by Anne Barwell
Heidi shook her head. "Whoever left that rose," she said, "wasn't me." She frowned, her puzzlement growing, her next words sending a chill through him. "I went in to air the room just before you and Donovan got back from town, but the window was already open. I remember admiring the vase, as it wasn't one of mine, but it was empty."
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Chapter Ten
Tomas rolled over in bed, scrunching his eyes up against the glare of the early morning sun peeking through partially closed curtains. Finally, giving up on the idea that he might be able to go back to sleep, he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, contemplating the events of the previous evening.
Whoever the rose had come from, it certainly hadn't been Heidi. Reaching over to grab the book from his bedside table, he opened it to find the daisy and rose petal. They were still tucked together between the cover and first page where they had been the night before, the edges of the petal catching the fragile flower of the white daisy to hold it close. The vase stood alone on his bedside table, the water cloudy but untouched. On a whim he had clicked his fingernail against it, the clear pinging noise it made confirming that it was indeed crystal. Who would leave an expensive vase with a single rose in it in a stranger's room? It didn't make sense.
In the finish Donovan had shrugged and told Tomas that maybe his room was haunted after all and that it was the ghost who was leaving him flowers. Heidi had given Donovan a glare and repeated firmly, several times, that there had to be a logical explanation. There was for most things in life, she insisted, and this would be no different. They just had to think outside the box and the answer would be there waiting.
Perhaps he'd talk to Cathal about it later and see if he had any ideas. Running his fingers over the rose petals, Tomas let his mind wander, picturing Cathal's smile and his eyes crinkling in amusement at Donovan's suggestion.
Hmm, maybe not.
Cathal did not have a tendency toward logical explanations, often to the extent of not giving any at all. He was just as likely to seriously consider the ghost as a possibility.
Not that the mental image of Cathal's brow furrowed in thought, his lips slightly pursed, wasn't equally as nice to think about. Tomas groaned and pulled the blankets back over his head, letting his mind drift still further. He and Cathal had kissed. It had felt good. Very good. Tomas wanted to do it again. Feel the touch of Cathal's skin under his fingertips and have Cathal lean into that touch as he had done the day before.
Cathal hadn't been playacting. He wanted more and had told Tomas that before he'd disappeared.
Throwing the blankets back, Tomas watched the curtains blowing in the breeze, the shadows in his room alternatively waning and growing dark again as the material moved back and across to let in and block the sunlight.
Damn it. He needed to move and do something. A crash sounded from downstairs, and he jumped, pulling on his jeans and T-shirt, grabbing them from the floor. He was at the foot of the stairs before he'd even realized he'd moved on instinct. "Heidi?" he called out. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. Sorry." Heidi's voice sounded from the kitchen. Blackthorn slunk out of the door, looked Tomas up and down, and then, tail in the air, stalked across his path. "I tripped over the cat and dropped a skillet."
To Tomas's surprise, a familiar face poked around the side of the door, watching the cat disappear down the hallway. "Hey, Tomas. You forgot your shoes." Mikey grinned. "Heidi's cooking me eggs and French toast. Want some?"
"I thought Heidi was in trouble," Tomas said, scowling.
"Knights in shining armor are supposed to smile," Mikey pointed out helpfully. "Their hair doesn't stick up at weird angles like yours does either."
"I haven't polished my armor yet," Tomas snapped. Dealing with this annoying kid before coffee was not a great idea. The smell of eggs and fried bread made him stop mid-turn to sniff the air. "Save me breakfast and pour me some coffee, and I'll pretend you've grown some manners overnight."
"I have manners," Mikey protested. "After all, I am here to help Heidi sort through the attic. I don't have to do that, you know."
"Of course you don't." Tomas raked his fingers through his hair, the floorboards cold under his feet. It wasn't only shoes he'd forgotten in his haste but socks as well. He'd rectify that before.... Hang on, what had Mikey just said? "You're not helping Heidi sort through the attic. I already offered last night."
Mikey stared at him. "I offered last week!" The stare turned into a glare. "She said I could have some stuff to use for the Scout garage sale. It's the only way I'm going to get to the jamboree." His voice rose, his jaw set in a stubborn line. "Heidi promised!"
"Children!" Heidi yelled from the kitchen. "Eat breakfast first and work out your playground squabbles later."
"Pour my coffee and I'll negotiate." Tomas dropped his voice to a loud stage whisper. He had no intention of letting Mikey anywhere near that trunk. If he wanted to sort through junk on the other side of the attic, perhaps something could be arranged, but that trunk was Tomas's. Besides, Heidi had already promised him. "That's my final offer."
Said offer was met by a loud snort. "It's not up to you; it's Heidi's decision." Mikey looked smug. "I'll pour your coffee and talk to her while you find your shoes." He sniggered. "Maybe it's where you left your towel."
Tomas glared at him. "You little shit!" Where the hell had Mikey heard about that? It was lucky that Donovan was nowhere in sight or he would have been dead.
"Tsk tsk." Mikey grinned. Tomas's eyes narrowed. The kid must have eavesdropped. Yes, that had to be it. Decision made, Donovan's life expectancy rose another couple of notches, although there must have been a conversation for Mikey to overhear. "If Heidi hears you swearing you'll be in the dog house." The grin turned into a sweet smile which didn't fool Tomas for a minute.
"I'm going to get my shoes," he muttered. "Coffee. Waiting when I get back." Tomas turned and strode up the stairs, counting slowly in an attempt to curb his growing temper. He did not lose his cool often, but for some reason Mikey pushed all his buttons.
"Would you like fries with that?" Mikey yelled up the stairs after him.
"No!" Tomas's retort was equally as loud, his resolution not to respond to the brat from hell disappearing in an instant.
Letters. He had to think of the letters; they were far too important to risk losing because he had allowed Mikey to get under his skin.
Stomping into his room, he slammed the door and stood in the middle of the floor, taking several deep breaths. The curtains were open, as was the window, although Tomas didn't remember opening either of them. The sun hit his eyes, and he shaded them against the glare, walking over to the window to gaze for a moment at the field below.
The tree stared back at him, hues of transparent color glistening through its branches, filtering the sun through the fading dew of the night before. Despite his bad mood, Tomas found himself smiling, remembering again the kiss he and Cathal had shared under that tree, its canopy providing a little privacy to partially obscure the view from his window, but not as much as he would have liked. He wondered if there was somewhere nearby which might offer them more shelter from prospective prying eyes. The last thing he wanted was someone like the brat downstairs to get wind of his and Cathal's friendship and start spreading rumors.
Another thought struck him, and he froze.
God.
Mrs. O'Neil.
If she found out, that would be far worse.
Tomas's eyes were drawn to the alarm clock by his bedside table, his watch lying next to it. He hated wearing a watch to bed; the only time he'd left it on was when he'd been too drunk to care, collapsing into a restless sleep before groggily stumbling into the bathroom the next morning. It was the first and last time he'd allowed himself to be talked into more than a couple of beers. Embarrassingly, he did not hold his liquor well; it was not a flaw he wanted advertised, and those who knew had been sworn to secrecy.
&n
bsp; Laughter from downstairs steered his brain back to the present and his immediate future. He needed a plan of attack. It was eight already, and Mrs. O'Neil was due to arrive in two hours.
Rummaging through his drawer, Tomas found a pair of socks and sat down on the bed to pull them on. Mikey would need to be dealt with first, but the trunk in the attic was a priority. He was convinced that it contained a few answers, at least. The letters Alice had written to her dead husband would give some insight into her life and hopefully throw some light onto why he felt so compelled to find out more about her. She wasn't connected to the book, but she was an artist. She knew something; he just wished he knew what. Tomas wasn't a great believer in intuition, but this, whatever it was, was growing more and more difficult to dismiss.
His favorite worn brown boots joined the socks, and he finger-combed his hair, scowling when it refused to do what he wanted. Marching down the stairs again, he entered the kitchen, frowning when the conversation stopped the moment he did so.
To his surprise, however, a mug of coffee stood waiting for him, a plate of scrambled eggs and French toast next to it. He raised an eyebrow in Mikey's direction. The kid shrugged, barely pausing to grunt something under his breath while he shoveled food into his mouth.
"Mikey is here to collect stuff for the jamboree sale," Heidi said, giving each of them a pointed look in turn. "Tomas is going to look through the old trunk in the attic." Her eyes narrowed. "Neither the twain shall meet. Have I made myself clear?"
"The attic's big enough for both of us," Mikey muttered. "It's not my fault if he gets in my way." He met Heidi's gaze squarely. "Besides, I asked first!"
Tomas snorted. "You couldn't pay me enough to get in your way," he exclaimed. "Just make sure you stay out of mine." The last thing he needed was Mikey leaning over his shoulder and interrupting his train of thought while he was attempting to piece very important clues together. Kids and his creative process did not go hand in hand. They were almost, but not quite, as bad as cats. An old adage about never performing with animals or children repeated in his mind, and he shuddered.
"Is that an offer?" Mikey perked up. "I do need money for this jamboree, after all," he implored. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be anywhere near you."
"Mikey, you asked first, so you have every right to be in the attic. But so does Tomas because Donovan promised him that he could look through the trunk." Heidi paused, her tone firm. "But don't forget your own promise to clean out my attic in return for what you can find for your garage sale. Promises are more important than any monetary gain."
"Much more important than any monetary gain." Tomas wasn't going to let Mikey go down that track. "Heidi's right."
"Yeah, I suppose." Mikey's face fell. "It was worth a go, though," he added brightly, jerking a thumb in Tomas's direction. "It would have worked too, if Tomas wasn't such a tight-ar--" Heidi coughed loudly. Mikey returned his attention to polishing off the rest of his breakfast, making a point of avoiding Tomas's eyes.
For his part, Tomas was too engrossed in finishing his own breakfast to be bothered wasting time encouraging Mikey to continue what he'd been about to say. This kid needed a good sharp kick up his own arse.
"Tomas?" Heidi was staring at him, frowning. Had he missed something?
"Hmm?" Using the rest of the French toast to mop up what was left of his eggs, Tomas looked in Heidi's direction. She was watching him, an amused expression on her face. An apology would probably be a good idea at this point, the annoying little voice in his mind pointed out. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"
"I asked if you were still joining Mrs. O'Neil and me for morning tea." Heidi shook her head. "You get distracted from conversations easily, I've noticed. Lot on your mind, huh?"
"Something like that." While Tomas might have said more, he wasn't about to admit to anything in Mikey's presence. The kid was pretending to focus on his food, but Tomas knew better. "I'll be down by then, thanks, Heidi. If I'm not, come and get me." If the trunk proved to be the treasure trove he hoped, he'd be lucky if he surfaced before tea that night, let alone mid-morning, without some prompting.
"I'll remind you," Mikey said helpfully, pointing to his watch. Tomas could almost see his mind ticking over, the little hamster wheel working overtime. "You're seriously going to have morning tea with Mrs. O'Neil?" His brow wrinkled in disbelief. "Okay, what's she got on you? She's got to be blackmailing you or something." He eyed Tomas up and down. "Unless you're crazy. Really crazy."
"Gee thanks, Mikey." Heidi's tone took on a dangerous edge. "So I'm crazy, am I?"
"Of course not, Heidi." Mikey corrected his statement quickly. "There's always an exception to every rule, and you're it." Draining his cup, he burped loudly and put it down on the table. "Great breakfast, but Tomas and I have got a job to do." He glanced at Tomas and then toward the door, his head jerking in that direction not exactly subtly. "Right, Tomas?"
"Right." Tomas gulped down the last of his coffee. If Mikey got Heidi up in arms, the chances of getting near that trunk would be very slim. While he usually took care not to take sides, some arguments were not worth getting into, or risking Mikey figuring out the reason for all the questions Tomas was asking.
Standing, he collected his dishes and placed them in the sink before heading for the door. Mikey quickly followed suit, his hand tugging on the end of Tomas's T-shirt.
"You forgot to thank her for breakfast," Mikey hissed.
"Um, thanks for breakfast, Heidi." Tomas followed Mikey's suggestion without stopping to question it. "It was really great."
Heidi's smile reinforced that he'd done the right thing. "You boys enjoy yourselves. Any arguments and I'll be up to sort you out." Her gaze traveled from one to the other and back again. "Both of you."
Nodding, Tomas walked out of the room briskly, Mikey on his heels. It wasn't until they were halfway up the stairs that the thought struck him. "Hey," he exclaimed. "What happened to you thanking her for breakfast?"
Mikey's expression grew smug. "I already did that before I sat down," he said. "I already told you. I have manners."
* * * *
The attic was dark when they entered, the low wattage light bulb Mikey switched on adding little more than a dim glow to the room. It was smaller than Tomas expected, a little larger than his own, the ceiling beams exposed in triangle shapes following the slope of the roof. It was high enough for him to stand, but if he held his hand up, it brushed against the lower point of one of the supporting struts. Windows were curtained on either side. Mikey crossed the room quickly and opened them, the sunlight exposing wooden floorboards which looked as though they hadn't seen varnish for years, if ever, but they, like the attic, were clean and dust-free. That, Tomas presumed, would be down to Heidi.
Boxes lined one side of the room, none of them labeled, newspapers stacked in one corner, pieces of cardboard next to them, cartons pulled apart but never disposed of. An old rocking horse with a faded mane and one remaining painted eye watched Mikey while he struggled with the latch on the window, finally getting it open, hooking it on the first hole, enough to let fresh air and a faint breeze in but not much else.
He shivered. "I only come up here if I can open the window and the curtains. It feels weird otherwise." Lowering his voice, he glanced around nervously, keeping a cautious eye on the rocking horse. "Old places where people don't go much do that. Even Blackthorn doesn't come up here." He pointed to a series of mouse traps strategically placed along the skirting board. "That's why those are here."
Tomas raised an eyebrow, his eyes scanning the room for the trunk he'd been told about. "You don't believe in ghosts, do you?"
"Of course not!" Mikey's denial was a little too emphatic; it didn't mesh with the way he kept watching the old rocking horse. Tomas walked past it, pushed on it lightly with one finger, the creaking noise as it began rocking raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Mikey jumped. "Why the fuck did you do that for?"
"Does you
r father know you use language like that?" Tomas noticed something wooden peeking out behind a couple of boxes and headed in that direction. The trunk. It had to be!
"Nah." Mikey shrugged. "He wouldn't care anyway. He's too busy with work. Always has been."
"At least you have a father who cares about you," Tomas replied almost absently, his attention drawn to the large trunk now in front of him. Fumbling with the catch, he opened it. Damn, it was heavy, the hinges stiff with disuse. It appeared as though no one had opened it in years, not since Donovan had originally found the letters.
"Don't you?" Mikey was by his side, helping him with the lid. Tomas looked up, scowling; he hadn't even noticed the kid move.
"No." Tomas answered after a moment's pause. Although Mikey was nosy as hell, there was no point in lying to him. "My parents died in an accident when I was young. I don't remember much about them."
"Oh." Mikey was silent for a moment. "So what's in the trunk?" His tone brightened. "You're looking for something specific, right? I can tell."
"No." This time Tomas snapped the word. "I'm just looking." He held the lid so that it wouldn't fully open, preventing Mikey from seeing what might be inside. "Don't you have stuff to sort through for your jamboree?" He indicated the old-fashioned hanger from which hung a selection of what looked like men and women's clothing in the style of the 1920s. "Why don't you see if any of that has survived being eaten by moths? My sister says retro's in at the moment. It might be worth a bit."
"I feel sorry for her." Mikey straightened up, but instead of walking toward the clothes, he tried to peer over Tomas's shoulder. "I try to help and you nearly bite my head off. Geez."
"Sorry for whom?" Tomas glanced around the room, looking for something else to distract Mikey with. The rocking horse creaked in reply, the momentum of the tap Tomas had given it still lending it movement.
"Your sister." Mikey shivered, zipping up his hoodie. "Look in your damn trunk then. See if I care." He stalked over to the other side of the room behind the rack of clothing, obscured from view, although the dull thud of something hitting the floor strongly suggested he'd found something else to grab his attention. Hopefully, whatever box he was destroying would keep him busy long enough for Tomas to do what he needed.
