River City Widows by Theresa Halvorsen

Author:Theresa Halvorsen [Theresa Halvorsen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Therea Halvorsen
Published: 2021-04-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Two hours later, I wiped my running nose with a disintegrating tissue again. The dust and mold endemic in antiques was stirring up my allergies. If we had to come back, I’d take an allergy pill first.

Gabe had been helpful in the beginning, moving journals into different piles. Two hours in, he’d reached his breaking point and wouldn’t last much more.

“I like your drawing,” I said to him, grateful the owner with the colored hair had offered crayons and paper.

“It’s not done,” he growled, scribbling in a giant black circle.

Okay. Jeez.

I went back to opening each journal, trying to decipher the spidery and generally faded writing of people from the 1900s forward. It was taking forever. We hadn’t found any journals with the name Ruth on the front few pages. And even though I’d spent two hours flipping through the fragile paper and disintegrating covers, there were hundreds of journals left. People had been really into documenting their daily lives. But I guess things hadn’t changed. Today they just recorded their feelings on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. And blogs. And vlogs. And live-streaming.

I stretched out my back, reaching my hands over my head.

“So have you seen the ghost?” the owner with the multi-colored hair said to Gabe. Her name was Piper, and Gabe had told her everything that had happened in the last few days. And God help me, I hadn’t stopped him.

“Not yet,” Gabe said. “But I heard it last night. It laughed at us.”

“That sounds terrifying,” Piper said.

“It happened. Scout’s honor.”

“I believe you,” Piper said. “You’re really brave.”

“Thank you,” Gabe said with a smile, going back to his drawing.

“I’ve gone to estate sales and thought I’ve seen things,” Piper said. “Some pieces, you pick up, and you can feel things about them or about the people who owned them. But I’ve never met anyone who has lived in a haunted house.”

It was like she’d thrown water on me. I lived in a haunted house. And not a fun one like at Disneyland either.

“Let me help you,” Piper said, joining me on the floor.

“What if someone comes in?” I asked.

She pointed at her phone. “I have an app that tells me when the door opens. And it’s usually slow on Wednesdays anyways. It’s a good day to clean and organize.”

We worked in silence until Piper asked, “So this woman, Ruth, was in your house until she died? She’d lived there her whole adult life? That’s kind of sad. I wouldn’t be who I am if I didn’t move around a lot.”

I shrugged. “And Ruth wouldn’t have been who she was if she had.”

“Fair,” Piper said with a wink. “So now Ruth’s angry? And scaring you guys?”

I shrugged. “I guess. When we moved in, our neighbors told us all about her. They said the kids would dare each other to hang out in the front yard because she would yell to scare them off. Typical old person stuff.”

We went back to the journals until Piper said, “Ruth! I found Ruth Evans.

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