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“Who’s Bastian Gorman?” I asked, glancing curiously between the two of them.

“Weird Bastian Gorman?” Diccon arched an eyebrow at Chase.

“He’s not weird, he’s just eclectic,” Chase said. “Bastian just took over the funeral home last year. His family has run the place for almost a hundred years. He’s the fourth generation to manage it. He might even know some of the lore about the reclusive millionaire who built the place.”

“So Bastian Gorman is a funeral director?” I rubbed the back of my neck as I considered it. I guessed a funeral director would know a lot about dead people, and ghosts were essentially dead people.

“Not just that,” Chase said, his smile growing. “He’s also an amateur ghost hunter.”

A whole bunch of pieces fell into place, and I perked up. “Okay, that sounds great.”

“And he’s weird,” Diccon said.

“So are you,” Chase argued. “We’re all weird.”

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being weird,” Diccon defended himself. “I think weird people are the best. But Bastian is in a league of his own.” He glanced past me out the café’s front window, then said, “Speak of the devil.”

We all turned and looked across the street. The funeral home was set back slightly from the sidewalk by a thick patch of well-tended grass and a narrow garden bed that sat on either side of the path leading to the old stone building’s slightly gothic front door. The man that I was assuming was Bastian Gorman had just stepped outside.

He wore an ankle-length black coat that reminded me of something a duke would wear in a Jane Austen costume drama. His skin was so pale I noticed it across the distance. And his hair was bright red. Not ginger red, like Theo Callihan, but fire engine red. Blood red.

He looked exactly like the kind of man who would know a thing or two about haunted houses.

“Amateur ghost hunter, eh?” I asked, my smile growing and excitement building in me.

“Yep,” Chase said. “I think he was even a guest on an episode of some ghost hunting show once.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that,” Diccon said. “He spooked the hosts. It was hysterical.”

I hoped he meant that kindly. He probably did. Diccon was a great guy and I’d never seen him be unkind once.

Of course, to know whether Diccon was being a little mean or whether he was just stating fact by saying Bastian Gorman was weird, I would have to meet Bastian Gorman myself. And hey, since I was on a quest to meet the neighbors and integrate into the community anyhow, I couldn’t see why I shouldn’t go introduce myself.

“Thanks,” I said, stepping away from Diccon and Chase. “I’m going to go introduce myself.”

“Here,” Diccon said, racing over to the counter and grabbing the Manchego wheel. “Take this to him as a welcome gift.”

“Dude, that’s our Manchego,” Chase protested with a laugh.

I accepted the cheese back again with a broad smile. “Great idea,” I said, holding up the cheese and nodding. “I’ll let you know how it goes.” I turned to leave and called over my shoulder, “Wish me luck!”

“Good luck,” Chase called after me. “And may God have mercy on your soul.”

CHAPTER 2

Bastian

It was happening yet again.

“I’m just not certain Gorman’s is what we’re looking for,” Danielle, the bereaved woman who sat across the parlor’s front room from me said. She had a damp tissue in one hand and her husband Nick’s hand in the other. “Mom was very traditional, you know. And while she always had good things to say about this place, I’m just not…not sure.”

“I understand,” I said, making my voice as soothing and sympathetic as I could.

I had an amazing voice and I knew it. It was all those vocal lessons my own mom had insisted I take through school when she first heard me singing along to the radio. My voice wasn’t the problem, though. Not everybody wanted a guy who looked like he might sleep in the coffins to arrange their funeral.

“If it helps, I have been part of the family business since I was a teen, and we have a devoted staff of three who have been working with my father for the past twenty years,” I added.

Translation, there were plenty of perfectly normal people at the funeral parlor who wouldn’t scare the mourners during the funeral itself.