Page 20 of Goose

I chuckled. “Said I looked like I needed my spirits lifted. She thought that’d do it.”

“Did it?”

I shrugged. “A little.”

“What’d she look like?”

“She’s kind of—”

“Wait,” he interrupted. “How’d you know it was her? Did she just walk up to you and say, ‘Hey, I put some panties in your pocket at a funeral the other day.’?”

I didn’t want to tell him about my lucid daydream, or that I felt some strange connection to her that I couldn’t explain. I decided to stick with telling him about her quirky personality and smart mouth. If he was receptive, I’d tell him about poking my finger in her twat at the restaurant.

“I recognized her from the funeral,” I said. “I walked up to her and asked how she knew Ghost.”

“Well?” He leaned onto the edge of the desk. “How’d she know him?”

“From the diner. She said he thought she looked like Abby. They’d been eating breakfast together for a few months. Right up until the day he died.”

“No shit?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Guess there’s a lot about Ghost we didn’t know.”

There was a lot about Ghost we didn’t know, and it bothered me. I planned on learning as much as I could from George and Ally. I hoped a better understanding of his last days would bring me comfort. The sorrow and guilt would remain, but I was deserving of both.

“So, this chick,” I said. “The one who left the panties. We rode up to Encinitas and—”

He went bug-eyed. “You let a split-tail get on the back of your bike?”

“Jesus with the interrupting, Baker,” I complained. “Yeah. I took her for a ride. It was part of the agreement.”

“What agreement?”

“The agreement we made. I had to drop off the car with the guy that owns that diner, that George fella. I didn’t really want him to give me a ride back to my place, because I didn’t know him, and at that point in time, I didn’t like the thought of him getting that car. So, I asked that chick if she’d give me a ride back to my place. She said she would if I gave her a ride on the bike afterward. I agreed to it.”

He shook his head and laughed. “Let me get this straight. You didn’t want George giving you a ride? George? The guy that Ghost thought enough of to leave half his money and his prized possession, Eleanor? Because you didn’t know him? So, you got some chick you didn’t know—who, by the way, leaves her nasty panties in random biker’s coat pockets—to give you a ride, because she could be trusted?”

“You’re way off track.”

He smirked. “How so?”

“You’re making points that aren’t relevant. Or, at least you’re trying to.” I raised my brows. “Can I tell my story now?”

“Please, do.”

I glanced around his office. I was out of the mood to continue. His off-hand comments and attempted stabs at humor weren’t what I was hoping for.

“I don’t even remember what I was talking about,” I muttered, lying my way out of continuing.

“You were taking the pantyless chick for a ride.”

I wanted to tell Baker about Ally. Intrigued beyond belief at her many quirks, I found her rather fascinating. She lived her life away from the technological advances most people found necessary, choosing to spend her time watching old movies, listening to records, and reading books.

I would have gone on to tell him about meeting George, what a great guy he was, and how he planned to keep the Shelby forever, only driving it on Sundays.

Now that I had a taste of Baker’s argumentative nature, I remembered the other reason I didn’t like going into his office.