by Terri Grimes
He regarded me for several moments.
“Can we start over, Miss Sugarbaker?” The rich baritone of his voice was smooth as butter melting on a hot baking powder biscuit at one of Grandma’s Sunday dinners.
“Start over?”
“Yes, just like we’ve never met before. In fact, I could even go outside on the porch and knock at the door if it will help.”
Oh, he was a charming one all right. I’d do best to keep my wits about me around him. I sensed he was more dangerous than my ghost. My gaze followed his movements as he stood and walked to the front door, closing it gently behind him. A second later, there was a knock at the door.
I waited for him to come back into the room.
“Yoo-hoo. Anybody home?” he called though the closed door, knocking again.
“Dang it all.” Of all the times to get an attack of the grins, it would have to be now. That just figured. I attempted to force the smile off my face as I strode to the hallway and opened the ancient wooden door. A poor attempt, I’m afraid.
“Hello, I’m Sam Valentine. How nice to meet you at last, Miss Sugarbaker,” he said, his hand extended once again. He was humoring me. That much was clear from his tone.
Oh, what the hell.
Despite my best efforts, my lips parted in a wide smile. Damn that man. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mister Valentine. Please come in.”
He bent at the waist, bowing to me. “Why thank you, Miss Sugarbaker. That’s mighty hospitable of you.” He took a seat on the pink and green sofa again.
I sat down on the wing chair and waited to see how he was going to play this.
He pulled a folder out of the worn brown leather case laid across the coffee table. I could see my name on the tab of the folder. Humor aside, now he was all business.
“I’ve read through your file, Miss Sugarbaker. Can you tell me, have you always felt there was a presence in your home?” He looked at me, his long lashed eyes boring into mine.
“No, not at all. This was always such a quiet and peaceful house,” I said, shaking my head with dismay. Tears burned at the back of my eyes as I thought of how swiftly things had changed in the past several months.
Sam looked at me with an expression of genuine concern on his face. “When did all that change?” He scooted to the edge of the sofa and grabbed my hand, rubbing it between his own in an attempt to comfort me. It worked. Boy howdy, did it work.
“You are going to think this is crazy and I’m imagining things.”
“No, no I won’t,” he insisted with earnest.
I took a deep breath, slowly exhaling before I spoke. “It all changed when we had the earthquake.”
I was surprised when I saw his brow rise. Amanda must have put that fact in my folder. But he acted as if this was the first he heard about my earthquake theory. It was obvious from the notations peppering the margins on the pages contained in the folder that Sam had read through the contents very thoroughly. I could only draw one conclusion. She hadn’t included one of the most important facts about my case. Nonetheless, it was apparent from his arched brows that he did think I was off my rocker to blame my ghost problem on an earthquake.
“Told you. I knew you would think I was nuts.”
He released my hands. “That’s not fair. I never said you were crazy.”
“You didn’t have to. Your expression said it all.”
“Miss Sugarbaker,” he murmured in a rich baritone, apparently opting to take the professional route with me. “I am not here to judge. What I am here to do is to listen and investigate according to what you tell me. Believe me, in my years in the business, I’ve seen it all.”
Funny, but wasn’t that the same thing Amanda had said just before she looked at me like I was off my nut?
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it. In this line of work, by the time we get to the client, everyone before us has made them feel like they were one step away from the loony bin.”
Hmmm… like the way your case manager treated me, I wanted to say aloud.
“Now, what sort of things started occurring after the earthquake?” His lips curved into a pleasant smile.
I skipped the part about the magnetized medallion popping out of my bedroom wall during the earthquake. He probably already thought I was nuttier than a pecan fruitcake, so why add to the mix? “At first it was minor things. Little stuff like doors creaking, cold spots and the feeling that someone was watching me. Soon it escalated and next thing I knew light bulbs were burning out left and right, almost as soon as I put them in. It got to the point where every light bulb in the house was being changed at least once a week and some twice.”
I saw Sam nodding his head as his pen scratched on the paper. It was apparent from his reaction he had heard these types of occurrences many, many times before.
“I told myself it was mere coincidence. But when the televisions started turning on by themselves, I knew something wasn’t right. Looking back, I can see I was in denial until the ghost locked me in the bathroom.”
“We get that quite frequently in an active location,” he murmured, while still writing in his notepad.
“Ghosts locking people in bathrooms?”
“No. Denial.” He stopped and looked up at me. “Have there been occasions where you may have seen or felt interaction?”
I nibbled on a hangnail as I summoned the courage to relive the more recent events. It wasn’t something I enjoyed thinking about, much less discussing. I took a deep breath. “I guess it was about two weeks ago when I was home alone, just minding my own business. I was outside, weeding the flower bed at the bottom of the front walkway.”
“I saw that flower bed as I came in. You have quite the green thumb, Miss Sugarbaker.”
I smiled at the compliment.
“Black, if truth be known. My grandmother planted an idiot-proof garden with every flower bulb imaginable. Colorful flowers magically pop out of the ground all spring, summer and even into the fall. All I have to do is weed every now and then.”
He smiled wide, showing that gorgeous rack of even, white teeth. “We should all be so lucky.”
“Yes, my grandmother was one of a kind,” I wished she were here now. She’d take care of that nasty old ghost in a heartbeat. Grandma didn’t mess around when her family’s safety was in jeopardy.
Just thinking about my grandma brought an overwhelming sadness to my heart. I gave myself a little shake to clear my head. Then, forcing myself to focus, I continued. “So, as I was saying, just as I opened the front door and stepped inside, I heard a rustling sound coming from one of the bedrooms upstairs. I couldn’t imagine who or what it could be since I knew no one could have come in the house without my seeing them.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I’m not blind.”
“A back door perhaps?”
“Are you doubting me?”
“Lady, it’s my job. I have to ask.”
How had I gone from being addressed as Miss Sugarbaker to Lady? I let it pass… this time.
“Well, anyway, I ran upstairs and looked all around, but, of course, no one was there. Then, just as I started down the steps, I felt…”
“Yes,” his deep voice said. “You felt what?”
“I felt someone—” I uttered a tiny nervous giggle. “Touch me.”
“Touch you? You mean an icy feeling on the arm or was it more like a tug on the back of your clothing?”
“No, it wasn’t like that at all.” Several seconds passed as he waited for me to elaborate. I didn’t oblige.
“Well, what was it like?” He moved to the edge of the couch cushion, his gaze intent on mine. “I’m a professional, Miss Sugarbaker. I assure you, what you share with me is strictly confidential.”
“I’m sorry, Mister Valentine,” I said between clenched teeth. “It’s very difficult to talk about.”
His mood changed when he noticed my distress. “I’m the one who is sorry. I kno
w that this can’t be an easy thing to talk about, particularly with someone you barely know.”
I blushed as a brief image of waking up in his bed flashed across my mind.
Still poised on the edge of the cushion, he patted the back of my hand. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. My only defense is that’s it’s been a long day and I’m anxious to do the preliminary walk through so I can get a feel for what we are dealing with. Please, let’s just start over, shall we?”
He seemed to be a big fan of starting again. This was the second time since he’d arrived that he asked for a do-over. If I had my choice of do-over, I would have begun by not sleeping with him the night before. I gave him a glance. Okay, maybe my do-over would have actually been to have drunk less so I could have remembered sleeping with him. He was pretty hot.
Nonetheless, I nodded in agreement. Then continuing, I took a deep breath as he sat back against the cushions. “It was similar to…” My voice dropped down to a whisper. “To someone touching me inappropriately on the subway.”
His voice hushed, matching mine. “How inappropriate?”
My gaze fell to my left breast and then to my right breast before lifting to meet his. “Extremely inappropriate.”
“Ah, I see.” His face blazed bright red. I had to believe he did indeed see.
Seven
Twenty minutes later Sam Valentine slid the case folder with my name on it back into his briefcase, closing the brown leather valise with a snap.
“So, you’ll be getting rid of my problem tonight?”
“Your problem?”
“The ghost.”
“Ah, the ghost. I must tell you, Miss Sugarbaker, not everyone sees a ghost as a problem. You do realize ghosts aren’t like cockroaches. We don’t come in your house, spray some chemical along the baseboards and voila—like magic all of your paranormal activity is gone. It just doesn’t work like that.”
Drat. Not being the most patient person, quick and easy was just what I’d been hoping for. I should have known better.
I pushed my bottom lip out in what I hoped was a sexy pout. “Why not? As far as I’m concerned, my ghost is a pest so wouldn’t that fall under the category of pest control? Can’t you spray a little holy water in the cracks and crevices and bam—no more ghost?” I curved my lips into a hopeful smile, stopping just short of batting my eyelashes.
“Not quite. First we need to determine what type of paranormal entity we are dealing with and then—”
I cut him off mid-sentence. “Have you been listening to a single word I’ve been saying? I already know what kind of paranormal thingy it is that I’ve got. I told you, he’s a ghost. You know, Casper with an attitude.”
“I understand that, Miss Sugarbaker,” he said with a firm but patient tone as if he were talking to a five year old. “To put it in terms you can understand, we need to determine what type of entity and then the reason for the haunting, if indeed it is a haunting.”
If it’s a haunting? Now I knew he hadn’t been listening to what I’d been telling him for the last twenty minutes. What the hell?
“What do you mean, if it’s a haunting? A ghost is a ghost is a ghost,” I sputtered, red faced with frustration as I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out and blow a raspberry at him. How many times did I have to tell this hazel eyed, muscle ridden, hunk of a man that it was a ghost! “Is it that you don’t believe me? You think I’m making this up?”
“Oh, I believe you all right. It’s not that at all. Sorry, but not only does it take more than paranormal activity for an investigator to label a place haunted, but there is more than one type of entity. They’re not all ghosts like you seem to think.”
“You mean there are good ghosts and bad ghosts, similar to good cop, bad cop? Is that what you mean by there being more than one type of entity? I’m not sure I’m following you.”
“Granted, dark entities get most of the press and rightly so, because some of them can be pretty freaking fearsome. But there’s a whole plethora of spirit beings and each one with their own agenda.”
“Oh, great, a ghost with an agenda. Now that scares me to death. No pun intended, of course.”
“Of course,” he said, his lips curved at the corners as he shook his head a couple of times as if he didn’t quite believe what was coming out of my mouth.
“What type of spirit do you normally encounter on your investigations? The dark entities I bet, right?”
He leaned back into the sofa cushion, extending his legs out in front of him. “You might be surprised, but evidence has proven that the majority of intelligent hauntings are by benign spirits which mean us no harm.”
“Benign?” I asked, subconsciously checking out the size of his feet, pleased to note they were a size twelve or perhaps even a size thirteen. There’s a lot of truth in certain myths and what could I say? It had been a drought for some time now. Too bad I couldn’t remember the night the drought ended.
“Good ghosts.”
“Oh,” I said nodding my head knowingly.
He continued, “In fact, they are quite often positive and protective influences that some people think are more commonly known as guardian angels or spirit guides. To be honest, more often than not, it’s just a grandmother or some other relative intent on watching over us and protecting us.”
I let the information sink into my overly saturated brain. It had been a long day for me too and there was a lot to absorb. I shifted in my chair.
“Why is it that some people can sense spirits while others can’t?”
He shrugged. “For some people the veil is thinner. Take children, for instance. Open and trusting, they are the perfect conduits. If you put a child and an adult in the same room, both experiencing the same paranormal activity, the child will accept what they see and hear without question. The adult however, will dismiss the activity as an over active imagination. For the average adult, the veil is thicker than a brick wall.” He laughed at his joke.
I drew my feet underneath me as I shifted my body in the chair again. I was more than done with explanations. I was anxious for him to start the actual investigation so he could get rid of my paranormal problem. It would be great if I could sleep in my own bed without the fear of an inappropriate horn dog of a ghost pinching my nether regions.
“Come on though, you can’t blame us. From an early age on, we’re told that things that bump in the night don’t exist. So it’s natural that we would disregard paranormal experiences even to the point of rejecting them outright.”
He chuckled again. “Funny that we tell kids to believe in things that don’t exist like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, but we tell them not to believe in things that do exist, like spirits.”
“I’d never thought of it like that before but I can tell you, whatever is in my house isn’t a kindly old aunt or guardian angel. It’s a horndog trying to get his freak on by grabbing my girlie bits.”
“That may be. But the important thing to remember is that ghosts were once human beings just like us. They’re just disembodied people. And as human beings, some are nice, some are not. Just because you die, that doesn’t change your soul. If you were an angry jerk in life, you can bet you’ll be an angry jerk in death. But nonetheless, they’re still people, just like you and I. So what’s to be scared about?”
He stared at me intently. He wasn’t shaking his finger in my face, but I had the distinct impression that he would have liked to.
“Okay, if you say so,” I said with hesitation.
The heavy sigh that escaped his lips screamed exasperation.
“Listen,” he said. “Just look at it like your Aunt Cora was popping in for a quick visit from the other side to say hello. Now that wouldn’t be so scary, would it?”
“Yeah, it would.”
His brow knitted together as he cocked his head. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why would a visit from Aunt Cora be scary?”
“Because I’ve never had an Aunt Cora.”
There was a mo
ment of silence as he regarded me, his face void of emotion. Then, throwing his head back, he laughed so hard his eyes glistened with tears. What could I do? I laughed too. Our voices were melodic as the sounds of our amusement blended.
“I’m sorry, Miss Sugarbaker, I didn’t mean to laugh at you,” he said after our laughter abated.
“No apology needed, but if it’s okay I’d prefer to think you laughed with me, not at me. And please, call me Gertie,” I offered. Hell, we’d slept together just twenty-four hours earlier, so why were we still calling each other by our surnames? Shouldn’t we be beyond that formality by now?
“All right, but only if you’ll call me Sam,” he said with a crooked half grin that further accentuated his good looks.
“Okay, I will, Sam,” I said with a nod and my best Colgate smile.
“Tell you what, Gertie,” he said, standing. “How about I bring my equipment in and set it up and we can do a preliminary sweep of the hot spots, or what we like to call baseline tests, just to see what it is that we’re dealing with here.”
A delighted shiver ran up my spine as my name rolled off his tongue.
“Sounds great. Let me come out and help you carry in your equipment.”
Rising from my chair, I lurched off balance, almost toppling over. I would have fallen flat on my butt if two strong arms hadn’t encased me, drawing my body against a firm, yet luscious chest.
“Are you okay?”
I blushed. “Yes,” I said, looking up at him. “I guess my foot fell asleep.”
He continued to hold me as he looked down at my upturned face and our gazes locked. It seemed as if he could see into my soul, deep down. After what felt like an hour, but was more aptly only a minute, I came to my senses.
“I think I’m okay now,” I said in a whisper, reluctantly breaking out of his embrace. If ever there was a textbook definition of sexual tension, that was it. I was still heady with the experience. My mind said back off, while my body cried out for more. I pushed it out of my mind as I followed Sam to his van.
Several minutes, later his arms were stacked with the two large black cases he unloaded from the back of the van, while I had the duty of carrying two small walkie-talkies and a clipboard. It would seem chivalry was alive and well in Indianapolis. I wasn’t anxious to be anyone’s pack mule so I wasn’t complaining. What can I say? Momma didn’t raise no fool.
