2 The Ghosts Upstairs

by SUE FINEMAN

  “Can we do it this year?”

  “Honey, I’d do it today if we could. How about December tenth? That’s my birthday.”

  “Okay by me. We should call your parents.” She gazed into his eyes with a look of unguarded love. “We could invite them to Sunday dinner and tell them in person.”

  “Good idea.” Tonight, he wanted Kayla all to himself, to make love to her and make plans for their future.

  She chewed on her bottom lip. “Do you think having boarding students would delay an adoption?”

  “Honey, if that’s an issue, we’ll hire someone to live with the students and move to a smaller, more family-friendly house.”

  Kayla put her hand on his cheek. “Are you sure this is what you want, Billy?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you.” He kissed her gently and held her close, savoring the feel of her soft, warm body in his arms. “Let’s go shopping.”

  “For what?”

  “Rings.”

  After two lousy marriages, Kayla never thought she’d marry again. But this time it was different. This time marriage wasn’t just about sexual attraction or not wanting to be alone. She loved this man deeply and couldn’t imagine her life without him.

  This marriage would last forever, because whether they had kids or not, she’d love Billy forever. She knew he’d love her forever, too.

  Thank you for taking the time to read The Ghosts Upstairs. Please turn the page for an excerpt of the next book in the series, The Ghost at the Farm.

  THE GHOST AT THE FARM

  by

  Sue Fineman

  Chapter One

  Andy Kane paid his money and walked into the fortune teller’s tent, where the smell of musty canvas and incense tickled his nose. Aside from the glow of the crystal ball on the table, the only light came through the colorful gossamer scarf serving as a tent flap.

  After his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he rubbed his nose and looked around, expecting to see a young woman with a deck of tarot cards. But a wrinkled old woman sat behind the table, her head wrapped in a scarf, her gnarled hands moving in circles around the glowing crystal ball. Was this ancient gypsy a real psychic? He wasn’t here to be entertained or conned. He came to learn about the dreams.

  Still skeptical, Andy dropped into the chair at the table and waited for her to speak.

  “You are plagued by dreams,” she said in a voice so weak he strained to hear.

  The late summer breeze stirred the scarf at the door, washing the inside of the tent and the old woman’s face with splashes of muted color. He sat quietly, waiting for her to tell him more about the dreams he’d had since childhood, the dreams that were so real lately he could smell the dust in the air and feel the sweat on his brow.

  Still staring at the glowing crystal ball, she said, “Your dreams are of your last lifetime.”

  “A past life?” He thought this was his only shot at life.

  She looked up at his face, her black eyes piercing in the airless tent. “You must resolve the issues from your past life or suffer the same fate in this life.”

  Andy stared at the woman’s cloudy crystal ball as the light faded inside it. What had she seen in that thing?

  “What was my name in this former life?”

  “Andrew.” She leaned back, signaling an end to the session.

  He hadn’t told anyone about the dreams, yet this woman knew. Was she also right about the past life, or did she make it up as she went along?

  More confused than when he walked in, Andy pushed the scarf aside and walked out of the tent, squinting against the bright sunshine. How did she expect him to resolve issues from a past life? He wasn’t even sure he believed in past lives. Or in fortune tellers.

  Charlie stood waiting outside the tent. “What did she say?”

  “What do you think she said?”

  “That you need to get laid.”

  Andy punched Charlie’s arm. “I can’t believe I wasted good money on that crap.”

  “I can’t believe I brought my brother to the fair.” He sighed. “I’ve never been that desperate.”

  “You’ll find another woman.” Charlie, with his black hair and gray eyes, was a babe magnet. Women loved him, and he loved women. One of these days all that love would get him in trouble, but then Charlie had been in trouble off and on his whole life.

  Andy was the brother who avoided trouble. He had a great career and a supportive family, although his love life wasn’t anything like Charlie’s. He’d had his share of women, but he didn’t bounce in and out of bed like his brother.

  As he walked through the fairgrounds with Charlie, the gypsy’s words troubled him. She not only knew about the dreams, she knew the name he’d heard in his dreams. Andrew. Andy’s parents had named him after Andrew Jefferson, the talented builder who’d befriended Andy’s great-great-grandmother.

  Was Andrew Jefferson the man in his dreams? Could Andy have been Andrew in a previous life? Was that even possible?

  In spite of the warm summer day, a chill ran through him. Andrew Jefferson had been brutally murdered in 1918.

  Charlie nudged Andy and motioned toward two women standing near the shooting booth. One was a striking brunette and the other a bottle blonde with dark roots. Shorts and skimpy tops revealed well-toned bodies.

  A man with a little boy fired three shots at the moving line of ducks and missed every time. Charlie grinned. “Shall we show them how it’s done, bro?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Charlie walked up to the booth, paid his money, and examined the gun the man handed him. “The sight is crooked on this thing,” said Charlie. After examining another gun and yet another, he finally settled on one that suited him.

  The women watched Charlie take aim and pull the trigger. The first shot hit the target, and the second. He glanced over his shoulder at the pretty brunette and winked, then turned back and nailed the third duck.

  Andy’s brother had always been a crack shot, and he loved to show off. By the time he handed his prize – a stuffed bear – to the brunette, he had her name and phone number, and the four of them had a dinner date for tonight. At Andy’s expense, of course. Charlie was currently unemployed.

  <>

  Charlie’s date, Terri, was an animated bundle of energy, flirting with Charlie, hanging on him, and giggling over everything he said. Her friend, Gina, Andy’s date, had a nice smile, but when she spoke her high-pitched Minnie Mouse voice made his teeth hurt.

  “I, like, broke up with my boyfriend, like, last month. It, like, didn’t work out,” she said, twisting a lock of over-processed hair around her finger. “Ya know what I mean?”

  “Had you been together long?” Andy asked.

  “Too long,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It wasn’t like he was seeing other women or anything. He was always too busy, like, working overtime and stuff. Ya know what I mean?”

  Yeah, he knew what she meant. And if she said like one more time…

  “What kind of work do you do, Andy?”

  “I’m an architect. What about you?”

  “I was, like, a waitress in Anaheim, but when I left my boyfriend, I, like, quit and came to stay with Terri here in River Valley. We knew each other in high school, like, before her family moved to Ohio. I, like, have to find somewhere else to live soon, because her apartment is, like, too small for two people.”

  “I understand jobs are hard to come by in the city right now.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” She shrugged. “I, like, can’t stay with Terri much longer.”

  If she was hinting she wanted a guy to keep her, she’d have to look elsewhere, because no matter how good she looked, Andy wasn’t interested.

  “Do architects make good money?”

  Andy didn’t answer. It was none of her business what he made. He flagged the waitress and ordered another round of drinks. Why had he let Charlie talk him into this date?

  Charlie and Terri were in their own litt
le world, and he knew if Charlie had his way, they’d end up in bed if not tonight, then tomorrow night. Terri seemed willing enough. So was Gina, but Andy wasn’t about to sleep with the ditz tonight or any other night. He’d never be that hard up for sex.

  The evening dragged on forever. Once Gina opened her mouth, she never shut up. Andy wouldn’t mind her talking if she had something interesting to say, but she yammered on and on and on about herself and her ex-boyfriend and how she had to move out of his apartment. The poor-little-me act turned Andy off big time. He figured her ex had grown sick of the sound of her voice and thrown her out.

  Later, as they dropped the women off at Terri’s apartment, Gina kissed Andy, lingering a little too long, rubbing her firm breasts against his arm and inviting more. “I hope to see you again, Andy. Maybe you can, like, help me find a new place to live.”

  “I have a pretty busy schedule.”

  She reached in her purse and pulled out a card with her name and cell phone number. “Call me anytime. Maybe I could, like, come to your place sometime and make you a nice home cooked dinner.”

  “Uh… sure… I’ll call you.” He had no intention of seeing her again. She may not be a prostitute, but sleeping with a woman like this would undoubtedly cost a man.

  No thanks!

  As they drove away, Andy said, “Don’t ever set me up again. Did you hear Gina talk? Her IQ is probably the same as her age.”

  Charlie shrugged. “Who cares what she sounds like? She’s built, and she’s probably good in the sack.”

  “Is that all you ever think about?”

  “Something wrong with that?”

  Andy shook his head in disgust. His fraternal twin brother had the morals of an alley cat.

  “I have another date with Terri tomorrow night. She’s going to cook dinner for me. All we need to do is get rid of Gina.”

  Oh, no! “Forget it. I’m not playing baby-sitter so you can get it on with Terri.”

  Charlie shrugged. “Then we’ll go to my place.” He twisted a little in his seat. “So, what did that fortune teller say?”

  “None of your damn business.” He didn’t want to be reminded of the fortune teller and her message of doom.

  <>

  Andy had just gone to bed when the dream hit, only it wasn’t a dream this time, because he was wide awake.

  Wearing his nightshirt, Andrew sat at the desk in his bedroom, working on the plans he’d kept hidden from his family. The Jefferson Inn was his dream, but his brother didn’t understand or approve.

  The bed in the next room squeaked and banged into the wall in a steady rhythm. Matthew was having sex with Betsy again, as he did nearly every night. It was a wonder they didn’t have six kids by now. It wasn’t for lack of trying.

  Andrew had scratched his own itch after supper in Paulina’s hayloft. Paulina wanted to get married, but her daddy wouldn’t allow her to marry a man with a deformed foot. In spite of his bad foot, Andrew did his share of the farm work and, when he could find work in town, he did what he loved to do. He built houses. Not many people had the means to build a new house these days with the war in Europe, and building supplies were hard to come by, but he had an excellent reputation, and people sought him out. Matthew didn’t like Andrew working in town instead of farming, but he stopped complaining when he saw how much money Andrew brought home.

  A pair of dungarees hung on a hook on the wall, leather suspenders still attached, and beside it hung a well-worn long-sleeved shirt. The hand-sewn shirt of rough cotton had no collar. He’d worn the collar out months ago, and Mama took it off when she patched the elbows. It was the last thing she’d mended before she took sick and died. Now Betsy did all the cooking and mending and housework. She did all right, but she couldn’t cook like Mama.

  The banging in the next room stopped and the house settled into silence. The lovers had gone to sleep.

  Andrew worked on the plans for the inn for another hour before turning off the light and crawling into bed. Someday he wanted to build the inn on the knoll overlooking the river. He could do most of the work himself, but he’d have to save enough money for building supplies.

  Would Matthew let him build an inn on the farm? Running an inn seemed like an easier way to earn a living than farming.

  Andy shook off the vision. Too keyed up to sleep, he wandered through the condo, looking at the drawings on the wall in the living room and the city lights out the window. He felt restless and dissatisfied with his life, and he didn’t understand why.

  Unlike Andrew, Andy had already achieved his lifelong dream. He’d always wanted to be an architect and now he was one. But was it enough?

  The condo was a fine place to live for now, but someday he wanted a home of his own, a place with room for a workshop. The happiest times of his childhood were spent in the basement workshop with his grandfather. Pop taught him how to design and build things. Whenever Andy was worried about something, he’d go into the workshop and get to work. It gave him focus and time to work out his problems, whatever they were.

  Years ago, Andrew found a compromise that worked for him. He lived on a farm and built houses in the city. Maybe that was the answer to Andy’s restlessness. A home in the country, someplace quiet to live while he designed houses in the city. A place he could have a dog and a workshop, maybe a garden.

  Get his hands dirty.

  Build things.

  Work out his problems.

  Chapter Two

  Julianne Tandry smelled his cologne when she opened the door to her apartment. He’d been here again, probably looking for evidence of another man. Anger bubbled inside her chest. “Damn you, Brent!” How had he gotten in this time?

  Brent’s jealousy wasn’t based on anything rational. She’d never cheated on him, but she desperately wanted to end it between them. But how? The last time she tried to end it, he demanded to know who she was seeing behind his back. He wanted her to marry him, but she’d never marry a controlling, possessive man, especially one with Brent’s temper.

  She turned on the light and put her purse and laptop on the desk in the living room. She could call the police and report a breakin, but Brent’s father would never forgive her for having his son arrested.

  The phone rang and she let the recorder pick it up. “Julie, answer the damn phone,” said Brent. Then, “Pick. Up. The. Phone.” A stream of swearing burned her ears, but she didn’t touch the phone. She couldn’t deal with another one of Brent’s temper tantrums. Not today.

  The phone rang again, and again she let the recorder get it. “Dammit, Julie, I know you’re there. Answer the damn phone.”

  He must be watching her apartment. The thought made her skin crawl. What was the matter with him? She walked into the bedroom, kicked off her shoes, and threw herself on the bed. The phone rang yet again, and again she ignored it. Brent didn’t give up until he got what he wanted. And what he wanted was her.

  A minute later, the front door banged open, startling her. Before she could react, Brent stormed into the bedroom, grabbed her arm, and yanked her off the bed. “When I tell you to answer the damn phone, I mean answer the damn phone!”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “You gave me a key.”

  “No, I didn’t.” How did he get a key to her apartment?

  Instead of talking about the key or asking her if she had other plans, he said, “We’re going out for dinner.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with a man who breaks into my apartment.”

  Ignoring her comment, Brent looked in the bathroom and opened the bedroom closet, no doubt checking to see if she had a man hidden. As if another man could get close with Brent hovering around her all the time.

  “Come on, Julie. Let’s go.”

  “No.”

  He shook his fist. “Watch yourself, woman.”

  “I’m sick of being treated this way, Brent. If you’re not following me, you’re calling me and swearing at me. I don’t want you around when you’re l
ike this.”

  He shoved her so hard she fell back on the bed. Stunned, all she could do was stare at him. At that moment, she knew it was only a matter of time before he hurt her. If he thought she’d do what he wanted out of fear, he was dead wrong, because she was more angry than scared. How dare he come into her apartment like this and push her around?

  “Get the hell out of my apartment and don’t come back without an invitation.”

  She had to distance herself from Brent and his jealous rages before he started hitting her. And he would. That wasn’t a playful shove. Not even close.

  Brent stood by the bed, hands fisted, glaring at her for several seconds before he stomped out of the apartment and slammed the door so hard the windows rattled.

  Shaking with fear and anger, Julie jumped off the bed and shoved a kitchen chair under the doorknob. Then she called Lucky Locksmiths. She had to keep Brent out of her apartment until she figured out how to safely break it off.

  The locksmith, a smiling, white-haired gentleman she’d used before in her business, rekeyed the locks an hour later. She resented Brent for making it necessary. If he barged into her apartment again, she’d call the police, even if it meant looking for another job. If the real estate market didn’t pick up soon, she might have to do that anyway.

  Real estate wasn’t a normal eight to five job, and in spite of the upsetting scene with Brent, she had to make a few phone calls. If she didn’t scare up more business soon, she’d have to borrow money from her father again, and she hated doing that.

  Several minutes and several phone calls later, the phone rang. Thinking it was a return call from a client, she didn’t check the caller ID before picking it up.

  “Are you ready to go out to dinner now?” Brent didn’t sound quite as angry.

  “I’m not going out with you.”

  “Then I’ll come over.”

  “No.” He was the last person she wanted in her apartment.

  “Then meet me tomorrow. We’ll have a nice dinner and talk.”