Ghost for Sale (16 page)

“Next.”

“Johnny William Smith.”

The computer spit out line after line of Johnny William Smiths. “This will take forever,” I wailed.

“Can you limit it to Virginia?”

“I did.”

“Can you limit it to the 1800s?”

“I did.”

* * * *

Sunshine filtered in from the partially closed blinds. I put the pillow over my head and drifted back to sleep.

A scream woke me.

I bolted upright, stubbed my toe jumping out of bed, and hopped into the living room on one foot, holding the other.

Marcy stood in the middle of the living room, shrieking.

“What is it?” Goose bumps roughened my skin. My breath whistled in and out in short sharp pants.

She pointed at the cup of coffee sitting sedately on the mahogany table in front of the couch.

“What?” Still not completely awake, I frowned in bewilderment at the cup. My gaze lit on Liam standing nearby.

I picked it up and gulped, nearly purring in ecstasy. As the caffeine kicked in, the fog around my brain lifted. With it came the horror of understanding. “You didn’t,” I mouthed.

“I was bringing you coffee,” Liam said with injured dignity.

“The cup floated through the room, just like the gravy boat,” Marcy shrieked. She sank down on the couch, hair falling forward as she put her head in her hands. “I’m having a breakdown.”

“I’m going to have to tell her.” I swallowed a sigh.

“Who are you talking to? There’s no one there. Are you having a breakdown too?” Momentarily diverted, Marcy lifted her head.

I sank down on the couch beside my cousin. “Marcy, can you keep a secret?”

“How can I know? I’ve lost my mind.”

“Of course you haven’t,” I soothed. “Remember your ghosts?”

“That was all a hoax.” She sniffed and blew her nose. “Did I tell you, Bromwell sent me a check?”

“No, did he?” What were the ethics on that since technically half the goods Marcy bought hovered near the ceiling?

My cousin nodded, twisting the rings on her finger.

“Let me get you a cup of coffee.”

“Don’t mention coffee.” She shuddered.

I gathered my courage. “Prepare yourself.”

That got her attention. She pulled herself together and looked at me warily. “What?”

“There were ghosts in the vials.” Whew.
There, I’d said it.

“What are you talking about?”

“One of the ghosts escaped before it got here, but Liam didn’t.” The words tumbled out on top of each other.

“Liam?” She gave me an uneasy look.

“Liam O’Reilly.”

Liam stood and bowed.

“I don’t see anyone.”

“I know. I’m the only one who can see him.”

“What? But I paid for him. Why can’t I see him?” Marcy’s hysterics had dried up, her curiosity aroused.

“I don’t know.”

“How do you know he’s here?” She looked around her.

“I can see him, hear him.”

“So you’re saying you can see and hear him, and I can’t.” She tapped her crossed forearms with her perfectly manicured French nails, a skeptical look on her face.

Couldn’t say I blamed her for that. “Well, yeah.”

“Honestly, Caitlin, is this some kind of bid for attention? I’m sure the ghost is here.” She waved her arm dramatically. “But I don’t believe for one moment you can see and hear him and I can’t.”

Uh-oh, Marcy was normally the soul of amiability.

She snapped her fingers. “I get it. You’ve just gone into character for your play.”

“That’s right.” Inside I was yelling whoopee and doing handsprings. It was so unfair of me not to want to share Liam with my cousin, but at least I’d tried.

Liam’s head swiveled back and forth between us like a spectator at a tennis match.

“So you think it’s the ghost?”

“Of course, what else could it be? And don’t go calling him Liam. I’ll name him.” She fingered her chin. “How about Edward?”

I bit my lips together but couldn’t repress the giggle. I looked over at Liam.

He stood with legs akimbo, arms crossed, and a frown on his forehead. “Edward?” He rolled his eyes.

When I didn’t respond, she glanced at me. “What’s wrong with Edward?”

I tried for diplomacy. “Nothing, but maybe we should wait until we find out what his name really is.”

“Then why were you calling him Liam?”

“In character.”

“I still can’t believe you’re trying out for a play. Oh by the way, your dad picked up his car and dropped off yours.”

“My car’s fixed?” My insides quivered, all thoughts of naming the ghost forgotten.

“Yup.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes.” I did a happy dance.

Liam drifted through the wall and outside. I grabbed the cup of coffee and took a quick glug before I raced to my room, threw on shorts and an old tie-dyed T-shirt, and followed him out.

The ghost stood staring at my car. “It’s not a Corvette.” Disappointment laced his voice. “It’s round and it’s little and it’s…pink.”

“It’s a bug.” I adored my car. “When I wrecked it, Dad threatened to get me something large and sturdy, but I pleaded till he caved.”

“No, it’s a car…. And it’s pink. And your dad was right about the large and sturdy, unless he intended to buy you a Corvette.”

“They’re called bugs. And I don’t know why you keep nattering on about its color. Dad and Mom ordered it for my birthday. It’s one of a kind.” Pride rippled through me.

“I can see why it’s called a bug, and I keep on ‘nattering’ as you call it because it’s a girl’s car. What self-respecting man would drive a pink car?”

“It’s fun. You’ll like it.” I danced around my little bug, giving it love pats. “Come on, I’ll take you for a spin.” I had the car door open and my hind-end hoisted in the air before it dawned on me I didn’t have any makeup on. I head slapped myself. “What am I thinking? I haven’t showered, no makeup, my hair’s a mess. It must be all the stress…Edward.” I grabbed my stomach and giggled.

“Ha-ha.”

I’d started toward the house when a thought stopped me in my tracks. “I hope Marcy doesn’t decide to hold a séance.”

“Lor’ save us. Though it might be entertaining.” He rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. The bright sun shone straight through him.

“Do you think the creepy specter would appear?” An idea was forming in the back of my brain, but whether good or bad I had no idea.

“I hope not. Whoever he is, he’s been quiet lately. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Can’t argue with you there. We’ve narrowed our list down to seven possibilities. What say we go back to Ruby Falls today? We can see how Pinkie handles after her time in the shop. We might run across something in the Preservation Library we’ve missed.”

As we trotted up the walk, he picked a pink azalea off a nearby bush and placed it in my hair. The gesture bemused me. A light electric current pulsed through me and with it, sanity. “Liam, you can’t just go around carrying coffee cups in midair and putting flowers in my hair.” Nerves skittered up my spine and climbed my neck. “What if someone’s watching?”

“Sorry, lass. It just seems the most natural thing in the world to do, as would kissing you.” He stared into my eyes. His outline grew more pronounced, as it did when his emotions were near the surface.

My lips parted. Our gazes locked. His wonderful scent filled my senses, and the tension in the air thickened. Without thought, I leaned forward.

He took a quick step back. “The sooner we find what’s keeping William and you know who apart, the better, for both of us.” The pain that pierced my heart was reflected in his eyes. He straightened and cleared his throat. “You need your coffee. It will make you feel better.”

“No doubt.” My lips quivered. I forced them up in a shaky smile.

We strolled up the walk in silence. As he reached for the door, I put my hand on it for form’s sake. Marcy turned from the living room window.

Oh great.

“Practicing your lines?”

“Yeah.” Since she wasn’t having hysterics, I cleverly deduced she hadn’t seen the floating flower. I hated lying to Marcy, but I couldn’t bear to share Liam. I’d share anything else, but not my ghost. Our relationship was too personal, too private.

“When are tryouts?”

“In a couple of weeks. Are you interested?” I was safe on that one. Marcy had no interest in acting.

“No, but I might consider working behind the scenes. Maybe help with the design.”

“That would be nice.” Now what did I do?

“Do you think we should have a séance?”

I knew it.

I headed straight for the coffeepot, poured a cup of the steaming brew, and loaded it down with sugar and cream. After I’d drunk half a cup, my coping mechanism kicked in.

“I don’t know. Do you know any mediums?”

“No.” Regretful, she shook her head, then snapped her fingers. “Ouija board.”

It seemed the lesser of two evils. “That’s a thought.”

“Pour me a cup, would you?”

Luckily, Liam had made coffee in the regular pot instead of the single pod server. I reached into the cabinet and pulled out Marcy’s Shop Till You Drop mug, decorated with pink stilettos, and filled it up.

“Thanks. Sorry, if I snapped at you. I know you were just in character for the play when you said you could see my ghost. But seeing that floating cup was pretty unnerving.” She reached for the sugar bowl and liberally doctored her coffee.

“I’m sure it was,” I soothed, mentally grinding my teeth over the “my ghost” remark.

“And I’m feeling rather guilty about insisting Bromwell return my money.”

“Don’t. He had no business trying to sell ghosts in the first place. It’s like selling slaves.”

“Good point.” She sipped delicately before setting her cup down. “I’m going shopping with Melinda, and then we’re getting pedicures. Want to come?”

I loved pedicures. I wiggled my bare toes and imagined them in hot, foaming water. But I had to take one for the team. “No, I think I’ll just hang. Maybe I’ll try to hook up with my parents. Buy them lunch to thank them for the use of their car and picking up Pinkie.” I crossed my fingers behind my back. I’d said maybe, not definitely. “But thanks anyway.”

“Okay. Well, I’m going to take a quick shower before I pick up Melinda.” Marcy took another couple sips of coffee and strolled out.

Once Marcy left, my tight muscles loosened, then tightened again when the coffee pot hovered over my cup followed by the sugar and creamer. “Don’t do that!”

His expression turned hurt. “I like to do things for you.”

“Don’t do that either,” I whispered.

“Don’t do what?” He arched his eyebrows, confusion on his features.

“Give me that hurt look that melts my resolve and cracks my heart.”

The mischievous, lopsided grin I loved was back in place. “Here now, we can’t have your heart cracked.” He handed me the cup of coffee.

I buried my face in it and sipped. “Perfect.”

“Let’s take a look at our remaining ghostly suspects before I get cleaned up.” I pushed back from the counter.

“Sure.”

Cup in hand, I meandered to the bedroom and my office closet. Liam didn’t bother with the door, just passed through the wall as usual.

I slid into the chair, picked up the list, and read the first name. “What do we know about Bobby Johnson?”

Liam picked up a sheet of paper we’d made notes on. Some information was from the Internet, some from what he remembered. “Bobby was two years older than Anna, never married, had a crush on her in his teens but wasn’t seen after the war.” Liam paced back and forth, his hands locked behind his back.

“Johnny William Smith.” I read the second name.

“Johnny William was the same age as Anna. He got angry when she wouldn’t go out with him.”

I looked at Liam and arched my eyebrows.

He continued, “Got a girl pregnant shortly after that and married her. She died in childbirth, no record of him ever marrying again.”

“I don’t think I like Johnny William Smith. We’ll leave him on the list.” I took a sip of coffee. Cold. I grimaced and set the cup down.

“He was a bit of a bully,” Liam confirmed, as he rocked on his heels, his fingers splayed low on his waist.

“Next, Ezekiel Daniels.”

“We’re not alone,” Liam muttered near my ear and slid the paper he held onto the desk.

“Cat, can I borrow your green sandals?” Marcy peered over my shoulder. The light floral fragrance she wore drifted around me. “What are you doing?”

I pressed my lips together and forced myself not to give a guilty start. “Just trying to get in character.” I waved the sheet of suspects. “There’re all kinds of bad boy ghosts.”

“Hey!” Before I knew what she meant to do, Marcy grabbed the sheet of paper out of my hands.

“Who wrote these names? This definitely isn’t your handwriting. It looks like something from another century.”

My mind went blank.

“Someone else trying to get in character,” Liam improvised.

“It came with the script. No doubt, someone else is trying to get in character,” I parroted.

“Oh.” She lost interest and laid the list back on the desk. “Can I borrow the sandals?” She wore an olive, pleated pullover with khaki cuffed shorts and a jade bracelet.

“Of course, they’ll go perfectly with your outfit. You look like a million.”

“Thanks, see you this evening.” She blew me a kiss and disappeared through the door.

“I better get ready too.” I pushed back the chair and stood up. “Get lost.”

“I’ll go watch TV.” His face took on a look of pleasure.

“Just wait till Marcy’s gone.”

“Of course.”

“Um-hmm,” I said skeptically as he disappeared through the wall.

“You look pretty as a picture.” His lips tilted up, and his eyes warmed with admiration.

“Why thank you.” I wore a pink scoop neck tee with white slacks, and pink leather and cork sandals. It had taken all the ingenuity in my limited repertoire of BS to convince him riding in a pink car would not lessen his manliness. Men.

“What’s that?” He pointed to the back seat.

“My tablet. Aileen pointed out that I hadn’t brought a notepad. This is like a miniature computer,” I explained. “Go ahead and check it out.”