7 Never Haunt a Historian by Edie Claire Page A

the boy of his fear. “She needs complete quiet and solitude for at least another three weeks.” Leaving the resealed dog food bag on the floor, Leigh picked up the empty water pail and moved slowly up the stairs. When she reached the top, Scotty stepped back out of the way to let her pass.
    “She bit me!” Scotty protested, trailing after Leigh as she carried both the old pail and the new one toward the tap at the side of Archie’s house. “I’ll tell my dad… and he’ll shoot her!”
    Leigh restrained herself. “And I’ll tell your dad that I watched the whole thing, and that the dog didn’t get within a foot of you.” She could only hope that Scotty’s words were bluster, given that Joe O’Malley was well known for his devotion to the care and feeding of guns. “Just stay away from her and her puppies, and you’ll be fine,” she ordered.
    Leigh turned on the tap and began to fill the first pail. She noticed that Scotty had stopped trailing her and was standing perfectly still about ten feet away. His eyes were scanning the area behind Archie’s house, his expression anxious. Leigh made an effort to relax her already taut nerves. She didn’t want to be anywhere near the corner of the garage where she had seen… nothing… but the dog needed fresh water and using the tap was a whole lot easier than hauling liquid all the way from her house. She finished one pail and started on the second. Scotty still hadn’t moved or spoken. The kid was creeping her out.
    “There’s dead people here, you know,” he declared.
    Leigh’s teeth gritted. How did the little twerp know exactly how to get to her?
    “There is not!” she retorted, sounding no older than he was. Chagrinned, she cleared her throat and regrouped. “I told you yesterday, Mr. Pratt is not here. Nobody’s here. No humans, and definitely no ghosts.”
    Scotty sucked air loudly through his crooked teeth. “Says you! Mr. Pratt said there is. He said Old Man Carr drowned to death right here in Snow Creek, and his ghost still haunts the place, because he was murdered!”
    Leigh had visions of the entire contents of her pail raining squarely over the urchin’s head, but she suppressed them. Her unfortunate personal history with the M word was not his fault.
    “Mr. Pratt did not tell you that,” she argued calmly, despite the chill that seeped into her bones. “No one was murdered.”
    Scotty frowned. “Well, they never knew for sure. So he could have been, for all you know. Face down in the crick, all bloated up and everything. He could have been there for days. Could have had an Indian arrow in his back… and the fish ate it out of him!”
    Leigh took in a deep breath, then let it go. There were so many things wrong with that claim, she didn’t know where to begin. But she had to admit, the boy had her intrigued. Mr. Pratt had clearly told him something. Could it be important?
    She bit. “Who was Old Man Carr, exactly? You mean the Civil War soldier?”
    Scotty nodded with enthusiasm and took an unconscious step toward her. “He fought at Gettysburg. You know, the big battle where, like, everybody died! Except he didn’t, he was a hero, because he was one of the guys who nailed the rebel dude with the hat—right as he came over the wall. Pow!” The boy banged a fist into his palm with relish. “And then Carr, he comes here and builds that house right there,” he pointed to the building behind Leigh, “and then he turns into an old man and does boring stuff and all until somebody murdered him. And now he haunts the place, because he’s like so mad that no one treated him like a hero and everyone thought he was crazy when he was really just old and wanted to hide all his money so the government couldn’t get it!”
    Leigh’s eyebrows rose. What Archie had actually told Scotty, God only knew. But the last part was definitely intriguing. “He hid his money?” she asked.
    Scotty nodded. Then he seemed to reconsider. “Well, they say