Ghost Haste Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Other Books on Amazon

  Ghost Haste

  ReGina Welling and Erin Lynn

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  © 2020 ReGina Welling and Erin Lynn

  All Rights Reserved, worldwide.

  No part of this book or any of its contents may be reproduced, copied, modified or adapted, without the prior written consent of the author, unless otherwise indicated for stand-alone materials.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or institutions is purely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  BUNDLED IN MY puffy winter coat and boots over pajamas and a bathrobe, a cup of coffee warming my fingers, I stood on my back porch, watching the dogs romping in the snow and trying to tune out Amber’s incessant chatter.

  Just my luck, I had to be haunted by a morning ghost.

  “It’s gonna be a chilly one today. I checked in at the station, and there’s a cold front moving in ahead of the big storm. Temps will start to fall around noon, and by the time the ball drops at midnight, we’re looking at negative double digits.”

  It was no shock that the woman had made a career out of talking in front of cameras since, even in death, she couldn’t be quiet. I’d have given almost anything for her to settle into a ghostly, atmospheric moan. But no, Amber’s mouth only had two speeds: on and off.

  She only ever used one of them.

  “There was an accident at the grocery store this morning,” she continued, fluttering her hands. “Hardly even rated as a fender-bender since no one was hurt, but that Bess Tate sure has a mouth on her. She slid right into the back of a pickup truck, and then yelled at the driver for not getting out of her way fast enough.”

  At the crack of dawn, with only half a cup of freshly-microwaved, slightly nasty leftover coffee in me, I really didn’t care—which said more about my state of alertness than my disregard for those around me. I liked Bess Tate just fine, when I was awake anyway and would be glad she hadn’t been hurt when I fully reached that state. I had no trouble, however, picturing a scenario where she harassed some poor, unfortunate truck owner.

  I mumbled something Amber took to be an interested sound because she continued with the story. “He said she was a menace on the road, but she gave it right back. By the time she was done with him, he’d agreed to pay to have a tiny scratch buffed out of her hood, and to bring her a dozen eggs a week for the next two months.”

  She described the incident in far more detail than my brain could follow, so I tried to tune her out.

  December thirty-first.

  Wasn’t the cusp of the new year supposed to be a pivotal moment? Isn’t that why people get so invested in making resolutions?

  “Amber.” It was time to test one of mine and ask for things I wanted. “Stop talking.” Technically, I wasn’t asking. “It’s not even seven o’clock in the morning. It’s barely light out yet, and we both know you woke up the dogs just to get me out of bed. Did dying somehow erase your sense of decency or ability to tell time?”

  “Well, excuuuuse me,” she said, crossing her arms and scowling.

  I couldn't decide if Amber annoyed me in the morning because she was pert and perky or because when I'd been her age—a whopping three years earlier—I, too, had bounced out of bed ready to take on the day.

  “I thought you’d want to hear the morning news. It’s not like anything interesting happens in this pitiful excuse for a town most of the time, anyway. I’m bored to death.”

  Boredom hadn’t been what killed Amber Hale; she’d died at the hands of a jealous colleague, and then somehow become my problem, making her the third ghost to become attached to me in some way I had no idea how to reverse. Worse, no one else could see her, so she spent far too much of her time pestering me to keep her amused.

  Amber felt cheated, and since I was the only person who seemed to have any effect on her current state, she’d devoted her life after death to getting me to provide her with new experiences. Mostly she wanted me to take her on a trip to Paris, or, failing that, to entertain her with mystery and intrigue.

  My budget only covered one of those things.

  Her methods of persuasion included annoying me at every turn and tossing the word Paris into at least one conversation a day. Clearly, she hadn’t been much a people person, and death hadn’t changed her into one.

  “You know, I’ve read about people who came back from the dead, and for the most part, they were nicer to others after their experience. What’s your deal?” The morning crankiness got my blood flowing.

  “Duh, I didn’t come back from the dead,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Wait, are you saying I’m not a nice person?” Sometimes angry ghosts vibrate at a high enough frequency to make things happen in the physical world. Amber’s annoyance shook a few icicles off the eaves.

  “No,” I sighed. “I’m saying you haven’t been respectful.”

  “How is that different?”

  Molly, my chocolate lab, barked sharply at Amber, and Blue, who was staying with me while my parents took a short trip to Vermont, whined. Dogs, according to online sources, can see ghosts. Mine can, but I wasn’t sure if Blue was reacting to Amber or to Molly. Older, and placid as a calm pond, Blue preferred to let the humans do what they did so long as there were treats and feet to cuddle. Molly was a little more demanding.

  “I don’t know, but it’s not the same.” I pulled up my collar against the chill.

  “That doesn’t even make sense.” Amber’s good mood returned, and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck settled back into place. “You’re funny in the morning.”

  I glared at her because funny was not how I would have described how I was feeling. Static sparked between my layers as I shed my coat, sending little shocks down my back. I shivered.

  “I live for your amusement,” I grumbled and followed the dogs back inside. “What are the chances,” I said to Molly, “of you dogs letting me go back to bed for an hour or two? Emergency at the house on Tulip kept me up half the night.” That last was for Amber’s benefit.

  “What kind of emergency?” she asked.

  “Kids must have pulled some of the insulation out of the crawlspace, and the water pipes froze. I was up half the night trying to find a plumber, and then I had to fix it myself. Hence the current cranky mood.”

  What I didn’t say out loud was that I wished handyman David Barrington and my parents weren’t all in Vermont for the New Year. Not only would David have thawed the pipes, but he would also have handled the insulation at the same time. And I wouldn’t have had to shimmy around in a narrow space with a blow dryer on an extension cord. Or drive home in the wee hours of the morning, put my surely spider-infested clothes in the washer, and take a shower to rid myself of a lingering case of the heebie jeebies.

  “Sorry. I was with my dad. I didn’t know.” Amber confirmed something I hadn’t wanted to ask. Name
ly, where she spent her nights. At least she wasn’t breaking one of my cardinal rules and lurking around my place, watching me while I slept.

  “Now, you do.” By now, Molly was doing the dance of the perpetually empty stomach, and Blue was staring at me with naked longing, so I filled their empty bowls. “Look, Amber, I did my part in solving your crime, so why don’t you do yours? Go into the light. I’m sure it’s nice there.”

  “Not until I return the favor and help you solve yours. Then I’ll go.”

  Amber referred to a somewhat knotty legal situation my ex-husband had done his level best to pin on me, and while I appreciated her help, I had a crack lawyer on my side already. What did I need with the ghost of a former reporter?

  Nothing, really, but trying to tell her that was about like talking to a post.

  “I appreciate the offer, but you really don’t have to stick around on my account. I’ll be just fine on my own.” I spoke the truth, but Amber wasn’t buying it.

  “Really? Then you’re aware that the white van that’s been sitting in the church parking lot the past two days is the FBI? They’re staking you out.”

  “I’m sure they’re just watching to see if Paul makes contact,” I bluffed and schooled my features so she wouldn’t know I’d been blindsided by the information. “In any case, I’ve nothing to hide.”

  Amber shot an eyebrow up. “Everyone has something to hide. People do the stupid, they don’t want anyone to know. It’s human nature.”

  “Fine.” Giving up on any chance of another hour’s worth of bedtime, I decided to make breakfast. Food would fill the hollow space in my gut that came from lack of sleep. Maybe.

  “Of course, there are things I’d rather keep private, but there’s nothing that pertains to the case against Paul. The feds know everything, and Agent Sully said he believed me when I explained how things worked. Raising the money was my job, someone else was in charge of spending it. Proving I’d been a victim of forgery didn’t hurt my case, either. I don’t think they’re looking at me for fraud. I really don’t.”

  Since I didn’t trust my attention span to last long enough for cooking eggs at the moment, I dumped cereal into a bowl while Amber appraised me.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she replied, hovering near the sink, “as long as they think you know something, you’re on the hook.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “Or maybe you don’t know what you know. Or only think you don’t know what you aren’t sure you know.”

  I squinted at her and tried to follow the logic, but my sleep-deprived brain rejected the attempt. “You’re not making sense, and I’m too tired for torture by talking.”

  Apparently, Amber took offense. “I was only trying to help.”

  “If you wanted to help, you’d have let me sleep until more than half of my brain cells were restored.”

  Amber bristled and made the air tingle with her ire. “I said I was sorry, what more do you want? I never left a story in the middle, and I don’t intend to now, either. I need to see how this all plays out.”

  “This isn’t a story,” I said to her fading form. “It’s my life.”

  Left alone, and halfway through my second cup of coffee, the caffeine finally tickled out a burst of coherent thought.

  Why was the FBI watching my house? Considering the possibilities, I came up with very few variations on the one I’d mentioned to Amber earlier and one that didn’t bear thinking about. Maybe they weren’t watching me so much as watching over me.

  Wasn’t that a cheery thought?

  But once lodged in my head, it was a notion that refused to be dispelled.

  I tried. You have to give me credit for the effort. I pondered while I showered and dried my hair. I ruminated while I got dressed. I mulled over my options while pulling out the ornament boxes in preparation for taking down the Christmas tree, and decided to leave it alone. Let them sit out there and do whatever they wanted.

  That lasted about half an hour.

  “Forgive me, Patrea.” I grabbed the last container of leftover Christmas cookies from the counter, hoped they weren’t stale, and put on my coat. My attorney, Patrea Heard, would kill me if she knew I planned to offer treats to the feds without her there to make sure I didn’t say anything to incriminate myself. Which I wouldn’t since I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  My ex-husband Paul, however, must have used his family’s charitable foundation as his own personal financial playground. When one of the donors began to suspect funds had been funneled back into the family coffers, he raised a stink, and because I had been the director of fund-raising, Paul had tried to hang me out to dry.

  If not for Patrea’s history with the family and her sharp eye for forgeries, I’d have probably spent Christmas in the slammer. Or maybe not, since Paul hadn’t, as far as I knew, been arrested yet. Maybe there wasn’t enough of a case against him, or perhaps I was closer to swinging in the wind than I thought.

  Either way, I meant to find out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AMBER HAD NAILED the weather report. It wasn’t even noon yet, but the air already burned my cheeks and practically made my eyelids creak. Even the sun looked chilled as it rode low in the eastern sky.

  It occurred to me that whoever was stuck in that white van had a thankless job if they were required to spend a day as cold as this hunkered down in tight quarters. Still, these were the people invading my privacy, so I didn’t work too hard at mustering up a ton of sympathy.

  Instead, I let my boots crunch over snow and ice. They’d been watching my house, so they knew I was coming. No need for stealth.

  The front of the cargo van slanted low enough to give me a view of the empty cab that reminded me of the one I’d rented to move back to Mooselick River. Well, except behind the seats of this one, access to the rear was blocked off by a small door. I cupped my hands and took a closer look in the front windows. The cab was empty, and I mean empty. There wasn’t even a loose thread on the upholstery. The van looked abandoned.

  Right. Like someone would abandon a vehicle like this in a small-town church parking lot.

  My mittens muffled the sound when I banged on the sliding door.

  “Agent Sully. Agent Coville. Open up. I know you’re in there.”

  Being ignored really ticks me off. I went around to the back and tried banging on those doors but was met with the same response. Dead silence.

  Mooselick River is a small town. You could probably tell that just from the name alone, but even in small towns, someone pounding on a vehicle and shouting at possibly imaginary occupants will eventually draw attention. After the curtains twitched back in the second of the nearest houses, I took the hint and stomped back home, fuming all the way.

  Amber was wrong. That was it.

  The problem was, my intuition said she wasn’t.

  Still, the fire of annoyance burned off the last traces of late-night fatigue and carried me through hauling out the Christmas tree—with a little help from Molly. Or rather, with some hindrance. The dog hadn’t cared about the tree while it was standing, hadn’t bothered a single ornament, but the sight of it tipped on its side in the snow was something else entirely.

  Apparently, in that position, the tree represented a threat. One that must be subdued with all due haste and alacrity. She pounced, she growled, she grabbed the branches with her teeth and tried to shake the thing to death. Blue took one look at Molly, turned soulful eyes on me, and settled in the sunniest spot on the porch to watch. If she’d been a human, she might have rolled her eyes.

  “Get it, you silly dog.” I pulled out my phone to capture Molly’s antics on video and noted I’d missed a text notification from my best friend, Jacy.

  Do you have your dad’s chili recipe?

  You’ll get heartburn. I warned.

  She must have been practically sitting on her phone. I don’t care. The baby wants spicy food. Hot enough to make my teeth sweat.

  Jacy’s my best friend. I’d kill to
protect her, die for her if I had to, but the chances were good she’d take one look at the chili and decide the baby didn’t want it after all. It would be faster to raid my parent’s freezer than to make a batch from scratch, and since my dad never made less than a double recipe, I was sure that at least one container occupied the icy depths.

  Consider it done.

  Jacy sent back a swath of heart emojis while I added another item to my to-do list.

  “Okay, Molly girl, I think you’ve killed that tree dead enough.” I had to tug on her leash to get her to go inside, the lure of the tree was that strong.

  Thankfully, Chris Evergreen had offered to pick it up and drop it at the goat farm out on Edes Road for me. One of the perks of introducing my lawyer to the owner of the Christmas tree farm when she’d ended up staying with me for the holidays. Watching the two most prickly people on the planet meet, circle each other like wary hedgehogs, and fall in love almost restored my faith in relationships.

  For other people, of course.

  Finding my husband in bed with one of my closest friends had shaken the foundation of my thoughts on love. Then, to heap more pain on top of misery, he’d forged my initials on an addendum to our prenuptial agreement. And all of that was before he’d tried to frame me for misappropriation of charitable funds. A real peach, that one.

  The guy was a jerk. Plain and simple. I knew that in the logical part of my brain, but I couldn’t escape the fact that I hadn’t seen through him before he blew my life to pieces. He’d sent me running home with barely more than the clothes on my back, and even though I’d landed on my feet, I wasn’t ready to trust myself to anyone again.

  Not yet, anyway. And not while the F—freaking—BI was staking out my house. Wouldn’t that be quite the ice breaker on a first date?

  Yeah, I can just see how it would go.

  Hi, I’m Everly. I’m under investigation for money laundering, but I swear I didn’t do it. Oh, and if that isn’t enough, I bought a haunted house for the back taxes, only the house wasn’t haunted, so that was a big win.