Chapter 5
Abby woke to the sound of hammering. Again. She'd gotten used to it over the past week. The wake-up call announced that Rick's crew had arrived to continue their demolition of her pool. She rolled over and checked her phone. Seven forty-five. Close enough.
Coffee first. Then she'd face the day.
She shuffled to the kitchen in her pajamas and started the coffee maker. While it brewed, she wandered to the back door to check on the progress. The gaping hole in the ground was surrounded by piles of broken concrete. Rick had promised they'd start on the new plumbing today. One step closer.
She poured her coffee and carried it to the front door, intending to check if the newspaper had arrived. She wasn't even sure why she'd subscribed—force of habit, maybe, from all those years with Donald insisting on a physical paper every morning.
The door swung open, and she stopped.
Another plant.
This one was bigger than the plumeria, a bird of paradise in a ceramic pot painted with bright tropical flowers. The orange and blue blooms stood tall and proud, already open and reaching toward the morning sun.
Her heart did a little jump. Not fear this time, but excitement. The ghost had returned.
Unless it was from Levi. Maybe it was an apology plant.
She set down her coffee mug and crouched beside the plant, running her fingers along one of the vivid petals. The ceramic pot was rather heavy. Someone had carried this up onto her porch in the dark and left it without making a sound.
No ribbon this time. No card. Just the plant itself. Levi would leave a note—right? Or maybe he would just assume she would know it was from him.
She looked up and down the street. Empty. The neighbors' houses were quiet, the curtains still drawn. Whoever had left this was long gone.
Abby picked up the plant and carried it inside. She set it on the kitchen counter next to the plumeria, which was thriving despite her questionable plant care skills.
The ghost was definitely paying attention.
She pulled out her phone, took a picture of the bird of paradise, and sent it to Meg.
Abby: The ghost strikes again.
Meg: Lucky you! That's a gorgeous plant. Coffee today?
Abby: Absolutely. 10?
Meg: Perfect. My place or yours?
Abby: Yours. I need to escape the construction noise.
Meg: See you then.
Abby spent the next hour getting ready, her mind circling back to the plant. Someone had been on her porch. Again. In the dark. Again. Leaving gifts.
It should have felt invasive. It did feel a little invasive. But mostly it felt... intriguing.
She'd spent weeks accepting the Ghost of Sanibel as an unsolvable mystery, something the island just did. But standing in her kitchen looking at two beautiful plants that someone had gone to considerable effort to deliver, she realized she didn't want to accept it anymore.
She wanted to know who to thank. She wanted to do something nice for the ghost. She had a feeling the ghost was busy bringing joy to everyone else. Who was bringing him or her joy?
By the time she pulled into Meg's driveway, she'd made up her mind. Meg opened the door before Abby could knock, holding two mugs of iced coffee.
"I saw you pull up," Meg said, handing her a mug. "Come on, let's sit on the porch. It's too nice to be inside."
They settled into wicker chairs that had seen better days but were comfortable in that broken-in way. The new pillows were on the matching wicker couch adjacent to the chairs. Meg's porch overlooked a small garden bursting with color.
"So," Meg said, "another visit from the ghost. That's two now, right?"
"Three, if you count the tile." Abby took a sip of her coffee. It was perfectly sweet, the way she liked it. "I've been thinking about it."
"Uh-oh."
"I want to figure out who it is."
Meg's eyebrows rose. "You want to catch the ghost?"
"Yes."
Meg set down her mug. "Abby, people have been trying to catch the ghost for decades. No one's ever succeeded."
"I know. You've told me. Everyone's told me. But I'm not everyone."
"What makes you think you'll have better luck?"
"Because I'm motivated." Abby leaned forward. "And because I have time. And resources. And a brain that needs something to focus on that isn't Levi Quinn or my pool renovation or how much I miss my old life even though I don't actually miss it at all."
Meg laughed. "Okay, that's fair. But seriously, this is a well-established mystery. The teenagers did a whole stakeout a few years ago with cameras and motion sensors. They got nothing."
"How did they do it?"
"Set up cameras at the houses that had recently gotten gifts. Watched the footage. The problem was, the ghost knew they were doing it and just went to other houses instead."
"Smart."
"Very smart. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Whoever this is, they're good at not getting caught."
Abby swirled the ice in her coffee. "What if I approached it differently? Not trying to catch them in the act but figuring out who they are through the process of elimination."
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But there have to be patterns. Times of day, types of gifts, and which houses get visited. Someone must have kept track."
"If they have, I've never heard about it." Meg picked up her mug again. "But I'll help you. This sounds way more fun than refinishing my deck, which is what I was planning to do this week."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. I love a good mystery. And you're right—there have to be patterns. We just need to find them."
They spent the next hour brainstorming. Meg grabbed a notebook, and they started making lists, including who had received gifts they knew of, what kinds of gifts, and approximately when the gifts had appeared.
"Martha and Ed got a shell wreath three years ago," Meg said, writing it down. "Dottie got wind chimes last year. Caroline, across from you, got a painted stepping stone about six months ago."
"Who else?"
"Barbara at the bakery got a set of dish towels with embroidered flowers. Linda at the yoga studio got a bird feeder. The Mitchells got a baby basket when their daughter was born." Meg tapped the pen against the notebook. "There's more, but I can't remember them all off the top of my head."
"We need to talk to people. Ask them directly."
"That's going to raise some eyebrows. People will want to know why you're asking."
"So? Let them wonder. I'm not ashamed of being curious."
Meg grinned. "I like this version of you. Very determined."
"I've had practice recently."
They talked through possible approaches. Who to talk to first and what questions to ask. Abby felt energy building in her chest. This was something she could control, something she could actually do. She loved mysteries. And now she was becoming her very own version of Nancy Drew.
"You know," Meg said after a while, "even if we don't figure it out, this could be fun. Getting to know more people, hearing their stories. The ghost is kind of woven into the fabric of this place. Learning about the gifts means learning about the island."
"I hadn't thought of it that way."
"It's true, though. Every gift tells you something about the person who received it. And about the person who gave it. We could write a book of sorts. Not a whole book, but just something we could give out.”
“Or a website,” Abby suggested.
“Oh, I like it.”
“But what if we find the ghost and they want to remain anonymous?” Abby asked. “I don’t want to exploit the person for clicks.”
“If we find the ghost, we’ll get their approval. If we don’t find the ghost, we make it more of a fun thing. A piece of history.”
“Good. I like that.”
They finished their coffee and made plans to start the investigation the next day. Meg would come over in the morning, and they'd go door to door together. Casual conversations, just neighbors being neighborly. Nothing suspicious.
When she got home, Rick waved from across the yard.
"Plumbing's going in tomorrow," he called. "You're going to start seeing real progress now."
"Great," she called back.
Inside, the house was blessedly quiet. She made herself a sandwich and ate it at the counter, looking at the two plants the ghost had left her. They were bright and beautiful, just her style. She glanced at the furniture she’d picked out—the same bold colors.
Someone had chosen these specifically for her. Someone had thought about what she might like and what would make her smile.
Her phone buzzed—a text from Levi.
Levi: Thinking about you. Hope you're having a good day.
She smiled despite herself. They were okay. Not perfect, not uncomplicated, but okay. And that was enough for now.
Abby: Good day. Got another gift from the ghost. Meg and I are going to figure out who it is.
Levi: Good luck with that. People have been trying for years.
Abby: So I've heard. But I'm stubborn.
Levi: I've noticed. Let me know if you crack the case.
She laughed, imagining herself wearing a hat and holding a magnifying glass. Very sleuthy.
Abby: You'll be the first to know.
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see Gerald. He was picking his way carefully around the construction debris. He stood at the edge of the torn-up pool area and seemed to glare at it.
"I know," Abby said through the screen. "It's a mess. But it's going to be beautiful when it's done. Promise."
The heron ignored her and began his inspection of what remained of his territory.