The Good Girl. Christy Barritt

Cooper had to say. Maybe he had some of the answers we needed. I could hope. Candy edged closer with me. Perhaps digging deeper into her character study for a possible role on CSI? Or was Candy simply the type of person who liked to insert herself everywhere and anywhere she had the chance?

      Cooper’s hands went to his hips as he addressed the officer. “I stopped by this morning. I didn’t go into the kitchen. I just unlocked the back door, let the dog out, and then put her back inside a few minutes later.”

      The officer shifted. “Nothing appeared to be out of place?”

      Cooper shrugged. “I didn’t go poking around, but no. Everything seemed normal. The dog didn’t seem agitated or give any sign of distress.”

      “And the door was locked when you arrived, and you locked it before you left?”

      “That’s correct.”

      “Have you seen anyone around the neighborhood acting strangely?”

      Cooper shifted, his fingers still splayed across his hips. “As I’m sure you know, we have had a couple of break-ins in the area recently. Last I heard, they hadn’t caught the guys who did it.”

      The officer closed his notebook. “You’ll be around if we have any more questions?”

      “Absolutely.”

      After they wrapped up, Cooper strode back over to me. “What a welcome to the neighborhood. Lana know about this yet?”

      “I tried to call her, but she didn’t answer. Maybe it’s just as well.”

      “I’ll be right next door if you need anything while you’re here.”

      I couldn’t help but smile. “I appreciate that.” But I wouldn’t be needing anything except some alone time.

      At that precise moment, my contact lens began half-burning, half-popping out of my eye. My eyelid fluttered as I struggled not to lose the lens. Cooper stared at me, his head tilted and eyes narrowed in confusion.

      What if he thinks I’m flirting with him? The thought made me sputter, all while my eyelid continued to blink with rapid-fire precision. Certain that my cheeks were red and that Ben Cooper thought I was the world’s worst winker, I nodded toward the hallway and mumbled something about dust.

      I escaped into the bathroom and flipped on the lights. I stepped toward the vanity and stopped cold.

      I blinked—partially on purpose, certain I was seeing things.

      There, on the bathroom mirror, waited another message. I peered closer, ignoring the signals that caused alarm to burst like boiling water in my head. The words looked to be written in slime—runny, oozy, gooey slime.

      Help.

      A handprint smeared beside the word, like someone had tried to reach through the mirror in desperation. My moment of courage wore off, and trembles claimed my muscles. I took a step back and fell against the toilet, knocking off a small city of cosmetics before sliding to the floor.

      “Uh, guys, you’re going to want to see this.”

      Candy swung around the doorway, her eyebrows knitting together as she spotted me. “I’m going to want to see you looking like an island in the middle of a sea of overpriced cosmetics?” She deadpanned the question, her lips parting in confusion.

      I shook my head, my cheeks heating again as I realized my head was resting on the back of the toilet and various bottles laid around my shorts-clad legs—which needed to be shaved—all while my eye fluttered and watered, probably sending mascara down my cheek.

      I nodded behind her. Her gaze landed on the mirror.

      She gasped and stepped out of the bathroom. Her eyes were wide—with fear or in awe? I wasn’t sure.

      She pointed to the mirror, her voice trembling. Fear. Definitely fear. “I never thought I’d see that with my own eyes.”

      Chills continued to seep into every fiber of my being. “See what?” Leftovers from the Kid’s Choice Awards on Lana’s bathroom mirror?

      “Ectoplasm.”

      Ectoplasm. As in ghostly, paranormal ooze?

      I closed my eyes, suddenly not caring about my contact or my legs or the mess around me. It was like some kind of wicked game of Clue was being played, and I’d been forced to participate.

      It was the ghost in the kitchen with a butcher knife, I heard myself saying.

      Chapter 4

      The police ushered me out of the room so they could do their thing. Candy lingered close to the bathroom, her phone out as she probably updated her social media sites with ectoplasmic photos or, at least, some great tales that were sure to entertain others at my expense.

      Which left me in the living room with Ben Cooper and Gaga.

      “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation,” he said. His tone acknowledged that he knew how lame he sounded. What exactly did you say to comfort someone in a time like this? I had no idea, but assuring someone that there was a reason for the crazy around her was a good start.

      I nodded. Another Good Girls Rule, of course. Better to bite your own tongue than to say something that will come back and bite you later. “A logical explanation. Of course.”

      “Scare tactic?” His gaze looked earnest as he rubbed his chin in thought.

      “Why would someone try to scare me? No one knows me here.”

      He stared at me another moment, his crystal blue eyes still sincere as if he honestly wanted to help but came up blank. “They’re trying to scare Lana and didn’t realize that she’s out of the country?”

      “Unfortunate timing for me, then.”

      “Just lock your doors tonight.”

      Lock my doors? Did ghosts care about locks? Now I was thinking like a crazy person. Never would I admit it, though. “I will.”

      He nodded toward the door and took a step back. “I’ve got to go pick up my son, Austin, from his friend’s house. Remember, I’m right next door if you need anything.”

      I nodded, understanding that he wanted nothing to do with this mess. I couldn’t blame him. “Got it.”

      When the police left a few minutes later, Candy followed them out the door, mumbling something about having to go to work and that she’d see me on Sunday.

      See me on Sunday? I didn’t even ask. Nope. I closed the doors, locked them, and then stared at the house. What now? Wasn’t this what I wanted? Time alone?

      So why did I feel so freaked out then? Why did I actually, just for a moment, miss Candy’s chatter? Should I go to a hotel for the night? Or should I tough it out at Lana’s place? I would tough it out, I decided. If I could survive what I had in Florida, certainly I could survive a ghost in Minnesota.

      Right?

      I paced over to the bookshelf and looked at a picture of Lana and me from when we were teens. I missed those youthful days when our futures seemed so bright. When I was determined one day to be a teacher, a wife, and a mother. When I just knew my life would turn out perfectly.

      There was also the small factoid that I wasn’t even sure I was a Christian anymore. My doubts about God had simmered beneath the surface for a long time. Each time they tried to emerge, I shoved them down with a vengeance.

      But now I was in St. Paul. Now it was time to let them boil to the surface.

      My cell phone rang. I grabbed it and answered. Lana. I sank onto the couch, propping my feet up and letting my head fall back.

      Her perky and loud voice sounded worse than an alarm clock right now. “What’s going on, big sis? How do you like the place?”

      “It’s