Entry 3 (Dream of You)

[insaneladybug]

Title: Dream of You
Entry Number: 03
Author: insaneladybug/Lucky_Ladybug
Fandom: The Rockford Files (specifically, The Queen of Peru episode)
Rating: T/PG-13 (Ghost, small-town prejudices and secrets)
Genre: Supernatural, Mystery
Spoiler Warnings: None.
Word Count: 8,848

By Lucky_Ladybug

The Victorian mansion was right out of countless horror pictures and books. Large, mysterious, and somewhat uninviting from the outside, it stood on an old hill atop the Eastern seaboard. Every day, the tide came in and the waves crashed loudly against the bottom of the hill. Some said that from the inside of the house, especially in the basement, the sounds could be heard clearly and there were probably tunnels leading through the hill to the beach. Others said that not all of the sounds were from the sea. Perhaps they weren’t even from the mortal plane at all.

Those unsettling comments were the last things Ginger and Lou wanted to hear as they drove into town. The house on the hill was a bed and breakfast, and it was the only location in the town where they could stay. The hotel was small and already booked up with the others who had come out for the business conference.

Lou desperately tried to look on the bright side as he drove towards the hill. “This sure is a nice area,” he said appreciatively. “I’m glad Storybrooke isn’t real, or we probably would’ve driven right through it today.”

Ginger grunted, resting his arm on the door. “If Storybrooke was real, we’d be in for a bloody lot of trouble driving through it. Or anyone who challenged us would be.”

Lou had to chuckle at that. Ginger was certainly a force to be reckoned with.

“But nevermind about Storybrooke,” Ginger went on. “That isn’t what you’re really thinking about.”

“No, it isn’t,” Lou sighed. “I’m thinking that this is a stereotypical Maine town and that place looks like a stereotypical haunted house.”

“And what the stereotypical gossips told us doesn’t help that impression any,” Ginger remarked.

Lou gripped the steering wheel as they started up the steep hill. “Ginger . . . do you think there’s any chance that they’re just letting their imaginations run away with them?” he moaned.

“There’s always a chance,” Ginger said. “But with our luck, and the way it looks, it’s not easy to believe it in this case.”

“All it’s missing is a bunch of graves in the front yard,” Lou muttered. “It’s even got a dead tree!”

“It could just be resting for the winter,” Ginger shrugged. “Some trees drop their leaves faster than others.”

“I know, I know,” Lou said. “But this whole place looks pretty amazing for fall. I don’t think I’ve seen any other completely bare trees in town. And then there’s this one.” He pulled up next to the house at the driveway and shut off the engine.

“You’re letting your imagination run away with you,” Ginger said.

“Yeah, yeah. But don’t tell me you’re not worried or spooked at all,” Lou said, getting out of the car.

“Naturally I am,” said Ginger. “I’m just trying desperately to control it because I don’t want to be crippled with the fear that anything that looks haunted actually is.”

“Good point,” Lou sighed. He started off for the porch and Ginger trailed after him, soon catching up.

The door popped open before either of them gained the porch, causing them both to jump. An older woman with a slightly suspicious glare stared them down, gripping the door with one hand and a potentially dangerous broom in the other. “Are you two with the business conference in town?” she asked.

“That’s right, we are,” Ginger said, stepping forward. “But the hotel is all booked up and we’ve nowhere to stay, unless you have something for us, Ms. Fairchild.”

She squinted at him and then at the vaguely nervous Lou. “There’s rooms,” she finally admitted. “You know my name. What about yours?”

“Ginger Townsend,” Ginger said grandly.

“Lou Trevino,” Lou spoke, thinking this might go better if he introduced himself this time.

She continued to peer at them. “I’ve never heard of either of you,” she proclaimed. “But then again, I don’t know anyone else at that conference, either.” She leaned back, pushing the door open wider. “You can come inside and look at the rooms. The only rules I have are for peace and quiet and no smoking or drugs.”

“You don’t have to worry about any of that,” Ginger said as he and Lou climbed onto the porch. “We’re very quiet and abhor filthy habits such as smoking and taking drugs.”

“That’s right,” Lou said. “We’ve never done either of those things.”

“Good,” Ms. Fairchild shot back.

The interior of the house looked to be in far better condition than the exterior. The old wallpaper was faded but clean, the furniture was sharp and impressive, and the staircase didn’t look like it was ready to fall apart.

“It looks like a different house from in here,” Lou whispered to Ginger, who had to agree.

Ms. Fairchild led them up the stairs and to two connecting rooms directly across from the landing. “These are the best rooms,” she said.

“They’re fine,” Ginger said, and Lou nodded his agreement. “We’ll take them.”

“Fine. Now you’ll be staying through tomorrow, right?” Ms. Fairchild asked.

“Yes,” Ginger said. “We’ll either leave tomorrow night or the following morning.”

“You might want to wait until morning,” Ms. Fairchild told him. “It gets foggy around here at night.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Ginger replied. “Do you require the rent in advance?”

“I’d prefer it.” Ms. Fairchild scrutinized him. “You two don’t look like the types to run out, but I’ve had more than one case of appearances being deceiving.”

“Of course.” Ginger took out his wallet. “Name the amount and it will be yours.”

Lou watched as the money changed hands. Ginger was so good at his polite façade. He’d had many years to practice with it, and it was so smooth that by now it seemed completely natural, even though it wasn’t the real him at all.

Ms. Fairchild stuffed the bills into her apron. “Dinner’s at eight,” she said abruptly, turning to leave.

“Thank you,” said Ginger.

He went into the nearest of the rooms and Lou followed him in. “Boy, I hope she doesn’t find out that we were crooks,” Lou hissed. “I’ve got the feeling she’d kick us right out.”

“Most likely,” Ginger nodded. He hefted his suitcase onto a chair and clicked it open. “I recommend we leave sooner rather than later.”

“Me too,” Lou sighed.

He stiffened when a cool breeze wafted past. He spun around in confusion, but saw nothing.

“What is it?” Ginger grunted.

“I don’t know,” Lou frowned. He shivered, suddenly uncomfortable. “I hope it was just a draft.”

Ginger scowled. “With our luck? Don’t count on it.”

Creeped out, Lou took his suitcase and went through the connecting door to the other room. “I wish this was just one room,” he said through the open doorway. “How about we leave this door open?”

Ginger looked over. “If that would make you feel more at ease.”

“It would,” Lou declared.

“A ghost could always close it, you know,” Ginger pointed out.

Lou’s shoulders slumped. “Well, I wanna try it anyway.”

“Go ahead,” Ginger replied. He turned away, not wanting to admit that he also would prefer the connecting door to stay open.

He didn’t have to; Lou knew it. Smiling a bit, Lou left the door open as he opened his own suitcase.
****
Imagining that their hostess wanted promptness, Ginger and Lou made sure to be downstairs exactly at eight. Ms. Fairchild looked up from the oven, pleased. “Good. You got here without me having to go up and drag you out.”

“Hey, we’re hungry,” Lou said, “and this smells great. Is there anything we can do to help, like setting the table or something?”

“No, I don’t let strangers roam through the cupboards,” Ms. Fairchild said, nevertheless clearly pleased by Lou’s compliment. “Just sit down and I’ll serve you.”

Her guests did so, admiring the antique table and wood cabinet next to it. “You keep things really nice-looking around here,” Lou said appreciatively. “Are these genuine antiques?”

“They sure are,” Ms. Fairchild replied.

“Isn’t it dangerous to have them out where they could be damaged?” Ginger voiced.

“No, because anyone who did damage something would have to pay for it,” Ms. Fairchild said flatly. “My guests are pretty careful.”

“I can see why,” Lou exclaimed. “I’d hate to think how much it would cost to fix something like this table.”

“Enough that it’d probably even give you big businessmen nightmares,” Ms. Fairchild said, bringing a heavy pan over to the table. “Here. Help yourselves.”

Lou stared at the cheese-covered casserole in awe. “Thanks,” he said, grabbing a knife to cut out a section.

The meal was delicious. Lou went back for seconds and even thirds, and Ginger allowed himself to indulge as well. Ms. Fairchild, although trying to keep up a gruff front, was proud of their interest.

Conversation was sparse, with Ginger not wanting to pry and Lou concentrating on the food. But they answered questions put to them by Ms. Fairchild and every now and then asked a question of their own.

“Say,” Lou finally said as they neared the end of the meal, “there’s rumors all over town that this place is haunted. Do you know if there’s any truth to them?”

Ms. Fairchild shrugged. “Are you afraid of a few ghosts?”

Lou’s stomach knotted at the thought of a “few”, but he desperately hoped she was exaggerating. “I guess that’d depend on if they were out to get us or not,” he half-joked.

“I’ve never had any trouble,” Ms. Fairchild said. “Some of the guests have complained about things.”

Ginger raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“Oh . . . cool breezes in the hall, figures on the porch before dawn . . .” Ms. Fairchild seemed thoroughly unconcerned. “The wackiest of all was when one of them said that he went to the washroom upstairs and when he came out, the whole layout of the floor had twisted around like a maze and he had the most terrible time finding his way back to the bedroom.” She chortled. “Of course something like that is impossible. He must’ve been drinking.”

“Of course,” Ginger said uneasily. It didn’t sound possible, but perhaps it was if it was an illusion cast by the ghost. How he wanted to scoff as he had done in the past!

“That sounds really freaky, no matter what caused it,” Lou declared.

“I guess,” Ms. Fairchild shrugged. “I just laughed, since of course it’s not real.” She stood. “What time is your meeting tomorrow?”

“In the morning,” Ginger said. “We should be leaving around eight. If you’re still asleep, we’ll try not to wake you.”

She waved him off. “I should be up by then.”

“Alright.” Ginger pushed back his empty plate. “Shall we help you with the dishes?”

“Bring them to the sink,” she told him. “The dishwasher and I’ll do the rest.”

“Very well.” Ginger collected his dishes and got up, heading for the sink.

Lou did likewise. “That was a really great meal,” he said. “I love to cook; would you mind sharing the recipe?”

Ms. Fairchild looked to him. “I don’t think I’d mind at all,” she said. “I’ll give it to you before you go.”

“Thanks,” Lou said, genuinely pleased.

Soon they were heading upstairs while their hostess took care of the dishes. Ginger was quiet, but highly alert.

Lou could imagine why. “Are you thinking about what she said?” he asked with a shiver.

“You are, I imagine,” Ginger said. His eyes narrowed. “Yes, I am as well. It was disturbing whether or not it’s actually believed.”

“I know I felt a breeze!” Lou ranted.

“And it could have been a draft,” Ginger said.

“You didn’t think so when I mentioned it before,” Lou said as they reached the top.

“I was trying to convince myself as much as you.” Ginger glanced up and down the hall. “And do you know what? We forgot to ask her where the loo is.”

Lou groaned. “So we’ll have to look?”

“Or go down and ask. But surely there aren’t that many choices.” Ginger opened one door and quickly shut it, having discovered a bedroom that was probably Ms. Fairchild’s.

Lou hesitated before finally crossing the hall and opening a door just to the side of the staircase landing. “Here it is,” he reported.

Ginger looked up. “Good.” He wandered over to peer in. “It’s nice, although not nearly as much as the one of ours in our basement that we can’t even use.”

Lou pulled the door shut. “Ginger . . . you don’t really think we might come out and have some creepy illusion of not being able to get back to the bedrooms, do you?”

Ginger scowled. “I don’t want to think that. Apparently it was only done to one person, unless others were too frightened to say anything.”

Lou hesitated again. “Yeah, I guess. But . . . do you think it’d be asking too much if I suggested that whoever’s in there before bed, the other wait right outside?”

“After everything that’s happened to us? Probably not. But think about this.” Ginger’s ice-blue gaze bored into Lou’s soft brown eyes. “If the illusion could involve not being able to find your way across this small corridor, don’t you think it could very easily extend to also not being able to see someone waiting right outside the door?”

Lou cringed. “I guess it could. But I don’t wanna think there’s no way to escape it!”

“Neither of us do.” Ginger paused. “Alright, we’ll try your idea. Just don’t be surprised if it doesn’t work.”

“I won’t be surprised,” Lou said. “Just really, really upset.”

Both men were gratified when nothing happened. But as they headed for the bedrooms, Ginger pulling the door shut after them as they entered his, Lou felt a definite chill.

“I sure wish we could both just stay in here when there’s all these tales of ghosts roaming around,” he moaned.

“Unfortunately, that would be rather awkward considering the rooms’ arrangements,” Ginger said matter-of-factly. Unless absolutely necessary, he did not want to share a bed. It was far too exasperating trying to sleep with someone else rolling around trying to get comfortable and calmed down.

Lou sighed, knowing Ginger’s feelings and feeling embarrassed himself to even think of trying it. “I know,” he said. “Okay, I’m going.” He shuffled towards the connecting door.

“Just leave it open and pretend the wall isn’t there,” Ginger said.

“That would be a lot easier to do if I didn’t have to think the ghost will probably shut the door and even lock it,” Lou retorted.

“It really wouldn’t have any reason to,” Ginger said.

“Since when do ghosts need reasons?!” Lou shook his head. “Night, Ginger. I hope we both wake up safe.”

Ginger nodded. “As do I. Goodnight.”

It was unsettling, to say the least, to attempt sleep in a house with so many strange rumors and stories attached to it. Lou jumped at every normal sound of the house settling in. And even though Ginger had tried to think he wasn’t as affected by the tales, he was definitely having a bear of a time trying to get sleepy enough that rest would overtake him.

He wasn’t sure whether it had finally happened when he felt a breeze on his cheek and heard a soft, almost ethereal voice in his ear. “Who am I?”

He jumped a mile. “What?!”

“You can tell me, can’t you?”

“Tell you what? Who you are?” He sat up, his hair a wild mess. “How the bloody devil should I know?”

Unseen lips suddenly pressed against his and he stiffened in shock. “You can tell me who I am. Please . . . I want to know.”

“That makes two of us. And don’t fondle me, whoever you are. I don’t know you and I can’t see you and I don’t like it!” He threw back the comforter, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress.

“Tell me who I am. Please . . . I need to know. I need to . . .”

Ginger leaped awake, bouncing in the bed. He sat up immediately, his heart racing. “What was that?” he muttered to himself. “A realistic dream? Actual reality?”

It couldn’t have really happened, he told himself. He had just woke up. Whatever had come before that couldn’t be seen as fact.

He looked over to the connecting door. It was still open, to his relief, and from the looks of it, Lou had settled down and was having a peaceful sleep.

Ginger relaxed and sighed, sinking back into the pillows. He really had no idea what had just happened or if it was something he needed to worry about. Nor did he really want to take the time to think about it. It was still night and he was tired and all he wanted was to sleep.

Pulling up the covers again, he tried and succeeded in dozing.

He had no idea if he slept or even dreamed. It seemed to be a long, hard sleep, something he sorely needed and wanted. And then suddenly, out of nowhere strong hands were gently taking hold of him. “Ginger?”

Ginger growled under his breath. “What is it?”

“I’m really sorry to wake you up, but we’re gonna be late.”

Ginger sprang up at that. “I slept straight through the entire night?!”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Lou said. He was standing over Ginger, fully dressed. “I know that’s not usual for you, Buddy, but . . .”

“Nevermind.” Ginger pushed back the quilt and got up, a bit unsteady after such a strong sleep. “How much time do I have?”

Lou reached to help him if he needed it. “You should have enough time to just get ready normally, if you start right now,” he said. “I wanted to make sure you had time for breakfast, too.”

Ginger glanced back over his shoulder. “Is Ms. Fairchild up?”

“Yeah. She’s getting it ready.” Lou stepped aside as Ginger headed for the door. “It sure smells good.”

“It does,” Ginger acknowledged appreciatively. He wandered across the hall and into the bathroom.

Still a bit uneasy, Lou went over and stood nearby, wanting to make sure Ginger wouldn’t have any trouble finding his way back. “So did anything weird happen last night?” he asked when Ginger emerged several moments later.

Ginger blinked at him, still looking sleepy even after splashing water on his face. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t remember anything offhand, but . . . wait.” He frowned. “Something was talking to me.”

Lou regarded him in horror. “Talking to you?!”

“It could have been nothing more than a dream,” Ginger said with impatience. “She wanted me to tell her who she is.”

Lou stared. “That’s really creepy,” he said. “Who ever heard of a ghost with amnesia?”

“Yes,” Ginger mused. “Who has. It doesn’t sound very possible, does it.” He headed for the stairs.

Lou kept pace with him. “I don’t know; I guess it could be,” he said slowly. “If people can wake up dead and still think they’re alive, maybe they could not remember stuff even after dying.”

“Not even their own name?” Ginger scoffed.

Lou gave a helpless shrug. “It does sound pretty wacky.”

“It sounds worse than that. I will be relieved when we’re out of this drafty old house and well on our way home to Los Angeles.”

“I sure will be, too,” Lou declared. “But right now I’ll be glad just to get some breakfast.”

Ginger had to admit, that sounded quite good to him as well.
****
Breakfast was just as delicious as dinner. And if Ms. Fairchild had experienced anything strange in the night, she wasn’t about to make it known to strangers. She said nothing on the topic and Ginger was perfectly satisfied with that, not wanting to say anything to her, either.

“I’ll be expecting you both back for your luggage in the afternoon, then,” she said when she followed them to the front door.

“Right,” said Lou.

“Or to stay the night if we don’t complete our business today,” Ginger added.

“Of course,” she nodded. “If you can stand spending another night in the haunted house.”

Ginger raised an eyebrow. “Is there any reason why we shouldn’t?”

“Sure, if you hate ghosts,” she shrugged. “But you seem like reasonable people to me.”

“You’re right-we are,” Ginger said flatly. He didn’t bother to mention that because they were reasonable, they didn’t like to hang around in situations that were potentially dangerous for them. “However, define ‘reasonable’.”

“Not getting scared at the thought of a spirit walking around,” Ms. Fairchild replied.

“That would depend on what type of spirit,” Ginger said. “Oh, by the way . . .” He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “How long have you owned this house?”

“I came to town ten years ago and bought it then,” was the answer. “Why?”

“I merely wondered who owned it previously,” Ginger said.

“I got it from the bank,” said Ms. Fairchild. “It’d been foreclosed on. The people moved away or died or something and they were in debt.”

“I see,” Ginger nodded. “Thank you. Good day.”

“See you later,” Ms. Fairchild said, looking no less than a little weirded out.

Lou said goodbye as well and trailed after Ginger to the car. “Do you think she knows anything?” he hissed.

“I really couldn’t say,” Ginger grunted. “If she does, it certainly doesn’t bother her.”

“I wish I could say the same about me,” Lou moaned. “But I guess an amnesiac ghost isn’t too bad, as long as it’s kind of friendly.”

“I would say it’s entirely too friendly,” Ginger answered, remembering the invisible fondling.

Lou blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Ginger’s tone said that he did not want to discuss it further. Respecting that, Lou unlocked the car and they climbed inside. “Are you gonna try to find out more about who had the house before Ms. Fairchild?” he asked instead.

“If I can do so without arousing suspicion,” Ginger replied. “Judging from how protective small towns are of their secrets, that likely will not be easy for an outsider.”

“If we knew who the big gossips are in town, we could try talking to one of them,” Lou said. He started the engine and turned around to drive down the hill.

“And if we did it right, it probably wouldn’t end up looking too suspicious,” Ginger mused. “That’s a good idea.”

“The only problem is, what if we do finish our business today?” Lou wondered. “News gets around so fast, Ms. Fairchild would probably hear about it. And how would we justify staying on until tomorrow?”

“Let’s worry about that if it happens,” Ginger said. “It might be so late in the afternoon that night would soon come on and the fog would roll in, and that would be a perfectly logical reason to stay on.”

“That’s true,” Lou conceded. “I hate driving in the fog.”

“Meanwhile, we can find out if any of the people we’re meeting with have been here before,” Ginger said. “Perhaps one of them would know about the prior owners of the bed and breakfast and we wouldn’t have to go looking for town gossips.”

Lou relaxed. “That’s an even better idea,” he proclaimed.

Ginger looked amused. “I didn’t think you were bothered by gossips,” he said. “As long as they’re not Mrs. Oreck.”

“It depends on their attitude, kind of,” Lou said. “Some of them are sweet old ladies who don’t mean any harm. But some of them are like Mrs. Oreck and you can feel this undercurrent of bitterness with them.”

“I certainly agree with that,” Ginger said. “As far as I’m concerned, most of them are the latter type.”

Lou smiled a bit. “You would feel like that,” he said with fondness.

“I haven’t been given much reason to feel otherwise,” Ginger shrugged.

“I guess you haven’t,” Lou mused in realization.

“The gossips I knew as a child were old fussbudgets,” Ginger said. “Then, as an adult, there were the people from work and Mrs. Oreck.”

Lou nodded grimly. “Not fun. I knew some of the ‘fussbudget’ types in New York, but there were some nice old ladies, too.” He shook his head. “Some of them didn’t even think they were gossiping, but just passing on the news or something like that.”

“Typical,” Ginger grunted. “Although most gossips think similar things about themselves. Then the scant few who know what they’re doing honestly don’t care.”

“And they’re the scariest ones, I think,” Lou said. “I mean, it’s kind of forgivable if they’re really not trying to hurt anyone. But if they know what they’re saying could hurt people and they just couldn’t care less . . .” He trailed off.

“Hopefully we won’t run into any more of those kind on this trip,” Ginger said. “We have enough problems already.”

Lou thoroughly concurred.
****
The business meeting was long and dull, but finally finished late in the day with all matters resolved and everyone free to leave. Ginger had already observed from listening to the casual conversations that several of the other businessmen had been in town more than once, and as everyone stood to depart, he made his way over to them.

“I here you’ve been in town before,” he greeted. “Lou and I have been staying at Ms. Fairchild’s Bed and Breakfast. I trust you’ve heard the odd rumors going around about it?”

“You mean about the ghosts?” Mr. Johnson, a portly man with a perpetual grin, looked amused.

Ginger gave a nod. “Also about the fates of the previous owners.”

“Ah, of course.” Mr. Johnson sobered, but not by much. “Well, I haven’t heard a lot, mind you. They don’t tend to talk about those people around here.”

“Yeah?” Lou was surprised. “I thought they talked about everything.”

“There’s always some taboo subjects.” Mr. Johnson swiped several jellybeans from the courtesy dish on the table.

“And why is that forbidden?” Ginger wondered. “Was there foul play or suicide involved?”

Mr. Johnson shook his head. “No. . . . From what I hear, the woman was having an argument with her husband and she fell over the balcony and down the cliff, smashing on the rocks below.”

Lou cringed at the description. “And it was an accident?”

“It was supposed to be. The husband was devastated and left.” Mr. Johnson shrugged. “That’s about the most I can get out of anyone. I guess some of them wonder if it was murder, but they don’t talk about it enough to really get it going anywhere.”

“I see,” Ginger nodded. “Thank you.” He turned to leave, but Mr. Johnson suddenly grabbed his arm, causing him to stiffen.

“Have you seen anything weird up there?” Mr. Johnson asked, almost eagerly.

“No,” Ginger said honestly, pulling his arm away. After all, feeling a cold breeze and having a bizarre dream were not actually seeing things in the house.

Mr. Johnson gave a regretful sigh. “Pity. I’d love a new ghost story to take back to the wife.” He grinned mischievously. “She’s terrified of them, so I tease her with them all the time.”

Ginger quirked an eyebrow. “How long have you been married?”

“Twenty-five years,” Mr. Johnson drawled.

“She must love you, to put up with that for so long,” Ginger said flatly.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, she does indeed.” Mr. Johnson smiled. “We have a wonderful relationship.”

I’ll bet, Lou couldn’t help sarcastically thinking to himself. What an insensitive creep.

“Well,” Ginger said now, “we must be going. Thank you again for your information.”

“Any time,” Mr. Johnson said. “I just wish I knew more of the juicy details.” He leaned in close, repulsing Ginger. “You will let me know if you learn anything more, won’t you?”

“Possibly,” Ginger said evenly. If not for the necessity of keeping up a good business relationship, he would have said what he was really thinking: Not bloody likely!

“If we meet again soon then,” Mr. Johnson said cheerfully. “I’ll see you both around.”

“Afternoon.” Ginger gave a curt nod and stepped away from the table, departing the room with Lou at his side.

“Man, what a jerk,” Lou hissed. “I hope we won’t see him around!”

“We probably will, with our luck,” said Ginger.

“So what do we do now?” Lou wondered.

“Let’s go to the library and see what old articles they might have on the incident,” Ginger said. “Not that it would help much; even if that is the amnesiac ghost, I didn’t see her.”

“I guess there wouldn’t be any video footage of her,” Lou said.

“Probably not,” Ginger frowned. “Unless she was important in the community. And since they don’t even want to discuss her, that doesn’t seem likely.”

“Maybe it would make even more sense that way,” Lou said. “She was someone important, so when she died, they couldn’t bear to talk about it.”

“Perhaps,” Ginger said. “But then it would seem that they would be more zealous about wanting the husband caught-if they were scandalized enough to believe it murder.”

“And maybe they didn’t. I don’t know . . . it’s weird any way you look at it,” Lou declared. “I just hope the library will have online copies of the town paper or something, so we don’t have to ask about the story we want.”

Ginger nodded. “They might have microfiche, if nothing else.”

Lou made a face. “I hate those things,” he said. “It doesn’t take much scrolling through page after page before I get feeling really dizzy and motion-sick.”

Ginger turned to look at him as they stepped out amid the autumn leaves and over to the car. “Really? I didn’t know you ever got motion-sick. You certainly don’t seem to behind the wheel.”

“Cars I’m okay with,” Lou said. “Microfiche, no way.”

“Did you used to be motion-sick in cars?” Ginger wondered. He climbed inside the car and Lou followed suit.

“When I was a kid, sure,” Lou said. “I outgrew it, luckily. But I’ve never been around microfiche enough to outgrow that.”

“If we have to use that machine, I will do the majority of the searching,” Ginger promised.

“I don’t want you to have to do it mostly all by yourself,” Lou protested. Starting the engine, he pulled out of the hotel parking lot and drove along the main street, looking for the library.

“It’s better than watching you grow dizzy and ill,” Ginger grunted. “What purpose would that serve?”

“None, I guess,” Lou mumbled. He smiled a bit, weakly. “Thanks, Ginger.”

“It isn’t entirely unselfish,” Ginger said. “It wouldn’t serve any purpose for me, either.”

Lou smiled more as he drove. Ginger and his logic.
****
The library was only partially informative. At least they found a picture of the woman-a striking brunette with long and curly black locks-and her name-Carol Ren. They learned that the police had definitely classed her death as accidental and that her husband Henry had been unable to stand living in the house after it happened. He left the mansion standing as it was and vanished altogether, eventually leading to its foreclosure.

But they learned very little about who Carol actually was, as far as personality, likes, and dislikes went. If she wanted Ginger to tell her more than just her name, he would fail, miserably.

He and Lou mutually determined to leave when the suspicious, frowning librarian arrived at their computer station and asked in a clipped tone if there was anything she could help them with. Ginger responded with his customary polite façade, and he and Lou quickly inferred that she was not pleased with their presence and wanted them gone that instant-particularly when she saw what they were looking at. Their inference swiftly became indisputable fact.

“This town keeps its secrets,” she said coolly, moving to close the web browser as Ginger stood. “You men came for a business meeting. Now that it’s over, we would appreciate it if you’d both just leave and get back to your lives, without broadcasting anything about us.”

Ginger’s façade faded into the wind. “Is that what you tell everyone who comes here and may be slightly curious, for whatever reason, about this town’s ‘secrets’?” he said, his tone equally clipped. “You automatically assume that any interested party is out to do you harm and must be treated as an enemy?”

She ignored him. “If there is nothing I can help you with, please leave. The library will be closing soon.”

“Your choice of words is certainly appropriate,” Ginger replied. “I truly don’t believe you would be physically capable of helping us, due to your limited mental capacity.” With that he stalked off, his overcoat sweeping out with the breeze.

Lou stared after Ginger in momentary shock before hurrying to catch up. The librarian, unfazed, adjusting her glasses and waited to turn away until they were safely outside.

“You really gave it to her with both barrels,” Lou exclaimed when they were crunching through fallen leaves to the car.

“I abhor the sort of narrow-minded thinking that often accompanies close-knit neighborhoods and towns,” Ginger said matter-of-factly.

“I don’t like it either, but wow. I hope the town won’t come after us with torches,” Lou said as they got into the car.

“I doubt it, unless we stay longer than tonight.” Ginger settled back while Lou drove.

“If the ghost comes again, what are you gonna tell her?” Lou wondered.

“What we found out,” Ginger said. “There’s little more I can tell her. Although my feeling now is certainly that she was always a blemish on the town and that’s why they won’t talk about her death or her life.”

“Yeah, probably.” Lou paused. “I wonder where her husband is.”

“I would like to know that myself,” Ginger grunted. “For all we know, he could have run off and killed himself.”

Lou frowned. Even though suicide was looked upon as such a serious, unforgivable sin in his religion, he really felt for anyone who killed themselves out of indescribable anguish and pain. He certainly knew that he would feel like killing himself if Ginger died in a manner that Lou would blame himself for. Not that he would go through with it regardless, but he understood the mindset.

“Are you gonna try to look him up?” he asked.

“I assume the bank already tried that before they foreclosed,” Ginger said. “Although it wouldn’t surprise me if instead they did not and simply foreclosed anyway, just to further the town’s bad attitude.”

Lou shook his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised, either,” he admitted.
****
Ms. Fairchild was waiting when they came back. “So, are you going or staying the night?” she asked as they trudged up the walk and the stairs.

“We’re staying, if that’s okay,” Lou said. “It’s almost dark and you’re right about the fog rolling in. And I kind of don’t want to be driving through that.”

“Smart choice,” she nodded.

“We’ll leave in the morning,” Ginger said.

She deliberately paused as she watched them step through the door into the entryway. “I got a call a little while ago,” she said. “Your meeting got out, but you hung around in town, even dropping in at the library.”

“Yes,” Ginger said without turning around.

Lou didn’t turn either, instead looking worriedly at Ginger and wondering what to do or say.

“It seems like you’re more curious about things than you let on,” Ms. Fairchild said. “That’s different than I thought you were.”

“We are not curious for the sake of being curious,” Ginger retorted. He turned now, his eyes filled with ice. “In fact, we aren’t curious at all. All we want is to be informed of where we are and what sort of place this is.”

“It’s a place where strangers don’t hang around long,” Ms. Fairchild said. “If you want something different, there’s plenty of other places you can go.”

“And we would be perfectly content to go,” Ginger said. “It’s already been made clear to us that we are not welcome. We have no desire to stay where that is the case.”

Ms. Fairchild nodded. “We run a quiet town around here-no confusion, no havoc. We get our bread and butter from business groups that come here for meetings, and from a few handfuls of tourists, but they’re only here for superficial reasons. We don’t want them otherwise.”

“You will have your wish in the morning,” Ginger said, heading for the stairs. “But you may have less business groups and tourists if we tell how inhospitably we were treated over nothing.”

“People still come anyway,” she shrugged. “They like the scenery and they don’t hold with hearsay.”

“How nice for you,” Ginger said.

“Dinner is at eight again,” she answered.

Lou shivered as he followed Ginger into their connected rooms. “I hope she won’t poison it,” he muttered, not even fully sure he was joking.

Ginger grunted. “I wonder if the entire town would try to cover up our deaths if she did.”

“Who knows what the law enforcement is like. I’m not even sure I wanna know!” Lou declared. “This place reminds me too much of where Maude and Lita live.”

Ginger nodded in agreement. “Perhaps there’s a Maude and Lita here as well. And Jed. But I haven’t seen any counterparts yet and we’re not likely to be here long enough for that. At least, I would hope we really will be leaving in the morning.”

“No arguments there,” Lou said fervently. “Well, here’s hoping you can give the ghost some peace tonight.”

Ginger inclined his head slightly. “We’ll see.”
****
Ginger wasn’t sure when the ghost would approach him, but he tentatively planned on it being in his sleep again. And indeed, it was shortly after he dozed that he heard the mysterious, ethereal voice again.

“Did you find out who I am? I know you were looking.”

Ginger blinked in surprise. Unlike last night, when there was no particular scene of any kind, now he was standing at the foot of the cliffs. A shimmering woman with long black hair was moving like a gossamer mist over the boulders while the ocean lapped against them.

“Yes, I found out,” Ginger said. “But if you know I was looking, don’t you also know what I learned?”

She paused on the nearest rock, her dress flowing and white, her feet bare. “No.”

Ginger took several steps closer to her. “You are Carol Ren. I wasn’t sure, but now that I see you, I recognize you from your picture.

“You died here, on these rocks.”

She tilted her head slightly to the side. “So that’s why they mean something to me. I’m always finding myself either on these rocks or on the balcony up there.” She pointed up at the house on the cliff. “Was it an accident?”

“As far as I know.” Ginger watched her carefully. “Do you think it wasn’t?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. But . . .” She jumped lightly off the rock and started to pace in the sand. “Your words mean nothing to me. Shouldn’t they mean something if the mystery is all solved now?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. I never knew ghosts could get amnesia.” Ginger continued to watch her, unaffected, on guard.

“Tell me more,” she entreated. “Maybe I’ll remember. What was I doing when I fell?”

“Arguing with your husband. Who went missing after your death and hasn’t been seen since.” Ginger’s eyes narrowed. “I hope you don’t think I have to find him now.”

“No . . . I don’t think it’s that.” She went red. “I didn’t even remember I had a husband. I’m so sorry about how I came on to you last night. You’re very attractive and I made the mistake of thinking that you’d be more likely to help if there was the promise of a girl involved.”

Ginger grunted. “That is a mistake. I would be more likely to help in order to stop being haunted.

“But I suppose technically you don’t have a husband now. ‘Till death do you part’ and all that.”

“Oh. That’s true.” She sighed, turning to look up at the house again. “But as to my feelings now, I just don’t think the mystery is solved. I think there’s more.”

“Do you think you were pushed?” Ginger asked. “Do you think your husband . . .”

“No, it wasn’t him.” Her answer came quickly. She looked confused and sounded detached, yet her words held complete conviction. If she wasn’t playing him for a fool, subconsciously she must remember something.

“There wasn’t anyone else there,” Ginger pointed out. “Unless a mysterious third person has been left out of all official reports on the incident.”

“Let’s go up there.” She was determined, resolute. “Walk me through what happened. Maybe something will come back.”

Ginger was about to ask how they would get up there when suddenly they were there, on the balcony. He frowned, studying it, confused.

“I don’t know what you were arguing about,” he said. “I can’t walk you through it very well.”

“Just what the article said,” she encouraged. “Come on!”

Ginger shook his head. “This is utterly preposterous.”

Her hands went to her hips. “Why?”

“Because I shouldn’t have to walk a ghost through anything,” Ginger said. “A ghost shouldn’t have amnesia.”

“It will only take a few minutes,” she begged. “Please!”

Ginger heaved a frustrated sigh. “Alright. As your husband described it, you were both on this side.” He stepped back against the railing. “You were in front of him.” She got into position. “He was advancing on you, yelling, and you were backing up, yelling right back. Then you were on the opposite side of the balcony and suddenly . . .”

Carol screamed, her hands flying to the sides of her head. “NO!”

She looked up with a start. If a ghost could turn pale, she had done it. She was positively shaken.

“What is it?” Ginger demanded.

“I . . . the railing was broken,” she gasped. “I remember; I fell through and over the cliff.”

“Was it your husband?” Ginger queried.

“No. He was as surprised as I was. Maybe more. The last thing I heard . . .” Carol wrung her hands, starting to pace again. “He was screaming my name and reaching for me.”

“Was the railing broken deliberately?” Ginger walked over to it now, studying the spot she had indicated. It looked whole, but there was a crack where it had been refastened together.

“I don’t know.” She came over to inspect it as well. “Did it talk about the railing in the article?”

“No, it did not.” Ginger fingered the crack for a moment before turning to face her. “It said the cause of death was falling over the railing, not through it. It also said the railing was examined and found to be in perfect condition.”

“Then it was a lie!” Carol’s eyes flashed with an anger Ginger had not seen or heard from her before. “I fell through the railing. And you can see yourself it’s been repaired from something. Someone has been deliberately covering up.”

“Why?” Ginger retorted.

“We were never liked here; I remember that much.” Carol started to pace again. “Maybe the railing was purposely tampered with; I wish I knew. And there’s probably no way to even find out now. The town is locked up and I don’t want to put you in any danger.”

“So my chum and I are free to go?” Ginger said.

“Yes. Just go.” Carol turned away from him. “Thank you, for what you found out. I’m glad to remember something.” She gripped her arms.

“Are you going to continue haunting this place?” Ginger wondered.

She shrugged. “I feel . . . bound to it somehow. Maybe I’ll be staying until the truth is uncovered or until my husband comes back.”

“I doubt he’s coming back.” Ginger would have said more, but a breeze rushed against him. Suddenly the girl was gone and he was snapping awake.

And finding that he actually was on the balcony.

He swore under his breath. “What the bloody devil?” Had he sleepwalked here? Had Carol brought him here, body and soul?

Suddenly he was chilled. He had better not have astral-projected.

He reached out, gripping the wooden railing with all his might. Yes, he was really, fully here.

“Ginger?”

He turned. Lou, blinking very sleepy eyes, had opened the door and was standing in the doorway, puzzled.

Suddenly Ginger had an idea. “Lou, do you have your phone with you?”

“Huh?” Lou felt around in his pajama pockets. “I don’t usually take it to bed with me. Oh.” He pulled it out, completely in surprise.

“Come out here and take a couple pictures of this.” Ginger stepped aside and allowed Lou to walk out.

“Of that?” Lou stared at the railing. “What is this?!”

“Possibly evidence of murder,” Ginger said darkly. “We’re going to anonymously send these and a letter advising an investigation of murder to the district attorney and the state police and hope that one or both offices are upright in this area.”

Lou immediately snapped the pictures. “Great,” he said. “They’d better be.

“But what happened with the ghost girl? Did she show up?”

“Yes,” Ginger said, his tone far away. “She did.” He started back into the house. “As for what happened, I’m still not sure of that.” He waited in the doorway for Lou before heading back up the corridor. “She’s still waiting on something, probably the full truth of the mystery.”

“Then I hope she gets it,” Lou declared. “And I hope we can get some sleep.”

“I would like a restful sleep myself,” Ginger grunted.
****
They were indeed granted their peaceful, restful sleeps. In the morning, Ms. Fairchild was happy to see them preparing to leave. She came to the doorway, watching them load their luggage after breakfast-and the exchanging of the casserole recipe, which Lou was surprised she was still willing to give him.

“I hope you’ve forgotten all about that nonsense you were prattling on about yesterday,” she said with folded arms.

“I wouldn’t say we’ve forgotten,” Ginger retorted. “Merely that we consider self-preservation our biggest goal.”

“That’s wise.” She turned to go back in the house. “If you come back for another meeting, you’d better feel the same.”

“I meant what I said about letting everyone know what this town is like,” Ginger said. “We don’t intend to be back.”

She paused. “You won’t make a dent in our livelihood.”

“Perhaps.” Ginger climbed into the car. After making sure nothing had been sabotaged, Lou got in as well.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled out of the driveway. “I’m glad that’s over.”

Ginger gazed ahead. “It won’t be over until the mystery is solved.”

“Maybe we won’t even know if that happens,” Lou protested.

Ginger remained unfazed. “We’ll know,” he said. “You did fire off those emails, didn’t you?”

“From a temporary account that I immediately deleted, yeah.”

Ginger leaned back. “Then we’ll know.”

Lou shook his head. “I don’t know how you can be so sure, Ginger, but I’ll take your word for it. Maybe it’ll get on the news, even though this is the middle of nowhere.”

“Rather like Storybrooke in that respect,” Ginger quipped.

Lou chuckled. “Yeah, I guess. But I think I’d take those nuts over what we found here. And that’s saying a lot.”

Ginger nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It is.”

“I’m surprised they’re not trying to kill us,” Lou said. “What difference would two more ‘accidental’ deaths make to them?”

“Who knows. But remember, they don’t know we were on the balcony,” Ginger said. “And they don’t know about the genuine ghost. As far as they know, we stumbled on some information in the library that’s public for anyone to read.

“How did you get onto the balcony anyway?” he asked. “It was kept locked.”

“The door was wide open when I got up,” Lou said. “I guess Carol opened it. Or you did, in your sleep.”

Ginger scowled. “Point.”

“I just hope she locked it up again after we went back inside and I pulled it shut,” Lou continued. “Or we might still be in for trouble.”

“Perhaps in some cases I would doubt, but not this time,” Ginger said. “She would have been responsible enough to lock everything up again.”

Lou nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”

“It does,” Ginger said.
****
Ginger was proven right about their knowing. It took several nights of being back in Los Angeles, but on the fifth night Carol appeared to him in another dream.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling, happy. “The state police came because of finding out about the broken railing. They’ve investigated and discovered a conspiracy permeating the entire town.” Anger flickered in her eyes again. “The whole town hated my husband and me and planned how to get rid of us so they could look for a treasure that was supposed to be hidden in some secret passageway. They wanted both of us to fall, but when I fell and Bert watched in horror, that was good enough for them.”

“Bert?” Ginger repeated. “Do you remember now?”

She smiled again. “Yes. Having everything come to light brought my memories back. The whole town is being indicted for conspiracy and the actual murderer has been caught.”

“How?” Ginger wondered, honestly interested. “Surely evidence wasn’t left lying around.”

“There’s always one songbird,” Carol laughed. “He ratted out everyone else and is turning state’s evidence. Now the town is being bought by someone who loves it and wants to preserve its beauty without its dark secrets. And I’m free to look for Bert.”

“I hope you find him,” Ginger said sincerely. “And I hope you are going to thank Lou as well; he took the pictures and sent the emails that brought the state police there.”

“I’m going to project myself into his dream too,” Carol assured him. “I’m so grateful to both of you!” She began to fade. “If I find Bert, I’ll contact you again.”

“That’s one haunting we won’t mind,” Ginger said. “Oh, by the way, did Ms. Fairchild have any involvement in the case?”

Carol shook her head. “She bought the house later, like she said. She was never fully taken into the town’s confidence; she just knew that they wanted the case kept closed. She suspected there was more to it than what was in the paper, but she never tried to do anything about it. She just didn’t care. She figured it was over and done with and didn’t matter anymore.” Bitterness slipped into her voice.

“What’s going to happen to her?” Ginger wondered.

“I’m not sure,” Carol mused. “Maybe they’ll let her keep the house and she won’t be arrested. Or maybe she’ll decide to go somewhere else when the town falls under new management.”

“She had better not come out here,” Ginger said flatly.

“She likes New England,” Carol replied. “I’m sure she’ll stay there.”

“Good,” Ginger declared. “But what of this treasure everyone wanted to find? Ms. Fairchild was just as much in the way as you and your husband were.”

“They found it before the bank officially foreclosed,” Carol said, making a face. “Now it’s spread all over the town.”

“I see. If Bert is found alive, will anything be done for him in the way of reparations?”

“I hope so. Maybe I’ll have to start haunting some more people to make sure it happens,” Carol said cheerfully.

“But nothing will replace you, if he truly loved you,” Ginger pointed out.

“I know. But he should have something anyway.

“Well, I’m going to go meet Lou now.”

Ginger nodded, settling deeper into the bed. “Very well. Good luck and goodnight.”

He slipped back into a dreamless sleep, idly wondering what Lou was making of his midnight visitor.

Somewhere in his mind, he was pleased by the news she had brought and took more than a little satisfaction in knowing that he and Lou had brought that obnoxious, greedy town to its knees.

And, he hoped, perhaps Carol would be at peace now. Bert too, wherever he was.

Perhaps that was some influence of Lou’s thoughts from his dream, if Carol had unwittingly linked them in her travels.

But Ginger muttered to himself and drew the pillow closer as he burrowed into it.

Even though he would deny being soft-hearted up and down, he knew it wasn’t just some influence from Lou’s dreams that made him pleased for Carol to have a chance at a happier ending.

He was also pleased that they had encountered another relatively harmless ghost. That sort of luck never lasted long for them.