“No, I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“Good thoughts or bad?” she asked. Her movements were fluid and graceful as she came to rest, leaning on the corner of the desk. Since my arrival in New Fiddleham, Jenny had become my closest and dearest friend. Immaterial though she was, her counsel had always been solid and sound.
“I botched an assignment today.”
“Any casualties?”
“Just a crystal punch bowl—and very nearly a fish that isn’t a fish.”
She raised an opalescent eyebrow.
“It was a Jackaby case,” I said, and slumped my head down on the cluttered desk.
Jenny nodded. “Sounds about right, then. Don’t worry about Jackaby. He’ll come around. That man has botched plenty of assignments without your help.”
“I know. It isn’t even really Jackaby—it’s just . . .” I pushed my hair out of my face and slumped back on the chair. “It’s everyone. It’s the ones who said I couldn’t or I shouldn’t. My parents. Myself, mostly. In a strange way, I’m glad that Jackaby is disappointed. Don’t tell him I said so, but it’s nice to have somebody actually expect something of you for once. Still, it makes it all the harder to let go of the regrets.”
Jenny’s eyes drifted down to her translucent hand. “I do understand,” she said quietly. “It’s refreshing to be treated as an equal. It’s one of the reasons I said yes, all those years ago.” The ghost’s engagement ring was a slim band, a spectral hint of silver nearly lost in her own silvery complexion. I held my breath as she touched the metal delicately. Jenny so rarely spoke about the years before her death. “Hard as it may be to imagine,” she said, looking up, “I have a few regrets of my own.”
I swallowed. “Jenny . . .”
Her face lightened, and she smiled at me softly. “Let them go, Abigail. Leave the past to us ghosts and focus on where you’re going next. Besides, Jackaby is great with spotting paranormal stuff, but you know he’s positively lost when it comes to normal. If you want to impress him, don’t think about your weak spots—think about his. What did he miss?”
I shrugged. “This was a pretty simple case—or as simple as his cases are. The whole thing only took a few minutes. He spotted the creature right away—and a whole brood of its kittens.”
“I thought it was a fish.”
“They’re fishy kittens. Long story. You know Jackaby’s not the sort to bring home an ordinary pet.” I paused. A timid thought peered from around a corner at the back of my mind. “But Mrs. Beaumont is precisely the sort,” I said. “And she seemed to think that she had.”
“Why, Abigail, are you being clever right here in front of me?” Jenny teased.
“Not clever—just wondering,” I said. “Jackaby said they’re rare and they’re not indigenous. So, where did Mrs. Wiggles come from?”
“Oh, look at you, all inquisitive and focused.” She smiled affectionately. “I’m beginning to think you and Jackaby are cut from two ends of the same cloth.”
Before I could respond, three loud knocks issued from the front door, and I found myself suddenly alone in the room. I said a quiet thank-you to the space where Jenny had been, and I rose to receive our visitor.
Chapter Four
I glanced out the window as I crossed the room. Parked on the street outside was a sturdy-looking coach with two muscular horses yoked at the front. Unlike the sleek black carriages and hansom cabs one normally saw about town, this wooden cart was somewhere between a modern mail coach and the sort of covered wagon the pioneers all rode in my magazines of the Wild West. It looked delightfully rugged and out of place against the gray buildings of the business district.
It was no surprise, then, that Hank Hudson’s bushy beard and broad grin greeted me when I opened the door. “Mr. Hudson! How lovely to see you again.”
“Aw, Hank will do just fine, little lady.”