“Hello,” I said.
He floated over and reached for my hand. I gave it, and he bowed to kiss it. My skin pricked as his ghostly flesh slid over mine. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Oh shut up, Blount,” came a voice from the side.
I glanced over and noticed a man in a button-down shirt, overalls and pants.
“Be quiet, Kency,” Blount said. “Your very existence damages the calm that the good Lord creates.”
Kency strode up. He had been middle-aged when he passed. His dark hair was streaked with gray, and his beard was made of a thin layer of scruff. “Don’t let that old windbag woo you,” Kency said. “He’ll swear he’s your friend, and then he’ll steal your chickens.”
“You gave them to me,” Blount exploded.
Kency’s face twisted in anger. “No, sir, I did not and you know that.”
While the two apparitions argued, Susan strolled up. “Those two are the Hatfields and the McCoys of these parts. Started over a chicken.”
“So I see,” I said. Though as entertaining as it was, there was a reason I was here. Time was clicking on, and I needed answers.
“I need to know where Lucky Strike is,” I said loudly.
The ghosts stopped fighting. Everyone turned. Blank expressions greeted me.
“Great,” I grumbled. “One of them has to know something.”
“Lucky Strike,” Kency said, stroking his face, “is difficult to find.”
“I know that, that’s why I need your help.”
“Maybe if you get a membership, we’ll help you,” said the older woman. I glanced at her headstone. The name Mildred Cuffman was chiseled into the rock.
What were they talking about, a membership? “Do y’all have some sort of club?”
“Not a Yankee,” Mildred said, looking smugly over her shoulder to the ghosts behind her. “Uses the word ‘y’all’ right.”
“My dear,” Captain Blount said, “we are a group of dedicated spirits fighting for the cause of liberty, justice and the American way.”
Um. What? I shot Susan a quick look. “I don’t understand.”
Blount placed a hand over his heart. “From time to time there are folks who show up in town and want us to move on to the great battlefield in the sky.”
“We don’t want to go,” Granny Mildred said. She pointed to the ground. “We want to stay right here where we belong.”
Did they know what I did for a living? “But sometimes spirits make messes. Interfere with the living—like Lucky.”
“All Lucky Strike wants,” Kency said, “is what the rest of us want—to be treated equally with the respect that’s deserved. If we don’t want to go to the other side, we shouldn’t have to.”
I groaned. Were these guys serious? From the stiff upper lips, I would say that was a yes.
I took a step forward. “There are people like me—I’m one of those folks you were talking about. I can help you move to the light if you want. But only if you want. We can’t have spirits causing chaos, hurting people. That’s not good for anyone.”
“Haven’t you been hearing us, girl?” Mildred said. “Y’all folks in those high towers need to listen. To our demands. The first thing we want is a no-capture clause.”
Oh boy. These spirits were delusional. I raised my palms. “Okay, listen. I’m not the person in charge of policy making.”
“It’s what Lucky wants,” Blount said, “if I may speak for another.”
The realization of what they were saying hit me like a punch to the gut. I gritted my teeth. “Looking at the group of y’all gives me the willies. Seeing you is like wearing a wool sweater without anything on underneath—I itch. Y’all realize you’re supposed to cross over, right? That’s the natural order. You live, you die, you cross. Get it? That’s how things work.”
