by LK Rigel
“If Turtledove Hill is mine to sell.”
“No worries there, love,” Peekie said. “Here you go. Four shots, no foam.”
“Thanks, Peekie,” Sara said. “Listen, could I ask you something?”
“Of course. Anything.” Peekie led her over to the seats by front window.
“Did Aunt Amelia ever talk about Joss Montague?” Crap. The instant Sara said his name Joss appeared on the sofa beside Peekie. He grinned and pantomimed zipping his lip and throwing away the key.
“Not to me,” Peekie said. “She and Eleanor used to come in for a latte, and sometimes they’d talk about him.”
“Eleanor?” Sara said. “I think Aunt Amelia said that name just before she died.”
“Eleanor Norquist,” Peekie said. “She took care of Amelia’s horses.”
“I think I saw her once,” Sara said. “Norquist. Related to Bonnie?”
“Her mother.
“Small world.” Sara vaguely remembered a rough-looking woman leading a palomino to the barn, the woman who’d driven the horse trailer into the courtyard that day. Hardly a fashion plate. Nothing like Bonnie.
“Those two used to ride all over Turtledove Hill,” Peekie said, “looking for Montague’s remains. Amelia was convinced he’d died somewhere on the property, and she wanted to give him a proper burial. I told her nobody believed she had anything to do with Montague’s death, but she wouldn’t let go. She said she wanted him to find peace, but I think she hoped it would give her peace too.”
“That’s it!” Sara said. “I mean that makes sense, doesn’t it, if he died all alone somewhere.” She glanced at Joss, but he wouldn’t meet her eye.
“Then Eleanor died,” Peekie went on. “Nine or ten years ago. They were out riding, and a rattlesnake startled her horse. She fell and broke her neck. Amelia got rid of her horses then. She was never the same after that.”
“How awful.” What else was it Aunt Amelia had said? Something about not wanting to come back from the valley. “I think…it was as if Eleanor was on the other side,” Sara said. “She was waiting for Aunt Amelia.”
Before seeing an actual ghost, Sara would never have thought such a thing, let alone say it aloud. Again she looked for Joss’s reaction, but he was gone.
IT WAS PAST LUNCH time, and when Sara entered The Coffee Spot it was almost empty. Spot was at the counter register with a customer. Bram and Bonnie sat across from each other over by the wall, both looking at Bram’s laptop. Bonnie pointed at the screen and touched Bram’s hand, smiling at him as if he was the cleverest guy on the planet.
Sara stopped by the booth. “How are sales?” They looked up in surprise.
“Good,” Bram said in the flat tone that always meant not good.
“I came to see Spot,” Sara said. She looked at Bonnie. “But I know what you’re doing.”
“You do?” Bram said. Bonnie’s face turned pink, clashing with her lipstick.
Sara said, “You know we can’t make a decision on Turtledove Hill yet.”
“Gracien’s anxious,” Bonnie said. “He’s wanted it forever, and he thinks this is his chance. It’s a great opportunity for you and Bram.”
“I don’t think of my aunt’s legacy as an opportunity,” Sara said. She bent over and gave Bram a light kiss. Take note, Bonnie. Turtledove Hill is mine. And so is Bram, for now. “I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah.” Bram tweaked her chin. “Later, babe.”
So things weren’t perfect between them at the moment, but no marriage was perfect all the time. Soon she’d be able to give Bram all the attention he needed and deserved. First she had to send Joss Montague on to a better place.
“Hey, hermosa.” Spot put an empty cup on the counter. “Good to see you again.”
Before he could pour, Sara waved off the coffee. “I just had four shots of espresso across the street.”
“My dastardly competition,” he said. “One day I’m going to have to do something about that woman.”
“Spot, you’re a ghost whisperer. Can you tell me how to un-whisper a ghost?”
“Why?” Spot’s eyes widened. “Did you see the ghost of Turtledove Hill?”
“Kind of.” Sara hoped he didn’t ask for details.
“Man, I’ve never seen that thing once.” He looked at Sara approvingly. “You’ve got some ghost whisperer in you.”
“Ghost screamer, more like,” she said. “Is it possible? You know, to de-ghostify a place?”
“Sure, there’s lots you can do. You could meditate on divine light. Visualize the light surrounding the spirit or the place where the spirit abides. Tell the spirit it’s dead. It’s time to leave the earthly plane.”
She’d already pointed out to Joss he was dead. “What if the ghost doesn’t want to go?”
“The ones that are attached to life are the hardest to placate,” Spot said.
“Placate. So it wants something.”
“A lot of people think ghosts want peace, but there’s all kinds of spirits are out there, hermosa. It’s not all sweetness and light. Some want revenge. Some don’t know what they want. Some want their life back. They never accept their death, and they’re doomed to walk the earth forever.”
“That’s gloomy.”
“It’s a soul-killing trap. The earthly plane is for the living.”
He’s trapped, Aunt Amelia had said. How long had she tried to help him? “Apparently my aunt tried to find this ghost’s bones. She wanted to bury them in consecrated ground.”
“Anything’s worth a try.”
“You don’t sound enthusiastic.”
“If your ghost was Joss Mon—”
“Don’t say the name!” Sara looked around behind her. There was no sign of Joss in The Coffee Spot, only two touristy-looking couples on one side of the restaurant and Bonnie and Bram on the other. Bonnie had hold of Bram’s hand again.
To his credit, Bram looked a little nauseated, but there was no denying he was attracted to the glamorous real estate agent. Could he resist if she seriously went after him?
Sara had to get rid of Joss Montague’s ghost, and soon.
“If he has been around for a long time,” Spot continued, “he could be disconnected from his bones. Giving them a decent burial might not be enough. Best thing to do, help the ghost find its way. Visualize divine light.”
Sara slid off the stool. “Thanks, Spot. I’ll try.” She headed out of the restaurant without looking sideways. Visualizing divine light wasn’t exactly compatible with watching Bonnie flirt with Bram.
- 15 -
Issues Oriented
BONNIE NORQUIST GLANCED AROUND The Coffee Spot while Bram Blakemore googled something about his novel. Lunch had gone exactly as she hoped. Last night at dinner, she suspected Bram didn’t care about Turtledove Hill, and today confirmed her suspicions. She was sure he’d dump it in a flash for the kind of money she could bring to the table.
But that alone wouldn’t seal the deal. She clicked her nails against her half-finished glass of iced tea and pondered how to bring up the subject again without sounding desperate.
These things must be done delicately.
The door to The Coffee Spot opened, and she fought to suppress a groan. Can’t Gracien back off for ten seconds?
The guy in the doorway zoned in on her and headed for the booth. God, he’d become such a jerk, now that he was Mr. Important, vice president of Poole Haven Wines. Everybody thought Rafe Corazon was such a success. As far as she was concerned, he’d become Gracien’s biggest tool.
“Hi, Bonnie,” Rafe said, flashing the smile that used to drive her crazy—when she was fifteen and didn’t know any better. He glanced sideways at Bram and looked at her expectantly. He could be curious all he wanted. She didn’t report to him.
“Hi, Rafe,” she said. “Are you following me again?”
“Eh, Jefecito!” Spot called out from the kitchen window. “Your order’s ready.”
“Be right there.” Rafe grinned at
her. She didn’t feel a thing. Except irritation. “Just thought I’d say hi. The survey team is working today, and I stopped by to get them some lunch.”
He gave Bram another look but walked off to meet Spot at the register. She didn’t believe for a minute that Rafe just happened to come in for takeout. He was always running around doing Gracien’s bidding, following up on her. It pissed her off Gracien didn’t trust her to get the job done.
But Gracien Poole wasn’t the obstacle here.
Sara Lyndon was, with her romantic notion about keeping Turtledove Hill for herself. But if the wife was the problem, the husband was the solution. Bram didn’t care about owning vineyards. He was smart. He wanted the cash.
Bonnie needed this sale. It was the key to what she’d always wanted—the Turtledove Hill mansion. Well, control of it anyway. Gracien had promised. When he had his precious vineyards, he’d let her restore the house and run it as a bed and breakfast.
No more fucking real estate. She hated it. Constantly moving on to the next deal, the next client, the next house that would never meet its potential because the owners were cheap or lacked vision or were just nitwits. She was getting out of real estate and going into hospitality: Turtledove Hill Resort and Spa—the ultimate wedding destination. She’d tried to sell Amelia on the idea, but the old lady had no vision.
Gracien Poole had vision, even if he was a pest.
Bram Blakemore had vision. And was certainly no pest.
The cover of Hot Heat popped up on the laptop. “There it is.” She pointed at the screen. Bram moved his hand at the same time, and they accidently touched each other. A charge of desire raced through her, the desire she’d been trying to ignore since the moment she first saw him. Was it only last night?
So not fair. So. Not. Fair.
Why did she have to finally meet the man of her dreams when he was taken—and by someone who didn’t even care for him? They’d connected instantly. He felt it too; she was sure of it. Now their hands were so close, almost touching.
“How are sales?” said an irritatingly cheerful voice. Speak of the devil-woman. Sara Lyndon was standing at the booth. When did she sneak in?
“Good,” Bram said pleasantly. He was so nice to her, and she practically ignored him.
“I came to see Spot,” she said. “But I know what you’re doing.”
“You do?” Bram said.
Bonnie tried to think of something to say, but Sara went on. “You know we can’t make a decision on Turtledove Hill yet.”
“Gracien’s anxious.” Bonnie relaxed. “He’s wanted it forever, and he thinks this is his chance. It’s a great opportunity for you and Bram.”
“I don’t think of my aunt’s legacy as an opportunity,” Sara said. She acted all huffy and superior and leaned over and kissed Bram like she was marking her territory. But she didn’t even sit down with them. She went off to talk to Spot.
What a bitch.
In a million years, Sara Lyndon didn’t deserve Bram Blakemore. Life wasn’t fair, and here was a perfect example. She was a little nothing. It wasn’t that she had no gratitude for her good fortune. It was that the universe had handed her every good thing—and she was oblivious to the fact.
You want a master’s degree, paid for by some old aunt you never even visit? Here!
You want a gorgeous, sexy, smart, funny—did she mention sexy—husband? Why, here!
You want a two-hundred-forty-acre estate on the California coast complete with Arts & Crafts ultimate bungalow? Oh! Here!
“Those are nice,” Bram said.
“Huh?” His voice knocked her out of her reverie, and his face came into focus. He was looking at her silk nails. “Oh. Right.”
Of course he would like them. Bonnie had noticed Sara’s nails. They were uneven, chipped, unpolished—in short, the nails of a woman who didn’t care about her appearance. As dull as her faded jeans and funky misshapen cotton sweater. Sara Lyndon didn’t care for her husband any more than she cared for herself.
If she lost him, she’d deserve it.
Bonnie stretched out her fingers to better display the ten small works of art, glossy cherry red with white and pink stylized apple blossoms. On a whim, she curved her fingers, making tiger claws, and uttered a quiet—hopefully sexy—growl. Just joking. He grabbed her wrists and pushed them down until her fingers splayed flat against the table.
“You’re artistic,” he said. “I like that.”
He caressed her left little fingernail. His touch sent a thrill through her as he moved to the next fingernail, then the next, his gaze on her hands, his long dark lashes moving slightly as his eyes shifted. His touch was light, but it felt dirty, possessive. Exciting.
Without warning, the color drained from his face.
“God, Bram.” She grabbed his hand. “Are you all right?” His skin was clammy, and his face was draining of color. “What’s happening?”
The door to The Coffee Spot opened. Sure enough, there went Sara back across Bird Way. Oblivious to her own husband’s distress.
“That was weird,” Bram said. He blinked a few times and scratched his head with both hands.
Poor guy. That settled it.
“Let’s get out of here.” If Sara didn’t want him, that wasn’t Bonnie’s fault. “My place is only a few blocks away.”
Dammit. Her phone went off, playing Optimistic Voices from The Wizard of Oz, the ringtone for Gracien. She let it go to voicemail and switched the phone to silent mode.
“We’ll have a glass of wine, and I’ll tell you all about Gracien’s offer. I don’t like to mention actual figures in public.” She hoped he wouldn’t comment on the fact the restaurant was almost empty.
“That’s probably a good idea,” Bram said. “I don’t know what happened just then. It was like something alive was picking at my brain.”
“Like an insect bite?” Eww.
“Not my head—my brain.”
“Ugh.”
“That’s the word I was looking for.” He smiled and energetically slapped the table with both hands. “Wow.”
“How do you feel now?”
“Like it never happened.” He closed his laptop. “But I’d better not drive for a while, and I do want to hear more. Not cutting my wife, but Sara doesn’t know what she wants. Give me the details, and I’ll win her over.”
“That was my thinking exactly,” Bonnie said. “And if you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to hear about your next book.”
“That would be awesome.”
Bram’s smile broke her heart. He was so grateful to have someone take an interest. Bonnie would never in a million years set out to be a homewrecker—like some people she could mention—but in her opinion Sara Blakemore didn’t deserve this wonderful guy.
Bonnie insisted on paying the bill—for her it was a deduction. They walked to her house at the edge of the village, and she slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow. He didn’t object.
Possibilities swirled in her mind. People got divorced all the time. Sometimes it was for the best. Sara obviously didn’t love Bram. He’d be so much happier with someone who did. It wouldn’t be so wrong if Bonnie helped him see that.
Besides, a Lyndon had ruined her life. It was only fair to return the favor.
- 16 -
Whispering
SARA DROVE DOWN TURTLEDOVE Hill Road to the house and parked at the back stairs. In the kitchen she called out to him. “Joss! I know what to do now.”
He wasn’t in the guestroom. In fact, the house felt empty. She should have asked how to whisper a ghost as well as how to unwhisper one. “Joss?” She headed for the aerie, keeping hold of the rail and stepping over the bad tread.
The air was cold on the landing. Sara smiled as she reached for the door. “I can help you, Joss.” It was locked. Odd. She didn’t think she’d closed the door last night, let alone locked it. The skeleton key stuck out of the lock. She turned it and put it in her jeans pocket.
“Joss, are you here
?”
The journal lay open on the desk in front of the empty chair. A flicker of irritation tweaked her, but she let it pass. Maybe Joss was like the little girl ghost at the Blue Pelican, always taking her doll back to the window seat. Maybe he couldn’t stop himself bringing the journal up here to the desk.
Good lord, Sara. As if this was all so very normal.
“Joss?” She waited and listened. Why didn’t he come?
The late afternoon sky had begun the long slog to twilight, still hours away. Yellow-gold light washed over the rolling landscape and out to sea. On the widow's walk the breeze played in the wisteria, jostling the hanging white flowers. The two mourning doves were nestled together. Their shiny black eyes appeared sweetly vulnerable, and she moved away so she wouldn’t frighten them.
There was no fog yet. The first quarter moon hung low over the horizon, a faint crescent in the blue sky above the ocean. So beautiful. She should be happy.
She saw what Bonnie was doing at The Coffee Spot. Touching Bram. Laughing at his jokes. Looking into his eyes meaningfully. And he had responded. Nothing overt, nothing obvious, but little things Sara recognized. He paid attention to Bonnie. He saw her. Like she was a planet, and he was her moon.
Sara had noticed. She’d even felt sick about it. A voice in her head had told her to stay, sit down in the booth beside Bram. Join in the conversation. Make Bonnie know Bram was off limits.
She told herself she didn’t have time. She had to tell Joss what she’d found out from Spot. To save her marriage, she had to ignore her marriage—for a little while. First she had to see Joss.
But if all she wanted was to get rid of him, why was she so eager to see him? And so disappointed when he didn’t answer her call?
“Go to the light?” Joss appeared between her and the wisteria. “Are you kidding?”
“Sheesh, would you stop doing that?” She grabbed onto the walk’s guardrail. “I almost fell.”
“I wouldn’t let you.” He didn’t look at her. “You know that.”
She did know. He was a ghost. He was a threat to her marriage. She had to help him move on for his own sake. But she couldn’t deny how safe she felt with him.