The Ghost and the Dead Deb

His feet bare, he stomped through the hall to the living room. A few moments later, I heard the television.

With a sigh, I dumped the rest of the old coffee down the sink and brewed a new batch. The stress of Angel Stark’s volatile author appearance, not to mention Jack’s strange, unfinished case of a dream, drained me, and I didn’t have enough sleep—or coffee—to function properly. Then there was the reminder of having to attend that damn McClure family soiree—not exactly a mood lifter.

If you don’t like the tune, don’t get on the dance floor.

“Good morning, Jack,” I silently replied. “And it’s not that easy. . . . Just because I have a problem with the McClure family, that doesn’t mean my son should suffer. Spencer has every right to see his cousins, and participate in family events. Besides, he loves these family reunions, and he’ll have a great time.”

So you’re just gonna put on a happy face and go? Sounds like you are dancing—like a puppet on a string. Sounds like you are dancing—like a puppet on a string.

“Listen, Jack. No one knows the McClures better than I do. They are master manipulators. My husband controlled me for years with his passive-aggressive assaults on my self-respect, along with his ‘mood swings’ and ‘emotional problems.’ But the days when Ashley or any of the McClure clan can manipulate yours truly ended with my husband’s suicide—”

Turn down the heat, baby, your soup’s boiling.

“—I have refused their considerable bribes, even if their money would make my life a whole lot easier. I removed my son from the obscenely expensive private primary school where generations of McClures traditionally matriculated into class-A snobs. And I broke out of that East Side apartment owned by my in-laws—a gilded trap if ever I saw one—whose plans for Spencer, after Calvin’s suicide, suddenly included English boarding school.”

Although I was wiser now, I was still angry with myself for having allowed them to push me around for longer than they should have. I slammed the coffee cup down on the counter harder than I realized. Hot coffee sloshed on my hand and drenched the counter. Inside my head, I could feel Jack recede.

“I’m sorry about my tone,” I told him. “This just isn’t the best time for a conversation, any conversation, about the McClures.”

But Jack was already gone, his cooling presence on this already too warm summer day dissipated into the upstairs air. “Damn,” I whispered. I hadn’t wanted to talk about my past again. After that dream, I’d wanted to talk about his.

“Fine, leave then,” I muttered as I sopped up the mess with a paper towel. “But once in a while it would be nice to get a little sympathy and acknowledgment for my parental sacrifices from someone in this world—even if it’s only a disembodied voice inside my head.”

Of course, that voice inside my head was another reason I dreaded the coming reunion. I knew full well that the McClures blamed me for the death of their oldest male heir, and that they would love to get sole custody of my son, just so they could turn my beautiful, brilliant boy into a surrogate for my neurotic and spoiled late husband.

If Ashley McClure-Sutherland ever found out that I was “talking” on a regular basis to the ghost haunting my bookstore, she would surely have me committed for life—the McClures had the money and the clout to do it, too. Building an entire wing of the St. Francis Psychiatric Hospital pays for a lot of influence.

Suddenly glum, I dumped the remainder of the coffee into my cup and switched off the coffeemaker. After a quick shower, I threw on khaki pants and a white sleeveless cotton blouse, then trudged downstairs to help my aunt open the bookstore. As I descended the stairs, I saw Sadie eyeing me over her spectacles.

“Late night, dear?”

“Mina came back to the store. Johnny Napp was supposed to take her home last night but something happened. So she called her roommate and I waited up with her until her ride came.”

Sadie frowned and removed the spectacles, letting them dangle from a red beaded chain. “I think we both saw that train wreck coming. The way that Angel Stark flirted with Johnny—and right in front of Mina. Shameless . . .”

I set my coffee down next to the cash register. “I only hope Mina doesn’t blame me for what happened.”

“Goodness! Whatever could she blame you for?”

“I was the one who invited Angel to appear in our store.”

“Oh, pooh,” Sadie said with a dismissive wave. “Who in their right mind would blame you for Angel Stark’s behavior?”

As she spoke, Sadie drew the key out of the pocket of her beige slacks. It was already time to open. Sadie unlocked the front door, and within minutes, the bell above it chimed, signaling the entrance of our first visitor of the day. It was Bud Napp.

“Good morning,” I chirped from across the room.

Bud did not reply. I don’t think he even heard me. Instead, he stared hard at Sadie, focusing entirely on her. His face was tight with worry, and his eyes were grave.

“Bud!” she cried, instantly alarmed. “What’s the matter?”

“Johnny, my nephew, didn’t come home last night. He’s disappeared, and so has my pickup truck . . .”

“Oh, no,” I murmured.

Sadie pulled Bud all the way inside the store. She checked the sidewalk in front of the shop. It was empty, so she locked the front door and flipped the Closed sign around again.

“We can open a half hour later today,” she announced.

I helped her pull together a few armchairs that were scattered for customers throughout the stacks, and we sat down at the end of an aisle.

“Johnny told me he was coming over here to see Mina, and I told him he could use the truck after he finished his work at the site.”

“The site” was Quindicott shorthand for the still-under-construction Finch Restaurant, the wood-framed skeleton of which is located on the shore of an inlet the locals call the Pond. Because Fiona was using local artisans, work was progressing slowly, though the pace picked up ever since Bud and Johnny began working there a few weeks ago.

“Johnny was here last night,” I told Bud. “He was around for the reading, so I guess he arrived at seven thirty.”

“But he did leave with Mina, right? Johnny really likes the girl, but I think both of them are too young to get serious. Then again, if they did do something crazy like elope or something . . . Well, it’s bad, but not the end of the world . . . things could be worse.”

Sadie looked at me. I looked at Bud.

“Actually, Johnny promised to drive Mina home, but he stood her up. Her roommate drove over and took Mina home after midnight.”

Bud, usually the coolest head at the Quindicott Business Owners Association meetings, completely shocked me by exploding.

“Damn that stupid-ass knuckleheaded kid!” He rocked to his feet and started pacing the aisle. “I only hope he didn’t go off and do anything stupid, like get drunk and violate his parole.”

My lips moved but nothing came out. I’d never seen Bud like this. It was Sadie who calmed him down. She rose and touched Bud’s shoulder. He whirled to face her.

“We want to help you, Bud,” she said, “but Penelope and I don’t know enough yet. Maybe you better tell us why Johnny’s on probation.”

Bud nodded and sank back into the plush chair. Sadie and I sat on either side of him, waiting. But just as Bud opened his mouth to speak, an urgent pounding on Buy the Book’s front door interrupted him.

“Oh, damn,” said Sadie. “Who could that be?”

“Don’t move.” I rushed to the door. “If it’s a delivery, I’ll take care of it. If it’s a customer I’ll just shoo them away.”

I went to the door, drawing my own key out of the pocket of my slacks. I peered through the glass and saw Dana Wu frantically waving at me. I unlocked the door and admitted her, locking it behind her again.

“Aren’t you open yet?” Dana asked. Like me, she was casually dressed—but in tailored yellow shorts and a