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“Safest, my ass.
” She let out a long breath again. “It’s not going to be weird, and don’t say okay.”
She sailed away, and down the stairs.
“Okay,” he said under his breath.
He closed the door. When he stepped away he thought he heard the whisper of female laughter behind it.
“Yeah, some joke,” he muttered. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he scowled his way downstairs.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE COLD GRIPPED WINTER in a breathless, frigid stranglehold. Under the harsh blue skies, every breath of air blew bitter. Another hard frost slicked The Courtyard pavers as Owen trooped up the outside stairs with Beckett and Ryder.
“I don’t want to hear about any changes, flourishes, or what-ifs,” Ryder muttered.
“Let’s just take a look at this.” Beckett led the way into Jane and Rochester.
“Hell of a lot of boxes yet.” Ryder stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Looks like Mom bought enough lamps to light half the town.”
“We might as well take down what we can for N&N when we go back.” Owen gestured to the appropriate area. “What’s the problem in here, Beck?”
“I don’t know if there is one, but it’s about the only private spot in the building right now, and we’ve been surrounded since last night—plus you took off from Avery’s before I could corner you. Now, what the hell happened with Elizabeth?”
“For Christ’s sake.” Ryder pulled off his cap, dragged his fingers through his dense dark brown hair. “You brought us up here to talk ghosts?”
“Murphy was in that room,” Beckett reminded him. “Alone, hall door shut, porch door open. He just turned goddamn six. Clare’s not so freaked by Lizzy anymore. If it hadn’t been for Lizzy writing in the steam on the bathroom mirror down there—however she managed to pull that off—to warn us, we might not have gotten there in time when Freemont went after Clare. Still, Murphy’s just a little boy.”
“Okay.” Ryder stuck his cap back on. “Okay, you’re right about that. But this whole ghost thing’s irritating.”
“Park benches are irritating to you in some moods.”
“Depends on whether or not I want to sit down.”
Beckett just shook his head. “We got most of it out of Murphy. The kid’s got no off button. He decided to go pay her a visit, and went on in. He told her about school, about the pups. She asked after his family.”
“So Murph the Smurf had a social conversation with a ghost,” Ryder commented. “He needs his own TV show. Murph, Host for Ghosts.”
“Funny,” Beckett said dryly. “She went outside, but told him not to come out, that his mother wouldn’t like it. She’d worry. And she told him she liked to stand out there. How she was waiting for Billy. Now that the inn was being fixed, and there were lights and people, she thought he’d be able to find her easier.”
“Billy who?” Ryder asked.
“Exactly. Murphy didn’t get that part.”
“Why are you looking at me?” Owen demanded. “I wasn’t in on any of that. When I went in Avery was already there, and she had Murphy. We sent him up to Clare so she wouldn’t worry.”
“Yeah, then he chatted away about Lizzy, about you and Avery being in there. And I couldn’t get the door open. It wouldn’t budge.”
“So, she was playing games.” Owen shrugged, trying for casual, ending with a jerk. “It’s not the first time.”
“Won’t be the last,” Ryder muttered.
“No, not the first or the last,” Beckett agreed. “But when you opened the door from the inside, you looked like somebody’d knocked you stupid with a blunt object. I want to know what happened between the time you sent Murphy out and when you opened up.”
“Nothing. Especially.”
“Bullshit.” Ryder let out a snort. “You can’t lie worth dick. And if it was nothing especially, why were you all broody over at Vesta? Like a hen on a nest of cracked eggs, then you made noises about paperwork and took off.” Grinning now, Ryder nodded at Beckett. “It was something especially.”
“Cough it up, Owen,” Beckett told him.
“Fine. Fine. Avery filled me in on what Murphy told her. She’s all excited and dreamy. The ghost deal, the waiting for Billy thing. Like it’s a made-for-TV movie. Romantic, love beyond the grave, all that stuff. You know how Avery can get on a theme.”
“Not really.” Ryder shrugged. “I’ve never had a romantic, love-beyond-the-grave conversation with Avery. You?” he asked Beckett.
“Not as I recall. Then again, Owen was her first boyfriend.”
“Cut it out.” Caught between embarrassment and annoyance, Owen shuffled his feet. “She was like five, maybe six. Like Murphy’s age. Jesus.”
“She said she was going to marry you,” Beckett reminded him, snorting along with Ryder now. “And you’d have three dogs, two cats, and five babies. Or maybe it was three babies and five dogs.”
“You got her a ring, bro.”
Trapped, Owen bared his teeth at Ryder. “Out of a frigging gum ball machine. Just playing around. I was a kid, too, for Christ’s sake.”
“Kissed her, right on the mouth,” Beckett remembered.
“It just happened! That honeysuckle-smelling, short-tempered ghost of yours shoved the porch door back open when Avery was leaning against it. The next thing I know she’s wrapped around me, and . . .”
Brows lifted, Beckett angled his head as he studied Owen’s face. “I was talking about when she was five.”
“Oh.”
“But bring us up to date,” Ryder insisted. “You laid one on the Little Red Machine?”
“It just happened,” he insisted. “The door knocked her into me.”
“Yeah, anytime a woman trips, I’m all over them.”
“Suck me,” Owen said to Ryder.
“Must’ve been a hell of a just-happened lip-lock,” Beckett speculated. “Considering how you looked when you unlocked the door.”
“I didn’t unlock the door because it wasn’t locked. She did it.”
“Red?”
“No, not Avery. Elizabeth. Then she laughed.”
“Avery?”
“No!” Close to tearing out his hair, Owen paced between stacks of boxes. “Elizabeth. After Avery got pissed and left, I heard her laughing.”
“Avery got pissed because you kissed her?” Beckett asked.
“No. Maybe. How the hell do I know what pisses a woman off?” Frustration rippled over him in waves. “Nobody knows because it can be any damn thing. It’s an unsolved mystery. And the next day, that any damn thing is fine, and it’s some other damn thing. No man knows,” Owen said darkly.
“He ain’t wrong,” Ryder commented. “So. Back up.” Ryder hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Did she kiss you back? Men know that one, pal.”
“Yeah, she kissed me back.”
“Like reflex, or bring it on?”
“She was in it,” Owen muttered. “It wasn’t some friendly peck.”
“Tongues?”
“Jesus, Ry.”
“You’re not the only one who appreciates details.” Ryder nodded at Beckett. “Definitely tongues involved.”
“I said she was in it, didn’t I? Then Beck’s banging on the door, and it’s all surreal. She didn’t want it to be weird, you know? So I said okay. She said she was going to go give Dave a hand, and I said okay.”
“You’re a moron.” In pity, Ryder shook his head. “You’re supposed to be the smart one. You’re the smart one, Beckett’s the nice one, I’m the good-looking one. And you’re a moron. You just fucked the curve, dude.”
“Why? Why am I a moron?”
Beckett raised his hand. “I got this. You kiss a woman till your eyes roll back in your head, and if your information is correct, she’s just as in it as you. Then all you can say when she’s obviously probing for what it meant is ‘okay’? You’re a moron.”
“She didn’t want it to be weird. I was trying not to make it weird.”
“You get a shove from
a dead woman and end up tangling tongues with an old girlfriend and the ghost blocks the exit? That’s fucking weird,” Ryder concluded.
“She’s not an old girlfriend. She was five!”
Companionably now, Ryder laid a hand on Owen’s shoulder. “Women never forget. You don’t want it to be weirder than it is now, you have to talk to her about it. You poor bastard.”
“Avery was right,” Beckett speculated. “Lizzy’s a romantic. The first time I kissed Clare was in this building—and after, I figured Lizzy maneuvered it. At least some of it.”
“Then you talk to her,” Owen insisted. “Tell her to back off.”
“Kissing Red must’ve killed off some of your brain cells,” Ryder decided. “You can tell a woman what to do—if you play it right—and maybe, maybe half the time she’d do it, or something close to it. That’s a live woman. A dead one? I figure that’s closer to zero.”
“Crap.”
“Better talk to Avery,” Beckett advised. “And do it soon, do it right.”
“Crap.”
“So, now that we’ve had our heart-to-heart, ladies, let’s get the hell back to work.” Ryder walked to the door, opened it. “We’ve got an inn to finish.”
* * *
HE COULDN’T AVOID her—not that he wanted to. Exactly. But he couldn’t, not between punch-out, load-in, cleaning, food breaks. In the normal course of things, he saw Avery at least once a week. Since work began on the inn, it was pretty much daily. And now with that work coming down the stretch, they tended to cross paths multiple times a day.
But—because he wasn’t a moron—none of those times included the sort of privacy he knew the conversation they needed to have required.
