Chapter Six
"Jesse," I called. I had finished changing into my ghost-busting regalia, including my tool belt and hooded sweatshirt (hey, it was winter, alright). Plus my kate Spade knockoff, with my usual host-busting stuff. You know, my flashlights, pliers, gloves, the roll of dimes I keep in my fist even since my mom found and confiscated my brass kuncles, pepper spray, bowie knife, and, oh yeah, my password. And all my summer money. Which I'd saved, and was about five hundred bucks.
Jesse reappeared before me, pronto. I swung myself over the balcony (heck, it's three-storeys tall, but I hope I can manage that, thanks for the oak tree outside my window), and climbed to the ground. Jesse just materialised down beside me.
"OK, buster. Which way to the museum?" I asked as I climbed into Sleepy's Camaro. Jesse and I had figured out a plan. We were to break into the Cullman County Museum to get his miniature, the only thing Jesse knew of that still existed in this century. Then we were to drive to the airport and take a flight back to Carmel. Then back to my room in my house, and back in time. If this doesn't work, I swear I would kill myself. Or the police. Or my mom. Whichever get me first.
Jesse gave me the directions, and we were off. Now the tricky part. Having seen lots of movies about breaking into museums to steal artefacts, and even breaking into houses, I was quite confident about it. But, I didn't know the museum is so… high-tech.
Serious. OK, there was no security guard. But there must have been lots of security cameras. And how do I get in, anyway? The windows are glass, and they can't be opened. Unless I break them, which will on the alarm.
"Jesse," I said, "could be matrialise inside the house, find your miniature, and then materialise inside the car?" It was the best I could come up with, but it wasn't too bad.
Jesse nodded. "Sure." And then he disappeared.
I sat inside the car, thinking about my plan. It's not bad, really. I mean, so what if there's the alarm? Jesse is a ghost. He could just use his telekinesis and get the miniature. I mean, not that he needed. For all he want, he could touch everything, but it's not like ghosts have fingerprints. Or blood.
I was a good fifty metres away from the museum. It only took Jesse about ten minutes to find the miniature. And it was only when we were on the road that the alarm sounded.
"Score," I said. We were at the airport. I suddenly thought of a question. "Um, can you travel continental? Because, I mean, aren't
you buried here, or anything?"
"We can go anywhere. I just like this house because I lived there when I was alive. Plus, your Grams is quite nice."
"She can see you?" I asked, incredulous.
"Yes. She's a mediator too. You didn't wonder where I went when you're changing, did you? I was talking to the old lady, asking for her opinion."
Huh. There are so many more mediators than I thought.
Anyway, I was lucky enough to arrive at the airport just twenty minutes before flight. I bought a ticket (three hundred dollars! It's murder) and was on board. Jesse followed me too, and sat beside me, which was an empty seat. We chatted about what we'll do the whole way (OK, he chatted, I just wrote them down on the newspaper the flight attendant gave us to read).
Then we got to Carmel. It was already three-thirty in the morning. I speeded all the way to my house. I mean, just speed limit. But when we got there, I got a shock: in the garage, there was a car parked there. A car that does not belong in my family or the Ackermans. A silver BMW convertible, in fact.
Paul Slater's car.
