untrimmed muttonchops. The black velvet ribbon did not dress up his ridiculous porkpie hat and only made him look sillier.
None of those things alone were terribly odd. What made Spenser gasp was that the guitarist was transparent.
Spenser could see right through him to the bathhouse door, and several people rushing up and down the hallway passed right through him , as though they didn’t even notice him.
Fidelia turned to Spenser and gasped, too. Her face blanched and she lifted a hand to her mouth. “Spenser.”
“Fidelia,” he acknowledged, with equal horror.
Fidelia made no move to hustle the guitarist out of the way of the poses plastiques woodland sprite actress who dashed down the hall—to the backhouse, no doubt, where actors who had to pee raced during breaks. Fidelia tried to set a look of normalcy back to her face and shrugged. “I was just out here, you know, preparing the bathhouse for more customers.”
“Yes, I know, but…” Spenser raised a finger to point at the guitarist’s face. The musician seemed to have a permanent and bland smile glued to his mug. “Talking to this fellow?”
Fidelia’s eyes widened, and she looked sideways at the guitarist. It was odd that he didn’t move a muscle, as though he were a cardboard cutout propped there. “Yes,” she said cautiously. “To this fellow. Have you met him before?”
“Met him? Isn’t he our new accompanist? Is he here to play background music for the poses plastiques show?”
Fidelia grasped Spenser by the arms. “You see him!” she cried with relief.
Spenser allowed the barmaid to rattle him about. “Of course I see him. But Fidelia…” Now Spenser gripped her arms, too. He leaned close and whispered, “ He’s transparent.”
“I know!” she cried happily, flinging her arms about. One of her arms went clear through the guitarist with no apparent damage or even a change to his expression. He merely glowed, like an eerie cigar-store Indian. “I know he’s transparent, and I’m so glad you see him, too! No one else has seen him, and I’ve been starting to think I’m going mad!”
Experimentally, Spenser put a hand through the musician’s waistcoat. He could still see his hand, but the gold satin waistcoat fabric closed around it at the wrist. There was a slight resistance, as though he put his hand in a lake, and he even felt eddies emanate from his hand. He withdrew it instantly.
“I see him, but…who is he?”
Fidelia pulled Spenser into the back storeroom where they kept kegs of liquor and fixings for the hors d’oeuvres they served patrons, giving him only time to snatch up his sword. She didn’t seem to care any longer about the guitar player, and she shoved Spenser back against a cask of olives. He was engulfed in her cinnamon and mint aroma and was beginning to think that Fidelia may have some otherworldly, mystical leanings of her own.
Fidelia glanced from side to side, then fixed Spenser with her intense eyes. “ He’s my brother, Ulrich. ”
Spenser frowned. “What? One night you told us you’d come to Laramie to bury your dead brother. This is a different brother, then? A… transparent brother?”
This seemed to please Fidelia. “Yes. Exactly.”
Now it was Spenser’s turn to look from side to side. He wondered if all the absinthe floating in the air had addled his brain. “But Fidelia. He’s… transparent . I can see right through him. And no one else seems to see him. They’re walking right through him!”
“Yes!” she exclaimed happily. She even slapped Spenser playfully with the back of her hand. “That’s because he’s a ghost , Spenser. Oh, mein Gott , am I glad you can see him too!”
Spenser peeled himself from the olive cask and shook Fidelia. “A ghost. So your brother is dead, then.”
“Yes. Exactly! Oh, I’m sorry if this doesn’t make much sense. It didn’t make much sense to me at first, either. I was terrified out of my wits when he came to me in Wisconsin in
None of those things alone were terribly odd. What made Spenser gasp was that the guitarist was transparent.
Spenser could see right through him to the bathhouse door, and several people rushing up and down the hallway passed right through him , as though they didn’t even notice him.
Fidelia turned to Spenser and gasped, too. Her face blanched and she lifted a hand to her mouth. “Spenser.”
“Fidelia,” he acknowledged, with equal horror.
Fidelia made no move to hustle the guitarist out of the way of the poses plastiques woodland sprite actress who dashed down the hall—to the backhouse, no doubt, where actors who had to pee raced during breaks. Fidelia tried to set a look of normalcy back to her face and shrugged. “I was just out here, you know, preparing the bathhouse for more customers.”
“Yes, I know, but…” Spenser raised a finger to point at the guitarist’s face. The musician seemed to have a permanent and bland smile glued to his mug. “Talking to this fellow?”
Fidelia’s eyes widened, and she looked sideways at the guitarist. It was odd that he didn’t move a muscle, as though he were a cardboard cutout propped there. “Yes,” she said cautiously. “To this fellow. Have you met him before?”
“Met him? Isn’t he our new accompanist? Is he here to play background music for the poses plastiques show?”
Fidelia grasped Spenser by the arms. “You see him!” she cried with relief.
Spenser allowed the barmaid to rattle him about. “Of course I see him. But Fidelia…” Now Spenser gripped her arms, too. He leaned close and whispered, “ He’s transparent.”
“I know!” she cried happily, flinging her arms about. One of her arms went clear through the guitarist with no apparent damage or even a change to his expression. He merely glowed, like an eerie cigar-store Indian. “I know he’s transparent, and I’m so glad you see him, too! No one else has seen him, and I’ve been starting to think I’m going mad!”
Experimentally, Spenser put a hand through the musician’s waistcoat. He could still see his hand, but the gold satin waistcoat fabric closed around it at the wrist. There was a slight resistance, as though he put his hand in a lake, and he even felt eddies emanate from his hand. He withdrew it instantly.
“I see him, but…who is he?”
Fidelia pulled Spenser into the back storeroom where they kept kegs of liquor and fixings for the hors d’oeuvres they served patrons, giving him only time to snatch up his sword. She didn’t seem to care any longer about the guitar player, and she shoved Spenser back against a cask of olives. He was engulfed in her cinnamon and mint aroma and was beginning to think that Fidelia may have some otherworldly, mystical leanings of her own.
Fidelia glanced from side to side, then fixed Spenser with her intense eyes. “ He’s my brother, Ulrich. ”
Spenser frowned. “What? One night you told us you’d come to Laramie to bury your dead brother. This is a different brother, then? A… transparent brother?”
This seemed to please Fidelia. “Yes. Exactly.”
Now it was Spenser’s turn to look from side to side. He wondered if all the absinthe floating in the air had addled his brain. “But Fidelia. He’s… transparent . I can see right through him. And no one else seems to see him. They’re walking right through him!”
“Yes!” she exclaimed happily. She even slapped Spenser playfully with the back of her hand. “That’s because he’s a ghost , Spenser. Oh, mein Gott , am I glad you can see him too!”
Spenser peeled himself from the olive cask and shook Fidelia. “A ghost. So your brother is dead, then.”
“Yes. Exactly! Oh, I’m sorry if this doesn’t make much sense. It didn’t make much sense to me at first, either. I was terrified out of my wits when he came to me in Wisconsin in
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