Happy Medium: (Intermix) (4 page)

“Volunteers. People who write in to the show. You can be part of it too if you want.”

“Me?” He could think of few things he wanted to do less.

She shrugged. “Only if you want. You don’t have to.”

“I’m not planning on it.” He paused. “You’re not going to identify this house, are you—not supply the address or anything?”

“No, of course not. But I can’t guarantee local media won’t guess where it is.”

Ray figured with any luck the house would be so changed by the time the show aired nobody would recognize it. Unlike Kevin, he wasn’t convinced that rumors of a spare ghost or two would be much of a selling point.

Shea turned back toward the hall. “Could I look at the dining room again?”

“Sure.” Fortunately, he’d finished working on that room after DeVere had made her inspection—the carpet was stripped and the floor mostly scraped clean. Of course it still had the crappy walls and chewed-up molding, but he figured he could tear those out after the show was over.

Shea stepped through the door into the dining room, her footsteps echoing off the newly cleared wood floor. “Wow. I didn’t know pulling up the carpet would make such a difference.”

“I took down the curtains, too.”

The windows at the back of the room gave a great view of the lengthening shadows in the backyard, particularly beneath a dead tree with twisted black branches. Funny. He’d never noticed how dark it was out there before.

She rubbed her hands along her arms absently.

“Cold, Ms. Shea?”

She turned back to look at him, her blue eyes luminous in the dim light. “Call me Emma. Doesn’t it seem cool in here to you?”

He paused, considering. Now that she mentioned it, it did seem a little colder than usual. Which made no sense since the uncurtained windows offered less insulation than the curtains had. “Maybe. I’ll check the thermostat.”

She nodded, glancing around the room again. “Spooky in here. Should make for an interesting séance.”

“Is that good or bad?”

She shrugged. “Good mostly. The more haunted the place looks, the more likely people will be to accept that there are ghosts around.” She rubbed her arms again.

“So have you seen many ghosts?”

“You mean working for the show?” She shook her head. “Gabrielle’s the medium. I’m just her assistant.”

“But you’ve been with her for a while, right?”

“I’ve been with her for a couple of years.”

“So have you seen ghosts in some of these séances?”

She looked away from him. “We don’t usually see things. I mean, Gabrielle has some instruments. And she’ll probably set them up in here. They’re supposed to measure stuff—energy and so on. Usually they pick up on things during the séance. But that’s as close as we’ll come to actually seeing anything.”

“So you’ve never seen a ghost?”

Her jaw firmed. “I’ve seen the readings on Gabrielle’s instruments, like I said.”

“Do you believe in ghosts, Emma?”

She turned to look at him, dropping her arms to her sides. The dim light seemed to emphasize the delicate lines of her face, darkening the hair that curled around her neck to a thick curtain. “I’m not sure, Ray. Do you?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“No imagination, I guess.”

“What if they’re not imaginary?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the wall to study her. “I’m a carpenter. I’m used to things I can touch and hold. I’m not big on intangible stuff.”

For a moment the silence in the room seemed to take on weight.
Things I can touch and hold.
He suddenly had an almost irresistible impulse to run his hands along her arms. To know the feel of that creamy skin, cool first, then warm, then . . .

Whoa.
He took another deep breath. This was Emma Shea he was thinking about. Gabrielle DeVere’s buttoned-up assistant. Time to yank his libido back under control.

“But you’re letting us set up here.” Her voice sounded slightly hoarse all of a sudden.

It took him a moment to remember what they’d been talking about. “And being well paid for it. Let’s just say if you find anything here, I’ll be very surprised.”

Outside in the backyard an evening wind rattled the leaves. He could hear an owl muttering in the oak tree.

Emma gave him a faint smile. “In the movies that would be asking for it.”

“Maybe so.” He pushed himself to his feet, stepping close enough to hear the slight rasp of her breath. “Want to see anything else?” He had a sudden vision of his bedroom upstairs, cool and dark in the late afternoon.

She shook her head. “I’m good.”

Yeah, babe, I’ll bet you are.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Time to get a grip. Emma Shea was a nice-looking woman, although right now she was a little the worse for wear. But she wasn’t the first nice-looking woman he’d seen. And he hadn’t exactly been living on an oil rig for the past six months. He wasn’t sure why he was having this reaction.

If everything she said made him think of sex, he probably needed a cold shower. “Okay, then. I’ll work on getting the parlor into shape. I think this room’s already set.”

She nodded. “I’ll find a table and chairs we can use. Will you be around if I have them delivered?”

“Yeah, sure.” He started back toward the door, hoping she’d follow. After a moment, she did.

She paused at the front door. “Well . . .”

“Well. Let me know when she wants to do that dry run.”
Run along now, sweetheart. Before I do something that gets us both in trouble
.

“I will.” She gave him a slow smile, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. Then she shrugged. “I’ll be talking to you.”

He watched her walk back toward her car, her hips swinging slightly in her slim gray skirt. Not the exaggerated saunter that DeVere had used, but a hundred times more enticing.

In the yard, mourning doves murmured in the darkening pecan trees. He could hear children’s voices further down the street. A couple walked by, their arms around each other, taking in the cooler twilight air.

Nice neighborhood. Nice yard. Nice house.

He turned to go back inside, then paused.

No. The house wasn’t nice. It was passable, and it would probably bring a healthy price when they finally sold it. But
nice
did not describe it. In fact, something about the hulking façade tonight made his shoulders itch.

On the other hand, it suddenly struck him as a great place for a séance.

Chapter 3

Ray’s phone rang at some ungodly hour the next morning. He checked his cell phone on the cardboard moving box he was using for a bedside table. Eight fifteen. Well, maybe not that ungodly after all.

He hadn’t slept particularly well the night before. He couldn’t remember the dreams, but they hadn’t been restful. And he knew for a fact that Emma Shea had shown up in several. Not a good sign, considering they were going to be spending more time together.

He checked the number for the call as the ringing stopped. Rosie.
Oh yeah, even better.

His brother Danny was on the road for a couple of weeks with his girlfriend’s band. His folks were taking a month’s vacation on a cruise to Alaska. That left only one member of his family in San Antonio to pester him—his sister, Rosie. Who had just left him a relatively brief, definitely threatening voicemail. He hit redial.

“Raymundo,” she purred after two rings, “did I wake you?”

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Good. So why didn’t you let me know you were in town, you crud?”

He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know, Rosie. Maybe because I didn’t want you harassing me before I had my coffee.”

“Okay, meet me at the Blue Star Coffee House in thirty minutes, and I’ll buy you a latte. Then I can harass you with a clear conscience.”

He managed to shower and shave and pull on a pair of jeans that weren’t too disreputable. Not that Rosie would notice what he was wearing. Particularly if she was set to chew him out over something else, like the way he hadn’t let her know he was working on the King William house.

He’d expected Rosie to show up with Evan Delwin, her Significant Other, but his sister sat by herself at a corner table, staring out the window at the San Antonio River. The sunlight caught her honey-colored hair, making her look even more like their mother than usual. A gorgeous Irish-American colleen. He’d never been able to figure out why the Riordan genes had managed to trump the Ramos genes in all three of them, but they definitely had. Their last name might be Ramos, but they all looked like they’d just come over from County Cork.

“Hey, sis, how’s life?” He managed to give her a bland smile. It wouldn’t work, of course. Rosie had been seeing through his smiles since they were kids.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this house you and Kevin bought? And why are you living over there? Why aren’t you staying with me and Evan?”

Ray blinked. Rosie’s information was remarkably thorough, given that he hadn’t really discussed this whole thing with anybody but Kevin. “How did you find all of that out?”

“Oh please, don’t even try to dodge the question. Are you or are you not living in that house you’re renovating?” She narrowed her eyes.

He shrugged. “Yeah. I’m sleeping upstairs. It’s no big deal.”

“Yes it is. Why didn’t you let me know? You’re only a few blocks away. We’ve got plenty of room. Hell, you could have an entire wing.”

Rosie and Evan lived in a large Victorian mansion that had once belonged to Grandma Caroline Riordan. Ray probably
could
have had an entire wing, assuming he didn’t mind having Rosie monitoring his every move. He wasn’t sure when she’d moved into substitute mom position—probably when his parents had taken off on their cruise.

“I’m fine where I am. It gives me a chance to work whenever I’ve got the time. Besides, I figured you and Evan might like some privacy.” They had only been together a few months.

“As it happens, Evan’s on a book tour. He won’t be back until the end of next week, and then he takes off again a few days later. So you’d have lots of privacy, unless you wanted company.”

Ray took a swallow of his coffee. “I’m fine, Rosie. I’m comfortable. It helps to be where I’m working in case I want to get started early or work late.”

She settled back in her chair, sighing. “So what’s with this house. Is it a good deal?”

“Kevin thinks so. I think it’ll sell for a lot once we get it fixed up, but it’s got more
fixer upper
problems than we first thought.”

“What kind of problems?”

He shrugged. “Stuff that needs to be ripped out. Sheetrock walls, old carpeting, seventies wood paneling. Plus there’s some windows to replace, some molding to fix. Stuff like that.”

She licked a bit of whipped cream off her upper lip. “And you’re worried about it?”

He tried for nonchalance. “Not particularly.”

“Bullshit.” She gave him a slow grin. “I grew up with you, remember? I know when something is bugging you.”

He sighed. “I wish we hadn’t committed quite so much money on this, but I think we’re going to come out ahead. It’s going to take more time than I figured to get it in shape, though.”

“How much more time?”

“A few weeks.” His gut tightened slightly. Thank God they’d picked up that extra money from the television show.

Rosie narrowed her eyes. “Do you need money?”

“No,” he said flatly. “I’m fine.”

“But it sounds like you might have some trouble down the line.”

“Trust me, sis, I’m okay.” He managed a tight smile. “You’ll have to come over and check out the place.”
Preferably not during the séance.

His sister gave him a long look, the same kind of look she’d given him when she was trying to determine whether he’d beheaded her Barbie. He had, of course. But he was hoping his lying skills had improved since then.

“Okay, Raymundo, I’ll let it go for now. Provided you come over regularly to do your laundry and have dinner.”

“A pleasure.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Gotta get back to pulling up carpet. Thanks for the latte.”

“Any time.”

But he had the uncomfortable sense of Rosie’s gaze following him out the door as he headed for the street.

***

The planning sessions with Gabrielle were always the worst part of the show in Emma’s opinion. Gabrielle acknowledged the importance of planning—at least for everybody else who worked on the show. But she didn’t entirely believe in it, no matter what she said. She believed in the importance of impulse. Namely, hers.

“We need to do a rehearsal at the Ramos house,” Emma repeated. “To make sure it’s going to work for a séance.”

Gabrielle yawned. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. It has the right aura. We can just do a quick run-through on the day we film. We don’t even have any background on the place yet so I don’t know what spirits to look for.”

Emma gritted her teeth. “I’ll do the background research this week. But we don’t yet know how well the rooms will work for what we’re planning. We can do a quick walk-through this evening before you go back to Houston. We don’t want something like the problems we had in Tulsa.”

Tulsa had become a kind of benchmark in screwups for
American Medium.
Gabrielle hadn’t bothered to inspect the house or to rehearse the séance. The resulting debacle, in which the home owner had loudly proclaimed that her home wasn’t haunted and that Gabrielle’s instruments were junk, had never been broadcast, but the scene had somehow made it onto YouTube for a few days. Mentioning Tulsa usually pulled Gabrielle back into line.

Now she gave Emma a sulky look, pushing her blonde curls away from her face. “All right, but I’m not going to spend much time on this walk-through. I’m not ready to begin thinking about this place yet.”

“It’s just to confirm that the house will work. The technical crew will need to look it over, and you’ll want to see how the room looks when it’s set up for a séance.” And probably come up with some changes, if past experience was any guide.

“All right, all right, I’ll do it this evening.” She waved an impatient hand. “Let’s get this over with and then move on.”

Emma hadn’t talked to Ray Ramos for a couple of days—not since that really hot encounter in the dining room. When she’d left that night, she’d been torn between wishing she could stick around another ten minutes to see what developed and feeling like she needed to quickly put as much distance between herself and Ramos as possible. She didn’t have sexual encounters with men she hardly knew. Or at least she never had before.

She paused, taking a deep breath. The very idea that she could have a sexual encounter with someone like Ray Ramos was just this side of laughable. He was somebody who could probably pick up any number of women just by arching an eyebrow. And she was, well, Gabrielle DeVere’s frumpy, still slightly overweight assistant.

Way, way, way out of his league.

She dialed Ramos’s number, hoping for voicemail—much easier to just leave a message. But he picked up after a couple of rings. “What’s up?”

“Hi. It’s Emma Shea.” Her voice sounded annoyingly breathy.
Cut it out. You’re a professional.

“Yeah, I recognized the number. What do you need?”

So much for sexual encounters with great-looking almost-strangers. “We need to do a walk-through at your house so that we can check the technical aspects and so that Gabrielle can see how it will work for the séance. And I’ll need to get the dining room set up so that she can do a test. Would later on today be all right for you?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He sounded a little impatient. Like she was keeping him from something a lot more important.

“Okay, then, I’ll talk to you later.” Emma hit the disconnect button hard, telling herself she wasn’t disappointed. Not even slightly.

She found a round table at an antique store that rented furniture that could seat five or six people. Knowing Gabrielle, she’d probably prefer something that looked more appropriate for the Knights of the Round Table, but they only had two volunteers to participate in the séance. Seating them around a medieval feasting board would make the whole thing seem sort of pathetic.

She rang the doorbell at Ramos’s house around five, expecting the kind of evening that would probably give her a headache. Ramos looked like he expected something roughly similar. His dark T-shirt had sweat stains down the front and his jeans were marked with dust.

“Hey,” he said without a lot of enthusiasm.

Emma’s jaw firmed. “Hello. Did they deliver the table and chairs this afternoon?”

He nodded, stepping back to let her past. “I got the parlor and the dining room cleared out. If DeVere wants anything else, I’ll need more time to get it ready.”

“Two rooms should be sufficient,” she said primly.

The parlor actually looked okay. Not great, but okay. Ramos had gotten rid of the carpeting and cleaned the floors. He’d even found a couple of chairs, but they looked a little lonely sitting by themselves in the middle of the empty space.

“I can get you a couch if you want it,” he said. “There’s one upstairs I’ve been using.”

She turned to look at him. “You’re living here? I didn’t realize that.”

He shrugged. “More like camping out. But I’ve got a few pieces of furniture around if you need them.”

She shook her head as she gave the room another once-over. “An empty room would probably be better. It looks spookier.”

Ramos grimaced, but she ignored him. The whole point in using his house was to make it look as spooky as possible.

The séance table was placed in the middle of the dining room, which somehow had the effect of making the room look even larger and emptier than it had before. Ramos had cleaned things up here too, just as he had in the parlor. Emma stood in front of the windows to gauge the effect of the light. The view of the dead tree in back was atmospheric, but she wasn’t sure it would show up well on video. “We may want the table closer to the fireplace. The mantle would look great in the background when we tape.”

“Easy enough to move it.” Ramos lifted the table a couple of inches off the floor, his biceps straining.

Emma thought about telling him to wait for the rest of the crew, but it was his house and he could move stuff around however he wanted. Besides, she was enjoying the view. A lot.

Willis, the director, arrived a few minutes later, along with part of the technical crew. They checked the rooms, agreed that that the camera setups and lighting would work, and disappeared into the night, probably heading for the nachos and margaritas Emma wished she were having herself.

Not that she could, given that she hadn’t saved up enough calories during the day for more than a sandwich and a bowl of soup.

Gabrielle arrived a half hour later, pouting over the driver who’d picked her up at the hotel. Emma added finding a hot chauffeur to her mental to-do list, then followed Gabrielle as she sauntered through the rooms. She wore one of her séance outfits—a trailing skirt with a chiffon blouse, some silver rings, and a couple of gold chains.

“I’m afraid most of these rooms are still impossible,” she said, waving a hand to clear away the imaginary dust.

“We hadn’t planned on using them,” Emma explained. “Just the parlor and the dining room, with some shots on the front gallery. That might be a good spot for your introduction—very atmospheric.”

Gabrielle gave her a thin smile and marched toward the dining room. The march turned into a saunter when she saw Ramos standing near the dining room windows, looking bored.

Emma managed a smile, although her heart wasn’t in it. “Ms. DeVere just needs to see how the table’s going to work here. We should be finished in a few minutes.”

Ramos managed a half-hearted smile of his own. “No problem.”

Gabrielle was studying the dining room with narrowed eyes. “Oh dear. I’m afraid the table’s in entirely the wrong place. It needs to be closer to the windows.”

“I thought you might like to have the mantle in the background, Gabrielle. It gives the room a period feel.” Emma tried not to grit her teeth.

Gabrielle shook her head. “No, that wouldn’t do at all. Much too distracting. You’ll need to move it a couple of feet to the right.”

She gave Emma a long look that left no question as to who was supposed to be moving the table around.

Ramos stepped forward. “Two feet to the right?”

Gabrielle nodded, her eyes narrowing as she studied the hanging brass chandelier. Emma grabbed one side of the table while Ramos grabbed the other.

Gabrielle studied the new position, which wasn’t actually that much different from the old one. “Oh yes. Much better.”