Parisian Ghosts by Janna Ruth

Author:Janna Ruth [Janna Ruth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Janna Ruth
Published: 2023-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

4

Instead of going back to the car and checking into our accommodation, Gaby and I decide to take a tour of the grounds of the château, which are kept in meticulous shape. There are fresh flowerbeds, low hedges, and a sprawling lawn. It’s all very exposed, but as Gaby points out, it’s perfectly legal to walk the grounds. There’s not even a sign saying to keep off the lawn.

I’m not sure whether that old man will see it the same way, but he’s not here. The museum itself has closed now, and there are no more cars in the parking lot. Not even ours, since Gaby was too worried about what that man would do with his stick if he found it there. Her brother wouldn’t appreciate any dents in it. He’s precious about his car, even though it’s at least fifteen years old.

By now, Malou has woken up, eager to stretch her legs. I feed her some dry cat food before carefully fitting her with her leash and letting her run her feet on the grass.

“Who do you think he is?” Gaby muses as we walk over the lawn. “An old lover? One of her children?”

“He’s too old for that.” We’ve already checked known acquaintances, but if he was among them, it was before age confounded all his features. “I’d say some sort of servant.”

I wish Josephine was here to advise us, but this mystery is ours to solve. We’re on our own. “Perhaps we can come back tomorrow, find him and apologise, and ask a couple of questions,” I suggest.

“Good idea. But maybe don’t mention the ghost thing.”

“It is real!” I’m starting to sound slightly annoyed.

Gaby spreads her arms and shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not, but I don’t think he would take kindly to us if we started with that.”

“I don’t think he’ll take kindly to us no matter what we do or say, to be honest.” With a sigh, I stop in my tracks and take a look at the château. Perhaps we should just give up and go home. The medals were clearly all in place, and I don’t want to get into trouble.

The thought of disappointing Josephine Baker and Victor Hugo tastes bitter, though. He was so delighted to have found me. More importantly, he called me a ghost whisperer. As if that was a thing. As if there were more like me. Giving up here might close the door to ever finding someone who truly believes I’m not making up all of this.

I’m momentarily distracted by Malou who stops in her tracks, sniffs, and rolls herself into a protective little ball. Something has scared her, but I have no idea what.

The grass behind me rustles. At first, I don’t make much of it—there’s a light breeze, after all—but then it becomes too rhythmic. Like really soft steps.

Malou quivers. I start to turn around. On the edge of my field of vision, I barely make out a dark shape when something launches at me. It feels like I’m hit by a car, and I go down immediately.

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