Chapter 6
The same librarian was behind the desk again, wearing a different, but still yellow outfit.
“I’m returning this.” Gabriel pushed the ghostly book over the counter and watched the woman carefully as she received it, her lips pursed. He’d removed his glasses, so she’d have no reason to complain; he also hadn’t shaved today, hoping a little stubble would help disguise him during the rest of his business in town.
But more importantly, he’d cut the contract from the book, and the librarian had better not figure it out. Like a schoolboy, trying not to get called on by a teacher, Gabriel glanced around, pretending to be engrossed in a stack of books on the New Releases shelf while, from the corner of his eye, he kept tabs on the librarian.
She picked up the book, pursed her lips some more, then scanned it and put it aside. “Anything else?” she asked in a fed-up voice.
He really should get out, but all those books… He turned to the librarian with a practiced polite smile. “Actually, yes.”
Ten minutes later and five checks over his shoulder (to make certain no camera-armed bloodhound was following him) Gabriel was on the way to the general store when a delicious warm smell of freshly baked goods drew him to another building on the main street. A bakery, with display shelves practically giving way under all the goodness. Breadsticks, cinnamon rolls, croissants, blueberry muffins, one topped with chocolate… How long since he’d been to a proper bakery? There was the one near home when he was little, and whenever he’d get some pocket money, his first choice were the mouthwatering cookie sandwiches with creamy filling.
Well, he needed groceries. And this probably had better bread than the general store.
A little bell announced his entry. The place was empty, save for the woman at the counter, sporting a perm eerily similar to the librarian’s. Deep into a newspaper, she didn’t raise her eyes as she greeted him. “Good morning. How may I help you?”
“Can I get three breadsticks, two cinnamon…” Gabriel paused. Two cinnamon rolls? Ida couldn’t eat. “Uh, one…” Then he realized the woman was looking at him strangely.
No, not strangely at all. With the same suspicion as the librarian. “I’m sorry, but we’re all out of bread,” she said with a forced smile.
“There’s a lot right behind me. And behind you.”
“Yes, well, but we’re closed.” She herded him to the door.
“The sign clearly says—”
She shut the door in his face.
“Open,” he finished, just as she flipped the sign with a force that reverberated through the glass.
What the hell?
Gabriel stared at the closed door like an idiot. So much for small-town hospitality.
Only 169 days left.
After it was made clear he wouldn’t be allowed into the bakery, and the woman sent him a stink eye, he headed down the street to the general store. At least here, more customers mulled about, and no one was sending suspicious glances his way—or ones of recognition, although he did keep his head down.
Gabriel stocked up on groceries and picked up a vibrant orange kitchen utensil which, judging by the packaging, could be used to slice things in five different ways and, judging by the price, should break about five minutes into use. Then he’d only need to fix it. Busy thinking about what else he could do regarding the warm up condition, he waited for the cashier to process his order and automatically handed her his credit card.
“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t take credit cards.”
“What?” Only now he took a better look at her. Around fifty, maybe, with a perm—oh no. No.
“But the lady before me paid with a credit card.” He had to be paranoid. No way all the perm ladies in this town had it in for him.
“The machine just broke.” She shrugged, not even trying to sound convincing.
“Is there an ATM nearby?”
“Not near, no.”
And if there was, she probably wasn’t telling him. Gabriel cursed under his breath and checked his wallet. Barely any cash—who paid with cash nowadays, anyway? Stupid backwater stores—
“You’ll have to move, sir. You’re holding up the line,” the cashier said.
“There’s no one behind me,” Gabriel pointed out in a flat voice. “Ma’am, do you have a problem? Because you’re offering a product, and as a client desiring the product and having the means to purchase it, I have the right—”
“Why are you talking like this?”
“I need my peeler.” Gabriel shoved the box with the peeler and the credit card toward the cashier.
“And I can’t accept your payment!” She shoved it back.
“Oh, my god,” a male voice cut in. “Is that a Dries van Noten?”
Gabriel looked down at his gold-embroidered leather jacket, and up to the start of the aisle, where a young man in a fashionable purple jacket and tight teal pants stood. “Uh, yes?”
“You must be new to town. Hi, I’m Jason.” The man extended his hand and gave Gabriel a wide, perfectly non-fake smile. He turned to the cashier. “Dina, why are you giving this man a hard time?”
“I’m not. I simply told him we only accept cash.”
“Really.” Jason narrowed his eyes, but his expression cleared as he looked back at Gabriel. “How much do you need? Don’t worry, you can pay me back, there’s an ATM around the corner.”
“Is there, now?” Gabriel gave the cashier a pointed look. “Well, then I can—”
“No, no, please.” Jason held him up by the sleeve. “We shouldn’t let the other customers wait, should we? There.” He plopped down some bills. “This should cover mine and Mr…?”
“Van—uh, Buren.”
Dina raised an eyebrow. “Your name is van Buren?”
“Only Buren.” Gabriel tried to return the same annoying smile all these perm women gave him.
“There we go.” Jason picked up the change and winked at Gabriel. “Oh, the Engelwood peeler. Love those. I can’t believe you’d deny the man his peeler.” He shook his head in disappointment, and he and Gabriel walked out, with Gabriel throwing one last, half-suspicious, half-victorious glance past his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said once they were outside. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Maybe not, but whenever I see Dina or any of the Schuyler Sisters messing with someone, I feel like I need to defend the poor sop,” Jason said.
“The Schuyler Sisters?”
“What I call them. It’s either that or the Holy Perm Trio. Dina—you just had the pleasure of meeting her—then Marge, she works at the library, and Janice. She’s down at the bakery. They can be pretty nasty.”
“You don’t say.” Gabriel stared down the street. The librarian, the baker, and the cashier. And they all had a strange sort of dislike for him without even knowing him. “Do they not like strangers?”
“No, I don’t think that’s the problem. I’ve seen them being hospitable before. Too hospitable at times, if you ask me. They’re the type that turns up at your door with plates of cookies and casseroles as a welcome wagon. You should have trouble trying to get rid of them, not the other way around.”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. A welcome wagon… “Do they do that for all new arrivals?”
“Probably. Small town and all that. Although if you ask me—really, a casserole? Could’ve at least gone with a fruitcake—I’ve got this recipe from my grandma—”
“That’s it!” Gabriel did a one-eighty and headed to the bakery, the closest of the three lairs.
“But the ATM…” Jason caught up with him.
“In a minute. Can you hold this?” Gabriel passed him the peeler and banged on the door to the bakery.
The door opened. “What on God’s green—oh.” Upon seeing him, Janice’s stink eye returned.
Gabriel lodged his leg between the door before she could close it. “I think I know what this is about. You and your two friends tried to welcome me to the neighborhood a week ago. I imagine you brought over some food, and I didn’t answer. Is that it?”
Janice crossed her arms. “We were trying to be good neighbors, Mr.…”
“Buren,” Jason helpfully supplied.
“But you weren’t interested. I assume you come from some fancy place where you care nothing for the fellow human being. So, we won’t disturb you, and in turn, please, do not disturb us.”
“The doorbell is broken,” Gabriel said. “I didn’t hear you.” He wasn’t quite sure why it was so important that these three women didn’t think the worst of him. He supposed it could be because if he were to live here for months, he’d need to buy food.
And he already had 49% of the general population in the city hating him.
“Oh.” Janice laid a hand on her chest.
“Listen. I won’t disturb you, but I’d like to get my occasional business in town done without being thwarted at every step. So how about, to make up for the welcome wagon, you all come to dinner tonight?” Gabriel looked from Janice to Jason. “You’re invited, too. Plus ones for everyone, yes?”
Janice leaned on the door. “I suppose… I’d like that.”
“She’s just curious to see the inside of the house,” Jason remarked with a smile.
“Then dinner it is.”
Janice nodded, and Gabriel returned the nod.
“I wouldn’t mind my money back now,” Jason whispered to him. “Unless you have any connections that would get me one of those jackets with a discount. Then we can negotiate.”
***
When Ida came out of the deer statue, Gabriel was in the kitchen, unpacking groceries, and a stack of books lay on the coffee table in the living room.
“What are these?”
Gabriel yelped, and something fell to the floor. “Jesus! You move like a…”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Anyway, those are for you, from the library. All new releases, so I think you haven’t read—I mean haunted—them yet.”
“You got me books?”
“That way, you’ll have something else to occupy your time.”
So she won’t bother him. Oh, well, it was still nice. “No one ever brought me books before.”
“They should put that in the ghost manuals. ‘If you want your house ghost to be friendly and satisfied, sacrifice to them at least three books per week.’”
She laughed. “So, the town visit went well?”
“About that.” Gabriel put a box, displaying pictures of a tacky orange device, on the counter. “I may have invited some people over for dinner.”
“You have?”
“I know it’s unexpected, and I know we didn’t talk about it—”
“That’s great!” She hopped to the kitchen. “Are they nice? Interesting? I haven’t seen more people in so long. There are so many things—”
“Ida.”
“Right. Overwhelming talking.” She calmed herself down before she’d pass through food accidentally. Too bad she’d spoil the taste—that cinnamon roll looked delicious. “What are you cooking?”
“Oh, I’m not cooking. It’s not that type of dinner. I’ve got wine, I’ll prepare some cheese and why are you looking at me like I’m the one that’s not human?”
“I am human. Just dead. And that’s not how a dinner is supposed to look like.”
“Of course it is. I’ve been to tons of them with my firm. It’s always the same. A bit of fancy alcohol, hors d’oeuvres, you walk around and charm people.”
“Maybe on your fancy lawyer parties. But people will expect actual food here.”
“The point of such dinner is to do business. You don’t need spectacular food.”
“And the point of this dinner is to make friends and enjoy yourself.” Why couldn’t he let her live vicariously through him? “Now, what did you get?”
He raised a stack of blue cheese.
“Anything other than cheese,” she said, unimpressed.
“I have at least two pounds of chicken.” A bag of mixed chicken pieces landed on the counter. “They didn’t have any pre-made dishes.”
“Your loss is your guests’ victory. Open a website with recipes, please.”
“Fine. But I’m not cooking anything insane.” With more grumbling, Gabriel brought the laptop to the dining table and opened up a page. He turned to her. “Well?”
“You don’t know how to cook.”
Gabriel crossed his hands over his chest. “So what?”
“Nothing.” Shrugging, she glided to the laptop. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
“Oh, I’m not worrying. I can cook, if I choose to. It just so happens I don’t choose it often.”
Ida only gave him a knowing smile and disappeared into the laptop. Did even recipe websites have a slight taste of food? There was something meaty about it, besides the usual metallic, electronic zing she felt every time she haunted a computer. She popped back out. “Here’s the deal. I say we make some gorgeous marinara, put a little of citrus zest in there, soak it in real well, throw it in the pan until it gets that lovely, lovely char, top it up with some sautéed veggies and a dash of spiced rice. Yes?”
Gabriel stared at her.
“What?”
“You’re speaking like a TV chef.”
“Well, yes, I did just haunt an entire recipe site. So…” She tapped her foot. “Are we going to do this? Or is it above your skill level?”
Gabriel opened a cabinet and grabbed a pan. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”
Three pieces of badly charred chicken and one burned pan later
“Surely it can’t be that hard to make chicken.” Ida glided up and down the kitchen.
“The recipe must be faulty.” Gabriel waved a wooden spoon around, spraying the counter with bits of marinade.
“Men. Always blame it on something else.”
“If it’s not the recipe, then what?”
“Fine.” Ida sat on the counter, the stove between her and Gabriel’s mess of a working station, and dangled her legs in the air. “Then we’ll try another recipe.” She closed her eyes, mentally sifting through the information absorbed from the website. “We have parmesan chicken, chicken meatballs, pozole…”
“Oh, no. I’m not making pozole.” He poked at the charred chicken. “My abuelita made the best pozole. She’d have my head from the great beyond if I attempted one and failed.” A half-dreamy smile spread across his face.
Ida let him enjoy the nostalgia for a moment, then went in for the kill. “So you do admit you suck at cooking.”
Gabriel frowned and sprayed her with bits of marinade, which went straight through and stained the counter.
Ida laughed. “Okay. No pozole.”
“It would have to cook for hours, anyway. No, we’re gonna figure this one out.” Gabriel crouched to be at level with the stove, and stared the chicken down.
Persistent. That’s why she knew he was the right choice for the contract. Besides being the only choice.
“Wait!” She jumped off the counter. “The stove! The information about the heat is wrong. On page three of the comments, cookinggoddess34 says she has a gas stove—like us—and you roast it until the skin is crispy, then you put it in the oven. No more stove.”
“Cookinggoddess34?”
“She’s got a real beef with MissPeriwinkle.” Ida nodded wisely. “Apparently there are chicken—or general meat—wars out there.”
“Alright. We’ll try the oven.”
“Just be careful with charring.”
“I know.” Gabriel put new pieces of chicken into the pan, poked one piece, and frowned hard.
He looked rather handsome, even when he frowned like that. “Don’t squeeze them in. They need to have their space, or they’ll cook instead of roast.”
“This good?”
She glided closer. “I think so.”
“I’ll flip if the guests arrive and say all they expected was cheese,” Gabriel grumbled, although his tone didn’t reach full annoyance.
“Your cheese-only parties sound rather dull.”
“Not at all. You can establish valuable connections. Meet future clients. In fact, I met my…”
“Your who?” she prodded, when he didn’t continue.
“No one. Never mind.”
As curious as she was—his best client? Future boss? Or someone closer?—Ida knew she wouldn’t get anything out of him if he didn’t want it. So she returned to a more tasteful topic. “But clearly, you knew good food once. The pozole in that picture looked delicious. I wish I could try it. Any of this, really.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, not the one you burned to a crisp.”
“It’s just chicken.”
“Yes, but it would be all new to me. Culinary arts have improved over the past century. Although I’m glad we’re not in the fifties anymore. Lots of boiled stuff. Wouldn’t want to try that.”
“Can you? Try it?”
She sat back on the counter. “I can haunt it, but it will spoil it for you. The taste won’t be right anymore.”
“But you’ll be able to taste it while you haunt it.”
“A little bit, yes. I can feel it, just like I feel other objects. I think it’s done, by the way.”
Gabriel touched the crispy skin and, with a nod of approval, transferred the chicken into the oven.
“Your fancy party people wouldn’t know what hit them,” she said.
He laughed.
“Did you live in one of those big cities I see on TV, with tall glass buildings?”
“Yeah. My apartment is in one of those.”
“Do you miss it?”
Gabriel kneeled and stared at the oven. His tone was a touch too light when he responded, “I don’t have to miss it. A little more than five months, and I’ll go back.”
Ida was grateful her skin couldn’t show any changes, lest Gabriel see a very ugly shade of green. To him, this was just temporary. He’d never feel imprisoned here. In a few months, he’d be back to his old life, and probably forget all about this one. She could imagine his apartment, too—fancy shining white furniture one was afraid to touch, with windows all around, showing a stunning panorama with twinkling city lights. It wasn’t that she badly desired to live in a place like that—if she had a choice, she’d actually prefer a cute house in the country—but for Gabriel, that was reality, and for her, reality didn’t exist anymore.
It didn’t matter anyway, did it? When Gabriel left, she’d be gone, too. If he stayed as persistent for the entirety of the contract, by the time his lease was up, she’d be long gone.
A blip of regret—she’d miss afternoons like this—came and went, and she forced herself back to the task at hand. “Smells delicious already,” she said with a slightly forced cheer.
“You can smell it?”
“Nah. Just thought I’d give you some moral support.”
“Well, it does smell delicious, even if I say so myself.” Gabriel kept his eyes glued to the oven, one hand on the handle.
“If I see your grandma in the great beyond, I’ll tell her you made fantastic chicken. Pozole or not.”
The gentleness in Gabriel’s eyes as he looked at her made the regret rise again. She knew she had to go, that it was the best for her… but it was rather terrifying to think once she was gone for real, she’d never experience anything ever again.
Was it too much to hope they had cooking in the great beyond? “You know what,” Gabriel said. “If this turns out well—”
“Which it will, obviously, because you know how to cook.”
He nodded with a smile. “I’m sure there’ll be a piece for you to haunt.”
“Really?”
“You can have half of my portion. After all this help, you deserve it. You’d make a good hostess.”
Even in praise, Gabriel’s voice had a slight edge to it—no objections allowed. She might have to object on this one, though. A good hostess? He’d be the only one who ever thought so.