Morgan

by Chris Keniston

  “Wasn’t sure if you and your truck were squabbling after she bit you.” Neil held back a laugh. “You know how fickle women can be.”

  One step behind his brother on the stairs, Morgan lightly whacked the back of his kid brother’s head. “I’m still doing the driving.”

  The three of them had hardly stepped out the front door when Neil’s phone rang. “Farraday.”

  Morgan’s hand gently rested on Val’s back, nudging her down the steps. The simple gesture made her feel oddly special, and safe.

  “Yes, Mr. Harrigan. Give me one second, please.” Neil tapped at his phone. “It’s Harrigan on that Tulsa job we bid on. Give me ten minutes.”

  Morgan nodded. “From what little I know about Harrigan, those ten minutes will be at least twenty, maybe more.”

  “We can go back inside and wait?”

  “Actually, I think I want to take a short stroll over to Sisters. Have a little talk.”

  “About the ghosts?”

  “You’ve heard about that?”

  “Oh, yeah.” When she’d stopped by after breakfast to kick around their part as the sole owners of any specific property in town with her ideas, the sisters had given her an earful and half. “It seems they were spooked.”

  “I heard.”

  Again, his hand rested on her lower back, directing her down the street and she wished there was an excuse for him to leave it there.

  “Old houses creek, whistle, and rattle. The peace and quiet of the dead of night makes them sound even louder.”

  “Do old houses also scream for help?”

  Morgan stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

  “A woman’s voice crying “help me” over and over. That’s what sent the two sisters running, and they haven’t gone back.”

  “Okay.” He started walking again. “Not what I expected, but glad to have a heads up.”

  Only a few doors down, Morgan stopped again. His gaze went from the sign in the yard to the open front door, up the almost three story high columns and back. Another moment and a young guy the size of an NFL linebacker came out the door carrying a large box with the same ease Valerie would carry a bag of potato chips.

  “Morning.” The linebacker waved, somehow juggling the huge package with only one hand.

  “I see you’re selling.” Morgan pointed at the sign.

  “Not me. My mom. Well, actually my grandmother. She’s held onto this old house since forever, but none of us want anything this big, so Mom and she agreed it’s time.”

  “Wayne, don’t forget to bring me the empty boxes from the car.” A slim woman with salt and pepper hair, wearing the West Texas uniform of jeans and cowboy boots, smiled at the linebacker then turned her attention to Valerie and Morgan. “Good morning!”

  “Morning.” Morgan tipped his hat. “It’s a nice house.”

  “I think so.” She looked up and over her shoulder at the expansive columns. “Want to take a look inside?”

  The first thing that hadn’t stopped surprising Valerie was how friendly strangers were around here. The second thing that got her was the twinkle in Morgan’s eyes that brought memories of the Christmas morning gleam in her nephew’s eyes.

  “Thank you, ma’am. That would be very nice.”

  And everyone using “ma’am” was the third thing she hadn’t gotten used to yet.

  At the top of the steps, Morgan held out his hand. “Morgan Farraday. Nice to meet you.”

  “You’re not one of Brian’s boys, are you?”

  Morgan shook his head. “No, ma’am. Patrick.”

  “Ah. Haven’t seen much of Patrick since his wife got on her high horse and rode out of town.” The woman turned for the door and then stopped and spun around. “No offense intended. She was a lovely woman.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Morgan nodded and followed the woman into the house, then stepped aside to wave Valerie in first.

  A girl could really get used to all this cowboy chivalry.

  “It’s time to downsize. The family is so spread out that I don’t even get a full house for Thanksgiving anymore. Seems silly to trudge through keeping up for just me.”

  “You’re the grandmother?” Valerie didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but except for the graying hair, she looked much too young to be the grandmother of the linebacker.

  The woman laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You must have been really young when you started having a family.” Valerie couldn’t get over how much this woman could pass for her own mother.

  “I was thirty-two when I had my Benny. Thirty-five when Wayne’s mama was born.”

  Val did some fast math and realized the lady had to be at least seventy-five. Maybe there was more to be said for this West Texas living, cowboy boots and all.

  “It needs a little work.” The woman picked up a box from the corner of the entry. Standing tall, her smile bright, her gaze reflected the pride she held in her home. “Not as bad as some of the abandoned homes you find in these parts, but not as pristine as when Herbert and I bought it.”

  Morgan ran his fingers down the wood trim. “Nice craftsmanship.”

  “That’s because it was built at a time when people actually took pride in their work. Despite their age, not a single wall is out of plumb. Even brand-spanking new homes seem to have a hard time understanding the concept of plumb and level.”

  “Don’t I know that.” Inching forward, he glanced into the first room to his left.

  “I need to bring these upstairs.” She juggled two large empty boxes. “Feel free to walk around.”

  Valerie followed him into the first room. The layout reminded her a bit of Meg’s. “This is bigger than it looks from the outside.”

  “All these historical homes are deceiving in the perception of size.”

  They walked through another room, probably what was once a formal dining room. From there, they looped through the kitchen. Most likely updated a few times in its history. She’d guess the last time had been at least 30 or so years ago, or however long ago honey oak cabinets were popular. Coming around to the opposite side of the house, having followed a U shaped pattern, she heard Morgan’s sharp intake of breath when he crossed the next threshold.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He stepped to the side, allowing her to enter the room first. “Just didn’t expect to find this. So many people pull out the paneling and shelving in original libraries in order to make them into a den, media room, playroom for the kids, or whatever current incarnation is needed for a modern family.”

  She snapped her jaw shut at the sight of floor to ceiling bookshelves and pointed up. “It even has a brass railing for a rolling ladder.” Quickly she glanced around the room in search of the ladder or some remnants of one, but found nothing.

  “Sure looks like it.” His gaze made the same trip hers had, most likely in search of the ladder as well.

  Taking in the expansive empty shelves, she gently touched one of the wooden planks. “Ever since I was a little girl and watched the movie My Fair Lady with my mom, I’ve always thought how cool it would be to have a library like Professor Higgins.”

  “Really?” His gaze leveled with hers. “I wouldn’t have pictured you as a grand library kind of girl. No offense meant.”

  “None taken.”

  “For me, it was an insurance commercial filmed at the old library at Fordham University in New York.”

  “Alumni?”

  “Not this Oklahoma boy.” He chuckled. “The wonders of the modern Internet. It was pretty easy to do a search and get the answer. It was a pretty cool commercial.”

  “Do you have a library where you live now?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Dad’s office has some shelves and some books, but it’s more of a man cave than a library. What about you?”

  “Afraid not.” She tipped her head and shrugged a single shoulder. “Reading material and high-pressure television industry don’t seem to be con
ducive to each other.”

  “I don’t know about that. Some people might say the same thing about ranchers and reading material.”

  She shrugged her shoulder and crinkled then smoothed her forehead. “What kind of books would you fill this room with?”

  “That’s easy.” He grinned. “Everything.”

  “Everything?”

  He nodded. “Why, do you have something in particular in mind?”

  “Actually, I like biographies. I love learning the truth in history. When I find the time to binge a little TV, I can spend hours going down the digital rabbit hole comparing the past with the televised presentation of it. Mysteries are fun sometimes. Especially the cozies. Probably had the love of amateur sleuths ingrained in me from watching Jessica Fletcher solve crimes in Cabot Cove every Sunday night like clockwork. But over there,” she pointed to the wall behind him, “I would fill every last one of those shelves with my favorite romance novels.”

  His gaze followed her finger from ceiling to floor and back. “That’s a lot of romance.”

  “It is. A girl can never have too many comfortable shoes, too many friends, or too many good books.”

  “That seems like a sound philosophy. Though, you’re always in heels?”

  Her hands flipped up in a ‘so what’ gesture. “Who says they’re not comfortable?”

  “My mistake.” He smiled.

  She knew he didn’t believe her, and she’d already made a mental note to make time to call some of those friends she hadn’t spoken to in eons, but her mind was once again shifting gears. “I wonder how hard it would be to replace the ladder.”

  “Not very.”

  It took her a moment to realize Morgan was mentally measuring, calculating, and most likely, restoring the beautiful old room in his mind. “I hope the right person gets this place. Despite my line of work, even I’d hate to see it relegated to a bland media room for ill-tempered teens.”

  Morgan’s head bobbed and Neil’s voice drifted across the main hall.

  “In here.” Morgan continued looking at the upper shelves in the room.

  “Ready when you are?” Neil leaned against the doorway and whistled. “Sweet. You taking on bidding now?”

  Morgan shook his head from side to side. “Nope, that’s still Owen’s job. Just a little personal curiosity.”

  “Well, I’m personally curious about Three Corners, so let’s head out.” Neil stepped away from the doorway, giving Morgan and Val plenty of space to lead the way to the street.

  Hand on the doorknob, she looked over her shoulder at the expansive stairway leading to the second floor. Once upon a time, this must have been one hell of a house.

  “It really could have waited until tomorrow.” A tray of warm biscuits in one hand, Meg shoved the oven door shut with the other. “But I admit, it was a bit of a thrill to walk into the room a bit ago and see it all painted one beautiful color.”

  As if agreeing, Fiona banged her hands on the tray and grinned.

  “See. Even Fiona loves the color.”

  “Personally,” Adam pulled several glasses out of the cupboard, “I think she’s just happy to get a biscuit.”

  Meg shot her husband a tight-lipped glare not intended for the general public and Adam shrugged, smiled, and kissed her cheek as he walked past her, instantly melting the icy gaze.

  “As I was saying,” Meg continued, “we all love it. Thank you.”

  “On that I can definitely agree.” Adam set a glass in front of each cousin. “Thank you.”

  “It really was our pleasure.” Neil bobbed his head and waved a thumb at his brother. “Though I guess mostly his and Ryan’s since they did most of the work.”

  “You put in your share this morning.” Meg slid the butter tray in front of them. “Credit given where credit’s due.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Neil didn’t dare argue.

  “So,” Adam pulled a seat up next to the baby’s high chair, “do we know how much longer before Valerie can join us?”

  “All she said when she walked out of the kitchen this afternoon was Don’t hold dinner.” Meg set the pot of beef stew in front of Morgan. “Do either of you have any idea what that’s all about?”

  “Maybe,” Neil said.

  “Or maybe not.” Morgan hadn’t quite figured out how they’d gotten roped into whatever it was they’d agreed to do.

  “English please?” Adam blew on a piece of biscuit for his daughter.

  “Funny,” Morgan put his napkin on his lap, “that’s what I was thinking the whole time Valerie was talking.”

  “From what I can tell,” Neil reached for salt, “she needs to do something called a sizzle reel.”

  “Unless it’s got something to do with steak, that could be alarming.” Adam cut up a piece of stew meat to set on Fiona’s plate.

  Morgan reached for his fork. “It’s a short video. I think Valerie said about six minutes. It’s what’s used in the business to sell a television idea.”

  “I thought that’s what pilots are for?” Meg pulled her seat in on the other side of her daughter.

  “That comes after,” Morgan said.

  “After the sizzle reel?” Meg looked his way.

  “Exactly.” That part Morgan had followed fine. It was what came next that still had him scratching his head. “And we’re going to be the…uh…actors.”

  “The what?” Adam almost dropped his fork.

  “Not exactly actors,” Neil corrected. “From what Val explained, a sizzle reel can be thrown together with stock images and shorts to create a visual presentation. She feels that her idea will sell better if she can do live footage of the town.”

  “So where do you two come in?” Meg handed Fiona her sippy cup.

  “Like I said,” Morgan put his fork down, “acting. The whole premise is one of those reality renovation television shows. Which requires your key renovators.”

  “You two?” Adam’s voice dripped with something akin to disbelief.

  “Not us specifically,” Neil answered. “More of a stand in. She needs a couple of professionals who look the part.” He smiled proudly. “So we volunteered.”

  “You volunteered.” Morgan skewered his brother with a sharp glare. “Somewhere between telling her what a lovely smile she had, and just about drooling over the delicious steakhouse in Butler Springs you clearly plan to invite her to, you volunteered all available Farradays to play fixer upper.”

  Adam’s head shot up. “All? And available for what?”

  Neil stabbed at a potato and held his fork midair. “I was referring to the Oklahoma Farradays, or in this case, the Farraday cousins as we’re referred to around town.”

  “Valerie didn’t seem very sure how long it was going to take her to get a production crew out here. She seemed to think her chances of snagging a Dallas crew were better than Albuquerque, but whatever the resolution, we Farradays, at least for now, are her cast.”

  “Well, isn’t that fun?” Meg grinned up at him.

  Fun was not the word that came to the front of his mind. The idea of working with Val held a certain appeal, but not so much the idea of doing it in front of a camera.

  “In college I took a few performing arts classes.” Neil looked to Meg. “Mostly set building and the like for my portfolio, but I got a chance or two to get up on stage.” Turning to face his brother, he continued, “It could be a lot of fun.”

  “I did it!” Hands clasped high in front of her Valerie bounced into the large kitchen. “I’ll have a full crew here tomorrow and we’ll film the day after.”

  “Full crew?” Meg asked hesitantly.

  “Not as many as we’ll have when we’re shooting for the season, but enough to get some choice footage. Then it’ll go off to my editors in LA. Ooh.” Val spotted the stew in everyone’s dishes. “I love beef stew. Didn’t realize how hungry I was till this very minute.”

  “There’s plenty.” Meg jumped up from her seat.

  “No.” Valerie waved her
back. “I’ve got it.”

  Retrieving a bowl from the spot saved for her at the massive island, Valerie walked over to the stove and filled her dish. She was rambling on about her ideas, scenes she hoped to shoot, things she hoped to see, something about the sisters and their brothel, but most of it faded away as he watched her move about the kitchen. Nothing about the woman in faded jeans, the requisite Texas cowboy boots, and that pretty scarf now tying her hair back in a floppy ponytail bore any resemblance to the woman he’d met in the café just a few short days ago. She seemed as much at ease in the kitchen as she might be on a Hollywood runway, and as enthused about interacting with a baby as filming her next idea. How much more was there to Valerie Moore?

  Chapter Nine

  Valerie had to call in more than a few favors to pull off her plan. To do the shoot right, to get what she wanted, she needed plenty of cameras and about four days. Then she’d need a couple of weeks for edit. That of course would be done back in LA. It had taken most of the other afternoon and the better part of the next morning to bring everything completely together.

  It had taken a bit longer to convince the sisters there was no such thing as ghosts, crying for help or otherwise. After she’d succeeded in her efforts, the two women finally agreed to let the production crew camp out in the old brothel. With the long hours she’d expected the shoot to take, and the long drive in and out of town, she decided to stay at the restored brothel as well.

  Val sniffed the air. “Coffee smells heavenly.”

  Whichever of the sisters was the blonde with hair as high as she was wide, grinned from behind the makeshift breakfast bar. “Sissy has always made a mean cup of coffee.”

  Hoping the morning brew tasted as good as it smelled, Val poured herself a cup and nodded.

  “Did you sleep well?” the blonde squeaked out.

  For a fraction of a moment Val was tempted to tell the older woman that she couldn’t get a wink of sleep thanks to all the sounds of chains rattling in her room, but the nervous anticipation on the blonde’s face kept Val from teasing her. “Slept like a log. The mattresses on those beds are very comfortable. You guys did great.”