"You've got to deliver my letter," the ghost called, floating after me. "Please, Miss Adair. You're my only hope.
Sometimes ghosts are as stubborn as soap scum which you can never scrub out of an old bathtub. This one had chased me from Pike Place Market to the water taxi to West Seattle. It floated next to me making faces at me whenever I looked up. I didn't usually object to being the postal carrier for a spirit, but I wasn't in the mood.
My temper boiled over."Leave me alone. I don't have to do anything for you."
It was noon on Tuesday, so there were only three other passengers. They all gaped at me. I went for the old standby of tapping my earphone and smiling sheepishly. Before ear pods necromancers had a lot more trouble seeming normal in public. The ghost was not going to be deterred. It jumped to the seat next to me.
I looked the dead woman up and down. "You've obviously been deceased for quite a while." She wore a long blue skirt, a buckskin jacket with leather fringe, and cowboy boots. "What could be so important? And why are you dressed like Annie Oakley?"
The ghost laughed. "I was a sharpshooter in a wild west show like her, but we were never as famous. We were playing in Seattle when the Great Fire broke out. I was burned up trying to save the horses. I tell you death by fire is like a preview of Hell."
My resolve weakened. I can never resist a good story. "What's your name?" I asked.
"Adelaide Bolton, but my friends call me Addie," she said. "Will you help me?"
"Who's this letter for? If you died in 1889, it's very unlikely the recipient is still alive and kicking."
"It was for my little girl, Mathilda, but you're right, she's long dead. I want her granddaughter to have it. I had my daughter out of wedlock, so when I went out west to find my fortune, my Cousin Hettie and her husband took care of Mattie. I'm sure they thought I abandoned her when I died. I'd been sending money and letters when I could, but it just stopped. None of the people in the wild west show knew how to get hold of my family. It's also like a treasure map."
"What do you mean?"
"It tells where all the money I was saving to bring my girl to live with me in a little house was put and something special. I was given a gun by Buffalo Bill at one of his performances of 'Scouts of The Plains.' You see, Buffalo Bill was my baby's father, but I never told him. I think it'd be worth something these days."
"Where is this letter?"
"It's at the Log Cabin Museum. It's part of an exhibit of artifacts from the Great Fire."
"I'll deliver it."