Holly brought in the food and passed it around. For a refreshing change, she didn't stick her dirty thumb into it. Clive thanked her through gritted teeth. She'd probably been licking all the spoons in the kitchen all day. He would have insisted Tilda fire the woman years ago, if he didn't feel so guilty about what happened to her. That day Holly had her accident and was trampled by the horses was still a blur to the brain-injured woman. She didn't remember what happened, but he did. He'd scared the pair of skittish mares on purpose. He wanted to get the attention of the arrogant young woman leading the tour. It hadn't worked, and Holly had paid the price.
And now Clive's punishment was having to look at the woman's crooked face whenever he was at the ranch, and eat her germs in the food.
He passed the bowl of chile around the table and looked down at this week's art students. The boy, Lance or Lee or whatever his name was, thought he was so clever, but he was as transparent as a clear mountain stream. The girl, Katie, would be pretty enough if she actually sat up straight and said a word or two without someone having to drag a response out of her.
Even this afternoon, at their little “intervention,” Katie had barely said anything about her missing roommate. What was her excuse? That the trip had already been paid for under the missing girl's name? It was sick. She was sick. Clive didn't believe her lies for a minute. As soon as he got her alone, he'd get the truth out of her. Katie had something to do with Darlene's disappearance. She knew more than she was letting on.
Clive picked up his spoon and forced a bite of stew into his mouth. He had no appetite whatsoever, and his digestive system hurt all the way up his neck. When he swallowed, the pain at the back of his throat intensified. He forced down the meal and ignored the tightening in his chest. His heart was fine. He'd had a full physical a month earlier, when he'd gone in for the procedure, and the doctor had given the ol' ticker a clean bill of health.
While Clive forced his food down quietly, the younger three at the table bickered like siblings, trying to get Tilda's attention.
Marco was regressing before Clive's eyes, becoming a child instead of a man. He could be so stubborn. He couldn't take responsibility for himself, take ownership of his own career, let alone take charge of the family.
Clive stared at Tilda and scowled. Oh, how she loved to hurt him. Kind one minute, cruel and withholding the next. She had no idea what he did for her. The sacrifices he'd made. The big plans he had.
Tonight, after he took care of some other business, he would clear off her computer. And then he would cover his tracks by burning down her entire art studio. It would be the best thing to happen for them both. He'd blame the two idiot kids, collect the insurance money, and have the last laugh.
Hell, news about Tilda's latest pieces being burned up would probably increase the value of everything else. The art world ran on greed and scarcity.
They'd all be rich.
Chapter 8
KATIE MILLS
Katie's second dinner at Spirit Ranch was more relaxed than the first one. The group's “intervention” about her secret had broken the ice in a way. She'd felt comfortable at the meal, even joking around with Marco and Lee, the three of them pretending to bicker like siblings trying to get Mom's—Tilda's—attention.
The food was delicious. She took a second helping, as did most of the others. She didn't notice Clive Kingfisher hiding his uneaten food under his napkin.
After dinner, Katie helped Holly in the kitchen with dishes again.
Once more, Clive came in to observe and supervise.
Katie got a deja vu feeling. They'd done this same routine the night before.
Clive took a soapy dish from her hands.
“Katie, stop playing mousy housewife,” he said. “Come and join us in the social room for a nightcap.”
Nightcap meant drinks, and she wasn't supposed to drink with her medication. She muttered a noncommittal response.
Clive gave her an amused look, his straight, silver-flecked dark eyebrows rising up his wide, rectangular face.
“You could at least try to be sociable,” he said. “Isn't that why you came here? You could have painted at home. You could have watched Tilda's workshops on the internet.”
“I'm tired,” she said.
Clive snorted. “Tired? Wait until you're my age. Then you'll know tired.”
She shrugged.
“You twenty-somethings,” he said with a head shake. “Especially you girls. You're so in love with the idea of being broken. Is that what you are, Katie Mills? Are you a stunned sparrow with a broken wing?”
She gave him a sidelong look and nearly smiled. The idea of being broken was something that did come up with Katie and her friends. Their mothers didn't understand; they didn't know what it was like to grow up in these times, on a steady diet of the internet and instant fake intimacy with strangers just a swipe away. A person wasn't equipped for this life, no sooner than they were equipped to fly through the broken windscreens of the first motor vehicles. There had been a time of cars without seat belts. And now this life, this time in human history, was without seat belts again. Some day in the future they would look back on this time in horror, but for now Katie was fixed in time. All of them were.
How could she express this to a man of Clive Kingfisher's age? Even if she could find the words, would he hear them?
“No,” she said. “I'm not a sparrow with a broken wing.”
“Then be a person,” he said, and he left to join the others.
Katie was left with her feelings.
She checked her phone until the feelings went away.
After a few minutes, she looked up, surprised to find herself in an unfamiliar kitchen, at Spirit Ranch. She'd been reading about the latest drama with some of the other girls at the dorm. There was a war waging between the vegans and the vegetarians. The omnivores were egging them on, happy to see them turning on each other over the use of pots and pans. A few of the girls who kept kosher were using the battle to make a run for more cupboard space.
Katie had been transported, like a ghost, back to the dorms. She blinked at her surroundings and rubbed the tile floor with her toe. She was here, in New Mexico.
Holly must have forgotten Katie was there as well. The housekeeper turned around with a platter in her hand, saw Katie, and let out a gasp of fright.
“Sorry,” Katie said, slipping her phone into her pocket. “I was just checking my messages.”
Holly held her hand over her heart. “I thought you were the ghost.”
“Do you see ghosts? Tilda said the women in your family have a gift.”
“A curse,” Holly spat. “Not a gift. A curse. It's in our blood.”
Marco entered the kitchen, announced by his shuffling footsteps. “Something bad in the blood? Sounds like the curse I got.” He waved one hand over his head. “Red hair. Family curse.”
Holly narrowed her eyes at him. “Not the same,” she said without a trace of humor.
“Holly, I would trade you if I could,” Marco said. “I'd love to see dead people. You take my crazy red hair and I'll take your ghosts. I'll start a psychic business and make a fortune reuniting people with their loved ones.”
Holly spoke through gritted teeth. “Don't you dare mock me.”
Marco let out a nervous chuckle and turned to Katie. He pointed his thumb at Holly. “That's the look she gets before she takes you over her knee and gives you a spanking with a wooden spoon.”
Katie stifled her laugh. She didn't dare cause Holly to have another screaming meltdown. The woman's fiery temper was already blazing just under the surface.
“I sense she wants us out of her kitchen,” Marco said. “Come have a drink. Or, as the old Mr. Fish would say, a nightcap.” He lifted his shoulders into a rectangular block and stiffened his neck, doing an impression of Clive. “Let's all have a nightcap,” he said in a deep, mocking voice.
Katie smirked. “How could I say no to that?”
Holly made a
scoffing sound and continued putting away dishes. “Count me out,” she said.
Marco gave Katie an eyebrow waggle and led the way out of the kitchen.
He stopped in the hallway and held up his hand for her to stop as well. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly. It was the first time they'd been alone together, and she couldn't help but notice how much space he took up in the narrow hallway without even trying. His shoulders were broad. He had some roundness and was no calendar model, but he was also muscular, solid. Substantial. Older than the boys she went to school with. And despite his jokes about his cursed red hair, he was attractive.
“Something's up,” he said. “I get this weird feeling when I see my mother and Clive give each other looks. It's horrible.” He made a gagging sound. “Can you help me keep them apart? Like, physically?”
She brought her hand up to cover her mouth. “What? They're hooking up?”
“Ew,” he said quickly. “No. Never. It's not like that. She would never. I mean... Clive? Do you think? Sometimes the young girls who stay here find him charming. I don't see it, but there's no accounting for taste.”
She kept her hand covering her mouth so he couldn't see the grin she got when she detected juicy drama. Clive and Tilda hooking up? This was even better than the dietary warfare happening back at the dorm.
“Old people have needs, too,” she said.
He made the retching sound again.
Quickly, she added, “Sorry. I didn't mean to say that.”
“Do your parents date?”
“Just each other,” she said.
A laugh burst out of him, unexpectedly loud. “Katie, you're hilarious.”
She dropped her hand from her mouth and grinned. “What I mean is, they're still together. Happily married, after thirty-three years and a whole bunch of kids.”
He leaned against the hallway's adobe wall casually. “A bunch of kids, huh? That must have been nice growing up.” His voice got low and gravelly in a way that sent tingles down Katie's spine and made her even more aware of his presence. “Tell me, Katie. Are you the baby of the family?”
She nodded. “I'm the bonus kid,” she said. “Mom went in to get her tubes tied, did the test right before, and found out the rabbit died.”
Marco frowned. “What?”
“It's an old-fashioned expression,” she explained. “My mother found out she was pregnant. In the old days, they used rabbits in the hospital to test for pregnancy. They injected rabbits with the woman's urine, and used them to detect a certain hormone.”
Marco looked genuinely appalled, like she'd just told him unicorns were real and she'd eaten one for breakfast.
“I never knew,” he said. “I've heard people laugh when they say the rabbit died. How can people find that funny?”
“Actually, it's technically wrong,” she said. “They had to open the rabbit to examine its ovaries, so the rabbits always died, whether the woman was pregnant or not.”
“That's barbaric,” he said.
The smile fell off Katie's lips. A chill traveled up her back. “Darlene said the same thing. We had this exact same discussion, right after we first became roommates, and I was telling her about my big family.”
Marco coughed and straightened up, pushing himself away from the wall. His palm was damp and left an impression of moisture on the smooth surface.
“Was she pregnant? Your roommate? The missing girl, Darla?”
“Darlene.”
“Yeah. Was she?”
Katie pressed her lips together in a grim line. “I don't know,” she said, though it was a lie. She'd been told by the detectives on the case not to tell that detail to others. “It's a theory.”
“Bad things happen to girls who get pregnant by someone who doesn't want to be a father.”
She whispered, “I know.”
He looked down and clapped his hands together with an audible slap. “So, what did your mother do? Did she think about not having you?”
“I don't know,” she answered honestly. “She doesn't talk about that part. When she tells the story, she goes straight into finding out she was having a girl, finally, after all those boys. She said I was her bonus baby, the reward for her hard work.”
He kept looking down at his hands. “Your mother sounds like a really nice lady.”
“She's the apple pie of moms,” Katie said. That was what Darlene had called her. “You'd like her. She's kind of the opposite of your mom.”
He flicked his eyes up. “You don't like my mother?”
She took a step back. This was exactly why she kept quiet and didn't open up. People always took your words and twisted them. They'd misunderstand you on purpose, to make you feel bad. To gain the upper ground. To be offended, high and mighty.
He unclasped his hands and lunged forward, reaching for her shoulder.
Katie twisted her body and stepped back from his grasp, bumping against the wall clumsily.
“Sorry,” she said.
Someone else entered the hallway behind Marco. It was Tilda.
“There you are,” Tilda said. “Marco, don't chase the girls.” She swatted him on the back of the head. “It's bad enough the poor pretty young things have to fight off Clive, darling.”
“Mom, I wasn't...” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Go to the wine cellar,” she said. “Bring us up what's left of the good brandy.”
He muttered an affirmative response and shuffled away.
Tilda reached for Katie's elbow and dragged her toward the social room. “My goodness, little one! You're practically freezing. Come and warm yourself by the fire.”
Chapter 9
The crackling of the fire was hypnotic and relaxing. Thanks to her nap after the day's outdoor painting, Katie was getting her second wind, and it was a mellow wind.
She sat on the stone hearth, as close to the roaring open fire as was deemed safe by Lee Elliot. He explained about the chunks of burning wood that might shoot out suddenly due to there being no mesh screen or doors on the large fireplace. He'd even taken off his shoe and sock to show Katie the scar between two of his toes, where an ember had shot out and burned him on a childhood camping trip.
Clive sat in his armchair, watching Lee with an expression of disgust. “Don't show a woman your toes,” Clive barked at Lee. “Act like a man!”
Lee put on his sock and shoe before quietly making his way over to a comfortable seat that was the furthest away from the older man. He crossed his arms and settled into the sofa.
“Now he's sulking,” Clive said to Katie.
Lee straightened up when Katie looked at him. He shot her a challenging look, eyes wide.
Katie pulled out her phone and caught up on the recent events back at her dorm. The vegetarians were losing ground and losing cupboard space. With the warm fire at her side, a few sips of brandy in her belly, and drama confined to her phone screen, this was contentment.
After a few minutes, Clive said, “Aren't we a lively bunch?”
“Mmm,” Tilda said, barely looking up from the book she was reading. “Artists must live boring lives so they can produce brilliant work.”
“You weren't boring last night,” Clive said.
She didn't even look up from her book. “Oh, Clive. Don't be silly.”
Marco caught Katie's eye and made a gagging expression. Katie looked at the man with the tight face and ponytail, and then at Tilda. Was there something going on between the two of them? She couldn't tell, other than that Clive wanted there to be something, or wanted the others to think perhaps there was.
Clive looked directly at Katie. “Aren't you getting hot over there, sitting so close to the fire?”
“It's nice,” she said.
He glanced at the window briefly. “Might be a nice night to go for a moonlight stroll. I may have another brandy to fortify myself and then go for a walk.”
Tilda lowered her book. “Really?”
“You're not invited,” he said with a snippy air. “You'd ruin it with your chatter.”
She snorted and went back to her book.
Clive chuckled to himself and turned his attention to Marco. “What about you, son?”
Marco bristled visibly. “Don't call me that.”
“I'm all you've got, boy. I don't see your father around here to make a real man out of you.”
Marco replied, “And I don't see any real men around here.”
Lee cleared his throat.
They ignored Lee and continued their verbal sparring.
Clive sipped his brandy and smacked his lips noisily. “Marco, why don't you tell young Katie how you make a living? She might be intrigued.”
Katie felt herself begin to sweat. It was warm on the hearth by the fire, and hearing her name being invoked by Clive didn't help. She pressed her lips together and kept her eyes on her phone.
“At least I work,” Marco said to the older man. “I don't make a living taking a cut of someone else's hard work, like a pimp.”
Lee interjected, “You do sculpture, right?”
Marco shot Lee a dark look. “You're not helping.”
Lee held up both hands and said to Tilda, “Good book you're reading?”
She ignored him, as did the others.
“I work,” Clive said. “You have no idea what I've done for your mother.”
“Oh, but I think I do,” Marco said. “You spend the money. That's what you do. And from what I've seen of the accounts, you've been working overtime at it.”
“Stick to your sculpture and your toys,” Clive said. “Stay out of my business.”
“It's my mother's business,” Marco said.
Lee interjected again, “Artists are notoriously bad at managing their own investments.”
Clive shot Lee a scathing look. “Lance, if I wanted crap from you, I'd squeeze your head.”
“It's Lee.” His cheeks turned scarlet.
“Whatever, Lance.” Clive grinned and took another sip of his brandy.
Holly came in with a tray to clear some dishes. Everyone was quiet, except for Lee, who kept clearing his throat. By the look on his face, Katie guessed he was trying to come up with the perfect insult to lob back at Clive. How quickly things had soured for Lee, who'd been worshiping Clive as recently as the taxi ride there the day before.
Dancing with a Ghost (Restless Spirits Cozy Ghost Mysteries Book 3) Page 5
