Chapter 2 - The Ghost at the Table
The interior of the Reed farmhouse smelled of roasting turkey, melted butter, sage, and decades of woodsmoke. It was a rich, enveloping scent that immediately unlocked a hollow ache in Cassidy’s stomach, reminding her that her lunch had consisted of half a packet of cheese crackers eaten in the airport terminal.
As Evelyn helped her slip out of her heavy winter coat, Cassidy expected the quiet, melancholic atmosphere of a home occupied by a single aging widow. Instead, the house was vibrating with life.
From the kitchen came the rhythmic clatter of silverware and the low murmur of conversation. A woman in her fifties with warm hazel eyes and flour smudged across her cheek carried a heavy glass bowl of stuffing through the dining room archway. Further down the hall, a broad-shouldered man who looked enough like Ronan to be his twin brother was carving an enormous golden turkey while arguing good-naturedly with a woman arranging a pyramid of dinner rolls on a stoneware platter.
And darting between them all was an eight-year-old girl wearing oversized plastic turkey glasses that bobbed up and down with every step.
“Uncle Ronan stole my chocolate milk!” the girl announced loudly, skidding to a halt near the entryway and staring up at Cassidy with wide, curious eyes.
“I did not,” Ronan called out from the doorway, having just hung up his heavy work jacket on the brass pegs by the door.
“You have a criminal face,” the child declared with absolute conviction.
Cassidy coughed behind her hand to hide a laugh.
Ronan pinned his niece with a dry, long-suffering look. “That doesn’t even mean anything, Sophie.”
“It means you look guilty,” the girl insisted, before turning her gaze to Cassidy. “Are you Uncle Ronan’s girlfriend?”
Before Cassidy could process the question—let alone formulate a denial that wouldn’t sound defensive—Evelyn stepped neatly into the breach, her hand resting firmly on Cassidy’s back.
“Sophie, go check on the cranberry sauce before your mother loses her mind. Cassidy, this is my family. That loud man carving the bird is Luke, Ronan’s older brother. His wife is Hannah. The flour-covered baker is Maggie, Luke and Ronan’s aunt on their mother’s side. And the miniature prosecutor is Sophie.”
Luke paused in his carving, waving the electric knife in the air. “Welcome to the madhouse, Cassidy! If Evelyn invited you, it means you either passed a very strict character test in the supermarket aisle or she’s trying to punish Ronan. Either way, grab a glass of cider and pull up a chair.”
“She passed my test,” Evelyn said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Now, everyone wash your hands. Dinner is on the table in five minutes.”
As the room dissolved into a flurry of motion—plates being shifted, glasses clinking, children being herded toward the bathroom—Cassidy stood near the dining room table, taking in the grand spread. It was a traditional Thanksgiving feast of monumental proportions, roasted to perfection and surrounded by every comfort food known to mankind.
Then her eyes drifted to the end of the long oak table.
There were six settings arranged around the polished wood. Five of them were standard: heavy ceramic plates, polished silver, cloth napkins folded with varying degrees of neatness.
The sixth setting—located directly between Evelyn’s seat at the head of the table and an empty chair on the left—was different.
The plate was turned upside down. The silverware was laid flat, wrapped in a linen napkin tied with a faded blue ribbon. A single, unlit white candle sat in a brass holder beside the water glass.
Cassidy felt a sudden, inexplicable chill run down her spine. The atmosphere in the room, previously warm and chaotic, seemed to draw inward, contracting around that single, untouched place setting.
She looked up and caught Ronan watching her.
He was standing by the sideboard, a glass of cider in his hand, his jaw tight. He wasn’t looking at her with anger anymore. He was watching her face, searching for the moment she would notice the discrepancy, the moment she would ask the forbidden question.
“Cassidy,” Evelyn’s voice cut through the low murmur of the room, smooth and steady. “Your seat is right here.”
Evelyn gestured to the chair on the immediate right of the empty place setting.
Cassidy swallowed hard, the warmth of the room suddenly feeling a bit suffocating. She stepped forward, pulling out the wooden chair, and sat down.
As she settled into her seat, she realized with a jolt that her left shoulder was mere inches away from the wrapped silverware and the inverted plate of the ghost seat. The air beside her felt heavier, charged with an invisible barrier that none of the other family members dared to cross. Luke walked past to set down a bowl of mashed potatoes, giving the empty chair a wide berth. Hannah carefully avoided looking in that direction as she arranged the gravy boat.
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Only Ronan remained standing near the head of the table, his eyes locked on Cassidy with a silent, heavy intensity.
What happened at this table? Cassidy thought, her fingers tracing the edge of her napkin. And why did Evelyn drag me into the middle of it?
