Big Ghosts Don’t Cry Read online

  I narrowed my eyes at the ghost before rearranging my face into a polite smile for the man and his wife. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt. I thought you looked familiar, but it appears I was mistaken. Enjoy your meal.”

  “Oh, um, well, thank you?” the man said.

  I turned and stalked back to my table with Lucas.

  “You can see me?” The ghost hissed, right on my heels. “How? Who are you? What’s your name?”

  I ignored the ghost’s questions, happy to have distracted her from the unsuspecting couple in time. The server reappeared at the table and held out a silver salt shaker. I quickly took it and gripped it in one hand, concealing it from the ghost behind me.

  “Is there anything else, ma’am?” the server asked, a wariness in her eyes. “Your entrees should be here shortly.”

  “Thank you, this should do it,” I told her, retaking my seat calmly.

  The teen swooped closer. “Hey! I’m talking to you! What are you? How can you see me?”

  Under the table, I shook salt into my open palm, collecting a small pile as quickly as possible.

  When I didn’t answer, the ghost shifted her attention to Lucas.“Hmm. He’s yummy.” She reached for his hand resting on the table. “I wonder what it would feel like to touch him.”

  “Leave us alone!” I hissed, hurling the salt in the ghost’s face.

  She shrieked and then growled before dispersing into a cloud of silver that faded away like an early morning cloud.

  Lucas blinked. “Scarlet!”

  “Sorry,” I said, setting the salt shaker aside. “Just doing a little pest control.”

  He glanced around.

  “It’s all clear. Problem solved,” I said, brushing my hands together to rid them of the excess salt. “Now, have I ever told you about the cafe I waitressed at in Barcelona?”

  Chapter 2

  “Lizzie, can you get me the bucket of pink carnations from the cooler?”

  “Sure!” my assistant chirped from the front of the flower shop.

  Moments later, the cheerful blonde appeared at my side and placed a five-gallon bucket of cherry-blossom pink flowers at my feet. “This looks great, so far!” she said, studying the large funeral wreath I was crafting.

  “Thanks,” I said, tucking another piece of boxwood into the squishy block of floral foam that formed the ring. With a quick sideways glance, I plucked a full carnation from the bucket, placed it in the arrangement, and then glanced up to identify the other sparse spots. “I should have finished it yesterday.”

  “It’s all right,” Lizzie said. “You’re almost done and the service is still a few hours away. Plenty of time.”

  Lizzie’s boundless optimism was one of the qualities I’d grown to love over the past several months since hiring her on as a part-time assistant at my flower shop, Lily Pond. When she’d started, she hadn’t known the difference between a peony and a petunia, but she’d proved to be a quick study and was capable of most basic design orders on her own. Her early klutzy streak was fading, replaced with an ever-growing confidence in her skills since I’d hired her on full-time.

  During my time visiting Lucas in New Orleans, I’d had my reservations about leaving the shop in her hands, but found things in perfect order and even received a handful of phone calls from our regular customers to let me know they appreciated her service in my absence.

  I paused to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and glanced at the white board calendar on the wall behind Lizzie. She side-stepped out of my way and gestured at the colorful writing. “These are the only ones left for today. I can finish up while you run this over to the funeral home. We’ve been pretty dead up front most of the day. I think a lot of people are down at the beach for the cleanup.”

  “Oh, you’re probably right! I hadn’t even thought about that.” I blew out a puff of air. “Sheesh, this day is getting away from me.”

  The kids were back in school and tourist season—along with wedding season—was officially done for another year. To celebrate another successful busy season, the town’s chamber of commerce had pulled together a potluck-style barbecue on the beach (weather permitting) and had invited all local vendors and their families to come celebrate. Taking advantage of the gathering, the mayor decided to host an all-day town beautification event preceding it. Tourist season was great for the town’s businesses, but wreaked havoc on the beach and streets as people poured into town. Beechwood Harbor was a small town but a popular stop for fellow Washingtonians as well as people from all across the country. Some of whom were not as eco-minded as others. To counteract the damage, city council arranged discount booklets featuring coupons to local companies to be handed out to those participating in the cleanup projects all around town and down on the beach itself.

  I’d donated several hanging baskets to one of the local clubs and had struck a deal with a local nursery to deliver a truckload of leftover annuals directly to the town’s senior center. The mayor gifted me a coupon book in exchange for my help, assuaging my guilt over not being available to comb the beach for trash on the final day of the town beautification.

  “Are you going to the barbecue tonight?” Lizzie asked.

  I nodded and placed a few more carnations. “I was planning on swinging by. You?”

  She hesitated and I glanced up. Lizzie’s cheeks had gone pink and she was chewing her lower lip. “I’m not sure.”

  “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun! You play a little beach volleyball. Dance. Mingle. Have some spiked punch.”

  Flapjack chuckled from his place on my work table. “As I recall, Scar, the last time you went to a barbecue, you didn’t do any of that. You stuffed yourself with an impressive amount of potato salad, fell asleep on a picnic blanket, and woke up with a nasty sun burn.”

  I scowled at him. “Mrs. Garland makes prize-worthy potato salad and you’re just jealous you can’t have any!”

  Realizing I’d said the quiet part out loud, I winced and peeked over at Lizzie. “I mean, you’d be jealous if you didn’t get any. So you might want to get there early!”

  “Nice save,” Flapjack purred, his wheezy version of a laugh catching in his throat.

  “Well, actually, someone asked me to go to the barbecue, but I’m not sure if it’s a date or if it’s just an as friends kind of thing.” Lizzie paused, wringing her hands together. “So, I wasn’t sure I’d go at all. The whole thing is making me nervous.”

  I smiled, resisting the urge to pounce on her. “Who asked you?”

  Lizzie had been woefully single since I’d met her, and while we’d never talked too much about her past, I’d gathered a fair dose of heartbreak resided somewhere in the not-too-distant rear view.

  Hayward, who’d been hanging out in the shop most of the day, shifted uncomfortably and rose from his seat. “Come along, Flapjack. I believe I know girl talk when I hear it. Perhaps we gentlemen should scurry along.”

  “Scurry along?” Flapjack snorted. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who reads Cosmo over Lizzie’s shoulder.”

  Hayward bristled, his bristle-brush mustache twitching. “That’s preposterous!”

  Flapjack smiled like the Cheshire.

  “In any case”—Hayward bumped him with a quick elbow—“we should go. Gwen will be at the beach by now, waiting for us to join her.”

  “Fine.” Flapjack glared up at Hayward but got to his feet, his feather-duster tail swirling like a boat propeller. “I was going anyway,” he said casually. “They’ll start grilling the fish soon.”

  With that, he winked out of sight, off to wander the beach and breathe in the scent of the fresh-caught fish. A ghost’s life didn’t usually have many pleasures. Flapjacks revolved around sarcasm and the smell of fish.

  Hayward righted his top hat and vanished.

  “Do you know Bryant Lewis?” Lizzie asked, drawing my attention back to her date-or-not-a-date quandary. “He’s a checker over at Hank’s Hardware.”

  “Oh, a checker, there
’s a stable future,” Flapjacks disembodied voice called.

  I bit down on the insides of my cheeks to keep from barking his name.

  I’d make the little fur ball pay later. He was lucky Lizzie couldn’t hear him.

  “I think I’ve talked to him before,” I said. “Sandy brown hair, looks like he played football in high school?”

  Lizzie blushed. Clearly she’d admired his squared shoulders a time or two.

  I smiled. “You should go. Even if it’s not a date, you’ll have a good time and make all the other single ladies jealous.” I winked and brushed my hands off on my apron. A month had passed since my last manicure, though I’d never gotten around to fully taking off the remaining polish. I silently noted it was time for a return to the town’s day spa and wondered if there was a coupon in the booklet from the mayor.

  Now that I’d be seeing Lucas a lot more often, I needed to start scheduling regular manicures. Not for him, per say. Lucas might wear a suit for his new job and live in a fancy high-rise, but at heart, he was a jeans-and-t-shirt kind of guy, he drove a truck, hated frou-frou coffee, and probably hadn’t even noticed the manicure I’d had done before visiting him in the Big Easy. Despite his no-frills preference, there were bound to be company parties, corporate functions, and dinner parties in our future as he settled into his new job. Green nails and tattered cuticles simply wouldn’t do.

  I should probably get a few more dresses and purses too …

  Gwen would be delighted to help. She inhaled fashion magazines like oxygen and spent the majority of her time haunting—literally—the town beauty parlor. If I told her I needed a wardrobe update, she’d no doubt have ten suggestions at the tips of her fingers.

  “All right,” I said, carefully lifting the large—and heavy—arrangement from my workstation. “I’m going to take everything over to the funeral home. If it’s still dead once you’ve finished those last few orders, go ahead and lock up early and head to the barbecue. I’ll see you, and Bryant, down there.”

  Lizzie flushed again and scurried to prop open the back door for me.

  Within ten minutes, I had the arrangements loaded into the Lily Pond delivery van and was backing out of the shop’s designated parking space. Beechwood Harbor was a small town, the kind of place where the shops were named after their owner or their owner’s parents who’d originally opened the place. There was one market, one coffee house, a handful of restaurants, and a few motels and bed-and-breakfasts. I drove down Main Street through town and within minutes, pulled into the small lot beside the funeral home.

  As the town’s sole flower shop, Lily Pond did a lot of business with the funeral home and no one was surprised to see me when I backed through the glass side door, arms wrapped around a large hurricane vase. The flowers obscured my face, but a passing employee greeted me by name all the same.

  “Need some help?” Garth asked, after we exchanged pleasantries.

  “Maybe with the wreath. I’ll be right back up for it.”

  “Sure thing, Scarlet.”

  “Thanks!”

  I knew the place like the back of my hand—not hard to do, considering its size—and quickly made my way to the small viewing room where memorial services were often held. There were two churches in town, but the smaller or non-religious services tended to be held right at the funeral home. It was one of the town’s historic homes that now housed small businesses. In the funeral home’s case, almost everything in the interior remained original to the home, with only some minor updating to modern codes.

  Services were held in the former living room, a large space with polished wood floors, a large fireplace, and built-in shelving along one wall. It was always set up and ready for a service, with rows of folding wooden chairs, a thick carpet down the aisle, a pulpit at the front that blocked part of the fireplace from view, and a few tables for flowers. The service tonight was a memorial service and wouldn’t have a casket, so I’d designed a large wreath of flowers that would hang from an easel beside a blown-up portrait of the deceased.

  The large hurricane vase in my arms went on the table beside the urn, just as I’d discussed with the family when they’d come for their consultation. The funeral home had several package options available for those who didn’t want one more decision to make, but oftentimes families wanted to meet with me and discuss the arrangements ahead of time. The woman being memorialized the following day had been young at the time of her death, only forty-six. She’d left behind both her parents along with a brother, and, perhaps most tragically, a teenage daughter.

  The arrangement shifted slightly and I paused to maneuver some of the blooms back into their rightful places.

  “This is all for me?”

  I turned, startled by the voice, and found a ghost standing in the doorway of the viewing room, her mouth agape, silvery eyes wide.

  Crap. Had she seen me? Did she know I’d heard her?

  Without a word, I did a dramatic stretch, pressing my palms into my sides and arching backward, trying to convince the ghost I’d had some kind of muscle spasm.

  What can I say, desperate times, pathetic measures.

  The ghost watched me, but I avoided meeting her gaze head-on and went back to arranging the flowers. If she didn’t know I’d heard her, then she wouldn’t know I could see her, and she’d leave me alone.

  And, above all, I could make it to the barbecue before all of Mrs. Garland’s potato salad was gone.

  Chapter 3

  The spirit came further into the viewing room, her limbs awkward. Perfect. Not only is there a ghost wandering around, but it’s a helpless baby ghost. Ugh. Why me?

  It usually takes new ghosts a little while to get the hang of their new mode of transportation. While they no longer require the use of their legs to get from point A to point B, most try to keep using their legs anyway. Muscle memory is a hard thing to break, even after death.

  I glanced at the large portrait at the front of the room and then back at the ghost. It was Sabrina Hutchins, the woman being memorialized. Before I could decide whether or not to blow my cover—and possibly my chance at a plateful of potato salad—the air beside Sabrina shimmered and a second spirit appeared. This one wearing feather earrings and a wide smile as she waved at me. “Scarlet! There you are!”

  I cringed and looked away.

  “Oh, excuse me. Am I interrupting something?” Gwen said, presumably to Sabrina. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Gwen.”

  “Sabrina,” the second ghost said.

  I fussed with a pair of roses, wishing ghost telepathy came along with all my other whackadoodle gifts.

  “Yoohoo! Scarlet!” Gwen called.

  “You know she can’t see you, right? I’m new to this, but it’s pretty obvious we’re ghosts and the living can’t see or hear us.”

  Gwen laughed. “Scarlet’s not like most—”

  Crap.

  I shoved a rose back into place and spun on my heels to face both spirits, shooting daggers at Gwen.

  Sabrina blinked. “You can see me?”

  Crossing my arms, I nodded. “Yes, and I’m sorry, but I’m really busy and I don’t have a lot of time for small talk.”

  Sabrina didn’t look offended. She propelled herself to the altar, her gaze fixed on the large portrait of herself.

  “Oh, honey. Is this your service?” Gwen asked her, floating a few paces behind. “You’re a new ghost?”

  Sabrina nodded.

  Gwen shot me a look. “Scar, we have to help her.”

  “Help me how?” Sabrina asked. “I’m already dead. Seems a little late to do much of anything. I can’t hop back in my body and force myself to wake up from this nightmare.” She peeked at Gwen. “Can I?”

  Gwen gave a solemn shake of her head. “No. I’m afraid what’s done is done. Do you know how you died?”

  “Not really.” Sabrina paused, staring at the urn. “Is that—um—me?”

  Gwen looked at me and I nodded. With that confirmati
on, the 70s-era spirit sidled up to Sabrina and placed a steadying hand at her back. “It is,” she said softly. “It looks like your family had your remains cremated.”

  A sob caught in Sabrina’s throat and Gwen moved closer, pulling the woman into an embrace. “It’s okay. We’ll help you adjust to your new life. It’s cliché, but really, it does help to think of this as a new beginning rather than an ending.”

  I poked my head out into the hallway, making sure no one was within earshot. The funeral home didn’t boast a large staff, but with a service hours away from beginning, the funeral home director, Karla Leeson, and her two staff members were bound to be nearby finishing the preparations. Communicating with ghosts was a gift, but it came with a whole host of complications. Mostly that by and large, people would think I was certifiable if I told them the truth. I had a handful of tricks to get away with public ghost chats, the most popular of which was a small Bluetooth earpiece I could use to make it appear as though I were talking to someone on the phone rather than to thin air.

  The earpiece was back at the flower shop, and therefore not an option for the current conversation. Gwen knew I didn’t like chatting with strange ghosts outside my set aside office hours, but she had a heart of gold and wasn’t likely to enforce the rules when presented with a newcomer who needed assistance.

  “Gwen,” I said, jerking my head to beckon her closer, “a word.”

  Reluctantly, Gwen disentangled herself from Sabrina and floated across the viewing room to join me. “Scarlet! I can’t believe you were just pretending you couldn’t see or hear her!”

  Guilt nipped at me but I did my best to ignore it. “Her service is starting in two hours. I don’t really think it’s a good idea for her to be here.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s not going to feel better if she sits and listens to her family and friends eulogize her and then watch them all go back to their normal lives while she has to stay behind. That can’t possibly be helpful.”

  “You never know. It might be.” Gwen paused and glanced at Sabrina’s back. “I guess I could take her down to the barbecue. I could introduce her around, show her that there’s plenty of fun to be had in the afterlife!”