Page 37 of Want Me, Take Me, Haunt Me, Make Me

He showed no reaction to either of the names, and Hazelsuspected he was just happy to have a human talking to him. “And it’s shorter. Easier to yell, not that I think you’ll need much yelling at.”

That was one of the good things about ghost dogs: She doubted she’d find a spectral puddle on her floor. She patted Casper’s head again, then gently nudged him off her lap. Hazel couldn’t get enough leverage for that to really work, but it was more of a warning anyhow, so that he wasn’t too startled when she stood up.

The top of her leg passed through the dog anyhow. He backed up, sneezed, and shook his head, and Hazel stifled a giggle. “Sorry, Casper. I did try.”

Casper didn’t really look convinced, but his wagging tail showed there were no hard feelings. He followed Hazel as she went over to the refrigerator, hopeful as any living dog she’d ever known, and sat down to watch the proceedings.

“How would Igetham into the spirit world?” she asked, addressing both Casper and the air. “The pig’s already dead. Eating it won’t work.”

She opened the fridge, wondering if one of her books covered it or Summer knew, and then flinched upright as she heard a knock at the front door.

The new shotgun was in its safe in her room. She still had her knife, and her cell phone in her pocket, though the police would probably take a while to get there. Hazel closed the fridge again, softly, and went to the door to look out.

Maxwell Redfern stood on her porch.

Chapter 19

“I hope I didn’t disturb you,” he said, when Hazel opened the door. “Didn’t quite seem the thing to just skulk through your yard without saying hello.”

She blinked at him, simultaneously caught off guard and conscious that she was wearing ripped jean shorts and a pink tank top with a picture of a goose and the wordsHoney, Nobelow it. She hadn’t put shoes on either. Maxwell, by contrast, was wearing a blue-and-white striped shirt and cream-colored flannel pants, with a pair of binoculars around his neck. He looked like a Brooks Brothers ad.

“No. I mean, no, you didn’t disturb me. You don’t have to come up and say hi every time, though. But I’m glad you did,” Hazel added, trying to stay on the right side of the line betweendon’t put yourself outandgo away.

Casper nudged his way past Hazel’s legs during the silence that followed, giving her a sea breeze kind of sensation on her right calf. Maxwell didn’t seem to notice as the dog passed by him. Hazel addednot magically sensitiveto the list of attributes she seemed to be compiling.

Staying on the other side of a screen door felt odd, like Maxwell was a Jehovah’s Witness or a kid selling magazines for a free bike. “Sit down and rest a minute, if you’re not in a hurry,” Hazel said, and slipped out onto the porch to join him.

Maxwell stepped out of the way for her, but she still passed close enough to smell bergamot and lavender—old-fashioned cologne, Hazel thought—and to briefly find her gaze fixed on the hollow of his throat, where he’d left the first button of his shirt undone. She hurried on toward the steps, risking babbling in order to move the conversation along too. “I’ll get some chairs one of these days. I should have done it before, but I’ve been busy.”

“I noticed a bit more activity about the place,” he said, gesturing to the dug-up bits of the yard. “Can’t say I disagree with your priorities, especially if all your visitors keep popping up out of the blue. It’ll do you no good to encourage us.”

His quick grin broke the awkwardness, and Hazel smiled back at him as she sat down on the edge of a step. “Yeah, if I’m not careful I’ll get Girl Scouts.”

“Or encyclopedia salesmen.”

“Do those even exist anymore?”

“Ah—” Maxwell carefully arranged himself beside her, stretching his long legs out on the steps and angling himself to face her as much as the arrangement allowed. “Perhaps we’re just that out of the way here.”

Hazel laughed. “Very Twilight Zone. I’ll keep an eye out for velocipedes.” She glanced sideways at him, letting her eyes wander just a little bit, unobtrusively, over his firm thighs. Morale was important. “You’re still my only visitor so far.”

Only living visitor, but we don’t need to get that specific.

“You don’t count that journalist, I take it?”

“I barely count himasa journalist.”

“Quite right. He hasn’t bothered you again, I hope?” he asked, some of his previous humor making way for what looked like real concern.

“No, he hasn’t been back.” The video didn’t matter, Hazel decided. It would only open up the whole subject of her career. She smiled at Maxwell again, touched. “Thank you for asking, though.”

“Only decent thing to do.” He cleared his throat and looked back out at the yard, where Casper had flopped down in the sunshine. “Are you, ah, planning to stay out here for long?”

Locals had asked Hazel that before. “I think so,” she said, giving the answer she’d rehearsed and wanting for the first time to provide more detail. “It depends a little on how my work situation evolves. It’s a nice place, though—well, the area is. Hopefully, the house will be soon.”

“I get the impression you’re working awfully hard at that.”

“As hard as I can without dynamite,” she said, making Maxwell chuckle and feeling triumphant when she did. “Freeing the world from the menace of Cold War decorating choices.”