My first instinct was to race over to Mildred’s and ask Caitlyn about Katherine, but I couldn’t do that in front of Mildred without having to explain. I could have taken Caitlyn home and asked her, but that would have ruined the evening and I would eventually have to explain it to Mildred, anyway. I should wait until morning to talk to Caitlyn, but I can’t help myself.

I pull out my phone and dial.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mildred. It’s Daniel. I just want to make sure Caitlyn’s doing okay.”

“Yep. She’s fine. We’re eating pizza and watching movies.”

“Great. Can I talk to her real quick?”

“Sure.”

The phone changes hands.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hey, pumpkin. How was school?”

“Fine.”

“Just ‘fine’?”

“Yes,” she answers, confidently.

“Did … did, uh … did your friend, Katherine, follow you to school today?”

I can hear her fidgeting.

“Caitlyn, did Katherine come to school with you today?”

There’s a long pause.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to talk about that. I’m still mad at her.”

“Okay.” I desperately need to know, but I don’t want to upset her while she’s at Mildred’s.

“Can I go back to watching movies with Mildred, now?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Can you put Mildred back on?”

“Okay.”

“Good night, pumpkin. I love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

The phone changes hands again.

“Everything okay?” Mildred asks.

“Yeah. I just wanted to hear her voice.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her.”

“Thank you, Mildred.”

“And, Daniel?”

“Yeah?”

“Please, try to have some fun tonight.”

*

Sitting in a booth at Murphy’s, I stare into my root beer float and listen to the loud laughter from the group of kids in the next booth.

My phone call accomplished nothing. I still need answers but Caitlyn isn’t going to give them. Maybe Mildred could talk to her. No. I can’t ask her to do that. I don’t know who else to talk to. Caitlyn said that Katherine sometimes follows her to school. I need to know if she talks about Katherine at school or acts like Katherine is there, but there’s no one that I can—

Wait. There is somebody I can ask.

I take out my wallet and find the card with Denise Hancourt’s contact info.

‘You promised you would only call if it was an emergency,’ I remind myself.

‘This is an emergency.’

‘You’re going to have to explain that you think your daughter is talking to a dead girl. Do you want her teacher to think you’re insane?’

‘You’re having an argument with yourself. So, I’d say we’re past that.’

I dial before I can change my mind.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Hancourt?”

“Yes.”

“Hi … umm. Hi. This is Daniel Price, Caitlyn’s daughter. I mean, her— I’m Caitlyn’s dad.” I wince in a manner that has to be audible through the phone.