on the workday ahead. “You go ahead and read the article,” she said. “I’ll take care of the cash register and get the place ready to open. There’s another article rehashing the old mess with Victory Paper. It might be more accurate than what the Knoxville and Nashville papers dredged from their files.”
I held the Bugle out so Geneva could see it withoutbuddying up too close. Even if she couldn’t literally breathe down my neck, having a ghost reading over my shoulder gave new meaning to the word “claustrophobia.” She didn’t do any more than glance at the paper, though, before complaining.
“I liked the other picture better,” she said. “Where is it?”
“What other…” I smothered the rest of that with a “hmm” and a throat clearing.
“These pictures are boring. When you look at the other one, you see a whole lovely, tragic story. Maybe it’s inside. Turn the page.”
I whispered “Hush,” then called after Debbie, who was already busy with the cash drawer. “You’re sure you don’t mind opening by yourself?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll take the paper to the kitchen, then, and get out of your hair.”
“Take your time. Absorb it. It’s good background material for the investigation.”
I spread the A section of the Bugle on the kitchen table, separating the three sheets so the lead article, its continuation on page six, and the Victory Paper article from page three were all face up. Besides the pictures of Shannon and the two men, there were pictures of the paper plant and the river with the second article, but no other photographs. I looked at Geneva.
“It must be on the back side of a page,” she said. “Let’s turn them over.”
There wasn’t really any “us” in Geneva’s “let’s” because she wasn’t the kind of ghost who could move or manipulate objects. I hadn’t thought about it until then, but that could be a source of her occasional depression. Spending eternity taunted by pages one couldn’t turnor—more to her taste—televisions one couldn’t turn on or channels one couldn’t flip, would be hellish. Another source of frustration for her was how slowly she thought I responded to the blithe suggestions she made that started with “let’s.”
“Turn the pages! Turn the pages!”
I turned the three sheets over, but only the new superintendent of schools smiled out at us from page four. She was flanked by stories about roadwork and new sewer connections. Page five had ads and miscellaneous items of county news. I flipped the pages back to the articles and the photographs of Shannon, Will, and Eric.
“When did you think you saw another picture?” I whispered. There’d been articles in all the big-city dailies on Tuesday and Wednesday. They’d run the same photographs of Will and Shannon, though, and nothing more.
“It’s not what I think . It’s what I know . It was in the paper. I saw it.”
I shrugged. “Sorry.”
“There are two whole sections of the paper you haven’t even touched.” She pointed at the two sections I’d put aside.
“Those are sports and human interest stuff.”
“Open them! Open them!”
“Calm down.” I opened them, turning the pages slowly so she could see them, telling myself I was calm, as well as sweet and accommodating. Also telling myself I only imagined that I wanted to snap each page open and slam it down on the table, although I was finding myself hard to believe. Section B contained four pages of community organization and school sports news. I was especially sweet and didn’t say, “I told you so.” Section C was nothing but classified ads. When I’d turned and displayed all the pages, I turned my empty hands palms up. “Sorry, it’s not here.”
“I saw it.” She billowed a time or two—an unnerving sight that made me glad she couldn’t move objects. Or throw them. She was obviously convinced she’d seen the photograph, and she was obviously getting more frustrated and
I held the Bugle out so Geneva could see it withoutbuddying up too close. Even if she couldn’t literally breathe down my neck, having a ghost reading over my shoulder gave new meaning to the word “claustrophobia.” She didn’t do any more than glance at the paper, though, before complaining.
“I liked the other picture better,” she said. “Where is it?”
“What other…” I smothered the rest of that with a “hmm” and a throat clearing.
“These pictures are boring. When you look at the other one, you see a whole lovely, tragic story. Maybe it’s inside. Turn the page.”
I whispered “Hush,” then called after Debbie, who was already busy with the cash drawer. “You’re sure you don’t mind opening by yourself?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll take the paper to the kitchen, then, and get out of your hair.”
“Take your time. Absorb it. It’s good background material for the investigation.”
I spread the A section of the Bugle on the kitchen table, separating the three sheets so the lead article, its continuation on page six, and the Victory Paper article from page three were all face up. Besides the pictures of Shannon and the two men, there were pictures of the paper plant and the river with the second article, but no other photographs. I looked at Geneva.
“It must be on the back side of a page,” she said. “Let’s turn them over.”
There wasn’t really any “us” in Geneva’s “let’s” because she wasn’t the kind of ghost who could move or manipulate objects. I hadn’t thought about it until then, but that could be a source of her occasional depression. Spending eternity taunted by pages one couldn’t turnor—more to her taste—televisions one couldn’t turn on or channels one couldn’t flip, would be hellish. Another source of frustration for her was how slowly she thought I responded to the blithe suggestions she made that started with “let’s.”
“Turn the pages! Turn the pages!”
I turned the three sheets over, but only the new superintendent of schools smiled out at us from page four. She was flanked by stories about roadwork and new sewer connections. Page five had ads and miscellaneous items of county news. I flipped the pages back to the articles and the photographs of Shannon, Will, and Eric.
“When did you think you saw another picture?” I whispered. There’d been articles in all the big-city dailies on Tuesday and Wednesday. They’d run the same photographs of Will and Shannon, though, and nothing more.
“It’s not what I think . It’s what I know . It was in the paper. I saw it.”
I shrugged. “Sorry.”
“There are two whole sections of the paper you haven’t even touched.” She pointed at the two sections I’d put aside.
“Those are sports and human interest stuff.”
“Open them! Open them!”
“Calm down.” I opened them, turning the pages slowly so she could see them, telling myself I was calm, as well as sweet and accommodating. Also telling myself I only imagined that I wanted to snap each page open and slam it down on the table, although I was finding myself hard to believe. Section B contained four pages of community organization and school sports news. I was especially sweet and didn’t say, “I told you so.” Section C was nothing but classified ads. When I’d turned and displayed all the pages, I turned my empty hands palms up. “Sorry, it’s not here.”
“I saw it.” She billowed a time or two—an unnerving sight that made me glad she couldn’t move objects. Or throw them. She was obviously convinced she’d seen the photograph, and she was obviously getting more frustrated and
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