Kate hit the light switch with one smooth gesture, the latch snicking as the door swung shut behind her. The house rumbled genially with the frenzy of children who knew they were on the verge of bed and still trying to wring every last bit of fun from the day they could. She sighed, and mounted the stairs to the third floor apartment. Honestly, she should sell the place, maybe then the ghosts would drift off wherever it is ghosts go. Or would the specters find their way to Dunmaire, like lost pets who find their master's homes hundreds of miles away?
She dropped the now-graded papers on the table with a resounding thud, kicked off the pumps with a sigh and picked up the note Mary Rose had left. "Sandwich in the 'fridge, slice of cake - chocolate! - on counter. Come down if you want company." The thought of pulling up a chair in what had been her own kitchen, as she and Cliff used to do after Patty was down for the night, made her shiver.
The suit and stockings went the way of the pumps, replaced by Cliff's old wool sweater — a habit she couldn't break — a well worn pair of corduroy pants and thick socks. Kate pulled an old Robert Heinlein novel off the shelf, and opened the refrigerator. Bless Mary Rose, not only a sandwich, but a bowl of apples and a chunk of cheese.
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