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Those bushy eyebrows Allie had initially found distracting went up a notch. “Who says I’m lying?”
“Tell me exactly what you love about my Perky the Duck story,” Allie said.
He put his hands up. “What’s not to love about it?”
“You’ve never read it, have you?”
Roger had the good manners to look shame-faced. “What gave me away?”
“Let’s just say you seem like the type of man who wouldn’t hide behind an anonymous letter. Plus, if you really had seen a ghost why not go to your sister the ghost hunter in the first place? Why write a letter to a journalist you’ve never met? It didn’t make sense.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I never meant to mess with your story. It’s just…I wanted to be a part of it, I guess.” He glanced away. She could hear the confusion and regret in his voice and Allie had to fight the urge to reach out and hug him. Tom was right. Roger was lonely. This whole ghost thing had been nothing more than an adventure for him.
Tom cleared his throat. “Maybe there’s something on the video that could help,” he suggested.
The three of them watched the replay of the tape on the small camera screen. Allie kept her eye on the lookout for any of those white blobs, but all she saw was the seven of them holding hands while Madame Gloria tried to channel the ghost, and of course, her big “confession” (oh, God, she needed to make sure Roger erased this pronto). Then there was the part where Mimi’s drunken Bunco group had come crashing through the door.
“Looks like something you’d see on that America’s Funniest Videos show,” Roger said, placing the camera equipment back into a bag. “Sorry that wasn’t more helpful.”
Allie tried to squelch her disappointment, but it was impossible to not feel defeated. This was it. No ghost story. No creepy séance to write about. Nothing to impress Ben or anyone else at Florida! magazine. Chris Dougal was going to win. And it was back to waiting tables at The Blue Monkey for Allison Grant.
Without the rest of the group, the building once again seemed dark and lonely. It was like Allie had come back full circle to find herself exactly where she’d been three nights ago.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you wanted,” Tom said.
“Are you?”
“You know I am. I wanted this ghost thing cleared up almost as much as you did.”
He was right. Allie couldn’t blame him for tonight’s epic failure. Or Mimi’s Bunco group, either. She couldn’t blame anyone really, except herself. If only she’d kept her mouth shut, maybe Madame Gloria wouldn’t have stalked out. But Allie hadn’t been able to help herself. It was either admit to the sex or go crazy listening to that music. It had to mean something, didn’t it?
“The thing is,” Allie said, “I think Madame Gloria could have helped.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Tom! She knew we’d had, you know, sex. Right here in this building. If she isn’t a medium, then she sure as heck is psychic. It’s like…she was reading my mind the entire time.”
“Allie, it’s not too hard to figure out that we’ve been together. I bet everyone else here knew, too.”
“How?”
“They’ve got eyes, don’t they?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The way you’ve been looking at me all night? It’s a miracle you didn’t leap over the table.”
“Looking at you? I had my eyes closed most of the time!”
“Okay. So maybe it was the way I was looking at you.” He sounded absolutely serious. And sexy as hell.
“That sounds…painful. Maybe you should get that looked at.”
He stepped toward her, close enough that she could reach out and touch him. If she wanted to. “It’s excruciating,” he said. “Got any suggestions?”
Flirting with Tom Donalan was dangerous. If she didn’t want a repeat of last night then she’d better put a stop to it now. The problem was, despite what she’d told Jen earlier, she was beginning to think a repeat of last night was exactly what she needed. “Nope. No suggestions. So, what about the music?”
He took the change of topic gracefully. “What music?”
