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“Fine, but . . . we’ll talk about things later. Murphy, you stay with me.”
SINCE SHE WOULDN’T let the boys out of her sight, he had to wait until they went for pizza. Getting her alone, more or less, at that point came easy. All it took was a pocketful of quarters.
“Okay, I get you don’t want to talk about it in front of them, but we could be talking about a plague of two-headed frogs and they wouldn’t cop to it now. That was something else.”
“I don’t know what happened, or what this is. All I know is whatever it is had my little boy going upstairs, by himself, to... whatever it is.”
“She’s not dangerous.”
“There is no she,” Clare insisted. “And how can you be sure, if there were, she isn’t dangerous?”
“We’re all over that place every day.”
“Grown men.”
“I’ve been in there countless times on my own. Just today she and I had this little negotiation about leaving the porch door open.”
“Maybe because she wanted to push you over the rail.”
He would’ve laughed, but clearly this wasn’t a joke to her. “Why would she?”
“How do I know why?” Irritation bubbled in her voice. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. We’re sitting here talking about a ghost. For God’s sake, Beckett.” She grabbed the glass of soda the minute the waitress set it down.
“Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, Heather.” Beckett sent her an easy smile. “Thanks.”
He waited until Heather moved off again. “We’re having the conversation because you’re upset about it. Murphy wasn’t scared.”
“He’s a child.”
“Yeah, and I figure that’s why he actually saw her. They say, don’t they, kids are more open to stuff like this.”
“How do I know? I don’t—didn’t—don’t—believe in stuff like this. It’s crazy.”
Gauging her mood, he tried to lighten it. “You can be Scully and I can be Mulder. Maybe I do want to believe, but the fact is Murphy saw her. Hair like yours, he said, so she’s a blonde. Wearing a long dress. I’d say she’s from back when women wore long dresses. Eighteenth or nineteenth century.”
“God.”
Now he put a hand over hers, held it firm. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to him, to them, to you. Clare, if I thought for a second Lizzy wanted to hurt anyone, I’d find a way to—I don’t know—exorcise her. I guess it’s exorcism. Here’s the thing.” He shifted forward a little. “You’re thinking she’s all Blair Witch or Poltergeist. Because you dig on horror novels. So you think ghost equals evil.”
“Ghosts aren’t always evil in fiction.”
“There you go.”
“In fiction. I’ve never dealt with one in reality. It scared me, seeing Murphy going up those stairs, smiling up at thin air.”
“I have a theory. Quick version before the quarters run out, and the pizza gets here. She likes what we’re doing, likes that we’re fixing the building. Bringing it back to life, you could say. I think she likes having people around.”
“Now you want to believe you not only have a ghost, but a sociable ghost.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, so many reasons.”
“Try this, Agent Scully. The more we do over there, the more she comes out. When we first went through, I got nothing. But later, when we started taking measurements, when I started doing some sketches, I got this sense. Like being watched. Now that was spooky. As things progressed, I started smelling honeysuckle. Not every time, but more and more often. Now today, we take the tarp down, and that’s a big deal. We have this.”
“I don’t want her screwing around with my kids.”
“Who?” Murphy crawled into her lap.
“Anybody.” Clare wrapped her arms around him, nuzzled his neck until he laughed. “Nobody messes with the Brewster boys.”
And that, Beckett thought as the pie arrived, was that.
After she took the boys home, Beckett went back over. He had the pleasure of walking over the stretch of finished floor, thinking about the permanent steps that would go in before much longer.
And waited to see what might happen.
Nothing.
Maybe they hurt her feelings, he thought. Dead or alive, women could be pretty damn touchy.
“You scared her. Her kids are number one with her, and Murphy’s the baby on top of it. So she’s a little freaked out, that’s all.”
Still nothing.
“I don’t know why I’m getting the silent treatment. I didn’t do anything. And you ought to cut her a break. Most people get a little freaked out. I’m used to you, and I still get jumpy sometimes.”
And again, he thought, nothing.
“You should give her a little time to adjust, especially since she’ll probably be around a lot while we’re working on the place, after we finish.
“One of her friends is going to run the inn. Hope’ll be living up on three, so Clare and Avery are bound to hang around. Once we finish, and Hope’s living here, you won’t have to be alone.”
The door to the porch in E&D opened, and Beckett realized it was a little disconcerting at night without the crew around.
“Sure, a little fresh air’d be good.”
He walked out, smelled the honeysuckle.
“You’ll like her when you get to know her. She’s great. She was afraid you might hurt the boy, so—”
He broke off when the door slammed.
“Whoa. Temper.” He opened the door again. “I didn’t say I thought it. Look, maybe she’s a little overprotective. Her husband was killed. Damn, stupid war. He never got to meet Murphy. So, the way she sees it, she’s all they’ve got, and she needs to make sure they’re safe. Who can argue with that?”
The door opened another inch, and he took it as a sign of apology or understanding.
“Just give her some time. I’ve got some work to do over at my place.” He gestured across the street. “It’s going to be busy around here tomorrow when they start tiling the bathrooms. It’s going to take some time, but it’ll be worth it. I’ll be back in the morning.”
He walked in, shut the door, considered.
“You’ve really got to keep the door closed.”
He waited a moment, then, satisfied, went down, walked out, and locked up.
Across the street he stopped and turned to look, and thought he saw, just for a moment, the shadowy form of a woman at the porch rail.
But the door stayed closed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FRAZZLED, IRRITABLE, AND DESPERATE FOR TEN MINUTES of peace, Clare dragged herself into the bookstore. For a moment, she indulged in some much-needed self-pity.
She owned the damn place, didn’t she? She ought to be able to just take the day off, go do something fun like . . . she couldn’t think of a thing.
Because she wasn’t in the mood for fun. She was in the mood to sit alone, blissfully alone in a quiet room, and stare at nothing for a couple hours.
“Morning!” Laurie sat cheerfully at the computer station. Her wide, bright smile gave Clare an instant headache. “How’s everything?”
“As you’d expect after hauling three kids to the dentist, listening to the bickering and whining all the way there and back. They were still at it when I dumped them at school. Their teachers may send out a warrant for my arrest.”
Laurie’s smile dimmed toward a look of sympathy. “Not a great way to start the day.”
“For any of us.” Clare dumped her purse and briefcase on the steps. Since taking the day off for a quiet room didn’t make the slate, at least she needed coffee before she got started on work.
And really, work climbed several rungs up the ladder from three battling boys.
“I’m going up to sulk for a while,” she said as she poured a mug. “And try not to think about the fact they have their checkups at the pediatrician next week. Maybe I’ll just run away from home.”
&n
bsp; “You work too hard.”
“I’m not in the mood to disagree. Or remind myself that dentists and doctors insist on payment for services rendered.”
“I hate to tell you, you’ve got three messages.”
“Three?” That called for a shot of caramel in the coffee. “We’ve only been open a half hour.”
“Sorry. Um, plus we’ve got some sort of leak in the stockroom bathroom. Really sorry.”
Potential plumbing bill. No amount of caramel could ease the pain. “Oh well.”
“Maybe you’re getting all the crap stuff out of the way at once.”
“By the time you shovel up the crap, more materializes. It’s like the loaves and fishes. So I’d better get to it.”
Laurie waved the yellow message pad, smiled expectantly.
“I’ll take care of those first. I’ll be upstairs if you need me, and I sincerely hope you don’t for the next hour.” She reached for the messages, found herself in a little tug-of-war. “I actually need these to return the calls.”
“I know, but . . .” Doing a quick chair dance, Laurie jiggled the pad between their hands, tilted her head in a downward jerk.
“Laurie, for heaven’s sake. What’s going on with you? You’re officially cut off from caffeine until—Oh! Oh my God.” Clare released the pad to grab Laurie’s hand. The one sporting a sweet, sparkling engagement ring.
