Forty-Four Box Set, Books 1-10 (44) (106 page)

“I remember him talking about it,” I said. “You guys would hunt sometimes, too, right?”

Mr. Stone chuckled softly.

“Well, it was me who did the hunting, really. But I didn’t tell nobody about that. Jesse claimed he was a bad shot, but I think he just didn’t like killing things. He rarely even took a shot. But they were still some of the best times. The fire going all night, roasting marshmallows, telling ghost stories.”

I laughed at that and then Mr. Stone did too.

“Of course, once he started in with basketball, we never got out there much after that. Between all the games and practices, he was busy.”

“Yeah, I remember. He was good. He would have made it. He would have gone all the way.”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding haunted like me by the things that would never be. “He sure would of. He was something else to watch out on the court.”

There was a sadness that always hung between us, but it was nice, too, talking like this and having someone to share the pain as well as the good times. We didn’t do it much, but it reminded me how much I loved him. And Jesse.

“Speaking of busy, sorry I haven’t been by sooner,” I said. “I’ve been working and stuff.”

“Still at the coffee shop?”

“Yeah, but I finally have an idea about what I want to do.”

I told him I was applying to culinary school and he said that it was my calling, because my cookies were the best he had ever eaten.

There was a spark in his eyes that had been missing the last few times I saw him. He still moved around slowly, but his color was back to normal and the energy around him was brighter too.

“Got any bike trips planned?” I asked.

“As a matter of fact I do,” he said. “Sturgis, of course, in South Dakota for the big rally in August. It’s been too long. And I might just head down to So Cal to see my brother too.”

He took another cookie, but then hesitated as he looked up at me.

“So what’s the word from beyond?” he asked, his eyes flickering in the light.

I was glad he asked. Since the meeting with Jesse that one time, his dad seemed fairly comfortable with the idea that I talked with his dead son regularly.

“The word is good. I saw him not too long ago. I told him I was coming to see you. He said he would try to tag along, but it’s not always so easy for him. He had a few messages he wanted me to pass on.”

“Oh?” he said, smiling and tugging at his beard.

“He wanted you to know that he hangs out here with you sometimes. Checks up on your work, he said. He likes that bike you’re rebuilding.”

“Well, I’ll be,” he said, leaning back in his chair and rocking gently. “That’s something else, isn’t it? You know, I had this strange feeling the other day when I was working on that bike that somebody was standing right behind me. So that was him, huh?”

“I think so. He likes to keep an eye on things. And he always loved it here.”

“That he did,” Mr. Stone said, looking off in the distance, lost in thought.

“He would’ve done good as a mechanic too if that basketball thing hadn’t worked out,” he said. “He had a natural talent for it. I never told him that. It’s not what he wanted to do. He was planning on being a basketball star and playing for the Spurs.”

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “He loved that team.”

We were quiet for a minute.

“He also said—” I stopped, feeling a little embarrassed about this next part.

“What?” he said, looking concerned.

“It sounds kind of… I don’t know why he’s having me say this, but he told me to tell you to dial back a little on the beer. Not my words. It’s a direct quote.”

I looked away, but then Mr. Stone started laughing hard. I wasn’t sure what was so funny, but he got up and told me to follow him. We walked over to the other side of the garage to a large storage closet.

“Here’s the proof I guess that he really is hanging around here,” he said, opening up the door. “See?”

Inside were several large, white buckets with spouts on top, and I started laughing too.

“When did you start brewing beer?”

“Well, the last few years it’s kind of become a passion. Sometimes me and my buddies get together here at night and brew up batches. It might look like a lot of beer, but when you factor in how long it takes to brew and dividing it between all of us, it doesn’t add up to much. But we have fun.”

“What kinds are they?”

“Got some red ales here, a few batches of lagers, and lots of Belgian dubbels.”

“Cool,” I said.

“So make sure to tell him that the buckets ain’t all mine,” he said, still chuckling. “And tell him I promise not to—”

A sudden crash interrupted our conversation, causing both of us to jump. I turned around and looked behind us.

“What in the…” Mr. Stone said, his voice trailing off as I followed him to the front.

He stopped at one of the motorcycles, now lying on its side, the front tire still spinning. He walked up to it, shaking his head.

“Now what’s happened here?” he said.

It was the same motorcycle he had been working on when I walked in. The force of the impact had scattered some of the silver parts across the floor of the garage. I picked up a few and then helped Mr. Stone set the bike upright again.

He played with the kickstand for a moment, making sure it worked before we let go of the bike.

“Sorry for all the fireworks.”

“Hope it’s okay,” I said.

He circled it a few times, inspecting for damages.

“I think it’s fine. Doesn’t look like there was any harm done, except that little scratch there. But I can buff that out. Least it wasn’t Glenn’s Harley over there in the corner. That would have caught me an earful.”

At that moment I almost thought I could hear faint barking, coming from outside, far away in the trees. But I couldn’t be sure.

“Hey,” Mr. Stone said, smiling. “Maybe it’s our ghost friend trying to join in the conversation.”

“Maybe.”

But I knew it wasn’t Jesse. As Mr. Stone inspected the other two motorcycles, I went back to the office and looked around. But everything seemed fine and I grabbed my jacket.

I didn’t want to leave, but I needed to look around outside a little to see if I could find the dog. Plus I had to do a few errands before heading home. I was making dinner for Kate and Evan and I still had to stop at the store.

“Well, Mr. Stone, I’ve got to get going.”

“Oh, sure, sure. Thank you for the cookies, Abby, and for stopping by. It was real nice to visit. Come back in a few weeks, and I’ll have some beer for you.”

“Cool,” I said. “Can’t wait.”

“I’ll have it bottled up and chilling, with your name on it.”

We said goodbye and I headed for the door.

“Abby,” Mr. Stone said, calling after me. “Tell him I miss him.”

CHAPTER 12

I sliced the eggplant and covered the pieces with kosher salt to help them release their liquid. In the meantime I chopped the tomatoes and processed them until they were the consistency of soup. It was just a personal thing, but I hated big chunks of tomatoes in the sauce. Then I grated the fontina and mozzarella and chopped the parsley.

I opened the Chianti, poured half a glass, and took a sip as Beth Hart’s deep bluesy voice bounced around the kitchen. I cut the basil and thyme, minced the garlic, and grated the fresh hunk of parmesan and then smashed the pieces of stale bread I had been collecting all week into a pile of crumbs and seasoned them.

By the time the tomato sauce was simmering nicely on the back burner, I felt better. The kitchen smelled great. Something about the garlic seeping into my fingers and olive oil in the air soothed me and made everything okay. Ghosts or no ghosts, it was going to be an excellent dinner.

I thought about what had happened earlier. I hadn’t seen the ghost dog around Mr. Stone’s garage and couldn’t find it outside. I wasn’t even positive that I had heard it barking, but I hoped that was the explanation.

Still, it didn’t make sense. What would Derek’s ghost dog be doing there in the garage? I hoped it wasn’t something, or someone, more sinister.

Regardless, I knew that it was time to talk to Derek about it. I needed to find out why his dog was showing up all the time and what it wanted. I was pretty sure it was trying to communicate with me, but I had never had this problem before. How would I talk to an animal?

I finished an air guitar solo before Beth Hart went on about going blind. I brought out three large, white ramekins. I was going to make individual servings, the way I had seen it done at my favorite Italian restaurant. I was using their recipe, which I had learned when I took some cooking classes there a few months ago.

When the eggplant slices were ready, I went ahead and coated them with the bread crumbs and added spices and cheese, and then laid each piece out on a cookie sheet. I put them in the oven. The sauce was thickening up nicely. I had a taste and then added more salt and pepper and let it continue to cook on a low flame.

The phone rang and when I saw that it was Ty, I picked up right away.

“Hey,” he said, sounding happy.

“Hey,” I said, wishing I could look up into his eyes. “I tried calling a little while ago. Did you get my message?”

“I did. Sorry I couldn’t get back to you right away. I was interviewing some waiters. Doing okay? You sounded a little tense.”

“Oh, no, I’m good. Just missing you.”

“Me, too. But it won’t be long. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“How’s everything going there? Are you almost done with the hiring?”

“Almost,” Ty said. “Tomorrow we start training them. Then we open. They want me to come back that first week. But I told them I’d have to think about it. I’ll only do it if you’re okay with it and everything is good over there.”

It didn’t surprise me. They would want Ty to stay and make sure the first few days ran smoothly.

“Of course,” I said. “Everything is fine here.”

I was okay with it. I didn’t want him to feel bad.

“Either way, I’ll still be home next weekend,” he said.

“We’ll have to make it count.”

“You bet,” he said. “I’m making a list. A movie on Saturday night, and a lot of sitting around, watching the fire the rest of the time.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“So what’s cooking at
Maison
Craig?”

I walked over to the oven and took a quick peek inside. The timer still had 15 minutes on it and the slices looked good.

“Eggplant parmesan,” I said.

 “Damn. I wish I was there.”

“Me too.”

He asked about my day and I told him about visiting Jesse’s dad. I even mentioned the part about the motorcycle falling over.

“Oh, that happens sometimes with those big monster bikes,” he said. “Really, it’s not a big deal. The first six months after my brother bought his Harley, he tipped it over all the time.”

It was good hearing that and it made me realize that I might have jumped to the wrong conclusions. Maybe it had simply been an accident. Not everything had to do with ghosts.

“Anyway, if you’re still jumpy just say the word and I’m on a plane,” Ty said.

I thought I had done a good job disguising my unease, but he was getting pretty good at reading me. He could hear it in my voice, even from 300 miles away.

“No,” I said. “Seriously. I’m good. It feels like you aren’t that far away when you say those kinds of things.”

“I’m not. Even if I had to drive, it’s less than six hours. I’m there, Abby. Just let me know.”

We talked a little bit more and then the timer rang and I took out the pan.

“Hey, I’ll let you get back to dinner. Wouldn’t want you to burn anything.”

It was a good idea.

“I’ll call before bed,” he said. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I sliced off a little of the eggplant and tasted it just as the phone rang again. I almost picked it up without checking the caller ID, thinking Ty had forgotten to tell me something, or maybe even Kate saying that they were running late.

But it wasn’t either of them.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, staring at the name on my phone.

And then I answered.

***

“Hello?” I said, cautiously. 

“Hello, Abby,” a man said. “It’s your old friend, Dr. Mortimer.”

It had been a long time since I had heard his voice. Well over a year in fact. The last time we talked was when he was sitting on that bed, his brother dead on the floor at his feet.

“Dr. Mortimer. Wow. How are you?”

“I’m good, Abby. Really good.”

He sounded like the old Dr. Mortimer. He seemed normal and I was glad to hear that happiness in his voice again.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Oh, no,” I said, turning off the burner and giving the sauce a quick stir. “Not at all. It’s really nice to hear from you.”

“I’m really looking forward to seeing you and Kate when I get back to Bend.”

Speaking of Kate, I looked over at the clock and saw that it was almost seven. She would be walking through the door any minute with Evan.

“I was glad to hear that,” I said. “You know, Dr. Mortimer, I still would like to talk to you about the email I—”

But he wouldn’t let me finish.

“Abby, I have something to confess. I’m actually calling now because I have a little favor I want to ask of you.”

“Sure,” I said, suddenly feeling unsure. “What is it?”

“Well, I’m working on a project that I’m hoping will interest you. I’ve gone ahead and sent you a link to the website and I want you to tell me what you think. Do you mind taking a look at it?”

“Of course not. I’ll do it later tonight. But what’s it about?”

“It’s an organization I’m involved with,” he said. “I don’t think I can do it justice by talking about it. The website is very comprehensive and should explain everything. If you could just read it over and then tell me what you think, that would be great. Just give me a call if you have any questions.”

I heard the front door unlock and then some loud chatter in the living room. Kate and Evan had returned from the movie. I heard her coming toward the kitchen.