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as a ghost might not be as good as having her here fully, but I’d take it if the only other option was not to have her at all.
    “Are you looking for something?” I asked. As I asked the question, I suddenly knew just what she was doing.
    Cassidy legend held that Butch Cassidy had sent something special to Texana, his wife and my great-great-great-grandmother, from Argentina, but no one knew whether the stories were true, or whether such a treasure really existed. All the Cassidy women, and even my brother, Red, had looked for the mysterious trinket, but no one had ever found it.
    When I’d first moved back into 2112 Mockingbird Lane, I’d searched through a good many of the Mason jars, imagining where the notions had come from or how they’d come into my ancestors’ possession.
    It looked to me like Meemaw was still on the hunt. And why not? She couldn’t leave the house, so looking for the elusive gift from Butch to Texana probably kept her ghostly mind occupied.
    She opened her mouth, emitting a haunting sound.“Willll.” Her voice echoed, sounding more like a moan than any discernable word.
    Trying to talk wasn’t something she did very often. My heartbeat skittered. “What? Meemaw, what do you need?”
    She tried again, but her form in front of me faltered, flickering like a faulty lightbulb. “Wiiiiilllll.”
    “You need Will?”
    “Yyyyyyyy . . .” The distorted air holding onto her shape smoothed, the image of her disappearing.
    “Yes? You need Will?”
    But before she could answer, and just as suddenly as she’d appeared to me, she was gone. It was as if the light switch had been turned off. I knew she needed to recharge after the effort of appearing to me.
    “I’ll get him for you,” I said to the empty room. I took my cell phone from my back pocket so I could call him once I got back downstairs. Back in the corner, a drawer slammed and something squeaked. In a strange, distorted way, it sounded like she was saying,
Thank you
.
    Hopefully, I thought as an aside, she’d get her strength back and clean up the mess she’d made throughout the attic while I sewed. If not, it was going to be a late night for me. Knowing things in the attic were awry would weigh on me. I rifled through the cupboard of fabric next to the shelves of Mason jars, finding two of the pieces I needed for Delta’s apron, then I headed back downstairs so I could get to work. It would take a good chunk of my evening, I knew, but I was bound and determined to finish it in one sitting. I wanted her to
ooh
and
ahh
, but I didn’t want to spend umpteen hours on the project. I had the other Red Hatters to get to know, so Icould make their aprons for them, not to mention the other commitments on the calendar.
    I knew I needed to allot my time efficiently because I was recommitted to a fulfilling personal life with Will. I also wanted to build a Web site for the business, to help with expansion, but I never seemed to find the time to work on it. When I came to the bottom step, the sharp scent of chopped onions and garlic wafted to me from the direction of my kitchen. I knew from experience that Meemaw didn’t have the ghostly skills to actually cook, try as she might, which meant either Mama or Nana was here, and they had just started making something delicious to eat.
    “How did you know? I’m starving!” I said. I half walked, half hopped as I headed toward the kitchen, pulling off my favorite burnt-red Frye harness boots and dropping them along the way. I stripped out of my asymmetrical Ultrasuede jacket, which I’d made for myself in between other projects, and hung it over the ladder-backed chair in what I now used as the dining room. The smoky scent of the paprika and onions hung in the air, and I knew what was on the menu. Chili. My stomach grumbled in response as I passed through the archway to the kitchen . . .
    And stopped short.
    It wasn’t Meemaw—no surprise—but it also wasn’t Mama or Nana standing at the