Never in my life have I imagined that I would be grateful to Carter Dupree even once, never mind twice. But I am. The air in the main area is heavy with ghosts—those from the infestation and those that still linger after my conversation with Belinda.
The moment her gaze lands on him, her eyes widen. She sits up straight and sheds her despondency. She utters several curses that rival Malcolm’s.
“Yeah, it’s nice to see you, too,” Carter says.
“What are you doing here?” She shakes her head, ponytail swishing back and forth as if she could sweep him from her sight.
“He’s here to help. He knows about that.” I point toward the kitchen. “He helped ... build it.” I turn to Carter now. “Did you build it? I mean, what is it, exactly? One big ghost, or lots of ghosts jumbled together?”
“Yes.” A
