Dori paused in the doorway to breathe in that soothing book smell. Her fingers tingled from the warmth of the store. She wished she’d brought a backpack to carry all the books on the tables that promised a romantic journey in which heroines prevailed and had great sex. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d indulged in a good book. Maybe that’s why she needed antidepressants.
Drawn deeper into the store, she picked out her old favorites: Nora Roberts, Victoria Holt, Isabel Allende and Anne Rice. As she touched their spines, memories of the stories and the characters contained within drifted into her mind.
She wandered to the very back of the store, reserved for children’s books but then stopped when she came upon the local history section.
"May I offer you a cup of tea?" the book seller asked, tugging her beaded cardigan closed.
About to politely decline, Dori decided not to be like her mother and nodded. "Thank you. Do you have any books on National City history?"
"Let me see." She pursued the shelf and then shook her head. "No, sorry. No one’s written a history about National City yet."
"Oh, okay. Thanks."
"May I ask why you’d want a history about National City?"
Dori bristled with the implication of that question. Some people considered National City to be the drunken cousin among the cities in San Diego County. "I bought a house there," she replied coldly.
"Really?"
Just when Dori was about to turn on her heel and make for the door, the bookseller's face burst into a smile. "My sister’s son just bought a beautiful Spanish house there that was built in the 30’s. It needs so much work, but it’s such a nice little street. Is your home historic?"
"It is."
"Really! Well make sure you go to the Local History Room at the library. My nephew’s wife has been doing research there and she found the original owner of their house. Do you have pictures?"
It was just a house, not a kid, Dori thought. "No, I don’t."
"Well, if you’re looking for inspiration, we have a great architecture section over here."
Even though she knew better, Dori followed her to a section of coffee-table books on design and gardens. Even after this morning, she still had boxes of books on Victorian architecture, design and gardening as well as five years worth of Victorian Homes back issues in storage. She could tell the difference between an Edwardian and Victorian and spot a Queen Anne or an Eastlake at first glance. But this time, she would control herself.
"With so many lovely homes on the island, we sell these titles like hot cakes," the bookseller said. "I bet we have something on- What style home did you buy?"
"A Carpenter Gothic built in 1888."
"Which one? Is it that neighborhood on the hill overlooking the golf course?"
"It is."
The woman’s eyes gleamed behind her glasses. "How exciting."
Dori smiled, thinking of the dead guy who crawled out of the front parlor this morning.
"Take a look. We have a nice comfy seat there. I’ll be right back with your tea."
Dori stopped herself reaching for a book on Downton Abbey style. Now, she had to wait for the lady to return with the tea. To walk out would be rude. Coming here was such a stupid idea. She should've been calling up her colleagues to meet for lunch to get a feel for how the investigation was going.
She wandered away from the décor section and found herself dangerously close to the self help books. Dori sneered at Deepak Chopra and Pema Chödrön. What the hell did they know what it was like to get shot and bleed on a filthy floor?
The topper was the book cover, Ghosts Among Us by James Van Praagh. Sneering, she pulled it off the shelf and would like to have lobbed it across the store. Instead she read the first few pages.
"Have you ever attended one of his spirit circles," the bookseller asked, sneaking up on Dori. "I've always wanted to."
Dori accepted the paper cup of tea, smelling summer apricots and honey.
"No I haven't," she said, sliding the book on the shelf.
"Do you have any 'friends' in your home?" she asked, not letting Dori off that easily.
"Nope it's just me."
The bookseller stared at Dori too long to be polite. "Well, don't be surprised. A home that old can't help but have a few extra residents."
Under the sleeves of her jacket, chills raced up Dori’s arms.
Chapter Nine
The fog bank crept out of the ocean, chasing Dori inland. Her legs still felt rubbery from her bike ride across Coronado Island, and the apricot tea turned bitter on her tongue.
Her house came into view, daring her to come back. Dori sucked in her breath and held it. She waited at the stop sign. If she was a normal person, she would've checked into a hotel room.
But running away was not what she did, and so she parked in her driveway. Her heart hammered as she stepped out of the car, determined to see this through. Electricity hummed in her fingertips as she searched the windows for the guy named Vince.
Was it the light or did the house look as weary as she felt? The windows stared vacantly as if it no longer cared that its façade was pocked and scarred from neglect. Maybe like Dori, it wanted to collapse in on itself and forget about starting over again.
Dori walked up to the windows of the front parlor and laid her hand on the wood. She silently told the house that she'd try. In her dream, she'd seen what it had once been. She'd do whatever it took to bring her back to her younger days.
"I was just going to slip this under the door."
Dori jumped, snatching her hand back as if the house, not Gavin, had just spoken to her. "What are you doing here?"
He held up an envelope. "My bid that you asked for," he said, holding it out. "This is negotiable, just so you know."
Dori didn't take the envelope, swamped with embarrassment that he'd caught her in such a personal moment.
"I called your grandma since I didn't get your number," he said. "She told me it would be fine if I dropped it by."
Dori reached out and took it. "Thanks," she said, not in the mood for polite chit chat or talking about the night he found her making out with another guy. "I'll call you after I take a look at this."
She started for the kitchen door.
"Do you mind if I ask how much you paid for it?" Gavin asked.
"What?"
"Your house."
"I'll tell you if you take twenty-five percent off your bill."
Rocking back on his heels, Gavin grinned down at her. "But you haven't looked at it."
"I'll call you after I do."
Now that she was able to breathe again, she noticed he wasn't all squeaky clean like he'd been yesterday. His arms were covered in dust, and his baseball cap had been discolored with sweat. The fact that he wore shorts in spite of the chilly afternoon irritated her.
"I'm not trying to be nosey, I'm just curious because I made an offer and they turned it down," he said, in no hurry to leave.
She stared at him. "You tried to buy my house?"
"I'd just got back from surfing in Australia, but I was too late." He gestured to the giant mustard-colored mansion across the street. "I love this neighborhood. I used to climb up the canyon wall with my buddies just to walk by these places after school."
She remembered the night she made him drive by this house after they went to the movies. He'd told her that very same thing.
Dori nodded her head. "I remember you telling me that," she said.
His expression never changed from the polite mask. "Right."
The fog was getting closer.
Too tired to revisit her sordid past, Dori held up his bid and said for the last time, "Thanks for the bid. I'll call you."
She turned and kept walking. Either he was hard up for a job or he had some horrible plan to exact vengeance on her. As she walked by the chimney, she ran her fingers over the rough bricks thinking about that night they'd parked his car across the street from her house and walked past the o
ld houses in the neighborhood. Maybe he still cared about these old places. He knew a lot about history and things that at the time, she'd thought were nerdy and boring.
But then Gavin had kissed her under one of the pepper trees across the street from her house. He wasn't so nerdy then. Her stomach tingled at the memory.
Maybe he would be the person for the job but how could they stand to be around each other? Would they have to talk about what she'd done? Remembering the look on his face when he caught her with that other guy, Dori shuddered. Strange that she couldn't even recall the other's name much less his face. The refrigerator gurgled and then switched on. Dori blinked and realized she'd gone on autopilot as she opened the door and walked into her kitchen.
She froze in her tracks, listening and waiting for a sign that a dead guy named Vince waited for her. She took a step forward. Nothing. She'd never been so afraid to make a noise and possibly awaken the dead. Finally, she took a deep breath and closed the door.
Just in case, she cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. Grammy always said that when dealing with ghosts, the living had to set the rules or else break out the holy water.
"Okay, whoever or whatever you are, do not scare me," she shouted into the empty house. She then remembered Gavin might still be lurking outside, looking for more things to fix. If he was and he'd heard her, good, maybe he'd think she was too crazy and count himself lucky that they'd broken up all those years ago.
When nothing happened - not so much as a disembodied footstep - Dori let go of the breath she was holding. She then ripped open Gavin's envelope. She rubbed her side, testing how tender it was. She'd need a pain pill in a couple of hours. Maybe if she didn't wake up tomorrow too sore, she might get a bike. Her pants were starting to feel just a tad bit tight and-
Taking in the blunt force of Gavin's estimate, Dori thought about having a slug of tequila. Then she remembered that she didn't want to become one of those lonely ladies who drank.
Instead, she pulled an Amy's Pizza out of the freezer. Now her decision was made for her in that she couldn't afford him. She twisted the dial to preheat the oven and it broke off. She tried to jam it back on, but then how would she know if she had the right temperature? Cussing out the stove, she felt the ripple pass through the room. The microwave display went blank and her answering machine beeped. The kitchen lights flared and then died.
Dori braced one hand on the stove. She could hear the blood rushing through her head. Maybe it was stupid, but she heard herself call out, "Look, just come out and show yourself. Don't play these little tricks."
The air went still. The most primitive part of her went on alert, muscles tightening in preparation to run. Something was coming. She swung her gaze around the shadowed kitchen - her table, the empty chairs, Gavin's bid and the open doorway to the kitchen - looking for some sign that what she was feeling wasn't make-believe.
Just when she was about to crush the oven dial in her hand, from somewhere in the shadowed butler's pantry, a voice said, "It's not like we've got nothing else to do."
Jumping back, Dori slammed her elbow into the refrigerator. Heart pounding she realized it was on. She'd called him out for a spiritual mano a mano and now she got it.
The shadows in the butler's pantry shifted, gathering until they took shape. Dori couldn't move, even though her brain screamed at her to turn and run.
Before her eyes, he stepped into the kitchen, the linoleum crackling under his footsteps as if he were real.
Dori began to shake. She had no Bible, no holy water, no nothing in case he went poltergeist on her. Maybe if she closed her eyes and said nothing, he'd go away.
He came to stand a few feet away from her and then shoved his hands in his pockets. He lifted his chin to arrogantly stare down his nose at her. "Does your elbow hurt?"
Dori looked down at her elbow. It occurred to her that yes, it did. "What do you want?"
He stood there studying her with his dark eyes.
She shivered from the cold that radiated from him. She tried to remember her prayers from Catechism. The only one she could remember was Hail Mary and she wasn't sure if that would work but it was better than nothing.
The floor creaked and her cop brain kicked in. His dark eyes were deep set under blunt, angry brows. The suit he wore was beautifully cut but ripped and stained in places. The bloodied, toothless face was gone, thank God. He was, or rather had been, a wickedly handsome man.
"Are you going to say something?" she asked.
His chin came up, and his eyes locked with hers. "You have to find her," he said, his hushed voice vibrating with intensity. "I don't know who the hell you are, but you're all I got."
She managed to ask, "Find who?"
"I left her and they-" His voice dropped out like a weak radio signal.
"Give me a name and I'll-"
His voice whipped out at her as if someone cranked up the volume. "You have to-" Suddenly he stood inches in front of her. She flinched, pressed up against the stove, high on the balls of her feet.
"You have to promise me," he growled in her ear. "I have to know I can trust you."
Dori couldn't punch, maim or shoot him. But she could stand her ground even if she was so terrified that she might throw up. "Back off!"
He flinched as if the force of her voice shoved him away.
"Here's the thing, Vince." It didn't occur to Dori, until an hour later, how foolish it was to yell at a man who could walk through walls and see her naked without her knowing. But she continued, "I own this house and I pay the bills. You don't get in my face."
He tilted his head as if puzzled by her. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he deliberately stepped back. Dori cleared her throat, sliding down until her feet were flat on the floor again.
"Find her," he said.
"A full name would help. Let's start with yours."
"What year is it?" he suddenly asked.
Dori told him and then asked, "What year did you- I mean, how old were you when you, well uh-"
She stopped herself from asking what felt like a rude question.
"It was 1932," he said, humor softening the grim line of his mouth. "We were this close to going legit."
She wondered what he meant, and then the Kevin Costner movie, The Untouchables kicked in her memory. Prohibition had been repealed in the 1930s. She'd have to Google it.
"I'm Vicente Sorrolla," he said sticking out his hand. "And you?"
"Dori Orihuela," she answered, eyeing his hand. He raised his eyebrows, daring her take it. She did and grasped frigid air that zapped her with a sharp, almost painful shock. She hissed and yanked her hand away, holding it against her chest. Vicente chuckled and then he was standing by the table, one of chairs pulled out.
"At least I haven't lost my effect on the ladies," he said, hitching up his pants and then sitting with his legs sprawled out.
Dori shivered. "I'm dreaming," she said to herself. "Or I hit my head riding the bike." She expected to wake up in her car or something. But he laughed.
"Okay then, I'm awake." She pressed her hand against her chest. "Why are you here? Do you get off on scaring women?"
His eyes narrowed and Dori held her breath.
"The last time I was-" He paused. "The last time I was here, there was this other woman. I tried not to scare her or nothing, but there was something about her that woke me up, I guess."
He lifted the corner of his mouth, eyes traveling over her. "You're the same way," he said seductively.
"I need a drink."
He lifted a shoulder and then dropped it like he could care less.
When she didn't move, he said, "Well? Go get your drink. I won't bite."
"I can't move."
"Whatever you do, don't tell me to go away. Please."
"Why?"
"Look lady, I don't want to be here anymore than you want me around. I'm not supposed to- It wasn't my-" He looked down at the floor as if he were trying to put his thoughts together.
<
br /> "I understand."
"Like hell you do."
Dori grinned, moving her hand from her chest to her side. "Yeah, I do."
"Find Anna and maybe I'll-" He quirked his lips. "Who knows? Maybe I'll be sent straight to hell where villains like me belong."
"Who's Anna?"
"Anna Vazquez." He lost his posturing and for a moment their gazes met before he stared down at the floor. But she caught the vulnerability in his eyes. A million questions crowded in her head. So she started with the first. "Was she your wife?"
He shook his head.
"Then who was she?" Dori must've blinked, because just like that, she was alone again.
She stared at the chair he'd just occupied. She thought about touching it to see if it was warm and then realized he was dead so it maybe it would be cold. Either way, she was too afraid to move.
"Hey, where did you go?" Her voice rang in the hollow room. "Is that it?"
As if it were a tangible thing, like an ocean wave, the cold air receded. The tiny hairs on her arms still stood at attention. Dori covered her mouth with both hands and squeezed her eyes tight.
Her heart pumped so hard that she swayed with each beat. Her knees folded, and she sat on the floor. He'd really been here. She'd really talked to him. He had been so human and yet, he literally stepped out of thin air. She reached across the room and placed her hand on the chair to check that her conversation with him wasn't a hallucination. Sure enough it was cold, but what if that didn't mean anything?
Then it occurred to her that not only had he refused to answer her question, he hadn't the courtesy to turn the power back on.
"Do you mind?" she demanded.
As if he'd heard, the microwave beeped, the refrigerator hummed with life and the light blinked on the answering machine.
Chapter Ten
After Vicente vanished and the lights came on, Dori switched off the oven that apparently didn't work and drove to Grammy's house.
Excitement rang through Dori, she felt as if it would burst out of her skin if she kept it all to herself. If there was anyone who could understand, it would be her grammy.
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