Chapter 7
MALCOLM HAS BEEN in my head all morning. He whispers in my ear, tells me jokes. I try not to laugh so passersby can see. I keep my responses muted as much as possible. But the whipping wind and the traffic on Main Street make that difficult.
Still, I try. I’m already the girl who catches ghosts. I don’t want to add the girl who talks to herself to the list.
We’ve traveled through and around town at least three times. Or rather, I have. Malcolm’s taken a virtual ride thanks to my new Bluetooth earpiece.
We haven’t found a single thing.
On this circuit, something’s different. The black Mercedes is missing from in front of the Springside B&B.
“It’s gone,” I say to Malcolm.
“What is?”
I keep forgetting he can’t see what I’m doing. “Orson’s car. It’s not parked at the bed and
