The last rays of the setting sun were bleeding red and orange across the sky, and faint waves of the warm light played across the ceiling above the pond. It made the room feel serene and ethereal. My gaze gradually found its way back to Jenny, who was watching me with pursed lips.

“Do you have feelings for him?” she asked.

“Feelings for who?” The image of a certain young policeman popped involuntarily into my mind, and my cheeks flushed as I pushed the thought away.

“For Jackaby, of course.”

“Oh—goodness, no!” I had not intended my response to sound quite so aghast, but the question had caught me by surprise. My reaction seemed to please the ghost, however, and her expression softened.

“You needn’t be quite so shocked at the idea. He is a good man . . . and a not unattractive one.”

“I suppose,” I said, with some difficulty. “Perhaps if he could be convinced to burn that atrocious hat.”

Jenny laughed, a bubbling, honest laugh. “Oh, I know! I know! I’ve given up on that battle. Don’t worry—he’ll wear it less often come spring.” Her pretty giggle was infectious, and I found myself chuckling, too. “There is someone, though, isn’t there?” Jenny asked.

“I—well, I haven’t—no. Not really.” Strong cheekbones, deep brown eyes, and curls of jet-black hair beneath a police cap snuck back into my mind, and my cheeks grew hot again. “No.”

Jenny sighed. “Don’t waste time. Life is too short for unrequited love. Take it from an expert.” She swept across the woodwork and greenery toward the center of the room. Her weightless steps stirred the blades of grass like a faint breeze. “Fetch a bit of bread from the chest, would you?” she called back.

I glanced behind me and found, against the wall, a simple wooden crate containing a few loaves of dry bread. I selected one and trotted along the path to catch up. The floorboards tapered off into a grassy mound, where the ghostly lady sat perched on a wrought-iron park bench facing the pond. She patted the seat for me to join her.

“Why did you come here, then?” she asked as I sat down.

“It was your idea,” I said. “It is nice, though, you’re right. Very peaceful.”

“Not to the pond, silly. Why did you come to work for Jackaby?”

“Oh, that—well. It happened rather quickly, I guess,” I said. “I’ve been in eastern Europe for much of this past year, and only recently docked in the States. Just looking for work, I suppose. Any job would do, so long as it paid for a roof over my head. And there was a posting . . .”