Page 34 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

“Hmm.” Libby chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I’ve seen some of his ads online. He charges less than you do, so I’d think he’d have to have much bigger crowds to make up the difference.”

“His crowds are pretty big.” Sophie hated to admit it.

In the months they’d been competing, she’d watched him make adjustments to his tour, showing he was able to pivot in ways that would have overwhelmed her.

He’d trimmed down the number of days his tour ran, for instance—she could have told him from the start that doing them on weeknights was an exercise in futility.

He had a good head for business. Much better than hers was, that was for sure.

Tristan had charisma on his side too. That easy smile, the crinkling of his eyes under his top hat; the way he tipped it to the ladies on the tour, making them giggle.

His stories remained stupid, of course; from what she could tell he hadn’t changed any of those.

Their tours still crossed sometimes, and Sophie practically bit a hole in her tongue every time, wanting to avoid another viral video.

But she couldn’t block out the laughter, the animated conversation, coming from Tristan’s side of the street. His tour killed, so to speak.

And that killed Sophie. She wanted Tristan’s ghost tour out of her town.

But if Tristan’s tour was gone, Tristan would be gone. And Sophie wasn’t sure she wanted that.

The phone on Libby’s desk rang again, the change in tone indicating an inside line.

“Oh! She must be off the phone.” Libby cradled the receiver between her ear and shoulder, still looking at the potential hurricanes on the weather map. “Hey, Nan, did…Yep, she’s still here, you want me to send her in?” She nodded twice before hanging up. “You can go on in.”

“Back there?” Sophie looked down the hallway, toward the closed door at the back. Nan’s office, which till now had been uncharted territory. Here there be dragons. Not that Libby’s grandmother was scary, per se. But she did not suffer fools lightly, and in Nan’s eyes, most people were fools.

The floorboards creaked under her feet as she made her way back to the closed door, rapping on it lightly with her knuckles before pushing it open.

Calling this room an office was a misrepresentation.

There was a desk, and it even had a computer on it.

But that desk was pushed up against the wall without even a chair next to it, and both the monitor and keyboard had a fine layer of dust on them.

Instead, Nan was nestled on a small floral fainting couch, ensconced in a giant cardigan despite it being late July.

The rolling table next to her was covered in papers, a notebook and pen lay abandoned next to her hip, and the telephone was on the coffee table in front of her on a long cord that stretched back to the wall next to the unused computer desk.

Sophie expected to be interrupting Nan’s very busy workday, but instead the octogenarian appeared to be about halfway through a battered paperback romance novel. She looked up as Sophie closed the door behind her.

“Ah. Sophie.” Nan seemed surprised to see her, even though Sophie had just been summoned.

Sophie shifted her weight from one foot to the other while Nan carefully placed her bookmark back in the book and set it on the couch next to her.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Have a seat.

” She waved around vaguely, and Sophie looked for someplace to sit that wasn’t on the chaise next to Nan.

After an awkward moment she cleared some books off a nearby wingback chair, dumping them softly to the floor before taking a seat.

The chair was ancient and could do with a reupholstering, but it felt like a hug, and Sophie wanted to sigh as she sank into it.

Nan fixed Sophie with a piercing gaze, one that reminded her of Aunt Alice. “Liberty mentioned that you wanted me to go to your place again. That you’d been smelling jasmine?”

“Yes.” She answered the question with some confusion. That had been a while back, and Sophie had already dismissed the idea of Aunt Alice sticking around, despite the jasmine perfume. She thought Libby had too, but had she brought it up to Nan anyway?

“You think it’s your aunt Alice.” It wasn’t a question; Nan spoke very pointedly.

“I thought it might be.” Sophie clasped her hands together in her lap, trying hard not to fidget under Nan’s gaze. “I mean, what else could it be? She wore that jasmine perfume all the time.”

“I remember.” A small smile flitted across Nan’s face. “Your aunt was a hell of a card player.”

“That’s right,” Sophie said as a sudden memory took hold. “Bridge nights on Wednesdays.” She’d spent her high school years fending for herself for dinner almost every Wednesday night. Lots of microwave macaroni and cheese.

“Bridge?” Nan snorted. “Is that what she told you? Texas Hold’em was her game. I’ll have you know your great-aunt was mopping the floor with half the town, week after week.”

“What?” Sophie blinked. She’d had no idea. Aunt Alice had certainly lived comfortably in retirement, and Sophie had just assumed it was due to good investments. Had her great-aunt been a card sharp?

“Bridge,” Nan said again under a chuckle.

“Your aunt was something else. Her passing was…well. I don’t have to tell you how sorry I was when she passed.

” Nan’s expression softened, and Sophie blinked hard, swallowing against the emotion that rose up her throat.

“I’ve been thinking about her lately. I miss her very much too.

And believe me, I’d love nothing more than to be able to speak to her again.

” She shook her head not unkindly. “But me going over there and trying to contact her again…it’s not going to do any good. ”

“I know.” Sophie’s voice was a tiny pebble thrown into a deep pond, swallowed up immediately.

“This town is unique, and it can be a real blessing when our loved ones stick around. I’ve found when that happens, it’s usually because they’re worried about those still living. But not everyone stays behind. Not everyone needs to.”

“I know,” Sophie said again, but she was lying.

She didn’t know. She looked at the door, at that unused computer desk—everywhere but at Libby’s grandmother, whose bright blue eyes seemed to be looking right into her soul.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and when she blinked a tear landed on her cheek, cold against her hot skin. “But I wasn’t ready.”

“No one ever is.” Nan’s voice was kind, but her face was blurry, and Sophie tried to blink her vision clear again.

“It may not feel like it to you, or to any of us that are left behind, but it’s a good thing that she didn’t linger.

That means that Alice didn’t leave anything unfinished.

She was able to move on in peace, and we should all be so lucky to have that. ”

Sophie hadn’t thought of it that way, and it helped.

A little. Not enough. “She was all the family I had. And I still had questions.” There was so much she didn’t know.

She’d never asked about those framed black-and-white photos that were obviously family—ancestors that Sophie had never met.

She didn’t even know how her family had come to this country.

Aunt Alice had talked once about the branch of the family left behind in Slovakia, and how she always meant to go there someday.

But she never had, and Sophie had never gotten around to asking about their family’s history.

Because she’d never realized that one day she’d lose the chance to.

And now Aunt Alice was gone, and it was just Sophie. A computer-searched family tree could only do so much. She didn’t care about online records. She’d lost stories. She’d lost family. Identity.

“I know, dear. But you still have Libby. Me. That young man in the coffee shop, and his girlfriend who lives with Sarah Hawkins. Every spirit here in town whose story you tell. They’re all so thankful for you.”

“What?” Sophie was startled out of her sadness.

Nan raised her eyebrows. “You think Sarah Hawkins is the only ghost who hears you telling stories all around town every weekend? They know they’re not forgotten.” Nan reached out, patting Sophie on the arm. “Believe me. You have plenty of family here in Boneyard Key.”

Nan’s hand on her arm was so kind, so loving, that more tears fell to join the one on her cheek.

Sophie had missed that: simple gestures of comfort.

Maybe she’d been living alone too long. “Thank you.” Her voice was thick with emotion, and Sophie had to clear her throat. “I think I needed to hear that.”

“Yes. Well.” Nan sat back on her chaise and picked up her book. The moment was over, and Sophie was dismissed. She had her hand on the doorknob when Nan said one last thing. “They sure like you better than that smug boy with the top hat, anyway.”

“He’s not so bad,” Sophie said softly to the doorknob. She glanced over her shoulder on the way out; Nan remained on her chaise, smirking at her bodice ripper. Sophie had the oddest feeling that Nan was smirking at her .