Free Ghost Times Two by Carolyn Hart Page A

interests outside the home?” That’s small-town parlance for
extramarital affairs
.
    Megan wasn’t interested. “I never heard that. The divorce was pretty quiet.”
    I focused on the main point. “Housekeepers keep houses. They don’t lounge in a pool. Jimmy, meet me at Doug Graham’s pool.” In case Jimmy was unaware of the ease of transport for spirits, I added, “Think
Doug Graham house
and you’ll be there.” And I was.
    Graham’s turreted, copper-spired, stone and brick house was on the curve of a heavily wooded street. A stone deer was forever alert in the center of a huge front yard. Stone walls provided privacy from neighbors. Over a wall, the roof of a large home to the east was more than a football field away.
    I hovered over the house, looked down on a back terrace and pool with a cabana to one side. Sparkling water splashed over boulders at one end, creating a faux fall. Beyond the pool was a stretch of a golf course fairway. Several tall sycamores separated the pool and patio from a three-car garage. Summer sounds included a not-too-distant lawn mower, a burst of Latin music likely from a yard worker’s truck, and the steady clack of a hedge clipper.
    A geyser of water exploded from the deep end.
    The watery plume reminded me of long ago and Rob cannonballing off the
Serendipity
into the Gulf. What makes cannonballing into water irresistible to young men? The curtain of water rising and falling? The satisfying smack on impact?
    I remained invisible. Should Wiggins in faraway Tumbulgum be aware of my status, he would be pleased I was not seen. Nevertheless, I always like to be appropriately costumed. I changed into a moderately cut blue floral swim dress with a full skirt. White hibiscus on top melded into a blue background with clever dark vertical streaks on the skirt. Had I been visible, I was confident I would have looked my best.
    I picked up a plastic float and slipped into sun-warmed water. I stretched out on the float, used my hands to propel the float to the deep end.
    An inner tube moved through the air and plopped into the pool. Jimmy jumped next to it, then pushed the tube down into the water as he settled in the center.
    â€œPretty nice.” He didn’t sound happy.
    I heard sadness in his voice as he remembered wonderful hazy days of summer when he was alive, pools and rivers, mountains, cars, a beautiful girl.
    â€œTell me about Megan.”
    His voice lifted as he recalled school days and picnics and occasional snowfalls and sledding down Adelaide hills. “She moved here in junior high . . . Some of the girls made fun of her because she was skinny and wore big glasses and didn’t have the right kind of shoes, whatever they were back then. And she came into townand everybody already knew each other at school so she was on the outside. Sometimes she didn’t have anyone to sit with at lunch, so one day I stopped by the table and asked if she’d explain a poem to me for English. Girls liked me.”
    There was no particular pride in his voice. He was simply stating a fact. Handsome Jimmy, always desirable, a magnet to admiring girls.
    â€œFirst thing you know, we had a whole table full and some of the nicer girls found out Megan was funny and quick and always kind.”
    â€œThat was sweet of you.”
    A robust laugh. “Sweet old Jimmy? Not. You want the truth? The first time I looked at her, pigtailed, skinny, intense, always striving to be the best, I was sunk.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œShe’s Megan.” He spoke with finality.
    I heard caring and kindness and a tinge of awe in his voice. I liked him very much.
    â€œI followed her to OU and I was always there when she needed me. Everything changed the semester we spent in Tuscany. The university has a campus there. Pretty amazing place. When we danced under the stars, I’d tell her”—his voice was suddenly