"Ghost Of A Chance"

A Ghost and Mrs Muir Story

By TunnelsOfTheSouth

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The Ghost and Mrs Muir and all its wonderful canon characters are the eternal property of R.A. Dick and NBC Television Studios.

This fanfic is another Alternative Universe combination fan fiction using the canon characters as seen in the Season 2 episodes, Medium, Well Done, Surprise Party, Puppy Love, Host To The Ghost, The Ghost Of Christmas Past, Ladies' Man, Martha Meets The Captain, Curious Cousin and Wedding Day along with their scripts and my own original work to flesh out and combine everything into a cohesive whole.

As always, I have enjoyed myself hugely with this work.

I do hope you will also enjoy reading it as much as you did with

"Let There Be Love" and "The Captain's Cottage."

※※※※※

"A Ghost of A Chance With You"

"I need your love so badly, I love you, oh so madly.

But I don't stand a ghost of a chance with you.

I thought, at last, I'd found you, but other loves surround you.

And I don't stand a ghost of a chance with you…"

Edward Mulhare

※※※※※

"I choose to love you in silence…
For in silence, I find no rejection.

I choose to love you in loneliness…
For in loneliness, no one owns you but me.

I choose to adore you from a distance…
For distance will shield me from pain.

I choose to kiss you in the wind…
For the wind is gentler than my lips.

I choose to hold you in my dreams…
For in my dreams, you have no end..."

Rumi

Chapter One

The Beginning of the Dream

Gull Cottage, Schooner Bay, Maine, Summer, 1969:

Mrs Carolyn Muir arrived home late in the afternoon from a long trip down to Boston. She walked into her rented house, carrying the mail she'd collected from the box at the end of the road. She was also burdened with two armloads of bags containing the results of her much-needed shopping trip into the city. She felt tired and out of sorts, and longed to be able to kick off her shoes before pouring herself a cup of hot, strong coffee.

"I really could use some help with all of these, you know…" she remarked in an irritated tone as she stepped down into the foyer. "And there's still some heavy purchases outside on the chair beside the door that need to be brought in."

She stopped and waited, frowning as she listened to the brooding silence. But, as had recently become the norm; when she needed him, the Captain was purposefully not around. He was still in one of his stubborn and contrary moods that could last for weeks. It had happened before.

"Have it your way, then…" Carolyn shook her head, feeling oddly close to tears.

She would not beg. They were both still mired in an ongoing disagreement over the level of her desire to assert her much-needed independence like any normal twentieth-century woman. Of course, the Captain, being a nineteenth-century ghost, had heartily disagreed with her radical point of view and didn't hesitate to say so.

"We are grateful that you saved us all from the perils of those three escaped convicts," she commented, hoping for a response which didn't come.

She shook her head as she remembered the Captain's smug comment when she'd been forced to ask for his ghostly help. "Do let me add, before disappearing, that the few moments we were married were among the happiest of my afterlife." He dematerialised, still smiling.

Carolyn had frowned up at his portrait, furious and frustrated. "I wouldn't marry you if you were the last ghost on earth!" Venting her mortification did not make her feel any better.

"Fine, then…" She sighed, thankful to be able to deposit her cumbersome burdens onto the telephone table beside the stairs.

After that incident, the resident ghost had been quite smug over her sudden need for male assistance with the thorny issue of the unwelcome invasion of their home. He'd loftily declared that she would be even more impossible to live with if he allowed such an outrageous notion as independence of thought to take over her female mind! Even the height of her hemlines was now in dispute, and he wasn't inclined to back down.

She shrugged as she returned outside to retrieve the rest of her purchases and placed them on the foyer chair. Walking to the telephone table, she began to sort through the usual bills, glancing at each envelope before dropping them in a pile beside her purchases.

"The oil company…" she muttered. "The gas company…" Her lips twisted with resignation. "And the telephone company…" She laughed hollowly. "At least, they want to keep me company."

She frowned as the next envelope caught her attention. For a start, it wasn't a bill. It was white and plain, without a company logo. Her address, and the return for a hotel in Los Angeles, had been neatly typewritten. But there was no name.

"That's strange. I don't know anyone in the city," Carolyn murmured, intrigued.

She slit the seal open and drew out a folded sheet of paper. It was faded and old, rumpled and a little torn at the edges. Words had been written across it in black ink that looked fresh despite the age of the paper. Carolyn held the page up to the afternoon sunlight to better see the script which had been elegantly written in an old-world hand.

'If only I could touch your hand.

The shorebird's call.

The sea breeze smell.

A spruce-wood mast that rises tall.

I'd happily forget them all.

If only I could touch your hand.

If I could link your arm in mine.

The tropic sun, the emerald surf,

the fleecy clouds like sugar spun,

I'd happily forget each one,

if I could link your arm in mine.

Of all the things that cannot be.

One alone means most to me.

It's not the lure of distant shores.

It's that my lips cannot touch yours.

My lips cannot touch yours…'

The flowing signature at the bottom was unmistakable. Carolyn had seen it often enough on the little handwritten notes of instruction - or his weekly invitations to the wheelhouse for a welcome glass of Madeira - the Captain had issued to her.

"I guess, Tim Seagirt must have sent this to me…" Carolyn shook her head as she lowered the page. "I wonder why now, after all this time."

She recognised the words from the song Tim had sung to them when he'd been stranded at the house by a storm several months before. The poem had been the Captain's piece of doggerel that he implied he'd scribbled a very, very long time ago before Carolyn and her family had 'invaded' Gull Cottage. Afterwards, he had been disinclined to elaborate further.

"Methinks, he protested just a touch too much…" Carolyn smiled wryly as she picked up the envelope again, not knowing what to think or what to do about it.

Should I reply? What would I say?

It was then she noticed there was also a folded check inside. She took it out to find it had been written out for the amount of a few hundred dollars with the words 'Many Thanks' written across one corner. Carolyn was now at a loss.

"Is Tim paying me royalties for a song that wasn't even mine?" Of course, the musician had been unaware of the poem's true author.

"Captain?" she asked, looking all around. But the house remained stubbornly silent, and its resident ghost was entirely absent.

"Blast…" she muttered under her breath as she pushed both pieces of paper back into the envelope. She turned and walked into the kitchen to talk with Martha and have that welcome cup of coffee before she tackled her parcels.

"Seems an odd thing for him to send to you without any explanation," the housekeeper said after she'd read the poem and frowned at the check. "I mean, it's just some old bit of paper he must have found in the house somewhere when he was staying here. No doubt, nosying into things that were none of his business. But it's really old and it's not like it's some kind of love letter or anything. It would never have been meant for anyone in this century."

She waved the check. "But this money is surely welcome. I know we can put it to good use. Tim Seagirt must have felt guilty about taking the poem and decided to come clean."

"Yes, but I do wonder where he found it." Seated at the table with her coffee, Carolyn frowned. "And no, I guess it's not a love letter for any woman in this century." The idea discomforted her.

She remembered the Captain had been trying all that day to show her something he'd written. At one point, he'd become enraged over Scruffy who'd refused to stop barking at him. The Captain had dematerialised and carried the dog into the house and shut him inside.

He'd turned back to her and hesitated when he saw her watching him with frowning confusion over his previously unknown ability to touch a living being. She'd meant to comment and ask the questions that were burning on her tongue. But Martha had walked from the house into that fraught moment, and she'd broken the spell.

Carolyn had quite forgotten that odd little incident until now because, that same day, Tim and his manager had gotten caught out in the rainstorm and sought shelter with them. Now she wished she'd paid more attention to what the Captain had been trying to tell her and would explain his sudden ability to carry Scruffy.

She shook her head as she took back the note now and read it again as Martha went back to her baking. "It is a lovely poem." She compressed her lips.

Martha waved a floured hand toward the kitchen door. "No doubt, it's just some piece of doggerel that old sea dog wrote in the idle months when he was trapped in this house by winter storms. To some new lady love now long since gone to dust like him."

She shook her head ruefully. "From all I've heard about the Captain from the townsfolk, he was quite the lady's man." She shrugged. "But that was then, and this is now. Soon the children will be waiting to be picked up from school. You going, or am I?"

"Thank you, but I'll go and collect them." Carolyn nodded as she finished her coffee and stood up from the table. "I could use some fresh air and I can cash this check while I'm in town and go to the store. The cupboard is almost bare."

She took care to refold the letter and check then pushed both back into the envelope. She tucked it into the pocket of her coat as she left the room, not seeing Martha's look of frowning curiosity.

※※※※※

Captain Daniel Gregg stood at the open windows of the main bedroom looking through his brass telescope at Mrs Muir and her two children. They all got out of her infernal horseless carriage and walked through the open gate and up the front path.

They were burdened with paper bags full of groceries. Their dog bounced along beside them, barking happily as they approached the house.

"I do not know how many times I have instructed that woman to shut the gate behind her!" the Captain fumed. "She speaks of asserting her feminine independence of thought and yet she still cannot perform even the simplest of tasks! It is not to be borne for much longer!"

He stood back from the telescope and frowned down at them. "Seaman Elroy Applegate had more sense when he was alive!"

He spun the telescope as he turned away. With his hands clasped in the small of his back - as was his wont when he was agitated - he took a turn about the room. Mrs Muir obviously had no intention of modifying her behaviour to suit his very reasonable demands. She seemed determined to do exactly as she pleased!

"It is not to be tolerated in my house…" he muttered again as he heard her quick steps on the stairs.

"All I asked was for her to consider my wishes whenever she made any decisions concerning my house. Surely there was no need to argue over such a simple request!" He had to believe she would soon see the error of her ways and agree she was in the wrong.

His lips compressed. He knew he needed her to admit her error so they could get back to the way things had been between them. He was beginning to miss their weekly appointments in the wheelhouse for a convivial hour of discussion and a glass or two of Madeira. But for some reasons of her own, Mrs Muir was being unbelievably stubborn.

"Women!" He scowled at the closed door and dematerialised just as Carolyn entered the bedroom.

"Oh…" She stopped to frown at the slowly revolving telescope. She walked up to it and stilled its progress with one hand.

She turned back to look around the room. "Captain?" she asked in a tone that said she was not expecting an answer.

The silence of the room hung repressively, seeming to seethe with masculine annoyance. "Very well…" Carolyn pushed her bangs back from her temple. "Have it your way, since you insist on acting like a spoiled child. I guess you'll talk to me when you're good and ready. Until then…"

She lifted her chin as she walked away to her wardrobe to remove her coat and fetch her nightwear to lay them out on the bed. The children had homework to do and she would help Martha with preparing their evening meal. Practical things to take her mind off her growing sense of unrest and deepening loneliness.

As she walked to the door, she glanced wistfully at the bracket of the wall lamp. It had been stubbornly empty for many days now. There was no folded note of invitation for her to go up to the wheelhouse to spend some welcome time alone, together with the ghost.

"Blast…" she whispered raggedly with feeling as she yanked the door open and walked out, pulling it shut behind her with a decided snap.

※※※※※

Captain Gregg paced in the shadowed silence of his wheelhouse and waited as all decent men should. He was finely attuned to Carolyn's movements below him and knew the very moment she turned out the light in the bathroom and walked slowly down the hall to her room.

"Patience, man…" he told himself as he further hesitated until he knew the lady of the house had finally gotten into bed and prepared to sleep.

The time was now into the Middle Watch and the clock downstairs dutifully chimed the early morning hour. The Captain braced himself as he vanished from his place of observation to reappear in the clustering shadows inhabiting the far corner of Carolyn's room. Unless he moved or gave away his presence by speaking, she would not know he was there.

"Blast…" To his chagrin, he immediately saw her light beside the bed was still burning and she appeared to be reading.

It was only after a few seconds of close observation, that he realised she had propped the book on her upraised knees while behind it, her eyes were closed and her breathing even and rhythmic. The lady was indeed asleep.

"I hate to see you so pulled about by confounded money worries…" The Captain sighed as he walked slowly forward to stand close to the foot of the bed.

He had performed this secret ritual on the very first night the lady and her children had lodged themselves beneath his roof. He had intended them to be well gone the next morning, leaving him alone again to enjoy his eternity in peace.

'And yet…' Over the intervening months, it had become almost a habitual thing to guard the lady's slumbers.

"Nay, now it has become a veritable obsession," the Captain whispered in soft denial. He inhaled deeply and expelled his breath roughly. "Why were you not born in my century? Or I, in yours…"

He shook his head as he walked up the bed to gently remove the book from her slackened grasp and place it on the bedside table. He reached to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into soft moonlit darkness.

He was aware the lady would not approve of his almost nightly ritual. But he had seen how badly the constant demands on her depleted purse were affecting her. Despite the evidence, his nineteenth-century, masculine pride would not allow him to bend enough to admit he was in the wrong.

He'd briefly toyed with the idea of revealing the location of his hidden treasure, safely buried under the rhododendron bushes in the back garden. But if the truth reached the perfidious Claymore Gregg, the weasel would claim the treasure as his by right of ownership of the house and grounds.

"An untenable dilemma…" With a wave of his hand, he caused the telescope to turn while the windows unlocked and opened wide to the fresh salt air of the night. He paused beside the bed, looking down at Carolyn's moonlit beauty nestled into the softness of her pillows.

"I would have carried you off to sea and showered you with all the beauties of the world. Diamonds, sapphires and pearls. If you were mine, there would be nothing I would not give to you, or do for you…"

On an impulse he was finding increasingly difficult to control, he focussed all his considerable powers of concentration as he bent down to place a soft kiss against her cheek. It was the merest whisper of contact and yet she must have felt it.

Carolyn murmured and moved in her sleep and her eyelids fluttered. A smile curved her sweet lips, and he was almost sure she whispered his name.

"Carolyn…" he replied with a sigh, resisting the distracting urge to smooth the hair back from her forehead.

Ever since the unforgettable moment he'd picked up the family dog in a fit of outrage, he had been exploring his growing power to touch the living. Until recently, it had always taken every ounce of his focus and spiritual energy, often leaving him feeling depleted for hours afterwards. Becoming corporeal enough to pass as human was surely an impossible dream.

But week by week, he was slowly building up his ability to concentrate for longer and longer periods without suffering any serious aftereffects. The possibilities tantalised him and disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

He shook his head and straightened before he went further than his intentions for this night. "Sleep well, my dear lady. I am here. I will always be here…"

He walked away toward his telescope with his hands clasped in the small of his back. He'd always loved the night. He glanced back at the woman sleeping in his bed. Now he had found an even more compelling reason to welcome the onset of darkness...

※※※※※

Five days later, Carolyn was seated on the couch in the alcove. She was trying to type an article on the new, portable typewriter she'd bought for herself on impulse during her trip down to Boston. Now all she had to do was compose a saleable article to pay for it and settle all her other bills.

Sadly, the Seagirt money had already been spent on groceries and they were still behind. Soon, Claymore Gregg would be demanding his next rent payment, and he would not be inclined to accept her excuses. He was always looking for any reason to remove her from the house so it could be torn down. That she could not allow.

"And he's always on time when he wants something." Carolyn shook her head.

The day had not started well. She'd risen late, plagued with an incipient headache that only increased as she tried to force her distracted brain to think. Nothing occurred to her, and her levels of frustration were reaching new heights.

Now and then, in her distraction, her fingers strayed to her cheek. Within the confusion of her fractured dreams, she'd imagined the Captain had appeared beside her bed in the night. On impulse, he'd bent down and kissed her cheek. She'd dreamed that both his lips and beard had brushed her skin, making her shiver with need. She wanted to reach for him and draw him down to her.

"We both know that's impossible…" She shook her head. Had she spoken his name? She couldn't remember clearly which irritated her even more.

And had she only imagined his softly regretful words? 'Sleep well, my dear lady. I am here. I will always be here…'

"I wish I knew what was real…" Her breathing hitched with despair.

Last year, the Captain had picked up Scruffy and carried him into the house when the dog would not stop barking at him. And then there had been the curious incident with the seal the children had found down at the beach. The Captain had handled the creature with ease and had shown no sign of discomfort or awareness that he had touched living beings.

"How was any of that possible?" Carolyn shook her head. "And can he touch me?" She wished she knew the truth.

All around her on the couch and the coffee table were spread several newspapers and open books. She'd spent precious time researching extensively, trying to make a cohesive whole out of her desperation to create anything saleable. But nothing was working, and she was fast running out of time.

"Oh, this is ridiculous…" she muttered, scowling at the inoffensive sheet of paper rolled into the typewriter's carriage.

She read what she'd written before she yanked the paper from the machine in disgust and crumpled it up. She tossed it toward the wastebasket already overflowing with her rejections, but even that didn't work. The wad of paper fell to the floor.

Faithful Scruffy jumped up from his position at her feet and ran to pick up the balled discard. He walked over and dropped it into the basket.

"Thanks, Scruffy." Carolyn sighed as she dropped her chin into her upraised palm. "Now, if you could just come up with a new idea for me, you wouldn't have to cut down on dog food next month."

The dog shook his head and whined at the drastic idea. Carolyn smiled wanly at his antics as she sat forward to roll a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter. All she could do was try again and again until she managed to compose something saleable. She didn't dare look at her watch.

She did turn her gaze to the envelope containing the Captain's poem where it lay at her elbow. She'd still not decided what to do about it. She longed to ask him why he'd written it and for whom. But she feared she might not like the answer he gave.

It would also make a good article. But again, that seemed like she would be pushing his limited patience too far. He valued his privacy, having been alone in this house for the last hundred years or so and he detested having his things disturbed or pried into without his permission.

Her lips twisted. "If only I knew what to do for the best. Ask him or don't ask him." She huffed a derisive laugh. "But I can only do that when he finally decides to speak to me again."

Martha crossed the living room to the alcove, carrying a handful of envelopes and a newspaper. "Mail call!" she declared cheerfully, holding them out.

"Thanks, Martha." Carolyn sighed as she stood up to accept the new bundle of correspondence. She didn't want to, but she had no choice.

She looked through them gingerly, reciting the senders in a resigned tone. "So, we now have the cleaner's bill for the carpets… the usual water and power and also what looks like a bill from Ed Peevey for the work he did repairing the front gate after the storm." She cast a frowning look toward the ceiling wondering if the Captain was listening to her fresh round of complaints.

"Oh, dear…" Martha shook her head. "Maybe I should've said, bill call." She brightened. "I could try and buy Ed off with a couple of my cherry pies. That usually works."

"Thanks, Martha. If only that would work for all of them. But I haven't got a single idea in my empty head about how to pay for them along with all the rest from last week," Carolyn replied as she walked away toward the fireplace, still sorting through the bills.

Martha brightened. "Well, if it's an idea you need. Would you be interested in my aunt's adventures with a plumber in Cicero Falls? She certainly was."

Carolyn grimaced. "Really, Martha, thank you. But I'm sure I'll come up with something…"

Martha nodded quickly. "Well, I can tell you that something very racy started over a leaky faucet. Sparks flew, you might say. Just as well he was a plumber and not an electrician." She chuckled.

"Oh, Martha, come on…" Carolyn sighed good-naturedly, knowing her close friend was only trying to help. "After all the trouble I had last year over that dreadfully off-colour story they published in 'Feminine View' without my knowledge. I would have to leave town if I wrote anything as foolish again."

Again, she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "That kind of help I don't need."

"Okay, I guess it's your choice." Martha shrugged. "I got nothing else right now." She turned to leave. "But I know you could sure use a cup of coffee because I can. Cleaning is such thirsty work. I'll be right back in with a tray."

"Thanks, Martha…" Carolyn looked after her with affection. She went back to opening the rest of the bills.

Behind her, the Captain suddenly appeared, looking somewhat put out. "Good morning, Madam," he said formally.

"Good morning, Captain." Carolyn kept her tone neutral and didn't look up from her reading even though her heart skipped a beat that he had finally decided to reappear.

The ghost cleared his throat. "I have finally decided it's time to forgive you for your need to assert your feminine independence while you reside under my roof," he replied stiffly. "So, you may consider yourself forgiven."

"Thank you, Captain." Carolyn inhaled as she went right on reading. "That's very magnanimous of you."

"Yes, it is rather, isn't it?" The Captain stroked his bearded chin with satisfaction. "Very well, since you appear to be in a much more receptive mood, we shall agree to allow bygones to be bygones. I cannot say fairer than that."

Carolyn lifted one shoulder in denial. "I will agree only as long as we go fifty-fifty in any and all decisions made concerning this house from now on," she replied, still reading. "I am allowed an opinion, you know. After all, I do have a signed lease."

"Madam…" The Captain warned in an infuriated tone. "Lease or no lease, this is still my house! I am the master here!"

"Captain…" Carolyn finally looked up. "As a ghost who has lodged himself in my century, you must accept that I do have an opinion. One which I am more than prepared to express. You'll get used to the idea, in time."

The Captain folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. "Females!" he finally uttered in a disgusted tone. "The best decision I ever made was to remain a bachelor!"

"Yes, a very lucky escape…" Carolyn tried not to smile as she went back to the bills. "Take it or leave it. It's the only offer on the table." She waited for him to disappear from her again.

She didn't want that. But she wasn't about to admit it or the annoying fact that she'd badly missed his company these last couple of weeks. Despite their current disagreement, he seemed to understand the trials she was going through. When he was speaking to her.

She inhaled against the imminent threat of tears. She often wondered where he went and what he did. Did he drink his Madeira all alone, up in the wheelhouse, while brooding on her many shortcomings as a woman?

But he remained standing before her as he unfolded his arms. "Very well, Madam," he replied in a more forgiving tone. "I can allow you may have some opinions that have been of value to me from time to time. I am prepared to consider them."

He raised a warning forefinger when she opened her mouth to reply. "But I do not give you license to impinge on things which are none of your concern." He looked pleased with himself. "I shall decide what subjects we will discuss and when. Agreed?"

Carolyn rolled her eyes. "Very well, agreed." She was well aware she had pushed his short store of masculine patience far enough.

She glanced at Tim Seagirt's letter. She wanted to ask the Captain about the poem, and who he'd written it for, but her courage failed her once more. Deep down, she didn't want to hear the answer and be disappointed.

"Now, then…" The Captain relaxed as he rubbed his hands together purposefully. "I happened to overhear your morning's troubles. If it's a story you're after, then I have several. Did I ever tell you about my encounter with a man-eating shark off the coast of New Zealand? If it hadn't been for the fortunate happenstance of a piece of floating driftwood, I—"

"Sorry, Captain..." Carolyn raised a denying hand as she shook her head slowly. "But I simply cannot use another sea story."

The Captain shrugged. "Very well, then. How about this? I was anchored off the coast of New Guinea when I rescued a native boy from the gaping jaws of death. I was made an honorary cannibal by his grateful father. They threw quite a party for me. It went on for some days."

"Thanks, anyway…" Carolyn grimaced. "But I think I'll pass. I doubt my readers would know what to think of that one. What I need must be light-hearted and informative. I want to make people smile. Also, from now on, anything romantic must be moving and have a definite happy ever after. No blood or gore or man-eating anything."

She raised her brows. "And certainly, no more bodice tearing or ravishing. My poor readers have been ravished quite enough."

"Happy ever after, you say…" The Captain regarded her with disbelief. "I am here to tell you it's not all happiness in the ever after. Far from it. But, very well, I can see my valuable input is not needed at this juncture…" he huffed as he dematerialised.

"Oh, I'm sorry…" Carolyn put out an apologetic hand to detain him. "Please don't take it personally…" But she was already too late.

She frowned after him in despair. "Nothing's going right today, dammit. Not one single thing."

She put aside the collection of opened bills on the mantlepiece and unfolded the town's newspaper Martha had also brought in. She began to read the articles, her eyes stopping on one that immediately caught and held her attention. She looked up as the housekeeper walked back in carrying a tray holding a coffee pot and two cups.

"Oh, Martha!" Carolyn exclaimed excitedly. "Listen to this! I think it's the very thing! 'Madame Olivia Tibaldi, renowned spiritualist and medium is leaving Boston tomorrow for a lecture tour that will take her through the New England states…'

She looked up with fresh hope in her eyes. "How about I write an article on her? I'm sure I could sell it."

"A medium, you say…" Martha frowned, shaking her head as she put the tray down on the coffee table beside the typewriter. She straightened with her hands on her hips. "I don't know…"

"Well, tell me what you really think?" Carolyn asked anxiously. "I bet if I could get an interview with her, I could come up with something pretty exciting. It could pay all the bills off in one and keep Claymore off our backs for another month or two."

"Maybe…" Martha regarded her dubiously, still looking disappointed her own idea had not been taken up. "I don't know about any medium though. Sounds fishy, if you ask me. Aren't they all fakes and schemers?"

Carolyn sighed her frustration. "What's the matter? Talk of the occult doesn't turn you on?"

"No…" Martha grimaced. "But that plumber surely turned my aunt on. Big time."

She smiled as she poured herself a cup of coffee. "But if it pays the bills, then go on ahead and ask the woman. It surely can't hurt. I guess I'll go and see about our lunch." She shrugged as she left the alcove, carrying her cup as she headed for the kitchen.

"Thanks," Carolyn replied as she went back to reading the newspaper article. "Well, what about you, Captain?" she asked of the silent room. "How does an article on a medium strike you?"

The Captain reappeared instantly, looking less than in favour of the idea. "A medium? I'd say it's a waste of time, energy and good paper, writing about a primitive fraud and a liar. Any of my stories are worth ten of anything that charlatan would have to offer."

He folded his arms as if his denial had already sealed the deal. "Furthermore, I will not have a medium under the same roof as myself! Permission denied!"

"Oh, well, in that case, I have an excellent suggestion," Carolyn assured him brightly as she poured her coffee before picking up her cup and returning to her seat on the couch.

Her headache was lessening, and she felt quite buoyed by the whole idea. She would not allow one ghost's biased opinion to ruin her morning. It was money she needed, not another dissenting comment.

"I can see that you are scheming again," the Captain replied warily, watching her closely. "And what is it now, Madam?"

"Well, when Madame Tibaldi comes here…" Carolyn felt suddenly very pleased with her new direction. "And come here, she will…"

"Yes?" the Captain asked impatiently, obviously disliking the course of the conversation.

"How about you just wait outside," Carolyn concluded triumphantly. "I have an article to write and I'm going to do it. I have bills I need to pay, and it seems I'm the only one around here with any ideas on how to do that."

"I am warning you, Madam…" The Captain pointed an accusing finger at her, seeing her determination. "Already you are reneging on our agreement! You have not heard the last of this conversation!" He vanished as he spoke.

"Sore loser…" Carolyn turned to the dog. "How about you, Scruffy? Does an article about spiritualism do anything for you?"

The dog barked derisively and ran from the room.

Carolyn shook her head. "Everyone around here has become such a critic." She took a sip of coffee before she inserted a fresh blank page into her typewriter. "Yet, none of you have offered to pay the bills you all seem very happy about running up."

She looked around the room again and glanced up toward the ceiling before she began to compose her letter. She would invite Madame Tibaldi to come and visit Schooner Bay while the medium was on her travels through New England and hoped she would agree.

Surely, it couldn't hurt...

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