Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (11 page)

"Partly." Her mom kept her eyes on the closet shelves. "There's a weird tax thing, but mostly it's because Isabel wants him close by." She took out a bag and looked inside. "She's worried about him. He works all the time. He makes a lot of money, but he doesn't come home very often. I also think there's some conflict between Gabe and his brothers. Apparently, he can be a tad bossy." She frowned and put the bag back in the closet.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." Of course, she could picture several scenarios where the bossiness could be quite attractive. She gave herself a mental slap on the wrist.
Quit thinking about that.
 

"He's always been strong willed, but something's happened in the past couple of years. He's withdrawn."

Something's happened?
Elizabeth couldn't understand her mother's puzzlement. Of course something happened.
 

Cole died.

"Isabel wants him to settle down, get a life, start smiling again." Her mom turned and focused back on Elizabeth. "Don't worry, honey, we'll find him a house."

Elizabeth wasn't sure a house would cure what ailed Gabe, but her mom's optimistic can-do attitude was heartening. Elizabeth hadn't heard positive words from her in a long time.
 

Too bad she had to burst her bubble.
 

"You're using the wrong pronoun, Mom. There's no 'we' anymore. Gabe fired me," she said, steeling herself for an eruption of maternal disappointment.
 

No reaction.
 

"He wants you to handle the search," Elizabeth continued.
 

But her mom poked her head back into the closet and said nothing.

"Did you hear me?" Elizabeth asked, exasperated. "He fired me."

Still no reaction.

"Canned," she continued. "Terminated with extreme prejudice. Consigned to the unemployment line."

"Hmm," her mom hummed while she rummaged. She didn't seem concerned at all. "He's just upset about the Hagen House, honey. He needs to keep looking, that's all." She took out a box, looked at the label, and put it back in. "He should look in Middleburg too."

"Where?" Elizabeth couldn't keep the shock out of her voice.
 

"It's a very nice town with lots of beautiful properties."
 

"It's still Middleburg. That's not our area."
 

"I know, sweetie. But our inventory is, you know, eccentric."

"Gabe is used to that. He grew up in Banshee Creek. He has ghost-wrangling skills."

Her eminently reasonable statement elicited a rueful shake of the head. "I love these houses as much as you do, but they're small and a bit chaotic. Isabel wants Gabe to get a big, safe house. She wants space for grandchildren."

"Um, isn't that a bit, you know, premature?" Elizabeth said, alarmed.
 

Had Mrs. Franco's hair salon trip turned into a how-to-get-the-kids-to-get-on-with-it brainstorming session? Elizabeth felt an urge to stand up for the Franco brothers, her fellow singletons.
 

"Probably. He hasn't brought anyone home to Isabel. Apparently, all he does is work and travel."
 

Elizabeth had serious doubts about that. Although, she remembered coming home from school to find her brother playing video games while his best friend finished his Advanced Multiwhatever Calculus problem sets. Gabe had always been a workaholic.

"Isabel hopes this house hunt will help him slow down and reconnect with his family," her mom continued. "I know it sounds like a convoluted strategy, but she's at the end of her rope. She already tried finding him a girlfriend, to no avail."

"A girlfriend?" She smiled as she pictured Mrs. Franco nagging Gabe about his love life. "How did she do that?"

"She made him hire a matchmaking agency," her mom said with a rueful smile.

"Really?" She couldn't hide her surprise. A matchmaker?

But, upon consideration, she had to admit that a matchmaker would suit Gabe very well. He probably gave the matchmaker a list of girlfriend requirements. The list would include the desired height, weight, body shape, hair and eye color, educational credentials, professional experience, public service record, languages, musical training, hobbies, favorite color, and who knew what else.
 

"The agency found him a lovely girl who worked at one of the banks."
 

She felt an inexplicable pang of jealousy. Of course Gabe would end up with an investment banker.
 

"Apparently, it was a catastrophe and she ran off with a sculptor. I don't know the details, but I do know that Isabel wants him out of Manhattan. Isabel has been a good friend, and she's really worried about Gabe. She worries about all her boys."
 

No surprise there, either. The Franco boys were famous troublemakers. Then there was Catalina, the only girl in the clan. She was in a different league altogether.

"First there was Zach's accident," her mom went on, "then Sebastian and that crazy actress, and now there's Gabe. She wants to get her boys settled, and I'm going to help her out." She glanced at Elizabeth. "Which is why I came up with this house hunt idea."

"Mrs. Franco doesn't need a house hunt. She needs a miracle."

A strange expression crossed Mary Hunt's face, and a tendril of suspicion snaked into Elizabeth's mind.

"Well, you don't have to worry about the miracle part." A secretive smile accompanied this comment. "All you have to do is hit the MLS for me and find Gabe a house, a large house."
 

She opened the door to the bedroom where they were greeted by a full-size poster of a bikini-clad Gillian Anderson. Her brother had passed two years ago, but his boyhood bedroom was untouched.
The
X-Files
posters covered the dark blue walls, and glow-in-the-dark stars dotted the ceiling. Cole's PRoVE cronies had taken the cameras and equipment, but boxes with her brother's remaining possessions were piled haphazardly around the room.
 

Elizabeth was careful not to let her mother see her frown. She was doing better, but this room didn't exactly suggest a recovery. Although her mother's work stuff, including a pile of real estate listings, was piled on the small desk, her brother's sci-fi paperbacks and filmmaking awards were still on the shelves.
 

Something had to be done about this.

"I don't know what it is in that house," her mom continued. "But it's there. A polterwhatsit, maybe? Or is it the thing in the pizzeria?" She sighed. "Your brother would have known exactly what kind of critter is in there. I only know one thing. Whatever it is, it's not something Isabel wants near her grandchildren."
 

Elizabeth knew very well what kind of critter haunted the Hagen House: the nonexistent kind. But she held her tongue. Her mother was talking about Cole without falling apart, and she didn't want to interrupt. Instead, she paid close attention to her mother's tone. The last couple of months had been full of up and downs, and her mother had, with the help of some medication, rallied a couple of times, put on nice clothes, and gone out with friends to try to put the depression behind her. But those rallies had been short-lived. Inevitably, her mom would find an old e-mail from Cole or run across one of his old school mates, and the downward spiral would begin.
 

Her mom didn't sound distraught, she sounded wistful, and Elizabeth wasn't sure how to handle it. Was wistful a good sign?

"Here they are." Her mom took a box out of the closet. "Well, I'm going to go outside and play with these for a while."

Elizabeth reached out for the box. "I'll help you."
 

But her mom pulled the box back. "Yes, you'll help me, but not with the garden." She tilted her head toward the pile of listings. "You are going to help me find a house for Gabe."

"But I've been fired."
 

"Oh, sweetie, you've not been fired," her mom said kindly. "You've just been demoted. I'll be Gabe's agent. I just need you to look for houses." The smile disappeared and she gave Elizabeth a stern look. "In Middleburg."
 

Elizabeth sighed. Horsey, stuck-up Middleburg it would have to be.
 

"Get to work," her mom said firmly as she straightened her box and headed out the door. "We have to show Gabe several houses and we don't have a lot of time. Isabel says he's leaving for Manhattan at the end of the week."

Elizabeth eyed the pile of listings with distaste. There was a not-so-silver lining to having her mom back in the saddle. The boss was back. And the boss was sending her to Middleburg.
 

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

G
ABE
PARKED
the red Ferrari in front of the pizzeria. He leaned back in the driver's seat and took a deep breath. Mrs. Hunt had agreed to take over and promised that she'd have a list of houses for him. So, mission accomplished; he'd gotten rid of Elizabeth.

But he was still reeling from their kiss. He had to get himself under control.
 

This was his first look at the remodeled venue, and he needed to focus on one thing: supporting his brother. Zach had worked his butt off trying to resuscitate the family business, and no matter what he came up with—half-naked women, techno-salsa, sushi-fajita pizza—Gabe would smile and tell him he'd done a great job. That was going to take a lot of effort and concentration, because diplomacy was not his strong suit.
 

And yet, the memory of Elizabeth's kiss was imprinted on his mind, making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Under any other circumstances, he would have stuck around to find out exactly where a kiss like that led to. But a shudder crawled up his spine as he contemplated the consequences of pursuing a liaison with Elizabeth.
 

It would take a skinny minute for all of Banshee Creek to find out. Yolanda's Hair Salon would be buzzing like a beehive drunk on melted popsicles. The entire town would turn into a romantic comedy set, its population expecting him to enact scenes involving serenades and flowers. His mom would be planning a wedding in no time flat.

But he wasn't any good at romance, or flowers.
 

And yet Cole's little sister deserved no less. So getting rid of Elizabeth was absolutely the right thing to do.
 

If only he could be rid of the Historical Preservation Committee so easily. But Elizabeth's complaints had been enlightening. He was going too fast, being too aggressive. Slowing down was anathema to him, but he was going to have to hit the brakes on the Haunted Orchard project. Banshee Creek didn't like change, and he should've taken that into consideration. He had to fix this. But not right now. Right now, he had to tell his brother that the Franco Pizza remodel was brilliant.
 

He stepped out of the car and assessed the transformation. Their formerly no-frills, no-thrills pizza shack was unrecognizable. It used to be a small bungalow with white vinyl siding and a tattered Argentinean flag in the window. Neon letters had flickered listlessly and, in spite of Gabe's best efforts, one letter had always failed to light. Sometimes it was the "F" and sometimes it was "o." For one memorable summer, thanks to Cole's poster-making skills, the sign had read "Franc-KEN-Pizza."

Things were different now. The pizzeria had a bright green metal roof and striped red-and-white doors. Even the name had changed. A red, green, and white sign now spelled out Pepe's Pizza. Gabe liked it. It sounded friendly, and no one needed to know that Pepe was the name of the resident poltergeist. But how the hell had Zach gotten that paint job approved by the Historical Preservation Committee?
 

A familiar ringtone interrupted this train of thought. He took out his phone with a weary sigh. It was his business partner, Salvador Acosta, and Salvador's calls invariably followed a familiar pattern.

"Hold on a sec," Salvador said.
 

Gabe didn't object, even though he knew "a sec" could be a long wait. Salvador would not be hurried. Gabe was naturally impatient, but not impatient enough to resent Salvador's eccentricities, which were many. His business partner was the perfect complement to him—charming, social, and gregarious. He juggled a hectic love life with equally hectic work commitments, and Gabe felt exhausted just thinking about it, which he got to do often when his business partner kept him waiting.

He could hear a female voice whispering in the background. Danish? Did Salvador speak Danish?
 

"Okay, I'm back." Salvador paused while he dealt with whatever was going on at the other end of the line. "Are you back in Manhattan, or are you still rusticating?"

"I'm still in Banshee Creek. It's quite civilized. You should visit sometime."

"Civil war ghosts and Friday night football games? No, thanks. I'd rather pay someone to beat me. Much less painful."
 

Salvador divided his time between Manhattan, London, and Sao Paulo. Ten minutes in small-town America, and he would start hallucinating. Gabe could empathize, although he had to admit there were things about Banshee Creek—Patricia's pistachio coffee cake, Liam's accident-prone remodels, boxing with Caine—that he missed.
 

"It's bad enough I had to go to prep school there," Salvador continued. "At least I got to go to Middleburg. You know what? You should buy the house there. It's pretty nice."

Gabe laughed at that. "Elizabeth doesn't agree with you."
 

A cautious silence greeted his joke. Gabe winced. Why had he mentioned her? She was out of his life.

"Who's Elizabeth?" Salvador asked with studied disinterest.

"Cole's sister. She's my real estate agent. Or was my real estate agent," he corrected quickly.
 

Silence. "Ah, yes, the alien princess."

Salvador remembered that? The thought made Gabe feel uneasy. Why would his business partner recall such an inconsequential piece of trivia?