Tangled Souls Read Online Free Page B

impatience—Bradley Alliford. She’d encountered reluctant souls, but they’d always accepted the inevitable. Most were keen to move on, but Bradley was the exception. He was stalling, a classic child’s ploy.
    I have to find the mutt . That was the rub: Merlin was among the missing. For some unfathomable reason, Bradley’s mother had spirited the dog off within hours of the boy’s funeral. Gregory Alliford hadn’t been much help, completely mystified as to his estranged wife’s intent. He’d admitted that Janet had never liked the dog and had threatened to have him put down when he gnawed on one of the Oriental carpets. No surprise that the little boy’s spirit manifested the night of the funeral; the missing dog was the trigger.
    “Weird,” Gavenia muttered. She thought about the puppy as groups of passengers wandered past her. At least he was alive; that much she could sense. How long he’d remain that way was up for grabs given Janet Alliford’s seemingly inexplicable behavior.
    Gavenia wound a strand of her waist-length hair around an index finger and glanced at her watch. Seven ten, and another wave of passengers swept by. At times like this, her gift was a mixed blessing. She watched an older woman putter along with a walker, the essence of a man hovering beside her—the woman’s husband. That was touching. He gave Gavenia a warm smile and she returned it.
    Being a Shepherd was like wearing a neon sign, at least to the dead. The flip side was more disconcerting because she couldn’t see all of them, nor could she sense some of the Guardians. That unnerved her and made her wonder what else ran under her radar.
    It’s not polite to stare , a voice said. She glanced sideways. Her own Guardian, Bartholomew Quickens, stood at her elbow. A quintessential thespian, he fussed with his garments as if in preparation for a curtain call. This time he was dressed as a Victorian dandy, with an engraved gold watch hanging from his elegant steel-gray waistcoat. She found that strange, given that the dead had no need for marking time.
    “Channeling Oscar Wilde, are we?” she asked in a sarcastic tone. A woman close by gave her a confused look.
    Bart chuckled, pulled out the pocket watch, popped it open, studied the dial, and then snapped it shut, tucking it back into his waistcoat with a decided flourish.
    It was either this or something Native American. I had trouble deciding, he responded .
    I thought once you were dead you didn’t worry about things like that .
    You’re still upset about this morning.
    She sighed and shifted her gaze back to the crowd. There’s more going on in that household than the death of the little boy. Something else is up, but I can’t figure it out.
    Bart continued to fiddle with his clothes as if he hadn’t heard her, disinclined to offer insight on the issue. At that moment a familiar face appeared in the crowd. Gavenia waved, and the figure waved back.
    “She’s still wearing black,” she observed. It had been almost a year since her brother-in-law’s death, and her younger sister still remained in full mourning. Ariana moved through the crowd, the gray ghost of Paul Hansford following just behind her. Gavenia groaned. This wasn’t going to be easy.
    Bart tut-tutted in consummate disapproval. Ah, the widow Hansford and her very late husband. Some of them never understand the party’s over.
    “Gavenia!” her sister called.
    “Ari!” she called back, putting on a welcoming smile.
    They fell into an awkward embrace. Ariana Hansford was a head taller than her older sister, her shoulder-length auburn hair contrasting with Gavenia’s long honey-gold tresses. They’d always joked the fairies had left the wrong baby on the doorstep, though they’d never agreed as to which of them was the ringer.
    Gavenia broke the hug first though she knew it should have lasted longer. Her eyes met those of her deceased brother-in-law and he returned a disdainful look. Ariana was unaware her