Dry Spell: A Mercy Watts Short Read Free Page A

of Klingon rank insignia in a glass case. It was amazing that anyone, much less everyone, wanted to eat at Kronos. Aaron and Rodney looked like a couple of Comic-Con rejects with well-worn, holey super hero tees and old-school sweat pants with the loose elastic up around their ankles, instead of successful restaurateurs. Aaron’s hairnet was a nice addition to the look.  
    Rodney thrust a pencil in his curly hair that stuck up like a 50s beehive. “What’s Ellen serving? One of her crockpot things? Dr. Pepper is not a proper marinade.”
    “How’d you know I was going to Ellen’s?” I asked.
    “Tommy. You gonna catch the ghost?”
    I got myself an iced tea and came around the bar to perch on a stool like I had severe arthritis. Sleep had only intensified my stiffness. “Do I look like Bill Murray to you?”
    Please say no.
    They didn’t say no. They thought about it. I knew I looked rough after two weeks of night shifts but still the old ghostbuster was going too far.  
    “I’ll help you,” said Aaron finally.  
    “Do what?”  
    “Catch him.”  
    “Um…thanks.” Aaron didn’t look like he could catch a bus, much less a malevolent ghost.  
    “I could make a special hotdog to lure him into your trap.”
    “There’s no trap. I don’t even know it’s a ghost. It could be Janine’s imagination,” I said.  
    Rodney nodded, looking way too serious. “It’s a ghost. For sure. Has to be.”  
    Manuel came out with my Worf burger and twirled his finger at his temple before going back in the kitchen. I took a bite. Pure heaven. That didn’t come out of can.  
    “So you two have no trouble believing Ellen’s daughter’s being haunted?” I asked.
    “Nope,” said Aaron.  
    “Our flat top is haunted,” said Rodney.
    “Your flat top grill is haunted? By what?”
    He leaned across the bar and whispered, “Don’t know yet. Sometimes it turns off when it’s supposed to be on. Sometimes it turns on when it’s supposed to be off.”  
    “Sounds like an electrical problem. You should get that looked at,” I said.  
    “By a paranormal investigator?”  
    “By an electrician, weirdo.”  
    Aaron shook his head and his pink hairnet slipped down behind his thick, perpetually smudged glasses. “It’s a ghost.”  
    “I can’t believe this. First Dad and now you two.”  
    “What do you believe in?” asked Rodney.
    “Science.”  
    Aaron and Rodney stared at me for moment like I’d said Star Trek was lame and totally predictable, a sacrilege in Kronos. Then they blinked and began designing a ghost trap on the back of a receipt. It involved a cat carrier and electric fencing. I finished and paid, but they barely looked up.  
    Rodney hollered after me as I went into the kitchen. “Tell Ellen we’ll have this design ready in forty-eight hours.”  
    “Fantastic!”
    Manuel flipped a burger and grinned at me. “They tell you all about Rod’s Charger?”
    “What about it?”  
    “Rod thinks it may have been involved in an alien abduction in 1973.”  
    “Why would,” I put up my hand, “never mind don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”  
    “Neither do I, but I work here.”  
    Everyone had a cross to bear, and Aaron and Rod were his. Dad was mine. I went out and walked past the Charger in question. The only thing that car had been involved in was teenage pregnancy.  

     

     
     

Ellen’s house sat on a shady street in a post-WWII subdivision. It hardly looked like a place where the unusual happened. People went to work and came home on time. Children were raised and resented their parents’ limitations. It was normal. Of course, their doors were closed, like Ellen’s with its summer wreath hanging above a welcome sign. Who knew what went on behind those doors, but it was nice to think it was all simple.  
    I parked and went into the kitchen through the side door. The air was thick with the smell of tater tots and pork. It was the best Ellen’s kitchen had