She nods her head. “I understand. I’m not asking anyone to do anything they’re not comfortable with. This is my problem, and I’ll do it myself.”
She opens the door and exits the car, walking toward the gate.
“Are we really going to let her do this?” Nina asks, glancing between Corinne and me.
“I don’t think there’s any stopping her,” I admit, watching as Lanie fusses with the chain.
“You know…there’s a better way.”
My head snaps toward the voice, eyes widening when I see the ghost who should not be here.
Isla.
12
Six of Pentacles
“What are youdoing here?” I ask, finding Isla sitting next to me.
She squirms in her seat, a self-satisfied smirk adorning her pretty face.
“I’ve been here the whole time. Just decided to show myself to offer help,” she declares, her tone brimming with confidence.
I shake my head, exchanging a glance with Corinne in the rearview mirror, noticing her puzzled expression.
“Who’s here?” she inquires, turning to look at the empty space beside me.
“Isla,” I reply, gesturing vaguely. “She’s here to offer her assistance, apparently.”
Corinne turns back to Nina. “Who’s Isla?”
“Nick’s ex-fiancée,” Nina whispers.
“Dead ex-fiancée,” Isla corrects with a ghostly chuckle. I clear my throat, opting not to share that particular detail with Corinne and Nina.
“What’s your suggestion then?” I ask, refocusing on the reason for Isla’s appearance.
“If you walk around the cemetery, there’s a shorter wall,” Isla suggests, motioning toward the graveyard.
“How short are we talking?” I ask, eyeing the direction she pointed to.
“Short enough for all of you to scale over it with a boost. That tall girl out there could probably do it on her own.”
“How is she here?” Corinne’s head tilts to the side, a picture of perplexity.
“You shouldn’t be here…but you are.” I glance toward the cemetery. “Are you buried in there?” I ask, coming to the most logical conclusion.
“Yes, but that’s not how you’re seeing me,” she says cryptically.
Nina turns around, her expression questioning, and I respond with a casual shrug, returning to the specter.
“So…enlighten me.”
A mischievous grin stretches across her delicate features, and instantly my senses prick with apprehension. What is she up to?
“Check your purse.”
I rummage through the contents of my purse, my fingers sifting through the usual clutter until they brush against something cold and made of metal. With a curious furrow of my brow, I extract the object, revealing a man’s wedding ring.
