His tea arrived just as Dennis was discovering that the computer wanted some kind of code before granting him access, and he was grateful to see that the beverage had been accompanied by a small card with a password on it.
“For customers only,” the barista explained. Dennis smiled in thanks, and waited as the young woman made a show of rearranging the various magazines on a nearby table. After she was apparently satisfied, Dennis entered his code into the waiting box on the computer’s otherwise blank screen. It instantly flickered fully to life, showing him a webpage for the café. After sipping cautiously at his tea, he typed in a short web address, and pulled out his phone. A touch of a few buttons displayed the list of the calls he had recently received. At the top was the number of the woman who had spoken to him earlier, and he carefully typed the digits into the waiting page on the computer.
A brief moment passed as the directory search worked its magic, and Dennis smiled with satisfaction. He was not always up to date on the latest technology, but even he had to admit that this process was considerably easier than searching through a phone book. Seconds later, the page displayed its results, and Dennis felt his nervousness return. The number he had entered had returned no matches. He rechecked his phone, hopeful that an error on his part had happened somewhere along the line, even though he was quite certain that it had not. Sure enough, both the number on the screen and that on his phone matched. He tried to rationalize that many people had blocked numbers, or that cell phones were often unlisted, but every attempt he made at calming down was thwarted by the image of the muscular detective looking him over in Harding’s office.
Dennis stared down at his phone and considered. Then, almost of its own accord, his thumb jabbed the button to place a call. He had only enough time to raise the phone to his ear and clear his throat before a voice with a British accent answered.
“Hello?” came the strong, if somewhat suspicious greeting.
“My apologies for calling sooner than expected,” Dennis said, affecting his accent. “I have had some good fortune with my time, and I thought perhaps you would like to speak with me now.”
There was a long pause from the other end. “Doctor September?”
Dennis mentally kicked himself. “Again, I apologize. Yes, this is Doctor September.”
“Oh, hello, Doctor.” There was another pause. “I can talk now, yes, if you’d prefer.” Dennis listened for any telltale signs that the call was being somehow recorded or traced, but he quickly realized that short of what he had seen in bad spy movies, he didn’t have the slightest idea what such a thing would sound like.
“Perhaps you can begin by telling me a bit more about your problem,” he said. Even from the few sentences he had heard from the woman, Dennis was certain that she would not be interested in meeting with Harding, but something about her calm and logical tone had intrigued him. Besides, it would hardly be good for his reputation if he dismissed her without first hearing her story.
“I suppose,” the woman answered. Dennis felt a brief jolt of panic as he heard a loud click from the phone, but it quickly subsided when the woman loudly exhaled. Just lighting a cigarette, or perhaps something more noxious. “My sister has been here for close to ten years, and I thought it a good idea to have someone speak with her before I tried to sell the house.”
“Your sister has been seeing this spirit, then?” Dennis asked.
There was another pause, and the sound of the woman both inhaling and exhaling. “No, Doctor, my sister is the spirit.” She did not elaborate, and Dennis sensed that he would have to tread lightly if he was to appear at all credible.
“I see. My apologies for your loss,” he said. “You say she has been haunting you for ten years now. Is there a reason for your interest in dealing with her now?”
“It’s been eight years, to be precise. As I said, I am selling the house.”
“Of course,” replied Dennis. “I was merely curious as to why you have tolerated her presence for as long as you have.” He grimaced at his choice of words, wondering if he had just inadvertently insulted the woman’s deceased sister. If she was at all offended, though, her voice gave no sign of it.
“She was always a dreamer,” the woman said. “If she wanted to come back, I suppose she had reason for it, and I wasn’t about to argue with her.”
“Go on.”
“That’s really all there is. I don’t imagine the house’s next owners would take too kindly to someone already living in it.”
So to speak, thought Dennis. “May I be so bold as to ask the reason for your selling it, ma’am?”
“I’m dying.”
The woman’s answer sent chills down Dennis’ spine. He breathed in silently and weighed his options. Perhaps the woman would benefit from a trip or two to Sam’s office, he thought. At any rate, his fears that this was some sort of legal trap had all but evaporated.
“I see,” Dennis said. “That is… I am sorry to hear that.” He held the phone away from his face and quietly cleared
