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Upstairs, the parlor outside their door had been readied for the séance, set up with six round tables, each with a candle and a Ouija board in the center.
After dinner, as they made their way to their room, they were accosted by two white-haired ladies dying to see the bed in which Wild Bill McCutchen had died. Cal gave them a tour of the room, letting them touch the mattress.
“Last night,” one of the women told them, “we were assailed by a series of moans and groans and cries and sighs from the spirits in this room. There was even a bit of wailing. And I do believe the headboard was banging the wall too.”
Lyssa, who was sitting in the rocking chair before the window, had to look away to control the burst of laughter struggling to get out. Clearly, the couple who’d been in the room the night before had been having an extremely good time.
After that, they had a steady stream of visitors, most of whom were in costume, with dresses suited to bygone ages, low-heeled pumps, and suits tailored to the Old West.
As Cal entertained each and every one, making them titter and gasp with his tall tales, Lyssa felt something shift inside her, a new emotion capturing her heart. She couldn’t put a label on it, but he was amazing and wonderful, so sweet and kind to the flow of elderly men and women.
She’d always known he was hardworking, smart, determined, and ambitious, not to mention handsome, sexy, seductive, and beguiling. But yet again, he showed her another side—an adorably sweet one. Just the way, she realized, he’d been when playing in the pool with Noah and Jorge, or dancing with the boys at Ari’s wedding.
Cal Danniger was a kind, wonderful man, with just enough of a naughty glint in his eyes to charm every person who walked through the door.
Just the way he’d always charmed Lyssa.
She liked to think she was offering something, too—fun experiences, new ways to look at things around him. She loved how he’d come around to enjoying street art, axe throwing, glamping. And now haunted houses. She wanted to share his love of hiking and the outdoor art he appreciated, but she also wanted to share things with him that she delighted in. If the deal was to make him fall for her and vice versa, then showing him new pleasures, and not just in bed, had to be part of it. Her parents had taught her the joy of life, and she wanted to share that joy with him.
When it was time for the séance, Lyssa asked the man who seemed to be in charge, “Do you mind if we watch?”
Short and stocky, he almost had to look up at her as he said, “You’re welcome to watch, but please…” He shook his finger dramatically. “No talking.”
They leaned against the wall outside their room, and Cal held her hand, murmuring, “Just in case you get scared.”
The lights were dimmed, the candles on the tables lit.
“Join hands, please.” The medium sat at the front of the group, his chair on a dais so he could look out over them all. “Is there anyone who would like to speak with us tonight?” His big baritone boomed across the assembly.
“Do you feel it?” one of the women asked. “There’s a cold wave in the room. Someone is with us.”
A door in the back was open, letting in the cold air, but Lyssa was as happy to ignore that fact as everyone else in the room.
A woman wearing a turban out of the 1920s raised her hand. “Oh, please, could you talk to my Wilbur? He’s been gone these past twenty years. I miss him so.”
The medium seized on the request with gusto, his voice resounding. “Is there a Wilbur in the house? Please, Wilbur, come into me, speak to your beautiful lady through me.”
His body went rigid, his face a rictus of pain or glory, before his head suddenly fell forward, his chin hitting his chest. The entire room was silent except for the honk of a horn from the road below. When he raised his head again, his eyes were closed, his features softened.
“My darling Imogen, it is I.”
Imogen cried out, “Wilbur! Is that really you?”
“Yes, my dear. Do you remember our first kiss out in the apple orchard on your father’s farm?”
Imogen clapped her hands to her mouth. “It’s really is you, Wilbur.”
All the guests’ mouths hung open, with Imogen’s face beatific in the low light of the flickering candle.
* * *
The medium went around the room, giving each person exactly what they’d come for.
Giving Cal a lightness that encircled his heart, as well.
Grabbing Lyssa’s hand, he pulled her into their room. Listening to the elderly communicate with their long-lost loves, their dearly departed parent or sibling or beloved pet, moved him. It made him think that anything was possible.
