Scarecrow’s Dream Read Online Free Page A

forty-three years’ thing makes me crazy. Anyway, I’m damned curious as to who sent me over a bridge to land in icy waters in April and I’d lay bets it wasn’t some snotty prom queen from my senior class. You ready to hear what truly ticks me off? I’m guessing my body was never found. Creepy. Perhaps after I drowned I went floating down the Hudson toward West Point and out onto the Atlantic?”
    “I believe you mean up the Hudson. Those cute little cadets are north.”
    “I’m a ghost. I’m not supposed to worry about geography, apart from why I’m not hanging out in front of the Pearly Gates with St. Pete.”
    “Yeah, right, fine. But, Holly, and while I realize this sounds tacky, we still need to figure out who…killed you and why. That’s got to be why you’re back among the living, don’t you agree? Justice. Revenge. Or to prevent a further tragedy, although if disaster happened it would have happened years ago, and I’m confusing myself. Back to my point, justice and revenge are both classic reasons for haunting. But one would imagine the ghost doing the haunting would be haunting the person involved in the ghost’s demise as opposed to irritating a beloved aunt. And not to be repetitive but I will—why now? Why not the day or hour after you went into the drink?”
    I groaned. “I’m getting a headache, which should be impossible since I shouldn’t be able to feel my head. But assuming you’re right about me needing to haunt the person responsible, how am I going to figure out who did it and what happened since the powers in the universe who brought me back didn’t see fit to include my full memory?”
    “Research.”
    “As in? I doubt there are any answers on your computer, no matter how cool it is.”
    “Prepare to be amazed. Besides, I do have letters from you and Paul before you vanished and were presumed dead by everyone except your dad. Most of them are about you protesting about racial injustice and hanging out with folk singers in Greenwich Village. I also remember something about you writing for an underground newspaper and working on a play. I was pleased to hear you were also a writer.”
    Addie closed her eyes and thought for a moment. “Wait. You didn’t write the play. Someone else did but you were involved somehow. You were also dating someone but neither you nor your dad said much about it. I remember your dad being a bit worried but he seemed to like the guy. It was someone older. In his thirties. And I gather there was some other issue but Paul didn’t say what. Anyway, then you disappeared. And I came back from Paris to stay with Paul about six months later. Your dad pretty much kept to himself and I didn’t want to intrude and nudge him for information if it was hurtful.”
    “Oh wow. Hang on for a second. I’m getting a flicker of something. Not a who but more a feeling of someone.” I tried to force my mind to remember. “Shoot. It’s gone. I don’t have the first idea of who he was but I’ll tell you this much. He was special. I have good kind of feeling somewhere in the pit of my stomach and it doesn’t seem to be going away. If we could figure out who he was, I’ll bet we could find him and ask him what happened on the bridge.” I winced. “Oh crap. I hope it doesn’t turn out I was seeing a serial killer or something. Or watch…this guy’s probably gotten so old and senile he doesn’t remember either.”
    “I hate to say it but he may not be on this earth anymore. Then again, he could also be a ghost, which would be really interesting in terms of you guys getting together.”
    I ignored her, stood, and began to pace. Boo-Boo paced with me. “Addie, so far I see no benefit to being a ghost. I can’t walk through doors—no matter how often you try to convince me I can. I hate to disappoint you but I’ve tried and it ain’t happenin’. My only parlor trick appears to be invisibility to everyone except the dog. Oh, and giving off weird vibes when