Free A Wee Dose of Death by Fran Stewart Page A

driving.”
    I sure hoped her heater would kick in soon. We’d been driving—and talking—for at least half an hour. Of course, most of the heat was probably gathering back there in her capacious back bay.
    Karaline smiled.
    â€œWhat are you grinning about?”
    She pushed a wayward hair off her face, not an easy feat when you were wearing heavy mittens. “I was just thinking about Halloween.”
    â€œWhy? Are you doing something special this year? You’d better hurry; it’s already the fifteenth. Are you planning to turn the Logg Cabin into a haunted house? If so, I want to be in on it.”
    â€œNot hardly. No, I was thinking about an old college prof of mine. He had these crazy Halloween socks.”
    I downshifted as we began a steep descent. Once the car was well under control, I expected her to explain, but she just kept grinning to herself, so I prompted her. “Socks?”
    â€œThey were heavy, like what you’d wear hiking or skiing, but they were bright, almost neon. Orange and red stripes, with some yellow thrown in here and there.”
    â€œLike from variegated yarn? Were they hand knit?”
    â€œI dunno. They just looked like Halloween.”
    â€œWere there little goblins or skeletons knitted into the pattern?”
    â€œNo, just the stripes.”
    â€œNot even a ghost?” As soon as I said it, I snapped my mouth shut. Maybe she wouldn’t notice.
    No such luck.
    I gripped the steering wheel as I straightened out of one of the hairpin turns.
    â€œSpeaking of ghosts, you really shouldn’t have rolled up Dirk like that, you know. It’s not fair to him.”
    â€œI couldn’t help it. It was a mistake.”
    She wouldn’t turn to look at me, but I could see her mittened hands flex in her lap. “How do you wrap up a ghost by mistake?”
    â€œMy shoes were all messed up, and I was trying . . . Oh, never mind! It’s not going to hurt him. He’ll still be perfectly fine when I unwrap him this evening. Or tomorrow.” I hoped I sounded as indignant as I felt. I hoped I didn’t sound as defensive as I thought I might. It
had
been a mistake after all.
    â€œCan you pull in and stop up there?”
    â€œSure. Why?”
    â€œI have a cramp. Have to stand up for a bit.”
    I turned left into a scenic overview and parked next to a tour bus. Dozens of tourists snapped pictures of the sweeping panorama. I had to admit the valley stretching out below the mountains was stunning. But I wasn’t in the mood for scenery. Why weren’t all those potential customers at my ScotShop buying lots of goodies to take home with them? Maybe I should get out and pass around some store brochures. The fact that the store was closed on Mondays was irrelevant.
    Karaline stepped out of the car. “This parka’s too hot.” She took it off, opened the zippered compartment that held a rainproof hood, and pulled out—
    â€œKaraline, you didn’t!”
    â€œYes, I did. You can’t stay mad at him forever.” She put her parka back on. “You have to admit, it’s kind of fun having a ghost around.”
    â€œYou’re not the one who has to live with him twenty-four/seven. You’d get tired of having him tell you how much better it was in the fourteenth century all the time.”
    â€œSo, just give me the shawl for good. I’d be happy to have him.”
    My mouth must have dropped open or something, because she laughed at me. “Admit it! You’d miss him if he were gone permanently.” She opened my shawl—
my
shawl—and placed it around her shoulders. Dirk appeared right next to the SUV, glorious—I had to admit—in his Farquharson kilt. He was so tall I could see only his broad chest and a few inches of his black hair drifting over his wide shoulders. His hair shifted gently in an otherworldly breeze. A breeze from the fourteenth century. I