“You have a vivid imagination, girl. What you need is a psychiatrist. Ghosts don’t exist. They aren’t real.”
“This one is. I’ve seen it nearly every night for the past two weeks. And it’s not a dream.”
“Okaaaay… I still don’t believe in ghosts Izzy, BUT… I believe something is going on. And I don’t want to alarm you, but have you considered that it might be a stalker?”
“Why would anyone be stalking me? I’m not famous… and I certainly don’t have any money. All I have is debt. Of course, if some generous millionaire wants to pay that off, well…”
“Pay attention, girl. You never know about these things and you can’t be too careful. Maybe you should talk to Harry Hogan.”
“Do you mean the private investigator? Why?”
“He has a reputation for solving strange and mysterious things. He might be able to help you. And if he can’t explain it, at least you’ll know it’s just a ghost, nothing to be afraid of.”
“Do you really think I should?”
“What have you got to lose?”
“I’m not so sure it’s the right thing to do… but I’ll think about it.”
The young women were silent as Bertie finished her lunch and left. She decided not to mention what she had heard, but she hoped the young woman would come to the office with her problem. If anyone could find a logical explanation for her ghost – it was Hogan.
* * * * * * * * * *
The next morning, just after Harry and Bertie had settled at their respective desks with a cup of coffee, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in. It’s open,” Harry called out.
The door opened and a young woman stepped inside, slim, petite, dressed in all black and with long, straight black hair. She smiled as she looked over at Harry. “Are you Mr. Hogan, the private investigator?”
Harry grinned. “I’m not sure the title is accurate, but yes, I’m Hogan. Please, sit down.” He pointed to the chairs opposite his desk.
She sat on the edge of a chair and Harry could almost feel the tension. He had seen this many times during his days on the police force with witnesses giving statements. One wrong word and she’d be out the door again. “What can we do for you, Miss…?”
“Brewer… Isabel Brewer. But now that I’m here…” She hesitated and then stood up. “I’m sorry… but I’m not sure what I’m doing here… I don’t want to waste your time.”
“Sit down, Miss Brewer. Please,” Harry said. “Talking to someone is never a waste of time. You must have had a reason for coming here. Why don’t you tell us what’s on your mind and we’ll take it from there.”
A faint smile played about the corners of her mouth as she resumed her seat. “A friend convinced me to come to you. She said you would probably be able to help me.”
