“I guess the pastor said it was some kind of weather anomaly, but Margaret called it off. Anyway, they ended up getting married at McCord Lighthouse instead. Have you looked there yet?”

  I shook my head. “No, Lucas’s mother is set on a church of some variety. We’ll keep looking.”

  Lizzie grabbed for one of the emptied cardboard boxes and slashed the tape with a box cutter. “How many people are you thinking of inviting?”

  “Not too many,” I replied, pausing my work long enough to snag a French fry from the McNally’s bag. “A hundred, maybe a hundred and twenty. I really don’t want it to get too big.”

  Flapjack snorted. “Good luck telling Lynne that.”

  “My mother likely has other ideas,” I sighed, agreeing with the cat. “She’s already started campaigning for us to have the wedding in Arizona so she can invite all of her rich friends.”

  Lizzie smiled. “That happened to my friend Babs. Her mom is a clown and wanted her to invite the whole circus!”

  Flapjack cocked his head.

  I laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. Though my mother would take umbrage if I told her she was trying to turn my wedding into a circus.”

  “Oh,” Lizzie said, “I mean literally. Babs’s mom does birthday parties and works with a traveling carnival company.”

  Flapjack snorted and rolled over to his back, his eyes going wide when a sparkling reflection bounced off my watch and danced along the ceiling.

  “Well, in that case, I just hope her mom left the big red shoes and rainbow wig at home on the day of the wedding,” I joked.

  Lizzie smiled and reached for the next empty box. “I think if I ever get married, I’ll do it on the beach. I used to want a big, fancy wedding, but now I think I’d rather spend the money on a long honeymoon and go somewhere really exotic. Where are you and Lucas thinking of going?”

  “Actually, for us, that’s an even harder decision to make than any of the wedding stuff!” I laughed. “Just when we think we’ve made up our mind, one of us dissents and picks a new place. Let’s just say, my Pinterest page has way more travel tips than wedding ones at this point.”

  “I’m still voting for Hawaii,” Flapjack said, his eyes still tracking the sparkle on the ceiling as I stripped rose stems and placed the cut flowers into their appropriate buckets. “Fresh fish everywhere you go!”

  I rolled my eyes. I’d told him half a dozen times that he wasn’t invited on the honeymoon, but he was lingering in denial for the time being. I’d lock him, Hayward, and Gwen in a salt-lined room if I had to. Several months ago, they’d followed me to New Orleans against my wishes. In the end, I’d needed their help, but my honeymoon was the absolute line in the metaphorical—and potentially literal—sand.

  “Speaking of a little romance,” I segued with a wiggle of my eyebrows, “what’s going on with you and Bryant?”

  Lizzie laughed off the question, but she couldn’t hide the pink twinge in her fair complexion. “Oh, there’s not much to tell.”

  “Come on,” I prodded, “I’m a soon-to-be old married lady. I have to start living vicariously through all my single friends.”

  “Trust me, you’ve got the better deal. Dating is so frustrating!” Lizzie shook her head. She was in her mid-twenties and living in a tiny town with a population that generally skewed older. Her pickings were slim, and she’d told me in the past she wasn’t interested in doing long-distance or anything involving an app.

  “I thought I saw you two out at McNally’s a few nights ago,” I said, hoping I hadn’t accidentally struck a nerve. “I was going to wave, but I didn’t want to interrupt what looked like a pretty serious conversation.”

  Lizzie sighed and planted one hand on the workbench. “We were, but only because he wanted to discuss us and I was trying to change the topic. I wish you had interrupted, to be honest.”

  Her answer surprised me. Bryant worked at the local hardware store and by all accounts was a nice young man. I knew Lizzie was attracted to him and they’d been seeing one another off and on for a couple months. I hadn’t been expecting a ring to crop up on her finger anytime soon, but it seemed like things were headed somewhere.

  “Bryant’s really nice and he’s cute, but I don’t know,” she said, trailing off for a moment as her gaze fixed on the fragrant blooms that filled the space between us.

  “No chemistry?” I asked.

  “The opposite, actually.” Lizzie’s cheeks flushed. “Sometimes, I think that’s all we have.”

  “Oh.”

  Flapjack let out a cat call.

  I scowled at him. For as much as he teased Hayward about his soap operas and occasional Cosmopolitan article, he sure seemed to enjoy being steeped in the drama. Maybe Gwen was rubbing off on both of them.

  Great.

  “He doesn’t like to read, or go to museums, or anything like that,” Lizzie continued. “He likes sports and barbecuing and woodworking. And it’s not that I think we need to have everything in common, but the more time we spend together, the more obvious it becomes that we don’t have anything in common. He wants to call me his girlfriend and introduce me to his parents, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

  I smiled. “But you don’t want to walk away completely because he’s fun in other ways.”

  Lizzie’s cheeks went another shade of pink and she hurried to grab for another box I’d emptied.

  “Lizzie, you’re young and having fun. There’s nothing wrong with that. But, if you want my advice, you don’t want to lead him on, especially when it sounds like he’s on a different—”

  A loud bang sounded from the front of the shop and I quickly set aside my knife and rushed out to inspect. The front door was rigged with a soft chime so I’d know when a customer entered the store, even if I was alone and busy working in the back. We hadn’t had a customer all morning.

  “What was that?” Lizzie asked, following after me.

  The retail space was empty. No one—human or ghost—was there. But in the middle of the room, to the right of a wire spinning rack that held a variety of greeting cards, shards of pottery were piled from a broken flowerpot made to hold African violets.

  “How did that get all the way over here?” Lizzie said, sidestepping me to begin cleaning up the mess.

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly, narrowing my eyes as I scanned the room.

  Lily Pond wasn’t a huge shop; the retail space was a couple hundred square feet and neatly organized. There wasn’t room for someone to hide, even a small child. Still, I walked the perimeter, weaving around the different display racks to double-check. “No one’s here,” I said after peeking under the front counter with the cash register and assortment of knickknacks.

  “I think I got it all,” Lizzie said, coming to join me. She held up the broken shards of pottery. “Here’s the sticker so you can take it out of inventory.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. In her early days, Lizzie had garnered a reputation as a butterfinger and broken more than her fair share of vases and various gift items. As it turned out, she’d simply been nervous about trying to learn everything, and once she passed her first few months, she loosened up and, ironically, her grip tightened.

  “I got it,” I said, tapping at the keyboard to wake the computer up. With a few clicks of the mouse, I adjusted the inventory to account for the broken vase.

  Lizzie dumped the broken pieces in the trash. “A customer must have misplaced the vase, maybe left it too close to the edge of the display.”

  I nodded, even as my brain reached around for a better theory. For people like Lizzie, it was easier to rationalize things like that as a simple accident. Strange? Sure, but nothing outside the realm of possibility. I, on the other hand, knew all too well about the things that go bump in the night and the unseen forces at work in the world. I’d stopped believing in coincidence a long time ago, and as far as freak accidents … well, let’s just say they were more likely to involve an actual supernatural freak than just an unexplainable phenomenon.

  Currently, though, I couldn’t think of any suspect for the breakage. Since turning the ghost support group over to Gwen, I hadn’t had any problems with random ghosts accosting me on the street, demanding my help. It was actually strange to not be in high demand for once.

  So who—or what—had come into the shop to break the flowerpot?

  And, more importantly, why?

  “You know what I’m in the mood for all of a sudden?” I said, digging under the counter for my purse. “A mocha. You want something? On me?”

  Lizzie perked. “Sure! You want me to run out for it?”

  “Would you mind?” I asked, retrieving a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet.

  “Not at all,” Lizzie replied, already going for her coat. “I’ll take these boxes out to the recycle bin, too.”

  “You’re a gem.”

  A few minutes later, Lizzie was bundled up and loaded down with a stack of folded cardboard. I held the back door open for her and she squeezed out, the cardboard scratching against the wall as she went. “Thanks!” I called after her as she stepped out from the eaves and into the light sprinkle of rain.

  “Uh, Scar—”

  I turned at Flapjack’s voice and nearly ran face-first into the bride ghost from the wedding chapel. My heart skyrocketed into my throat as I jumped back, banging into the metal door I’d just closed. “Man alive! What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to make a deal,” she replied sharply.

  I glanced past her as Flapjack floated down from his perch and stalked closer. I wasn’t entirely sure what he could do if things came down to some kind of ghost-to-ghost combat, but I appreciated his fuzzy backup all the same.

  Crossing my arms, I narrowed my eyes and pretended my heart wasn’t still slamming itself against my sternum. “What kind of deal?”

  “You want to get married at my chapel,” she said. “I saw it in your eyes.”

  “Your chapel?” My brows lifted.

  She didn’t back down from the claim. Clearly, in her mind, she was some kind of ghost bouncer, and I’d been deemed unfit to pass through to the other side of the velvet ropes.

  “Listen,” I continued, “I like the chapel, but I’m perfectly capable of finding another venue.”

  “Is that so?” the ghost asked. “I was watching you, you know. I saw that weak-in-the-knees, starry-eyed look on your face.”

  “If you want help, you’re going to have to ask for it,” Flapjack told the woman, his tone still hostile as he came around to sit beside my feet. “No one likes the demanding, princess-of-the-universe types.”

  The ghost considered his words with a glower, but when she lifted her eyes back to mine, they lost some of the fire. “Fine. I’m here to ask for help.”

  “What made you change your mind?” I asked. “A week ago you seemed quite content to continue your reign of terror.”

  “I guess something you said stuck with me. I know there’s no future here for me,” she replied quietly. “I’d like to move on, to whatever is next, and according to your nasty little cat, you can do that for me.”

  “Nasty?” Flapjack hissed at her. “Lady, you haven’t even seen nasty yet!”

  “Flapjack,” I said gently.

  The cat plopped back on his haunches but kept his narrowed eyes locked on the bride.

  “I can’t snap my fingers and send you over to the Otherworld—at least, not in good conscience,” I told the ghost. “You’re going to have to figure out what’s holding you here, in this plane. I can help you try to unravel that, but ultimately, I can’t determine when it’s your time to cross over.”

  The ghost scoffed and threw her hands into the air. “I should have known this was a waste of time!”

  “Good thing you have an endless amount of it to burn,” Flapjack quipped under his breath.

  “You little—” The ghost lunged for him.

  I grabbed the handle of the small iron omelette pan I kept under the front counter. “Stop it right now!” I bellowed, brandishing the pan like a sword. “Both of you!”

  The ghost bride blinked, momentarily distracted by me, and Flapjack used the split second to finish his attack. He slashed and scratched at the woman’s legs, the two semitransparent silhouettes merging into a slight blur at the points of contact. The bride screeched and kicked out at the Himalayan.

  I brought the pan down in an arc and two soft pops sounded before the ghosts melted out of view.

  Chapter Six

  Flapjack came flying through the ceiling fifteen minutes later, spitting mad, every hair standing on end like he’d been put on a high spin cycle. “How dare you!” he roared.

  I directed my eyes toward the coat closet I used as an office. “Lizzie, I need to make a quick call. Can you watch the front?”

  Lizzie looked up from the vase of roses she was arranging and nodded. “Of course.”

  “Thanks.” I gave Flapjack another meaningful glance and then stepped into the office. He appeared on the middle of my desk. “You didn’t give me another choice,” I told him after I closed the door. “You attacked another ghost, Flapjack. What was I supposed to do?”

  “It’s not like I can actually hurt her!” he snapped back. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

  “I am,” I replied calmly.

  Flapjack glared at me for another long moment before he sat down and began smoothing his ruffled fur back into place.

  Generally speaking, I preferred defense as opposed to offense when it came to my interactions with the spirit world. Salt could provide an easy barrier to keep ghosts out of the parts of my life where they were unwanted. Particularly troublesome ghosts could be contained in the small sphere I referred to as a ghost trap. I wasn’t sure how the magic worked, but Hayward and Flapjack had both occupied the space and assured me it didn’t do any harm. But occasionally, when in a pinch, I was forced to use the final weapon in my arsenal: iron.

  Iron didn’t hurt ghosts, but it was an unpleasant experience for the spirit as they were essentially dissolved into a million particles. They would reassemble themselves back into the correct form, usually within a few minutes, typically in the place their spirit considered home base. For Flapjack, that was my apartment. For the ghost bride … well, I wasn’t sure, but I assumed she was collecting herself—literally—back at the chapel.

  “I’m sorry, all right?” I said with a sigh as Flapjack made a show of smoothing the fur on his face.

  “Apology not accepted,” the cat huffed.

  “If it makes you feel better, I likely just blew whatever sliver of a chance I had at getting the chapel reservation,” I muttered. “Maybe the rumpus room at the Lutheran church in Pine Shoals wasn’t as bad as I think. Maybe I could drape some kind of fabric over those hideous maroon chairs …”

  Flapjack groaned. “You can’t get married in something called a rumpus room.”

  “It’s fine,” I told him. “It’ll work out.”

  The phone rang and I hurried to answer it. When I finished taking down the details of the order, I hung up and realized that somewhere in the middle of the call, Flapjack had vanished.

  I sighed and sagged back in my chair. “Looks like I’ll be running to the fish market tonight.”

  To my surprise, Flapjack circled back to the shop later that night, just after closing, and following one step behind him was the chapel ghost. I stopped counting the till money and crossed my arms. “Well, this is an odd pairing.”

  “I’m ready to talk,” the bride said.

  I looked at Flapjack. “We kissed and made up,” he assured me.

  “He explained how you’ve helped others like me,” the bride added. “I’d like to take you up on the offer. How do we start?”

  I grabbed a pen and a daisy-shaped Post-It note from the basket beside the phone. “What do you remember about the day you died?” I asked.

  The ghost bride drew in a slow, measured breath and then launched into her recollection. “It was two and a half years ago, on the morning of June 24th. My wedding day. I was in the bridal suite, in my dress, hair and makeup done, mere minutes away from I do. I asked for a few minutes alone. My family and friends were all on my last nerve and I just needed a second to myself.” Irritation jerked at the muscles—well, if ghosts had muscles—in her face at the memory. “I was looking out the window. I heard the door open and I turned, expecting someone to tell me it was time to go upstairs, but I never saw who it was. The memories haven’t come back.”

  She paused, a pained look in her eyes. “Everyone said it was blunt force trauma to the back of the head. I guess one good whack was all it took.”

  “You might never get the exact memory of your death back,” I told her quietly. “Especially when it was so sudden and unexpected.”

  “So I’ve been told,” she replied bitterly. “There are half a dozen ghosts in the cemetery out behind the chapel and they’re a chatty bunch. Useless, too. None of them saw anything the day of my wedding. They tend to go back into their graves whenever the living are around.”

  “How boring,” Flapjack replied.

  “Before you showed up, I didn’t know that ghosts ever did anything else. Let alone that animals could be ghosts.” She paused and considered Flapjack. “How is it that you can talk, anyway?”

  Flapjack showed his teeth in a feline smile. “It’s a blessing.”

  “That’s up for debate,” I muttered.

  “I had a cat,” she said, a wistful smile pulling at her lips. “I called him Handsome. Something that caused more than a little confusion when we moved in with my fiancé, Marshall.”

  “Speaking of, what is your name?” I asked, pen poised.

  “Heather Richie,” she replied.

  Flapjack perked. “Any relation to Lionel?”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “No.”

  “If ya had a nickel, right?” Flapjack replied.

  My phone chirped and I glanced at the screen. It was a text from Lucas. He was home from work and wanted to see if I was free.

  “Excuse me,” I said to Heather before tapping out a quick reply.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16