Medium Well (9781101599648) (11 page)

“The stove?” His mother frowned.

“I touched the stove.” He stared at the dark windows again, remembering. “It felt like an electric shock going up my arm. It was so hot I thought the stove had been lit for some reason. The heat traveled from one hand to the other, like I was wired.”

His mother pressed her fingers to her lips for a moment. “That must be how he knew. The stove must have been used to burn something. Maybe to burn the body. You felt the heat. That's how he knew you could feel him, that he could contact you.”

“Terrific. In other words, if I hadn't touched the freakin' stove, none of this would have happened.” He started to walk back toward the street.

“Oh, Danny, it would have happened eventually, if not here, somewhere else. Or you might have touched something else in the carriage house so that he would have known.”

His mother's footsteps paused behind him, and Danny turned. She stood on the walk, staring up at the Steadman house, half hidden in the live oaks and pecans beside the walkway. “Have you ever been inside there?”

He shook his head. “Not my baby. Araceli's handling the main house. She'd have my head on a platter if she thought I had designs on her sale.” Never mind that she kept trying to move in on his—at this point he'd willingly turn the place over to her if he could figure out a way to do it without getting burned himself.

His mother's eyes narrowed as she studied the house. Danny followed her gaze. Three stories. Grayish tan limestone, with faded white wooden trim. High-pitched roof. Wide galleries running around the first and second stories. Cold as an ice palace. Danny shivered.

“Nice house,” he murmured.

His mother shivered, too. “No it isn't.”

“No. But it might be for somebody who didn't get vibes like you and me.”

She bit her lip. “I think you need to go inside there. Whatever happened in the carriage house probably began in the main house.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You know this?”

“I think I do. But don't ask me how. It's just . . . a feeling.”

A feeling.
Danny closed his eyes. Just what he needed—more feelings.

“Okay. I'll see who has the key.”

But, of course, he already knew who had it—or could get it. Biddy.

***

Biddy didn't remember her dreams as a rule. She never had. She'd wake up in the morning feeling either rested or not, based on whatever had happened while she slept. But she could never describe anything after she woke up.

Which made this morning a first since she could remember every detail of her last dream. Not that she was all that happy about remembering it.

She poured herself a second cup of coffee and moved to one of the Adirondack chairs on the small patio out back. A rusted patio table took up most of the space, its canvas umbrella providing some shade. Finches fluttered around the bird feeder her landlady had hung from one of the live oaks in the backyard, and Biddy watched them compete for the sunflower seeds while she tried to straighten out the dream's sequence of events in her mind.

A man. That had been the first thing she'd seen. A man dressed in a black suit and shirt with black boots. His wrists showed white against the black, and she'd found herself wondering why he hadn't found a coat that fit better than that. She'd started to ask him about his suit, but he'd faded slowly away, leaving swirling gray mist where he'd stood before.

The dream should have ended then. She was pretty sure her dreams were brief as a rule. Instead, she'd gone on standing in the swirling mist, squinting after the man in black and wondering where she was exactly. It was cold, she remembered. She'd been rubbing her arms. There must be a draft in her bedroom that translated into cool air in the dream.

And then she'd seen someone else in the mist.

The figure seemed far away at first, moving nearer. It had taken Biddy a few moments to realize it was a woman because she'd been expecting the man in black to come back. A woman in a long dress—white, she thought. Pale in the swirling mist.

“Hello?” Biddy called.

The woman said nothing as she moved forward. The mist seemed to part at her feet, swirling around her face and body. She didn't exactly walk. She just . . . moved.

“Have you been here before? It's cold, isn't it?” Biddy had no idea why she sounded so polite, particularly when the woman hadn't bothered to reply yet. She didn't babble small talk as a rule. Besides, as far as she knew, she'd never been there before herself. She didn't even know where “there” was.

The woman stopped and Biddy raised her gaze to her face. Too dark to see. The mist swirled in front of her.

“I'm sorry. I can't see you,” Biddy called.

After another moment, the woman raised her hand, palm out, white against the swirling mist. And then she disappeared.

And Biddy woke up, wondering what the hell was going on in her subconscious.

She sat now under the faded green canvas umbrella, watching the squirrels dart through the morning sunshine. At seven in the morning, the temperature already hovered around eighty. August in San Antonio.

The dream must have meant something. She just wasn't sure what. Maybe some kind of stress reaction. The Chalk Creek Changelings had a lot of shows coming up, and keeping Araceli in the dark would be tough since she'd have to leave work early on some days. Then there was the problem of the carriage house, along with the question of Danny Ramos.

But Danny Ramos didn't seem like the kind of man to inspire nightmares.

Her lips tightened. Somehow she knew stress had nothing to do with it. Whatever the dream meant, it wasn't something as simple as a bad day.

Eighty degrees or not, Biddy shivered.

Chapter 11

Danny sat at his desk, trying to decide what to say to Biddy Gunter. Through his half-open door, he could see the top of her head in her cubicle, her silver blond hair gleaming in the afternoon sunlight that poured through the windows.

He'd been avoiding her all day, although he hadn't admitted it to himself until now. He'd had to make up the appointments he'd missed yesterday, after all, and he had a new property to check out in the Tobin Hill neighborhood. He had lots of legitimate reasons not to be in the office.

Including not wanting to talk to Biddy.

The kiss hovered there in his mind, even though he'd managed to shove it to the back. The kiss and how she'd looked and felt in his arms. The kiss and the idiotic way he'd behaved after it was over.

Danny closed his eyes for a moment. He'd started dating when he was fifteen, thirteen if you counted “dates” where he met girls at the middle school gym to watch basketball games. He'd never had any problems. He was a minor legend in his fraternity at college. Why Biddy Gunter reduced him to a stumbling mass of nerve endings he had no idea.

But he had to get over it—now. He had other things to worry about beyond Biddy Gunter and her silvery hair and her soft skin and her luscious lips and her . . . He took a breath.
Already not going well.

He squared his shoulders. Time to face the music. “Biddy, can you come in here for a minute?” he called.

She watched him a little warily as she entered the room. She had on the maroon suit again, the one that looked like dried blood, with a flowered blouse. Briefly, Danny remembered her standing onstage at Bodacious Barbeque in her strapless sundress—amused, confident, unbelievably sexy. He was beginning to think she suffered from multiple personality disorder.

“Sit down.” He motioned toward a chair since he had the feeling she'd hover next to his desk indefinitely unless he pushed her into another position.

“What's up?” She pushed her glasses up her nose, blinking at him.

“Why don't you wear glasses when you sing?” Danny blurted. Not what he meant to say, but suddenly he wanted to know.

“I only need them to read and work on the computer. I don't need to read when I sing. Is that a problem?”

He shook his head. “No, not at all. Here—we've got a new listing in Tobin Hill.” He handed her the printout from his computer. Also not what he'd meant to say, but maybe he could work around to it.

“Okay.” She slid the sheet under her notepad, then looked up again expectantly.

He leaned back in his chair. “Have you ever been inside the Steadman house?”

“The main house, you mean, not the carriage house?” She shook her head. “No, I haven't. Araceli hasn't shown it to anyone in the office, so far as I know.”

“Has she gotten much interest in it yet?”

She shrugged. “A few walk-throughs, I think. The new owner, Mr. Petrocelli, is asking a lot for it.”

“I'd like to see it.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Does someone want you to show it?”

“No. I'm not trying to undercut Araceli on her house. I just want to see it.”

She frowned. “Why?”

Because I think the ghost wants me to.
Yeah, that would go over big. He rubbed his eyes. “Maybe it'll help me sell the carriage house. The two places are related.”

“I guess.” She bit her plump lower lip, and he felt a brief shot of heat in his groin. Apparently, her office camouflage wasn't entirely effective.

“Look, Biddy, it's no big thing. I just want to walk around the house a little, see what's there.” He gave her a winning smile that probably didn't reach any further than his lips. “I'd get the keys from Araceli myself, but I think she might get the wrong idea if I did.”

She sighed. “Right. Okay. I'll see if I can get you a key. We won't want to go there when Araceli's around, though, so I'll have to check her calendar, too.”

“We?”
Now Danny's eyebrow went up.

“Of course,
we
. If I'm there it will look less like you're trying to pull a fast one on Araceli.”

Which made a lot of sense, even though he didn't like it much. “Okay,” he muttered. “Let me know when you're ready.”

***

Biddy didn't know why she felt so sneaky about taking the key to the Steadman house off Araceli's keyboard. They kept the keys out in the open on the board to make it easier for the agents to look at the houses, or to show the houses if nobody else was available. And Danny didn't want to show the house, just walk through it. She wasn't really doing anything wrong. All the same, she knew Araceli wouldn't like it.

She picked a time when Lois, Araceli's assistant, was preoccupied with a call. With any luck, no one would notice the key was gone. Of course, how much luck had they had so far with the Steadman place?

She sauntered by as casually as she could. Nothing to notice here. Just another employee walking down the hall on an errand. Lois drummed her fingers on her desk as she passed, listening to someone complaining loudly on the other end of the line. So far as Biddy could tell, she never looked up. Biddy slipped the key off its hook and made herself stroll back toward her cubicle. But she didn't really breathe again until she reached her desk.

They drove to the house in Danny's Lexus at the end of the day. Araceli had a house to show in Monte Vista, according to her calendar, and Biddy guessed she'd head home after that. She wasn't sure why she was so determined to go along with him. She could just as easily have given him the keys and then put them back when he'd finished. She wondered what exactly she was doing there as she studied the dingy pitted walls of the Steadman house while Danny parked in the drive.

It was one of the most remarkably ugly houses she'd ever seen. The faded white wooden galleries had squarish, sharp corners instead of the graceful curves on the other houses along the street. The limestone blocks that made up the walls had weathered to gray, losing all their warm golden undertones. She was willing to bet the temperature inside never got much above a damp chill. If the Addams Family were ever in the market for a second home, the Steadman House would probably do nicely.

“Ready?” Danny turned toward her.

She sighed. “I wish I'd brought a sweater.”

“You don't have to do this, Biddy. You can stay in the car if it bothers you.” He glanced up at the blank stone walls, then back at her again. He didn't look too enthusiastic about going inside himself.

“No.” She swung the car door open. “I want to see if it's any better inside.”

“With our luck, it's probably worse.” He started up the walk, motioning her to join him.

The lawn service had mowed the yard down farther than necessary, so that the grass looked dried out and sparse. A massive live oak spread across the front, the shade so dense that the ground beneath it had gone to bare dirt. Biddy stepped onto the first wooden step and heard it creak beneath her weight.

“Oh for God's sake,” Danny growled. “This place is straight out of a bad horror movie.” He stepped around her, avoiding the stair she stood on, and climbed up to the front gallery.

Biddy followed, then watched him slide the key into the massive brass lock on the front door. “Some day I'm going to write an essay about the relationship between door hardware and owners' self-image. This place is all knob and no door.”

He gave her a quicksilver grin that made her toes curl slightly. Then he pushed the door open. At least it didn't creak.

The front hall was lit only by the sunlight that managed to trickle in through the living room entrance to the left, leaving the hall full of shadows. Biddy squinted through the dimness at a small piecrust table placed beneath an oblong mirror.

Danny blinked. “I didn't realize the place was furnished.”

“I think Mr. Petrocelli went through and took out all the valuable furniture. He's selling the house and contents, or what's left of the contents.”

Biddy glanced up the staircase at the end of the hall. A banister spread across the dusky space overhead with a few shadowed doors. Probably bedrooms. The hall and staircase were covered in a dark flowered carpet that had worn down to the matting in some places. “Where should we start?”

“In here.” Danny stepped past her into the living room. The windows there let in considerably more light than the hall. The floors were bare weathered wood, although she could see the darker areas that had been covered with rugs in the past. The pale green walls reminded her of hospital rooms. A massive fireplace with dark marble facings and a polished wooden mantle took up one wall.

Danny stood in the middle of the room, slowly surveying the space. “Windows on two sides. Ornate fireplace. Good flow through.” He gestured to the open archway behind him. “It has possibilities.”

The only thing that struck her as a possibility was turning the place into an institution for the terminally depressed, but she didn't mention it. He'd gone into real estate mode.

He walked into the adjoining dining room as she trailed behind him. No windows, she noticed. Maybe the owners didn't want anyone watching them while they ate. A chain that hung from the ceiling had once supported a chandelier, now removed. Probably more valuable as an antique than as a selling point for the house. Without it the room was a darkened oblong, lit only by reflected light from the living room. The hanging chain made it look a little like a crime scene.

Sort of like the carriage house.
Biddy shivered.

Danny pushed a swinging door at the side and they found themselves in another hall.

“Service,” he muttered, squinting in the darkness. “Kitchen should be close.”

“Unless it's in the basement.” She rubbed her arms.

“Nah, the house isn't that old or that big. They probably only had a few servants. Had to minimize the amount of walking or the soup would have gotten cold.”

He found another door further down the hall and pushed through it.

At least the kitchen had been modernized with a Viking stove and a massive refrigerator-freezer. Biddy wondered why Mr. Petrocelli hadn't sold them. Maybe he'd decided they were too hard to move. Afternoon sunlight flooded through a bank of windows. Apparently, it was okay for people to see the help eating, assuming they were allowed to eat in the kitchen.

She followed Danny through three more rooms—one that looked like it had been a study and a couple whose function completely eluded her. A few more pieces of furniture were scattered throughout the house—ratty couches, threadbare chairs, occasional tables that she would have put out for the trash pickup. In fact, she wondered why Araceli hadn't just bundled all the furniture off to a junk store by now. It made the house even more depressing.

They ended back in the front hall again. The shadows were longer now, stretching to the foot of the stairs. Danny looked upward and sighed. “Time for the upstairs.”

She trudged up the stairs after him, hanging onto the banister and being careful where she put her feet. The dimness in the upper hallway made her more nervous about the possibility of falling down the staircase than meeting a ghost.

Meeting a ghost?

Biddy gave herself a mental head-slap. She'd learned long ago not to get too imaginative in historic houses. The few times she'd followed Araceli during a showing, she'd been impressed by the way her sister had flatly dismissed any discussion of haunted houses as if the very idea showed bad taste.

Of course, that was before she'd seen the carriage house. She had a feeling even Araceli would have a tough time doing her Little Miss Sunshine routine in there.

Danny opened the first door he came to on the right, and she followed him in.

“Bedroom,” he mused. “Nice layout.”

The room had windows on two sides with a clear view of the yard. Mr. Petrocelli had left the worn flowered carpet in place. Biddy walked along the side, running her hand across the blue-and-cream – striped wallpaper. “Looks a little dingy.”

“Easy enough to strip the paper. Good view of the drive.” He stared out the front window.

She wandered back to the hall and along to the next bedroom, then stopped. Something moved in the shadows at the end of the hall.

Her heart pounded, her pulse thumping in her ears. “Danny,” she called.

He stepped beside her instantly, his hand on her arm. “What? What's wrong?”

“There's something down there. I think it's an animal. Maybe a rat.”

She started to move toward the end of the hall, but he caught her arm. “Wait. Let me.”

He stepped in front of her, extending a hand behind him to slow her down as he walked up the hall.

There was a shuffling sound in the corner ahead of them and a soft
meow
.

Biddy stopped. “A cat?”

“In here?” He shook his head. “Somebody must have left a window open. Only I can't see a damn thing.” He wrenched the door open beside them and something gray zipped across the light. She followed it without really thinking.

The middle bedroom was darker than the one on the corner. Only one set of windows let in the sunshine, and they were partially blocked by another oak tree. She squinted in the fading light, trying to find the animal that had slipped by them.

She saw it after a moment, curled in the corner farthest from the door. A large gray longhair, its golden eyes blinking in the muted light.

Biddy dropped to her knees, extending her hand. “Here, kitty. Come on. It's okay.”

“Don't get too close,” Danny muttered behind her. “It may be feral.”

She shook her head. “No, it isn't. Look at that coat. Someone's been taking care of it.” She inched closer. “Come on, sweetheart, I won't hurt you.”

The cat stared at her from its odd face. The long hair sprouting around its eyes and mouth made its features look scrunched up into a small space. After another moment's staring, it stood up, whisking its magnificent plume of a tail.