Linda stood in front of the one-story ranch-style home of Deputy Sheriff Gomez and his family. She took a deep, utterly pointless breath and rapped hard on the door. There was no immediate answer. She fidgeted with her activewear, unsweatied from the walk over, and then leant up to the door, ears straining for any signs of movement behind the door. Crickets chirping. Mid-morning birds singing. The heat you can hear when the sun is shining with a vengeance. Linda huffed and raised a fist to knock again, when finally the lock clicked and the door swung inwards. Angela Gomez, amateur columnist and aspiring Jessica Fletcher for the Buzzfeed age, popped around from behind the door.
Linda brought her hand down and smiled the least condescending smile she could muster. "Angela, honey, it's so nice to see you."
Angela's brows furrowed the instant her gaze settled on Linda. She ever-so-slightly started closing the door. "I'm sorry, my dad isn't here right now. You can probably find him--"
"No, actually, I'm here for you," Linda interrupted.
Angela squinted, the door still unsubtly closing. "If this is about the piece on corruption in the county fair's pie baking competition..."
"I don't need corruption to win a baking competition, dear." Linda caught herself mid eye-roll, and said with a tight smile, "But, that was an... impressive piece of investigative journalism, I have to admit."
Only Angela's disbelieving face could be seen between the door and the door frame as she stepped back, the door inches from closing. "Okay, so I really have to get back to something."
"Please," Linda sighed. Smile gone, she stared at the wooden door in her face. Her hands fidgeted in front of her; if she had been the kind of person to wear hats, she would be holding one now. "I need your help."
Nothing happened for a few seconds. Then, the door swung open slowly again. Angela was still frowning, but now in confusion. "Really?"
Every dead muscle in Linda's body wanted to turn around and run back home, to pretend she never came here and everything's fine. She was utterly mortified.
"Yes. I know you have a certain... Skill that can help me."
"Do you want me to write something for you?"
"No," Linda said, grimacing. "I need to talk to someone."
Angela crossed her arms and leant against the open door. "You know how to find everyone in this town. What do you need me for?"
"There are some people that I can't talk to but you can."
Angela thought for a second. "Everyone in Idle who hates your guts?"
Linda sighed. "Ghosts, Angie. You can talk to ghosts. I think a ghost is haunting me, and I need to talk to it."
"How do you know that I can--"
"People talk, darling. Normally I wouldn't bring it up, for your sake, but... I need your help."
"How kind of you," Angela mumbled.
"I'll pay you."
Shortly after that, Angela invited Linda in and led her into the empty dining room. The house was somewhat messy, with books and magazines lying about on any free tabletop space, and unwashed dishes stacked up in the kitchen. A chocolate labrador slept on a dog bed in the corner of the room, uninterested in their new visitor. A simple cross hung on the dining room wall. Angela sat at the head of the table, gesturing for Linda to sit next to her. She also nudged out the seat opposite Linda with her foot.
"I can't make them talk to me. They have to choose to show themselves," Angela warned Linda.
"Some kind of medium you are," Linda muttered.
