On A White
Horse
I stride down the brick sidewalk toward the
hundred-year-old mansion as if I’m floating on pink, fluffy clouds.
The birds sing, the sun sparkles on the river behind the mansion,
and my smile can’t possibly get any bigger. I am the proverbial
white knight, the female version, riding in to save the damsel in
distress. “Yes, Mrs. Hunt,” I will tell her. “Yes, I will get rid
of the ghost who is haunting you.” And she will be grateful to me
and pay me more than any knight has ever been paid. For the next
few days, I will be the person I most want to be. I tell myself it
doesn’t matter that the whole thing is a con. I almost believe
it.
Mrs. Hunt, a seventy-year-old woman who could
easily pass for fifty, opens the door and smiles at me.
“I’m Holly Daye from Harvest One. You called
me about a haunting.”
“Oh, yes, Ms. Daye. Thank you for coming all
this way to help me. Please come in.”
I follow her inside and scan the foyer for my
partner, Tyler, but don’t see him. He was supposed to open all of
the cupboard doors and drawers in the kitchen, so maybe he’s still
busy with that. Tyler’s been dead for a year and my partner for ten
months. He’s usually calling me out for being late or not following
the plan, and I’m looking forward to calling the kettle black.
“Why don’t we have a seat in the living room,
dear, and we can discuss my little problem.”
“I’d prefer to walk around the house and try
to sense the ghostly presence,” I say.
“I’d prefer you have a seat in the living
room.”
I nod and try not to show my annoyance as I
follow her into a formal living room. Every available surface is
covered with porcelain knickknacks, from cactuses to kittens to
airplanes. I sit on an antique love seat and look around. Still no
sign of Tyler.
“Holly.” Mrs. Hunt sits on the couch across
from me. “It’s me, Tyler.”
I gape at Mrs. Hunt for a long moment. Is
she on to my con and confronting me, or has Tyler actually taken
over her body? I know Tyler pretty well and he has never done
anything even remotely out of line. “I’m sorry,” I say. “What?”
Mrs. Hunt smirks, an expression I’ve seen on
Tyler thousands of times before. “It’s me, your partner. We conned
that millionaire in Mississippi last month. The one with the
stuffed cats, we convinced him he was being haunted by one of
them.”
My heart drops. “What the hell are you doing,
Tyler? This isn’t funny. If anyone finds out—”
“They won’t find out if you don’t tell them.
You’ll get paid and Mrs. Hunt doesn’t have any family or friends I
won’t be able to fool. No one will suspect anything.”
I shiver as I realize his possession of Mrs.
Hunt isn’t temporary. “You killed her?”
I was born into Harvest One, a corporation
that employs the dead for various operations, and I’ve been taught
to see the people we con as marks. I pretend they really need my
help and I help them. I look at Mrs. Hunt and forget for a moment
that she’s a mark. I see someone’s grandma, a grandma who bakes
cookies and gives warm hugs. In another life, she could have been
my grandma. A tear pushes its way out and down my cheek, and I
swallow hard. Now isn’t the time to mourn a woman I never knew.
Tyler looks at the floor. “I didn’t mean to.
I just wanted to take her over long enough to get some money to my
girls. Her soul’s connection to her body was weaker than I
thought.” Tyler meets my eyes and his darken in pain. “I’m sorry,
Holly, but I need you to cover for me.”
“And exactly where am I supposed to tell them
you went?”
He raises his eyebrows in the expression he
reserves for me when he feels I’m being particularly dense. “Tell
them I crossed over. It happened to Delaney’s partner, what’s her
name, last year.”
Shit, he’s really serious . He has no
idea what he’s done and it’s my fault. When a job comes up, I find
him and tell him where to