P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

Darcy shook her head. “He’s not that subtle. Why?”

Jordan shrugged. “I felt a little creeped out today, like someone was watching me. You don’t have problems with anyone in this neighborhood, do you?”

“Not that we know of.”

Jase frowned as he set a full glass before her and returned to his seat. “Did you see anyone?”

She shook her head. “I’m probably overreacting, given recent events.”

“Maybe.” Darcy drummed her fingers on the table. “Then again, I’m thinking you’ve got the training in abnormal behaviors to pick up on something like that before the ordinary citizen would. I’ll take a look through the incident reports and see whether anything leaps out. For now, keep the dog close.”

“And let me know when you’re ready to leave,” Jase added. “I’ll walk you home.”

“No!”

He gave her an odd look, and she felt heat color her cheeks. “I mean, no thanks, really, that’s not necessary.”

He continued to hesitate. “Then why don’t I drop by tomorrow morning with Tom and check on you? We can point you toward the right people to hire, and so on.”

“Works for me,” Tom added.

Jordan quickly agreed. “Can we make it afternoon, though? I’d planned to visit the Historical Society at ten.”

“Their museum downtown is open,” Darcy said, “though it won’t do you any good—they don’t keep the archives at that location. But if you mean the place out on the airport cutoff road, it’s closed down for remodeling.”

“You must be thinking of a different place. Nora and Delia—the ones who brought me the papers?—told me to meet them there in the morning.”

The three of them exchanged perplexed looks.

“Nora and Delia are vacationing in the South of France,” Jase said. “I got a postcard from them just today.”

Jordan shrugged. “So maybe they beat the postcard home. Unless this town has two sets of sisters named Nora and Delia, they were at the house this afternoon—they brought me a chocolate cake.”

Darcy sent a silent look to Jase, and Tom rubbed his jaw.

“What?” Jordan asked.

“I stopped and checked the Historical Society building not two hours ago, on my usual rounds,” Darcy said. “It’s boarded up, and the sign says that it won’t reopen for at least three months. All the employees have been laid off for the summer, which is why Nora and Delia decided to take a long vacation …” She trailed off. “Well, hell.”

Jordan stared at them. “Nora is around five-six with light brown hair,” she clarified, “and Delia is blond with blue eyes. Right? They wear vintage clothing?”

“Nope. Nora is in her eighties,” Jase corrected, “and Delia’s not much younger. They’re both gray-haired.”

“I don’t friggin’ believe this!” Darcy grumped. “I’ve been wanting to meet up with these two for eight damn years, and you get to see them on your first day in town.”

Jase and Tom grinned, which seemed to make Darcy even madder.

Totally confused, Jordan said, “Clue me in here, guys.”

“You might want to drink some more of that wine,” Jase suggested, his blue eyes twinkling.

“You had a visit, all right,” Darcy said dourly, “but not from the Hapley sisters.”

“Well, then, who?” Jordan asked, exasperated.

“Most likely,” Jase replied, “the ghosts of Hattie Longren and Charlotte Walker.”

Chapter 4

“YEAH, right.” Jordan chuckled. No one joined in. “Oh, come on.”

Darcy cleared her throat. “Evidently Sandy failed to mention a few of the more unique aspects of Longren House.”

“Is this some sort of joke?”

“No.”

Jordan shifted in her chair as she looked around the table. All three looked completely earnest. “Seriously , people don’t really believe in ghosts. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“We like to think we’re open-minded on the subject,” Jase allowed. “After all, there’re a lot of ’em around.”

In a matter of moments, the atmosphere in the pub had gone from cozy and welcoming to surreal. The dog woke up and looked at her.

She propped her elbows on the table. “Okay, here’s the deal: Most of the time, when folks tell me they’re seeing things that can’t be real? I, like, refer them to a psychiatrist who can prescribe antipsychotic meds.”

“Questionable strategy,” Tom pointed out. “You’d have to dope up half the town.”

“Cute.” Jordan pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re serious.”

“Well … yeah.” Darcy shrugged. “We’ve heard about Hattie and Charlotte for years, though this is the first time we’ve heard anyone has talked to them.”

“You think that because Hattie Longren was murdered in my house, she—what—roams the halls at night, clanking her boyfriend’s prison chains and moaning?”

“She’s being sarcastic,” Darcy explained to the others.

“My coping skills are stretched a bit thin these days, and I’m not feeling all that flexible about sharing my house with a couple of ghosts!” Jordan’s voice rose, and there was a lull in the conversation as patrons craned their necks to look at her.

She took a deep breath, then another, holding up a hand. “Where I come from,” she said, lowering her voice, “California has real estate disclosure forms—TDS, SSD, and SPQ.” She ticked them off on shaking fingers. “You’re required to disclose even the smallest things, like whether there’s a children’s playground nearby that the buyer would consider too noisy, for chrissakes. You’re required to tell the buyer about bad things. Ghosts” —she paused for emphasis—“are bad things!”

“Actually, many of the old homes are thought to be haunted,” Darcy said. “So people don’t necessarily think a resident ghost or two is all that awful.”

“Okay, ‘normal,’ then. Ghosts aren’t normal. And I make a point of dealing in ‘normal.’”

“In this town, we prefer ‘quirky’ over ‘normal.’” Jase laid a soothing hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Bill? Bring me a brandy, would you?”

“Hattie and Charlotte are known for their pranks more than anything else,” Tom continued. “While the prior owners were living there and operating a B and B, the ghosts used to run the guests off in droves. It put the owners out of business.”

“Gee, how reassuring.”

“They’re probably more reasonable if you don’t do things they object to,” Darcy assured her. “From all accounts, they really didn’t want Longren House turned into a B and B.”

“So you think they impersonated Nora and Delia as some kind of prank?” Jordan shook her head, still not believing she was having this conversation. “Follow the logic—why would they do something like that? I’m not buying it.”

“They’ve gotten some pretty negative reactions over the years,” Tom said.

“Imagine my surprise.”

Darcy grinned. “They probably figured it was better to disguise themselves this time. At least, until you’d gotten settled and they knew what your intentions were.”

Jordan studied each of their faces. They appeared to be accepting Darcy’s explanation as plausible—even Jase. She shook her head back and forth. “No, no, no. I’m calling the real estate agent. I want those disclosure forms.”

“What good will they do you now?” Tom asked pragmatically.

“How the hell should I know?” Jordan gulped down the brandy Jase handed her. “Hey, I’ve got it.” She waved the brandy snifter in the air. “Since you all are so fond of your ghosts, maybe the local judge is a true believer and will let me back out of the sale.”