Free A Timely Concerto by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

voice louder, “Howard, I’ll be back in a few minutes with something to eat.”
    Lillian wanted more than another burger, something more substantial than a cold sandwich so she drove to the local supermarket and bought fried chicken and potato salad. With the empty cupboards in mind, she tossed a few staples into the cart-sugar, coffee, a quart of milk, a box of cereal, and some cheese. Back at Seven Oaks, she unloaded her groceries, rooted until she found the old electric percolator she remembered from an earlier search, and started coffee perking. She spooned potato salad onto a plate and picked out a large piece of chicken. Just as she crunched into the first bite with a satisfying burst of flavor, Howard strolled into the kitchen.
    The bite stuck halfway down her throat and she spluttered, choked on crisp skin. His unexpected appearances and vanishing acts would take some adjustment to accept, she thought, as she swallowed hard and asked the obvious question,
    “What happened earlier? You disappeared.”
    He sat down, this time wearing a nice button down shirt with cuff links and gabardine trousers. “I wish I could explain it and I apologize. It must have been disconcerting.”
    “That would be one of the words I would use,” Lillian said. “Where did you go when I couldn’t see you?”
    “I didn’t go anywhere; I was still there but I was exhausted.”
    That made some sense after her recent research. “Spirits need energy to manifest. Talking with me probably drained a lot of your energy “
    “That might be.” Howard folded his arms across the table in a relaxed position. “It was difficult to talk about the events that led up to my death, horrible really. I have not thought about all that in a long time. If I vanish again, do not be offended – “
    “I wasn’t.”
    He snorted a small sound that might have been a smothered laugh. “Don’t be offended because I will return sooner or later. Am I interrupting your supper?”
    She paused, a fork of potato salad halfway to her lips. “No. I’d share but I guess you’re long past eating.”
    He reached out and grabbed a chicken leg, then bit into it. Still chewing, he said, “Actually, I’ve learned that while I do not have to eat, I can eat or drink. I am not actually eating the food but it appears that I am and I do get the momentary taste. I haven’t eaten in a number of years but I sometimes snitched a biscuit or bit of ham when my parents were still here. This is good, this fried chicken.”
    Her eyes must be huge but she tried not to stare as he polished off the drumstick and reached for another piece of chicken. Ghosts who ate and drank were a new concept; nothing of the sort had been part of anything she had researched. “It’s not bad. Would you like a plate or some potato salad?”
    Mouth full, he shook his head. “No, thank you, but I must have a cup of coffee.”
    “Me, too.”
    Coffee was not strong enough now. Lillian longed for a splash of whisky to add to her cup. This had been a long day. She had driven from Kansas City, had a long and emotionally wrought conversation with a ghost, and now watched that same spirit eat. None of her research prepared her for this but there wasn’t any whiskey so she poured two cups of coffee.
    “There’s milk and sugar if you like.” She set his cup before him and slid into a chair.
    He drank it black and with great pleasure, judging from his expression. The jolt of caffeine cut into her tension and she relaxed. Most of the weirdness from watching him imbibe like a living human faded and for the moment, she savored the everyday appeal of drinking coffee with a friend. Howard was that, no matter what his physical or metaphysical status.
    “So Shugie – was that her name – dosed you with a hot toddy?” Lillian asked, weaving back into the fabric of their earlier conversation.
    “Yes.” Howard drained his cup and held it out as a request for more. “I came home early from the farm,