Sinister Secrets

by Colleen Gleason

  She looked at him with suspicion. “You don’t believe me.”

  “You haven’t told me anything yet, so I can’t decide whether I believe you or not.” He put down his coffee. “Are you in the habit of seeing ghosts?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever seen one before?”

  “No.”

  “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  “Y-yes…well, maybe…well, probably. Oh, hell, yes, I guess I do.”

  He controlled a grin. “Then if you say you saw one last night, I tend to think you did. I have no reason not to believe you.”

  The suspicion was still in her eyes, but her shoulders—which had drawn up closer to her ears—eased back down. “I was asleep, and something woke me up at about two o’clock. It was a loud noise, coming from the foyer. Like something had fallen down—down the stairs or from the ceiling to the floor. I got up and went out there to look, and I saw…something…glowing. Standing. At the far end of the balcony, at the top of the stairs. And the room was really cold. Unusually, oddly cold. And I heard music.”

  Declan was very careful to keep his expression blank, not to betray any of his thoughts while she spoke. “Go on.”

  “I had brought my pepper spray and my phone— Hey, I never thought of that—I wonder what would have happened if I’d sprayed it with pepper spray?” she said, her brows drawing together. “Anyway, I shined my phone’s flashlight toward it. I was still on the ground, just coming out from the hall, and I called out to it—I figured either someone was playing a big joke, or the ghost had finally made its appearance.”

  “The ghost?”

  “Cherry and Orbra claim the place is haunted, that people have been saying it for years.” She shrugged. “I’ve been living here a month and haven’t seen a sign of anything paranormal—until last night.”

  “So what happened after you shouted out at it?”

  “It—came at me. Down the stairs, and I heard that same noise that had woken me up—as if it were running or tumbling down the stairs. It was loud, really loud, and there was music too…and then it disappeared. And afterward, everything was quiet, and I smelled a lady’s perfume in the air. It’s not the kind I wear. And…”

  “And after that?”

  “After that, nothing else happened. Everything was quiet for the rest of the night. But I didn’t sleep much at all.”

  “I can understand why.” Declan lifted his coffee to sip, aware that she was watching him without trying to appear anxious.

  “You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”

  “Not at all. Look, I’ve worked in a lot of old houses like this—on a lot of different locations that have…well, histories. I’ve had my share of strange experiences. Doors slamming when no one’s there. Creaking floors. Unexplained sounds. Even sudden changes in temperature, like you experienced.” He spread his hands. “I have an open mind, and I’m curious.”

  Leslie’s eyes suddenly turned very soft and warm. She glanced down at her tea as if to hide the expression. “Thank you for saying that, Declan.”

  Well, sure. Anytime, babe if it makes you look at me like that. “Mm…have you had a good look around this morning, since all this happened?”

  She shook her head. “I finally fell asleep just before dawn, and I think you woke me when you drove up the driveway. So, no, I haven’t ventured out there yet to see if…to check around.”

  “Want to take a look together?”

  Leslie nodded. “I’m not really afraid of ghosts. I don’t think. I just—it was such a shock. And then it came at me. As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone…” She shrugged again, but her eyes were still a little wide. “Do you mind waiting while I put some clothes on? Have a mini quiche. Make another cup of coffee, if you like. I’ll be right back.”

  “What’re you drinking? It smells good.”

  “It’s chai tea with milk and a little maple syrup for sweetener. There are cups for that too, for the little coffee maker. Help yourself.”

  Declan did as she suggested, wandering around the kitchen with his milky chai tea (not bad at all). Nice tile work on the backsplash. Some of the accent tiles looked like they were custom made, too, and they didn’t look too modern.

  An interesting array of cookbooks—French, vegetarian, wild game, Thai, vegan baking (how was that even possible? didn’t vegans forgo eggs?) and more. There were glass-fronted cabinets with mix-and-match blue and white dishes, and a real fireplace on one wall. He noticed a calendar depicting neat Japanese gardens hanging next to the landline on a small built-in desk with a Mac desktop. He paused when he saw that October 15, next Wednesday, was marked by a small red heart with an “E” written inside it.

  Declan suddenly felt grumbly and annoyed. Who the hell was E? What was up with the heart?

  “All right.” Leslie swept through the door off the kitchen, and Declan caught a glimpse inside the office beyond. “All ready.”

  She had brushed her hair (it was smooth and shiny now) and the scent of minty toothpaste wafted from her. Leslie was now wearing jeans that did great things for her ass, and a light blue “Smitten with the Mitten” t-shirt that displayed the outline of Michigan on it, as well as the shape of her curves beneath it.

  Almost as good as a towel, he decided as he followed her down the hall from the kitchen to the foyer.

  Then he redirected his thoughts and imagined how she would have crept along the same route last night. How many people—men or women—would have investigated something like that while alone in the house, rather than turning tail and bolting? And how many people would have spent the rest of the night in the house after being confronted by what Leslie had seen—or thought she’d seen?

  His estimation of her clicked up another few notches…then clunked back down when he remembered the E-filled heart on her calendar.

  Leslie walked boldly into the foyer, turning on the lamps to give as much illumination as possible—which was to say, not as much as there would be once she finished with the new lighting she’d told him about yesterday.

  Declan looked around and didn’t see anything obviously amiss. The patch of drywall he’d set back in place to close off the stairway to the speakeasy was still intact, and nothing else seemed to be disturbed. The tarp on which they’d piled some of the debris from the dismantled stair railing was still lying on the floor, shuffled up into a pile in the corner. The broom and dustpan remained from last night as well.

  Leslie seemed to agree with his assessment that nothing had been moved, for she made no comment after walking a circle around the entrance hall. She started up the stairway, shining a flashlight on the steps. The beam skimmed back and forth over each stair as she made her way to the top.

  “The—uh—ghost was about here,” she said when she got to the far end of the sweep of stairs, on the opposite side of the high-ceilinged room. “I don’t see anything…” She crouched to look more closely as Declan came up to join her.

  He wasn’t certain what to look for, and this was the first time he’d been upstairs. The balcony was like one side of an H, bisected by a single hallway that ended in a T-intersection at the back end of the house. He saw several doors that surely led to what would become guest rooms, and one door at the end of the corridor. The floor was hardwood, probably oak, that desperately needed to be sanded, buffed, and stained. In general, the upstairs smelled like fresh plaster and paint instead of old house.

  As if reading his mind, Leslie looked up with a wry smile. “Things are moving along slowly but surely up here. I’ll have eight guest rooms in all, five with private baths and two other bathrooms for use. I’ve had all the wiring updated and windows replaced, and the drywall crew is coming tomorrow to finish patching before the paint crew comes on Monday…and that’s just the beginning.” She shook her head, then flapped a hand. “I don’t see anything out of place up here. There’s no dust because so many of us have been in and out, so it’s hard to tell whether what was here was something corporeal or not.” She tur
ned off her flashlight. “Eventually, these floors will be redone…but for now, I’m concentrating on the guest rooms.”

  He automatically offered her a hand and helped lever her to her feet. “Considering what you’ve done in the kitchen, I have no doubt it’s all going to look great. And I can’t believe you’ve got a crew coming on a Saturday. What did you have to do to get them to agree to that?”

  She laughed. “It wasn’t that difficult—it’s a big job here, and the contractor is all about keeping me happy.”

  So what does it take to keep you happy? Declan was becoming more and more interested in giving it a shot. “Should we check in each of the rooms—just in case?”

  “Good idea. Though I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”

  “Me either. But we should be thorough.”

  It took less than ten minutes to check each of the future guest rooms and bathrooms, and once again, Leslie seemed satisfied that nothing was out of place.

  “So…” she said as they descended to the main floor. “If there was anyone here pulling a trick on me, there’s no sign of it. I really think it was a ghost, Declan.”

  He looked at her as she paused on the last step. This put her just slightly below his eye level, with those brown irises close enough for him to see the flecks of black in them. She was looking at him intently—almost as if she wanted him to believe her—but his thoughts scattered when he realized how close she was standing, how good she smelled—all minty and lush and female—and that it had been quite a long time since he’d kissed a woman. And then there was the memory of that ass in those jeans…

  “I…” he began, forcing himself to step back both literally and figuratively. His fingers had gone a little shaky, dammit. “A ghost,” he reminded himself as he moved away from the stairs, ostensibly to check the stability of what was left of the railing. “Well…” He collected his thoughts rapidly. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see if it comes back tonight.” He glanced over as she stepped onto the floor.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest that he could come by later tonight and hang around to see if the specter showed up again, but the daddy gene he hadn’t realized he owned until a few months ago shut that idea down immediately. He wasn’t comfortable leaving Stephanie home alone overnight. And even if he did, he wasn’t certain how he’d explain that he was going to spend the night at her boss’s house.

  Teens could definitely be a complication.

  “Right.” Leslie seemed pragmatic as she set the flashlight down on a small table in the foyer. “And if she doesn’t reappear…well, maybe I could chalk it up to a— No, it wasn’t a dream. I don’t care how crazy it sounds; it was not a dream. I was wide awake. I was freezing and I heard the music, and I felt the hardwood floor under my feet.” Then her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “I’ve never sleep-walked in my life, so don’t even think about that.”

  “I wasn’t!” He grinned at the fierce expression on her face. She was all kinds of cute when she was determined. “So, do you want to go back down there?” He gestured to the patch of wall covering the hidden stairway.

  “I do, but I can’t right now.” She picked up the cell phone she’d left on the foyer table and checked the time. “The tile guy is going to be here in fifteen minutes, and then I have a conference call, and after that I’ve got to make decisions on window treatments so I can get the order placed with the decorator before John Fischer and Iva get here—”

  “John Fischer and Iva?”

  Leslie looked distracted. “He’s a famous writer…I think. You know, Jeremy Fischer? He writes the Bruno Tablenture thrillers. It’s him, but he’s undercover, trying not to be noticed, so going by John. And Iva Bergstrom—you probably know her if you know my aunt—she wants to see if she can sense a ghostly presence here. I’m almost afraid to tell her about last night.”

  “Why?” he asked, but he was trying to pare through her explanation about the “famous writer.” Who was supposedly trying to be undercover…?

  “Because I don’t think I’ll be able to get Iva to leave after she hears that I saw a ghost.” Leslie laughed. “She’s a little intense.”

  But Declan was still stuck on the John Fischer, maybe, probably the famous Jeremy Fischer. He’d seen the Bruno T movies and the books displayed everywhere—but he couldn’t picture the writer.

  And that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

  Declan wanted to ask more, but he realized it would make him sound like he cared too much—or was being too nosy. Which he was. But all of her other visitors were “the tile guy,” “the decorator,” “a conference call”—none of them had a name.

  At least John Fischer wasn’t E-with-a-heart on October 15th.

  “I can come back and remove that drywall in front of the hidden door if you want—what time is Iva coming by?”

  If he was there he might be able to casually find out what, if anything, was going on with the Fischer guy and Leslie. Good grief. Was he actually considering rearranging his day in order to do that?

  “She’s coming at eleven, and thank you, Declan, but that’s not necessary. I know how busy you are. Didn’t you just get a big new project?” she added with a big grin.

  Right. He got the message on that loud and clear: get back to work, O menial laborer of mine. Just like Margie Hamberg, once she’d gotten what she wanted from him. His mood soured. “That’s right,” he said. “I’ll just get going now.”

  Leslie seemed to notice his change of mood, for she looked at him funny, but then her phone rang. “Ugh, sorry, but I have to take this—it’s the plumber I’ve been trying to reach for two days now.” With an abashed smile, she answered the phone, leaving Declan to show himself out.

  To give her credit, Leslie did walk with him back to the kitchen and gave a little wave as he walked through the door. She even followed him out into the yard and looked over when he gestured to the empty tuna can.

  “See you later, Declan,” she called, covering the phone.

  Right. Maybe he’d check in on that massage thing at Beau Monde Salon. He could work out a few kinks—both physically and mentally.

  Eight

  “Oh, look—Orbra’s Tea House is giving out free tea samples!” Emily Delton smiled up at Declan as they pushed their way through the crowd of teenagers and parents toward the bleachers.

  The high school football stadium was packed everywhere—in the seats, walkways, and concessions and rest room lines. It was Homecoming, after all, and because of the upcoming multiyear reunion, there was an unusual number of people at the game, at least according to Emily.

  “We’ll be lucky if we can get a seat in the bleachers close enough to see the girls,” she’d told him when they met up in the parking lot.

  It hadn’t been planned for them to meet up, at least on Declan’s part, but he didn’t mind that they had. After all, he was going to be sitting alone anyway, because Baxter James—who he’d normally hang out with—would be up in the press box covering the game for the paper, and Ethan Murphy, his other friend in town, was back on campus at the University of Chicago. Dec hadn’t been in town long enough to get to know many other people besides a few of Steph’s friends’ parents.

  “It sure got cold overnight,” Emily said as they pushed their way through the masses of people to reach the temporary gazebo Orbra had set up for her sponsorship. “Normally I’d go for hot chocolate, but tea has fewer calories—and it smells delicious.” She smiled up at him, the tip of her nose red with cold and her breath making soft little puffs in the chilly air.

  “That’s Michigan for you,” Declan agreed. “One day it’s seventy degrees, and the next it’s forty. Part of the Lake Michigan effect.” He was glad he’d worn a hat and had gloves; it was going to get really chilly once the sun went down.

  “Tea samples!” called Orbra from behind her table. There was a flurry of activity inside the small square space, which was enclosed by a U-shape of tables and covered by a temporary awning.
Four people worked busily, filling paper cups from the tall silver canisters on a table in the back. “Get your tea samples!”

  “Mmm. This smells good,” said Emily, taking a small cup. The scents of cinnamon and orange wafted through the air.

  “It’s my own special blend. It’s got whole star anise in it. Perfect for autumn,” Orbra said.

  “Hi there, Declan,” said Cherry with a particularly smoldering grin. “You ready to come in and try some hot yoga? Anytime you want, young man, you just let me know—I do private lessons too!”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He laughed, enjoying the meaningless flirtation—though Emily looked back and forth between him and Cherry as if she was scandalized.

  He accepted the steaming tea she offered him just as a woman he realized was Leslie turned around from where she’d been digging out a new sleeve of plastic-wrapped cups from a large box.

  “Stop bothering Declan, auntie,” she said. She met his gaze for just a sec as she handed the man next to him a cup of tea, and Declan was aware of a sudden jolt of heat that had nothing to do with the cup he was holding.

  Her eyes looked particularly big and dark, partly because she was wearing a thick hat pulled down nearly to her brows. It was knitted of cobalt and cream with a big puffball on the top. She looked adorable with the tip of her nose red and her hands in bulky fingerless mittens, and Declan forgot all about E-with-a-heart and the fact that he was merely a laborer in her eyes.

  “Declan gets sweaty enough in his smithy, Aunt Cherry—he doesn’t need your hot yoga too!”

  Whoa. He blinked, then hid his surprise by taking a big slurp of tea. Too hot. Damn. He nearly scalded the inside of his mouth, and managed to hide the fact behind a nervous smile. What did one say to something like that? Was that comment meant to be as flirtatious as it sounded…or was it just meant to be a rebuke for Cherry?

  Not only did he not know, but clearly Emily, who was still looking back and forth between him and the tea ladies, did. “We’d better get some seats before the marching band comes out, Declan, or we’ll be standing all night. See you later, Orbra. Thanks for the tea! It’s wonderful.” She took him by the arm and tugged him away.