“Soon.” I tried to sound more certain of this than I actually was. “Fine.” She dragged out the word on an impatient sigh. If you don’t believe in karma, that alone should give you cause for reconsideration.īut given that it was an early Monday evening on what had been a blazing hot June day and I could still feel the heat rising from the ground beneath us, she was probably more comfortable than I was in jeans and the long sleeve T-shirt I’d worn to protect myself from rampant thorns. Alona Dare, former Homecoming Queen, varsity cheerleading cocaptain, fashionista and mean girl supreme of Groundsboro High, had died in her gym clothes-short red shorts and a cheap white shirt. That was at least possible, especially given what she was wearing. (No, I’ve never met Elvis, but it’s an educated guess.)

Besides which, I hadn’t ever heard of any ghosts visiting a bathroom unless, of course, they’d died there. Since she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in well over a month, I seriously doubted that was a genuine concern. “Can we go now?” Alona nudged me, sounding annoyed. Unfortunately, ghosts don’t always do what you expect. So, we werewaiting (and waiting and waiting) for her on the east side of the house, in the former rose garden, where she’d keeled over twenty some years ago while digging a hole for a new bush. Ruiz’s last chance to make peace with the place where she’d served as a housekeeper for most of her life. But it was officially scheduled tobe torn down tomorrow morning, which meant tonight was Mrs.

The Gibley Mansion in Decatur’s historic district had been falling apart for years. I, however, was entering my second hour of hiding in a prickly tangle of brush with an increasingly cranky spirit guide, all for a ghost who might not even show up. On television, ghost-talkers run antique stores, solve crimes, or stand on a stage in a nice suit giving the teary-eyed audience a toothy, yet sympathetic grin. And special thanks for all the phone calls and Gmail chats this year. Go! and Little House on the Prairie, all the trips to the library and bookstore, and not freaking out when all I wanted to read were stories about ghosts, witches, haunted houses, and other scary things. For information address Hyperion 114 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011-5690. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group.

The Rules by Stacey Kade