The First Ghost. Marguerite Butler

The First Ghost - Marguerite Butler


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not going to be that simple.”

      “Why not? She said she would go if–”

      “She says that now, but Corinne is an unsolved murder. If you can’t get them to cross over immediately, they have a hard time letting go.”

      “So I’m wasting my time? Then why am I doing this? She can’t stay here. I don’t like being haunted.”

      “You’re right there, doll. She can’t follow you around forever. What I’m trying to say is that you’re going to have to do a little more than make a phone call and check on a dog in order to get her to turn loose of this world.”

      I punched a pillow in frustration. “Like what?”

      “Like finding out who killed her.”

      “What? You can’t possibly be serious.”

      “Serious as a heart attack.” She laughed at her own joke, which turned into a hacking coughing fit. “I need a cig.”

      I stared at her in disbelief. “Not in my apartment you don’t.”

      Hephzibah sighed. “You young people never enjoy the good stuff anymore. I miss the sixties. Now that was a time.”

      “Back to today. Hephzibah, I’m a secretary, not a detective. I have no idea how to solve a murder. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

      “You don’t have to really solve the thing. Maybe ask a few questions. Talk to the police for her. Just, you know, assure Corinne it’s being taken seriously, that she hasn’t been forgotten. I think I can get her to cross over then. That’s a good girl.”

      “What makes you think I’ll do it?”

      “You’re a Mahaffey.”

       Chapter 3

      Why on earth had I set my alarm so early? I hit the snooze button and wiped my bleary eyes.

      “Oh no, you don’t,” said Corinne. “You promised me. First thing in the morning, you said. Remember?”

      I rolled over. She’d learned a new trick and now hovered directly over my bed. “Get out of my bedroom.”

      “No. Get up. We’re going to my apartment to see what Ruth has done with Billy. Get up, lazy bones.”

      I groaned. I had promised to visit Corinne’s apartment on the way in to work. I’d called my boss to see if I could get another day off, but her attitude was that if I was well enough to be released from the hospital, I needed to come in to work. She didn’t outright threaten me, but she hinted darkly about the amount of work piling up on my desk.

      Fortunately, Corinne’s apartment was reasonably close to mine in Canterbury Park, just north of Dallas. It would mean a detour of several blocks in the freezing cold, but it would be worth it to rid myself of being screeched awake by a cranky ghost. The thought of living with Corinne for the next forty years brought me upright.

      “I’m up. Now leave so I can shower and dress. I’m not doing it with you hanging around.”

      “Fine. I’ll wait in the kitchen.”

      “Good. Play some cards while you’re at it. And make a pot of coffee.”

      She started to sniffle. “You’re just mean. I loved coffee.” And with that she floated through my wall, presumably to sit, or hover, in my kitchen.

      * * * *

      True to my promise, an hour later I stood, bundled and freezing, on the landing to Corinne’s former apartment. Having mastered the art of hovering, she no longer walked. At first I found it disconcerting, but it’s extraordinary how quickly you can adjust to things. Like ghostly roommates. And Death popping in and out.

      “I hope Billy isn’t too sad. Do you think he’ll be able to see me?”

      I looked over at her. She had floated up to eye level with me. I’m not used to seeing other women outside my family eye-to-eye. “Why haven’t you checked on him yet by yourself?”

      “I can’t. I don’t seem to have free rein. I’m sort of tethered to you.” She stuck her lower lip out.

      I knocked on the door. “Don’t pout at me. It wasn’t my idea for you to stalk me.”

      “I’m not stalking you. I’m haunting you.”

      “Like there’s a difference.” I knocked again. “Maybe she’s gone.” I shivered and pulled my woolen hat tighter as a gust caught me.

      “She’s here. Her car is in the lot.”

      The door opened a fraction. The security chain was still latched.

      “Ruth?” I said. “Ruth Yeshu?”

      The door opened a little wider, but the chain remained intact. A pointy nose and beady eyes were visible through the crack. “Who are you?”

      “My name is Portia Mahaffey. I was a friend of Corinne’s.”

      “She’s dead.”

      Duh. “Yes, I know. I’m here about the dog.”

      “What dog?” Ruth said.

      “Corinne’s dog. I’m supposed to check on Billy.”

      The door closed slightly as Ruth removed the chain and then it opened wider. “I don’t know what you mean.”

      “That bitch,” Corinne breathed. “If she’s done something to Billy...”

      “Cut the games, Ruth,” I said loudly enough to drown out Corinne in my ear.

      Corinne floated into the apartment hunting for her dog. “Billy? Come to Mommy.” She made smoochy noises.

      “I’m not here to take Billy,” I said. “You can keep him if you want. I...I promised Corinne that if anything ever happened to her, I would make sure Billy was taken care of.”

      Ruth finally stepped back and let me inside. She pulled her sweater tighter. It was much too big for her and it swallowed her skinny frame. “It’s too cold to do this at the door,” she said.

      “He’s not here,” Corinne said.

      “You’re too late,” Ruth said to me. “I got rid of the dog.”

      “Already? Don’t you think that was a bit hasty? What if her aunt wants him?”

      “Not my problem.” Her ferret face was hard and mean.

      It was hard to concentrate over Corinne’s wailing. “My sweater. She’s wearing my sweater. She took my dog and my sweater.”

      I loomed over Ruth. “I’m making it your problem. I want Billy and I want all of Corinne’s stuff packed up for her Aunt Susie. Someone will pick it up.”

      Ruth’s beady eyes narrowed further. “How do I know you were really her friend and not some scammer? You don’t have any legal right to tell me what to do.”

      “You’re wearing Corinne’s sweater,” I said.

      “Maybe it’s my sweater.”

      “Lying bitch!” Corinne screeched, making me wince at the volume. “It’s mine. Mine!”

      “It’s Corinne’s sweater, all right. I know that for a fact.”

      “So what if you saw Corinne with it?” Ruth crossed her arms over her skinny chest. “We wore each other’s clothes all the time.” Yeah, right. Corinne wore double digits and Ruth couldn’t be any bigger than a six.

      “I was with Corinne when she bought it.” Hey, I was getting the hang of lying.

      “Marshall’s. Just last week,” Corinne said.

      “...at


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