Free Paging the Dead by Brynn Bonner Page A

make of her in the beginning. When she shook my hand on our first meeting she said, “So this is how it’s gonna be.” I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to respond to that greeting and I muttered something unintelligible and reclaimed my hand as quickly as possible. Esme told me later she’d gotten a strong feeling that day that we were destined to work together to somehow turn her gift toward something useful. It was the one and only time she’d ever gotten any kind of cosmic vibe from a living person. I still don’t know how to feel about that.
    I got to know Esme better over the course of the weeks I was coming by to interview Clementine. I came to appreciate her dry wit and her sharp observations and to discover what a big heart she has.
    Clementine died a few months after my job in Louisiana was finished. Esme called to let me know and I went down for the funeral. The next thing I knew Esme had moved here and we were in business together.
    I owe eternal thanks to whatever Fates conspired to make that happen, though I don’t believe in stuff like the Fates. Or at least I didn’t. I can’t deny something happens with Esme, but I don’t know what it is or how to characterize it. Which is okay, because neither does Esme. Is it really an extra-sensory gift or just heightened intuition? It’s easiest just to adopt her it-is-what-it-is philosophy and accept whatever comes to her as deserving of consideration. She’s gotten things she’snever been able to figure out, but she’s never gotten anything wrong.
    We scanned for hours, carefully cataloguing the photos and other artifacts as we went along. We never use originals in the scrapbooks we create since most are too delicate to be handled on a regular basis. We’d be supplying high-resolution scans, indexing and storing the original materials and using prints for the scrapbooks.
    Along about mid-afternoon I started wondering what we had in the fridge that could be thrown together for supper. I stood and stretched but before I could head to the kitchen to investigate the phone rang again. When I answered it I decided this must be my day to deal with women on the brink. Vivian Evans, Dorothy’s best friend, sounded even more distraught than Ingrid had earlier.
    â€œJoe told me that he’s given you and Esme the go-ahead to finish the Pritchett scrapbooks.”
    â€œYes,” I said warily.
    â€œThis really meant a lot to Dorothy, just meant the world to her, really,” Vivian said, alternating between sniffling and choking up. “It will be a gift to the whole community. I just wanted to let you know Joe and Ingrid have put me in charge of planning the memorial for Dorothy up at the house.”
    I’d never known anyone who’d engaged an event planner to handle a funeral, but I learned a long time ago that the wealthy do things differently.
    â€œI see,” I answered, which was politese for So why are you telling me this?
    â€œI want to make sure you know how important it is thescrapbooks be done and ready for display. And how absolutely critical it is that you do a thorough job with this. Harrison Pritchett was the town father, the founder. We need a complete history. So if you need to do more research you should definitely plan on that.”
    That last hit at my pride. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say,” I said. “Mrs. Porter was very happy with our report.”
    â€œYes, of course she was. I didn’t mean anything,” Vivian said, still sniffling, “I’m just so upset. Dorothy and I were such close friends. I just can’t believe she’s gone. I want to make sure her legacy, the Pritchett family legacy, lives on. I’m only saying if there’s anything you might have missed, there’s still time.”
    â€œGood to know,” I said. “We’ll certainly follow up if we find any loose ends.”
    â€œWhat