P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

“No need—she’ll be in contact,” Felicia assured her.

“Felicia is a member of the Port Chatham Historic Preservation Committee,” Jase put in.

Jordan perked up. “Really? Did you restore your own house?”

“Yes, with the help of my husband, who is an architect.” Felicia smiled. “Of course, its time period is different from yours—Arts and Crafts, early 1900s. Once you’re settled in, come by and I’ll give you a tour.”

“Actually, Felicia is the person you’ll want to talk to, if you decide to apply to have Longren House listed on the historic register,” Jase said. “And even if you don’t go that route, she can provide all kinds of resources relating to historic preservation.”

Felicia waved a hand, looking a bit embarrassed. “It’s just that our group is connected with most of the other regional and national groups working on historic preservation,” she explained. “Anyone on the committee can help you get started with all the paperwork.”

“I’m just getting started,” Jordan warned, a bit overwhelmed by their suggestions, “but I’m sure I’ll have questions for you as I progress with the restoration of Longren House.”

Felicia smiled reassuringly—no doubt she was used to seeing the growing panic on people’s faces. “Restoring a home like Longren House is really a community project. We love our old homes here in town!” She was obviously warming to her topic. “And the prior owners … well. Let’s just say they weren’t interested in preserving history. We all cheered when Hattie and Charlotte ran them off.”

Jordan hadn’t really thought about the remodel in those terms, but Felicia was right—the restoration of Longen House would affect the entire neighborhood, as well as enhance the town’s appeal to visitors. If she could pull it off, and she was beginning to have doubts on that score.

“But really, Hattie and Charlotte will be far more able to answer your questions,” Felicia continued, not seeming to notice Jordan’s startled reaction. “And we all want you to know we think it’s simply wonderful Hattie and Charlotte will now have someone to stand up for them.”

Jordan slid her eyes toward Jase, who didn’t look as if he thought she’d said anything out of the ordinary.

“Of course, we’ve been aware of how unhappy Hattie and Charlotte have been over the years,” Felicia added. “I mean, we’ve all sensed it. But now that you’re here, they’ll be able to tell us what they need.” When Jordan failed to respond, she rushed on a bit more nervously. “This, of course, represents a very unique opportunity. We won’t be solely dependent on surviving documents or construction plans for the restoration.”

Jordan cleared her throat. “Okay, wait a minute—”

“You’ll have to excuse Jordan’s reticence; she’s still getting used to the idea of having Hattie and Charlotte around,” Jase interrupted, ignoring Jordan’s glare.

“Oh.” Felicia looked momentarily confused. “Ohhh . You mean you didn’t see ghosts when you lived in L.A.?”

“No. I saw a lot of strange things in L.A., but ghosts were not—”

“Well, that puts a new spin on things.” Felicia frowned. “You must find this all very disconcerting.”

“That would be an understatement,” Jordan muttered. “Look, I’m still not convinced—”

“I’m sure Jordan would be glad to discuss this more with you after she gets unpacked,” Jase said smoothly.

“Oh, of course.” Felicia beamed at him. “Well then, I’ll just be going.” She turned to Jordan. “If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to trot over and knock on the door.”

“Thanks again for the casserole,” Jordan managed. “I’ll be sure and return the dish.”

Once Felicia was out of earshot, she looked at Jase. “Gee, thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, his expression amused. “Probably not a good idea to start off on the wrong foot with the local preservation group.”

“So who else knows that I supposedly talk to ghosts?” she demanded.

“By now, I’d say most of the town. People have had most of last evening and this morning to get out the word. I’d already received several calls this morning before I dropped by, asking for details.”

Jordan gaped at him. Clearly, living in a small town was going to take some getting used to. Even with the paparazzi tracking her every move in L.A., she’d had more privacy than this. Apparently, she’d moved from being in a fishbowl to being under a microscope.

“What did you tell the callers?” she asked uneasily.

“That if they wanted to know more, they should talk to you,” he replied. “I don’t gossip.”

“Oh.” She relaxed a bit. “Well. Okay, then.”

“But I’m sure they found someone from the pub last night who would tell all,” Jase added, dashing her hopes.

“So let me get this straight: Roughly half the town thinks I may have killed my husband, but everyone thinks I’m crazy and can see and talk to ghosts.”

Jase nodded. “Though I’d phrase it slightly differently … People probably don’t think you’re crazy if you talk to ghosts.”

“Oh, sure— that makes sense.”

He eyed her, looking concerned. “You okay?”

“I’ll get back to you on that.” Shaking her head, she carried the casserole into the kitchen, then returned to help him unload the rest of her purchases from the truck.

Hattie and Charlotte watched avidly from the parlor window as she and Jase made trips from the truck to the front hall. He showed no indication that he had seen them, which had Jordan grinding her teeth.

“Are you sure something isn’t wrong?” he asked while ripping open packages of screwdrivers and wrenches and organizing them in the tool chest.

“Not a thing.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push the issue, handing her the shredded packaging. “These are the basic tools you’ll need available for most small projects. As you prioritize and start the actual work, I can help you put together lists of additional supplies.”

She mustered a smile. “I seem to be thanking you a lot.”

“There’ll be a pop quiz this evening on the first two books, including the one that explains the National Register of Historic Homes.”

“Right.” Her expression was wry as they walked out onto the front porch.

A late-model pale cream Cadillac edged up to the curb behind Jase’s truck. A slender man of average height and carefully styled sandy hair climbed out, and she grinned, recognizing him.

“Jordan!” He loped onto the porch and enveloped her in a bear hug. “I heard you’d hit town.”

When he would have held on a bit too long, Jordan stepped back, turning to include Jase. “I think you already know Ted Rawlins—”

“—of the Ted Rawlins Trio,” Jase finished, introducing himself and shaking Ted’s hand. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Well, this is convenient,” Ted said. “I was on the way to your pub when I spied Jordan.”

“I booked the trio for this evening,” Jase told Jordan. His expression was curious. “I didn’t realize you were connected to the L.A. jazz scene.”

“I’m not, but I’ve heard the trio play a time or two.” She quickly explained her acquaintance with Ted, omitting any details. “Ultimately, Ted’s the reason I ended up in Port Chatham.” Jordan turned back to him with a smile. “But the festival is a month away. What’re you doing in town so early?”

“I told you I bought a summer home up here. The band’s been using it as a sound studio for the last month. And thanks to you, I landed a job teaching the seminars this year.” He was referring to the work she’d done with him to help him iron out personality conflicts he’d had with colleagues in the music business. “Jordan, here, literally saved my life,” he told Jase, who looked surprised.