never went to the house, so I didn’t realize she was trying to send a message—and sweet Diana, bless her; Jean’s great-niece, you know—didn’t have an open mind at all about spirits and ghosts and hauntings…
“And then there was Cherry’s adorable, very smart niece Leslie, who opened up Shenstone House into a B&B up on the hill outside of town. We’ve all known that place was haunted for years, and the moment I walked in, I could sense it. The hair jerked right up on the back of my neck and all down my arms…but it was really when that darling Fiona—who I hope is going to marry my dear Hollis’s dashing Gideon someday soon—opened up that little antiques shop on Violet Way that I really began to understand how to communicate with those who’ve gone to the afterlife. That was after she found the skeleton there, you know. I think I’m going to have to take mediumship lessons if this sort of thing continues to happen here in Wicks Hollow—”
“And what about up to the lighthouse? Just two weeks ago,” said Maxine. “You didn’t know it was haunted, no one did, but that writer, TMJ Mack—she’s still there, ain’t she?—she met the ghost. It saved her life by the lighthouse—or that’s how she tells it.”
Vivien could hardly follow the conversation, let alone all the names and events…and she didn’t think she wanted to. What she did extract from the nonstop rambling from Iva, interspersed with arguments and details from the others, was that ghosts, hauntings, and strange occurrences were rather commonplace here in Wicks Hollow. At least, according to the Tuesday Ladies…who she suspected might be unreliable narrators more often than not.
Vivien had to close her eyes once Maxine hit the accelerator on her powder-blue Cadillac SUV. She simply didn’t want to see everything whiz by far too quickly and closely, corners being cut short, and how near the bumpers of other cars came to the vicinity of the large vehicle. Though she clutched the bag Orbra had given her, Vivien suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.
“And here we are,” chirped Iva after what felt like an eternity to Vivien. The car swung around a sharp corner then jolted to a halt, tires grinding on gravel, and she finally opened her eyes.
“Oh, dear, is all that broken glass on the ground over there from your car, Vivien? I heard someone took a bat or something to it,” Iva said. “And there’ve been some horrible threats against you too? I simply can’t imagine who would do such a thing. Whoever would do such a thing must be a very unhappy person.”
“Or totally whacked in the head,” said Maxine. “I vote for whacked in the head.”
Vivien didn’t bother to reply as she unlocked the door to the theater. She knew better than to suggest that the ladies get back to their Scrabble game; they were sticking to her like burrs and were going inside whether she wanted them there or not.
“And how was your romantic dinner with that delicious Elwood DeRiccio?” asked Juanita, beaming as she slipped past Vivien into the lobby.
Apparently there was no such thing as privacy in Wicks Hollow.
“We just went to get takeout for his dad,” Vivien said nonchalantly.
“That’s not what Ricky told Doug Horner,” said Juanita. “You were gone for over two hours, he said. You don’t mind if Brucie looks around, do you?” She patted the little dog’s head as he poked his nose over the edge of his carrier.
“Uh…not as long as he knows where to do his business,” Vivien replied, suddenly feeling terribly guilty about leaving Ricky DeRiccio in the hospital by himself while she and Jake had a definitely non-romantic, purely businesslike dinner while waiting for the carry-out.
Until Jake kissed her at the car.
“My goodness, Vivien, your cheeks are awfully pink. Are you feeling all right?” Iva said as she walked in past her. The short, curvy woman sailed through the lobby and into the house, her blue and white silk scarf fluttering at her throat. Her arms were spread wide as if she were opening herself to whatever ghostly entities might abound, and Vivien hurried after her…just in case.
After all, the last time she’d been here, she’d given the ghost a bit of a lecture. For all she knew, the phantom of her opera might have taken umbrage with the set-down.
But the stage was silent and dark, the house empty and still. It was lit only by the lights Vivien had turned on—more