Dying For You Read Free Page B

and relieved, Cathy managed to walk, not run, out of the house this time.

Chapter 5
    No one named Jack had ever lived in her house.
    Cathy had spent her lunch break doing extensive research and web surfing into land, deeds, home ownership, and spirits. She quickly determined her ghost was not a poltergeist, and did not seem malevolent, but she had less luck finding out who it—he—was. But apparently, his silence after the evening’s excitement was not atypical: manifesting seemed to really tire out a ghost.
    The question was: did she mind?
    She did not know; it was too early to tell. All it—he—had done was talk to her and produce her keys. Then nothing for the rest of the night, or the entire next day—Sunday—or this morning.
    She couldn’t discuss this with Nikki, because her friend had a strong streak of practicality. If she couldn’t see it ortouch it, it wasn’t real. Cathy, however, tended to believe her senses. Her keys moved by themselves. Someone had spelled out the letters J, A, C, and K. If it wasn’t a practical joke, which she had not entirely ruled out—though if it
was
a joke, no one had come forward and it was going on too long—then she was prepared to believe her house was haunted. It was certainly old enough to house a spirit or two.
    She thought about calling her real-estate agent, John #1, then immediately decided against it. She’d been living in her new house less than seventy-two hours. It was a little early to go running for help.
    And whatever would she tell him? “Hello, John, the house you sold me is haunted and I…I…” What? Wanted a refund? Not hardly. She wasn’t going back to pouring money down the rent rathole. Not ever. She had felt like a drone bee in a hive, living in those low-personality apartment complexes.
    She decided to go about her business as usual, and see what the ghost—if it
was
a ghost—did next.
    “Perfect,” she said as lightning crashed outside her window. It was a dark and stormy night. No, really. “That’s just perfect.”
    She had finished the unpacking and was almost swaying with exhaustion. But it was finished, all finished. A place for everything and she had put everything in its place. Now the house felt a little more like her house.
    A little. She still couldn’t believe it when she pulled into the driveway and realized this was her house. She owned it and lived there and it was hers. She supposed the feeling ofeuphoric surprise would go away someday. It was almost a shame.
    The storm had started about three hours ago, and was building up to a rare fury—rare for St. Paul, anyway. As long as it wasn’t a blizzard, most Minnesotans didn’t get too annoyed by the weather. That might change, today, especially if—
    The lights went out.
    “And again,” she said aloud. “Perfect.” Rats and double rats. Where had she unpacked candles? After a moment’s thought, she remembered they were in one of the kitchen drawers, as were the—
    “One more time,” she said as she heard a kitchen drawer open by itself, heard things clink and shift around, heard a candle rolling in the dark toward her. “Perfect.”
    She looked down and, when lightning flashed again, saw two candles bump up against her foot, along with a small box of matches she’d grabbed the last time she’d had sushi at Kikugawa.
    “Thank you,” she said. Testing, she added, “Thank you, Jack.”
    No response.
    She bent, picked up a candle, lit it, used the lit candle to light the other one, stood. She still had a very real sense of unreality about the whole business, but one thing was certain: having a ghost around could be handy.

Chapter 6
    Her weekly duty was almost completed. Ah, to be so close to the end, and yet have it remain so tantalizingly out of reach.
    “Cathy? You still there?”
    “Still here, Dad,” she confirmed. Her father lived in Missouri with her Wicked Stepmother, or W for short.
    Not that there was a thing wrong with Kitty Wyth (if one