Secret Hollows Part 13

"Now girls, since this will be my sixth wedding, you really have to acknowledge that I am the expert," Rosie said as they strolled down the main aisle at the mall.

"Six weddings?" Linda asked. "Why didn't they last?"

"Oh, well, they did," Rosie said. "But, G.o.d rest their souls, I was just too much to handle."

And since Mary had never seen a ghost following Rosie, she silently admitted they all must have died happy.

"So, Rosie, what do you suggest for a small intimate wedding?" Mary asked.

They pa.s.sed the lingerie shop and Rosie glanced in that direction.

"Not that intimate," Linda said quickly, blus.h.i.+ng.

"Oh, well, how about a dressy suit," she suggested. "Something in ivory that's feminine, but not fussy. And perhaps a pillbox hat with a little veil."

"That sounds perfect," Linda acknowledged, "but where are we going to find something like that?"

"Oh, I know just the place," Rosie replied with a smile.

Two hours later, their arms filled with their purchases, the three women headed to a restaurant to get something to eat and rest their feet.

"Thank you, Rosie," Linda said. "You really did know exactly what I needed."

Rosie smiled. "Oh, well, when you have as much experience as I do..."

They were seated quickly and the waitress took their orders.

"So, tell me about your wedding," Rosie said to Linda. "What are you planning?"

Linda shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "There's still so much to do and I'm sure I'm leaving out a million details. I have a church and now I have my dress."

She smiled at Mary. "I have my maid of honor."

"And I have my dress," Mary added.

"So, I guess the important things are done," Linda said.

"What about your invitations, your cake, your flowers, your music, your reception..." Rosie started to list things off.

Linda shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "The last time I got married, I was really young and my mother took care of most of that. I hadn't even thought of those things, quite frankly."

Rosie reached over and placed her hand on Linda's. "Is your mother deceased?" she asked.

"Oh, no, no," she said. "It's just that she really has her hands full dealing with my father. Actually, he's my stepfather."

"Hands full?" Rosie asked.

Mary could have hugged her for her innocent inquisitiveness.

"Well, he's not really happy about my wedding," she said. "He thinks I'm too old for this kind of silliness, as he calls it. Frankly, I think he's more interested in my paycheck leaving the house than anything else."

"You live with your parents?" Rosie asked.

"When my husband died, my mother suggested I sell my house and move in with them," Linda said. "She told me that she could use my help. I found out later that my stepfather actually needed the money from the sale of my house to keep his business afloat."

"Did he return the money to you?" Rosie asked.

Linda shook her head. "No, he lost it," she said. "I was actually feeling a little trapped until Bob came along. He was my knight in s.h.i.+ning armor in more ways than one."

"Does Bob know?" Mary asked.

Nodding, Linda picked up her soda and took a sip. "Yes, he's been wonderful," she said. "That's one of the reasons we are doing this so quickly, so I can move out without causing bad feelings."

Rosie pulled a notepad out of her purse. "Well, then, why don't I just give you a hand with all of those other little details," she suggested. "Since I'm planning my own wedding next month, it's really no bother to double things up. What are you favorite flowers, honey?"

Mary sat back in the booth and watched Rosie maneuver her way into helping Linda. Somehow making it seem like Linda was doing her a favor. She was filled with an overwhelming grat.i.tude for her unselfish friend and realized now why none of Rosie's husbands had to stay around after they died. They were loved unconditionally and went from a heaven on earth to a heaven up above.

Chapter Twenty-one.

Maggie Brennan put the cookie order form in her backpack and smiled again. She zipped the pocket and patted it twice for good luck, just like Ian had shown her. She was going to beat Mary Margaret and every other girl in her Brownie Troop. Maybe even all the girls combined. She couldn't wait to see her leader's face when she showed her the form.

Taking her barrettes out of her hair and placing them on the dresser, she mentally went through her nightly checklist. Homework done. Clothes laid out for tomorrow. Shoes and socks found. Teeth brushed. Face washed. Prayers... Oh, she hadn't said her prayers yet.

Her room was dark, but the light from the streetlamp outside her window illuminated it enough for her to get around without walking into furniture. Kneeling down next to her bed, she thought about the wonderful things that had happened that day so she could be grateful for them. Then she thought about some of the things she hadn't done well that day. She bit her lip as she remembered that she hadn't been especially nice to Andy that day. She'd have to apologize for that.

She started to bow her head and close her eyes, when she caught a movement in the corner of her eye. She stayed very still, pretending to be still absorbed in her prayers, and kept close watch over the area of her room where she saw something.

She saw the glimmer of movement again. It was almost like the air turned to water and s.h.i.+mmered. She slowly got off her knees and climbed onto her bed. Even though she received visits in her room from time to time, she never knew what to expect. Most of them had been friendly, but there were a few times when she was really frightened by the apparition.

Glancing over to the corner of her room, she realized her closet door was open. For some reason, her closet seemed scarier at night. She always felt there was something inside, watching her, waiting for her to stumble inside and be swept away; the door closing firmly behind her. She tried to remember to close her closet door at night, but she was so excited about the order sheet, she must have forgotten.

She saw the s.h.i.+mmer again. Was it coming from the closet?

Her heart began to race.

"h.e.l.lo?" she stammered quietly.

The s.h.i.+mmer came closer to her bed. She clasped the blankets tightly and waited.

Finally, it began to take shape.

"Timmy," she breathed with relief. "Why didn't you just show yourself right away?"

He shook his head and she could see that he'd been crying.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Timmy, what happened?"

"I went back to the lake," he said. "I went there to get my backpack. I left it in the tree, our secret tree. But there was another boy there."

"Another boy?" Maggie asked. "Like you?"

Timmy nodded slowly. "He said his name was Ronny, Ronny Goodridge. He was crying, Maggie. He couldn't find his parents. They were camping and he took a walk, but he couldn't find them."

"Did you know him?"

He shook his head. "No. He wasn't from here. He said he was from Chicago."

Timmy started to cry again. "I said stuff like Mary said to me, to help him remember. I told him to think back..."

He took a deep shuddering breath.

"The man got him too," he whispered. "The man hurt him and put him in the lake."

"The lake?" Maggie asked.

Timmy nodded and wiped his face with his arm. "He's still down there, Maggie. He says it's cold and dark. He's afraid."

"It's okay, Timmy," Maggie said. "Don't worry. We'll help him. I promise."

A glimmer of hope appeared on Timmy's face. "You can?"

Maggie smiled. "Sure, Ian, Mary, Mike and Bradley can do all kinds of stuff. They're heroes."

"Heroes?"

"Yeah. Just like superheroes, only they don't dress like that."

"Thanks, Maggie," Timmy said, as he started to fade away. "You're the best."

Maggie sat in her empty room, looking at the spot Timmy had been only moments before. She knew her parents would not want her to leave her bedroom, much less the house so late in the evening. She slipped off her bed and walked over to the closet. Was her closet like the closets in the cartoon movie where the monsters hid on the other side? Was there a path from her room to places with ghosts? Could ghosts hear her if she called into it?

She stood several feet away from the door, just in case, and leaned forward and called, "Mike. Mike. I need you. This is Maggie and I really need you."

Chapter Twenty-two.

"Ain't enough beer in the world to make me willing to wash down another bite of that chili," Stanley grumbled as he washed out his mouth at the sink. "d.a.m.n, foreigners, always messing with a recipe from the good old U.S. of A."

Ian was wiping away tears from laughter. "Stanley, really, I was just kidding," he choked. "There's no tripe in the chili."

"You'd like me to believe that," he said, taking another mouthful of water and gargling with it. "Just so you could poison me with Scottish intestines."

"Now, to make things perfectly clear, they aren't Scottish intestines," he said, choking on his words. "They're sheep intestines. Well actually sheep stomach. And I believe they would be American sheep."

Bradley dropped his spoon into his chili. "What do you mean they would be American sheep?"

"I mean, if I had put tripe in the chili, which I didn't, the tripe, which isn't in the chili, would have been American tripe," Ian tried to explain.

"d.a.m.n, makes a fellow glad he's a ghost," Mike said, leaning back against the wall.

"You're just jealous because you can't have any," Ian whispered to Mike.

"What's that you said?" Stanley asked, glaring at Ian.

"Nothing, I was just talking to a ghost," Ian remarked.

Stanley looked around the room. "An old ghost or a new one?"

"Old one," Bradley said. "Mike's here."

Stanley came back to the table, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd see the day when I'd share a poker table with a dead guy."

Mike walked over and moved the chair next to Stanley. From Stanley's perspective the chair moved by itself. He just turned, looked at it and shrugged. "Ain't tripe nor moving chairs gonna shake my game," he said. "Pull up a chair, Mike, iffen you want to lose some money."

Mike laughed and shook his head. "Deal me in," he said. "But I'm a little short right now."

"You're a little dead," Bradley said with a grin. "I'll cover Mike."

Stanley watched Ian deal another player in and was slightly startled when the cards hovered in midair. "Ain't supposed to look at your cards *til it's your turn to act," Stanley commented.

Mike laughed. "Tell him I got a poker face," he said to Ian.

"He says he's got a poker face," Ian repeated.

"Don't matter iffen he's a ghost or wears a bag over his head," Stanley replied. "I'm still going to take him down."

"Big talk for a..." Mike paused and put his cards on the table.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Bradley asked, seeing the concern on Mike's face.

"It's Maggie," he said, moving out of his chair. "She's calling for me. Sorry, boys, gotta go."

"If you don't report back in ten minutes, we're coming over," Bradley said.