Love Letter Read online

“Okay, fine,” I huffed. “Get dressed. But get there fast, please? This guy’s really desperate for your help.”

  “Is he desperate, or are you desperate to get rid of him?”

  I pretended to think about it for half a second before admitting, “Both.”

  She sighed. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Chris’ll be here soon,” I said once I popped back home. Buster let out a yip at my appearance and leaped down from the couch to better waggle his little body at me.

  “Glad to hear it.” Smiling, Joe turned from me to Brandon. “She’ll get you sorted right out.”

  “Chris,” said Brandon. “This is the sister you spoke of before?” At my nod, he asked, “She’s not a spirit as well, is she?”

  “Nope,” I said as I moved to the couch next to Joe. “She’s as alive as they come. She’ll be able to see and hear you, though. Helping those who are, um, corporeally-challenged finish their unfinished business is sort of her specialty.”

  “Really?” Brandon seemed fascinated by the idea. “I must confess, in life I tended to think such people were frauds and con artists.”

  “And I used to think they were witches and demon-possessed.” Joe shrugged. “Shows what we used to know.”

  “Yeah, well, Chris has been this way since she was a kid,” I said. “So she’s had a lot of practice helping those who are stuck here move on.”

  “Yes,” said Brandon. “May I ask, move on to where, exactly?”

  “Oh, you know. Crossing over. To the other side.” I let my gaze drift upward. “Or, y’know,” I added with a furtive glance at the floor, “wherever.”

  “I see. And, if you don’t mind my asking … if she’s so good at this, then why, exactly, are the two of you still here?”

  “Now let’s don’t get personal,” said Joe, shifting in his seat.

  I laid a hand on his. “It’s a long story,” I told Brandon. “But it has nothing to do with Chris.”

  “Yes, well. Forgive my asking.”

  Another awkward silence fell. I’m terrible with awkward silences. I racked my brain trying to think of something to fill it with, but I had nothing. I kept glancing over at Joe, but him being the strong silent type and all, I got no help there. I was just about to offer him a tour of the house when I heard the front door open, sooner than expected.

  “There’s Chris.” I went to meet her in the foyer. “That was fast,” I told her.

  She dropped a duffel bag off at the bottom of the staircase. “I figured I could just shower here after I find out what’s going on. I do my best problem-solving in the shower anyway. Hope I don’t scare your guest with how I look.”

  How she looked was adorably gorgeous with her red hair piled in a loose top-knot. She’d thrown on a Batman tee-shirt and a pair of jeans. Granted, she was a little pale without makeup, but her ivory skin was flawless. I’d always been envious of how she could look so great with so little effort, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good to tell her any of that. She never believed me when I did.

  “You look fine. He’s in here.” I led her to the living room where Brandon and Joe both got to their feet as we entered. “This is Brandon.”

  “You must be this Chris I’ve heard so much of,” he said.

  “Yep,” she said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  The sincerity of her words must have touched him. He stared at her a moment. Then he looked at the floor and stammered a thank you.

  We all took our seats. Chris perched next to me on the sofa, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, giving Brandon her full attention. “Ron told me you came with the desk?”

  “Yes, apparently.”

  “Can you tell me why you’re so attached to it?”

  “Well, it was a family heirloom. There’s quite the story behind that, actually. My grandfather won it in an illicit card game at a Chicago speakeasy during prohibition. The man he won it from was said to be a notorious gangster, but my grandfather was visiting from London and had no idea who he’d been playing with until the man’s subsequent arrest made headlines as far as England.” He began to smile as he told the story, but then it abruptly faded. “I still can’t believe my wife was so quick to sell it.”

  “Your wife,” said Chris. “Ron said you were arguing with her when you died?”

  He stared at his hands. “Yes. I’m afraid I behaved quite abominably toward her. If only there was a way to make it up to her … to tell her how sorry I am. How much she meant to me.”

  Chris nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. What’s her name?”

  “Helena. Helena Crosby. That is, if she hasn’t re-married by now.”

  “Where were you both living at the time of your death?”

  “Arkansas, of all places. We had a lakeside cabin not far from Eureka Springs. We had visited there one summer, and Helena was quite taken with it. So we bought a home there. It was meant to be a summer residence, but it was idyllic enough to make an excellent writing retreat.” He sighed. “Although if she was in such a hurry to rid herself of my desk, I can’t imagine she stayed in that house.”

  “Do you know where she might have gone if she sold it?”

  “Claremore, I suppose. That was her hometown. Her parents still live there. Or at least, they did.”

  Chris straightened up and clapped her palms against her thighs. “Well, at least I probably won’t have to fly to England or anything so that makes things easier.” She stood up. “I’m gonna go take a shower and make myself presentable then I’ll get busy tracking down your wife. Brandon, it was nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” he said. “And thank you.”

  Chris nodded. With a glance at me and Joe, she headed for the stairs.

  Brandon got up and drifted over toward the desk. His fingers hovered over the surface, not quite touching it. He seemed to be lost in thought, until his eyes focused on the laptop that was still booted up. He leaned down and squinted at the screen. Before he could read much, I hurried over and pushed the screen closed.

  He straightened up and stared at me. I couldn’t tell if the look on his face was astonishment or irritation. “Sorry,” I said, “but it’s a rough draft, and I’m not ready for anyone to see it yet. You’re a writer,” I added. “I’m sure you understand.”

  He pointed at the laptop. “You closed that.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Like I said, it’s not ready to be read.”

  “Your book,” he said. “That you’re … currently drafting?”

  “Yeeeah.”

  “I see.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t. How exactly are you doing that?”

  “What?” I asked, but then it dawned on me. “Oooh! You mean the touching thing? That’s easy once you get the hang of it.”

  “Really? Would you mind showing me?”

  “Sure.” I smiled. Finally, we had something to talk about.

  Several hours later, Joe and I were following Brandon around the house as he excitedly opened and closed doors and rearranged Chris’s knickknacks. It took quite a bit of concentration and effort each time he manipulated an object, but every time he seemed absolutely delighted with the results. The guy had to be wearing himself out, but he showed no signs of slowing down. He seemed to be having the time of his life. Or, well. You know what I mean.

  “This is astounding,” he said as he rifled through the bathroom cabinets. “I’ve felt so powerless for so long. Simply being able to influence my environment … you have no idea how exhilarating this is.”

  “Think I might have some notion,” said Joe.

  Brandon looked at him as if he’d forgotten we were both even there. Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to. “Oh, yes, of course.” He shut the drawer he’d been staring thoughtfully into and looked in the mirror, which reflected back an empty room. “Have you ever …” he began, then turned to look at me. “Is it possible to, um, I suppose you’d say, manifest myself? Become visible, so to speak?”

  “To the livi
ng?” I asked. When he nodded, I shrugged. “I don’t really know. I mean, Chris can see us anyway, and she’s the only living person I’ve wanted to communicate with directly. I’ve heard of apparitions appearing to people, but in all my time as a paranormal investigator I never actually saw one.”

  “I see,” he said. “What about speech? I recall tales of disembodied voices in haunted houses and such.”

  “Not sure about that, either,” I said. “Before I died, I had this theory that audible voices and apparitions were electromagnetic phenomena—sort of like naturally occurring video and audio recordings that get captured and played back when the conditions are right.”

  “Ah.” He seemed a little disappointed by my theory.

  “But it is possible for us to communicate through EVP, if someone has a recording device going.”

  “EVP?”

  “Electronic voice phenomena,” I explained. “So, like, if Chris couldn’t talk to us directly, she could run a voice recorder while asking us questions, and it would capture our answers.” I shrugged again. “It’s all a little cumbersome. Makes me glad we don’t have to resort to that to hold a conversation.”

  “Let me see if I understand you correctly.” Brandon removed his glasses. “You’re saying that your sister might be able to record a message from me?”

  “Well,” I said, considering the possibility. “Maybe. I mean, it’s not a hundred percent reliable. Usually only simple words and phrases get recorded. I figure it’s the same principle as being able to handle objects—only the words with a lot of emotion behind them are loud enough to get recorded.”

  “I see.”

  “Hey, guys?” Chris’s voice drifted up from downstairs. I hurried down to meet her, and the menfolk followed. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, clutching a sticky note. As great as she’d looked before, she cleaned up even better. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup—she didn’t need it—and her hair draped over her shoulders in loose waves. She’d changed into a dressier pair of skinny jeans, a cream-colored top covered in big, navy blue polka dots that brought out her big, blue eyes, and a pair of bright yellow ballerina flats. Simple, but polished and professional.

  I looked down at the plain tee-shirt, checkered Capri pants and Keds that I’d died in, and had to swallow my jealousy over her ability to change clothes. “What’s up?” I asked her.

  She looked past me and spoke to Brandon. “I found her.”

  “Already?” he asked.

  Chris shrugged. “She’s in the phone book. She lives here in town. She hasn’t changed her last name, in case you’re wondering.”

  Brandon made a show of swallowing; he had no physiological need to, but sometimes old habits died hard. Then he nodded. “I see. So you’ve already spoken to her?”

  “I told her I tracked her down through the antique dealer and that I had some questions about the desk. She offered to come over and discuss it over coffee. I sort of got the impression that she was eager to see it.” She gave Brandon an encouraging look, but he seemed to be struck with fear.

  “She’s—Helena, she’s coming here?”

  Chris nodded.

  “When?”

  She glanced from the sticky note to her watch. “In about an hour.” She looked back at Brandon with concern. He was clutching the banister as if he needed it to hold him up. “Are you okay with this? I can call her back and make up an excuse—”

  “No!” He straightened up and composed himself. “No, let her come. I still have an hour to prepare myself, don’t I?”

  She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Can we help?”

  “Actually, yes.” He moved to the bottom of the stairs, glancing back at me as he passed me. “Your sister was telling me about something called EVP.”

  “Electronic voice phenomena,” Chris explained. She seemed to know what he was about to ask next. “You want to record a message.”

  “Yes. If I may.”

  Chris licked her lips and fiddled with the paper in her hand. “We can try, if that’s what you want. But I should warn you, the results can be unpredictable. And it’s best to handle these things delicately. If she’s not ready to hear something like that, she might react … badly.”

  He let this sink in. “I certainly wouldn’t want to cause her more pain than I already have. Well, I suppose there’s no harm in recording it. I’ll trust your discretion as to whether or not you should play it for her.”

  “All right then. Step into my office, and we’ll get you set up.” As he moved past her into the office, she glanced back at me and Joe. “You guys should probably sit this one out. We don’t want extra voices on there that might confuse her.”

  “Hey!” I said with as much indignation as I could muster. “I can be quiet!”

  She quirked an eyebrow at me.

  “Fine.” I nudged Joe with my elbow. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  “I actually can be quiet,” he said, and I spun to look at him.

  “Traitor!”

  “Hey, you got to do all this stuff while you were still alive. It’s all new to me. And kinda nifty.” He shrugged and looked at Chris. “I’d like to watch you work.”

  Chris’s shoulders quaked with silent laughter, and she waved him into her office. “Sorry, Ronnie. At least this shouldn’t take long.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “Like Joe said, I’ve seen it. I’m sure I’ve got better things to do.”

  “Okay!” she chirped brightly as she spun on her heel and followed the guys into her office, closing the newly-installed French doors behind her.

  “And don’t call me Ronnie!” I shouted at the doors.

  I was allowed back in the office when Helena arrived, and Joe and I hovered by the bookcases at the back of the room. Brandon looked like her appearance would’ve taken his breath away if he’d had any left to take, but that also seemed to be true of everyone else. Just as in my vision, she was a breathtaking woman. Even dressed casually in an off-the-shoulder sweater and leggings, she was exotically beautiful, with the kind of effortless elegance that made us mere mortals feel wholly inadequate. Even Chris was affected. After setting the coffee tray on the desk, she self-consciously smoothed her hair and straightened her blouse before taking her seat across from the new arrival.

  Helena didn’t appear to notice. Her gaze locked onto the desk as she reached out to caress the polished wood. “I’m glad it found a good home,” she said with a sad smile.

  “I fell in love with it as soon as I saw it in the shop,” said Chris. “Thanks again for coming over. I know you could’ve easily answered any questions I had over the phone.”

  Helena picked up her coffee. “I suppose I just needed to see it again. To see where it ended up.” As she spoke, Brandon drifted around the desk to stand next to her. The longing on his face melted away any lingering traces of my initial dislike for him as he stretched his hand toward her, fingers hovering unseen over her hair.

  “This sucks for him,” I whispered to Joe, keeping my voice low mainly so as not to distract Chris. It wasn’t like Helena could hear me.

  He shushed me, his attention fixed intently on the scene before him. I didn’t take offense. After a century or so stuck in this house, the guy was hard up for entertainment.

  “I guess this desk had a lot of sentimental value, huh?” Chris prodded.

  Helena nodded. “It belonged to my late husband. It was a family heirloom, and it meant a great deal to him.”

  “I’m surprised you sold it then.”

  “Yes, well.” She took a sip of her coffee before admitting, “Not all of my associations with it are good ones.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Chris. The silence stretched on to the point that I would’ve been compelled to fill it with something inane, but Chris stayed quiet and waited. This is why she was so much better at this job than I would’ve been.

  “My husband had his heart attack at this desk,” Helena said at last. “I’m sorry,” she added with a glance at Chris. �
��I suppose finding out something so morbid will probably make you want to return it.”

  “No, but I appreciate your honesty.”

  Helena seemed both surprised and impressed. “Most people I know would find that particular piece of information disturbing. Although it might help if I tell you that my husband was a published author. His novel was well-received by critics, but I’m afraid it didn’t sell well. He was working on a follow-up when he passed away.” She let out a humorless laugh. Then she took another drink of coffee, presumably to shut herself up. She set her mug back on the desk and rested a hand on it. “I kept telling him that working such long hours was bad for his health, but he was so wrapped up in that book of his.”

  “You also kept telling me it was bad for our marriage,” said Brandon. “I’m so sorry I didn’t listen.” It looked like it pained him to do so, but he tore his eyes away from his wife to look at Chris. “Play it for her,” he said. “Please. Let her know I’m here.”

  Chris glanced up at him but didn’t answer. She cleared her throat. “As long as you’re being so open,” she said to Helena, “I should be honest with you.” She took a business card from the holder on the edge of the desk and held it out. “You should probably know what I do.”

  She read the card aloud. “Christine Wilson, Paranormal Investigator.” Her mouth tightened into a thin line as she stared at the card. The look she finally gave Chris was full of confusion and suspicion. “What is this?”

  Chris clasped her hands and leaned forward, propping her elbows on the desk. “I’m also what you would probably call a medium. I mean, not really; spirits don’t speak through me or anything like that. But they can make contact with me, and I can relay messages.” She paused to let that sink in. “I know what happened to Brandon,” she said gently, “because he told me.” She opened the laptop on the desk in front of her and turned it so Helena could see the screen. “He asked me to play a message for you, if you’d like to hear it.”

  As she spoke, Helena’s hand drifted to her mouth, and she stared hard at the computer. “He asked you? When?”