Chapter 3 #2
“Bridgette,” she calls, putting her shoulder into it. “What did you do?”
“Nothing!” Bridgette calls back. Frannie feels a light tug from the other side, but the door remains firmly shut.
Frannie would arch an eyebrow, if she could. “Uh huh. Please open the door.”
“We’re trying,” Michael says, and he almost sounds sincere.
“Your ghost powers don’t work on jammed doors?” she calls.
“No,” Bridgette replies, while Michael says, “They don’t do wood.”
Frannie snorts. “What, like a sonic screwdriver?”
“See, I told you she’s a live wire,” she hears Bridgette mutter.
Frannie would laugh, but she’s getting a bit anxious. As cute as the two scheming ghost children are, if security finds her here …
“Guys, you’ve got to get me out.”
She fumbles in her pockets and realizes she doesn’t even have her phone. Either she’ll have to scream loud enough to get someone’s attention, or she’ll starve to death in Apartment 26. She wonders if that would increase or decrease the value.
“Kids, please, this isn’t funn—”
The door flies open, and she pitches forward, falling out of the pantry until two lithe, strong arms catch her under the armpits. Static electricity courses through her body.
Frannie looks up into Hot Ghost Mom’s deeply unimpressed face. She releases Frannie immediately. Pushing her away, she quickly steps backward, allowing Frannie to move out and into the kitchen.
“This is what you consider staying away from the children?” Hot Ghost Mom asks, arms crossed tightly across her chest.
Frannie takes a second to get her bearings. Her skin is tingling where Hot Ghost Mom touched her. It’s a stronger sensation than it is with Bridgette, like Hot Ghost Mom is more statically charged—crackling, almost.
It’s not entirely unpleasant.
“We asked her,” Bridgette says from behind Hot Ghost Mom.
Both kids look suitably chastened.
“She could have said no,” Hot Ghost Mom replies, still staring Frannie down.
“Have you ever met anyone who wouldn’t want to see this place?” Frannie asks indignantly.
Hot Ghost Mom’s lips twitch. “It is rather spectacular.”
“Why don’t you guys live here?” Frannie asks, looking past Hot Ghost Mom. “There’s plenty of room.”
“It rather lacks furniture,” Hot Ghost Mom says dryly.
“Right. Well. Thank you for not letting me become part of its sordid history,” Frannie says, looking back at Hot Ghost Mom. “It does seem like the door jamming was an accident.”
“It does seem that way, yes,” Hot Ghost Mom agrees, glancing back at the kids, who look away innocently. “It also seems you have no spine when it comes to Bridgette.”
“Do you?” Frannie asks. Hot Ghost Mom gives Frannie a sardonic look. But Frannie’s not convinced. “If you’re so concerned, I’d think you’d be keeping better track of her.”
“Bridgette’s more than capable of independent play. She had specific instructions,” Hot Ghost Mom says, glancing over her shoulder again.
Bridgette looks away.
“What did you have to do that was so important?” Frannie asks, feeling bad for Bridgette. All of Hot Ghost Mom’s rules sound pretty arbitrary to her.
There’s that perfectly sculpted eyebrow again. “I beg your pardon?”
“If the kids are so delicate they need constant guidance and supervision, what were you doing that was so important you weren’t with Bridgette?” Frannie asks.
“What business is it of yours how I spend my day?” Hot Ghost Mom replies.
Frannie throws up her hands. “It’s only fair! You can appear anywhere you want, see anything you want. If you’re going to be mad at me for letting the kids show me something cool, the least you can do is explain what keeps you so busy.”
See, she’s got a spine. She just rarely manages to use it.
Hot Ghost Mom stares at her for a beat. “I read,” she says slowly.
Frannie nods. “I knew that.”
“You did.”
“Bridgette mentioned you like Henry’s books. He’s almost done with the newest one. So, I assume you like literary fiction.”
Hot Ghost Mom looks a little surprised. “I do.”
“She also likes mysteries,” Bridgette pipes up behind them. “She was reading a Victorian mystery the other week she couldn’t put down.”
A frisson of shock passes over Frannie’s neck. She can feel a flush prematurely climbing up her cheeks. There’s no way Hot Ghost Mom was reading her book, is there?
“I also spend much of my time keeping the tenants humble,” Hot Ghost Mom says, almost a little too quickly.
Frannie’s probably just reading something into her voice that isn’t there, in the desperate, odd hope that maybe, just maybe, this hot, intimidating woman—
“Like Maude Loit,” Michael says. Hot Ghost Mom glances at him, as if surprised he’s talking.
“And Mr. Wurch,” Bridgette adds. “He used to belittle Joan and—”
“I haunt people who deserve to be haunted,” Hot Ghost Mom says, looking at Bridgette, eyes a little narrowed. Bridgette frowns back.
“Bridgette’s been haunting me for at least six months, so I guess I’ve done something to deserve it?” Frannie asks, surprised by the urge to get Bridgette off the hook for … whatever that comment was going to be.
Hot Ghost Mom looks back at Frannie, lips quirking upward. “You think taking field trips with my daughter is being haunted?”
Frannie looks at Bridgette, who’s giggling, then Michael, who starts to smile. “Do you have a different definition?”
“You’d know if we were actually haunting you,” Hot Ghost Mom says.
“So I haven’t earned it?” Frannie can’t help but ask.
Hot Ghost Mom considers her, head cocked. Frannie decides the other woman—ghost—is amused, not that she thinks Frannie’s an idiot. Or at least she hopes so. She almost looks intrigued, which is interesting in all kinds of ways Frannie doesn’t want to interrogate.
“Your only sin is your inherent impermanence,” Hot Ghost Mom says.
“My impermanence,” Frannie repeats, surprised.
“And as I’ve said, you could stand to grow a backbone. Make Henry let you work out of his apartment, and let you leave at standard business hours.”
“I’m not exactly in a position to—” Frannie starts, but Hot Ghost Mom’s already turning away and corralling the kids.
“Don’t you have edits to do?” she tosses over her shoulder, taking both kids’ arms.
They disappear before Frannie can get another word in. And then Frannie’s left standing alone in Apartment 26.
Seriously, what the hell?