Alice tapped her temple. “But in the mind, Ruth. I’m finally a genius in the mind.”
Ruth swatted at Alice. “Blissful, what’s your plan?”
“I’ll see if Susan will enter the house. Take a look around.” I clapped my hands. “It’s perfect. Then if she finds the canister, she can zip it right to me.”
Ruth smiled. “That is a perfect plan. I like it.”
“Me too,” Alice chimed. “Of course that’s a given seeing how I was the one who came up with it.”
It finally dawned on me that Pepper wasn’t around. “Where’s Pepper?”
Ruth thumbed through her notebook of messages. “Oh, Axel picked her up. I think they were going out for some lunch. They’ll meet up with you later, they said. I think they were hoping you’d have the ghost tube by then.”
I grimaced. “I hope so. If this spirit is as angry as I think he’ll be when he gets released, I’m going to need all the help I can get.”
I grabbed my purse from the chair and headed toward the door. “But first things first. Find Susan.”
Which turned out to be impossible. Susan was nowhere to be found in my house. She wasn’t filing her nails or smacking gum or perusing my fridge for a treat. No, Susan Whitby had disappeared.
The day faded fast. I knew I needed to get that tube away from Fannie in case she had anything crazy planned. I don’t know what sort of crazy thing she might have up her sleeve, but you never knew with old ladies. Or at least ones that drank Johnny Walker and lived in a houseful of stuffed cats.
There was only one other choice—the cemetery.
I hadn’t traipsed through the Oaks in weeks. But I parked my truck to the side right at sunset and waited for the light to dim until only a smear of pink remained of the day.
I headed over to a patch of crumbling tombstones. None of the spirits were particularly quick to appear, so I sat on a marker and folded my arms from the cold.
After a couple of minutes, just when the first stars winked in the sky, someone spoke.
“And what brings you here tonight, my dear?”
My gaze flickered to a spirit floating in my direction. He was tall, midfifties or so with a long curling mustache. He wore the uniform of a Confederate soldier beautifully, as if it had been tailored just for him.
Maybe it had. I would need to ask.
“Hello, Captain Blount.”
He removed his hat with a flourish and bowed low. “It is a pleasure to see you, Miss Blissful. Might I have your hand?”
I extended it, and Captain Blount’s ghostly fingers pricked my skin as he kissed my flesh with his transparent mouth.
“Ah, there is nothing like the warmth of the living to remind a man he’s dead.”
“Not sure that’s a compliment.” I slid my hand into my back pocket. “But I’ll take it.”
“Rest assured”—he winked—“it is.”
“Who’s that over there?” A tiny woman I referred to as Granny Mildred floated to us. “Oh, it’s that woman who’s not a Yankee but might as well be.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“What I mean”—Granny interrupted herself to spit—“is that you shore do act like a Yankee but you use the word ‘y’all.’”
I leaned on one hip and studied her. “What do you mean, I act like a Yankee?”
She gestured around the cemetery. “You always come in here wanting things from us but won’t take up picketing on our behalf.”
I rubbed my face and sighed. I wanted to poke my eyes out. Every time I came here, it was the same thing. I mean, these spirits were a freaking broken record. It exhausted me to run through the same conversation repeatedly.
