Free Coffee and Ghosts: The Complete First Season (Coffee and Ghosts: The Complete Seasons Book 1) by Charity Tahmaseb

and Chief Ramsey is here to arrest her—or at least to shut down the séance.
    The hope must show on my face, since an almost-grin appears on his.
    “Sorry, Katy, you’ll have to deal with the competition on your own. I’m just here for traffic control when the séance lets out.”
    Mistress Armand was right about one thing: there are always unbelievers. Chief Ramsey? He’s one of the biggest in town. When my grandmother was alive, every few months, she’d offer to help clear some of the unsolved cases clogging the files of the Springside Township Police Department. Half the vandalism in town is really the result of energetic sprites.
    Chief always refused. Some people can’t detect ghost activity. They chalk up odd occurrences to Mercury in retrograde or bad luck or superstition.
    I glance back at the closed gymnasium doors. “Does she have—?”
    “A permit? Why, yes, she does. You’ll also notice she isn’t charging anyone anything.”
    “Yet,” I add. “She isn’t charging them yet. The first hit is always free.”
    “Isn’t that how you operate? Funny how the ghosts”—he draws little air quotes around the word ghosts —“always come back.”
    Yes. Like mice. Or insects. I don’t say this. Instead, I say, “K&M Ghost Eradication Specialists is registered with City Hall. We’re a limited liability corporation, and our business license is up to date.”
    Most of that is thanks to Malcolm. At the thought of him, my gaze once again goes to the closed gymnasium doors.
    “Lose something?” Chief asks.
    I choose to ignore this. “Let me know when you want me to capture the ghost in your garden shed.”
    Without waiting for a reply, I walk from the lobby area and head into the night.
    The air cools my heated cheeks. Part of me insists I charge back into the gymnasium and put a stop to the séance. Part of me wants to argue with Chief Ramsey, but I can’t force someone to believe in ghosts. I can’t force anyone to believe anything at all.
    I take a final look at the community center doors and wonder if that applies to me.
    There are always unbelievers.
    Maybe I’m one of them.
     
    * * *
     
    On the sidewalk, I find Mr. Carlotta. He glowers at the entrance of the community center. For a moment, I fear that glower is for me.
    “Bunk!” he shouts. “Pure bunk! If only your grandmother were here, Katy-Girl.”
    Yes. If only.
    “She’d know what to do. Oh, she’d take that charlatan down a notch.” He wags a finger at me. “That young man of yours—”
    “He’s not my young man, Mr. Carlotta. He’s my business partner.”
    “He’s a disgrace, picking her over you.”
    “I don’t think he’s picked anyone.” Although why, at the moment, I’m defending Malcolm, I can’t say. Maybe I simply can’t believe it. So instead, I say, “Can I wheel you home?”
    “I know you can , Katy-Girl.”
    I sigh. “May I wheel you home, Mr. Carlotta?”
    “No, but you may wheel me back to the care facility.”
    I sigh again.
    The facility is lightly staffed. The few employees on shift seem resentful and disgruntled, as if we’ve kept them from all the fun at the séance. From what I saw, it was less of a séance and more of an exercise in public humiliation. They should probably thank us.
    “Bunk!” Mr. Carlotta tells them, not that it helps. But he’s right. It was that, too.
    The wheels on Mr. Carlotta’s chair whisper against the carpet. His room is near the end of the wing, and I wave at the residents still here and still awake. When we reach his room, a glimmer and flash of cold greet us.
    “Oh, Mr. Carlotta, why didn’t you tell Malcolm your ghost was back?”
    He makes a noise, something that sounds like harrumph .
    “He can catch ghosts just as well as I can.”
    “No, Katy-Girl, that’s where you’re wrong. Besides, I don’t want just anyone catching this particular ghost.”
    It’s a strong one, that’s for certain, its vibe more sad than malevolent. For something ethereal,