Dog Whisperer by Nicholas Edwards Page B

answer clearly made no sense at all to him. “Is it autumn?” he asked.
    She nodded. “October.” Oh, wait, maybe that’s what he meant by “day.” “October sixteenth.”
    â€œWhat is the year?” he asked.
    For some reason, that was the sort of thing she would have expected a ghost to know. Not that they would be reading newspapers or whatever, but shouldn’t they have inside information? Maybe nothing worked at all the way she had imagined that it would. “2012,” she said.
    He looked shocked. “Are you sure?”
    Of course she was, but for a second, she suddenly doubted herself. “Well—I think so,” Emily said. “I mean, yes. Definitely.”
    â€œI have been gone for longer than I thought,” he said softly. “Much, much longer.”
    It would probably be rude to say something like “So, uh, when did you die?” But, it was the obvious question. She was afraid to ask it, though, since she would sound completely tactless.
    â€œI would have thought that after so much time—” The man stopped without finishing his sentence. “I’m sorry, I must go now.”
    And with that, he disappeared again!
    *   *   *
    Emily tried not to make it obvious during dinner that she was completely distracted and finding it very hard to concentrate on the conversation—or her food. At least Zack, who kept nosing at her plate the entire time, wasn’t having trouble paying attention to food! Then again, hanging out with a ghost didn’t seem to bother him at all, either.
    Since her father had cooked the spaghetti, her mother did the dishes, and Emily helped her. Then, after her homework was all finished, she went into the den to watch television for a while.
    Her father was already in there, reading the newspaper.
    â€œIs it okay if I turn that on?” Emily asked, gesturing with the remote control.
    â€œSure,” her father said. “Although I like shows better when they aren’t about high school students who all look thirty years old.”
    Emily laughed and put on a sitcom that was usually pretty funny. Josephine immediately got up on the couch and curled onto her lap, while Zachary stretched out on the floor, resting his head on her sneaker. Emily really liked the way her pets seemed to enjoy spending time with her as much as she enjoyed spending time with them.
    â€œHave there ever been any shipwrecks near the bridge?” she asked, when the first scene of the show ended and some commercials started.
    Her father glanced up from the article he was reading. “Which bridge?”
    Bailey’s Cove had three main bridges—the cribstone bridge, which had been built with a complicated arrangement of stacked stones and was a famous landmark in town, the “big” bridge, and the “little” bridge. “The big bridge,” Emily said.
    Her father shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe. We could do some research about it, if you want. Do you have a project for school?”
    Emily shook her head. “Not really. I was just curious.” As a history professor, her father was usually very good at remembering even the most obscure stories about past events. “Has anyone ever drowned there? Maybe someone who fell off the side and into the water?”
    â€œPossibly,” her father said, sounding as though he was only half-listening. “But, not that I remember.”
    Emily grinned at him. “Well, you are from away.” Which was how all of the locals described anyone who hadn’t lived in Maine for several generations. Since her parents were from New York and California originally, they were considered even more “from away” than most non–Maine natives.
    â€œAnd they’ll never let me forget it,” her father said wryly. He picked up his newspaper again. “But, no, the only thing I can ever remember happening on