P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

“Now you’re really being sarcastic,” Darcy said.

“It’s a gift,” Jordan snapped.

“You might as well accept the inevitable.”

A new thought occurred to her. “Oh, God, I get it now.” She stood abruptly, feeling ill. The dog leapt to his feet. “This is all a ruse, isn’t it?” She folded the rope and put it in his mouth. “You thought you could be entertained at my expense.”

“Whoa. Wait a minute.” Darcy’s amusement faded. “We didn’t think that at all.”

“Then it’s my notoriety—that I’m suspected of murder.” Hands shaking, Jordan fumbled for money to pay the bill. “You don’t want someone like me in your town.”

“That’s not it.” Darcy hesitated. “Okay, I admit that maybe some people might have thought that as a psychologist, you’d cope better with the ghosts … I mean, what with your ability to be empathetic—”

“Shut up, Darcy,” Jase said pleasantly. He turned to Jordan, his expression apologetic. “Please, stay and enjoy the music.”

Jordan shook her head mutely, throwing cash on the table.

“Look,” he explained quietly. “Most people only catch an occasional or fleeting glimpse of ghosts. We didn’t even know for sure that you’d ever see them, and we certainly didn’t think you’d be able to converse with them.”

“Hell,” Darcy said, “I’m flat-out envious. I’d love to be able to talk to them.”

“They’re probably thrilled to finally have someone to talk to,” Tom added.

Jordan backed away. “I’ll prove you all wrong. When I get to the research center tomorrow, it will be open, and Nora and Delia will be waiting for me.”

“Then why don’t I walk you home,” Jase suggested, standing, “and check the place out? Just so you’ll feel safe tonight.”

“I don’t think so.” Tears burned behind her eyes. Would she ever learn not to be so damn trusting?

She turned and walked out, the dog at her heels, leaving the three of them staring after her with what appeared to be concerned looks on their faces.

Too bad she knew better.

* * *

TEN minutes later, Jordan stood in her front yard, hugging herself, afraid to go inside. She half wished she’d taken Jase up on his offer. Their story was crazy, but … well, it made a weird sort of sense. Nora and Delia had been pretty strange, she had to admit.

As she replayed the conversation from earlier that afternoon inside her head, she realized many of the things they’d said could be interpreted in a different light. Take Delia’s argument, for example, that Frank would never have murdered Hattie. She had sounded as if she’d actually known him. And then there was the odd hair comment, which might indicate they didn’t understand modern speech idioms.

Jordan blew out a breath. This was crazy. Nuts. She was making something out of nothing. Pretty soon, she’d be the one she referred to a psychiatrist for meds.

She took a deep breath, threw back her shoulders, and climbed the porch steps, reaching out to open the door for the dog. He trotted right in, unconcerned.

“See?” she muttered. “Nothing to worry about.” She fumbled for the light switch, turning on several lights, including the chandelier high up in the stairwell before she located the one in the hall. She left them all blazing.

Standing just inside the door, she listened.

Nothing.

The house was quiet … settled. No creaks or groans, no moans … no goddamn ghosts. Just in case, though, she looked around for something she could use as a weapon.

Clutching a library lamp in front of her with both hands, she crept down the hallway to the kitchen. On the way, she didn’t walk through any cold spots, which—if she remembered correctly from movies she’d seen—were supposed to be a sign of spectral activity. She did, however, jump a foot when a floorboard creaked loudly, almost losing her grip on the lamp.

She reached inside the kitchen door and flipped on the light switch, then walked to the center of the room. “If you’re here, I frigging dare you to come out!” she said in a loud voice.

Silence.

There, that proved it. No ghosts.

“Uh-ohhh. We’ve been outed.” The whisper came from several feet behind her.

Jordan whirled, the lamp dropping with a deafening crash. The air sort of shimmered in the middle of the kitchen, and the two women materialized before her.

Charlotte’s image faded in and out like a spastic highway construction warning light, but Hattie’s was clear as a bell. At least Hattie had the decency to look chagrined.

Jordan glanced around surreptitiously for the dog, hoping for some protection, but he’d disappeared. She hyperventilated.

“Paper bag”—she gasped, waving her hands wildly—“cupboard.”

Charlotte floated over to the sink, her blue satin slippers barely touching the floor. The cupboard door slammed open and a paper bag flew through the air. Jordan managed to snag it as it winged past her.

She collapsed onto a kitchen chair and breathed into the bag, eyes closed. The bent lamp leapt from the floor to the table, wildly teetering back and forth on its base before settling. A hand patted her lightly on her shoulder, the feeling somewhat akin to static electricity crawling across her skin. The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

“You keep your paper bags by the kitchen sink?” Charlotte asked. “That’s what the butler’s pantry is for.”

“Now, Charlotte, don’t nag,” Hattie admonished, rubbing Jordan’s shoulder. “We can worry about the arrangement of the kitchen later—Jordan’s had a fright.”

“Well, she doesn’t want to unpack and arrange things in here twice, does she?”

“Nevertheless, she has plenty of time to think about where she’ll put her kitchen items,” Hattie said, her tone firm.

“I’m only trying to be helpful.”

Jordan raised her head to stare blearily at Charlotte. She was pouting again, which seemed to be her perpetual state. Something to look forward to, if Jordan had to live with her. On that note, she closed her eyes again.

“Can’t you see she’s shaken?” Hattie continued. “No one thinks about organizing their cupboards when they’re in shock.”

“A stylish home, along with a keen sense of fashion, are critical foundations of a well-ordered life—”

Jordan stood on shaky legs and walked over to the open cupboard. She dry-swallowed three tablets from the aspirin bottle she’d put in there earlier. Why the hell hadn’t she thought to pack something stronger?

“And look at that !” Charlotte’s tone was outraged. “She’s got medicine in there. Everyone knows herbal tinctures should be kept well away from the preparation of the food.”

“Times have changed,” Jordan managed. “Why don’t you two teleport yourselves to the local home improvement store? They’re probably still open, and you can check out the latest kitchen designs. That’ll give me the time I need to pack my bags and check into a hotel.”

“There’s no cause to get testy,” Hattie said mildly. “Or to leave. We have no intention of harming you.”

“Yeah, right. I’ve heard you two are a real joy to live with.” Jordan gripped the edge of the counter with one hand to hold herself up, since her knees were still nonfunctional. Though the roaring in her ears had begun to subside, she breathed into the paper bag again for good measure.

Charlotte sniffed. “If you’re referring to the prior inhabitants who ran that wretched boardinghouse—”

“Bed-and-breakfast,” Hattie corrected.

“—they got what they deserved. Why, they were considering knocking down the wall between the parlor and front hall!”