Her gaze darted to my cider. “Even though I would rather be gagged by a spoon than drink that gasoline, I have to admit it smells yummy.”
“You can’t smell,” I reminded her. “You’re dead.”
She made a little squeaking noise as if to disagree with me.
My fingers curled around the cup, hard. “Susan Whitby, you tell me right now who showed up at the house or I swear that I will send you into the light right this second.”
Her eyes flared. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would. Don’t tempt me.”
“Fine, but you’re not going to like it.”
“Try me,” I ground out. “Now, who the heck was it?”
In the background I heard Ruth yelling at Alice to be still. “We’ve almost got you out,” she shouted.
Susan peeked around me. “What’s going on in there? Is there, like, some kind of Christmas party going on?” She made an obscene gesture with her fingers suggesting that it was the sort of party that didn’t require clothing.
“No,” I snapped. “There is nothing inappropriate happening at the inn. Wow. I can just about see the light opening up. The big man is ready to welcome you into his arms.”
“Okay!” She held up her hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll tell you who it was, but don’t get mad at me about it.”
A knock came from the kitchen door. My brows pinched in confusion. “Who is that?”
“My guess is it’s the spirit that followed me here.”
“Spirit?” I stopped. “You didn’t say it was a spirit. You said it was a someone.”
Now my hackles were up. Why was a spirit showing up at my house? And why did this same spirit have Susan’s panties all in a knot?
“Who is it?”
“Just answer it.” Susan whistled while staring at the ceiling. “Like y’all say nowadays—you’ve got this, girl.”
Cold dread washed over me. Was a spirit seeking revenge standing on the other side of that door? If that was the case, I needed to be ready. It was Christmas, after all, the time for revenge in the spirit world. “You tell me who it is, or I swear that I will never ask Roan over ever again.”
That got her. She loved trying to see him naked. I knew it! “You wouldn’t dare!”
I smirked. “I would. Now, spill it.” I pointed to the door. “Before I open that, I want to know who or what I’ll be facing.”
“You are most seriously not going to like it,” she said in her Valley Girl voice.
“I know. That’s why I want to be prepared.”
“Okay. You asked for it.”
But as Susan opened her mouth to confess who was searching me out, the doorknob turned and the door floated open. A spirit that I hadn’t seen in a while—and whom I had in fact sent into the light—appeared.
He wore a suit that was white on one side and black on the other, Cruella de Vil style. His white hair drifted behind him, and the top hat he wore was also half black and white.
The spirit lit up a ghostly filterless cigarette and spoke. “Blissful Breneaux, it’s been a while.”
My throat shriveled. In a small voice I replied, “Why, Lucky Strike, the baddest spirit I know. I thought I sent you on up to the Big Man.”
His lips quirked in amusement. “You sure did, but now I’m back.”
My stomach quivered, but I would not let Lucky know that. I folded my arms and glared. “To what do I owe this honor?”
