Better Homes and Hauntings

by Molly Harper

  “I don’t have the boobs to pull that dress off,” Nina said.

  “Well, it depends on how you want your night to go.” Dotty snickered. Her own dress was a confection of tiered nude lace that was surprisingly demure for a woman who had added extra red and purple curls to her hair only that morning. “And you’re right, I picked that dress for Cindy because my friend Robbie told me it is a marvel of modern engineering and will be able to support her straplessly from here until Armageddon.”

  Dotty actually didn’t know much about clothes. She would run around in pajama pants most days if it didn’t mean getting funny looks at the grocery store. Robbie was one of Dotty’s many former roommates and a buyer for Macy’s. He had been happy to give her unclaimed samples according to the sizes Dotty sent over. How Dotty knew their exact sizes Nina didn’t want to know. She hadn’t had to find anything for Jake, who was his own traveling stylist, or Deacon, who apparently paid someone to pick out his clothes for him.

  Now, if Nina didn’t have the boat ride to the mainland to dread, this would be a dang fairy tale. She distracted herself by watching Jake’s glazed expression as Dotty explained why the matching nude lace booties with the Swarovski crystal skulls embedded in the heels were very practical. But soon enough, Deacon announced that their ride had arrived, and Nina started applying seasickness patches behind both ears.

  “Um, unless you plan on using those as a fashion statement, I don’t think you’ll need them,” Deacon told her, offering his arm as the group trooped out of the house.

  Cindy, Nina noted wryly, seemed intent on keeping as much distance as possible between herself and Jake. As they rounded the corner of the staff quarters, Nina spotted a slightly larger, white version of Deacon’s “work” helicopter waiting on the flat section of yard that served as an impromptu helipad.

  When Nina’s lips pursed, Deacon explained, “Jake said that you get really sick on boats.”

  “I’m usually an ‘oh, you shouldn’t have’ sort of girl, but this is really sweet. Thank you,” Nina told him. “You know, I’ve never ridden in one of these before.”

  “Really?” he said. “They’re a lot like taxis—cramped, sort of uncomfortable, and you’re not sure whether to trust the guy driving.”

  The flight over the ocean was strangely uncomfortable. While she was very happy not to be on a boat, Nina couldn’t help but think of that scene in Jaws II when the shark pops up out of the water and eats the helicopter. Fortunately, she was only able to dwell on that cheerful thought briefly. It turned out helicopters went much faster that she’d expected.

  Almost an hour later, the group landed at a discreet helipad in a tony area of Boston and took a car service to Deacon’s corporate headquarters. It felt very weird to be back “in the world.” The lights seemed too bright. The noise of the traffic and the milling crowds was practically deafening. By the time they arrived at the shockingly modest brick building near Dorchester, Nina was considering asking to stop at one of the plentiful corner drugstores for a pair of sunglasses and some earplugs. The building, with its ornate hand-bricked façade and subtle brushed-metal EyeDee logo, looked a bit shabby and aged from the outside, but the moment they stepped through the heavily secured front entrance, Nina’s superfuturistic Star Trek expectations were met. The walls were a sterile, shiny brushed aluminum, reflecting the delicate gray-blue of the carpet. The desks, on the other hand—while ultrasleek, ergonomic white structures—were covered with various toys and action figures. One particularly impressive employee had constructed a Lego version of Castle Grayskull around his computer, the monitor occupying the skull’s open mouth.

  Deacon took in Nina’s frown as they passed through the main floor to the elevator. “I know, it’s a little cluttered. But I’ve found that people are more productive when they’re happy, and having a few things that personalize their desks seems to make my employees happy. Also, I may or may not have instituted Laser Tag Fridays.”

  Nina giggled.

  “What?” he said, chuckling. “Jake won’t play with me anymore since I chipped his tooth.”

  “He hit me in the face with his gun!” Jake called over his shoulder as they got into the elevator.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t see you coming around the corner!” Deacon exclaimed.

  “Until I don’t have to go to the dentist every six months for a crown inspection,” Jake muttered, not even looking toward Cindy as he cradled her elbow, preventing her from bobbling on her high heels as the elevator sprang to life. She raised her eyebrow, as if she didn’t quite know what to make of the casual, thoughtful gesture.

  Nina laughed. “Actually, I was wondering what sort of toys you have on your desk.”

  Deacon’s fingers slipped on the elevator buttons, making the car stop on the second and third floors before reaching their destination. Nina bit her lip to prevent a smirk. “It’s one of those super-revealing Cheetara figurines from ThunderCats, isn’t it?”

  Deacon cleared his throat. “No comment.”

  Jake flashed him a thumbs-up and mouthed, “Smooth.”

  Deacon flashed him a rude gesture behind his back.

  The doors opened to reveal a spacious rooftop terrace set with about a dozen tables. Long strings of LED-powered bulbs formed a canopy overhead, somehow making the lights of the Boston skyline pop even brighter. Several carefully shaped trees broke up the cement landscape. Two very busy bartenders were working from behind a mobile wet bar to keep the gathering properly lubricated. Jazzed-out instrumental versions of pop songs played softly from speakers hidden under brick and plexiglass benches that flanked the trees.

  As soon as Deacon exited the elevator, he was mobbed. While his employees greeted their CEO with casual waves, every one of the other guests, well-dressed, slightly desperate-looking people, suddenly needed to talk to him right then about some emerging need in their charity. The press of the crowd darn near sent Nina into a panic, but Deacon slid his arm around her waist, keeping her anchored to his side as he chatted with them. He politely introduced her to each newcomer, but it was clear that their attention was limited to Deacon and his wallet, leaving Nina to distract herself with the decorations until he finally managed to lead her to where his employees had formed a sort of fort out of bar tables. There they would defend their stash of shrimp balls to the death. Nina found she much preferred this side of the roof, where it might have been quiet, but at least the faces were friendly. And they were willing to share their shrimp balls after Deacon mentioned her Flash Gordon street cred.

  Deacon seemed to relax more around his employees, and soon it actually felt like a party. And Nina . . . Nina felt like his date. Deacon hadn’t specifically asked her to come as his date, of course. He’d proposed this as a group outing, but he was orbiting around her like a dedicated moon. He changed his position every time she changed hers, keeping his hand at the small of her back to lead her around the smaller, more welcoming circle and introduce her to his friends. And he actually fetched her a drink, the guy who paid someone to pick out his ties. He used the word fetch and everything. And he got her drink order right. She liked her Manhattans to run light on the vermouth, heavy on the cherries.

  “The bartender is asking that you be limited to bottled water from here on out,” he told her, handing her the cocktail.

  “Funny. By the way, are these silk trees?” Nina whispered, her tone horrified.

  Deacon rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, looking chagrined. “Well, yeah, the staff mostly uses the rooftop for smoking, so we haven’t bothered much with landscaping. We rented those for the party. They hide the electrical equipment that’s powering the lights and the audio equipment.” When he saw her aghast expression, he added, “That was the wrong thing to say. We’ll get rid of them tomorrow. We’ll send them to a nice farm.”

  “I will landscape this area for free if you never rent these monstrosities again,” she told him in the firmest tone she had used since meeting him.r />
  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Deacon took her hand and rested it in the crook of his arm, escorting her to a long table on the far side of the roof. “Now, can I interest you in dessert, Miss Linden?”

  Instead of an elaborate spread of pastries, the table was laid with dozens of small bowls full of graham crackers, Swiss-chocolate squares, peanut-butter cups, peppermint patties, sprinkles, jimmies, crushed toffee, gummy bears, and other sweets. An enormous mountain of oversized marshmallows overflowed from a tureen at the end of the table, next to a small hibachi grill, where guests could use tiny silver sticks to toast their creations.

  “Of course, you make gourmet s’mores.”

  “You mentioned them a few times during our ghost-story sessions,” he said. “I thought you would appreciate a chocolate and marshmallow fix.”

  “I don’t know where to begin. Are you sure you can handle ‘chocolate-covered espresso bean and marshmallow’ Nina?”

  “Oh, I think I can handle Nina in all of her forms.”

  Eyes already widened by the choco-buffet went dinner-plate size. Had Deacon just uttered something overtly suggestive? Without blushing? Nina bit her lip and stepped closer, a movement Deacon echoed, his fingers slipping around hers.

  And of course, that was the moment Deacon’s assistant and vice president of distance operations, Vi, whose claret hair rivaled Dotty’s for color saturation, approached Deacon from behind, much as a shark would sneak up on a baby seal. Nina had instantly liked the young woman, who stood only five-foot-four in her ungodly expensive platform heels but somehow managed to cow Deacon into being socially acceptable. She moved quickly and quietly, her digital tablet clutched to her chest like a shield. “Deacon, you’re going to need to say a few words.”

  Deacon startled. “Damn it, Vi, we’ve talked about the skulking thing. It’s only OK when you aren’t using it on me.”

  “I don’t skulk.” Vi sniffed. “I move in a stealthy manner. It’s not my fault you’re too busy making googly eyes to listen for the subtle yet telltale stiletto clacking.”

  Nina’s cheeks flushed a lovely pink, while Deacon shot Vi a death glare. “Viola.”

  She scowled right back. “OK, OK, no reason to pull out the embarrassing birth names. Anyway, you’re going to need to say a few words. We’ve set up a mic near the fire escape. Here are your notecards with your speech printed on them. You have three minutes to memorize it.”

  “Three minutes?” Nina marveled.

  “She usually gives me two and a half,” Deacon muttered, shuffling his cards.

  “Well, I’m going soft on you because you’ve been off-site for a few weeks,” Vi said, straightening his tie.

  “I’ll be right back,” Deacon told Nina as Vi brushed invisible lint from his lapels. He turned to his assistant. “Vi, if you spit on a tissue and try to wipe my face, we’re going to have words.”

  “That happened once,” Vi said as they walked away. “And you had duck sauce on your cheek!”

  Nina stared after them, grinning. She would definitely have to spend more time with Vi. Anyone who could wrangle Deacon with such authority would be a fitting mentor for someone who could only control plant life.

  Now that she’d adjusted to the sensory overload of the “real world,” being off the island, even for just the evening, felt good. Nina felt as if she could think more clearly, more like herself, instead of being influenced by the house, whether that meant its oppressive atmosphere or the direct intervention of ghosts. What had her life become that this was now a normal train of thought? She sighed, sipping her drink.

  And as she watched Deacon bickering happily with Vi, she realized that very little about the way she felt about him had changed since they’d left the Crane’s Nest. The way they spoke to each other, her appreciation for his thoughtful little gestures, and the goofy grin she couldn’t seem to wipe off her face were all the same as they were on the island. It was good to know that whatever else the spirits might be influencing, her feelings for Deacon were very real.

  His speech was short and to the point, promising EyeDee’s support for all of his guests’ causes for the coming year. Nina moved toward the bar to get them both a drink. Deacon would need one when he was done with his comments. His jaw was clenching, and his ears were turning red, which Nina now recognized as his tells for high-stress situations. Throwing caution to the wind, she ordered him a double vodka on the rocks.

  Had she not turned her back on the party to watch the bartender measure out the vermouth for her Manhattan she might have sensed Regina sneaking up on her.

  “Well, Nora, don’t you clean up nicely?” the decorator cooed, smoothing a hand down her skintight black strapless sheath with an intricately beaded black and purple belt at the waist. Nina glanced down at Regina’s shoes, which were probably worth more than Nina’s car. “And your dress! It’s so . . . different.”

  Nina stretched out her hand in cordial greeting, but Regina failed to take it, wrinkling her nose, as if Nina had dirt caked underneath her fingernails. Pulling back, Nina self-consciously wiped her fingers on her skirt. Before she could respond in a way that didn’t make her feel like a dowdy high school reject, Dotty sidled up to Nina and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Thank you, Regina. I chose it for Nina especially.”

  Regina’s dark brows winged up. “Of course, Dotty, you’ve always had such interesting taste.”

  “And we can always depend on you to wear something barely appropriate for the occasion.”

  Regina ignored the jibe. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t miss one of Deacon’s little parties. I know he counts on me to help him make sure everyone is comfortable and entertained. Some people still know how to host, and I’m glad he knows he can trust that to me.”

  “He has an assistant who makes sure everyone is comfortable and entertained,” Dotty retorted. “You’re here because he can’t figure out how to slough you off like dead skin.”

  “Charming as always.” Regina sniffed. “Actually, Nina, I was hoping I might see you here.”

  Nina waited for the inevitable punch line.

  Regina signaled the bartender, who reached under his station and withdrew a bold purple folder embossed with the logo of her company, Intriguing Interiors. Regina pressed it into Nina’s hands. Inside was a neatly typed list of plants and quantities.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s a floral scheme. Mr. Whitney has requested that we ‘bring a little life’ into the house with some live plants.”

  Nina’s lips twitched, but she managed to hide the smile brewing there. Perhaps she was having more of an effect on Deacon than she’d believed.

  “Why would you give her this now?” Dotty asked, eyes narrowed. “It’s not as if the party counts as Nina’s office hours.”

  “Well, it’s not as if she thinks she’s a guest.”

  Aaaaand . . . there it was.

  At Regina’s tinkling laugh, Dotty’s hand bunched into a fist. Nina attempted to calm Dotty with a hand on her arm.

  “She’s here as Deacon’s employee, just like the blond cleaning lady,” Regina said.

  Nina let go of Dotty’s arm, because, honestly, Regina had it coming. But Dotty simply ground her teeth and gave Regina the death glare.

  Unfortunately, Dotty’s restraint meant that Regina was still talking. “I’ve added several banks of potted plants within the space. Don’t bother repotting. I’ll choose the containers.”

  Nina tried to imagine Regina repotting anything except maybe to pass off carryout pasta as her own cooking. Nope. It would endanger innocent plants. She would have to find some way around that. And that wasn’t the only problem. Some of the items on Regina’s list were downright ridiculous.

  The incredulous expression on Nina’s face made Regina snap, “What?”

  “Well, there are a couple of issues. One, you’ve got lily and dieffenbachia plants on your list, both of which are poisonous to dogs and small children.”

  Regi
na looked completely unimpressed. “So what’s point two?”

  “The orchids you’ve selected are problematic,” Nina told her. “It’s not that bifrenaria aren’t perfectly lovely flowers—”

  “Yes, I picked them because they’re lovely. I needed the mix of reds to contrast with the color scheme I selected.”

  “Well, unless you’re planning to display them in Mr. Whitney’s shower, you’re going to have some very dead, very expensive Portuguese orchids on your hands. Bifrenaria need a constantly circulating humidity cycle.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it won’t be that important.”

  “They’re very delicate flowers,” Nina insisted.

  “So we’ll get silk versions. They’re almost more lifelike than the real thing these days.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  Regina sneered. “Silk flowers. Surely you’ve heard of them. They do have silk flowers in the sticks, right?”

  “Yes, but asking that I endorse your decorating with faux flowers is a bit of an insult. It would be like me sending you down to IKEA and telling you to use your professional training to pick out a bed-in-a-bag.”

  Regina smiled sweetly, giving an airy wave to someone across the rooftop. “Oh, don’t take it so personally. You’re never going to make it as a businesswoman if you’re going to be so sensitive.”

  The dismissive tone, combined with the fact that the woman couldn’t even be bothered to look at her, set Nina’s teeth on edge.

  But Dotty smiled. “And how was it, exactly, that you got the investment capital to open your own firm just after you graduated from a second-tier design school?”