The first thing I do is lock the door behind me. The second? Pull out my brand-new cell phone and speed-dial Malcolm. I’m halfway to the kitchen door when he answers.
“Jesus, Katy, are you okay?”
“Relax. I’m fine.” I lock the kitchen door as well and flip on the lights.
Coffee stains the countertops. On the floor, near the refrigerator, a pool of half and half has congealed. I tuck the takeout containers inside and continue my inspection. My boots crunch spilled sugar and shards of broken china. One Goodwill cup remains, the lone survivor of the mêlée.
“It’s a mess in here,” I say, more to myself than Malcolm.
“What’s a mess? Where are you? Don’t do this to me.”
“Sorry, sorry. I’m at Sadie’s. Harold’s ghost is gone.”
“How do you even—?”
“I ran into Carter Dupree. He told me.” I cru
