Ghost of a Chance

By Joselyn Vaughn

With business slow at The Lilac Bower Bed and Breakfast, Minnie Schultz advertises a haunted house to scare up a few guests. The first lodger to appear on her welcome mat is none other than Gordon Anderson, the man who left her alone in a foreign country fifty years ago. His arrival inspires more than doors slamming; it revives the love she had buried, leaving Minnie with a dilemma: to let the memories haunt her or find the spirit for a second chance?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joselyn Vaughn
• Release date: Nov 3, 2021

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Ghost of a Chance

A Romantic Comedy

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Ghost of a Chance

A Romantic Comedy

By

Joselyn Vaughn

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Previously published as Hauntings of the Heart. Revised and updated.

Copyright © 2021 by Esther L. Jiran

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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For the KKW group who always keep the hope alive.

One

My client is prepared to make it worth your while.

Minnie Schultz rolled her eyes and shifted the phone against her shoulder. She’d received offers to sell her bed-and-breakfast before, but this was outrageous. She traced the six zeroes the attorney quoted on her notepad until there were indents in its cardboard backing. One million dollars.

She stood by the window overlooking her little garden. She’d planted pumpkins this year for Wendy; they were going to pick one to decorate this afternoon. In all her seventy-four years, she’d never found a place that felt like home. She wouldn’t give up her small bit of heaven for any amount of money.

The Lilac Bower isn’t for sale, Minnie said for the fourth time in their conversation. Why won’t you tell me who you represent?

The buyer wishes to remain anonymous for the time being, the lawyer replied.

That puzzled her even more. Who would pay a million dollars for a bed-and-breakfast? It wasn’t worth that much. Sure, she did a good business during tourist season, but things slowed in the fall. Any meager profit she’d made went right back into maintaining the three-story Victorian. New driveway, new furnace, new bathroom fixtures. Mark, her nephew and personal handyman, had a list as long as her arm of needed repairs, not the least of which was a new roof and an air conditioning system. A million dollars could only be a joke.

Well, if your client is serious, they can come and talk to me in person. I’m not interested in selling anyway, but I’m not interested in dealing with someone who won’t say who they are.

I’ll pass on your message. We’ll be in touch. The lawyer disconnected.

Minnie tossed her phone down. It slid across the kitchen counter and fell on the floor. The battery case fell out again. She sighed and rubbed her forehead, bending to pick up the phone and the battery that had rolled under the edge of the refrigerator. After clicking the pieces back together, she put the phone in its charger and returned to the grocery bags covering the kitchen island.

Calls like that always upset her. She’d finally found a place she could call home, a place where she could reconcile all her memories, and someone wanted to take it from her. She wouldn’t sell. She’d saved up the money to pay cash for it, had labored through five years of renovations, installing new bathroom fixtures, restoring hardwood floors and crown molding, and removing purple paint from every surface inside and out. There was still work to do, but the rooms were finally shaping up as she’d envisioned, and she would not give up now.

Not even for a million dollars.

She sorted the groceries and organizing them by cupboard and shelf, then putting them away. As she worked, her mind traveled over the attorney’s conversation. It was the largest offer she’d received. She had to be crazy to turn it down, but she didn’t feel a bit of regret. The Lilac Bower was where she was meant to be.

****

Gordon Anderson dropped his fedora on the worn Formica counter in the Pine Bottom Register of Deeds office. He pressed the bell labeled ‘ring for service’ and waited.

An empty office chair sat in front of shelves of files and ledger books on the other side of the counter. Some books appeared a hundred years old, and one of them held the records of his family’s downfall. Events he planned to rectify, if only to ease his mother’s last days.

A woman with unnaturally auburn hair approached the reception area from behind the shelves. It had been long enough since she’d been to the beauty shop that a half-inch of white glared at her scalp. She placed a stack of manila folders on the counter and evaluated him over her half-rimmed glasses. She wore a cream blouse with a large silk bow at the collar and light blue polyester pants. Dust smudged her sleeves where the folders rested.

May I help you? she asked, brushing at the marks.

Gordon leaned against the counter. The woman seemed familiar, but he didn’t know anyone around here that old. Then he realized she was the same age he was, probably one of his friends. He’d been away too long. He guessed, Maybelle?

The woman flushed slightly. Yes. She paused, and he could feel her dissecting the wrinkles around his eyes. Gordon Anderson?

He smiled. She did recognize him, but he couldn’t judge the tenor of her voice. Pleasantly surprised, or mildly disgusted?

It’s been quite a while, she said. What brings you back to town?

I couldn’t resist seeing your lovely face again. A little charm wouldn’t hurt. It might keep her from grabbing a broom to shoo him out of the building. Who knew what rumors they spun about his father and his family? The truth couldn’t have remained a secret this long.

You never spared me a second glance when we were younger. She twisted a loop of the bow around her finger.

Perhaps, I was remiss in my attentions. He cringed inwardly. Probably spreading it on a little too thick.

She snorted. You only ever had eyes for one woman. The entire town knew it. Everyone was surprised when you two didn’t make a match.

Myself included, he thought. But she rejected him when he’d needed her most.

We thought you’d come back from the Philippines together, Maybelle prompted. She leaned across the counter, waiting for Gordon to spill the gory details.

Well, Maybelle hadn’t changed in fifty years. She was still a busybody, hoping to get the scoop on the sordid news. How many people had she told about the Anderson family turmoil? Was he wasting his time here? He hoped a vague reply might deter her efforts. Nothing happens quite how we expect it.

Ain’t that the truth? She patted her hair. It didn’t move. Gordon doubted a hurricane had the power to disturb it.

When he didn’t respond, she tried another tactic. Will you be in town long?

If everything works the way I hope, yes.

A permanent relocation? Maybelle twisted and leaned against the counter with her other hip. She picked up a pen and tapped it against a clipboard.

She was trying to nail him down. He didn’t want everyone to know his business yet. If the townspeople became hostile to his family after learning the truth, there was no reason to continue. Moving his mother to an unhappy environment wouldn’t ease her turmoil.

Gordon had been too young to know how to take care of his family and protect them from the horrible gossip surrounding their circumstances when they left. He didn’t know if he’d succeeded. After his father’s death, they’d never returned. His mother’s health couldn’t have borne it. By the time she’d stabilized, his sisters were established in college, and he’d been locked into a new life.

Depending how things work out, he hedged.

It would be good to have you back. Maybelle shook the files she’d been carrying into a neater pile and thumped them on the counter. Now, how can I help you?

I’m looking into the title history of a property.

Maybelle nodded. Her eyes narrowed, and she gave him a slow once-over. I bet I can guess which one. There’s a ten-dollar fee for copies of a title history.

He winced at the insinuation he might not afford such a steep fee. Some details of the foreclosure must have emerged. Gordon reached for the money clip in his pants pocket. His lawyer had already paid for a copy, but he hoped he buttering up the clerk could get him a little more information. Maybelle knew all the information not written in the title history. He could charm it out. Ten dollars was a small price to pay.

He extracted a crisp bill from the clip and slid it across the counter. Maybelle eyed it, and then him. She arched an eyebrow. She was stringing him along, trolling for tidbits he wasn’t willing to share. Which property? she finally asked.

The address still rattled smoothly off his tongue as if it hadn’t been fifty years since he last said it.

A smile touched Maybelle’s lips. So I thought. She disappeared into the shelves, returning a few moments later with a stack of green leather ledgers, the spines of each more progressively worn. She opened the bottom one and turned some pages. Here. She angled the book so Gordon could read.

The typewritten text seemed so plain as it noted the simple transfer. It was exactly as he engineered it. One little line hid all he lost. That line changed the direction of his life.

He tightened his lips and flipped the page. It was in the past. He couldn’t change it. He could only move forward and find restoration.

Maybelle waited. He didn’t comment; he closed the book. She slid the next ledger off the pile. She thumbed through the pages, licking her fingers to catch the paper. Here’s the next transfer. She paused for Gordon to read the names. They cut down all the lilacs around the porch.

Gordon tried to hide his grimace. That’s too bad. He and his mother had planted those lilacs. The plants had flourished, and the scent had gagged them with its intensity when the flowers bloomed. His mother had loved them and christened the house the Lilac Bower.

The place didn’t seem right without them, but then they planted the hydrangeas and those lovely rhododendrons. They are so beautiful when they bloom. I can’t get mine to flower. I’ve tried every kind of fertilizer, but no luck.

Gordon cut her off. How long did they live there? He wasn’t interested in Maybelle’s lack of green thumb.

Maybelle reached for the next book. The cover crackled as she opened it. Oh, they only stayed a year. His job transferred to Arizona, and they moved. The house didn’t sell right away. It sat empty for a couple months, then the owners rented it out. Trying to make some money on their investment, I guess. Renters are never a good idea for a historic house. She flipped a couple pages. This couple was next.

Gordon glanced at the name. It didn’t mean anything to him. He hoped Maybelle’s narrative would give him a clue about the current owner, something he could give to his lawyer.

They’re the ones who converted it to a bed-and-breakfast. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and pointed to another section of the record. 1985. I can’t believe it’s been so long. They couldn’t seem to make a go of it; they sold soon after. This couple did a little better, scraped along for fifteen years. In the end, they got too old to keep it up. Funny, they were younger than Minnie is now, and she’s doing fine. Of course, Mark is a wonder with all that handyman stuff...

He hadn’t been paying much attention to her rambling until she’d said Minnie’s name. Minnie? he repeated, hoping he’d heard Maybelle correctly. She’d followed it so closely with Mark. He hoped he hadn’t heard what he wanted to hear, twisting the sounds into his preferred name.

Maybelle’s eyebrows quirked. She reached for the newest- looking book. While the covers of the other books had dulled and their edges had flaked away, this one shone. Maybelle flipped the pages, watching Gordon. She glanced down, turned two more pages, then adjusted the book for Gordon’s perusal. His gaze slid to where her fuchsia fingernail pointed.

It says ‘The Lilac Bower, Inc.’

You’re looking for her, aren’t you? Maybelle folded the book closed and tucked it under her arm.

He wanted to grab it. There had to be more information there. He’d been looking for the property owner of his childhood home; he hadn’t come searching for Minnie. That window came and went long ago. He’d made choices that were...not choices at all. What else could he have done? His sisters needed a mother. His mother needed a nurse. And Minnie...well, she’d ostracized him as he’d expected the entire town would.

Despite it all, he wanted to see her. If he was honest with himself, he’d hoped he would run into her on the street, or in the gas station, or at the diner. Solely to find out what she’d done in the intervening years, of course. He knew the spark between them was long dead. For all he knew she was still in the Philippines, or Africa, or Indonesia—one of the exotic locations they’d dreamed about visiting together. Gordon stared at the paper. You said Minnie? She’s the owner?

Well, technically, Minnie is the president of the corporation. Maybelle glanced over the top of her glasses, then hefted the book and carried it toward the copy machine. I’ll get a copy of this for you.

His mind bounced all over the place. Minnie. His heart pounded. The memories of his travels to see the places they’d dreamed about. He’d always hoped he’d stumble across her in a cantina in Buenos Aires or disembarking from a mission plane in the Philippines. He’d never considered finding her in his old home.

Emotions he’d long thought dead flowed to the surface. Minnie had been his oxygen once and losing her had been like living in a backwards allergy medicine commercial. Everything had gone from bright and clear to cloudy and bleary. After a while, he’d gotten used to loss of light.

If his father had told the truth, it would have been humiliating, but Gordon would never have lost Minnie. They would live at the Lilac Bower together. He could rectify that now. He could see her. She was only blocks away. His luck was changing. He felt like skipping.

It briefly crossed his mind that getting all he wanted couldn’t be this easy. But he’d worry later. Seeing Minnie now was as important as finding water in the desert. He thanked Maybelle as he dashed to his car, almost leveling a woman who was entering.

Maybelle called after him. You forgot your copy.

He scurried back and snatched the paper from Maybelle, crumpling it and stuffing it into his pocket.

And your hat, the other woman said, tossing him the tan fedora. Gordon caught it and slapped it on his head.

He couldn’t miss this chance.

Two

Minnie had just shelved the last box of macaroni when one of her favorite voices asked, You have cookies, G’ma Minnie? Her two-year-old grand-niece, Wendy, skipped into the kitchen, followed by her father, Mark.

You don’t need any cookies, Miss Wendy, Mark said in the fatherly voice Minnie had been hearing from him more and more. He tousled the little girl’s brown curls, dislodging a pumpkin-shaped barrette. He placed a worn red toolbox on the floor and tried unsuccessfully to resituate the small clip to keep her hair out of her face. After a moment, he gave up and tossed the barrette onto the counter.

Oh, Mark, she can have a couple. I just got back from the grocery store. Minnie reached for a package of Oreos with orange filling and tore open the plastic wrap.

No. No! Not those! Wendy swatted the package. I want G’ma Minnie cookies. She jabbed her finger at a Cheshire-Cat-shaped cookie jar on the kitchen counter.

You can have one, Mark relented. He showed her one finger to emphasize the number.

Minnie dutifully extracted one cookie from the cat and presented the chocolate-marshmallow confection to Wendy.

The trouble she’d gone through baking them yesterday had been entirely worth it. Wendy’s grin stretched from ear to ear, and Minnie fell a little bit more in love with the girl. Wendy snatched the cookie, murmured a quick ‘thank you,’ and nibbled on a corner. She headed for Minnie’s TV room, but Mark caught her and spun her back toward the kitchen table.

In here until that cookie is finished.

Wendy hitched up her denim jumper, which had pumpkins appliqued on its hem, and scrambled into the breakfast nook. After spreading an orange napkin on the table in front of her like she’d seen Minnie do at teatime, she munched the cookie. Mark’s daughter always made her wonder what might have been if she had come home early from the Peace Corps. Would she be watching her own granddaughter now, instead of her grandniece?

Mark addressed Minnie. So, what’s the problem?

The Jacuzzi in suite two is leaking again. There are water spots on the ceiling below.

Mark nodded. We had to put a lot of joints in the pipes to get the tub to fit. One probably didn’t seal. I’ll look. Will you be okay with Wendy? Leslie had to work late today, but she’ll be by later to pick her up for dance class.

Oh, sure. Minnie shooed him out of her kitchen. I’ve got some new things to show her.

No more cookies.

Minnie wasn’t sure if his warning was for her or his daughter, so she just shrugged. Grandmas were allowed to have their little secrets with their granddaughters. And just because Wendy was her grandniece didn’t make one bit of difference. Minnie was morally obligated to do the spoiling her late brother couldn’t.

Mark disappeared upstairs with his toolbox, and Minnie slipped onto the bench opposite Wendy, who was licking chocolate smears off her fingers.

More cookies, G’ma?

Not right now, sweetheart. She’d sneak one or two later. Come with me.

She led Wendy to the back garden where her little patch had produced three perfect pumpkins. There had been eight but two had grown lopsided, two others had been partially eaten by varmints, and one had already rotted. Remember planting these last spring? We can pick them and decorate them now, Minnie instructed Wendy, showing her the three round pumpkins.

Wendy studied them up, down, and sideways before selecting the one slightly more oval than a basketball. She tried to pick it up, with a grunt sounding so much like Mark’s, Minnie had to hide a giggle.

I’ll get it for you, sweetheart. Minnie hefted the pumpkin and tucked it in the crook of her arm. I’ve got some stickers we can make a face with.

Stickers! Yay! Wendy jumped up and down and hurried inside.

Minnie followed behind, glad Wendy hadn’t chosen to plant the giant variety of pumpkins. If she had, they’d be decorating those in the yard. There was no way Minnie could lift them. She placed the pumpkin on the dining room table and retrieved the sticker