Chapter Twenty-Three

After I let Avi express his feelings with paper goods, he calmed down, and we made a tour of the house so he could tag the things he wanted for his attic retreat. There were remarkably few things, and he seemed confused that some things he wanted weren't where he expected, although we usually found them elsewhere.

After we finished, he said good night to me outside the door of the main suite and vanished, so I took the rest of the evening to actually move into my room—put away my clothes, stow my toiletries in the bathroom, make the bed with the sheets I'd washed yesterday.

And let me tell you, a night on the most comfortable mattress I'd ever slept in made a huge difference in both my physical and mental wellbeing. I awoke early, totally refreshed, and had the rest of Sofia's cake for breakfast.

Hey. Don't judge until you've tried it.

I didn't see Avi before I left, and although we'd reached an understanding, I still dropped Gil off with Sofia, because until we figured out who Avi had detected, I wasn't willing to leave Gil trapped in there. While Avi could stuff keyholes with sawdust, he couldn't open the door to free Gil from any danger in the house, and I wouldn't want him wandering the neighborhood, anyway.

I got to the Manor at seven, apparently beating Saul to work since my Civic was the only car in the lot. I was glad for the extra uninterrupted time, because this morning, I had a second agenda, a personal one.

Thaddeus Richdale had spent practically his whole life immersed in his search for the supernatural. There must be something in his papers that detailed his actions and their results. Something I could use to understand what was going on with Avi.

I'd just started cataloging the first crate and its contents when my phone beeped. I wiped my dusty hands off on my jeans—too bad the Manor didn't have a spectral dust collection service like my house did, because it could really use it—and retrieved my phone from my jacket pocket.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Maz. It's Taryn. The delivery guys are ten minutes out from your place."

"Shoot. I'm not there. I came in to work early, but I can head back now."

She chuckled. "Don't stress. They'll no doubt stop in at Isaksen's on their way, so I'm sure they'll give you a few minutes' grace."

"Thanks, Taryn. I won't keep them waiting long."

I made sure to mark my place in the current dusty crate, and then ran back down to the car to head home. When I got there, Ricky was just stepping out of Sofia's door. He waved and headed over to meet me on my lawn.

"Morning," he said with a grin. "You're on the move early."

"Yeah. I've already been to work, but the delivery guys are on their way with Oren's effects, so I need to let them in."

"You know, if it's the guys from Transitions, I could probably get them to help me move Avi's things upstairs." He shrugged, tucking his thumbs in his jeans pockets. "If you're ready for that, I mean."

"We are, actually. We tagged everything he wanted last night. Look for the big neon orange dots." I grinned as a big panel truck with Transitions Transportation stenciled on the side turned down the street. "And it looks like you've got your muscle, too."

"Fantastic. We'll get this settled in no time."

But when the two delivery guys rolled up the truck's rear door with a rattle and boom, I wasn't so sure. Not only was the thing packed with boxes—and I mean packed —but there was furniture too.

"Wow. I didn't realize there'd be so much . I mean, he was essentially living here, right?"

"Not quite. He hadn't closed up his Portland house, so I guess this is everything from there plus his business," Ricky said. "Wonder who boxed it up?"

"Taryn mentioned an estate sale service," I said distractedly, as one delivery guy—whose name tag read Keegan—pulled out a metal ramp and let it bump onto the asphalt. "I guess they handled everything."

The second guy—Nando, according to his embroidered shirt—raised a hand to Ricky as he clanked up the ramp in his steel-toed boots. "Ricky. Qué pasa, man?"

"Estoy bien. But you won't be if you don't stop in and say hello to Tia before you leave." Ricky glanced at me. "We're cousins."

Nando grinned. "Second cousins. But don't worry. We'll be stopping by Tia's. I heard she made a tres leches cake yesterday."

I cleared my throat. "There, um, may not be much—"

Ricky elbowed me and gestured to the truck. "Need some help?"

"Wouldn't turn it down. What's the catch?"

"I've got some stuff to move up to the attic after you're done." Ricky raised an eyebrow at me. "How much are we talking?"

"Not a lot," I said. "And nothing too heavy."

"No problem." Nando smiled at me as Keegan wheeled a hand truck stacked with boxes down the ramp. He held out a hand for me to shake. "You must be Maz. Want to show Keegan where you'd like us to park this?"

"Uh, sure." I hustled up the flagstone path to where Keegan was positioning an adjustable ramp over the porch stairs. I dodged around him to unlock the door, giving Avi a mental thank you for not expressing his feelings with sawdust again, and Sofia for watching Gil. Pausing in the vestibule as Keegan wheeled in the first load, I eyed the boxes—they were the bankers' variety, so probably papers and books?

I pointed through the library's doors. "Why don't you drop those over there next to the dining room archway?"

"You got it." Keegan tipped the stack off the hand truck and headed back outside.

I peered out the open door at Ricky and Nando maneuvering an upholstered love seat down the ramp. There was a lot of stuff in that truck. The boxes alone might fill up the available space in the library. And the furniture… Would it upset Avi to see it all? I made a snap decision and hurried onto the porch.

"Hey, guys? Could we store this stuff in the basement, please?"

"You're the boss," Nando said. Then he cast a glance over his shoulder. "You gonna want to go through all these boxes down there, though?"

Hmmm. Good point. "How about this? All the furniture goes down there, but I've got a completely empty pantry. Let's put the boxes in there." The butler's pantry and kitchen cabinets had more than enough space for my food, once I had a chance to go shopping, and I could shut the door to the second pantry to shield the contents from Avi.

The guys were incredibly efficient and speedy once I got out of their way at their apologetic and polite request. I kept my eyes open for Avi sightings, but he didn't appear, not even when the guys carted his chosen stuff up to the attic. Between the furniture in the basement and the boxes stowed away in the pantry, I resigned myself to hours of sorting through Oren's possessions, which was only daunting because of the quantity. However, I hoped going through his belongings would help me know him better. In a way, this would be the same kind of project as my job with Thaddeus Richdale's effects at the Manor, although in Oren's case, there were people in town—heck, in my own house—who'd actually known him.

Keegan, Nando, and Ricky clattered down the stairs after their last trip to the attic, laughing and chatting. I met them in the entryway.

"I can't thank you enough, fellas. Do I owe you—"

"Nah." Nando waved a hand. "We're good. Taryn paid the bill already and Ricky's giving us a tip for the extra work." He patted his flat belly. "Lunch at Taqueria Vargas."

"Don't pretend you don't just want a chance to gossip with Felicia," Keegan said.

Nando snorted. "Like you don't?"

"Calm down, guys." Ricky turned to me. "We're heading to the restaurant after we stop in at Tia's. Will you join us?"

"I'd love to, but I'm kinda on the clock. I need to get back to the Manor and get something done today."

"What about dinner?"

Ricky's shy glance from under his lashes sent a little shiver up my spine, and you know what? Screw caution and my lousy romantic track record. No reward without risk, right?

"I'd like that. Seven? That'll give me a chance to shower the dust off."

His infectious grin bloomed. "You got it. See you then!"

"The truck okay parked at the curb for a while?" Keegan asked.

"Fine by me. I don't think there are any town ordinances that forbid it."

Ricky shook his head, so the guys locked up their truck and headed for Sofia's house while I waited on my porch. Just before they walked inside, Ricky looked over and waved. My answering wave was probably accompanied by a goofy smile.

But hey, can you blame me? A cute guy, a pending date, and a room that I'd been promised would remain completely private. Yeah, maybe I wouldn't move quite that fast, but the possibilities put a definite spring in my step when I returned to the Manor. In fact, I may have danced up the stairs—since nobody was there to see me, nobody could judge.

When my phone rang again, I was elbow deep in a crate layered with papers, random artifacts, and a metric ton of dust, so, after sneezing twice, I used a voice command to answer the call on speaker. "Hello?"

"Maz? Good morning. It's Carson."

"Oh, hi." I lifted a rosewood planchette with brass casters from a nest of muslin and set it aside carefully before grabbing a tissue and dabbing at my nose. "How are you?"

"Fine, fine. I was just wondering…" He laughed, a self-deprecating sound that surprised me for someone with Carson's polish. But then I remembered he'd taken some self-confidence hits as a kid, even if it had been distorted through a child's perception of rejection.

"Go ahead. Hit me." My voice was still thickened with dust. I should probably start wearing a mask for this job.

"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" he said in a rush. "I've got reservations at Maison Vallée in Richdale for eight."

Crap . Awkward . If I was sort of pursuing maybe-more-than-friendship with Ricky, I couldn't really lead Carson on. This was such a new experience for me. I'd rarely had one person interested in me, let alone two at once. "I'd, um, love to be friends, Carson, but if you were hoping for more, well… I'm kind of seeing somebody right now."

"Seeing someone?" His tone was decidedly tart. "Between yesterday and today?"

"Well. Yeah."

There was a beat of silence. "It's Ricky, isn't it?"

"I just want to be upfront with you, okay? And like I said, I'm happy to—"

"Sure. Right. See you around sometime."

"Carson, please don't—"

But he disconnected the call. I kicked myself for not handling that better. This was a small town, after all. I couldn't afford to alienate the residents. Although Carson didn't live here, did he?

Nevertheless, I didn't want to piss anybody off before I'd been here four whole days. That was a record even for me. On the other hand, accepting that no meant no was something everybody had to learn—and something I might have to embrace myself if Ricky's interest was strictly platonic.

The next thing I pulled out of the crate put Carson and Ricky completely out of my mind. Because underneath the crumpled muslin was a slim, leather-bound journal, secured with a faded blue ribbon. I carefully removed the ribbon and opened the little book. On the flyleaf, in perfect Victorian copperplate rendered in sepia ink, were words that made my mouth turn dry.

On Spiritus Communion

Observations by Frances Richdale

"Holy shit," I muttered. My hands were shaking so hard I had to set the journal aside lest I tear its pages. A first person account of paranormal experimentation at Richdale Manor. This was exactly what Saul had been hoping for—what I'd been hoping for, but for a different reason.

Saul wanted a clearer picture of the Manor's history. I wanted to help Avi. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure Saul wanted to help Avi too, since they'd been friends, but his motivation was colored by his ties with the Manor and Ghost's legacy.

Mine was more personal.

I had a grief-stricken dead guy living in the house with me and I wanted to make him happy. Happi er . Or at least more comfortable.

My hands were besmirched with dust, so before I touched the journal again, I raced for the bathroom, scrubbed my hands, and blotted them dry on the embroidered hand towel Saul had left for me.

I crept back to the document room as though I were stalking a skittish Gil before a vet visit. The journal was right where I left it, of course, so I reverently lifted it and sank down in the chair again, hoping that against all the Victorian-era odds, Frances Richdale was clear-eyed, clear-headed, and thorough.

She'd drawn the line on Heliotrope , anyway, so I could be forgiven for having reasonable expectations about her intelligence and fortitude.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled between pursed lips before turning to the first page and beginning to read.

Whereas my Husband has devoted all our Resources to his Pursuits, it behooves me to chronicle his Actions, ere he once again repeat failed Trials to no avail and to the great detriment of our Family's wealth and well-being.

Hot damn , but Frances Richdale was the shit.

Grinning, I kept reading, enjoying Frances's acerbic commentary about Thaddeus's increasingly desperate attempts more than the accounts of the experiments themselves. Not because the explanations were poor. Far from it. Frances was meticulous in her descriptions, covering not only the steps Thaddeus employed, but also the date of the attempt, the weather, the room—its relative heat, its furnishings, and how they differed from previous trails—the other participants, their attitudes, and of course, the results.

Which were always failures.

I suspect Frances kept such detailed records so she could prove to Thaddeus that he'd done the same thing before, without success. Unfortunately, that may have backfired on her, because as time went on, armed with her comprehensive reports, Thaddeus began tweaking one tiny item at a time.

"Maz?" Saul's voice from the doorway made me fumble the journal, but I managed to catch it before fell. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, but it's past six." He chuckled. "I admire your dedication, but there's no time limit on this project."

"Past six? Crap!" I glanced around frantically for something to mark my place before spotting the blue ribbon that had bound the journal. "I've got a date at seven."

Saul made that shooing motion again. "Then get moving. Maybe tomorrow you can fill me in on what you found that's so fascinating. I'll lock up here."

"Absolutely." I grabbed my jacket. "Thanks, Saul. See you tomorrow!"

I jetted out of the Manor and zoomed out of the lot in a spray of gravel. When I got to my place, the Transitions Transportation truck was gone. I pulled the Civic into the garage and ran for the mud room entrance as the garage door trundled down behind me, shrugging out of my jacket as I ran.

The instant I stepped inside, though, Avi popped in front of me, eyes wild. "Someone was here."

"Yeah, I know." I dodged around him and hung my jacket on a hook. "The delivery guys. They helped Ricky move all your stuff up to the attic."

"Not them ," Avi snapped. "Somebody else."

"A-another ghost?" Fear clawed at my belly, but can you blame me? I'd spent all afternoon reading about all the ways people failed to reach a ghost, and I had not one but possibly two successes but had no idea why .

"Possibly. I don't know." When he motioned for me to follow, his arm passed through mine, making me shiver. He took off through the kitchen, and man, he could really move because I had to run to keep up. He stopped outside the library doors and pointed inside, his faded body glitching like a spliced videotape.

"Not the library," I muttered as I slowed. "Not again." I peeked inside, expecting the shower of books. But instead, every single one of Oren's boxes was upended, their contents strewn over the floor.

"This time," Avi said, flickering like a strobe light, "I know it wasn't me."

I glanced through him at the front door. It was ajar, although I could have sworn I locked it behind me, but I'd been distracted by Ricky, so maybe I'd forgotten.

"I believe you." I pushed the door closed, hearing the latch click. "But I don't think it was another ghost either. This time, somebody actually broke in. The question is, what are they looking for?"