The Good Girl. Christy Barritt
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door? Or to see a penetrating blackness on the other side, a darkness so deep it might reach out and grab me?
Get a grip, Tara. Open the door. Get it over with.
Before I could psyche myself out anymore, I yanked the door open. I released the breath I held as I saw the space was jammed full of clothes.
I laughed at myself, at my foolishness.
I’d never realized just how big of an imagination I had.
I started to close the door when, for good measure, I shoved a few dresses and suits out of the way. Shoes at the bottom of the closet came into view. One final nudge in the corner stopped me cold.
I dropped the dresses and took a step back. It couldn’t be. But it was.
A guitar.
Chapter 7
At that precise moment, a knock sounded at the front door. I rushed from the room, knocking off a vase in route. The crystal container crashed to the floor and shattered into hundreds of pieces. I’d clean that up later. I reached into the bathroom, grabbed a robe to throw over my scant pajamas and yelled, “Coming!”
Would this be more bad news? The police coming to confirm that some extraterrestrial being had left the knife and that the slime on my bathroom window was nothing of this world?
Or perhaps my ever-present fear of the paparazzi would be realized?
Nope. It was Candy, standing at the door popping bubbles with her chewing gum and twirling her hair.
“Hey, Bermuda,” she muttered with a grin. “Wassup?”
“Bermuda?”
“You know, an island.” She grinned.
“Funny,” I mumbled.
“You ready for Sunday brunch?”
“Sunday brunch?” I’d planned on working on my sister’s flowerbeds today, then cleaning her baseboards and alphabetizing her DVD collection.
Candy shrugged. “It’s a weekly tradition.”
“Having brunch with Lana is. Lana is in Tuscany.”
“Yeah, but you’re here.”
I thought about my options. Stay here in the house with a guitar that plays by itself at night or go to brunch with Candy. I nodded, decision made.
I rushed back into the bedroom, threw on some clothes, and hurried through everything else I had to do—minus the shower. Finally I met Candy at the door. I glanced at her motorcycle as I stepped out. “We’re not taking that.”
“No, we can walk, actually. The place we frequent is just a few blocks over on Eighth Street.”
I’d noticed a gift shop, a sandwich joint, and a coffee place, part of a row of businesses as I pulled into the neighborhood. I’d hoped I might have the opportunity to frequent some of them before I left. The high-rise buildings of St. Paul rose in the distance. The cab driver had told me that the Mississippi wasn’t that far away, either. I had to give Lana credit. She’d picked a great location.
I glanced back at Cooper’s house as we started toward the sidewalk. His car was gone. Church maybe? I wondered if he was the church type. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I felt a little guilty not being at church myself. I just couldn’t bring myself to go because, if I did, it would simply be out of obligation, to keep a long-standing tradition going. That was no reason to attend church, and I knew that. I dreaded the eventuality of watching my mother freak out when I confessed.
The sun warmed my skin, but a breeze made it bearable. My loafers hit the cement, a soft thud compared to the clack of Candy’s spiky heels. I supposed that in church circles, Candy would be known as “worldly.” And I supposed in Candy’s circles, I’d be known as a prude.
Candy popped another bubble with her chewing gum. “I totally tried to friend you on Facebook last night, but I couldn’t find you.”
I’d deleted my account. “Yeah, I consider social media a big time waster.”
“I do believe you’re the only person I’ve ever met in her twenties who’s said that.”
We walked into a little dive with only eight tables and a breakfast counter. The outdated decorations left a lot to be desired, but at least the place looked clean. We sat at a corner table and ordered our food.
“So, any more ghostly sightings or evidence?” She took a long sip of her orange juice, her eyes lit with curiosity over the rim of the glass.
Now that she mentioned it, I could really use someone to chat with about what I’d experienced. Candy already seemed crazy, so maybe I wouldn’t feel so off my rocker if I told her about the music. I wiped the corners of my mouth with a napkin. “Something strange did happen.”
Her eyes widened. “Tell, tell.”
I licked my lips, gathering my courage before admitting what was sure to sound unbelievable. “My first night here I heard someone open the gate leading into the backyard. Then last night when I was in bed, I heard someone playing the guitar in the other room.”
She plunked her glass back on the table and her lips parted slightly as she stared at me. “What do you mean playing the guitar? Like, someone snuck in and just started playing?”
I shrugged, wishing I had an explanation. “I don’t know. It was weird, but I clearly heard some strands from a guitar. I didn’t even know Lana had a guitar in the house.”
“Are you sure she does?”
Chills danced up my skin again. It was the AC, I told myself. Just the AC. “I found it in the guest room. In the closet.”
“She’s never mentioned that before.”
“I’ll ask her next time she calls. She told me something about a lady who was murdered in the house. You know anything about that?” Tension mounted between my shoulders as I waited for her answer.
Her bottom lip dropped and she shook her head. “No way...I can’t believe Lana didn’t tell me that. Are you for real?”
“That’s what Lana said. Maybe she was yanking my chain.”
Candy leaned closer, as if conspiring some devious plan. “You know, I have a friend who’s one of the producers for Ghost Chasers. I could call him, see if they could come out to your house and do an investigation.”
Ghost Chasers? The TV show? I shook my head forcefully. “No, absolutely not.”
“Why not? They can do these thermal heat imaging tests and these electronic voice recordings that will prove whether or not a paranormal being is living in Lana’s house with you.”
“A paranormal being?” I realized I started to consider the possibility and stopped, shaking my head. “No. There’s an explanation. Something logical.” I just had absolutely no idea what it was.
She raised her eyebrows as the waitress set down plates of steaming eggs, bacon, biscuits and hash browns. Not good for my waist, but extremely good for my appetite.
I started to bow my head and pray but stopped myself. Old habits. They were like an ex-boyfriend that wouldn’t go away. Or a ghost. Or a bad reputation, for that matter. The list could go on and on.
“You should seriously think about it. It would be crazy fun to have them come out. I’ve never done a paranormal investigation before.”
“No.” That just sounded like a bad idea any way I looked at it.
“Think about it.”
“Fine.” I took my first bite of over-easy egg, ready to put that conversation behind me. “So, if you’re this into all of this Hollywood stuff, why do you live in Minnesota?”
“I decided I wanted