Her Inner Monitor wasn’t reliable and often painful, so she’d quit using it long ago. Recent events had taught her the hard way that was a serious mistake. With the kids to protect, she needed all the extra help she could summon. She reluctantly tuned in as the pair approached.
She slammed into a sensation akin to hitting a stone bluff at a hundred miles an hour. She froze, trying to assess the experience. Instead of radiating energy, the exec was like a powerful magnet—who buried his power. Did that make sense? Hastily shutting down her inner senses, she studied him warily, expecting a demon beneath the sophisticated attire.
The tailored civilization of a suit barely disguised the muscular grace of an athlete. Thick-lashed brown eyes matched styled hair burnished to the color of rich mahogany. With his deep tan and stubborn jaw, he appeared only a few years older than she, and definitely not demon material. She’d categorize him with any wealthy man who got his own way too often, except there were tired lines around his eyes and mouth that said life wasn’t treating him as well as expected.
“Miss Baker?” he said, holding out a manicured hand as he joined her on the boardwalk. “Kurt Kennedy. Xavier says we have a problem?”
The electrical zap of their joined hands should have warned her.
Two
June 25: afternoon
* * *
Primed to combat an angry Amazon with the suave assurances that worked so well on the resort’s guests, Kurt Kennedy froze at sight of a flannel-clad, knit-capped butterfly in boots. Why did he have this vision of her with sunset curls and fairy wings? He mentally smacked himself and tried to concentrate on his annoyance, but he couldn’t stop trying to puzzle out conflicting appearances.
Teddy Baker, even garbed in men’s clothing, was vibrantly female. Her miniature size came in a luscious package of curves that she emphasized with heeled boots and stretch denim. He couldn’t shake the image of a fiery redhead even though her lashes and brows were artfully painted in black. And a black widow’s peak peered out from beneath her ridiculous cap. Her size said she ought to be frail and feminine, but her attitude. . . was pure spitting dragon. He swore he saw sparks.
“I would like the key to my property,” she said in a purring tone that belied the flashing fire of golden-brown eyes.
The disaster of this past week had drilled a hole in his soul. A month ago, he wouldn’t have even bothered to listen to her spurious claim on his dream. Now. . . everything he knew was wrong. His hope of preventing the resort and all its employees from sliding into bankruptcy was down to replacing the crumbling structures of Hillvale before they fell off the mountain. This dilapidated ruin should have been bulldozed a decade ago—and he was the one who knew how to rebuild it.
Fatalistically, he handed her the folder he’d located in his files, instead of whacking her with it. So, they were both suppressing rage. He was generally reluctant to explain himself, but this had to be done. “I’m sorry, Miss Baker. I have the deed of sale here, properly recorded in the clerk’s office over ten years ago. We will be happy to rent the property to you, if you choose to stay, but the Kennedy Corporation owns most of Hillvale. The town wouldn’t be standing otherwise.”
That was the truth as he knew it. If he were to believe the town witches led by his Aunt Cass, he was an ignorant Null with no clue. It had been easier maintaining the distance he needed to make decisions about the town’s future by running the lodge and leaving the rental property to Xavier. His damned brother was supposed to be the liaison with the people, but as mayor, Monty walked a fine line between their family’s interests and Hillvale’s. Kurt had to respect his brother’s difficulty in dealing with a town where half the inhabitants hated Kennedys.
The artful butterfly glanced at the deed, flipped through his file, returned it, and produced the same documents Xavier had said she’d showed him.
“My parents inherited that house, lock, stock, and barrel, no mortgage attached. They allowed my mother’s cousin and her husband to live in it after we moved out. They never, at any time, sold it to them. I fear your family was duped if they claim anything else. I understand the spouse spent time in jail, so it’s possible that Lonnie was not an honest man. Not that I’ve met many honest men,” she added cynically.
And not that Hillvale was filled to the brim with honest men, Kurt mentally added. There were days he almost believed the witches when they claimed that evil ate men’s souls here. But the law was basic and conclusive.
“We have maintained the property for over ten years. You will have to hire a lawyer to prove our deed is fraudulent. Your family effectively abandoned the property, so your standing is not as sound as ours. I’m sorry, Miss Baker, facts are facts.”
A line formed in the faint freckles over her upturned nose. “I have two children in that van who need a home, Mr. Kennedy. I have a business I need to run. I can’t wait for lawyers to fight it out. I’m not poor, and I will fight. But right now, they need beds to sleep in. I’ll rent the place, with the understanding that the money will be returned once the court rules in our favor.”
He felt guilty taking her money for that deathtrap. For her own good, he needed to disillusion her about living here. “This is prime vacation rental season, Miss Baker. We normally charge fifteen hundred a week, six thousand a month.”
Her neatly outlined eyebrows shot up. “I doubt my grandparents paid six thousand to buy the place. I’ll give you a thousand a month, provided utilities are functioning and included.”
“For my company to bring the property up to standard would cost more than six thousand,” he retorted. “You’re better off going down the mountain and looking for an apartment.”
“I can’t run my business in an apartment. And I can’t watch the children all summer unless they stay where I work.” Her fancy boot heels clicked as she paced back and forth on the boardwalk.
Shoppers didn’t normally come to this empty end of town, but Kurt was aware of the locals watching from behind curtains and shopfronts. His spine itched. Monty was better at dealing with people, but his brother was in the county seat, arranging to hire a police chief to prevent any more dangerous situations like the one that had burned the mountain.
Kurt refused to give up on saving his career, the family fortune, and the people who relied on it. The condo project that had died with the fire left rebuilding the town as his main hope of financial freedom. This town was his. And this vacant house was his first step toward turning the economy around.
Tapping her document file on her wrist, she swung back to face him. “I’ll pay fifteen hundred a month and update everything as needed, if you’ll handle electricity and plumbing.
“You won’t last out the week,” he countered curtly. “No one does.”
“Why should they? You claim to have been maintaining the property, but I haven’t seen much evidence of it yet.” She gestured at the peeling door.
“We can’t properly maintain a unit that makes no money.” As soon as he had the financing in place, he’d put an end to that bad situation. The place was headed for the scrap heap.
Not knowing his plans, she raised her expressive eyebrows and said reasonably enough, “Then fifteen hundred is better than nothing. Surely you have electricians and plumbers working for you who can handle any utility problems. Open it up and let me see if the place is still habitable.”
Preferring to avoid public confrontation, Kurt nodded at Xavier, who kept the keys. He’d warned her. If she didn’t mean to listen, it wasn’t his fault. “For long-term rentals, we require two months’ deposit, plus a month’s rent in advance,” he said, knowing that was mean even as he said it. But she’d insisted, and he was doing his best to discourage her from throwing away her money.
If she wouldn’t back down and ultimately fled in terror as all the other tenants had, he’d be forty-five hundred ahead of the game. She’d said she had money—although a guilty glance at the wheeled junk heap she’d arrived in gave evidence otherwise.
His rental agent unlocked the front door. The filthy front window and peeling paint were a disgrace, and Kurt knew he ought to feel ashamed, but other than a few days here and there, the shop had been empty for as long as he and Monty had been in charge of it. He’d never been inside. His commitment had always been to keeping his paying lodge guests happy.
With the mountain currently no more than scarred trees and ash, he had to put their other assets to work. Finally being able to employ his architectural skills to make that happen had him anticipating the moment the bulldozer razed this block.
“Mr. Black, the children are napping in the van. Would you be so kind as to wait by the door and keep an eye on it? Mia might come out looking for me.” The butterfly lady graced his agent with a beatific smile that left the old man dazed.
Damn, but she was good. She’d have every man in Hillvale under her thumb before they knew what hit them. Having a little more experience with manipulative women, Kurt merely caught her elbow and steered her into the empty cave of the storefront.
Except it wasn’t entirely empty. Shelves, glass cases, and an oak table remained—probably one of the reasons he couldn’t rent it as a vacation home. “I should charge extra for store furnishings,” he told her.
She snorted and marched toward the back as if knowing exactly what to expect. “My parents installed them. They’re mine. I should charge you for their use.”
Oh yeah, right, she’d said she lived here, what? Twenty years ago, before the Thompsons had moved in? He started searching his memory, but he’d led a sheltered life as a child.
She swirled around in the middle of the dusty kitchen. “This crap was old when my parents lived here! It’s like walking into a museum—tiled counters! When was the last time anyone installed white tile counters—half a century ago? Look at the black appliances!” She yanked open the refrigerator, but no light came on.
Odd, they usually kept the utilities hooked up.
“You were expecting granite and stainless steel?” Kurt asked, hiding his annoyance by leaning over to test the refrigerator’s light bulb. Had the place been rentable, he would have upgraded by now.
She opened a cabinet door. “Not even good oak cabinets, but plywood with oak frames, are you kidding me? This one is likely to fall off the wall any minute. This is maintenance? You better have good lawyers.”
“The house has barely been occupied since your cousin moved out. The kitchen is still as functional as she left it.” Giving up on the bulb, Kurt rocked back on his heels and studied the outdated kitchen. He didn’t see spider webs. Some of Mariah’s damned ghost-catchers hung above the cabinets, so she’d been in here. Knotted webs of string, beads, and feathers, they looked like the fake dream-catchers sold in gift shops.
He didn’t know why Monty allowed a certifiable nutcase to run loose, other than that Mariah was usually harmless. He gestured at the dismal kitchen. “No grease, no stains, everything in good condition.”
She opened the oven, and apparently appeased, clacked across the linoleum floor to the staircase. “We left all our furniture. Is it still there?”
Hell if he knew. She didn’t wait for an answer. He tried a light switch, but the utilities were definitely off. He reluctantly followed her up the dark, enclosed staircase to the bedrooms. The place even gave him the heebie-jeebies.
“No!” she shouted, abruptly halting. She grabbed the wall like a butterfly snatched by a spiderweb and turned around. “Go back!”
Before Kurt could blink in surprise, a force plowed into his midsection, hurling him backward down the stairs.
Teddy shrieked as her greedy-but-gorgeous landlord hit the kitchen floor, cracking his head on the hard wood. Mr. Black instantly appeared, followed by a tribe of people she didn’t know.
The spirit who had shoved him had been angry, but that’s all she’d been able to tell before it struck. Damn, but she should have heeded the warnings and made him stay outside. She’d never met a spirit this strong—or this furious—before. She could feel her even without opening her Monitor.
A tall woman with a lion’s mane of white-blond hair, wearing an apron from the café, kneeled beside Mr. Kennedy, checking under his eyelids. “Unconscious and his pupils are dilated. We need to call Brenda. Do we dare move him?”
A man who looked like a university professor with a closely-cut goatee and well-barbered thick chestnut hair crouched down to check his pulse. Kennedy stirred. “He’s coming around. Give him space.”
Looking worried, Amber of the amber rings and plentiful bangles peered in the front door. “Is it safe?”
A tall, elegantly dressed black woman towered over the tarot reader. She shoved open the door, shaking her head until her gold earrings swung. “Baaaad juju,” she admonished.
“Smudging needed,” Teddy called from the stairs, agreeing with this assessment. “I don’t feel her anymore, but there’s definitely an entity inhabiting the upstairs.”
Amazingly, no one seemed to question her declaration of the paranormal. She loved these people already. Mr. Black went a little pale, but he pragmatically produced a long shelf from the front room and laid it beside his unconscious employer to use as a stretcher.
“Tullah, you have a landline. Call Monty, ask if Kurt has a physician who can advise us.” The professor stood up and glanced at Teddy. “I’m Aaron Townsend, from the antique store. I think he’ll be all right, but we need to take him back to the lodge. Is there room in your van for him to lie down?”
“If you can work around a fifty-pound dog, two small kids, and a heap of suitcases. Although the dog will be perfectly happy in the yard if he’s fed and watered, I suppose.” Teddy dubiously eyed the long length of suited male sprawled on her floor. “It might be better to empty out the suitcases, but I don’t think we can live with an angry spirit.”
“We can take the suitcases in my truck,” Townsend offered, accepting her assessment. “Xavier, can you help lift him or should we look for Harvey?”
“No one’s lifting me anywhere,” the man on the floor muttered. “Back off. Give me a minute to see if all my bones are in place.”
A small, wiry woman pushed her way in and knelt beside him. “Hey, Mr. K, it’s just me, Brenda. Open your eyes so I can see if you shattered your brain.”
He scowled but opened his eyes. “Brenda, you setting up office here now?”
“I should,” she said pertly. “But you won’t rent me a building.” She studied his pupils and held up two fingers. “How many?”
“Fourteen. We all know you’re a witch and hide the extra digits.” He pushed up on one elbow, rubbing his head. “What the hell happened?”
“Angry manifestation,” Aaron Townsend said. “Probably the last tenant who died homeless after you threw them out.”
“They all left of their own accord.” Apparently accustomed to sarcasm, Mr. Kennedy sat up, then sent Teddy a glare.
She waited for the accusations and condemnation.
Instead, he just looked weary. “No further discussion of staying here until I have the staircase examined.”
“Bullshit.” She sauntered down. “We’ll take you up to the lodge where you will generously offer us a room for the night while the uninvited guest is dispelled. Any broken bones?”
“Just my skull.” He pressed fingers to the back of his head and winced. When Brenda descended on him, he gestured for her to back off. “I played rugby. I know concussions. No TV, no computer, just rest. I don’t see any body parts flopping uselessly, so I’m guessing all the bones are in place. Just help me up.”
“Rugby, of course.” Teddy stood to one side as the tall lion-haired woman in the apron and Aaron Townsend took their patient’s arm and helped him stumble to his feet.
Kennedy swayed but didn’t topple. Instead of leaving, he gazed up the staircase. “There must be a loose board up there.”
“Right, or a dead body. Come along, Mr. Landlord, let’s get you home. The lodge, I take it?” Teddy glanced at the others for c
onfirmation.
“I’ll look after your dog,” the blond waitress said. “I’m Samantha Moon, Kurt’s niece. I work over at the café and live up by the cemetery. I can start making arrangements for whatever the Lucys need for removing your ghost.”
Lucys? Now was not the time to question. Or ask how a full-grown woman could be a niece or why she worked in a café when her uncle owned half the town.
“Good to meet you, Samantha Moon, and thank you.” Teddy turned to Kennedy. “The kids are napping, but there’s a front seat, if you think you can sit up. If not, I’ll scoot them over.”
He looked as if he were about to protest, but the wiry little nurse poked her finger in his chest. “You will not drive for twenty-four hours, absolute minimum. You know that.”
He grimaced and, holding his head as if to keep it upright, staggered for the front door.
Teddy gestured at Mr. Black. “Give the ladies a key so they can do whatever they need to do.”
Kennedy didn’t even protest. Neither did Mr. Black. Would wonders never cease?
“Don’t tell me you really believe in loose stairs,” she said as they stepped outside. She recalled how Kennedy had officiously taken her arm earlier and steered her as if she were too helpless to walk on her own. She was small and men liked to believe she was weak. In return, she liked to catch them unaware and cut them off at the knees. She had a feeling that ploy wouldn’t work here.
“That, or I have a brain tumor that causes me to lose balance,” he said grimly, attempting to open the driver’s side back door of the van for her.
“Right,” she snorted in disbelief, stepping around him to grip the rusted metal. “Handle doesn’t work right.” She slammed it open. “The other side is easier.”
She couldn’t read the look he sent her, but it rumbled down her spine and settled in lower parts that often led her astray.
She grabbed Hairy’s leash and helped him hop down, handing him over to the tall waitress, who immediately stooped down to rub his fluffy ears. Teddy figured the dog was in good hands.
Topaz Dreams Page 2
