“Whatever are you talking about?”
“Don’t play the innocent with me,” Jessie said. “Because of you I had to shop at the second hand porno shop . . . and that was the good part of my day!”
“Really?” His interest was piqued by that remark. “Is that . . . what is in the bag?” he asked curiously.
“Nothing.” Jessie held it closer to her body.
“You should know by now that’s an even greater temptation,” he said in a soft whisper, stepping closer. “But what have you done to your hair?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Jessie spotted herself in the mirror over the bureau in the entry and had to duck to see the full height of the new beehive hairdo she sported. “Mavis gave me a makeover.”
The ghost pirate pursed his lips and brought his fingers to play in an attempt to keep from laughing. “I suppose there are worse things,” he finally managed to get out.
“Worse? It cost me well over a hundred dollars to look like this!” She glared at him. “You’d be the type of man that would tell his wife if her bum looked too big in her pants, too, right?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.” He looked far too delighted. “Turn around.” He circled his fingers around.
“Not on or life,” Jessie said, “or death, as the case may be.”
“Perhaps we should start over, no?” With just a click of his fingers, he sported a feathered hat that looked like something a musketeer would wear and promptly used it to make a grand show of bowing. “I am Monsieur Renault Bernard Jacquess Blanois at your service,” he said, sweeping the hat in front of him. “But please call me Jacques.”
Jessie turned on her two inch heel and marched up the stairs. “Non,” she heard him call out. “It is not too big.” She turned back to glare, but he was gone. She blew out a breath and headed for her bedroom.
Jessie set her bag on the floor and lay down on the bed in a slow roll, kicking off her shoes as she went. She stared up at the fan that hung in the center of the vaulted ceiling until a knock sounded on her bedroom door.
“Jessie,” Jacques called from the hall.
She winced. Why did his accent have to make her name sound like an exotic flower? The last thing she needed was to have a thing for a transparent man. I mean really, she’d actually accused her ex-husband of not having any substance. Jessie started to chuckle at that.
“Is all fine with you?” he asked.
“I just need a moment,” Jessie said thankful for a little privacy.
“I understand, but there may be a slight problème with that plan,” the ghost said.
“Why?” Jessie said. What could possibly be going on now? She hadn’t even had the chance to use the potty today and was feeling a little more than cranky.
“I hate to alarm you, but there is a man in the house,” Jacques whispered.
Chapter 4
“What do you mean? Is there a man breaking into the house?” Jessie bolted up to a sitting position. “Do you mean that he broke in?” Jessie scooted off the bed. “Well, stop him!” She looked around the room for a weapon, glancing over at Porky’s tummy which read 6:02. Oh, how could she have forgotten Mavis’ son? “No, wait,” she called out, but there was no answer. “Jacques,” she whispered as she crept out into the hallway just in case she was wrong and there really was a burglar.
She passed Ol' Yosemite Sam’s room and grabbed the baseball bat that she knew rested behind the door, then headed down the stairs with it raised. At the bottom of the landing she hugged the wall like she’d seen on police shows, taking a quick look into the living room. It was empty . . . or clear, whatever lingo they used in this case, she thought to herself.
“Jacques?” she called out softly as she continued down the hall toward the kitchen. She didn’t see anyone or anything amiss upon entering until she spotted a slight movement from within the pantry. Her eyes gradually widened as the man wearing the faded jeans and a tight T-shirt slowly walked toward her. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, as he ducked to clear the frame.
He had light blonde hair, stood at least six foot six inches tall, and if the amount of muscle on his arms was any indication, the man was fit. He looked like the Viking god, Thor. She noticed the tool box in his hand and wondered briefly if he owned a large hammer. Mojolnir.
His own light blue eyes widened when he spotted her standing in the middle of the kitchen with a bat held high. He paused. “Hi. I didn’t think you were here, so I let myself in with the key your aunt’s—”
“No!” she called out, but it was too late.
Thwack!
“Key,” came out of Thor’s mouth as he fell.
An iron fry pan levitated in the air behind where Thor had been standing. Jacques slowly appeared, holding it before he dropped it. The heavy skillet clattered on the floor next to Mavis’ son.
“Oh, no!” She tossed the bat to the side and felt the man’s pulse, making sure he was breathing.
“What are you doing?” Jacques asked. “Instead of giving him mouth-to-mouth, shouldn’t you be running away or calling the police?” He watched as she listened to his heartbeat. “Are you a doctor?”
“Yes,” Jessie said as she tilted his head to open the airway. “I’m a veterinarian.” She stood, going to the freezer to get ice.
“Hmm, I guess being the size of an ox qualifies him,” he scoffed.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “You could have killed him, and this happens to be Mavis’ son.”
“Hmm,” he scoffed. “Same thick skull.”
She opened the freezer and then gasped as the realization occurred to her. “You knew that.” She turned to stare at him accusatorily.
“Perhaps.” Jacques shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.
“Perhaps?” Jessie could hardly believe her ears as she took out a bag of frozen peas and turned to face him. “You knew, yet you still attacked him?”
“He broke in.”
“He used a key.”
“Did you know he was in?” Jacques asked.
“Well, no, but,” Jessie started.
“Exactly.”
“No, not exactly.” She pointed at him with the bag of peas in hand. “You purposely made me think he was a burglar, not a—” she looked down at the man splayed out on the kitchen floor, “a neighbor!”
“Did you know that most rapes occur by someone known by the victim?” He put his foot on the man on the floor. “Or are crimes of convenience?”
“How do you know that?”
“I watch the news. I read the paper,” he said, striking a pose that looked oddly reminiscent of the Capt’n on the rum bottle, “and your aunt has never given him a key.”
“I was expecting him.”
“Why?” Jacques lifted his hands in wonder.
“He’s here to check the wiring.”
“No, I forbid it.” He scowled at her while putting his hands on his hips.
“Forbid it?” Jessie raised her brows as well as her voice.
“I will not have him snooping around my house looking for my treasure,” he stated emphatically.
“Your house?”
“Yes, my house.” He nodded. “I built it. Why else do you think I’m here?”
“Ah-hah!” She pointed. “The placard outside says that Theodore Bancroft built it.”
“It does?” He looked shocked. “But that’s—” He vanished before he could finish.
“Augh,” Thor mumbled from the black and white checkered floor at her feet.
“Are you all right?” Jessie asked, belatedly realizing that when he opened his eyes he had a bird’s-eye view up her skirt. She knelt beside him as he tried to sit up.
“What hit me?” Thor asked.
“I’m so sorry,” Jessie said as she looked up into the pantry and saw several pots on the top shelf. “The skillet must have been ready to fall when you passed under it.” She really hoped he bought that one.
He looked up into the pantry the same way she had
and nodded, then winced.
“Here, let me help you up,” Jessie said.
He still had quite a bit of strength she realized as she guided him to a kitchen chair. There was no way she could have lifted him. “Here.” She placed the peas on his head. “Can you hold this?”
He placed a hand on the bag, curling a large bicep as he did. “Who were you talking to?” he asked, looking around.
“Talking?” Jessie asked as she smiled sweetly. She came back holding a tea towel and a small flash light.
He looked at her warily. “What are you going to do with that?”
“Check your pupils,” Jessie said as she wrapped the bag of peas in the towel and returned it to his head then looked into his eyes.
“That’s right, you’re a vet,” he said as she flashed the light in and out of his eyes. “Am I going to be okay, Doc?”
His pupils responded normally. At least she could thank her lucky stars for that.
“You’re not what I was expecting.” He couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice as he spoke. “I don’t know of anyone in four counties who would allow my mother to do a makeover.”
Jessie touched her hair self-consciously as he sat looking at her.
“She gave me one in middle school.” He chuckled. “I was teased until I graduated high school over that one.”
“Really?” Jessie smiled. He wasn’t what she had expected either.
“As tall as I am, the slacks she bought were floods.” He laughed at the memory. “I looked like an albino version of Big Boy.”
“That bad, huh?” Jessie laughed.
“I didn’t get a date until I graduated and went to college bad.” He winked, making her wonder if this Viking god had ever gone without female attention. Just as she thought it, Jacques appeared behind him and cleared his throat.
“That plaque is just another wrong done against me.” He threw his arms up. “A travesty!” He folded over his chest watching her. Her eyes briefly flicked upward, but rather than be caught responding in any way to the wall, she turned away and cleared the cups from early this morning.
“I see my mom sent a basket of her best over.” Thor selected a muffin and tossed it in the air, catching it easily. “Don’t suppose you’d like to go out and get a real meal.”
“I’d love to, but all I want to do right now is climb into a bubble bath and see how long it takes the hairspray to dissolve this beehive.”
“I understand.” He chuckled. “Maybe Friday. The Coves Inn has prime rib or all you can eat catfish.”
“Sounds great.” She smiled.
“It’s a date then.” He stood, rising to his full height. The close proximity made her dizzy with feminine appreciation until Jacques’s head poked out of his torso. She stepped back in horror. Thor belched.
“Sorry,” he immediately apologized. “I’m Jonathan Peterson, by the way.” He placed the peas on the counter and then held out his hand. “You know I wouldn’t have blamed you a bit if you had whacked me over the head not knowing who I was.”
She took his hand as Jacques rolled his eyes and stepped through the man.
“I feel oddly light headed,” Jonathan confessed. “I think I’ll wait 'til tomorrow to chase sparks if you don’t mind.”
“No problem.” She nodded.
“Ah,” Jacques butted in, “problème.”
“Just let me check that bump,” she said, reaching up to run her fingers through the Viking god’s hair.
“A grande problème.” Jacques stood behind him shaking his head. “Bam-Bam here just wants my treasure.”
“You’ve got a large goose-egg up there,” Jessie said as she felt it lightly and then pulled her hand away.
“That’s not all he’ll have if he comes back,” Jacques warned.
“But that’s a good sign with a head injury.” Jessie continued to talk right over the irritable ghost. Just keep an eye on that bump will you? I’ll call your mom so she can keep an eye on you too.”
“Oh, please,” Jonathan said, his voice filled with humor and something akin to dread as he caught her hand as she moved away. He held it for a second before continuing, “Let’s not mention it to her.”
Jessie smiled. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve had worse punches from a gnat,” Jonathan said lightly.
“A gnat?” Jacques snorted, puffing his chest out. “I’ll show you a gnat!” Jacques poked him in the neck.
Jonathan slapped the area with his palm. “It’s a little late in the season for mosquitos.” Jacques poised his finger for another attack.
Jessie looped her hand in Jonathan’s arm and led him toward the door. “Thank you for taking the time to come over.”
“Sure thing.” Jonathan paused to look down at her, smiling warmly.
“Oui,” Jacques said sarcastically, “don’t you see, that’s what he’s hoping for. . . . A sure thing!”
It took everything Jessie had to ignore him and see Jonathan to the door.
“Please tell me you are not taken in by his act?” Jacques said as Jessie closed the door.
“I found him to be quite charming,” Jessie stated.
“That oversized testosterone filled prince charming was trying to hump every cheerleader in the county when he was a teenager, and succeeding,” Jacques said as Jessie turned away and started counting.
“Un, deux, trois,” Jacques mimicked her counting in his own way. “Tell, me how is counting sheep helping?”
“Augh,” Jessie sighed. She walked to the pantry and pulled out a key that was hidden under an old can of shortening that was now filled with odd bits of junk.
“What are you doing?” Jacques asked with a renewed sense of alarm. He watched as she took the key with her to the living room. “Tell me you’re not.”
Jessie was taking delight in this moment to ignore the buffoon. She went to the big curio in the corner and unlocked it.
“Mon dieu!” Jacques said as she removed an old bottle of peach brandy and poured a shot glass full. “This is a travesty. That is not how you drink a fine brandy. You must breathe it.”
Jessie tossed it back and then coughed.
“Well, not literally,” Jacques said just before he disappeared.
She blinked at him and then went in search of a brandy snifter. Finding the wide fluted glass on the next shelf down, she poured about an inch into the bottom and swirled the contents.
“That is much better,” Jacques stated with a nod of approval.
“Would you please stop,” Jessie finally said. “I don’t think I can take much more of you. . . . And for your information, I don’t need your help with this. I went to college. I know how to drink.”
“I wondered what they taught these days.”
She rolled her eyes.
“How did you know about the key to this?” Jacques asked.
“The liqueur cabinet?” She laughed, finding the notion funny. “I’m observant if you haven’t noticed.” She took a sip and swirled.
He looked doubtful.
“I see you,” she said as if this qualified her ability.
“You’re Aunt Kate sees me.” He smiled. “I’m fairly certain that it is not her power of observation which allows this.”
“Then what is it?” Jessie took offense. “Are you implying that I’m crazy?”
“I did not say it . . . although—” Jacques left the thought unfinished.
Jessie tossed the contents of the glass back and gasped for air.
“When is the last time you drank?” Jacques asked her.
She ignored the question and poured another. “For your information, my Aunt Katie opened this up for my father when I was here the last time.” She looked at him meaningfully. “That was nearly twenty years ago, yet I still remembered where the key was.”
“And this makes you think you are observant?”
Jessie nodded as she tried to close the cabinet but couldn’t. The bottle of brandy was in the way. She took it out and emptied t
he bottle into the glass.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, no?”
She looked at him through the empty bottle. “Actually, I was just wondering how much I would have to drink to make you go away.” She moved the bottle back and forth, blurring his image with the glass in the bottle. “See? It’s working already.”
“So you still think me a figment of your imagination?” Jacques scoffed, leaping up onto the top of the sofa.
Jessie nodded.
“What about the books at the library?”
“Ah!” Jessie pointed up at him with the same hand that held the glass. “So you did do it!” she accused.
“Non!” Jacques raised a hand to proclaim his innocence. “I had nothing to do with that.”
“Really,” Jessie said sarcastically, “and you expect me to believe that?” She snorted.
He was somewhat disconcerted by the un-lady-like noise. “It was Agnes.” He shivered. “I rarely go in there because of her. She used to be the head librarian sometime during the last century. A ghastly woman, even in life.”
“Are you saying that another ghost is responsible for the fiasco in the library?”
“Oui.” He nodded.
Jessie sighed and went for another bottle.
“I think you’ve had enough.” Jacques floated down in front of the cabinet.
Seeing him block her path, she did something entirely out of character . . . she closed the doors, trapping him inside. “There!” she said triumphantly as she turned the lock. Even though it would only be a moment before he reemerged, she felt somewhat vindicated.
“Let me out of here!” Jacques demanded.
Jessie stood on the outside of the cabinet and smiled. “Are you saying you are stuck in there?”
“Let me out!” His voice sounded panicked.
She wrinkled her brow in puzzlement. “Are you kidding me?” she asked, but there was no answer. She unlocked the doors and threw them wide. Jacques spilled out onto the floor, gasping for breath. “Oh geez, Jacques, are you okay?” She knelt before him on the floor, watching as he faded in and out. “I’ve killed a ghost, which, when you think about it, makes absolutely no sense.”
Treasure of the Jaguar Warrior - Mystery of the Mayan Calendar Page 4
