I lowered the menu slightly. Normally I’d ignore the voice. I was in public, after all, and didn’t need the distraction. But I was here looking for Lucky Strike, and the sooner I found him, the sooner I could get back to my life.
“Keep going,” the voice said.
I dipped the menu until it was touching the table. Standing beside a potted elephant ear was a young woman. Her blonde hair was teased high. She wore green mascara, bright pink lipstick, a twisted bead necklace, a yellow shirt with the collar flipped up and red heels.
She was also transparent.
If I had to place her date of death, I’d say mid-1980s.
I pretended to stare at my menu as I waited for her to speak again.
“You’re totally new here,” she said. “That’s so rad. I can always tell. I’m always watching. It’s my thing. What I do. Watch.”
I gave a slight nod.
“They have great chicken casserole. But you know if you’re watching your weight, you’ll want to stay away from it. Or you could just, you know, barf it up later.”
Apparently she’d had an eating disorder when she died.
“Hmmm,” I said. I was thinking more salad, but you never knew, I might change my mind since I wasn’t one for puking my brains out after a meal.
“Afternoon. I love your hair.” The waitress bobbed up to the table and smiled.
“Thank you.”
“How’d you get it that color? I would love to do that to mine.”
She was a strawberry-blonde with perfect golden skin and a tiny little nose. If I had hair as gorgeous as hers, I’d never want to touch its color.
“Oh, I just dye it,” I said, not wanting to go into it. “I think I’ll have the chicken salad.”
“That’s a mistake,” the ghost grumbled. “The chicken was cooked yesterday.”
“Change that to the chicken casserole,” I said quickly.
“And to drink?”
“Sweet tea. No lemon.”
She snatched the menu. “I’m Charlie. If you need anything, let me know.”
“Thanks.”
The ghost drifted over and sat across from me. “A ghost gave you that hair. It was a gift, wasn’t it? It’s so gnarly. I just love it. Like, totally love it. Ugh. I wish I could do that to my hair, but it’s just so…great to tease, you know?”
I hated it when ghosts talked to me in public. Especially a chatterbox like this one. It’s not like I could just start spouting off to them without looking insane. I’d practiced this plenty of times, though, and found it best to answer with slight nods or shakes of the head.
So I nodded. My violet hair color was permanent. It wasn’t natural, so I couldn’t exactly have told that to Charlie the waitress.
“I died somehow,” the ghost said. “I just have no idea how. It’s so crazy. I know I’m dead, though. I’m not one of those stupid spirits who thinks they’re still alive. Totally clueless. I mean, gag me with a spoon because I’m dead, but I just deal with it. They call me the Teenybopper. Go on. Check it out.”
My gaze flickered to the pictures hanging in the restaurant. I lasered in on one of a young woman. It was her—the ghost. I rose and read the plaque beneath it.
Susan Whitby’s ghost haunts Soul Food and Spirits. She was murdered. No one was ever charged for the crime.
I sat back down. Susan studied me. “It’s so rare I have the chance to interact with someone. You are a breath of fresh air. I mean, like totally. Few ever see me, and when that happens, it’s only a glimpse but they act like it’s this huge deal. Of course the whole town is, like, spirit infested. Must be something in the water.”
“What do you want?” I said just barely above a whisper.
