Read Unraveling Isobel for Free Online Page B

would not have been shocked if someone told me it required coal. I rummaged around and found a bagel in the bread drawer and decided to eat it cold rather than bother trying to find a toaster. With my luck, this place didn’t even have a toaster and I’d be expected to hold the bagel over an open flame in a fireplace or something.
    I walked over to the pantry while I nibbled on the bagel. The wood on the door was grooved with notches, and names and dates had been carved into it. My fingers ran over the scars in the wood. The dates went back to the 1940s. I found one for Nathaniel. It looked like he had gotten tall at a young age.There were a few grooves for Evelyn as well. I ran my finger over one of her notches.
    I thought about going back up to my room, but since I had the house to myself, it was a perfect opportunity to do a bit of exploring in my new home. I skated around the wood floors in my socks.
    We lived in the east wing. The main floor had the kitchen, a dining room that could comfortably seat twenty or so of my closest friends (assuming I could even come up with twenty people I wanted to hang out with), and what I guessed was a formal living room. The way the furniture looked completely unsuitable for actual use was the giveaway to the formal part. Based on the artwork hanging on the walls, it didn’t look like the Wickham family was into modern stuff. Most of the paintings were either portraits (no doubt of long-dead illustrious Wickhams) or sea scenes.
    Just past the formal living room was a slightly less formal family room. At least the sofa wasn’t as hard as granite and there was a TV. I clicked the TV on and ran through the channels. The house had cable, thank God. I turned it off and continued exploring. Off the family room were glass French doors that were locked. Interesting. People should realize locking stuff up only makes it more intriguing. I peered in. It looked like it must be Dick’s study. It was heavy on the man decor, including a couple of severed animal heads hanging on the wall. No doubt some Wickham had hunted them down and killed them while onsafari with Hemingway or something. I could see that the moose head was covered in a thick felt of gray dust. Something scurried about in the open mouth of a bear. It was a huge spider. Nasty. A modern flat-screen computer looked out of place on the desk.
    Then I heard it. A high, tinkling laugh. A little girl’s laugh. The bit of bagel I’d just bitten off froze in my throat. I took a few tentative steps down the hall. I heard it again coming from the last room. I stood outside the door and made myself count to five, doing the yoga breathing that Anita was always trying to teach me. I hadn’t heard anything; it was just the wind in the trees or something. Then the laugh came again. I went from Zen to freak-out in .002 seconds. My hand clenched down on the doorknob.
    â€œWho is that?” My voice came out shaky and thin, which hadn’t been what I was going for. I had the sense it was better to come across as in charge when dealing with the undead, or the next thing you know they’d be haunting you like they owned the place. I cleared my throat and tried again, this time more firmly. “Who are you?”
    The laugh carried through the door again.
    â€œI mean you no harm.” I waited, but there was no response. Maybe she was waiting for more details. “Are you not at peace?” As soon as the words left my mouth I felt like kicking myself. Of course she wasn’t at peace. She died in a tragic accident at a young age, and now someone had taken over her room, not to mention her stuffed zebra. She was a ghost with a lot of issues. You don’t hear about ghosts at peace wandering around. Hauntingis strictly an occupation for seriously unpeaceful dead people.
    I took another deep breath and flung the door open. It bounced against the far wall and then swung back, shutting in my face. One thing was