P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

“That’s an overstatement,” she protested.

“Not from where I sit,” Ted said firmly, then his expression turned sober. “So how are you holding up? Any news on who might’ve killed Ryland?”

She shook her head. “Nothing so far.”

“How about lunch tomorrow? You can bring me up-to-date.”

“Why don’t you drop by and I’ll give you a quick tour instead? The movers will be here and it will be a zoo, but you’ll enjoy seeing the house, I think.”

If he was disappointed, he had the grace not to show it. “It’s a date.”

“And I can’t wait to hear the trio play this evening,” she quickly added, knowing he was still somewhat insecure about his comeback, even though his career showed every sign of a meteoric recovery.

“The pub’s just around the corner,” Jase added. “Give me another minute to wrap up here, and I’ll be right behind you.”

“Sounds good.” Ted’s tone was jovial. “Well. Tomorrow, then.” With a casual wave, he returned to his car.

She could feel Jase’s gaze on her as Ted drove away, but his next question was innocuous enough. “What time do the movers show up?”

“Early, hopefully.” She needed to make a call and nail them down. “I haven’t figured out where they can put everything—most of the rooms need a thorough cleaning, stripping, and painting before I can even put furniture in them.”

“My advice? Pick a room that’s a low priority and have the movers stack most of your belongings in there. That way, you can unpack and arrange as you have time, and as rooms are finished. Tom and I are always available to help you move the furniture later.”

She nodded. “Good idea.”

Jase leaned down to rub the dog’s ears. “Have you picked out a name for him yet?”

“Worthless?” she said, only half joking. “He has a knack for abandoning me at key moments.”

The dog lowered his head and whined, and Jase chuckled. “You’ve hurt his feelings.”

She rolled her eyes and knelt to scratch the dog’s stomach. “I wouldn’t really name you Worthless,” she assured him. “How about Oscar, after Oscar Peterson?”

He gave her The Look, then rolled onto his back.

After properly atoning for her sins, she stood and noted the time. “Can we put off the meeting with Tom until tomorrow? The day is getting away from me.”

Jase nodded. “Why don’t you come by this evening? I’ll ask Tom to bring in his great-grandfather’s diaries, and I’m sure Darcy will want to hear all about your first day with the ghosts.”

She watched him walk to his truck, oddly reluctant to see him leave.

FPP .

Shaking her head, she went inside to see whether Hattie and Charlotte had managed to conjure up lunch.

* * *

BY midafternoon, Jordan had gotten hold of the movers—they would arrive first thing the next morning—and had accepted welcoming casseroles and desserts from several more neighbors who seemed definitely more pleased than worried about her arrival in town. Evidently, her ability to see and converse with ghosts rated higher than her homicidal tendencies. And at the rate the food was piling up, she’d have to throw a party just to clean out the pantry, though she was certain the dog was willing to consume more than his fair share.

The sight of that much food waiting to spoil, though, moved a functioning refrigerator to the top of her to-do list, so she scrubbed out the ancient Amana that had come with the house. Miraculously, when she plugged it in, it not only hummed enthusiastically but put out cold air. Though she had grim visions of the electric meter whirring faster than the speed of light, she had cold food storage and a way to make ice, so she wasn’t complaining.

While she arranged the food in the fridge, she mulled over the latest plan that had been formulating in her mind. After all, she needed to start researching the house renovation, right? So if she just ignored how she gained access to the research, she was getting through her day productively and functioning normally. And if she happened to run across some old newspaper articles on the murder while she researched the house, it wouldn’t hurt to read them, just to appease the ghosts. She could be productive and accommodating. Even proponents of Rational Therapy would be in awe of her ingenuity.

“Were you serious about getting me inside the Historical Society building?” she asked Hattie, who had been sitting at the kitchen table with Charlotte while Jordan worked on the fridge.

The ghosts glanced at each other.

“We’d have to break in!” Charlotte exclaimed. “It would give us an opportunity to test the strength of our telekinetic powers.”

“Whoa,” Jordan said, alarmed. “I can’t be a party to breaking and entering—I’m already on the cops’ radar.” She received blank looks and tried again. “They’re already paying attention to me because of my husband’s death.”

“Which is absurd,” Hattie said stoutly. “Why, anyone could tell you aren’t a murderess.”

“If they try to arrest you,” Charlotte added, her expression indignant, “we’ll show them!”

Jordan didn’t want to think about the ramifications of that remark. “But didn’t you bring me papers from the Historical Society archives? How did you get in? Do you have a key?”

“Well, we don’t have any trouble going through walls, though books and papers can’t be transported that way …” Hattie hesitated, looking guilty. “The truth is, the papers were here in the library. Before Charlotte and our housekeeper, Sara, were forced to give up the house, they collected every bit of news they could find about the trial.” At Jordan’s glower, she spread her hands. “We couldn’t count on you finding them on your own, at least not immediately. How long would it have taken you, given the state of disrepair the house is in, to focus on the books and papers in the library?”

Though she had a point, Jordan didn’t feel like conceding it. “So your diaries are still here in the house after all these years?”

“Well, of course.”

“Do you mind getting them for me?” Jordan asked through her teeth.

Hattie disappeared, then reappeared seconds later, just as several volumes landed with a dusty thud on the table.

Jordan picked one up and thumbed through it curiously. She didn’t see any obvious entries about the house. Which, once she thought about it, made sense. Charles Longren had probably built the house in anticipation of traveling back East to find a bride. And that meant Hattie wouldn’t have been in Port Chatham during its construction. Jordan still needed access to the newspaper archives. “So you can’t get me inside the Historical Society without illegally breaking in?”

But she was talking to an empty room—the ghosts had disappeared.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Darcy walked into the kitchen, the dog at her heels. “You wanted me to unlock the Historical Society building for you?”

“How do you do that?” Jordan asked, spooked.

“Do what? I stopped by the pub for lunch, and Jase mentioned that you needed access to the archives.”

“Oh. Never mind.”

Darcy leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded over the bulge of her shoulder holster. “You okay about last night? Jase thought you might still be a little shaken.”

“I’m finding that ‘okay’ is a relative term,” Jordan replied, and Darcy grinned. “Can’t you get into trouble for letting me inside the building?”

She shrugged. “We’re pretty loose around here, and the Hapleys would like the fact that I helped you out when they couldn’t be here.” She pushed away from the counter. “When do you want to head out there?”