Chapter 2

But a ghost who was…what?

Stuck?

Had unfinished business?

Hadn't been invited upstairs to mingle with the divine amongst the clouds?

Was there even an upstairs?

There must be, if Nina and crew had a friend who was an angel, right? Or had she heard that wrong?

Ralph blanched. Maybe she hadn't been invited upstairs because she was supposed to go downstairs?

Hold up. She didn't claim to be perfect, but she'd been a decent enough person when she was alive. She didn't lie, cheat, steal. So why was she here, and not at the Pearly Gates?

Yet, it was the only explanation. All the evidence pointed to her being a ghost.

The first piece of said evidence pointing to her ghostly status? She could float, and in some moments that was pretty righteous, if she kept it honest.

Ralph had touched the highest height of Nina's ornate castle ceiling without any effort at all. She'd risen like a hot air balloon, and it had to be at least forty feet high.

Second bit of proof? She could make the lights flicker—also cool, except…so what?

Making the lights flicker had only resulted in Nina calling her friend Darnell (a demon who, frankly, came across as anything but demonic. He was actually quite sweet and cuddly looking, and he loved her children and her dog, Waffles). He came over and checked the fuse boxes in her enormous digs.

Finally, sometimes, if Raphaela concentrated really hard, she could almost pick up items. During a recent family meal, without thinking about manners, or the fact that no one could see her and her actions might create a stir, she'd reached for the most delicious-looking cupcake, piled high with the thickest chocolate frosting she'd ever seen.

The blue man named Arch had made them—he was always making something delicious—and after their elaborate family dinner, he'd set them in the middle of the table on a gleaming red platter.

She hadn't even been hungry. In fact, she couldn't remember being hungry or thirsty or tired or much of anything but lost since she'd ended up here.

Yet, the cupcakes smelled heavenly, and her instincts kicked in.

That had gone so spectacularly wrong. Her hand didn't feel like her hand anymore. When she'd grabbed the cupcake, her fingers felt like rubber and her hand felt like a heavy slab of meat. Yet, in a weird turn of events, she could still touch her bracelets and necklaces, her clothes and hair.

Anyway, instead of snatching the tempting cupcake up whole, she'd annihilated it. Crushed it until its crumbs lie strewn all over the table, similar to the way Godzilla had trashed Tokyo.

She'd moved things before, with the same rubbery feel to her hands, but they'd been things that had gone unnoticed. Like a small Hummel figurine on a shelf in the play room, where Nina displayed her gramma Lou's collection, or little Charlie's toothbrush.

Leave it to her sweet tooth to create the kind of havoc that would get Ralph noticed in all the wrong ways.

Phew, had that ever caused serious havoc. There'd been yelling, and lots of sniffing (because apparently when you were paranormal, you could sniff out all sorts of things, including danger), and more yelling that included threats from Nina to whoever was "fucking around."

Nina already terrified her; she didn't want to know if it really was possible to pull her intestines through her belly button and cram them down her throat.

But if she was a ghost, why was she here? Was she even still with the living—or was this some kind of plane for dead paranormals?

Were all the stories she'd read and the movies she'd watched completely inaccurate? Was the Long Island Medium full of bunk? Was there truly no other side? No Heaven? No Hell? No afterlife at all?

If this was it, if this was her eternity, roaming the halls of a vampire's castle in Long Island, and the only way to pass the time was by taking inventory of her fridge and watching everyone else live their lives…how did she make it stop?

Ralph had always considered herself an optimist. In fact, she'd been accused of being overly optimistic all her life, but she couldn't find a glass half full in this existence.

And now? Well, now Nina had someone coming to investigate her amazing castle to see if it was haunted. Apparently, the women were in agreement that something was "off" in her humble abode.

So they'd contacted one of their many connections and found some ghost hunter named Shamus Ransom to come and do whatever ghost hunters do to sniff out an entity.

What kind of name was Shamus Ransom anyway? Sounded like one of the heroes in her beloved romance novels.

Ralph sighed.

Speaking of, would she ever be able to read a romance novel again? Or her favorite, psychological thrillers? She couldn't touch a cupcake without squashing it into oblivion. How could she hope to hold a book?

Would she ever be able to curl up in a chair by her tiny fireplace on a cold winter's night with a cup of coffee, her favorite blanket, and her cat, Blanche Devereaux, ever again?

Her stomach plummeted to her toes. She felt clammy thinking about Blanche, even though to the touch, her skin was dry as a bone.

Blanche… Who would take care of her feisty feline?

Tears stung her eyes, a vision of her fluffy white and black stray she'd found as a tiny kitten and bottle fed back to health flashing in her mind's eye.

She'd named her after her favorite Golden Girls character, the one she most wished she could be more like.

Blanche Devereaux the kitty was saucy and flirty, just like the real Golden Girl.

Ralph the human…er, now ghost, was definitely a Rose. Most who knew her would probably compare her to Rose Nylund. Idealistic, hopeful, maybe a little na?ve.

Okay, she was a lot na?ve and a lot like Rose.

Which is what kept her hope alive where Blanche was concerned. She always kept her feeder and water full, but that wouldn't last much longer than another week. If she could just make contact with someone—with anyone—maybe she could get someone to help Blanche.

She didn't have any living family, and she was only just starting to make friends with her neighboring store owners. No one was going to notice she'd been gone for a long time if she didn't…

She'd only recently opened the bookstore. She didn't have any help yet, so the possibility someone might realize she was gone…er, dead, wasn't likely for a while.

Her best friend, Hazel, lived in Connecticut. They only saw each other once a month or so, and she'd just been to visit when Raphaela had soft-opened the store a couple of weeks ago. There was little to no chance she'd show up looking for her.

Though, when she didn't answer Hazel's texts, she might send someone to check on her. There was a glimmer of hope there, but was it enough hope to save Blanche from starvation?

She didn't have a huge clientele yet, though her former teaching colleagues and parents of her former students and all the people she loved had come to her soft opening. She'd planned on having a grand opening once she'd received all her inventory.

She hadn't even had time to implement her idea for a silent book club…

Though, surely someone would notice Once Upon a Time wasn't open for business. Like, maybe old Mrs. Havershaw, her landlady.

And where was her physical body? If the last thing she remembered was being in the store, was her body still in there?

Gracious. That would smell by now, wouldn't it? If her body was inside the store, or even in her apartment upstairs, wouldn't her neighbors, Phil and Gil, who owned the sandwich shop next door, start to…smell her?

How dreadful.

Shaking off thoughts of her dead body lying helplessly neglected somewhere, Ralph turned her attention to the door of Nina's castle, where she was currently letting in probably the handsomest man she'd ever seen…and she'd seen a few in her fifty plus years.

And it wasn't Nina's husband Greg. He was outrageously good-looking, too, but he wasn't this guy, with silvery-gray hair poking out from beneath his navy-blue knit cap, and a neatly trimmed beard.

This guy was like a walking fairytale prince, but rougher around the edges.

"Shamus Ransom. Good to meet you." He extended a large, lean hand with long tapered fingers to Nina, filling up the doorway with his wide chest and long legs.

Nina took his hand and nodded, her lips thinning. "The ghost dude, right?"

He granted her a smile—a beautiful smile, if Raphaela did say so herself. Lots of white teeth against tanned skin and deep grooves on either side of his full-ish mouth.

"I prefer ghost hunter, but dude will do." He gave the entryway and the great room a cursory glance.

Ralph's stomach plummeted to the floor. Could he see her? He was, after all, a ghost hunter. Instantly, she hid behind a large vase in gold and black with big bunches of dried red hydrangea heads, located right by the great room entrance.

Twisting and turning one of her necklaces, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming her fear.

She'd missed the first half of the call Nina'd had with her friend George, the guardianangel (she refused to believe that wasn't proof that upstairs existed), who'd claimed she knew someone who could help. But if he was a ghost hunter—hunter being the operative word—that meant a ghost was the prey, right?

Would he hurt her? Could he? Did he have ghost paraphernalia to exorcise ghosts? Like a ray gun that would smoke her out? Or a proton pack with a hose attached that he could shoot in her direction?

Heavens knew she'd read plenty of ghost stories in her time, but they were all fiction. Surely she couldn't rely on what she read in books and saw in the movies. Or could she? This was really happening to her, and it was mostly happening just like in the books and movies…

Quite suddenly, after trying so desperately to get their attention, she felt very exposed. Naked, even, and she couldn't make herself small enough.

Marty rushed to the gleaming wooden front doors, her bangle bracelets clinking together, her gleaming gold, dangly earrings quivering against her blonde hair.

"Nina," she chided. "Be a good host and invite the man inside. It's freezing out there." Reaching out a hand, she offered it to Shamus Ransom, who took it with an amicable smile. "I'm Marty Flaherty, and this is Wanda Jefferson. Please, come in."

She tugged him behind her until he was in the great room, where Nina had more than her fair share of flea market velvet paintings hanging on the walls. Elvis appeared to be one of her favorite subjects in more ways than one.

As Shamus entered the grand foyer, he landed but two feet from where she hid.

"Can we get you anything?" asked Wanda, gracious as ever, tucking her light ice-blue sweater around her torso.

Shamus shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks. Why don't you tell me what's been going on and why you think you have a ghost?"

Nina pointed to her plush red couch, indicating he should sit. Despite her love of Elvis and various skulls in velvet paintings, her taste in furniture and other décor, while bold and colorful, was immaculate.

"Sit," she ordered with a point of her finger.

Wanda rolled her eyes and grated out a sigh. "What Neanderthal Nina means is, thanks so much for coming, Mr. Ransom. Our dear friend Georgina highly recommends you and your services. She said the two of you sometimes cross paths in your…work. Please, do have a seat."

Shamus dropped down on the red couch, the rustle of his jeans the only sound.

He let his muscled legs stretch out for what looked like miles and miles in front of him before he said, "George and Dex, they're great people. I got my dog Dale from their rescue."

He had a rescue dog? Her heart went all soft and squishy, even if he was here to eradicate her.

Marty smiled, slapping her thighs with the palms of her hand. "Dale? Blind Dale the beagle?"

Now Shamus grinned with obvious pride, his green eyes sparkling. "That's my boy. He's so great. I can't tell you how glad I am that I found them and their rescue. It doesn't hurt that they're paranormal, either."

Marty grinned from ear to ear. "I volunteer there a couple of times a month. I used to walk Dale all the time. Man, he's such a love. If I could get my hands on those bastards who did those horrible things to him in that lab and blinded him, I'd wring their pathetic necks!"

For a moment, Shamus clenched his fists, but then he relaxed. "You and me both. But he's doing really well. He learned his way around my place in no time. He's happy and healthy and the best friend any guy could ask for. Also, he can sniff out a ghost from a mile away. I always say it was fate that I found him. I really lucked out. In fact, I'm so happy with him, I'm thinking of going back to get Dale a friend."

Wanda smiled with clear pleasure, her serene face lighting up. "Aren't Dex and George the best? They're such amazing kids. They've really turned that pet rescue into a true paradise for unwanted and special-needs furbabies."

Shamus didn't have time to give Wanda an answer. The short blue man named Arch rushed out with a tray, cups bobbling and some of those gorgeous cupcakes tempting Ralph all over again.

"Master Ransom, how good of you to come on such short notice. Please do have some tea. It will help warm you after braving such a cold winter's day."

Shamus nodded his thanks, and then he cocked his head in Archibald's direction. "Troll?"

Archibald straightened, brushing at his flawlessly perfect suit with a mischievous smile. "Was it the blue hair that gave it away, sir?"

Shamus barked a laugh, scooping up Waffles to settle him on his lap, wheelchair and all. "Dead giveaway, my friend." Then he tapped his ears, lifting the edge of his cap to reveal their pointy tips. "My ears usually do it for me."

"An elf!" Archibald chirped. "How splendid!"

Shamus held up a hand and seesawed it. "Half and half. My father was human, which explains my size. My mother is elf."

Wait. He was an elf? Ralph was still getting past his pointy ears and the fact that Arch was a troll. But this big hunk of a man was an elf?

The weird went on and on around here, didn't it?

Said the alleged ghost…

How had all of this existed right under every human's nose, and no one had noticed? How did they fly so low under the radar? They were out here living their lives, loud and proud like no one watching would care.

Arch nodded, clicking his heels together. "I, like so many things 'round these parts, am an accident. Originally a vampire turned human, recently turned troll."

Shamus grinned. "Bet you have some stories to tell, huh?"

Archibald howled a laugh. "If you only knew the half of it, Master Ransom. As for now, I shall leave you to figure out what's happening in Mistress Nina's humble abode. Do enjoy some tea and a fresh cupcake as you discuss." He winked, and then he was gone.

As Shamus stroked Waffles's back, he looked at the women. "So you think you have a ghost?"

"What else could it fucking be? I can't see it, but it's paranormal. I can smell that it's frickin' paranormal. It's the obvious conclusion. Either way, I know I have something. I'm betting it's a GD ghost," Nina assured him. She went on to explain what happened with the cupcake and the scent she declared was off, to which Marty and Wanda agreed with a nod.

"Anything else? Strange noises? Hot spots? Cold spots? Doors opening and closing? Messages on a mirror written in condensation?"

Ralph frowned. Damn. She hadn't tried a message on a mirror, but she did have boundaries, and seeing strangers in the buff was one of them. Especially when one of them was a very beastly vampire's husband.

Nina rolled her tongue along the inside of her cheek. "Nope. Just the cupcake thing and the smell. That smell cinched it. There's a presence here, and I want it fucking gone."

Shamus pursed his luscious lips. "You sure there were no other signs? Lights dimming? Things floating in the air?"

She had done jumping jacks, for goodness sake. Give a girl some credit.

Nina stabbed a finger in the air. "We did have some lights flickering, but my buddy came over and found a fuse was on its way out. So, nope."

Ralph snorted in disgust. Feck it all, she'd done that!

Shamus nodded, clapping his hands on his muscular thighs. "Then I doubt I can be of much help." Setting Waffles on the floor, he gave her one last stroke to her rounded head and rose from the couch.

"Wait a fucking minute!" Nina bellowed, hopping up from her place on a wingback chair, her slender body quick. "What kind of bullshit is that? Aren't you gonna break out your ghost detector or light up some sage and smoke whatever the fuck it is out? You didn't do shit but show up!"

"Nina!" Marty admonished with a frown. "Don't be so stinkin' rude."

But Shamus only smiled, walking toward the very vase she hid behind. "Maybe it's something you cooked that's lingering, or maybe you have mice? You do live in a castle. Probably gets damp from time to time, right? Castles are a great place for mice to make their nests. Maybe it's mice feces?"

Nina drove her hands inside the pocket of her hoodie, her gorgeous face angry. "Mice shit? Seriously? Maybe you're full of shit and a waste of my fucking time. I can't believe George recommended your lame ass. Wait till I get my hands on her heavenly ass. I'm gonna pluck her damn wings off!"

But Shamus didn't appear at all upset by Nina's tirade. Rather, he remained steady and calm as he reached into his shirt pocket, located under his brown leather jacket.

"Aw, c'mon, Nina. Don't take it out on George," he drawled amicably. "It's not her fault you probably don't have a ghost…" Shamus paused for a moment. "Or do you?"

Out of nowhere, he yanked something from his pocket and threw it right in her direction. Whatever it was, it got in her eyes and hair—a grainy substance that stung a little and made her choke.

Ralph began to cough—until she realized four pairs of eyes were fixated on her.

She blinked. They could see her?

Nina was the first to react. She pushed everyone behind her in a protective stance. "Who the ever-lovin' fuck are you?"

Ralph winced. "Um…boo?"