He shrugged, outwardly casual, but- he'd remember that, being called decent. "The way I see it, if someone's good to me, I'll be good to them." And he had precisely zero reason to be an asshole to Mary.

Straightening up, he kept a good hold on the pitcher, the kind of grip that said he'd absolutely beat someone (or something) with it if necessary. When he heard the shouting coming from the library, angry voices a more familiar experience than he would've liked, he glanced back.

"Sounds like something worth investigating. I doubt someone's arguing with a ghost." If only because the ghosts just seemed to scream instead of speaking.