Page 37 of Ghostly

“Oh, yes. Closed to the public.” Marge patted his hand. “Though I can take a peek. What do you need?”

Perfect.“I’d like you to find me a grave.”

***

“You got us a puppy!” Ida put her hands on her cheeks. She didn’t think she'd ever seen a cuter scene than Gabriel, holding what looked to be a miniature Lassie, with boxes upon boxes of dog stuff at his feet.

It was the puppy’s fault, of course—puppies made everything cuter.

“I didn’t.” Gabriel held the puppy away from him, then put it on the floor, as if not sure what one did with a dog. “This is Rosalie. She’s Marge’s dog, and she’s only spending a few days here while Marge is away.”

Oh. Well, that was still nice. Ida bent down and patted her knees. “Here, Rosie! Rosie!”

“Ida, you know she can’t—“

Rosalie twisted once, until she faced Ida, and sniffed the air. She made a few tentative steps toward her. Frozen in surprise, Ida waited. The puppy stopped no more than a foot before her. “She knows,” she whispered.

“She’s only exploring the living room.”

“Dogs have more senses than people. They can sense earthquakes. Cancer! Why couldn’t they sense ghosts?”

Gabriel sighed and started unpacking the boxes. “Marge gave me some food for Rosalie, but also a recipe on how to cook it, in case it’s not enough. Why someone would cook dog food is beyond me.”

“Of course, you barely cook human food,” Ida teased with joy. She kneeled next to Rosalie. “Good thing we taught him, huh? Wait till you see what Uncle Gabriel makes. You’re in for a chicken treat. Maybe he’ll even spoil you with apozole.”

Rosalie twitched her tiny tipped ears. Ida tried not to squeal.

“What the hell is this?” Gabriel pulled out a small, transparent plastic umbrella. “Don’t say it’s for the dog. And…” From another box, he pulledwhat looked like the bottom half of a knapsack with a plastic handle. He turned the box on its head and read. “It’s a clip-on pet high chair. So the dog. Can eat.At the table.”

Ida laughed. Rosalie barked—a tiny, cute sound—and turned in a circle. “I think you need to take her out on a walk.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“Gabriel! You’re helping Marge. How happy do you think she’ll be if you don’t take proper care of her dog?” Ida crossed her hands over her chest. “It’s not like I can take her, can I?”

Gabriel shook his head but fished out a dog collar, anyway. “Haven’t been spoken to in that tone since sixth grade.”

Ida smiled. “You’ll have fun, you’ll see. Meanwhile, why don’t you open a dog-related website for me so I can read some tips.”

Gabriel did so, and Ida flickered into the laptop as he took Rosalie out. She’d never visited a dog site before. It felt like bouncing a ball outside, on a sunny weekend afternoon, with a slight hint of chocolate. Interesting, since dogs shouldn’t eat chocolate. Oh, she should warn Gabriel about that.

Something blinked in the corner of her conscience. An electronic message had popped up. She shouldn’t pry, she really shouldn’t, but… she was in the computer. She could alreadyfeelthe message in her brain—all it took was one peek and…

It was from a woman named Wynona. Ida could only see her face in the profile picture, but there was no doubt of her beauty. Sleek dark hair, almond-shaped eyes with flawless eyeliner; sharp, but elegant cheekbones, the blush emphasizing them in just the right way—she was like a model from a magazine.

Hey, babe. I hope you’re doing fine. I know we said no contact, but I can’tstop thinking of you. Remember how we should be going to that ski resort in afew days? I’ll miss the sauna.

Ida knew that word,babe. It no longer meant a small child, not in this context. This woman was in love with Gabriel. And he was probably in love with her, too. With those looks, how couldn’t he be?

Another ping.

By the way, Harvey isn’t giving me any trouble and the media is quietaround here. I think it’ll soon be safe for you to return. When you do, I’m all yours!

And after a few more seconds:

If you can, call me.

Ida couldn’t cry in her normal ghost form, much less when haunting an object, but a strange feeling—something like her throat choking—still overcame her. Words blurred into pixels; pictures on the website distorted like color being washed away by rain.