside and order… I’m starving.”
The east two-thirds, which included customer entrance, was for dining. The portion behind the partly open curtain evidently contained the grill, sinks, refrigerated area, and food pantry. No room for tables, the crowded establishment had a single slender counter with stools and — along the south wall with plentiful windows — a full-length bench upon which spillover diners could perch. After ordering at the counter, Muir and Lucy ended up on the plank bench.
As he ate a sloppy but delicious beef po-boy, Muir monitored Lucy and her tuna salad. Leaving the skintight spandex attire at home, she wore what might be considered gym shorts and a t-shirt. Looked like the same competitive shoes, however.
“So how did you sleep last night?” Lucy nibbled on an extra piece of lettuce. “Any visions about the Victorian Vamp?”
“Yeah, and they were a lot clearer than my dreams the first night.” Muir didn’t like eating from a plastic plate balanced on his thighs.
She examined something on the leaf and dropped it to her plate. “Any particular imagery?”
“Well, I can’t recall much detail now, but during the dream, it almost seemed like Miss Gregg was there in the room with me.”
“Maybe that’s the portrait speaking to you.”
“Huh?”
Lucy took a sip of ice water. “You know, now that you have a visual reference point in real life — with her portrait in front of you constantly — it would be easy for your dream to utilize that image in your subconscious.”
“Maybe so, but it seemed more intense.”
She wiped her fingertips on a paper napkin and clutched his arm. “Did the Gregg ghostess say anything yet?”
“Didn’t speak at all. She wouldn’t even answer me in the dream.”
“What kinds of questions did you ask?”
“Don’t recall.”
“So what kind of interaction did you two have?” Lucy sat back slightly on the hard bench and crossed her toned legs.
He couldn’t look away. “Can’t remember now. But it was warm and easy and comfortable… just like talking with you.”
A strange look crossed Lucy’s face. “I guess that means we’re officially buddies.”
His face warmed and likely reddened.
“What? What just went through your head, Levi?”
“I was just thinking about the other buddies I’ve had. None of them looked anything like you.”
She began a smile. “You mean gender-wise?”
“Oh, I’ve had a few female friends before, but some of them looked practically like guys.”
“Well, you’ve got me on a ledge here, Levi. What oddball category do I fit into?”
“Not oddball. I must not be explaining it right. I…” He felt like he was stammering. “I was just pointing out that I’ve never had a buddy as pretty as you.”
It was her turn to blush. “Well, I do believe you explained that part eloquently enough. And thank you for the compliment.” She nodded her head rather formally.
Their conversation had taken an awkward turn. He’d known Lucy for less than a full week. But, from practically their first moments of contact, she’d been friendly, open, warm, and cute. And apparently available.
“Are you still in contact with your other friends from…?” She evidently also felt a need to shift the topic, even though she obviously couldn’t remember his point of origin.
“Alexandria. Oh, a couple. You know, occasional emails or scattered posts on social media.”
“Stay close to your army buddies?”
Looking away, Muir had to collect himself before he could reply. “Some of them didn’t make it back.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “And a few friends did get home, but not in one piece.”
She placed her small tanned hand on his thick forearm. “That’s got to be hard.”
“It is.” He gulped. “Some keep going, continually adapting, and work toward goals.” Muir stopped.
“But some withdraw from everybody and give up.”
Muir nodded again, very slowly.
“Some of my friends from college have served and come back all busted up. It’s important to maintain contact if you can.”
“If they’ll let you. Some won’t.”
There was another long silence. Another uncomfortable topic needed to be dropped.
After taking his mostly empty plate to the small window, behind which a sweating employee was stationed, Levi returned to the bench.
****
Lucy finally came up with the shift. “Do you do a lot of posting… you know, social media?”
“No, I try to stay off it, actually. I figured out pretty quick that it could easily suck away all my free time.”
He was certainly correct. “Well, some of us teachers have a support group, where we can whine when we need to and commiserate with those who’ve had a really rough day.”
“Sounds like territory I wouldn’t want to visit.”
“It’s not all whining and commiseration. There’s also occasional humor.”
“Well, just send me the jokes on email. I figure yakking on that site would only make me feel worse.” He looked like he wondered if he’d hurt her feelings. “For one thing, can’t the students see what our colleagues are talking about?”
“It’s a closed group, by invitation only. Same setup we have for our Spirit-Chasers.”
“Keeps out the riff raff?”
She laughed. “Well not all of it, because we get some pretty wild advertisements.”
“I can imagine.”
Moments later, they shifted back to the school session. Muir seemed to want to talk about gaining control from the first day.
She tried to reassure him. “They’ll be just as nervous as you are, maybe more.”
“Not sure that’s possible,” he replied. “I hated every day of student teaching.”
Not a great start for a new teacher. “Hated?”
“Well, maybe that word is too strong, but it never felt comfortable.”
Lucy poked the remaining dill pickle slice with her plastic fork, but made no attempt to eat it. Not crisp enough. “Well, if yours was like mine, they throw you in one school for a few days and then yank you over to a different one. By the time you locate the restroom and teacher’s lounge, you’re already reassigned. That has a way of keeping you off balance.”
“Maybe so. But I worried it was a deeper issue.”
“Such as?”
“Maybe I’m not cut out to be a teacher.”
She stared before commenting. “So, there must be some reason you’re here.”
Muir smiled wistfully. “When I went back to college, determined to actually finish my degree, I had a rather ideal
istic notion that it was my mission to share my love of literature with the new generation.”
“A lot of us feel that way,” she nodded, “about our respective majors.”
“But during those student teaching episodes, I encountered so many kids who seemed to feel it was more important to put on airs as disruptive punks than to participate and actually learn something.”
“Demoralizing. Yeah, I understand, Levi. But it’s not that bad once you get into regular classes.”
“That’s what I’m counting on. Otherwise, this could be a terrible miscalculation — trying to teach and moving to a small town that Aunt Martha swears is Heaven on earth.”
“I wondered what brought you to Magnolia. Your aunt must have a lot of sway over you.”
“Well, I can’t say she actually raised me, but she was pretty much my second mom.”
Lucy nodded. “I had a cool aunt like that also and I’d do nearly anything to please her.” She took her plate to the disposal window and returned, but remained standing. “Do you wish you hadn’t come here?”
“No. The town’s fine, I’m glad to be near Aunt Martha again, and I like the people I’ve met so far.” He winked as he nodded her direction. “Just questioning my career choice. I know it’s a bit late for this admission, I mean with a signed contract and everything… and the day before the term begins.”
“You’ve probably just got cold feet. It’s a common disease for newbies.” She patted his forearm again. “You’ll do fine, provided you don’t fret yourself to death before class even starts.”
“Guess I’ve become more of a worrier since the army.” He’d mentioned his service several times, but never with any detail.
“So, what did you do in the military?” Lucy again took her seat next to him.
“Well, I trained in the states, of course. I was in great shape until I recently wrecked my ankle.” He rotated it slowly as he pointed. “Uh, after training I shipped over to Afghanistan. Officially part of an infantry brigade combat team, but my platoon was detached and based at Bagram Airfield for most of the time I was in-country.” Muir’s eyes had the thousand yard stare Lucy had heard about. “Bagram had, among other units, the 101st Combat Aviation Brigade…
