Unraveling Isobel by Eileen Cook Read Free Book Online

becoming clear: if I was thinking of becoming an international ghost hunter, I was going to need some remedial training. I opened the door again, this time with a bit less vim and vigor.
    â€œShow yourself,” I commanded.
    It was a sunroom. The floors were slate tiles and there were floor-to-ceiling glass windows looking out onto the patio. The furniture was wicker with white cushions that looked past their prime, turning yellow. The room smelled vaguely of mildew, like damp towels forgotten in a washing machine. I had the sense that this had been a room Dick’s first wife had liked. Since she was gone, it seemed no one used it.
    Then I heard the laugh again. I whirled around, ready to confront the ghost. Right outside the window was a wind chime, some type of sea glass and shell thing. That was what had made the sound. Fantastic. I had been attempting to communicate with a home accessory. The chime gave another laugh to point out just how stupid the entire situation had become.
    I nibbled on my bagel. I was going to have to face up to a few things. Either:
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    1. I had been visited by the ghost of my dead stepsister.
    2. I was going (or already was) crazy.
    3. All the upheaval and changes of the past couple of months had caught up with me, resulting in a bad dream and delusions of paranormal activity. However, now that I’d gotten it all out of my system, everything would be fine. Nothing more than a nightmare brought on by change rather than too much dessert.
    Anita believed in the other side. She thought most horror movies were basically documentaries, but I had always been more of a skeptic. As far as I could tell, dead was dead. Even if I made the assumption that there were ghosts, and that my stepsister had become one, why would Evelyn pick me to haunt? Why not haunt her dad or brother?
    As for going crazy, although half of my genetic makeup had a leaning in that area, I refused to believe that I’d gone from sane to full-blown delusional in one night. After some consideration, I determined I didn’t have any other crazy thoughts. I didn’t think I was Napoleon, or that my bagel was an alien, and I didn’t have voices in my head warning me about terrorist plots. Near as I could tell, I was still on the right side of sane. Granted, crazy people don’t always know they’re crazy, but it seemed to me if I could think through the issue so carefully, then I couldn’t be insane. I took a deep breath and was almost 100 percent convinced.
    I finished my bagel and brushed my hands off. I decided that, given my options, C was my best bet. The past few weeks had been brutal, with tons of changes and upheavals: my mom announcing she was getting married, meeting Dick, coping with Nathaniel’s obvious disdain, having to move. It was no wonder I was seeing things. Come to think of it, it was surprising I hadn’t been plagued with visions of ghosts or dancing hippos before now. That was practically proof of how sturdy my mental status was. I nodded stiffly at the wind chime and pulled the door closed on both the sunroom and any further thought of ghosts.

Chapter 7
    I walked back through the living room and paused in the foyer. I placed my hand on the knob of the door that led to the west wing. It was ice cold. At first I thought it was locked, but the handle turned easily; the door itself was just stuck. When I pushed it, the door opened. I stepped inside.
    The power was off in this wing, and although it was only the beginning of September, it felt like December. I sniffed. It smelled like mildew and a bit like the time my mom found a mouse dead in the walls of our last apartment. Dick might think the place only needed minor repairs, but it looked to me like this side of the house was in serious need of some major intervention. The hallway was wide, with paintings covered with sheets spaced every few feet along the wall. This must be the gallery. It certainly looked like I’d