by Lisa Cach
“Oh. Oh, dear.”
“You know I don’t believe in that crap, but I admit the damn things make me uneasy. They’re just superstitious nonsense, of course, but I can’t quite bring myself to touch them.” He laughed at himself.
“I wonder what trouble those two women created for themselves, what sort of experiments they may have tried.” Megan took a sip of her wine. “What sort of portal they may have opened and what may have come through it.”
A shiver crawled up Case’s spine. “Whatever they did, how are you going to fix it?”
Five
Megan shook her head. “Me? I’m done. My part’s over.”
“What, you’re passing up exploring the most unusual house you’ve ever seen?”
“Yup. Besides, why would you want me involved?”
“You’re easier on the eyes than Ramsey.”
She crossed her arms. “That’s hardly a valid reason.”
“Shows what you know about men.”
She scowled.
“Ramsey seems to think you’re useful,” he added.
“But you don’t.”
“No, not with your ‘powers.’ But you’ve worked with Ramsey before and can help him with his equipment.”
“And you’ll pay me how much?” It had better be plenty, if she was going to get within ten feet of Eric Ramsey.
“I thought you didn’t take money.”
“I’ve had a change in policy.”
“I won’t pay you,” he said.
“That’s hardly fair!”
“Ramsey isn’t getting paid. Why should you, as his assistant?”
“So, if we solved your little ‘problem,’ that would be worth nothing to you?”
“Ramsey thinks the investigation is its own reward. He would have paid me for this experience. If he fixes whatever is wrong with the house, though, I’ll pay him.”
“How much?”
“A few hundred.”
“My time’s worth more than that.”
“It’s your choice.”
“No, I have a different proposal for you,” she said.
He arched a brow. “Go on.”
“If Eric and I ‘fix’ the house, and if it turns out that I was crucial to that success—if it wouldn’t have happened without my abilities—then you will let me choose ten pieces of furniture from the house.”
“That would be worth considerably more than a few hundred dollars.”
“I know. I’ll let you decide whether or not my actions are crucial, though. Consider this a bet: your skepticism against my ‘woo-woo’ talents.”
Megan held her breath, waiting for his answer. Ten pieces of furniture could give her the financial breathing space she needed to make her dream a reality. That bed in the master suite could be worth $10,000 in the right circumstances. She could deal with Eric for the promise of a reward like that.
Case leaned back in his chair, eyeing her. “Cocky, aren’t you? If you lose, what do I get?”
“What do you want?”
He thought a moment. “If I win, you have to clean and restore every piece of furniture in the house.”
“That would be a year’s work, at least!”
“Not so confident now?” he teased.
“Make it twenty pieces of furniture if I win.”
He hesitated.
“Now who’s not so confident?” she said triumphantly.
He held out his hand. “I’ll take that bet.”
“And I’ll win it.”
They shook, eyes meeting in mutual challenge.
Megan sat back, elated. Twenty pieces of antique furniture, hers for the taking! Of course, she’d win the bet. Eric’s computers and sensors were nothing but toys against supernatural entities. Their best use was in finding natural causes for supposedly paranormal events, not in doing anything about a real ghost.
Case Lambert’s house had a real ghost. Maybe two.
Her elation faded. She’d bet a year’s worth of work that she could evict those spirits, but she had no idea how she was going to do it. She’d never done it before. In fact, the one time she’d gone head-to-head with something supernatural, she’d lost.
Case topped up her glass of wine. “Having second thoughts?”
“Why do I feel like I’ve just made a deal with the devil?”
“Because you let greed get the better of you.”
She pressed her lips together, unable to deny it. Unable to deny, too, the small ball of panic growing inside her. That thing she’d seen in the hallway…
“When are you moving in?”
“What? I’m not moving in! No way I’m sleeping in that place.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes!”
The waitress came with a dessert menu, and in her pique, Megan ordered the chef’s dessert platter, which promised to be obscenely large and expensive.
“And tea,” Megan added. “Earl Grey.”
Case ordered coffee and smothered a yawn. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel ready to drop.” He blinked at her.
She tucked in her chin, observing him with a frown. “You okay?”
“Exhausting day, I guess.”
“Panic attacks can drain you.”
He scowled.
“Oh, excuse me! Heart attacks can drain you.”
“You should move in this weekend. I’ll clean out the room next to mine and set up a bed for you.”
“You’re unbelievable. Didn’t you hear me? I don’t want to sleep in that place.”
“Neither do I. But more happens at night than during the day. Isn’t night the prime time for ghost hunting?”
“I don’t think I could handle more.”
“Twenty pieces of furniture…” He trailed it like bait. “The quickest way you’re going to get there is to concentrate your time at my house. Eric’s going to stay there. You wouldn’t want him to beat you to a solution, would you? Close the shop and move in for a while.”
“Closing the shop was never part of the deal!”
“Consider it a vacation. When was the last time you took one?” he asked, turning her earlier question back on her.
“Staying at your house will not be a vacation.”
“Think of it as a rustic B and B, with a congenial host who’ll tuck you in every night.” Beneath the table, his leg touched hers, sending little shivers up her thigh.
She swallowed hard. “I don’t need tucking in.”
A slow, seductive smile spread across his face. “Sure you do.”
“Ha!” she protested, but it sounded weak even to her ears.
The waitress set down the dessert platter and two spoons. Megan dug into a wedge of torte and tried to marshal her defenses while Case smothered another yawn.
“Why do you care if I’m there?” she asked.
“Frankly, because you’ll be better company than Ramsey.”
“I thought you liked him.”
“I do. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t rather look at you across the dinner table.”
“Even if you think that everything I say is gibberish?”
“What’s that got to do with it?” he asked, grinning.
Megan growled and scooped up the last of the mango sherbet. She sucked her spoon clean and pointed it at him. “I’m going to make you eat your words, you know.”
His eyelids drooped, his gaze on her lips. “Please do.”
The bill came and was paid, and they both stood to go.
Case swayed and sat back down. “Whoa.”
Concern swept through her. “What is it?”
“Almost blacked out.” He shook his head as if trying to shake it off. “Wine doesn’t usually affect me like this.” He smothered another yawn.
Megan bit her lip. “Er…but wine and Scotch plus a couple of Benadryl might.”
He stared up at her, eyes barely focused. “Oh, that’s right.” With visible effort, he rose to his feet. He swayed a bit, and Megan grabbed his arm.
&
nbsp; “Um, I don’t think you should drive home,” she murmured.
He yawned again, and his eyelids began to lower. “Would you feel comfortable driving my car?”
She shook her head. “I’ve probably had too much myself. You could take a taxi home.”
They moved together to the front door and out into the fresh air.
“I’ll call a taxi for you. Me, I don’t really want to spend the night alone in the house in this condition,” he replied.
“I can walk home; it’s less than five minutes on foot. Why don’t you stay in a hotel tonight?”
“Pay money for a bed when I have my car right here?”
“But the backseat of your car isn’t big enough for you.”
“I don’t think I’m in any condition to care.”
“But…” She hesitated. She felt bad about the Benadryl, since she was the one who’d given it to him. “You could sleep on my couch, then walk back and get your car in the morning.”
“You sure? I’m quite fond of my car.”
“It’s no place to sleep. Take the couch. Just knock before you go into any bathrooms. I’ve got a few housemates, and they’re going to be pretty surprised to find a strange man in the house.”
“Is there a familiar man who appears in the house?”
“Are you asking if I have a boyfriend?”
“Maybe.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. Not at the moment. Not for any of us, actually. It makes for dispirited talk around the dinner table. Come on, this way,” she said, leading him down the sidewalk.
“I go to slumber amongst virgins.”
She laughed. “I never said that. And you’ll be slumbering with Kelly’s cat, most likely.”
“I’m allergic.”
“Then thank goodness you took the Benadryl.”
Six
Case woke to the smell of fresh coffee. He squinted his eyes open to bright sunlight.
Something warm and furry was wedged between his neck and shoulder. A black tail flicked across his face, and purring started, loud as a lawn mower in his ear.
Cat.
He shuddered and sat up, the feline falling away from him and mewing once in displeasure. Case spit cat hair from his lips and shuddered, tossing aside the quilt that had covered him.
What was it with women and cats?
He had slept in his underclothes and saw his other clothes neatly laid out over the chair where he’d left them. He dressed quickly and popped his head into the kitchen.
Megan was already up and dressed, looking depressingly like sunshine and springtime all wrapped up in one tall blonde. She must be a morning person.
“Hi,” he croaked.
She turned from the counter, where she was fixing breakfast. “You’re alive! I was beginning to wonder, but I thought the cat would have left you if you’d grown cold.”
“Thanks for your concern.”
“You might have had a heart attack in your sleep.”
He grumbled a response. “Which way is the bathroom?”
“Upstairs, first door on the right.”
“Thanks.”
The trip up the stairs gave him a chance to clear his head and take a look at the house. He took in the trim work, the leaded glass windows, the built-in cabinets and drawers. The floors were old-growth Douglas fir, not the inferior new stuff they sold. The light fixtures overhead had to have dated to the time the house was built, but he doubted they were original. They were too ornate for what appeared to be a two-story farmhouse.
Case remembered Megan’s warning about roommates in the bathroom and knocked on the door. No one answered, and he pushed the door open.
An older woman stood in front of the sink, staring at him.
He jumped.
“Oh, jeez, sorry! I didn’t hear you!” He backed out of the room, closing the door behind him, and stood to the side, waiting.
A young woman in a pink bathrobe came out of her room and smiled tentatively at him. She scooted past and went down the stairs.
Case waited. And waited. He didn’t hear any movements or water running. Was there another exit from the bathroom?
The girl in pink came back up the stairs, a mug of coffee in her hand. She sidled by, then stopped. “Are you waiting for the bathroom?”
He nodded.
“I don’t think there’s anyone in there.”
“No, I think—”
She went past him and knocked on the door, then pushed it open. “See? No one.”
Case peered in. No one.
A chill went down his back.
“Thanks,” he said to the girl, and she nodded and disappeared.
Case closed the door after her and warily looked around the room. It was tiled in black and white hexagons and had a pedestal sink and clawfoot tub. He felt a superstitious unwillingness to look into the mirror. Who knew, the devil might appear.
Maybe it was the aftereffects of the Benadryl, he told himself, deeply unsettled.
He washed his hands and dared a look in the mirror. Nothing faced him but his own unshaven mug. He rubbed his hands over his hair, trying to tame a bad case of bed head.
He gave it up. There was no saving the face that looked back at him.
Megan had most of breakfast on the table by the time he returned. Coffee, toast, eggs, orange juice, and a few choices of yogurt and cereal.
“I didn’t know what you’d like, so I’m going for the hotel buffet effect,” she said from the stove.
“More than I deserve,” he said, sitting down where she directed. “Thanks. You eat like this every morning?”
“I’m not much of a breakfast person. Raisin bran and a cup of tea usually do it for me.”
“Coffee and a danish are usually as far as I get.”
“You’ve got to take better care of yourself.”
“Interested in my welfare, are you?”
“I have to be. You’re going to specify in your will that if you die, I get all your furniture, right?”
He gave her a dark look.
“In case you have a heart attack, you know.” She grinned.
“If I have another one, I’ll be sure to live through it again.”
“Good.” A kettle began to whistle, and she shut it off and poured steaming water into a waiting mug.
“Do you rent this place?”
“I own it free and clear. My mother left it to me.”
“Ever think of selling it?”
“With all the work she and I put into it? No. Besides, I love the character of the place: the wide trim, the ceiling medallions, the built-in storage and odd nooks.”
“If you own it, why do you have housemates?”
“I don’t much like living alone. The extra income pays for taxes and insurance, upkeep, et cetera. An old house is never a cheap house to live in. As you know.”
“Don’t I,” Case said. “I don’t suppose this house is haunted?”
Megan shook her head and picked up a spatula. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Huh. Really.”
Megan arched a brow at him. “Did something disturb you? You were upstairs quite a while.”
He laughed self-consciously. “I don’t think I’m awake yet.”
“What happened?”
“I thought I saw an older woman in the bathroom. Short, overweight, fluffy brown hair. Glasses.”
Megan dropped her spatula with a clatter. “What did she look like?”
His stomach fluttered. “Round, short, brown hair. Why?” he asked with trepidation.
Megan shook her head, her lips tight, and turned back to the stove. She lifted the skillet and transferred eggs to a bowl.
“What?” he asked again.
Megan mumbled something.
“Megan, what?”
“My mother.”
A quiver went through him. “Your deceased mother?”
She nodded and brought the bowl over to the table, plopping it down with a clatter.
“You look upset,” he observed.
Megan slid into a chair and stared at the breakfast she’d prepared. “She’s never appeared to me. Why would she appear to you?”
“I have no idea. I wish she hadn’t. You know, before I bought that house, I never so much as heard a set of unexplained footsteps. What the hell is happening to me?”
Megan took the bag out of her teacup and set it in a small dish. “If I had to guess, I’d say that house is opening you up to the Other Side.”
“I don’t want to be opened up.”
“Maybe you’re a natural medium.”
He shuddered and looked at her. “You’re joking, right?”
Her lips quirked. “You don’t like the idea?”
“No. Nor do I believe it. I’ve never had the least unusual thing happen to me. Am I going to start seeing things everywhere I go now?”
“Do you know what confirmation bias is?”
He shook his head.
“It’s where you have an idea in mind, and everything you see you interpret in a way that confirms your idea. It’s sort of the same with the paranormal: with some people, every noise becomes a ghost, even if it’s just the wood in the house creaking because of a change in temperature.”
“This wasn’t wood creaking. I saw someone whom you recognized.”
“A corollary of the confirmation bias is that the more you think about something—however outlandish—the more possible you think it is. By thinking about ghosts, you begin to believe they might exist.”
“You’re saying I imagined it!”
“I thought you’d rather hear that than the more likely explanation.”
“Which is?”
“For some people, being exposed to the Other Side in one place opens up the pathways for them to see it elsewhere, at times they don’t expect. It’s like when you learn a word you’ve never heard before, and suddenly you notice it everywhere. Because it wasn’t in your sphere of knowledge, you couldn’t recognize it. But once you know it, it’s easy to recognize.”
“So I’m going to start seeing ghosts everywhere I go? That’s not good for someone who works with a lot of old houses.”
“Active hauntings are rare, like I said before. You probably won’t come across any.”
“Except in your bathroom.”
