[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/ettafaire.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/11\/DH-for-landing-page.jpg” title_text=”DH for landing page” align=”center” _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” box_shadow_style=”preset2″ global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_heading title=”Among Her Final Words” _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” title_font=”Carattere||||||||” title_text_align=”center” title_font_size=”70px” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_heading][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” custom_padding=”0px|||||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Lora||||on|||#0C71C3|” text_text_color=”#0C71C3″ text_font_size=”20px” text_orientation=”center” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n
Click here to go to Amazon<\/a><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Lora||||||||” text_font_size=”20px” header_font=”Lora||||||||” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n If my bad decisions ever got together and voted on which one was the worst, the one I was in the middle of doing right here and right now would win top prize.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Hands down.<\/p>\n I could hardly believe I was heading to the Landover Gazette office by myself. On a snowy night, no less.<\/p>\n Dan and Grace Herndon, the couple who owned the local newspaper, were awful people, and not just because Grace was my ex-husband\u2019s distant cousin.<\/p>\n Grace\u2019s husband tried to run me off the road once on a snowy night, much like tonight when I was investigating the boater\u2019s cover-up last year.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n But I still found myself heading over to the Gazette right now. Because this was the kind of job opportunity that my mother could finally brag about to all her friends whenever they played canasta, and that poor woman has been gunning for something like that since I left my job at the university after divorcing Jackson.<\/p>\n Plus, I was promised that taking on the newspaper column did not mean I had to deal with the Herndons.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I pulled around the corner, spotting the small brick two-story right away. It was darker than I thought it\u2019d be.<\/p>\n Were the lights even on? Who could tell with the blinds down like that?\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n \u201cCarly doll,\u201d my ex-husband\u2019s ghost said from the passenger\u2019s seat. \u201cAre you sure you have the right time? This place looks closed.\u201d<\/p>\n Jackson\u2019s eyes crinkled into concern as he blended in with my Civic\u2019s upholstery. I could barely see his perfectly combed beard or the smoking jacket he was doomed to wear for all of eternity. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I parked in front of the building and checked the text message that had come in earlier. \u201cJudy said to come at eight o\u2019clock sharp, if I didn\u2019t want to miss the opportunity.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAM or PM?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPM.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTonight or tomorrow night?\u201d<\/p>\n I checked again. \u201cTonight.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI guess she\u2019s lured you to your death, then. There can be no other explanation,\u201d my ex said with a sweeping hand gesture toward the dark building to our side. \u201cProceed as planned. The Herndons are likely waiting for you.\u201d<\/p>\n Jackson did have a point. I barely knew Judy, except for meeting her a half dozen times. And although the senior citizen didn\u2019t strike me as the murdering type, I\u2019d been investigating murders long enough to know every type was the murdering type if given the right circumstances.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMaybe I should text her,\u201d I said, staring at the building. The blinds moved apart in the middle like someone was peeking out. They closed again.<\/p>\n And the front door opened, just enough for a short, gray-haired woman in a tight polo shirt to look out at the night. She motioned for me to hurry inside, then quickly closed the door again.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd you were worried this was shady,\u201d I said, as I hopped out of the car and crunched through the snow to the front of the building.<\/p>\n My ex hovered closely behind me as I stomped my boots off on the mat and went inside the dimly lit office building.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I blinked around, trying to get my eyes to adjust, but I was barely able to see Judy standing behind one of the desks.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n In the near darkness, she looked like a ghost herself.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSorry about the lighting,\u201d she said, as she lifted papers out of a plain cardboard box, stacking them along the desk where other papers were already stacked. \u201cThe place \u2018powered down\u2019 for the night a couple of hours ago. And I\u2019m not turning everything back on just for us, even though I could. I certainly could. I volunteer so much, I have my own key and they let me do whatever.\u201d<\/p>\n That did not surprise me.<\/p>\n As Landover\u2019s favorite volunteer, Judy Miller was the kind of person who helped out wherever she could. At the museum, the theater, the food bank, the church, the country club. You name it, she\u2019s been there.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n She was the one everyone called if they needed a warm body last minute. But her do-goodness came with a price.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Judy expected special treatment wherever she went.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Even if she wasn\u2019t helping out, and no one wanted her in the kitchen for a luncheon, she\u2019d head into the back so she could \u201cat least help her table get some more coffee and brownies. And did you say you wanted more chicken, too? I\u2019ll see if they have some. Sometimes they hide it.\u201d<\/p>\n Extra privileges. Her own set of keys. The good seats at plays. Judy\u2019s volunteering did not come cheap. And I was pretty sure she was not always asked to help, either.<\/p>\n I wondered if this was one of those moments when she wasn\u2019t really asked. \u201cDo the Herndons know you\u2019re doing this?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course they do,\u201d she answered, a little too quickly to be convincing. \u201cThey\u2019re bringing back a bunch of their old columns and contests that ended in the 1980s. There\u2019s no reason they shouldn\u2019t bring back the Paranormal Parlor, too. Just because they\u2026 uh, need a volunteer go-between to meet with the town\u2019s famous medium.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n My ex laughed. \u201cSounds like Grace hates the town\u2019s famous medium so much, she hired someone to act as a liaison.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019ve been swimming in paranormal mail for a while,\u201d Judy went on, motioning to the scattered papers in front of her.<\/p>\n My ex-husband and I moved closer to see what she meant by paranormal mail<\/i>.<\/p>\n They were letters. I picked one up, noticing the postmark was from last month. \u201cPeople still write paper, snail-mail letters nowadays?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Judy looked at me like I\u2019d just asked if people still enjoyed oxygen.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNothing beats hard copy correspondence, Carly Mae. And just like when Ethel Peterton ran this place back in the day, her granddaughter still prefers it.\u201d<\/p>\n Judy picked up the stack of already opened letters on the desk in front of us. \u201cDear Landover Gazette: Please, please investigate the cause of the mist that I keep seeing in town. My husband says it\u2019s paranormal.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n She threw me a pinched-lipped smile. \u201cAnd that\u2019s just one,\u201d she said as she moved the letter to the back of the stack and looked the next couple over. \u201c<\/i>Oh, here\u2019s another good one. To Whom it May Concern: Enough is enough. We\u2019ve had mutant bird problems for the last year and a half, and you haven\u2019t run even one article about them. If they\u2019re shapeshifters, we should know about it.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n \u201cShapeshifters, ha.\u201d She glanced up at me from behind her bifocals when she chuckled, like she was checking my reaction.<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t even crack a smile. I knew those birds were likely shapeshifters. Judy did, too.<\/p>\n There were a lot of shifters in Landover, including my boyfriend, who was a bear shifter.<\/p>\n But it was funny how no one liked to talk about it.<\/p>\n She leaned against the desk and fanned herself with the stack of letters. \u201cLots and lots of paranormal mail like these two letters. There are even some people who think there\u2019s a paranormal war brewing in the background between some sort of bird and bear shifters. They all write in anonymously, though, or else we\u2019d know who the town crazies were around here. Everyone\u2019s got a theory.\u201d<\/p>\n I peeked in the box, eager to see all the theories from the \u201ctown crazies.\u201d They were onto something.<\/p>\n She pushed a strand of her short gray hair behind an ear. \u201cThere\u2019s plenty to choose from, if you decide to take on the column. The main focus is obviously addressing people\u2019s concerns, but don\u2019t worry about getting anything right or wrong. We\u2019re going to make sure everyone knows it\u2019s all for fun. Entertainment purposes only. That\u2019s the disclaimer the Gazette has always used for its columns.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWill I get paid?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n The ghost of a woman around 50 appeared behind Judy. I ignored her, even though ghosts usually only showed up when they had something to tell me. I was busy now, finding out how much I was going to make working for the newspaper.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Because taking this job would mean I\u2019d finally be using my English degrees. I would be more than the medium working for minimum wage at a metaphysical shop.<\/p>\n Judy set the paper down. \u201cThe Herndons would like to stress that the main benefit of taking on a column like this is the chance to promote your services at the Purple Pony in the short bio at the end of the column. You know, all your seances and tarot-card readings and stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n My shoulders stiffened a little. This was starting to sound like the Herndons wanted me to take on the column for entertainment purposes, too.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI used to work at the paper back in the day,\u201d Judy said. \u201cThey never pay much.\u201d Bright red lipstick coated her two front teeth when she smiled. \u201cThe column will run every two weeks. They\u2019re prepared to pay twenty-five dollars per column.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTwenty-five whole<\/i> dollars,\u201d my ex said. \u201cFor taking this mess of a box home and sorting through the newspapers\u2019 angry paranormal mail. Meeting in dark rooms with your liaison. Carly, you\u2019d have to be one of those town crazies not to jump on this.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey can pay more,\u201d the unknown ghost said, like I didn\u2019t already know that. \u201cAnd you should get paid for the expertise you bring to the table. The Gazette paid me a hundred dollars a column back in 1981 to write as Mrs. Know, and that was on top of my regular salary working at the paper. This was back when Ethel ran the place, too. Trust me, that woman was as cheap as they came. And yes, Judy knows this because Judy and I worked together<\/i> back then.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n The way the woman said \u201cworked together\u201d made me think she and Judy did not get along.<\/p>\n \u201cMrs. Know was paid a hundred dollars in 1981,\u201d I blurted out, repeating what the ghost just told me. \u201cWhich, as we all know, is like a million dollars today.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMrs. Know?\u201d Judy\u2019s face dropped. \u201cWhat do you know<\/i> about Mrs. Know?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEverything.\u201d<\/p>\n She raised a shaggy gray eyebrow at me.<\/p>\n \u201cI have paranormal expertise. And Mrs. Know just reminded me that I should get paid for it. She\u2019s here.\u201d I pointed toward my new ghost friend. \u201cRight behind you. She says she knows you.\u201d<\/p>\n Judy turned and waved her hands around, drawing them back when they passed through the faded ghost behind her.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t believe you,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s see. Mrs. Know has short, grayish brown hair and glasses. She\u2019s wearing a pale blue apron with the words\u2026\u201d I took a step back and squinted at the ghost. \u201cCook-Off Judge printed on it. There\u2019s also a date on the apron, but I can\u2019t make that part out.\u201d<\/p>\n Judy gasped. \u201cI heard she died in that apron.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, Judy. I\u2019m manifesting in the clothes I was murdered in,\u201d the ghost said. \u201cAnd Judy should know. We both worked that cook-off together. I was a judge. She was a server. I ate poison. She served me said poison. I died from that cook-off.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou were poisoned at a cook-off?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n Judy\u2019s mouth fell open.<\/p>\n Mrs. Know pointed to the date on her faded, ghostly apron. \u201cYes, I was poisoned Saturday, September 19, 1981, during the cook-off the Gazette is bringing back.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Mrs. Know hovered closer to her old friend, looking the elderly woman up and down. \u201cPlease tell Judy that I\u2019ve pieced everything together. I know she was the one who murdered me that night.\u201d<\/p>\n I shook my head no.<\/p>\n \u201cTell her,\u201d the ghost said, moving in closer.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not saying that because I have no idea what\u2019s going on here,\u201d I told the ghost.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSay what?\u201d Judy asked, turning from me to the spot in the room I was talking to, then back to me again. \u201cAnd stop talking to no one, Carly. You\u2019re acting like one of the town crazies.\u201d<\/p>\n I locked eyes with Judy. \u201cMrs. Know just accused you of murdering her,\u201d I said. \u201cHow\u2019s that for crazy?\u201d<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Lora||||||||” text_font_size=”20px” header_font=”Lora||||||||” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n Judy snatched the small stack of letters sitting in front of her on the desk and stuffed them back into the box. She no longer seemed to care about being organized. She just picked up random papers and stuffed them one on top of the other, her gaze never leaving her hands.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think this is the right fit for you, Carly,\u201d she said, tucking the box\u2019s cardboard flaps into one another. \u201cI\u2019ll tell the Herndons you\u2019re not interested.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cExcept I am<\/i> interested.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor a hundred dollars a pop, and all the murder accusations you can toss around.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry. You asked what I was talking about with my ghost, and that\u2019s what Mrs. Know was saying. I didn\u2019t say it. Mrs. Know did.\u201d<\/p>\n Judy looked up at me. \u201cYou think this is funny? Stop pretending Mrs. Know is here. And stop calling her that, for crying out loud. She just wrote the advice column under the pseudonym Mrs. Know. But most of us only found that out after<\/i> her death. That\u2019s not<\/i> her real name. So if you want me to believe she\u2019s really here, you\u2019re gonna have to know more about her\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGladys Pinkerton,\u201d the ghost said. I repeated the information to Judy.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It made her lip twitch just a little.<\/p>\n \u201cAnything else you\u2019d like to know?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d She picked up the box and turned, hustling into the backroom.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cCome on, Judy,\u201d I called to her as she went. \u201cAt least tell the Herndons I\u2019m willing to negotiate my compensation.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHonestly,\u201d she shouted over the sound of shifting boxes. \u201cThe Herndons tried to warn me. They told me you were nothing but a money-grubbing troublemaker.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I made my way into the back area so I could hear her better, stopping just under the exit sign by the closet.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBut I went to bat for you,\u201d Judy continued from the other side of the opened closet door. \u201cI told them you were the only one for the job. Best medium I\u2019d ever seen.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou said that?\u201d I asked, stumbling back a couple of steps, hitting the handle on the backdoor. It beeped at me, and I jumped away before I set off some sort of alarm.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I never knew Judy thought of me in such high regard. That anyone in town did.<\/p>\n Cobwebs coated the top part of the woman\u2019s gray hair when she stepped out of the closet, clapping her hands together to dust them off. \u201cI even volunteered to be your neutral go-between, Carly Mae, because I wanted to work with you. But\u2026 a hundred dollars?\u201d<\/p>\n She lowered her voice. \u201cAnd Mrs. Know?\u201d<\/p>\n We both walked back into the front part of the newspaper office again. It seemed darker now, even though my eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting. And colder, despite the fact it was so warm Judy was only in a polo shirt.<\/p>\n I\u2019d blown it.<\/p>\n I rubbed my hands over the sleeves of my coat to warm up. \u201cWhat happened between you and Gladys?\u201d<\/p>\n Judy didn\u2019t hear me. She was too busy lecturing me about the high costs of running a newspaper. \u201cBack in 1981, cable hadn\u2019t even come to Landover yet. People were forced to do stuff\u2026 like read. Whether they liked it or not. Now we have the internet and cellphones. Newspapers are dying<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n Her voice caught on the word dying.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I didn\u2019t know. I don\u2019t need a hundred dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cToo late. The Herndons were right.\u201d She turned, reaching for the long puffer jacket hanging on the standalone coat rack near the front of the office.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n But before she got to it, my ex grabbed the top of the rack, making it sway ominously in front of her in the dimly lit office.<\/p>\n Judy\u2019s face went three shades paler. She swung around and walked toward the desk area again. \u201cI should find my keys first, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n Gladys\u2019s laugh was chilling. \u201cDid anyone else notice how Judy\u2019s demeanor changed as soon as you mentioned me? This has nothing to do with money. Just before my death, things changed between us. Judy changed. Started going through a midlife crisis, wearing hot pants. Sowing her wild oats. It was during that time that she murdered me\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n I sucked in my lips, blinking at the grandmother-looking woman searching the desk over for her keys. I could not picture her in \u201chot pants.\u201d Those were short shorts, right?<\/i>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cGo on, tell her I said that,\u201d Gladys said.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I zipped my coat all the way up, tucking my brownish blonde curls into the hood. I was done getting in the middle of this frenemy argument.<\/p>\n \u201cGood seeing you, Judy,\u201d I called to the woman as I opened the door. \u201cTell the Herndons I\u2019m willing to do it for thirty, with a byline and complete creative control.\u201d<\/p>\n My ex shook his head as he followed me out. \u201cYou\u2019re not very good at negotiating.\u201d<\/p>\n I walked through the snow to my Civic, both ghosts hovering closely behind me.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It was one of those pitch black nights, devoid of moonlight, where you could almost smell something paranormal dancing on the wind, tickling your nose, crawling down your lungs.<\/p>\n Or maybe I was the only one who felt that way.<\/p>\n \u201cYou didn\u2019t tell her what I told you to tell her,\u201d Gladys said. \u201cSome paranormal expert you are. I\u2019m staying here.\u201d<\/p>\n I lowered my voice as I hung onto the door of my Civic, wind and snow smacking the side of my face. \u201cI thought you were contacting me because you wanted help with your murder.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJust being around a strong medium has refreshed my memory,\u201d she replied. \u201cAnd I am certain now that it was Judy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe don\u2019t even know you were poisoned.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I could hardly believe I was arguing with a ghost in the middle of a snowstorm outside the newspaper\u2019s office.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n But at least I got a good look at Gladys now, hovering in the street beside me. A loose-fitting blouse that tied at the top peeked out from under her apron, and I saw that her long skirt covered her knees.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n She reminded me of an early 80s picture of my mother, back when my mom sported a similar look that I always called her \u201cJean Nate phase.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I tugged my phone out of my pocket and brought up a new browser window as I leaned against my cold car.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s see how you died.\u201d I punched in Gladys\u2019s name into the search engine and an article came up right away.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Cause of Cook-Off Death: Mushroom Poisoning, Police Say<\/i><\/p>\n I scanned it for relevant information.<\/p>\n Mrs. Pinkerton, a judge at the contest, was taken to Landover Hospital by her daughter, Sonya, after complaining of severe stomach issues, but was released when symptoms started to subside.<\/i><\/p>\n By the time symptoms returned later that night, Mrs. Pinkerton had already gone into liver failure and could not be revived.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n \u201cThis looks like an isolated incident, and we do not believe the public is in danger,\u201d Sheriff Bellings said. \u201cBut we\u2019re looking into it.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n We\u2019re looking into it. <\/i>I knew that was code for \u201cgiving up\u201d around here.<\/p>\n No wonder Gladys felt like she had to take matters into her own hands. She had a horrible death, and an even worse investigation.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOkay, so you were<\/i> right. You were likely<\/i> poisoned,\u201d I said. \u201cBut we won\u2019t know anything for sure until we\u2019ve channeled together. I\u2019m taking your case.\u201d I motioned for her to get in the car.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Channelings were when I combined energy with my ghost clients so we could relive their memories in real time. I experienced not only their murders but also every interaction leading up to them, exactly as it happened back then.<\/p>\n She looked up at the swirling snowflakes spiraling down on the one of us who could still feel them.<\/p>\n \u201cI know what happened. The newspaper was getting death threats at the time of my murder, and you\u2019ll never guess who faked every single one of those calls. In her short shorts. And I\u2019m going to get her to confess,\u201d she said, then disappeared, leaving me looking off in her direction.<\/p>\n \u201cI guess that\u2019s that,\u201d my ex added.<\/p>\n \u201cI guess so,\u201d I admitted.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I had a feeling Gladys would be back. She may have felt empowered now. But doing anything in the physical world was going to take a lot out of her spirit.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n She would need my help soon.<\/p>\n I got in my car and turned it on, waiting as it heated up, pulling all the vents toward me.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I tried not to think about losing the column.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Even though I\u2019d told myself the entire way over here that it didn\u2019t matter if I got the gig or not, the truth was, it did matter.<\/p>\n And I needed a friend.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I called my boyfriend, listening as the call went straight to voicemail, not an unusual occurrence when Justin was working.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think I\u2019m getting the column,\u201d I said after the beep. \u201cA ghost showed up and messed up the negotiations, but on the positive side, I\u2019m pretty sure I have a new client\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the dark newspaper building beside me suddenly go extremely bright, like every light in the place flashed on. Then it went dark, then brightly lit again.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n There was a loud crash, followed by a scream.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll call you later,\u201d I added into my phone and hung up, watching as the door to the newspaper office swung open.<\/p>\n Judy hustled out in just her polo shirt, carrying the box. She motioned for me to pop the trunk.<\/p>\n My ex laughed as the woman angled the box into the back of my car and shut the trunk again. I rolled down my window. \u201cYou okay?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cThirty dollars. It\u2019s a deal,\u201d she yelled. \u201cI\u2019ll work it out with the Herndons. Just take that awful ghost with you.\u201d<\/p>\n She looked around, made the sign of the cross, then hustled back into the office before I could tell her that I hadn\u2019t seen Gladys come out with the box.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n But then, I suspected tormenting her old friend was the real reason Gladys wanted to stay behind.<\/p>\n This was going to be an interesting case. I pulled out onto the street, happy to have the box and the job.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The roads were icy tonight, and my tires liked to slip on nothing. But that wasn\u2019t why I slowed my car down to a crawl.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Something deep in my gut told me to slow down.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Take your foot off the gas and turn right, down this side street. But be careful of the icy patches on the sides,\u201d <\/i>I told myself, as I rounded the corner, even though there was no reason to go right. To turn<\/i> anywhere.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I glanced over to the right, spotting the reason as it partially blocked the street, undulating over a couple of cars by the back parking lot of the First Landover Bank.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It was the dark mist everyone in town was talking about.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It seemed to wave to me as I passed it. Beckoning for me to follow it\u2026 somewhere.<\/p>\n I ignored the feeling, keeping my gaze straight ahead and my hands at ten and two, pretending I wasn\u2019t one of Landover\u2019s \u201ctown crazies,\u201d even though I was likely the biggest one.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Lora|||on|on||||” text_text_color=”#0C71C3″ text_font_size=”20px” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\nChapter One: An Opportunity to Die For<\/strong><\/h1>\n
Chapter Two: Never Leave a Good Ghost Behind<\/strong><\/h1>\n