The Inevitable Question, Cally had come to call it. Every talk-show host and magazine interviewer had asked it, and all of them seemed to think they were the first person ever to have thought of it. Every Biggest Fan had asked it, with hopeful sincerity and their own “I saw a ghost once” story ready on their lips. And every critic had asked it, with the intention of exposing her as a charlatan, or at least a fool. “So, do you really believe in ghosts?”
There had been a time when she had tried to answer truthfully, telling them she had really only written the book as a catharsis, to help exorcise her own personal ghosts which were a metaphor for the bitter, betrayed feelings she’d had, then, about her failed marriage. But nobody wanted to hear that answer. They wanted her to be a True Believer. She had learned to skirt the question coquettishly, letting people draw their own conclusions. But she was tired, and frankly tired of the whole thing, and she didn’t owe the book anything anymore since it had stopped making her any money, to speak of, a long time ago.
She closed her fingers around her change and stuffed it into her purse, letting it fall to the bottom in a jumble. “I’m too tired to believe in anything anymore,” she answered. The old woman seemed to think that was a perfectly acceptable answer. At least, she released Cally from her gaze and nodded, shutting the old register drawer with a bang. “Well, you’re here to write another book, anyway.”
Ben leaned his broom against the counter. “Bree,” he said, “Be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” said the old woman, and smirked at him. Cally guessed she must be his mother, based on their matching eye color and the gentle way he looked at her. Bree looked back at Cally. “Don’t worry, I’m not psychic, which is fine since you don’t believe in that kind of stuff anyway. But this is a small town and news of your arrival precedes you. Everyone is excited about it. They think you’re going to save this town by writing a book about it.”
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Cally really just wanted to get back to her car and maybe, hopefully, find the bed and breakfast in which she had booked a room, somewhere in this town. She juggled her coffee, granola, and car keys and said, “Well, I’m just hoping to get a little inspiration here. I don’t intend to write a book about the town per se.”
“Oh, you’ll get plenty of inspiration at Vale House, alright!” Bree said. “Maybe not the kind you’re looking for. Do you see that?” She pointed past Cally to the wide window looking out into the street.
Cally turned and saw only a large dog with long, gray fur standing on the opposite sidewalk and staring in through the store window. A car passed by and when it had gone, the dog was no longer there.
“See what?” Cally asked, not sure if that was what the woman had meant.
Bree gave her a long, skeptical look, as if Cally had been trying to sell her magazine subscriptions. “It seems you see a lot of things you don’t believe in. Anyway, Vale House is just about half a mile more that way.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the wall behind her. “Just get back in your car and drive to the east end of town, and then keep driving. You won’t be able to go too far. The road ends at the meadow and the house will be on your left. Give Ian my regards.” She snapped her newspaper open again and returned her attention to it.
“I’ll get that for you,” Ben said, hurrying to open the stubborn door for Cally.
“Thank you,” she said, treating herself to one more glance at his smile. “Thank you for the coffee,” she also called to Bree, who waved vaguely at her without looking up.