The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks by Josh Lanyon

he was sliding a mug down a tap rail.
    Mrs. MacQueen appeared in the mist, cigarette wagging in her pudgy face. “What is it now?”
    Perry explained what it was now.
    Mrs. MacQueen looked from one man to the other. Her expression grew, if possible, more unpleasant.
    “You can’t be serious, Mr. Foster,” she said. She glanced at Nick as though wondering what he had to do with this sudden insurgency. “That room is already rented out.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding,” Nick said. “Your tenant is dead.”
    “His possessions are still there. We haven’t been able to arrange matters with his…er…heirs yet.”
    We? Her and the dogs?
    “I’m not going to mess with his stuff,” Perry said. “I just want to stay someplace where no one can break in any moment. Someone’s been in my apartment twice.”
    Mrs. MacQueen cackled, “Twice! Now it’s twice!” She shook her head. “Sorry, sonny, you can tell Tiny you want the locks changed on your place. I’ll go that far.”
    “I’m not sure they’re coming through the door.” Perry heard himself and turned pink, but he stood his ground.
    Mrs. MacQueen glowered at Nick. “Did you put him up to this?”
    “Look, ma’am,” Nick said, “I’m not the imaginative type, and I saw enough to convince me someone is getting into Foster’s rooms.”
    “That ain’t here nor there,” Mrs. MacQueen said. “The Watson apartment is a bigger place. It costs another hundred dollars a month.”
    Perry’s heart began to pound hard, shaking his thin frame. He said, “There’s such a thing as renter’s rights, Mrs. MacQueen. If you can’t provide adequate security, I can break my lease. Then you’ll be out my rent and Mr. Watson’s rent.”
    “I’ll sue you,” Mrs. MacQueen threatened.
    “I’ll sue you back. And I’ll win. People have been in my rooms. Twice. At least. Mr.
    Reno is a witness to that. And if you do take me to court, I’ll sue you for damages too.”
    “I’ve seen screwier cases than this win in court,” Nick supplied dryly.

    34 Josh Lanyon
    MacQueen’s eyes darted from one to the other of them as she thought this over. The dogs were scratching at the bottom of the half-closed door, their tiny paws flashing in and out from under the door.
    “Okay, whatever. It’s your choice,” Perry said, turning away.
    “Now wait a minute,” Mrs. MacQueen protested. “Don’t be so hasty. Young folks are always so hasty. I didn’t say you couldn’t rent Watson’s. I said it was more than your rooms, but it’s paid through the end of the month, so you could stay there, and maybe these matters will clear themselves up by then.”
    Battle over. Perry was all riled up and nowhere to go. He felt almost let down as he stared at her.
    “But if there are any problems, if the…er…heirs claim anything’s missing, it’ll be on your head, sonny.”
    “Great,” Nick said. “That’s settled. Come on, Foster.”
    MacQueen’s door slammed shut so hard the chandelier high above them chinked like broken glass. But then like most things around there, it didn’t work anyway and hadn’t for years. Nick strode off toward the grand staircase.
    “I can’t believe it was that easy,” Perry admitted to Nick’s wide shoulders.
    “You amaze me, sonny,” Nick threw back.
    They started up the stairs and he said briskly, “We’ll get you settled in, and then we’ll go talk to Tiny.” He was feeling more cheerful. He could stow the kid in a safe environment, and then get back to his own problems, like the fact he couldn’t get a damn job because he was “overqualified.”
    They rounded the banister on the second landing, and Nick stopped short. Perry reached out to steady himself, touching muscles that felt like rocks beneath Nick’s flannel shirt.
    David Center stood before them, tall and thin in a purple dressing gown. Nick didn’t think highly of men who drifted around in purple dressing gowns, although in that house nothing was surprising.
    “So