Jennifer's Ghost

Untitled Part 1

Chapter One

I walked slowly down the sidewalk in the historic district of Beaufort, South Carolina admiring the sights of the old buildings and looking for the offices of Woodcock and Woodcock, attorneys at law. When I had received the letter from them informing me that I had been named in my Aunt Vanessa’s will and that my presence was requested in their offices I was somewhat surprised to say the least. Then I took another look at the letterhead and, I just couldn’t help myself, I giggle-snorted at their names. In fact, I still had to stifle a giggle and a snort every time I thought about the name of my aunt’s attorneys … of course it gave me great pleasure to know that I still had that much of a pubescent teenage girl residing in my nearly thirty year old body.

Finally, after walking several blocks, and beginning to think I was about to melt, I found the office I was looking for and, after double checking the card in my hand, opened the door and stepped inside. When I crossed the threshold, the almost unbearable mid-June heat and humidity that the South Carolina coastal region is famously … or perhaps infamously … known for, turned into a near deep freeze. The temperature dropped probably thirty degrees from the near one hundred outside to a very comfortable and welcome air conditioned sixty-eight inside.

I looked around the office and thought for just a moment that I had stepped into the nineteenth century. Everything in sight was highly polished wood … I stifled another giggle-snort … the floor, the walls, the chair rail, the doors; even the filing cabinets were wood. It all appeared to be various kinds of oak, and every bit of it glistened with age and care. There was an ‘L’ shaped desk and a very pretty twenty something receptionist sitting behind it in a leather chair. There was a blotter and several stacks of paper on the main desk in front of her with a state of the art monitor and keyboard beside her on the wrap around portion of the desk.

“Good afternoon, may I help you, ma’am,” the receptionist drawled in a deep southern accent that literally dripped magnolia and mint julips. I was still attempting to get used to the slow drawl of the Deep South again after living in middle Tennessee for the last ten years of my life.

“Good afternoon, I’m Jennifer Lynn Walden, I have an appointment today at three,” I smiled in return.

“Why didn’t you say with Mr. Woodcock,” my inner teen giggled again at the name.

“Oh, yes, Miss Walden,” the receptionist, a young redhead with green eyes, answered with a friendly and welcoming smile, “Mr. Woodcock is expecting you. Please have a seat and I’ll tell him you are here.”

“Oh Jenny, Mr. Woodcock is expecting you,” my repressed inner teen snickered again happily.

“Will you shut up and behave yourself,” I silently answered her, smiling and trying very hard to keep from laughing.

I watched as the receptionist stood and walked toward an office door. I guessed that she was two or three years younger than me. She was about my height, had a nice figure, and was showing it off with a skirt that was just a tad short, but displayed her long legs to an advantage.

“You’d better not say a word,” I silently warned my inner self as I took a seat to wait.

“Why you know I wouldn’t do anything to embarrass you,” she answered innocently, and then waited five seconds before happily beginning to chant, “Woodcock … Woodcock … Woodcock … nana, nana. nana!”

The receptionist, Leslie, according to the nameplate on the desk, quickly returned and smiling at me said, “Please follow me Miss Walden, we’ll meet to the conference room.