Chapter Ten

It seemed to Ben that the chicken dusting went faster when he and Sissy did it a second time. For one thing, the hens didn’t grow quite so panicky, and for another, he and Sissy performed together like a well-oiled machine. He couldn’t resist commenting on that.

“We do work well together,” she agreed as they exited the coop together and she yanked off her mask. “It’s as if we can anticipate each other’s next move.”

“With that going for us, we’d be dynamite on a dance floor,” he replied.

Sissy shot a startled look at him. Then she smiled. “I don’t dance. But we could be dynamite doing other things.”

“Well . . .” His voice trailed off into silence. “I need to head home to take a shower.”

“Yeah, me, too.” She plucked at her long-sleeve knit shirt, a pretty blue one that had matched the color of her eyes before it got coated in white. He’d never seen her wear it. But, then, he’d never seen her wearing a touch of makeup, either, and she had been when he arrived. Not much—just a hint of mascara on her lashes, a trace of blush along her cheekbones, and some lip gloss. Now her lashes looked like white spikes. “I sure hope this is the last time they need dusting.”

“It should be,” he said.

Ben noticed how tired she looked. It bothered him. His farmhand did his evening chores, so Ben could relax after he got home. Sissy had hours of labor yet to do. He couldn’t help but wonder how one small woman managed to hold up under that workload. He guessed maybe that was why she had such a wispy figure.

Ben knew the way home by heart, which gave him time to think—about Sissy, the lady who had laid claim to his heart almost the first time he saw her and still held him at arm’s length. Why? He didn’t have the balls to ask her.

He pulled into his paved driveway and parked beside the kitchen porch. “Okay, Finn, we’re home. Wanna go help round up chickens and put them in the coop for Brett while I grab my shower?” Ben glanced over at the passenger seat. No pup sat there. He peered over his shoulder, thinking Finn might have decided to take a nap in back. “Damn. I can’t believe I’m so wrapped up in that woman that I forgot my dog!”

Ben decided to look on the bright side. He could grab a quick shower, drive back to the Cauldron, and lend a hand during the dinner hour. If Sissy objected, he’d tell her that she could repay him by comping him his evening meal. If she argued, he had a perfect comeback. He couldn’t get his dog from her apartment when customers were there. Yeah, that would work—unless Sissy had hidden Finn in a storage room.

Ben went inside, grabbed a quick shower, and had just gotten halfway dressed when someone pounded on his door. He loped through the house to answer the summons and found Brett on the porch, his face red with anger.

“That horse you brought in last week with behavior problems has gone fuck-shit crazy!”

Ben buttoned his Wrangler jeans. “What d’ya mean, crazy?” Ben had been working with the mare. She’d been bucking when her owners tried to ride her, and it was his job to tame her back down. “She was fine when I rode her last week.”

“Well, she ain’t fine now! She went to buckin’ on me, slammed me against the arena wall, and damned near dug a hole to China with her nose to throw me from the saddle!” Brett, hatless, which was uncharacteristic of him, raked a hand through his red hair. “When I hit the ground she came after me. I jumped a stall gate to get away from her. So then she went after my goddamned Stetson. She stomped it. She bit it. And then the bitch pissed on it. I’m tellin’ you, that mare is nuts!”

Brett wasn’t a trainer, but he was a damned good rider. When he climbed into a saddle, he rode as if he had superglue on his ass. Any mare that managed to throw him had to have gone berserk.

All Ben could think to say was “I’ll be right out, and I’ll buy you a new Stetson.”

*   *   *

Sissy was racing around her café kitchen, getting ready for an onslaught of dinner customers, when she tripped over Finn, lost her footing, and almost did a face-plant against the refrigerator. Once she regained her balance, she didn’t know what surprised her more: that she’d caught herself from falling or that Finn was snoozing in her kitchen. Or had been. She’d jostled him awake.

She hunkered down to love on him, thinking, even as she did, that she’d have to change chef coats. Her customers wouldn’t appreciate dog hair in their food. “What are you doing here, boy? Your dad must have forgotten you.” That puzzled her. Ben and his dog seemed to be attached by an invisible string. “I don’t mean to be an ungracious hostess, but you can only be in my kitchen when the café is closed.”

Finn, who seemed to realize she was rejecting him as her kitchen buddy, looked up at her with sad eyes.

“But it’s okay!” Sissy stood, opened the fridge, and found leftovers from breakfast. “I can sneak you upstairs and serve you a feast! Let me see. Oh, wow, I’ve got bacon. I’ll bet you like that! And a leftover omelet. Oooh-yum. I cooked too many hamburger patties, too.”

Piling food on a plate, she realized that she’d long since stopped feeding Finn on a paper one. The health inspector would probably fine her for that. If he ever caught her. “Come on, sweetness. Lucky you! Nobody gets to visit my private living quarters. Well, your dad did once—but only to take a shower. So aren’t you special?”

Finn leaped to his feet and wagged his whole body. Sissy was a little surprised. She knew how much the pup loved Ben. Surely Finn felt lost without him. Who wouldn’t? She led the young canine upstairs. Once in the apartment, she set his plate on her kitchen floor, filled a large bowl with freshwater, and then found a spare blanket to make him a bed.

She couldn’t stay to familiarize Finn with her residence. That was fine. Ben would realize he’d forgotten his dog and be back to collect him in no time.

Only, Ben didn’t return to get his dog. Hours went by. Surely he realized at some point that he’d forgotten Finnegan. She worried about the pup, alone in an unfamiliar apartment. He was still quite young, not even a year old yet. And he was so accustomed to being with Ben. What if he freaked out and tried to chew his way through her door? Sissy yearned to go check on him, but she was far too busy.

After the dinner rush ebbed away, only Tim and Lynda VeArd occupied a booth. They’d come in late and were barely halfway through their meals. Sissy knew they adored animals because they had, according to them, the most spoiled cat in history. Sissy crossed the café to stand over them.

“Can I share a secret with you guys?”

Tim grinned. “Unless it threatens national security, you can trust me, but my little redhead is a blabbermouth.”

Lynda threw an unused straw at her husband, nailing him in the chest. “I never break a confidence, and you know it.”

Tim laughed and threw the straw back at her, missing by a foot.

Sissy smiled. “Well, I have a guest upstairs, Ben’s pup, Finnegan.”

“The chicken herder? He’s an amazing little fellow,” Tim observed.

“Yes, he is,” Sissy agreed. “My chickens got lice. Did you hear about that?” Both the VeArds nodded. “Ben came by to help. With so many chickens, it’s a job. And somehow when Ben left, he forgot Finn. I tripped over him doing dinner prep.” Sissy lowered her voice. “It’s against the law for dogs to be in a restaurant—unless, of course, they’re service animals—so I hid Finnegan in my apartment. He’s been alone for hours. Would you mind if I ran up to check on him?”

Lynda grinned. “What we’d mind is if you didn’t check on him. Tim and I have everything we require. Go for it, and no need to hurry.”

When Tim nodded in agreement, Sissy raced for the stairwell. She found Finn napping on his bed. It had been hours since the pup had been outside. As Sissy scratched him right above his docked tail, his favorite spot, she gnawed her lower lip. Then, reaching a decision, she walked over, opened the apartment door that led to the stairwell, and yelled, “He needs to go potty! If I bring him down and take him straight outside through the storage area, do you promise not to narc on me to the health inspector?”

She heard Tim guffaw. “We promise,” he bellowed back. “And bring him by our table. I can’t eat all my steak, and Twinkie won’t eat beef.”

Twinkie was their spoiled cat. Sissy grinned, patted her leg to beckon Finn forward, and led him down the stairs. The instant Finn appeared in the café area, Tim snapped his fingers at the dog, and Finnegan raced over to renew their friendship. Tim fed him bites of steak, and Lynda offered him popcorn shrimp, battered pieces of cod, and French fries dipped in ranch dressing. Finn’s snubbed tail did double time.

“You guys are the best,” Sissy told them.

“Aside from the fact that some people are allergic to dogs,” Tim observed, “I think it’s a stupid law, anyway.”

“Me, too,” Lynda agreed. “So many service dogs are allowed. What do they do, spray them with something to make them hypoallergenic? It’s ridiculous.”

Sissy wanted to hug them both. “Well, dogs do shed. I don’t think it’s unreasonable for people to prefer food without dog hair in it.”

She took Finnegan out back for a short outing, during which he baptized every post of her chicken pen and ran next door to pee on Marilyn’s shed. After relieving himself, the pup returned to Sissy and looked up at her with a bewildered expression.

“I know. You’re wondering where your dad is. Something happened. He realizes by now that he forgot you, and he’ll come for you as quickly as he can. He loves you to pieces.” Sissy wished that she’d had a father half as wonderful as Ben. Maybe then she would have matured into a different woman. “But until he gets here, you have to go back upstairs until the VeArds leave. You’ll be okay. Right?”

Sissy’s concern for the dog ended the moment she led him back inside the café. Tim yelled, “I turned the sign to read CLOSED and locked the front door. Before doing that, I stepped outside and looked both ways to make sure no gestapo were on the sidewalks. We’ve decided that we each want a hamburger patty for dessert, and we’re going to need Finn’s help to eat them.”

Sissy’s chest went tight. For the first time in her life, she had friends. She grinned and said, “Two hamburger patties coming right up.”

*   *   *

Ben reached Sissy’s place so late that he feared she might already be in bed, but he could see lights still on in her apartment. He was pleased to find that she’d left the back door unlocked for him and a light on in the storage room.

“Finn?” he called softly, thinking she might have left the dog closed up downstairs so it would be easier for Ben to collect him. “Finn?”

He heard no sound to suggest the pup had heard him. He strode up the hall and swung right to ascend the stairs. Once on the landing, he tapped on the door.

Sissy answered the summons almost instantly. “I was starting to think you’d been in a wreck.”

She stepped back to allow Ben entry. He removed his hat as he stepped inside. “I’m really sorry about this.” He gave her a brief account of what had happened. “I almost texted you, but it was smack-dab in the middle of dinner hour. So I thought I’d wait, and then things got so crazy, I couldn’t text.”

Finn, snuggled down on a folded blanket, leaped to his feet and ran to Ben, whining a joyous greeting. Ben bent to ruffle the dog’s fur. “Did you think I’d forgotten you?”

Sissy gestured toward the table where a bottle of wine and one half-filled goblet sat. “Grab a chair. If you’re as tired as I am, a glass of wine may hit the spot.”

After tossing his truck keys on her end table, Ben accepted the invitation and took a seat across from the half-filled goblet. He put his hat on a chair next to him. “I’d love a glass of wine.”

He turned the bottle to see the label. “Uh-oh, a lady who likes to live dangerously. This is mulberry.”

“After you told me about it, I wanted to try some, and Flagg’s Market cooperated by having it on sale. I refuse to pay more than ten dollars a bottle.” She smiled as she retraced her steps to the table and handed him a glass.

As she resumed her seat and took a sip of the wine, Ben wondered why she didn’t see how perfect they were for each other. “Maybe some of the September magic rubbed off on us.”

Her blue eyes grew shadowed. “And you are reminding me why I vowed never to serve you any wine.”

Ben laughed and poured himself about four ounces. “No worries. I could guzzle the whole bottle and not get so snockered that just anyone would look good to me.” He didn’t add that he needed no help to find Sissy attractive.

“It’s delicious,” she observed. “I may have to raise my buying bar to fifteen. It normally costs that much.”

Ben nodded in appreciation as he rolled the purple vintage over his tongue. “Worth every penny.” Studying her, he decided she looked as exhausted as he felt.

“I bought two bottles. Maybe I’ll go wild tonight and have three glasses. I’ll never make it through tomorrow if I don’t get some sleep. Last night I barely got a wink.”

“What kept you awake?” he asked.

Just then, Finn, who’d settled near Ben’s chair, lifted his head and snarled. The dog’s gaze was fixed on the sofa. Bewildered, Ben walked into the seating area. “He’s such an easygoing dog. Now this again? He sees or senses something. His hackles are up.”

“Just sit back down and drink your wine. Whatever it is that Finn senses, the human eye can’t detect it.”

He joined her at the table again and gave her an inquisitive look.

“After last night, I no longer care if I sound crazy. This building is haunted.”

“What happened last night?” he asked.

“After I went to bed, a canned good toppled out of a closed cupboard. My small nonstick skillet, which I’d left in the dish drainer, went airborne and clattered onto the floor. While I was unwrapping a new roll of bathroom tissue, the chrome rod vanished. I set it on the edge of the vanity, and in a blink, it was gone.”

Ben didn’t discount the possibility of ghosts, but he couldn’t help but think that there had to be another explanation. “Do you mind if I go look for it?”

She lifted her glass to him. “Not at all, and good luck. You’re not going to find it.”

Ben went to search Sissy’s bathroom. He even checked inside the waste receptacle and vanity cupboard. He found no chrome rod.

Once back in Sissy’s kitchen, he eyeballed her counters and cupboard shelves to make sure they were level. He could offer her no rational explanation for the flying skillet and canned goods.

“So you believe me?” Her voice quavered as she asked the question.

“Well, of course I believe you. Why would you make it up?”

She sighed. “Well, I’m glad you’re taking my word for it. I was afraid I might have to show you the dent on my stove to convince you that it all happened.”

Ben stepped over to the range and studied the gouge in the white enamel, musing aloud, “For a can of food to inflict this much damage, it must have fallen from the cupboard and landed on its edge.”

Sissy shrugged. “All I know is that the can ended up on the floor. I was in bed when it happened, and the noise in here scared me out of ten year’s growth.”

Ben sighed. “Something must have pushed the can from the cupboard. If a ghost picked it up and tossed it, the can would have bypassed the stove and hit the floor.”

Just then the keyboard in Sissy’s living room pinged. Finn sprang up, raced to the living room, and leaped at the window curtains. The next instant, the dog jumped on the sofa and began digging feverishly at the cushions until Ben, fearing damage to the upholstery, called him off.

“That settles it. He’s after something real.” Ben pulled off all the couch cushions and found nothing. Still convinced Finn had seen something, he even went so far as to move the piece of furniture to make sure nothing had hidden under it.

A ghost? Ben wanted to discard the notion, but he’d heard that keyboard play. Something had struck the keys—something he hadn’t seen and couldn’t find. Without permission, he walked through the apartment, convinced that the culprit had to be a small creature. He looked under the bed. He moved the nightstands and dresser.

“Have you noticed any rodent droppings?” he asked.

“No. With this being a food service facility, I have pest control come on a quarterly basis, and after you suggested my pianist might be a mouse, I called the company and asked for an extra visit. The guy said he found no evidence of mice anywhere.”

Ben finally gave up on finding anything and resumed his seat at the table. “Why didn’t you tell me weird shit is still happening?”

She pushed at her dark hair. “Because it makes me sound loony.”

“Well, I’m about to sound even loonier. I don’t want you staying here alone at night.”

Sissy laughed. “Ben, whatever it is, it means me no harm. My only issue is that all the noise disturbs my sleep.”

When she rubbed her arms and shivered, Ben knew the unexplained incidents were also giving her the willies. And he couldn’t fault her for that. Hearing that keyboard chime had made his skin prickle, too.

“You could stay at my place. I’ve got four extra bedrooms, and I guarantee you’ll sleep like a baby.”

She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but a simpler solution is to get earplugs. I’m not in any danger.” She tipped her head and arched her brows. “Moving on to another topic, did you get the berserk horse settled down?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “Actually, something didn’t feel right when I rode her.” He took a sip of wine. “She didn’t act up with me, but as I picked up speed as I rode her around the arena, I really felt it. A tension in her. Something wrong with her gait. So I called Jack Palmer and asked him to come out.”

“Ouch. That must have cost a pretty penny, especially after hours.”

“The owners authorized the call, and they’ll pick up the tab. And, man, I’m so glad I did. Jack palpated her, and he detected some tenderness. He believes she has a uterine or ovarian cyst. He took her to his clinic. I have faith in Jack. He’ll figure it out, and we’ll soon have a horse that’s fine again.”

They chatted while Ben finished his wine. Then he glanced at his watch, realized it was past bedtime for both of them, and went to retrieve his keys from the end table.

“Um—” He looked at Sissy. “I did put my keys there. Right?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Were they shiny?”

“My remote fob isn’t, but the key sticking out the end is. I didn’t retract it, and yes, my key chain is shiny. I have a special one, a miniature Western belt buckle.”

Sissy shook her head. “Good luck finding them, then. Shiny things vanish around here.”

Ben couldn’t accept that as an answer. He had an extra set of keys in a magnetic case attached to his truck, but the missing fob would cost him over a hundred dollars. He searched between the sofa cushions. He moved the couch and the end tables. He was about to give up when he heard a horn blaring outside, that honk-stop kind of blare a vehicle emits when the alert button on a key fob has been pressed.

He hurried over to Sissy’s living room window. Sure enough, there sat his truck near the coop, the lights blinking on and off, and the horn blaring.

“Damn! How in hell am I going to turn that off without the fob? My extra one is at home. All I have is a spare key in a magnetic case under the fender.”

Sissy started to laugh and then clamped a hand over her mouth. Through spread fingers, she said, “I’m sorry. It isn’t funny. It’s just such a relief to have this happen to someone besides me!”

Minutes later, after getting inside his vehicle, Ben managed to get the horn to stop blaring. He saw that Marilyn’s upstairs lights had come on. Then she leaned out what he guessed was her bedroom window.

He lowered the glass on the driver’s side of his truck. “I’m sorry if that woke you.”

“I was just worried that someone had broken into your truck!”

Ben noted her mussed hair and the furry robe she wore. He’d woken her from a sound sleep. “False alarm. I had trouble making the horn shut up, though.”

She laughed, waved farewell, and closed her window. Ben noticed Sissy standing on her back porch as he drove away. He gave the horn a final toot to tell her good night.

“Ghosts do not steal car keys,” he muttered to himself. “There has to be a rational explanation for all this.”

*   *   *

Whenever Ben felt troubled, he always sought out his father for advice, so he wasn’t really surprised when he found himself driving toward his childhood home on East Sugar Pine. He bypassed Barney’s farm and noted that the lights were still on. Ben could only hope that his parents were awake. Sometimes they watched television later at night, and his mom loved to do crafts. Jeremiah was semiretired now and no longer got up earlier than the chickens. He had a farmhand to do the morning chores.

Ben was pleased when he saw light coming through the windows of his parents’ ranch-style home. The place looked small in the darkness, but somehow his folks had managed to raise six kids there, and Ben couldn’t recall ever feeling cramped.

He left Finnegan asleep on the passenger seat. The pup had worn himself out, probably pacing in Sissy’s apartment. When he tapped on his parents’ front door, he heard the patter of quick footsteps and knew his mother was answering the summons. Kate was a small, energetic woman who still looked and acted a decade younger than she was. When the portal swung inward, Ben took a moment to study the surprised expression that passed over her delicate features. Then sheer delight brightened her coffee brown eyes.

“Ben!” she cried. “It’s so good to see you.”

He tried to remember how long it had been since he’d darkened his parents’ doorstep. After hugging his mom, he followed her from the entryway into the spacious family room that opened onto a formal dining area and then a country kitchen, large enough to accommodate a second table for casual meals. In the overhead light, Jeremiah’s tawny hair, the same color as Ben’s, glistened with more silver than Ben remembered. It saddened him to realize that his parents were getting older.

“Hey, Ben,” Jeremiah called from the table. “I didn’t think you stayed up this late unless you were skirt chasing in Crystal Falls.”

Ben winced. His dad enjoyed taking jabs at his sons for choices they made that he deemed to be mistakes. “Not funny, Dad.”

Kate swept into the kitchen, flapping a hand at her husband. “If he’s skirt chasing, I don’t want to hear about it.” With a smile at Ben, she said, “Your father is having decaf. I’m having hot cocoa. Name your poison.”

“Cocoa,” Ben replied. Then he quickly added, “Please.” His mom was a stickler on manners. “Can I have mine with marshmallows?”

“May I,” Kate corrected. “And, yes, Ben, you may.”

Ben had removed his hat when he stepped onto the porch. He set it on the kitchen bar and sat next to his dad, remembering all the noisy breakfasts he’d eaten at this table over the years. Kids slurping. He and his brothers kicking or pinching one another when a parent wasn’t watching. His sisters always tattling on them.

“So, what’s up?” Jeremiah asked. “You rarely show up here unless you’ve got a problem.”

Ben winced again. “I’ve been busy liquidating my business. I recently got home from Montana, where I dropped off the last of my livestock.”

Kate, heating something in the microwave, glanced over her slender shoulder. She wore faded jeans, riding boots, and a pretty plaid Western shirt that sported turquoise and pink with sparkly stuff in the pattern. “Barney mentioned you were out of town. I hope you found good homes for the animals.”

Ben nodded. “I made sure of that, Mom.”

Jeremiah inserted, “I know you’ve been busy. But rumor has it that you’ve been especially busy helping out the young lady who owns the Cauldron.”

Ben knew whenever his father said “Rumor has it” that one of his brothers had blabbed. “True.”

“Is it serious?” Jeremiah asked.

“On my part, yes. If I could convince her to let it be serious, I would. But she’s taking her time warming up to me.”

Kate set a cup of cocoa, laden with melting marshmallows, in front of Ben, and then resumed her seat where her own serving was cooling. “There’s nothing wrong with a woman taking some time. Smart, if you ask me.”

Before his mother could get off on a tangent about all the divorces taking place among the younger set, Ben said, “And you’re right, Dad. I do have a problem. Well, not really a problem. It’s more a mystery, and I need a sounding board.”

“Shoot,” Jeremiah said.

Ben told his parents about the strange things happening in Sissy’s building, ending with the disappearance of his remote fob and key chain.

Jeremiah frowned. “You’ve witnessed Finnegan snarling and barking at something you can’t see?”

Ben explained how he’d searched for something real each time and found nothing.

“That is strange,” Jeremiah observed. “I believe in the existence of spirits, but I don’t think they steal things. A dog might sense the presence of one and raise a fuss, I suppose. They can sense things we can’t. But the missing objects—apparently a lot of them—sound crazy to me. Ghosts have no bodies. They can’t pick things up, and they certainly can’t throw canned goods from cupboards.”

“Um,” Kate inserted, “a poltergeist could—if poltergeists actually exist.”

Jeremiah studied his wife. “What is a poltergeist?”

“A mischievous and sometimes dangerous ghost,” Kate replied. She fell quiet for a moment. “Do you know what these stories remind me of? One time, this happened to my grandmother.”

“It did?” Ben stared at Kate. “My great-grandmother had a ghost?”

Kate laughed. “Well, for a while she thought she did. She’d set aside her crocheting, and her hook would vanish. Jewelry, wrapped candies, or change she left in a dish.” A distant look entered Kate’s eyes. “Then there came a rainstorm, and the roof sprang a leak in her bedroom closet. Daddy went right over to fix it. While working inside her closet, he found a hole in the wall at a back corner. He shone his light inside and saw dozens of items. Earrings, bracelets, crochet hooks, candy bars, the wristwatch Grandma had lost, and even an heirloom necklace that she believed she’d misplaced.”

“Mom.” Ben leaned toward Kate. “What took the damned necklace?” He caught himself too late. “I’m sorry, the danged necklace.”

Kate sent him a scolding look. “A pack rat.”

“A what?” Jeremiah asked.

Carefully enunciating each word, Kate repeated, “A— pack—rat.”

Ben went limp against the back of the chair. “Of course. I considered mice, but they aren’t big enough to steal stuff. Pack rats can be fairly big. Right? Big enough to alarm Finn and make him growl.”

“Oh, yes,” Kate confirmed. “Some are small. Some are bigger than we want to imagine. But all of them are attracted to shiny things. Daddy found every single item Grandma had supposedly misplaced in that rat’s nest.”

“I knew it couldn’t be a ghost!” Ben said. “Now what’ll I do? Find the nest and bait it with poison?”

“I read somewhere once that pack rats won’t eat the stuff that kills mice and other rats,” Jeremiah said. “Instead they carry it away from their nests, and other animals or birds eat it. The best way to get rid of them is to keep your property and outbuildings free of debris. Until they move on, ratproof the building by plugging all the holes that may provide ingress with steel wool.”

Ben sighed. “Behind those buildings, it’s like one huge backyard. Everyone has sheds, small garages, and business debris lying around. Maybe I can just catch the rat and relocate it.”

“Worth a try, I guess,” Jeremiah said.