“Yes and, uh, please don’t tell Marty about our… little conversation,” she said as the door opened and a tired looking woman stood there. She and Marty said their hellos, and I took a step closer, figuring Bailey and I should introduce ourselves soon—well, if Layla Clemmons hadn’t already met Bailey, that is.
I didn’t say anything in response to Bailey, which Bailey must have mistaken as my being angry because she held up two hands in a defensive gesture. “You have to understand—Marty is a good guy. The greatest guy. My best friend. We went to school together when we were both living in Portland. I had a... a weird reputation, to put it mildly.” She took a deep breath. “No one believed me when I told them I was seeing the ghost of a murdered cheerleader. And when I accused a well-liked faculty member of the crime... well, you can guess how well that went over.” She nodded as she took another deep breath and started into another long-winded explanation. “I was eventually kicked out of school. I made bad choices and I had a record. Got into what I realize, in hindsight, was a very icky and unhealthy relationship with the lawyer representing me. We got married when I was nineteen and divorced when I was thirty-eight. He took pretty much everything I had, except for my six Pomeranians: Greg, Peter, Bobby, Marcia, Jan, and Cindy.”
I glanced back at Marty and Layla, who were still busily chatting and paying us zero attention. Bailey, meanwhile, made a face at the ground, like even talking about the ex left a bad taste in her mouth. I could empathize. Every time I thought of Jeremy, a taste like bitter bile welled up in my mouth and it was all I could do not to vomit.
“Anyway, my ex was thorough,” Bailey continued as I wondered how much time we would have until Marty beckoned us forward and into the house. But, as I looked at him, it seemed he was still lost in conversation with Layla.
“Most of my family died or they live out of state,” Bailey continued with a shrug. “I didn’t have a place to stay or money to rent a hotel room. Marty heard about my situation and he invited me to stay with him, free of charge. That’s the kind of guy he is. And he didn’t even seem upset when he realized I was bringing the Pomeranians with me.”
“That’s really sweet,” I said and I meant it. Marty was a good guy. Clearly.
She nodded again. “I’m making enough money now that I was able to move out of his house. Anyway, the point is—Marty doesn’t have a bad bone in his body and he’d give you the shirt off his back.”
“So, what does that have to do with me?” I asked. “And whether or not I might have been dating him? Which, I can assure you, I’m not,” I added in quickly, lest she got the wrong idea again.
She nodded. “Marty doesn’t exactly know how to pick women.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, his girlfriends haven’t exactly treated him well.” She nodded and her eyes grew sad. “The last one stole his Flex.”
“His what?”
“His car—he drove a Ford Flex.”
“And she just…”
“Took it,” Bailey interrupted with a nod. “That’s why he’s driving the hearse—actually the dentist in town gave Marty the hearse.”
“Lorcan?” I asked as Bailey nodded. “Why would a dentist even have a hearse?” I asked.
The corner of Bailey’s mouth twitched. “Your guess is as good as mine. Lorcan Rowe is an odd duck.”
“So he fits in around here.”
This time Bailey laughed as Marty turned to face us and waved us forward. “Anyway, I really am sorry. How about we start over?” she asked as she turned to face me, making no motion to head toward the house.
“Yes, let’s start over.”
She held out a hand and flashed me a sunny smile. “I’m Bailey Bennett, by the way. I don’t think Marty mentioned my last name. I’m a medium and I work at Spook Society. I’m the proud mother of six Pomeranians, I adore Franzia, I’m an Aries, and I think Desi Arnaz was one of the sexiest men alive.”
I took her hand and gave it a firm shake. “I’m Holly Morton, but people call me Poppy. I come from a long line of gypsies and I make potions. I have an eleven-year-old son named Finn. The only wine I like is Moscato and I’m a Cancer. And I’d say I’m more of a Chris Hemsworth sort of girl.”
“Ah, good ol’ Thor,” Bailey smiled as her attention shifted to the locket around my neck. She studied it for a few seconds.
“Your necklace is haunted by a very strong spirit. Did you know that?”
I nodded, stifling my surprise. Clearly, Bailey was good at what she did. “Darla. She’s from my old house in Los Angeles, but she followed us here. She was murdered in the 1920s. She’s annoying, but harmless.”
“You both ready?” Marty called out and beckoned us forward again. This time, Bailey complied and I followed her up the walkway and to the front door, where we both introduced ourselves to Layla.
As regards Layla, she was a small, mousy looking woman. Average height, around average build, with hair an unremarkable shade of brown. Her eyes were hazel, deeply set, and ringed with dark circles. She looked drawn. Worn out, defeated. I imagined I’d looked much the same before Finn and I moved to Haven Hollow. Constant stress will kill parts of you, and there’s nothing more stressful than living with a poltergeist that may or may not want to kill your kids.
“These are your specialists?” Layla asked Marty.
Marty nodded while he held the door and Bailey entered, me right behind her. He announced us as we filed in.
“This is Poppy, my potions expert. She’ll provide the prep work before the exorcism and the cleansing afterward.”
“Cleansing with sage?” Layla asked.
“Sage and… some other things,” I answered.
Sage could work on regular spirits. Long ago, Native American shamans burned sage over a fire to cleanse people of negativity and to promote healing, wisdom, and longevity. For regular, low-level spirits, sage produced the same effect as it might on bees. It sedated them, made them more compliant. There was a reason it had been a longstanding process for cleansing personal spaces.
But, waving sage at a poltergeist would only piss it off. If regular spirits were bees, then poltergeists were wasps.
“And this is Bailey, a medium from the Spook Society,” Marty continued, motioning to Bailey. “She’ll be able to communicate directly with the spirit. Hopefully a direct line of communication will allow the spirit to state its unfinished business and usually that, alone, can get it to move on.”
But, based on Marty’s expression, he was doubtful. As doubtful as I was—poltergeists were beyond the point of reasoning. While Bailey might be able to tell us what had happened to the spirit to turn it into a poltergeist, that wouldn’t be enough to force it from the house.
Layla smiled at Bailey and then looked up at Marty with trepidation on her face. “Remember, this is just a visit…” she started as she looked toward the living room. “My sister doesn’t want to be here when you do the actual exorcism,” she started. “Truth be told, even though she won’t admit it, I think she’s scared to death of anything having to do with the ghost. And she’s really scared that bringing you all in here is only going to further upset… the entity.” She swallowed hard. “Is that possible?”