Chapter Eight

That voice …

I scrambled to my feet. Sure enough, Ricky was standing on the porch, apparently about to knock. I couldn't help the little thrill in my middle, despite him remaining on my short list of break-in suspects. Because the whole ghost thing? Still not buying it, but I couldn't deny Ricky was dang cute.

Although in case you haven't noticed? My taste in men could use some work.

"Um. Hi." I flapped my second pathetic wave of the day, then wiped my hands on my jeans.

He smiled warmly at me and that thrill amped up. "Good morning. I was just dropping off Tia's groceries and thought I'd see how your first night in the new place went. Then I find one of my oldest friends steering you toward a rival business instead of Taqueria Vargas, home of the best Mexican food in Ghost and run, incidentally, by my family."

Taryn rolled her eyes. "He needed a drink, Enrique. Not dinner."

Ricky clapped a hand to his chest. "And Papi's margaritas don't fill the bill?"

"Let's let Maz decide, okay? Maybe he doesn't like Mexican food." She glanced at me. "Although the Taqueria's food is amazing. His papi knows his way around a kitchen. So what'll it be? Pub grub or Mexican?"

"I love Mexican. Food. Mexican food. Yes. That." Oh, yeah. I was just exactly that smooth. I snatched Gil up before he could run out the door.

"Good. Enrique can tell you how to get there—it's on Main Street, like most everything else in town. Shall we say six?"

"Sounds good to me," I said.

"I'll have that contract for you by then, too." She leaned back to peer into the library. "Bye, Dad. I'll see you and Pop for dinner on Sunday. Bye, Professor." She skritched Gil's ears. "Goodbye, Gil." With one waggle of her fingers to me, she strode across the porch and down the steps toward her Prius.

Ricky watched her go with a shake of his head. "She's a powerhouse, that one. Has been all her life." He faced me. "And once you land in her friend zone, you've got a champion forever."

"Good to know." I beckoned for him to come in and shut the door behind him so I could set Gil on his feet.

"Did she say Saul was here? Why? Usually, he's at the museum by this time. Professor DeHaven too?"

I glanced at him a little sharply. It occurred to me that if the town of Ghost was truly jonesing for an actual haunting, maybe staging one with a na?ve newbie—and one who was a writer—was a way to boost the town's mystique. Ricky seemed genuinely curious, but hey, Greg had fooled me at first, too.

"Yeah. There was an… incident." I gestured toward the library. "Take a look."

Ricky shot me a quizzical glance and strode forward. When he reached the french doors, he rocked back on his heels. "Whoa."

Saul looked up from his tablet, his lined face practically glowing. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"I'm not sure that's the word I'd use," I muttered.

Ricky edged into the room, peering around at the shelves that had been neat and full yesterday, and the papers that still littered the floor, despite the tidy stack Professor DeHaven had collected on the desk. He looked at me, and I could swear there was concern and not triumph in his dark eyes. Trust me—after three years with Greg, I could tell the difference.

"Did somebody break in? I knew I should have changed that garage code yesterday. If I—"

"No, no," Saul said around a deep chuckle. "We're almost certain it was a manifestation. Not only psychokinetic force and possible vortex, but actual direct writing with a cogent message. No ectoplasm, but we can't have everything."

Professor DeHaven gave a noncommittal grunt and added three more pages to the stack.

Ricky reached out as though to grip my arm, but dropped his hand to his side. Damn it . "Are you okay?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure which is more alarming. That I slept through somebody breaking into my house or that said house might be haunted by a literary critic."

Ricky turned to Saul. "What was the message?"

Saul fixed me with a gaze like a hopeful grade-schooler asking his parents for money for the ice cream truck. "May I show him? Or would you rather do it?"

I held up my palms. "Be my guest."

Saul left Professor DeHaven collecting the deconstructed novel and bustled out of the library and through the family room, Ricky at his heels with Gil trotting behind, tail in the air. I trailed them like a cranky caboose.

"I never expected that our first manifestation would be here ," Saul tossed over his shoulder. "I always expected it to be at the Manor. It's the place with the seance room, after all, and the building layout and construction materials are precisely configured to capture etheric energy."

I leaned against the doorway, my arms crossed. "What's etheric energy?"

Ricky's lips quirked. He flicked a finger at my Star Wars T-shirt. "Kind of like the Force."

I smiled back involuntarily. "Which side? Dark or light?"

He shrugged. "Who knows? Since nobody's ever managed to define it or harness it."

"Then how do you know the Manor is configured to capture it?" I asked Saul, intrigued despite myself. I mean, the Force was something I could understand, if only in a purely fictional way.

"He doesn't," Ricky said, while Saul was still searching for words. "Nobody does. But they never stop trying."

"Never mind, never mind," Saul said. "Just look , Ricky." He angled the typewriter paper toward Ricky with the tip of one finger.

Ricky's expression changed from indulgent to sharp in an instant, his brows snapping together. "Where did this come from?"

I pointed toward the ceiling. "It was, um, on the typewriter in the attic."

Ricky's narrow-eyed gaze was almost accusatory. "The typewriter didn't have any paper in it yesterday."

"I know ," I snapped. "And the library didn't look like the aftermath of a cyclone either, but here we are." I ran my hands through my hair, no doubt making my curls stick out. "Now do you see why I need a drink?"

"Yeah." Ricky's expression cleared and he heaved a sigh. "I think we all do."

"Excellent!" Saul clapped his hands together. "I'll break out the champagne."