The Book of Eleanor (20 page)

I waited impatiently.

“The ghost isn’t Mary,” Angie said finally.

I chewed that morsel of information for a moment or two. “So how do you know this? You did see something, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” She lifted her bowl and drank the remaining broth, then set the bowl aside. “It’s the woman on the book. The author. Her name is Eleanor Copeland, and she was a pretty famous poet back in the forties.”

“In New York, right? I read that on the back of the book.”

“That’s right. Well, Eleanor fell in love with this woman named Annalise, and they were going to go to California together sometime in the early fifties. Unfortunately, Eleanor was hit by a speeding cab before they could leave the city.”

Sadness filled me. “That’s awful. That must be the Annalise she mentions in those poems.”

Angie nodded. “And I think I know what Eleanor wants. Why she’s haunting you.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense.” I placed my bowl on the rough planking of the floor and waited, clasping my hands together in front of me.

“She wants us to find Annalise.”

I watched her, wondering if I’d heard her correctly. “But if they lived back then, Annalise would have to be, like, eighty or ninety years old. She might even be dead herself.”

“I know. I thought of that today.” Angie sighed.

“Eleanor told you this during that trance you were in?” I tried to wrap my head around this new information.

Angie shook her head slowly. “Well, here’s where it gets a little sticky.” She paused and moved her hands across her face, scrubbing at it. She eyed me from behind her fingers. “Mary came to me at work today.”

I studied her. “No, wait. Why would Mary—” I leapt to my feet, unable to understand and direct my thoughts.

Angie rushed to hold my arms, her expression grim. “Mary came to me, like one of my normal visions. I saw when and where she bought Eleanor’s book. Eleanor came to her, haunted her. But Mary figured it out and she was helping Eleanor find Annalise.”

“Mary never mentioned this to me. How could she be working on something like that and me not know anything about it? That’s just wrong.” I studied her face. Could Angie be lying to me? Why would she?

“But honey, Mary showed it to me. I saw her on her computer looking up information about Annalise.”

I looked into her eyes and saw the pain there, and the fear that I wouldn’t believe her. I realized suddenly that she must face this situation almost every day of her life in one way or another. I had to have faith in her. I had to believe her because I loved her.

I calmed myself. “Did Mary find Annalise?”

Angie released my arms and moved to the railing to peer into the shallows below. “That I don’t know. But I believe that’s what we need to do to put Eleanor’s angry spirit to rest. We need to find Annalise.”

I moved to stand at the railing next to her.

“Look,” she whispered urgently. I followed her pointing finger and there, glistening in the glow emanating from the condos on the breakwater, was a pod of four dolphins frolicking in the shallows of the bay. We watched them for a long time, the wind whipping fiercely around us, until the dolphins moved too far away for us to see them.

Angie turned to press me against the railing with the length of her body. She stared into my eyes while I wrapped my arms around her muscular waist. “The wind’s really getting up,” she said calmly.

I returned her penetrating gaze. I wanted this woman so fiercely, I couldn’t even think about it in any sort of coherent fashion. She set my blood on fire.

“Kiss me, Angie,” I whispered. “I want you so badly.”

She closed those magnificent eyes and a low whimper sounded. Then her lips were on mine and I felt her need as it seared through me. I adored—no, craved—the firm pressure of her strong hands against my back. I loved the long, lean lines of her body when she pressed against me. She fit me perfectly. I felt as though I could never get enough of her touching me, skin to skin, face to face.

Wanting her skin, I broke the kiss and slowly unbuttoned the Oxford shirt she wore above her shorts. I dropped the collar back, exposing her broad, sleek shoulders. She wore a sports bra under the shirt. I slipped my hands underneath so I could caress her breasts and her hardening nipples. I also touched the tight expanse of her belly.

“You feel so good,” I whispered, pressing my lips against her ear.

“You
make
me feel so good,” she countered, her words falling against my ear like diamonds sliding slowly onto black velvet. She pulled my hands from her skin and drew me into the apartment. She locked the door.

Our clothing fell from us. By the time we reached the bedroom, there were no further barriers to our lovemaking. Angie pressed into me, moving my legs apart, claiming me fully. I lifted my body, pressing into her as much as possible. Our kisses made us one. I wasn’t sure if there was any separation anymore.

I turned her onto her back and moved her hands above her head, holding them flat as I kissed along her neck and breasts. I kissed her lips. She lifted her head up eagerly to meet me.

Our tongues played games as our kisses deepened into soul- searing possessions.

I pulled back and straddled her, pressing my hot wetness against her lower belly. Freeing her arms, I cupped my own breasts as I moved against her, slowly pleasuring myself, gasping with erotic joy. She watched me, her hands on my hips, her eyes dark and grim with passion, until she could take no more. She slid her hand between us and entered me hard and deep.

I gasped at this new possession, even as a shudder of release swept over my body. I rode her arm, wrapping my arms around my own shoulders and securing myself when I felt dizziness overtake me.

Then I was on my back. Her mouth was over me, devouring me in that wet center I offered her so readily. Her hands were on my breasts as her tongue brutalized my swollen, sensitive nub, bringing me to the edge of release, then moving to enter me and approach my pleasure from another angle. She did this again and again until I sobbed for release, my body quaking with frantic need.

Apparently sensing this need, she stopped, paused her assault, and dropped her head to my thigh for a brief moment, as if experiencing the sensations fully along with me. When she resumed, her mouth was more gentle and brought me lovingly to that abyss of pleasure and tipped me over. I soared into space, my body rushing headlong until I landed in her arms, her lips pressed to my forehead while she held me close.

I rested next to Grey, my body blazing, experiencing vicariously her passionate release. Her sensual energy amazed me. I reveled in the fire energy between us.

We dozed a long time, but when Grey stirred, she entwined our legs. Her thigh found my wetness. She knew I still craved release, craved her. She tipped me toward her and suckled my breasts as she smiled up into my eyes, hers full of sensual promise.

Earthquakes shifted tectonic plates that had long lain dormant within me. Sound erupted from my lips as Grey alternately suckled and teased the tips of my breasts. One of her hands moved lower to stroke my outer lips, teasing the very end of my clit where it protruded with demanding need.

Grey kissed along my flank, her head under my arm, her hand gently moving against my clit. Her fingers went inside, seeking wetness. When she touched me once more, those tectonic plates moved yet again and a volcano erupted. My breath expelled harshly and my body shook with major tremors. Her fingers pressed in deeply. She pulled upward against the back of my clit until I throbbed helplessly against her hand, my breath rasping against her neck.

Moments later, I opened my eyes and rolled onto my back, and there she was. Eleanor. Standing next to the bed behind Grey, looking at me with milk-white eyes, her long black hair streaming on either side of her thin, pale face.

Shocked beyond belief, I shouted hoarsely, the sound ripped from me involuntarily as I scrambled back toward the headboard, away from the vision.

Grey sat up, alarmed. She saw where my wide eyes focused. Fear etched a furrow in her brow as she studied me. Her breathing became labored.

“What is it?” she whimpered.

I couldn’t speak due to my racing heart, but I worked to calm my body, a hand pressed to my thumping chest. Grey turned slowly around as Eleanor, like a projected film gone bad, stuttered into oblivion.

“It was Eleanor,” I gasped finally.

“No,” Grey moaned, shaking her head and gripping the coverlet against her nakedness. “No.”

“That’s it! I’ve had enough,” I said, rising and collecting my clothing. “This will stop. One way or another.”

“I don’t have Mary’s computer, honey. I gave it to her sister because I already had a computer, and she gave it to her daughter to use for school,” I said.

Angie paced the kitchen, both hands cradling the warmth of her ceramic mug of hot tea. “So I guess we have to somehow go back to square one. I admit, I’m at a loss where to begin.”

“Can’t you, like,
talk
to her? Get some information that way?” I studied the Sassy Suzy strip one last time before sealing it into the mailer. I irritated myself by constantly looking over my shoulder, expecting Eleanor to appear again.

“It doesn’t usually work like that for me. I just get flashes... If we had the information that Mary found, we could do something with that. Maybe…” She paused and stared out at the dark night beyond the kitchen door as if the answers floated there. She moved the curtain. A warm wind buffeted me and I suddenly remembered something.

“Oh, my gosh, wait here a minute.” I opened the door to the Bookmark and reached for the switch to flood the large room with light. Rummaging around behind the left-hand coffee bar, I recovered a box of random electronic things I had brought from the house in Garland. Among the wires of routers and other items rested Mary’s BlackBerry. I lifted it and rummaged deeper for the charger cord.

“What’s that?” Angie asked curiously when I closed the door behind me and took a seat at the dining table.

“Plug this in, will you?” I requested, handing her the cord.

She looked around until she found an outlet.

I pressed the power button and the data tool came to life. “I stopped phone service on this, but her address book and other info should still be here.”

Angie’s face lit with hope. “Oh, too cool!” she exclaimed, leaning to look over my shoulder.

I scrolled through Mary’s address book, frustrated to find no Annalise listed. I switched screens and entered the application for various projects. Listed as bold as day, I found the title
Annalise and Eleanor
.

“Oh, my God, you were right,” I said. “She
was
helping Eleanor.”

Angie laughed with delight and kissed the top of my head. “Awesome! What does it say?”

I opened the application to find a list of brief notes. I saw references to New York and San Francisco, someone named Katherine Lyrian, Annalise Carter’s name, and a phone number and an address in Berkeley.

“Do you think that’s really her?” Angie asked.

“I’m not sure. It could be. I wonder who Katherine Lyrian is.”

“Well, I’m sure she got married and had kids. This was the 1950s after all. Maybe Katherine is her child.”

“Yep, that could be. But what if she identified as lesbian?” I tapped a fingernail thoughtfully against my bottom lip.

“I guess she could have still had kids.”

“I dunno. We didn’t do it so much back then like we do now.”

Angie agreed. “True. Well, should we call the number?”

“And say what? I’m a little nervous about that.”

“Good point,” Angie said, moving to place her empty cup in the sink. “Most people don’t react well to ‘Hello, I need to know what happened to Annalise Carter because the ghost of her dead lover is haunting me.’”

I studied her, waiting for her to acknowledge her own humor. She didn’t, so I had to laugh at her seriousness. “Yep, I would imagine.” I glanced at the clock and saw it was close to midnight. “Look, it’s too late to call tonight anyway. Let’s go to bed and get a fresh perspective in the morning.”

Angie lifted her arms and yawned loudly. “Yeah, I have to work the morning shift at Mama’s.”

“So y’all are opening?”

“Yep, until the storm gears up. We’ll have a few regulars who will still come out.” She turned to me and pulled me to my feet. “Did I tell you how much I enjoyed our time together before Eleanor so rudely interrupted us?”

I felt my cheeks turning pink. “No, you didn’t. Did you enjoy it as much as I did?”

“Hmm, I’ve forgotten,” she mused, grinning. “Let’s go over it again.”

“Was that Donny’s truck I saw dropping you off out there, Mama?” I asked.

She tucked her pocketbook into its usual slot under the dish rack and grinned at me. “And what if it was?”

I shrugged. “Just glad he’s staying on this side of the water ’til the storm’s over. That’s all.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She glanced at the griddle where I stood. “What’s that you’re cooking?”

“Pancakes. For Grey.”

Mama pulled on her apron. “Lord, child, don’t you be cookin’ for that girl. She’ll run for the hills and won’t give you the time of day even, ever again.”

“Mama,” I protested. “I can cook!”

She shooed me aside and took over the griddle. “Where is she anyway?” she asked.

“Walked over to the post office to mail in her comic strip.” I stirred the batter after Mama checked it and added more milk.

“That’s right, I forgot we have a celebrity in our midst. Butter these, will you?”

I slathered fresh butter on the first stack of pancakes and placed them in the warmer. “We always have celebrities coming through here, Mama. You know that.”

“Yeah, but they don’t stay. They don’t live here.”

“That software guy did. He built a mansion on the island,” I pointed out.

“Um-hmm. So what’s the latest on the ghost over there?” She nodded toward the Bookmark as she flipped a layer of pockmarked pancakes.