The Ghost and The Graveyard (The Monk's Hill Witch) Read Online Free PDF Page B

left this house to my dad, Robert Knight, when she died. He hasn’t been able to sell it since her death.”
    “Well, that would explain why she’s so upset. When you weren’t Robert, she thought you were stealing her house.”
    “Is she going to hurt me if I don’t leave? Are you?”
    “I’m not going to hurt you.” The crooked smile was back. “And I’ll talk to Prudence. I think, once she knows you’re Robert’s daughter, she may think differently about you. Your name is Grateful?”
    “Yes.” Wait, how did he know my name? “You’ve been watching me?” I accused.
    “I have to admit I have. Well, any time that bouquet isn’t next to your head. That thing stinks. I don’t suppose I could ask you to get rid of it.”
    “Done. I’m not a big fan. It was a gift.”
    “From the caretaker?”
    “Yeah. Wait, you don’t know your own name but you know who the caretaker is?”
    “I was watching, remember?”
    “Oh. Oh !” My face burned. He’d seen how I’d acted with Rick my first night here. “That was private,” I chided in a hushed tone.
    The ghost didn’t apologize, but he flickered in the middle. His shoulders hunched forward. “I’m tired, Grateful. Can we continue this another time?”
    “Sure,” I said. How did ghosts rest?
    “I’ll come to you again tonight, after dark.”
    “But what do I call you if you don’t have a name?”
    “Why don’t you come up with one for me? Just for practicality, until I remember my own.” He faded to the viscosity of a watermark, nothing more than an outline.
    “Okay,” I said. “I guess I’ll see you tonight.”
    For a moment his green eyes glowed brighter. “It’s a date.” He winked and then he was gone. Nothing remained but a wisp of mist that smelled faintly of cinnamon.
    I placed both hands firmly on the counter. Did I just make a date with a ghost?

Chapter 5
    Dates

    M y day off was getting interesting. Here’s what I’d learned. I was not crazy. My house was haunted, but one of the ghosts was attractive and pleasant. He could make coffee. And the last owner of this house was still here, despite being dead.
    I had some things to do. First, I needed to drink a cup of ghost-made coffee. After the night I had, I needed the pick me up. Then a long hot shower was in order. If I stayed in these scrubs much longer, I’d have to consider them a biohazard. And before sundown, I needed to find my ghost a name.
    “This day brought to you be the letter “C” for caffeine,” I said, filling my cup. To my surprise, the coffee was perfect. Somehow my ghost had done what no one in my life had ever accomplished. It wasn’t the weak swill of a man who was trying to please me because he assumed that I, as a simple female, enjoyed dark water. It wasn’t the bitter sludge of a man who’d never made himself coffee before and added extra scoops because he wanted to keep me up all night. This was the brew of a man who knew how to make coffee: smooth, rich, and satisfying.
    Mmmmmmm . I closed my eyes and swallowed. There was nothing better than a good cup of Joe in the morning. Maybe, if I asked nicely, he would make it again tomorrow.
    By the time I reached the shower, my mood had lifted. For some reason, my meeting with the ghost had given me peace of mind. I wasn’t afraid of the cemetery anymore, since I had a ghost on my side. Who knew a brush with the supernatural could actually calm my nerves?
    The bright buoyancy of hope had me whistling to myself. Warm water flowed over my body, rinsing away the tension and worry of the morning. I caught myself thinking about him: those sad green eyes, that sandy brown hair, the stubble that gave him an Indiana Jones sort of sexiness. I guess he didn’t actually have a body, but his image was thin and muscular. If my house had to be haunted, I was glad my ghost looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ .
    I towel dried my hair and was about to slip my white T-shirt over my bra when I could swear I saw