Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2)

by Gonzalez, Ani

  "Gabe came over," she admitted with great reluctance.

  "I thought so." Her mom nodded. "He wouldn't let you do this alone." She looked at the walls closely. "Plus you're not very good at painting, and these walls have no streaks."

  Elizabeth stifled a sigh. Her mom couldn't help it. She just couldn't. "He brought in Liam's crew," she explained.

  "He would. He likes doing things right." She looked at Elizabeth. "So, is your father going to get a call? I know the Franco boys, and they are very old-fashioned."

  "Mom!" She squealed. "It's not...we're not..."

  Her mom frowned. "Oh, dear. Did you two fight?" Elizabeth stared at her. "You did fight. About what? You weren't together long enough to have anything to argue about." Her eyes landed on Elizabeth's paint-stained clothes. "Did you fight about Cole?" A slight shake of the head. "No, you wouldn't. You haven't dealt with that yet. You'd fight about something else. Something stupid." Her mom looked at her sharply. "You always pick something stupid to fight about."

  She felt the tears start again. Why was she crying so much? Her mom should be the one breaking down, not her. She was the strong one. She was always the strong one.

  But she didn't feel strong anymore. She felt tired and broken, like the weird glass they used in movie sets. The kind that shattered but stayed in place, the fractures looking like a frozen cobweb. The glass was still standing up, but if you touched it, it would break into a million pieces.

  She felt her mom wrap her arms around her shoulders. The embrace felt awkward—which was only to be expected, as her mom wasn't exactly the touchy-feely type—but comforting. She let the tears flow unchecked.

  Long minutes passed. There was much hugging and indiscriminate sobbing, but the tears finally stopped.

  "Feel better?" her mom asked as she dried Elizabeth's face with an embroidered handkerchief.

  She nodded.

  "Good. You haven't cried enough. I've been a bit worried about that." Her mom looked around the room again. "This was good. It's time to let go. We can't let go without tears, though. I'm glad you finally got there, sweetheart. It's like lancing a boil. It all has to come out so we can begin to heal."

  "I didn't want him to bring in Liam," Elizabeth sniffled. "It was okay until he brought in Liam."

  "Ah, you wanted to paint the room yourself."

  "Yes." Surely she understood that much.

  But her mom's eyes widened in alarm. "You can't paint, sweetie. You never could. You didn't drop another ladder on him, did you?"

  She stifled a sigh. "It wasn't a ladder. It was a cardboard spaceship ramp. And it wasn't my fault. He ran under it."

  "He was trying to keep it from falling on you. Anyway, it's not really about the room, is it?"

  "Of course it's about the room." The pointed comment had hit its mark though. She was starting to wonder if she'd misjudged Gabe.

  Her mom shook her head. "You know, Cole died right before your father's big banking conference in Zurich." Elizabeth knew about the banking conference. She also knew about Greta, the German beauty-queen-turned-journalist who'd helped organize the event. "He didn't have time to deal with the paperwork. And, of course, we had the Army folks, and that reporter came by. I was too grief-stricken to do anything, and you were still in Los Angeles." She glanced around the room, as if remembering how it used to look. "Gabe did it all. He was devastated, but he insisted on helping anyway. He handled all the legal documents too." She blinked the tears away. "There was a lot of stuff to do, and he took care of it. Although he was somewhat rude to that reporter." The thought brought a bittersweet smile to her face. "Then you came home and he disappeared. You stayed, though. I'm so happy you stayed, sweetheart. But sweetie." She looked into her daughter's eyes. "You have to understand one thing. Gabe isn't like your father."

  Elizabeth let that sink in.

  He wasn't. He really wasn't. Then again, she already knew that, didn't she? The way Gabe took on the logistics of Cole's death sounded very much like the way he'd commandeered the room painting.

  And the way he'd taken over the town.

  Which meant she had a lot to think about.

  "I love the pictures. They used to be in the basement, right? They look much better here." Her mom peered at the images. "But aren't we missing one?" She looked around, finally opening the desk drawer. "Here it is." She put the graduation picture next to a photograph taken at Elizabeth's graduation. "That's where it belongs. Your weird hair, and Cole's eccentric college haircut."

  She stood back and admired the desk.

  "Perfect." She turned around briskly. "Ready for Chinese?"

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  ELIZABETH WAS halfway through an egg roll when the doorbell rang.

  "I'll get that," she mumbled absently, thinking about her agent's latest text. A California film company wanted her to audition for their latest project, which was an intriguing prospect. True, it was only a reality show, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and, after a long hiatus, she was definitely a beggar.

  She opened the door and greeted Patricia. Her friend was wearing a pink-and-orange scarf dotted with little ghost silhouettes, and she was carrying a basket. She smiled hesitantly. "You're coming, right?"

  "Coming where?"

  Patricia's smile wavered, but she took a deep breath and seemed to muster up her courage. "To the new, revamped, better-than-ever Banshee Creek Ghost Tour."

  "Already?" Elizabeth voice rose in dismay. "Gabe doesn't waste any time, does he?"

  "It's a bit of an impromptu event," the baker explained. "PRoVE organized it over the Internet. It's kind of like a flash mob. A big surprise, so to speak."

  "I bet they hit send as soon as Gabe got his approval." She couldn't quite hide the bitterness in her voice.

  Patricia winced. "Probably. I think they're filming the event. There's a van with cameras and lots of people in dark suits."

  "He must have had it all planned." Typical Gabe Franco.

  "Anyway, the whole town is lining up along Main Street." She pushed the basket toward Elizabeth. "And I brought this as a peace offering. I hope you'll come join us."

  The basket was filled with candy corn treats. There were rice crispy squares, cookies, and caramel popcorn balls with yellow-and-orange candy chunks. They were carefully wrapped in cellophane with curly ribbons and ghost stickers.

  It was a pretty tempting bribe, but she wasn't open to bribery, especially not from the paranormies.

  "C'mon, be reasonable. We really need your help."

  "Help?" She couldn't hide her surprise. "Help with what?"

  "You'll see. I'll explain everything as soon as you say yes."

  "You're kidding, right?" She tried to moderate her scorn. After all, they were still friends. But her efforts were less than successful. "Why should I help you guys out?"

  Patricia grimaced. "Because you care about the town? Because you still have friends here?" She sighed. "Because you get to say 'I told you so'?"

  The pleading voice was difficult to resist. Not to mention the freshly baked treats. And she sounded distraught. Maybe all was not joy and harmony in PRoVEland? Well, there was only one way to find out.

  "Throw in a pan of brownies—the chocolate kind, not the paranormal kind—and you have a deal."

  She nodded, looking relieved, and Elizabeth took the basket to the kitchen and told her mom to save her the leftover Chinese food. Then she grabbed her coat and scarf and headed out the door with Patricia.

  "What's going on?" she asked.

  Patricia shook her head woefully. "You'll see," she replied, her voice dripping with bitterness. "They're not even trying to be discreet."

  The streets were busy. Groups of people, big and small, some led by lantern-carrying guides, strolled carelessly, joking and taking pictures. The crowds grew thicker as they neared Main Street. She had to hand it to the PRoVE. Their publicity stunts were effective.

  "The tours seem quite popular."

  Patricia snorted. "It's not ju
st the tours. PRoVE brought in new vendors and they're all out-of-towners. They're stealing all of our business. We think the Town Council should have something to say about that."

  "Is that why you brought me here?" she asked, brows raised. "So I can start a fight about the new vendors? It just lost a fight. Why would I start another one?"

  Her friend gave her a sheepish smile. "But you're so good at it," she pleaded. "Won't you please help?"

  "Forget about it. I don't need the aggravation."

  They finally reached Main Street. It was packed. She waved at Holly and Ben, who stood on the opposite sidewalk surrounded by college students in Hauntings and Hoaxes T-shirts. Patricia was right. PRoVE had brought in an army of food trucks. Holly and Ben were waiting in line for a Ghostcake-on-a-Stick, a ghost-shaped slice of cheesecake covered in chocolate. Caine and his posse rode, more like crawled, their bikes through the crowd. A flag with PRoVE's purple-eyed logo fluttered in the back of Caine's bike. Caine was frowning at a Haunted Orchard truck that was serving hard cider sangría in souvenir cups.

  And, most interesting of all, a group of buxom ladies in purple and green lederhosen were distributing cups of beer. The sign over their kiosk read Schwarzwaldrbier Dark: Authentic Black Forest Beer. Come to the Dark Side. She squinted, trying to make out the subheadline. Yep, there it was: Brought to you by Haunted Orchard and Schwarzbier Brewery.

  "See what I mean?" Patricia gestured toward the trucks. "We don't need more dessert businesses in this town."

  "Well, tough cookie. That's what happens when you try to bargain with the devil. Hoisted by your own Ghostcake-on-a-Stick."

  Patricia's glare could've melted steel. "You're mixing your metaphors again. Anyway, I'm taking this straight to the Town Council."

  "Good luck," Elizabeth replied.

  "I don't need luck," her friend wailed. "I need help."

  "Well, keep me out of it."

  "Elizabeth, please."

  "You wanted ghosts. You got ghosts."

  "The ghosts are fine. It's the Ghostcake that needs to be exorcised." Patricia peered at the crowd. "I'm going to find Zach. Maybe he'll listen to reason."

  She snorted. Zach Franco and reason weren't even casual acquaintances. But she did sympathize with her friend. The competition was pretty fierce. A nearby food truck advertised Hades Hot Chocolate and its vehicular neighbor featured Zombie Subs, which didn't sound appetizing at all. But the garish green truck had a long queue, so the Zombie Subs must be at least somewhat palatable.

  A group of tourists jostled her as they rushed toward the Zombie Subs truck. They carried bright orange maps and yellow flashlights with Banshee Creek—America's Most Haunted Town written in gothic script down the side. Well, that did it; she'd never sell a house in this town again. Might as well dust off her acting résumé and headshots and say yes to the reality show casting call.

  Liam walked up to her, carrying two cups of hot chocolate. Elizabeth took one and peeked at the contents. Yep, just as she'd expected, ghost-shaped marshmallows.

  Could this possibly get any worse?

  "Lizzie?" A heavyset man in a black turtleneck sweater stared at her in jovial disbelief. "Lizzie Lovecraft?"

  She stifled a groan. Lizzie Lovecraft was her acting alias. No one in Banshee Creek called her that, and she wanted to keep it that way. But Mr. Black Turtleneck didn't know that. He was grinning and shaking her hand. Liam stood by, curiosity growing on his face.

  "I'm retired now," she said to the man, trying to let him down gently. She hoped he wouldn't ask for an autograph. She'd never live that down.

  Mr. Black Turtleneck's grin did not fade. She noted the firm handshake, the steady gaze. She didn't know him, but she knew the type. This was no fan.

  "And I'm here to change that," he said, still holding her hand. "We've been talking to your agent for weeks."

  Ten minutes later, she had an empty paper cup, a glossy business card bearing the legend "Arcanum Films," and a million ideas rushing through her head.

  She also had a plan.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  GABE SAT in his living room and looked over the Manhattan skyline. He should be working. That was what he usually did when he was at home. He sat on this chair, balancing his laptop, and worked. Sometimes he had a football game on—nothing kept your eyes on a computer screen like a pathetic football performance. The Redskins were actually winning this season, but he still had the New York Jets. The Jets could always be counted on for a catastrophic game.

  And he could use some football dysfunction right now. He had to review his staff's analysis of the Dark Forest Beer test run and yet his eyes kept wandering to the brown leather sofa at the other end of the room and his mind kept picturing Elizabeth in torn dark hose and pretty much nothing else.

  That particular image, however, was extremely unrealistic. If Elizabeth were here, she wouldn't be lounging about in scanty lingerie. She'd be complaining about his Banshee Creek takeover, probably very loudly. But hell, he'd take that. A haughty Elizabeth calling him "ghost tycoon" was almost as enticing as a sexy Elizabeth in torn underwear.

  He shook the thought out of his head. He shouldn't be thinking about her. He'd messed that up royally. Not in the business sense, of course. PRoVE was doing fantastically well. The Haunted Orchard project was running on all cylinders, and his investors were ecstatically happy. His little Banshee Creek adventure was going to net him a lot of money.

  But it had lost him Elizabeth.

  And his Manhattan penthouse didn't supply much in the way of distraction. It was all straight lines and shiny surfaces, and there wasn't much furniture. He'd chosen an extremely expensive minimalist decorator on purpose. He'd wanted nothing in his home that could distract him from work. Today that didn't seem like a very good decision.

  The gourmet dinner his personal chef had left in the kitchen didn't help. The covered trays and calla lilies reminded him of the Middleburg Inn tea service. But his dinner didn't include a red velvet cake, though, or a gorgeous half-naked girl on a leather sofa, laughing at him.

  He looked out the wall of windows again. His view of the Manhattan skyline had cost eight figures; it should be good for something.

  It wasn't.

  Yep, he could really use a red zone interception right now. He could also use a new sofa. Maybe he should purchase that white linen thing his decorator had pushed on him. Anything, as long as it wasn't leather.

  Giving up, he set the laptop aside and moved to the bedroom. The fantasies about Elizabeth wouldn't follow him to the bedroom. After all, he hadn't actually gotten to make love to her on a bed.

  The sleek, metal bedside table was buried under a pile of reports. He picked one on Chilean mining, laid down on his platform bed, and started to read. The bed didn't even have a headboard, so he couldn't imagine tying Elizabeth to anything.

  Yeah, good thing they'd never made it to a bed.

  A couple of days more, and he would have been a goner. He wouldn't have let her go. He would have ended up in a haunted house in Banshee Creek with her, no doubt about it. Maybe even that run-down farmhouse with the withered apple trees. There probably would have been an engagement ring involved.

  And some kind of metal bed with a sturdy headboard.

  His reports fell on the floor and he was startled out of his daydream. He swung his legs over the bed and sat up, cursing in several languages. What the hell was he doing daydreaming about Elizabeth?

  They were over. Done for.

  Well, his brain clearly had not gotten the memo. His vaunted self-discipline was useless against thoughts of Elizabeth.

  He was crossing the living room when he heard Zach's ringtone coming from the general direction of the sofa. He picked up the smartphone, noticed and ignored several messages from Salvador, and put it to his ear.

  "Did you know Mom is taking a Spanish cuisine tour?" Zach said. "And that you're paying for it?"

  "What are you talking about?" He'd offered to pay for his mom's dre
am vacation many, many times, so that wasn't surprising. But why was she taking off now? And why was Zach so upset about it?

  "She's taking Mary Hunt with her. She says Mary needs a change of scene."

  "That's great."

  It was the perfect solution. Mary's separation was a shock and she could use some time away. Two weeks of paella and red wine would cheer her up no end. He should call and make sure Mary's travel expenses were put on his credit card. Elizabeth's father had taken most of his money to the Cayman Islands, so the woman was probably short of funds.

  "No," Zach replied, an anxious edge to his voice. "It's not great. It's the opposite of great. First, they're going to that restaurant that does the foam food. That means Mom is going to come back and cook beef tongue foam and, worst of all, she's going to make me eat it."

  Gabe winced in sympathy. Salvador had taken him and a group of clients to a foam restaurant. It hadn't been pretty. He couldn't imagine what his mom would come up with after the tour. Some people needed to have their culinary horizons broadened, but Isabel Franco wasn't one of them.

  "And as if that weren't enough hellishness," Zach's tirade went on, "it means I'm stuck alone with Dad. It's going to be like Chinese water torture, but with chess pawns."

  "Think of it as a bonding opportunity."

  His smartphone showed an e-mail coming in. It was from a real estate agency. Strange, the only real estate deal he had was in hiatus. He opened the e-mail.

  "I'd rather not," his brother informed him, the statement followed by a long pause. "I'd rather you take him."

  "Me?" Gabe replied absently. He wasn't paying attention. He was reading the e-mail.

  "Sure. I can put him on a plane to Manhattan tomorrow morning. He can play chess in Washington Square Park. He loves that park."

  "I don't live anywhere near Washington Square Park, Zach," he answered automatically. His attention was no longer on the conversation.

  "You can have your driver take him around. You won't even have to deal with him," Zach pleaded.

  "No can do," he reiterated absently, staring at the screen. He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Maybe there was such a thing as second chances?