They passed a row of weather-beaten villas, their windows decorated with seashells and faded curtains. The air smelled of salt, frying fish, and damp rope. Fishing boats bobbed in the harbor beyond the buildings, their colorful hulls rocking gently against the wooden piers.
It was, Claire thought, a beautiful town. A slightly deranged town, perhaps. But beautiful.
"First stop!" Beryl announced. "The fish market."
"Why?" Claire asked.
"Education."
"About fish?"
"About men who smell like fish and still think they’re God’s gift to women."
Mabel sighed dreamily. "Some of them have lovely forearms, though."
"Get help, Mabel."
"Get a better husband husband, Doris."
"He’s dead!" Doris exclaimed.
"Exactly. You could upgrade! From a skeleton to human flesh."
Claire gasped and then exploded into laughter. If someone didn’t know that these women were friends, they would assume they were enemies.
The tour of the fishing market started off smoothly. The biggest fish market in town was a sprawling collection of stalls in a building large enough to be a mega mall. Fish lay on beds of ice, fishermen shouted prices, and gulls circled outside like unpaid security guards.
The moment the gang walked in, the entire market went quiet. A man selling mackerel immediately began arranging his fish into neat rows. Another suddenly became very interested in sweeping the same patch of ground.
An elderly fisherman with a thick white beard attempted to disappear behind a barrel.
Beryl pointed at him. "You! Commander stinky!"
The man froze.
Claire turned to Doris. "Commander Stinky?"
"His real name is Walter."
"Why Commander Stinky?" Claire inquired curiously.
"Because he once wore the same underwear for eleven days while at sea."
Claire covered her mouth. "Eleven days?" she squeaked.
"A storm trapped us," Walter protested from behind the barrel.
"It’s the sea," Doris said, rolling her eyes. "Water everywhere. You could have washed the underwear and squeezed it dry with the sails."
The gang burst into chuckles. Most people just shook their heads. Walter decide to focus on his stall. Arguing with Doris was useless.
Ethel tapped Claire on the back and whispered, "We’ve got a full schedule. If you are going to step into this world, you need to pay attention."
"Right! Who’s been stealing from the old women again?" Beryl bellowed.
Every fisherman suddenly found a reason to look elsewhere.
A thin man in a yellow raincoat attempted to slip toward the exit.
Doris pointed her knitting needle at him.
"Not so fast, Pickle Fingers."
He stopped.
Claire whispered, "Pickle Fingers?"
"He steals pickles from his neighbor’s cellar."
"How do you know that?"
"I caught him with his hand in the jar."
The man protested. "It was one pickle!"
"One pickle today, two tomorrow, and before you know it, you’re running an international cucumber cartel!"
The market erupted in laughter.
The man looked ready to sink into the ground.
Wilder marched toward him. "Now, Pickle Fingers, Mrs. Bell says you’ve been short-changing her on the fish she buys from you."
"I haven’t!"
"She says she paid for three kilos and got two."
"Her scales are wrong!" The man protested.
Wilder turned to Claire. "Now, sweetheart, here’s how we solve injustice." She pointed to the stall. "He weighs the fish again. In front of everyone. If he cheated her, he refunds the money and gives her the missing fish."
"And if he hasn’t?" Claire asked.
"Then we apologize."
Claire blinked. "You apologize?"
"Of course. We’re troublesome, not bloody barbarians."
Doris nodded solemnly. "We have standards."
The fish were weighed. Mrs. Bell had indeed been short-changed. The market erupted into furious shouting.
Pickle Fingers refunded the money, added the missing fish, and offered an extra mackerel as an apology.
Wilder accepted the fish. "Good. Now stop this before someone calls the real police on you."
"Yes, officer Wilder."
"And fix your scales!"
"Yes, officer Wilder."
"And wash your hands regularly." Wilder’s voice became even more serious. "And lastly, go visit your mom. You haven’t gone by her house in two weeks! Buy some of that tofu she loves and pass by tomorrow. When you get there, mow her lawn and fix the mail box."
"YES, WILDER!" The man groaned in frustration.
The gang cheered.
Mrs. Bell happened to arrive just then, and she hugged Claire as though she had personally rescued her from a burning building. "Your grandmother’s a wonderful woman, dear."
Claire glanced at her grandmother, who had moved on to the next justice quest.
They spent an hour in the fish market and then drove to the famous haunted house in town. Claire had been expecting a spooky old mansion on a hill, perhaps with broken windows, creaking doors, and a tragic history involving a murdered bride. Instead, the gang led her to a crooked little cottage near the edge of the harbor.
Its white paint had peeled away in strips. The shutters hung at odd angles, and a weather-beaten sign above the gate read:
THE HAUNTED HOUSE. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Someone had added beneath it:
NO REFUNDS FOR POSSESSED VISITORS.
Claire stared at the cottage.
"Who died here?"
"Nobody," Doris said.
"Nobody?" Claire frowned.
"Well, not in the house," Beryl shared, "twenty years ago, a man called Percy lived here. He was a miser, a drunk, and an absolute bastard. He hated his wife, hated his neighbors, hated children, hated dogs, and once reported a seagull to the police for trespassing."
Claire snorted.
"He also hated spending money," Mabel added. "His wife asked him to buy a new bed, and he told her the floor was perfectly comfortable."
"So she divorced him," Claire guessed.
"No. She bought a new bed." Berry chuckled.
"With what money?"
"His funeral money."
Claire burst out laughing.
Doris raised a finger. "Now, Percy had one great fear."
Claire pitched in eagerly, "ghosts?"
"No. His wife." Wilder whispered in a spooky voice.
"One night, after an argument, his wife decided to teach him a lesson. She wore a white bed sheet, smeared flour over her face, and crept into the bedroom at midnight." Elspeth shared.
Beryl began making ghost noises.
"’Peeeeercy! I have come to take you to the underworld!’"
Mabel clutched her chest.
"Percy screamed so loudly that three fishing boats changed course. Then he jumped through the bedroom window," Doris shared loudly, "ran straight into a rain barrel, and spent the next two hours hiding inside it."
Claire was wheezing.
"Inside a rain barrel?"
"With his head stuck under the lid."
"Was he drunk?"
"Extremely."
Ethel leaned forward conspiratorially. "Here’s the best part. He escaped the barrel, ran into the road, and grabbed the first person he saw."
"Who?"
"His wife."
Claire doubled over. "NO!"
"Yes!" Ethel roared, "He begged her to protect him from the ghost."
The gang roared.
"And what did she do?" Claire managed to ask after laughing hard for so long.
Wilder sighed in joy, "she charged him rent for the protection."
Claire made a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a laugh. "His own wife?"
"Every night for a month," Doris confirmed. "She charged him extra for emotional support."
"Did he ever find out?" Claire asked curiously.
"Yes, eventually." Doris opened a bottle of water to soothe her throat.
"Did he forgive her." Claire asked.
Beryl barked a laugh. "No. He moved into a boarding house because he couldn’t afford her prices."
Claire laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. "Then why is the house called haunted?"
Beryl’s smile widened. "Because Percy told everyone he’d seen a ghost. The story spread, and the house became famous. Years later, some idiot bought the place and tried to turn it into a tourist attraction."
"What happened?"
"The first night he stayed here, something started screaming upstairs."
Claire looked at the dark windows.
"What was it?"
"A fox." Beryl howled, laughing loudly. "A fox that had fallen down the chimney. Now the house is empty. Nobody wants to buy it because they think Percy still lives here."
A faint scraping sound came from inside.
Claire froze.
Every woman turned toward the cottage. Another scrape. Then a muffled thump.
Claire grabbed her grandmother’s arm.
"WHAT WAS THAT?" Deep down, she was afraid of ghosts.