As much as I wanted to continue having an inane discussion about the fictional patient blacklist, all talking stopped when a smartly dressed man wearing white patent shoes, a fur coat and a white fedora with a feather sticking from it approached the door.
“Oh, looks like we’ve got our first Christmas caroler,” Alice said, clapping.
“I don’t think he’s going to sing us any songs,” Ruth murmured.
“Is he even coming in here?”
Okay, so the three of us were literally staring at this man through the glass. It could not be helped, because y’all, it wasn’t every day you saw a man in a fur coat strolling down the street in Alabama.
With a flick of his hand, he opened the door and stepped inside. The man took one look around our shop, staring in confusion at the knitted baby booties that littered Alice’s desk.
He pulled his leather gloves off and slapped them onto his left palm. “Is this the Southern Ghost Wranglers?”
The words rolled off his tongue in a heavy Latin accent.
“It is,” I said. “I’m Blissful Breneaux, the ghost hunter.”
“I know who you are,” he said in that heavy accent of his.
A long, uncomfortable pause ensued. Thinking that he wanted me to continue, I offered, “How can I help you?”
“It is not me that needs the help. My employer is Zelda Zimmerman, the great medium.”
“Oh, Zelda Zimmerman!” Alice turned to me. “She’s local and very famous.”
I’d never heard of her.
Ruth spoke. “What does Mrs. Zimmerman require of us? Does she need our services? Want to join forces to battle a spirit?”
The young man looked down his nose at that suggestion. “Mrs. Zimmerman does not battle spirits. She is much too good for such lowly work.”
Well, I suppose that made me part of the working class. If Zelda was anything like Ricky Ricardo here, I wasn’t sure that I’d be interested in helping her at all.
“What can we do for you?” I asked.
“My employer requests your presence at her annual Christmas séance.”
“Séance?” I said doubtfully.
“Yes,” Ricky confirmed.
Alice crossed over and whispered in my ear. “It’s a big deal, Blissful. It’s by invitation only, and it’s supposed to be the real thing.”
Mediums who held séances were, as far as I was concerned, full of bull malarky. Those people were usually hacks who used tricks that they worked under the table to make it seem like the spirit of a dead loved one was present.
I wasn’t interested.
I lifted my hand. “Sorry. That isn’t something that I’d like to—”
“She can contact your dead father,” Ricky said.
It felt like Ricky had knocked the air from my lungs. How could Zelda know that I was searching for my father? Had Lucky gone to her?
My back stiffened. My hackles rose. “Look, I don’t know what kind of sham you’re pulling, but—”
“No sham.” Ricky smiled because he knew that he had me. “Zelda Zimmerman is a great medium. As I said, she requests your presence.” He pulled a card from his coat pocket and pushed it into my hands. “We expect to see you there. You can bring one guest.”
With that, Ricky Ricardo turned on his heel and, with a full swing of his hips, disappeared out the door and down the street.
