Given Clare’s lifelong disdain for the good people of Harbor View—and their mutual indifference and occasional hostility—I doubted anyone would show up.
Still, she had a history of contributing to a handful of area charities that supported unhoused people. I never knew that until I’d received a note from one of them, letting me know she’d donated on my behalf. Maybe I shouldn’t pass up the possibility that some kindhearted soul looking for a tax deduction might give something in Clare’s name.
In the end, the options came down to a notice in the local paper and a memorial service, with the gathering to be held in the chapel at the cemetery.
Amy wasn’t done yet, though. Burial or cremation?
Now, that was a biggie. Clare had once told me she didn’t want to be stuck in some forgotten plot to ‘rot alone.’ But would cremation really solve that? Would scattering her ashes at sea or putting them in an urn on my kitchen shelf make her feel any less abandoned?
I told her I’d get back with an answer in a few days. As long as I didn’t take too long, I was warned.
Then, there was Clare’s antiques business. This was a whole other minefield I wasn’t quite ready to walk through.
My to-do list seemed to go on and on. And with each decision I faced, pangs of doubt drove themselves into my brain like six-inch spikes. Worse than the fact of getting any of it wrong, I couldn’t help but wonder if my mother would find a way to haunt me?
She definitely would. I loved her deeply, but she had a streak of spitefulness in her that was wider than the Long Island Sound.
Arthur was, as always, the perfect host. Not just because it came naturally for him, but because he loved us. Sitting at the dinner table in his spacious apartment above the bookstore, I felt as comfortable as a cat in a sunny window. It was the first time in days that I’d felt the pressure in my head and chest ease a little.
I listened to Arthur and Ocean talking about Harbor View and my daughter’s memories of her grandmother. The warmth of the conversation and the comfort of not having to think for a little while were exactly what I needed.
Until Ocean changed the subject.
“These houses are haunted, aren’t they.”
Her question came out of nowhere. It was so blunt and unexpected that I nearly choked on my food.
“What are you talking about?”
“Ghosts.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow at me, unspoken questions written all over his face. What have you done? Did you tell her? How does she know?
Across the table, my daughter just stared at me, waiting.
“Where did you get that idea?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.
“Strange stuff in Grandma’s house. And books flying off the shelves in the bookstore.”
“Honey, there are no ghosts.”
The words left a sour taste. I hated lying. But the truth wasn’t an option. Not yet. Not with everything else I had to figure out.
I’d already scheduled an appointment for Friday with Karen White, the only real estate agent in town who could actually move a piece of property.
Earlier, when I got back from the funeral parlor, I knew something was off with Ocean. She’d been quiet. Guarded. I’d found her sitting with a stack of books from Arthur’s store, but as soon as I walked in, she shoved them aside and looked up at me.
Then, without any buildup, she started in. She didn’t want to leave her grandmother’s house. Said she wasn’t ready. Asked if we could stay longer.
That’s when I decided not to mention the appointment with the real estate agent. Instead, I made it sound like staying more than a couple of weeks was still an option. We’d leave when we were ready. Both of us.
That wasn’t too far from the truth. Before we could leave, I needed to get to the bottom of Clare’s death. The sheriff wasn’t going to lift a finger unless we handed him something concrete to investigate. Arthur had already left a message with the neighbor in New York, which only added to the uncertainty. And that was another reason I couldn’t finalize the funeral arrangements. What if they needed the body? I didn’t want to risk destroying evidence.
Jeez, I really had to stop watching CSI.
I was caught in a tangle. Trying to sell the house, figure out what really happened to Clare, and find a way to say goodbye. The last thing I needed was for Ocean to find out about Jo. And worse, for her to bond with our ghost the way I had. If they got attached, God help us.
It would be a disaster.
