Medium Well (9781101599648)

by Benjamin, Meg

  The thing that was dressed like a woman raised its hand to him, palm out, and he was suddenly gasping with terror, his lungs seizing, his body paralyzed, unable to move away from the hand that seemed poised, floating, ready to touch him.

  He sucked in a huge breath, suddenly able to move again, pushing away from her. “No!” he cried. “No! Don’t!”

  “Danny?” A woman’s voice.

  He shook his head. “No, dammit, no!”

  “Danny.” A hand now—she was touching him. Touching him!

  “No!” He twisted away. Away from a warm, soft body, slender arms, the scent of almonds.

  His eyes popped open.

  Biddy was staring down at him, her turquoise eyes wide, the sheet twisted around her waist. “Danny?”

  He sucked air into his lungs, trying to get his heartbeat under control. Morning sunlight flooded his bedroom windows—cool sheets, a down pillow beneath his head. For a moment, he felt almost giddy with relief.

  “Okay,” he gasped. “I’m okay.”

  Her soft hands touched the sides of his face, turning his gaze up to hers. “The carriage house?”

  He closed his eyes, nodding. “Where else?”

  “Who was it this time?”

  “Same guy.” He opened his eyes again. “Maybe we should give him a name or something. It might make him a little easier to think about.”

  She touched his cheek lightly, then brushed it with her lips. “How about Mr. Black? Seems to fit. Were you yelling at him?”

  His stomach lurched. He took another deep breath. “No. There was somebody else there this time. A woman. Sort of.”

  Her hands stopped moving. She stared at him again, wide-eyed. “A woman. What did she look like?”

  He shuddered. “Like a cross between John Singer Sargent and the Crypt Keeper. Nice clothes, but not much in the way of a face.”

  “Meaning?” Her eyebrow arched.

  “Meaning she didn’t have a face. Nothing. Darkness.” The words tumbled out through his gritted teeth.

  She dropped her hands, her breath coming faster. “Oh my God!”

  Danny missed her warmth. He ran his palms along the top of her shoulders. “It’s okay, just a nightmare. Lord only knows what it means.”

  Biddy was blinking fast. “I saw her, too,” she blurted. “When I saw Mr. Black in my dream. She was there, too, in the mist.”

  “You saw a woman without a face and you didn’t remember it until now?” He managed not to sound too incredulous.

  “I didn’t see her face, or that she didn’t have one. It was just too dark to see her in the mist.” She rubbed her arms the way she always did at the carriage house, as if she were cold.

  He gathered her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. Her body seemed to tremble slightly before settling against him. “All right,” he murmured, “we both saw her. So she’s part of the mix. It’s okay. We’ll figure out what she wants later.”

  “Do we have to?” She snuggled closer.

  He felt a rush of warmth followed by nearly instant hardness. Damn, she was good! Actually, they were good. Together. “You don’t have to do anything, ma’am.” He nuzzled the soft place behind her ear, feeling silky hair against his forehead. “But I can think of a few things I want to do that would be a lot better with your assistance.”

  She turned slightly so that her breasts rubbed against his chest. He’d never been so glad to be sleeping naked.

  “I think I’d like to hear more about that, Mr. Ramos. I also think I’d like to take my mind off the carriage house. Could you maybe help me with that?” She looked up at him from beneath her lowered lashes.

  “Oh, lady,” he breathed, “just give me a chance.”

  ***

  Since Biddy only had the dress she’d been wearing at the show last night, she pulled on one of Danny’s dress shirts to serve as a makeshift robe for breakfast. Judging from the way he watched her as she got the orange juice out of his refrigerator, the shirt was a hit.

  She loved his house—the light and space, the dusky Saltillo tile floors in the kitchen and dining room, the dark wood and woven rugs in the living room. She might once have expected his place to be full of glass and chrome and hard angular furniture. But now that she knew him better, the house seemed a perfect fit.

  “Do you guys have a gig tonight?” He handed her a cup of coffee, pushing out a stool for her at the kitchen counter.

  She shook her head. “We had a booking to open for someone in Austin, but it fell through. Tomorrow night we’re back at Tico’s, opening for some hat from Nashville.”

  “Some hat?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “As in all hat, no cattle. Some one-hit wonder. I’d rather open for Texans, but Tico’s got to eat.”

  “Not at his own club, I’ll bet,” he muttered.

  “Probably not.”

  “Have dinner with me tonight.” His eyes were back to burning emerald again.

  “Sure.” She tried for nonchalance. “Where?”

  “Here.”

  Her pulse began to thump. She resisted the urge to tug down the bottom of the shirt. “Oh . . . okay. Sure.”

  His smile made her think of a hungry timber wolf. “I’ll feed you. So help me.”

  “I believe you,” she murmured, trying very hard not to think about all of the possible implications in that statement. “Are you going to the office this morning?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got a showing at ten—in Tobin Hill. I need to go over and make sure the house is in shape. Are you going in?”

  “I thought I might go back to the Historical Society.” She took a bite of muesli. It tasted a little like something you’d feed livestock, but she decided she could live with it. “I found some stuff yesterday I want to check on.”

  He leaned on the counter next to her, holding his cup of coffee in both hands. “What’s up? Have you found somebody who might be the ghost?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. But I’ve eliminated a lot of people who can’t be—mostly on the basis of the clothes Mr. Black is wearing. I figure he couldn’t come from any time later than 1930.”

  He narrowed his eyes, thinking. “Okay. That’s an interesting way to go.”

  “It just seemed logical. Do you see a problem with it?”

  “No, but if we go with clothes we’ve got a better possibility.”

  She took another bite of fodder. “Like what?”

  He took a deep breath, then blew it out. “The woman. Miss Faceless. She was wearing a very recognizable style of dress.”

  She nodded slowly. “Right. Late nineteenth century, maybe early twentieth since styles wouldn’t change as quickly down here.”

  “How much does that narrow the time period?”

  “I’ll have to check. Gracie eliminated the first name on the list because he was the developer who built the house—he didn’t live there. There were only a couple of others, I think.”

  “Ah, Gracie.” He grinned, his eyes warming again. “Better you than me. Gracie’s always been immune to my charms.”

  Biddy was considering just how unimmune she was to those charms herself when a loudly chiming doorbell from the direction of the front room made her jump.

  “What the hell?” Danny slid off his barstool. “Who’d be coming around at this time of day?”

  “Danny?” A woman’s voice echoed down the hall. “Sweetheart?”

  Biddy moved off her own barstool, feeling her heart slide toward her toes.

  “Sweetheart?” the woman said again. “Are you in there?”

  “Shit!” he growled, heading up the hall. “I’ll have to let her in or she’ll never go away.”

  She watched him move, the muscles flexing in his bare back. He had a b
eautiful ass, even covered in the loose jersey sweatpants he was currently wearing. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he had other women in his life.

  Right, Biddy. Keep telling yourself that. Her stomach clenched tight.

  Danny reached the door and threw it wide. Over his shoulder, she could see a mass of honey blond hair.

  “Sweetheart,” the woman said. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  “Come on in, Ma.” He sighed. “There’s toast.”

  Danny’s mother was obviously the source of his sandy hair and emerald eyes, although apparently not the dimples, given the dimpleless smile she directed at Biddy. She hadn’t even blinked at seeing a semidressed woman standing behind her son’s kitchen counter.

  Biddy, on the other hand, was acutely aware of the amount of bare leg she had sticking out from beneath the edge of Danny’s shirt.

  “Hello, I’m Deirdre Ramos.” She extended her hand in Biddy’s direction.

  Biddy resisted the urge to jerk the shirt further down her thighs and took her hand. “Biddy Gunter, Mrs. Ramos. Pleased to meet you. We spoke on the phone.”

  Danny’s expression seemed purposefully blank as he leaned back against the counter, folding his arms across his bare chest. His very bare, very muscular chest. “Would you like something to eat, Ma?”

  Mrs. Ramos shook her head. “No, I’ve already had breakfast. Are you all right, Danny?”

  “All right?” His forehead furrowed. “Sure. I’m fine.”

  “But you weren’t earlier this morning, were you?” His mother narrowed her eyes. “I had a feeling . . .”

  His mouth became a thin line. “I’m fine, Ma. No problems. Was that all you wanted?”

  She sighed, climbing onto one of the stools at the counter. “All right, give me some coffee. Obviously, we have some talking to do.”

  He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were developing a headache. “Look, Ma . . .”

  His mother gave him a slightly lopsided grin. “It’s no use, Danny. If you want to get rid of me, as you undoubtedly do, you’ll need to tell me what happened.”

  “It was a nightmare, okay?” He shrugged. “I woke up. End of story.”

  Her grin disappeared. “A nightmare. In the same place or somewhere different?”

  Biddy felt like shaking her head to clear it. Too many thoughts had flooded her brain at once. His mother apparently had some kind of sixth sense that told her when her son was suffering. Not only that, but his mother knew what was happening with the ghosts. Apparently, she knew everything. Well, not everything because she evidently hadn’t realized Biddy was involved. On the other hand, maybe she had since she was carrying on this conversation where Biddy could hear it. She found herself pinching her nose, just like Danny. It seemed to help.

  “It was in the same place, Ma.” He sighed again. “Look, I’m dealing with it. You don’t need to worry about it.”

  His mother looked at him as if he’d just told her not to worry about that little case of malaria he’d contracted. “Of course I need to worry about it! If something is trying to hurt you, I need to know.”

  He looked like he was gritting his teeth. “Biddy doesn’t need to be in the middle of all this.”

  His mother turned toward Biddy, with a smile so bright it was almost blinding. “I’d guess Ms. Gunter is already in the middle of this. Would I be right about that?”

  Biddy took a deep breath. “Please call me Biddy. And yes, you’d be absolutely right.”

  Danny’s jaw muscles looked so tight they probably hurt. “Terrific, Ma. Now you’re a mind reader.”

  She shrugged. “Not at all. But I know how disturbing those dreams can be, and I assume Biddy was here when you had it. And since she’s still here, it must mean she didn’t head for the hills. Which means she’s either an extraordinarily sympathetic person or she knows what’s happening with you. Possibly both.”

  Biddy pushed herself away from the counter. “Maybe I’ll go brush my teeth or something. You two must want to talk.”

  Danny ran a hand through his hair so that it stood up in spikes. “Don’t bother, Biddy. Ma knows all about the carriage house, and she might be able to help us figure out what to do next.”

  His mother sent another dazzling smile in Biddy’s direction. “Please call me Deirdre.”

  “Okay, Ma, here’s what we’ve got now.” He put down his coffee cup and gave her a very abbreviated summary of the last couple of days.

  Deirdre listened without comment while he described Biddy’s discoveries at the Historical Society. He poured her a cup of coffee when he’d finished.

  His mother gave him a long look. “All right, what’s the nasty part that you don’t really want to tell me?”

  Danny grimaced, turning to rinse his cup and put it in the dishwasher. Then he faced her once again. “Okay, we went into the main house like you told me to do.”

  Biddy blinked. Deirdre had told him to do that? Exactly how long had Deirdre been involved, anyway?

  “And?” Deirdre raised her cup to her lips.

  “And it’s haunted, too.”

  Deirdre set her cup down with a clink. “Haunted? By the same ghost?”

  He shook his head. “Hang on, Ma. This gets sort of weird.”

  Like it hadn’t been weird up to then. Biddy picked up her bowl and carried it to the sink while Danny went on talking. When she turned back, Deirdre was staring at him openmouthed.

  “A cat? A ghost cat?”

  He nodded. “Ever heard of one before?”

  “No.” Her eyes narrowed. “Of course, cats do serve as familiar spirits. But if you both saw this one, that pretty much rules that out. Familiars usually appear only to their contacts.”

  Biddy tried not to look at Danny or Deirdre. She had a feeling she’d either giggle or start backing out of the room. She might do both, actually.

  “Mom’s sort of a ghost buff.” Danny’s voice sounded somewhat strained.

  “A ghost buff?” Biddy stared at the woman sitting at the counter. She looked like a poster girl for good genes and proper diet. Biddy only hoped she looked half that good when she had a son Danny’s age. On the other hand, weird people could look just as good as non-weird people.

  Deirdre shrugged. “Call it a hobby.”

  Biddy nodded slowly. “A hobby. Okay.”

  “Now, about your dream.” Deirdre turned back to Danny again. “Tell me what happened.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. Biddy had the feeling this was the part he really didn’t want to talk about, even more than the ghost cat. “Okay, same guy, same place, but this time there was a woman, too.”

  “A woman?” Deirdre leaned forward, resting her arms on the counter. “What did she look like?”

  “Well, there’s the problem. It was hard to tell what she looked like since her face was missing.”

  She sat up straight again. “Just the face?” she asked. “Not the head?”

  Biddy dropped her empty coffee cup on the counter, but managed to keep it from rolling off. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I know it sounds awful, but it does make a difference.” Deirdre gave her a brief smile, then turned back to Danny again. “Well?”

  “Just the face.” His teeth seemed to be clenched again.

  Deirdre nodded, her forehead furrowed in thought. “Faceless ghosts. There’s some history behind that, most of it bad.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Bad how? Scary-bad or physical threat–bad?”

  “Both, actually.” She still frowned. “You usually see them from behind, and then when they turn around, the shock is so great that some have died from it.”

  “Well she certainly scared the crap out of me,” he growled.

 
“Yes, but the way she came to you is sort of unusual, this stepping-out-of-the-shadows business. And the raised hand. I don’t know what to make of that.”

  “She didn’t step out of the shadows for me,” Biddy blurted. “She stayed where she was.”

  Deirdre turned to her, eyes wide. “You’ve seen her? And the man?”

  “Mr. Black? Yes, ma’am. Just in a dream, though.”

  “Mr. Black?” Deirdre frowned.

  “Nickname. Biddy gets cold in the carriage house, but she hasn’t seen anything in there.”

  “Yet.” Deirdre was watching her closely now.

  Biddy’s stomach clenched. “Yet.”

  “And the woman appeared in your dream, but not clearly, not enough so that you could tell she was a faceless ghost?”

  Biddy shuddered, hugging herself. “No. She stayed back in the shadows.”

  Danny pushed himself upright again, stepping beside her so that he could put his arm around her shoulders. “Okay, Ma, now you’ve heard the whole thing. Any ideas?”

  Deirdre chewed her lower lip, staring down at the countertop, then shrugged. “Well, the different ways the woman appears are interesting, maybe gender related—she shows herself to you, but not to Biddy. That might tell us something if we can figure out who she is. I’d say go on doing what you’re doing. See if you can identify the man. Maybe we can deduce the woman’s identity from that. It would at least give us a starting point.”

  “A starting point for what?” Biddy felt a little dizzy. “Once we know who he is, what do we do next?”

  Deirdre gathered her purse from the kitchen table. “We find out what he’s looking for and set him free. That is what you both want, isn’t it? A carriage house that isn’t haunted.”

  Danny stared at her, then glanced down at Biddy, tightening his arm around her shoulders. His eyes were suddenly warm. “That’s what we want, yes.”

  Biddy’s breath caught in her throat. We. Yes, definitely what we want. Her mouth edged into a tiny smile—it certainly wasn’t the only thing she wanted, though.

  “Good.” Deirdre stood up and turned toward the front door, then turned back again. “So nice to meet you, Biddy. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.”