Southern Ghost

The telephone rang.

Startled, Annie knocked over her almost—but not quite empty—Styrofoam cup.

The phone continued to ring as she bolted to the bath and grabbed up a face towel to mop up the coffee, saving The Tarrant Family History from desecration.

Another peal of the phone. Was Max once again being permitted a single call?

'Hello.' She tried to sound in command, ready for any­thing.

'Dear Annie.'

God, it was Laurel. Which was almost spooky. Except surely there was an obvious and rational explanation. Laurel must have called Barb, Max's secretary, to track them down. However, Annie would have remarked upon the coincidence of Laurel calling at the precise moment Annie was thinking of her, but Laurel's words riveted her attention.

'You are feeling beleaguered! That is evident from the strain in your voice. My dearest, I have called to offer my services and I shall come. Even though it will require an am­bulance. I cannot—'

'Ambulance! Laurel, where are you? What's wrong? What's happened?' Annie moved the file away from the damp spot on the desk.

'A minor contretemps.' For once, the throaty voice lacked its usual йlan, verging indeed upon embarrassment. 'I am in Charleston, surely one of the loveliest cities of the world and filled with the most hospitable, charming people, most of whom are quite sophisticated about the specters in their midst, such as dear young Dr. Ladd at the house in Church Street and the rattling wheels of Ruth Simmons's coach on Tradd Street. I am confident that all true Charlestonianswould agree that it is permissible to resort to deceit when obdurate personalities thwart reasonable goals.'

'Laurel'—Annie said it gently but firmly—'in words of one syllable, what happened?'

Shorn of elaborate circumlocution, Laurel's recital boiled down to trespassing late at night upon posted property, enter­ing a condemned building, tumbling down ramshackle stairs, and severely spraining not one, but both ankles. 'I quite fail to understand the exceedingly unpleasant response of the property owners, who have refused to cooperate with psychical researchers despite the fact that a most delightful and ener­getic ghost is reputed to have lived there. At least, we are almost certain this is the right house. The story goes that a little girl, Lavinia, came there to live with two old aunts after her parents died. Lavinia enjoyed the third floor—I was on the third floor when I fell—such a long way down—and one day as the poor child ran up the steps, she was surprised to hear running steps beside her. Well, the long and the short of it is, though she never saw anyone, Lavinia realized the steps be­longed to a ghost, whom she called Pinky. Now, Lavinia and Pinky had such fun together. They danced and ran and skipped. But, as happens to us all, Lavinia grew up—and she met a young man in whom she was very interested. Of course, the first thing she did was to tell Pinky—and I'm sorry to report that Pinky was most jealous, and now instead of dancing feet there were ugly stamps. Temper, you see. And he rapped angrily on the walls and tossed objects about.' (Obviously, despite the name, Pinky was a boy ghost.) 'But Lavinia was in love. Finally, when Pinky's temper didn't improve, Lavinia told him to go away and never come back.

'Silence. No more companionable footsteps. Pinky was gone. Lavinia—such a kindhearted girl—tried to coax him back, promising they would always be friends, even though she dearly loved Kenneth and they were going to marry. But Pinky didn't return.

'It was a lovely wedding in the front parlor. That night she and Kenneth came upstairs to her room for their honeymoon. That was the custom then. When they were ready for bed,

Kenneth turned down the oil wick and all of a sudden there were great raps and stamping and clothes flew about. Kenneth jumped out of bed, turned up the wick, and looked about in astonishment. Pinky yanked on Kenneth's nightshirt. It was then that Lavinia explained to her bridegroom about her ghost. Kenneth was as aggravated as could be. Lavinia tried to persuade Pinky to be a good ghost and, finally, she laughed and said they'd just have to put up with it, that's all they could do. And so, they began their new life together. The three of them.'

'Three,' Annie said ominously, 'is a hell of a crowd.' 'Oh, I rather thought Lavinia was a dear—making room in her life for everyone.'

Annie wasn't going to pursue this conversation. As far as she was concerned, conjugal frolics definitely were limited to two. She almost said so, then decided to get to the heart of the matter.

'Both ankles?'

'I am prostrate. However, nothing shall keep me from Max's side when he is in need. As soon as I talked to Barb this morning—my dear, she's having such fun at Death on De­mand, playing with Agatha and reading—my duty was clear. I shall order an ambulance immediately and come to Chas­tain.' Rustlings of an uncertain nature sounded on the tele­phone line. 'So difficult to keep one's papers in order when confined to bed. But now I have paper and pen. Where are you in Chastain?'

'Oh, Laurel'—and if ever Annie had sounded heartfelt it was at this moment—'I cannot tell you how your devotion to duty touches me and how much it will mean to Max, but clearly it is your responsibility to stay in Charleston. Don't you feel that it was meant that you should have an uninter­rupted period of quiet to ponder the wondrous information you have collected and perhaps to make a substantial start upon your book?'

'Can you dear young people cope without me?' Laurel obviously had her doubts.

'Laurel'—Annie felt as if she had been inspired—'weshall call upon you, yes. But not to come here. After all, we are in communication at this moment, even more closely than those who have gone before communicate with we who have come after.' Even if she had to say so herself, this was an especially nice touch. 'We shall call you daily and share our investigation with you and you will be able to provide leader­ship and encouragement.'

Laurel's satisfied murmurs were as liquid as the call of mourning doves. They parted with mutual protestations of affection, respect, and good intent.

Annie was grinning as she returned to her papers. Funny, the way Laurel had phoned just as Annie reached the part about the ghosts of Tarrant House. For a split instant, Annie felt the sting of guilt. Wasn't it heartless not to share that surely fascinating information with their own intrepid ghost-seeker? But there would be ample opportunity during the calls aimed at keeping Laurel safely in Charleston.

Besides, right now, Annie was more interested in flesh­and-blood Tarrants, especially those who had been in Tarrant House the day Judge Tarrant and his youngest son died.