Ghost of a Chance Read online

  She rubbed her eyes and quietly laid back against her pillow. "I guess I am feeling a little strange. I was out on the roof last night?"

  "Yeah, that's where we found you. Remember, Andrew and Harlow were here?" She nodded. "Okay, well, I'm keeping you home today. We'll drop by the doctor's office later on. Would you like to lie on the sofa and watch some TV while I make breakfast?" Cinnamon would have to handle the shop for the day. She was a good clerk; she would call me if there was a problem.

  "You're staying home?" Miranda allowed me to help her up and into her bathrobe. "You never stay home."

  "I do when you go fainting on the roof during the middle of the night." I grabbed her Nanna quilt as we headed toward the hall. Miranda stopped long enough to retrieve Mr. Sanders from her keepsake trunk. She hadn't hauled out that old bear in quite a while. She must be feeling a bit shaky. In the living room, I tucked her in on the sofa and turned on the television. Miranda didn't usually like kids' shows, but she did love Bugs Bunny. I found a Looney Tunes special on the Cartoon Network and left her laughing at the antics of Elmer Fudd.

  It worried me that she didn't protest when I told her I was keeping her home. Randa never cut class, she was a homework machine, and the few times she got sick I practically had to tie her down in bed to make sure she wouldn't sneak off to school. Her easy capitulation was out of character.

  As I filled the kettle for tea, I remembered the raffle at the shop today. Damn! I couldn't afford to miss that. My customers expected me there. I glanced at the clock. Almost eight. The drawing was set for one this afternoon. Maybe I could drop Randa off at Mrs. Trask's after the doctor's office and pick her up on my way home after the drawing. I'd better call Ida to see if she was going to be home.

  While the water was heating, I grabbed my Day-Timer and scribbled down the phone calls I needed to make. Ida, and Cinnamon… the doctor to schedule an appointment… also, I wanted to ring Murray to see if she would come over. While I was thinking about it, when I called Mrs. Trask, I'd better speak to Kip, see how he was doing.

  I chose a bright blue teapot for the morning and tied together four bags of Moroccan Mint, looping the strings around the handle to keep them from settling on the bottom. Moroccan Mint was my favorite—it was good for almost anything that ailed you. On top of everything else, a quick survey of the refrigerator convinced me I needed to go grocery shopping. We were out of eggs and bread. I didn't want to feed Miranda cold cereal, so I dug out the oatmeal and started boiling water. I found a package of sausages and tossed them in the frying pan, then set up the tea tray I always used when the kids were sick. On Mother's Day they covered it with a doily and served me breakfast in bed.

  When everything was ready, I carried the tray in and set it on the coffee table next to the sofa. Miranda scooted up, and I propped a pillow behind her back. "Ready?"

  "I'm cold. I have a headache, and my back aches." She wrapped her bathrobe around her and tied the sash tighter.

  "Wait a minute before you put anything in your mouth." I hunted in the downstairs bathroom where I kept most of the medications, fishing through the drawer until I found the thermometer. A quick tuck under Randa's tongue, and sixty seconds later I was staring into her hundred-degree face. "You have a little fever. Eat your breakfast, and I'll call the doctor."

  As she sprinkled brown sugar on her oatmeal, I retreated to the kitchen and dialed Dr. Adams's office. He wasn't in yet, but his nurse scheduled Randa for a ten-o'clock appointment. I thanked her and called Mrs. Trask.

  Ida Trask was not a woman whom one blithely called by her first name, at least not to her face. She had been married once. Her husband had been drafted into the Korean War. A chopper pilot for a medical unit, he crashed during a rescue mission after saving sixteen people from a wrecked cargo truck they had been riding in. His chopper went down when he made one last run to make sure everybody was out.

  After his death Ida left her young son with her mother and enrolled in Western Washington University. Two years later she returned to Chiqetaw to raise her son, and she raised half of the town along with him. Feared and revered, Ida Trask had become an institution in this burg. After retirement, she took care of children from her home. I felt safer leaving the kids with her than with anybody else.

  I told her that Randa had gotten sick last night after she'd dashed home for a book and asked if I could drop her off after the doctor's appointment. Ida still sounded miffed over Randa's little escape, but she accommodated us. I would tuck in a little extra when I picked Randa up; there was no way I could afford to lose her as a babysitter.

  Kip came on the line and prattled on about their evening. Mrs. Trask had managed to wean him out of his bad mood, and they'd had a good time; they played two games of Life and watched a movie and ate thick deli-sliced roast beef sandwiches for supper. Relieved, I told him I'd see him after school and hung up.

  Randa had finished her oatmeal, but she left the sausages. "I'm kind of queasy. Can I have more tea?" Both of my children had learned the art of tea drinking at an early age, though I only allowed Earl Grey on special occasions; otherwise they got caffeine-free herbal teas like Wild Berry Zinger or Lemon Spice. I gathered up her dishes.

  I poured her another cup and carried it back into the living room. Daffy Duck was trying to outfox Bugs and, as usual, was losing. Satisfied that Miranda had everything she needed, I returned to the kitchen and put in a call to Cinnamon.

  "I'm going to be late coming in and early leaving. Miranda is sick, and I really want to be home with her today. Can you open up the shop?"

  I could hear her cover the receiver in order to yawn. "Sure, I can handle it. Take care of her and I'll see you when I see you. Will we still hold the drawing at one?"

  "Yeah, I'll be there by noon unless something goes wrong. Go ahead and drop by the bakery to pick up the box of sugar cookies I ordered. There's a big box of chocolates and a bag of candy canes in the storeroom. Arrange them on the clear crystal platter. The cookies can go on the cake-plate tower—use the holiday plates I bought for it. They're in the NFS cabinet. Make up a trio of mint teas—wintergreen, spearmint, and peppermint flavors. Mark the board Yuletide Joy. That should do nicely."

  The NFS china hutch had been Cinnamon's idea. We kept shop pieces in there—plates for setting out pastries, teacups we served the customers' tea in, special trays and items I loved and wasn't sure whether I wanted to sell. Clearly labeled "Not for Sale," the hutch served as eye candy for the customers.

  The sound of scribbling told me she was jotting down my instructions. Good. Cinnamon was a bright girl, but I was glad she wasn't relying on her memory. It wasn't that I didn't trust her, but sometimes smart people don't always have it together in other areas. Her memory was on the blink as often as her find-a-good-man meter.

  The kettle whistled and I filled the teapot a second time, this time with a chamomile-and-lavender tea. I carried it out to where Miranda could serve herself. "Drink this and rest a little if you can. We've still got a couple of hours before your appointment, and I think the extra sleep would do you good." She was already yawning; the tea would put her out gently but firmly. She nodded, eyes heavy. I returned to the kitchen, where she couldn't hear me.

  Even when she worked swing shift, Murray was one of those up-with-the-sun people which, in western Washington, doesn't say much most of the year. But overcast weather or not, she was usually awake and in full gear by first light. I punched in her number and waited. On the fourth ring, she answered. I told her what happened and begged her to come over to do what she could to help me sort out this mess.

  "Damn, I wish I could get away, but sugar, I don't have a spare minute, not until the weekend. White Deer is coming to visit today, and I've got a stack of paperwork to finish at work that's so high I can't see over it, as well as my regular beat. Can you last until Sunday, when I'm taking a few days off?"

  "Yeah, I guess so. Thanks anyway, hon." Disappointed, I dropped the receiver back onto the phone base. Waiti
ng until the weekend wasn't my idea of comfort, but there was nothing I could do. Murray was always busy; it was a wonder the woman hadn't put herself in the hospital with a stroke. We'd have to manage on our own until then.

  I decided to take a shower. When I peeked in on Randa she was asleep, with the quilt tucked up under her chin. As quietly as I could, I edged the remote out of her hand and turned off Daffy Duck. I placed it on the table in easy reach in case she woke up while I was upstairs.

  The sting of the water felt good on my back. I was playing with my health, losing too much sleep. Sore from the fall last night, it was obvious the tension was starting to get to me. Add to that the hectic schedule at the store and I knew that my body would make me pay, sooner or later. I scrubbed my skin with the loofah, hoping the bracing scents of ginger and pineapple would wake me up, but all they did was make me smell like a Hawaiian fruit basket.

  I leaned out of the shower and reached for the towel, then realized that I'd forgotten to grab one. The steam coiled thickly around my arm, and a rash of goose bumps puckered up along my skin. As I fumbled, trying to get my bearings, another hand about the same size as my own but cold—icy cold—covered my fingers. What the hell? Someone was in the bathroom with me!

  I jerked back, slipped, and landed in the tub on my tailbone. Another inch and I could have split open my skull, but luck held. Shaken but not seriously hurt, I scrambled to my knees and cautiously stood. I needed my clothes. Naked equaled vulnerable equaled danger. Even a scrap of a washcloth would give me some protection.

  There were no sounds beyond the shower curtain. Maybe I was being paranoid? Maybe all the stress had brought this on?

  Nope, not a chance. As I calmed myself so I could focus, I knew someone was in the room with me. Susan? Mr. Big & Ugly? Given a choice, I'd opt for Susan any day, but I wasn't going to bet my life that it was her. What next? I covered my breasts, tucking my arms tightly around me, and waited, listening. At first the only thing I could hear was my own breathing, but a faint squeaking noise, like fingers on a wet window, echoed through the mist-shrouded room. I had to get out of here, had to go check on Randa…

  Randa! Randa was alone downstairs. As I yanked open the shower curtain, the vinyl liner ripped under my frenzy. I stumbled out of the tub, waving away the mist until I could see the door, but when I reached to open it, my hand slipped on the handle. The ceramic knob began to turn against my grip, rattling as it did so.

  "Oh, hell! Leave me alone!" The power behind the force on the doorknob was tremendous, and I knew it couldn't be Susan. My hand slipped off the knob, and I fumbled to regain my grip. Low mutterings began to reverberate around me—I thought I could hear a woman calling for help and the deep laughter of a man, low and menacing. Shit—they were both here. I couldn't catch the words, but from the tone of his voice, his intentions were clear, and it sounded like he was terrorizing Susan.

  I had to get out of here. I grabbed the nearest piece of cloth I could find—a hand towel—and used it to get a better grip. As I threw myself against the door, bracing so I could leverage the knob with more force, a high, thin shriek echoed, and deep laughter pounded in my ears. The energy blocking the door swept away and I yanked it open and raced into the hallway.

  As I thudded down the stairs I wanted nothing more than to scream, to wake Randa and get her out of the house, but I didn't want to scare her. I barreled into the living room, trailing a mist of water behind me. Just as I saw that Randa seemed safely asleep, a brief wave of laughter echoed behind me and strong hands pushed against my back, sending me flying across the room to land on the floor near the sofa. My shin slid along the edge of the coffee table, hard, scraping a long gash into the leg, and my knee managed to smash right against the corner. A gut-wrenching wave of pain sent me face down to the floor, where I stayed.

  Startled, Randa woke and sprang into a sitting position, staring at me with that cool, unwavering gaze that made her such a formidable foe on her school's debating team. "Uh… are you okay, Mom?"

  I lay plastered against the carpet, butt in the air. After a moment, I managed to catch my breath and pushed myself up. My breasts were covered with tiny flecks of dirt. The thought that maybe I should vacuum more often ran through my head before I could clear my mind.

  Miranda crawled out from under the covers, dragging her quilt over to cover me. She knelt beside me. "Mommy, you're bleeding—should I call 911?" A look of concern spread across her face.

  I didn't want to scare her, didn't want to tell her that a ghost had knocked me senseless, but it was either that or let her think I was going nuts. I shook my head and pushed myself into a sitting position, wincing as I tried to straighten my leg. "No… no… just bumped my knee. The cut stings, but it's superficial. I think I'll be okay. How about you? Are you okay?"

  She gave me one of her you-really-are-out-of-it looks. "I was resting, like you told me to. What's going on?"

  I used the coffee table for leverage and forced myself to stand up. The room wobbled a bit but settled down as I limped over to sit on the sofa, wrapping the quilt around me. My knee protested the moment I put weight on it and was turning a serious shade of blue. The scrape down my shin was bleeding. Lovely. With my luck, I'd probably dislocated something.

  "Uh… the ghost—the nasty one who followed Susan's spirit—was in the bathroom with me. I was scared that you'd get hurt, so I came running down to check on you. I guess I don't make such a great athlete, huh?"

  She raised one eyebrow in her best Mr. Spock imitation, and a smile spread across her face. Here I was hurt, and my daughter was actually laughing at me. "Mom, I could have told you that years ago." Then she seemed to comprehend what I'd said, and her smile faded. She nervously twisted the blanket in her hand. "Is it still up there? Is the ghost here now?" She stared at me, begging for me to answer her next question with a yes, I can. "Mom, you can stop the ghosts from doing what they want, can't you?"

  I pressed the back of my hand against her forehead. Her fever was about the same. I didn't want to think about what she'd say if she knew I thought that the spirit might be responsible for her illness. "I don't know, honey. I'm trying. Okay, back under the covers while I go clean up." I gently tucked the quilt back over her. "Do me a favor, Ran. Don't go to sleep, okay? Wait till I come back down before you nod off?"

  "I don't think I could go to sleep even if I wanted to." She scrunched into the corner of the sofa and hugged Mr. Sanders to her chest.

  I limped over to the stairs. It never occurred to me before what a wonderful invention the railing was, but I was grateful for it now. By the time I hauled myself to the top, I began to think I had seriously wrecked something.

  I cautiously pushed the bathroom door open. The mist was gone, vanished into whatever ozone hole mist disappears into. "Anybody here?" I kept my voice low so Miranda wouldn't hear me. As I turned the corner to face the mirror, I saw my image—studded with carpet dirt and little bruises. Across the face of the mirror, across my reflection, someone had written in the steam. The steam was gone, but the words were still readable. A delicate hand had written, "Help me!" This was too much. Not only did I have a frantic ghost on my hands, but also Mr. Big & Ugly had taken it upon himself to terrorize everyone in sight—Susan, me, my family, and my friends. Enough. He was playing hardball, and he was going to find out just who he was playing it with. That is, if I could figure out how to beat him at his own game.

  Chapter Twelve

  With a backward glance at the house, which now loomed ominous and brooding, we headed out to the doctor's office. Miranda was fine, he said, she had a little cold and needed to rest. I, on the other hand, wasn't in great shape. My sprawl had left me with a severe bruise on my knee and rug-burn abrasions from my breasts to my shins, as well as the cut on my leg. I wasn't going to be running any marathons for a week or two.

  I pulled up in front of Ida's house and turned to Randa. "I'm sorry I have to go in to the shop. I forgot all about the drawing."

  She
patted my arm. "It's okay, you've had a rough morning." She gave me a sneaky grin. "Besides, Mrs. Trask makes the best oatmeal chocolate chip cookies I've ever tasted."

  I kissed her head and made sure she got inside okay, then headed for the shop. Frieda Halston won the raffle, and almost knocked over a display of teacups and saucers. Quick reflexes on Cinnamon's part saved the day, but I was in no mood to stick around after we managed to get Frieda and her new teapot out the door.

  Before I left the shop I bit the bullet and made arrangements for Lana, one of Cinnamon's friends, to come in on Thursday and Friday. It wasn't the ideal solution—I really should be working during the Christmas push—but there was no way I could handle the holiday rush at the store and evict my ghostly visitors at the same time. After finalizing that Lana would help during the rush hours on both days, I put in another call to Murray. As I tapped my fingers on the countertop, waiting for her to answer, I could feel a tension headache working its way into my neck. Ibuprofen, I'd give anything for a couple of ibuprofen. When she came on the line I spilled out the morning's events.

  Before I could ask for help, she offered to take Kip and Randa for a few days. "My schedule is nuts, but with my aunt here, she can help watch out for them. They like White Deer, so there shouldn't be any problem."

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing they were safely out of the way would allow me to focus all my attention on exorcising Mr. B & U. With both Murray and White Deer keeping track of them, I'd feel a lot better.

  I was still searching for a bottle of Advil when Harl called. She had managed to dig up some info from Karri Banks. I grabbed a pen, ready to jot down what she found out. "What did she say?"

  Harl snapped her gum. "Karri and Susan went to school together. They were in the same class. Karri was hesitant at first, but since Susan's dead, she agreed to talk to me."

  "Good going." Once again I marveled at Harlow's ability to worm her way into any social gathering and walk away with a pocketful of news.