Free Haunting Jordan by P. J. Alderman

really mean that you want to turn us away from our home.”
    “That would be tragic,” Jordan said grimly, then snapped her fingers. “Got it! What about a portal? Didn’t I read somewhere that ghosts have portals, like little holes in the wall? You two could disappear into one and then I could stuff a rag into it.”
    Charlotte folded her arms. “That’s insulting.”
    “Well, what, then? Am I supposed to just accept that I’m now rooming with you two? And what have you done with my dog?”
    “He’s around.” Hattie waved a hand. “Actually, we’re glad you finally arrived. It’s been hard to steal enough food for him. If you take the same item often enough, people notice. The poor thing has been getting thinner and thinner.”
    “And we’re still developing our powers,” Charlotte confided, her image brightening, then fading, as if on cue. “We signed up for the seminar as soon as we heard you bought our house, but our instructor said it takes a lot of practice to perfect telekinesis.”
    “Sorry about the smashed cake,” Hattie added. “We tried.”
    Jordan rubbed her forehead. The aspirin wasn’t even going to make a dent. “So what do you want? Approval of the renovation plans?”
    Hattie hesitated, then put an arm around Charlotte, who pressed trembling lips together and nodded encouragingly.
    “We want you to solve my murder.”

A Crisis of Confidence
    BY dawn, the fire had been contained to two blocks facing the harbor, sparing City Hall. Nine were dead, scores more injured. Overhead, the sky slowly lightened to streaks of pale pink and bluish gray, marred only occasionally by black wisps of smoke. Hattie dropped a bucket in the mud at her feet and rubbed the small of her back, gazing past smoldering ruins to the harbor.
    Ships lay quietly, anchored on glassy water reflecting the colors of the early morning light. Yet the harbor already resonated with the cries of first mates, ordering crews up masts to secure sails against the growing threat of clouds on the horizon. Wind and rain would move onshore before noon.
    Since moving to Port Chatham, gauging the weather had become second nature. Until recently, she would’ve checked the harbor throughout the day, hoping to catch a glimpse of Charles’s ship on the horizon. A dense bank of clouds such as the one visible this morning would’ve meant his return would be delayed. Even now, AdmiraltyInlet was unusually empty of ships—none would set sail until the storm had passed.
    Though it had been weeks since Hattie had received word of Charles’s death in the South Seas, she still found herself unconsciously searching the waters for his barque. She hadn’t had his body to lay to rest, nor any way to properly grieve. It was as if he’d sailed out of the harbor and would return any day now. She felt like an interloper, running his business. An interloper, yet one with responsibilities, she reminded herself.
    Given the threatening weather, she’d have to order Clive Johnson to return the crews to their schooners. No doubt he’d take the opportunity to point out that if they’d been on board throughout the night, they would already have the rigging secured. But at the moment, she was simply too tired to care about his barbed criticisms.
    Turning toward the beach, she spied Charlotte and Tabitha curled up together on a blanket, sound asleep, their faces showing the same signs of exhaustion she was certain could be seen on her own, their dresses as soiled and soaked with muddy water as hers. Chief Greeley, though busy throughout the night, had never wandered far from Charlotte’s side. Even now, he stood watch. Hattie was grateful, yet uneasy. Greeley was big and stern looking, and she’d never observed in him any evidence of good humor. Charlotte was far too fragile for a hard man like Greeley.
    “Ma’am?” Two of Mona’s girls stood a few feet away, holding folded blankets from the Green Light.
    She walked over to take them. “Thank