An Open Spook (A Haunted Guesthouse Mystery) by E.J. Copperman Read Free Book Online Page B

“We need to get back in touch with the sergeant.”
    Alison got four mugs out from the cabinet, and I got some instant coffee from the pantry section next to the refrigerator. “Four mugs?” I asked.
    “Liss likes coffee now,” Alison said. I thought she was a little young, but Alison treats Melissa like an adult, and Melissa acts like one, so I suppose I can’t argue with how that girl is growing up.
    The wind was still howling around the house, and we could hear the rain pelting the roof and the boarded-up windows. Alison had checked three times for water in the basement; she had one small gas-powered generator to run the sump pump if necessary, but so far it had not been needed. “Why would Sergeant Elliot suddenly need that bracelet? Why wouldn’t he answer when Paul tried to Ghostmail him?” Alison continued.
    “Ghostmail?” I asked.
    “I’m trying out a new catchphrase.”
    “Fail,” Maxine sang as she disappeared back through the kitchen wall. Alison looked up at the spot, shook her head and went to fill the cups with hot water from the teapot.
    • • •
    “Fail?” I asked.
    “Okay, maybe we didn’t
fail
,” Marilyn Beechman said. “But you certainly can’t say we succeeded in Vietnam.”
    The television behind her in my studio apartment showed helicopters taking the last American troops out of the war. I had thought it would be a time for celebration, particularly among those of us who had opposed United States involvement, so I’d called Marilyn, now working for a local law firm. She’d come over after work for a glass of wine.
    “I’m not talking about the country succeeding,” I said. “I’m talking about
us
. We protested to the point that the government had to end the war. Isn’t that success? I can take off this bracelet now, can’t I?” I reached for the POW bracelet, a little worse for wear, that had rarely been separated from my wrist for three years now.
    Marilyn reached over and grabbed my hand gently. “No, you can’t,” she said. “Colonel Mason is still missing. You can’t take it off until he’s accounted for.”
    I stopped looking for the corkscrew and turned to look at her. “But he might
never
be accounted for,” I said. “I mean, I’ve gotten used to wearing the thing, but I don’t want it to be on my arm forever.”
    “Oh, they’ll eventually account for everybody,” Marilyn assured me. “It’s just going to take a while for them to figure it all out. They always do.”
    “Oh yeah? What about the tomb of the unknown soldier?”
    Marilyn scowled at me. “You have a bond with Colonel Mason,” she said, pointing at my wrist. “Everybody who got his bracelet does. You took him on and swore he wouldn’t be forgotten. It’s your responsibility to keep that bond, through that bracelet, until he’s found or declared dead, so he can rest in peace. That’s the deal. You knew it when you put the bracelet on your wrist.”
    “
You
put the bracelet on my wrist, and I never swore anything,” I pointed out. But I already saw the logic in her argument. I
had
sort of made a promise, even if I hadn’t realized all the implications at the time. And I was already seeing the ghosts of our soldiers—the ones whose bodies had been discovered and flown home—hovering almost everywhere I went. Some of them had been home long enough to change out of their uniforms, having realized they were no longer bound to duty.
    There was one outside the apartment as we spoke, circling a streetlamp at about seven feet off the ground. He was still in uniform and seemed lost. I guess, when the only thing you can think to do is circle a streetlamp, you probably don’t have much on your plate. I felt bad for him and would have called out through the window if Marilyn hadn’t been here. No one except my family knew about my gift. In those days, I thought I had to keep it a secret. As you age, you realize that what other people think doesn’t matter.
    “You keep that thing