Whats a Ghoul to Do

by Victoria Laurie

  Sure enough, not five minutes later Sable, party of three, was called to the front, and we were escorted to our table. "How'd you manage to cut in front of all those people?" I asked.

  Steven smiled as he opened his menu. "The owner has a heart condition. A year ago he flew to Berlin and my team operated on him. I might have let him know on the drive from the lodge that I was in town, and very hungry."

  I shook my head with a grin and began perusing when I felt a cold prickle on the back of my neck. I shivered, but the feeling wouldn't leave. Finally I looked up and spotted a very handsome gentleman across the restaurant, with gray hair, fine features, and piercing blue eyes that were currently shooting daggers at our table. Alarmed, I put my hand on Steven's arm.

  "Yes?" Steven asked me.

  I didn't take my eyes off the man across the way as I asked, "Who's that?"

  Steven turned to look, and there was a pause before he made a hissing noise and said something that sounded an awful lot like a German swear word.

  Alarmed, Gilley and I both looked at him. "What?" I asked.

  "Ohmigod!" Gilley squeaked. "That's Dr. Steven Sable Senior!"

  My head snapped back to the man at the table. "You're kidding!"

  "No. It's him," Steven said with venom in his voice.

  Sable Senior was seated at a booth with another gentleman. As we watched them watch us, I saw Senior say something to his companion, then reach for his wallet. After slapping some bills down on the table he stood, along with the other gentleman, and left the restaurant.

  "Wow," I said as they exited. "I guess he's heading home to polish his father-of-the-year trophies."

  Steven snorted. "More like asshole-of-the-year."

  "And we can see there's no love lost on this side of the fence, either," Gil stated.

  "Damn trumpet," Steven replied.

  Gilley's face curled up as he attempted to hold in a laugh at Steven's' continued attempts at American colloquialisms. "Uh … I think you mean, 'damn tootin'.'"

  "This means something different?"

  "Can I ask a relevant question?" I said, wanting to bring them back to the subject. "What's your father doing here?" We were nearly four hours outside of Boston. Somehow I doubted Senior was the kind of guy who liked to take a drive in the country.

  "I have no idea," Steven said as he stood up. "But I'll be damned tooting if I'm not going to find out. Can you order me a steak, medium-rare, with a bakery potato?"

  I nodded. "Definitely."

  "You two get whatever you like," Steven said over his shoulder as he walked away. "I'll be back soon."

  We ordered dinner for the three of us and ate most of the appetizer, saving some, since we thought Steven would be back at any moment. Our food arrived without any sign of him, and I asked the waitress to take his steak back and keep it warm. Looking around the restaurant, I began to worry and said, "Where could he be?"

  "Should we go look for him?" Gil suggested.

  I sighed and turned back to my food. "None of our business. We're on a need-to-know basis."

  Gil dove happily into his steak, untroubled by the appearance of the senior Sable. I wasn't so easily distracted, and cut up my steak while stealing glances around the restaurant, hoping Steven would reappear.

  Gilley had finished his steak and was polishing off his baked potato when Steven came back to the table. "Sorry about that," he said as he scooted into his seat.

  "I sent your food back under the heat lamp," I told him. "It's probably dried out by now."

  He smiled gratefully at me and motioned to our waitress. "No worry; they'll cook me another."

  Gilley asked, "Did you find out anything?"

  "Yes, and no," Steven said as he pulled his salad forward and raised his fork. "Many of the locals and employees here have seen my father in town since my grandfather's death."

  "What's he doing up this way?" I asked.

  "No one knows. He's always with the same gentleman, and they speak in … how you say, quiet speaking?"

  "Hushed tones," I offered.

  "Yes, that, and whenever one of the waitresses goes to the table, my father and his associate stop talking. People think he is up to no good things."

  "Do you think it has to do with the Manse?" I asked, using Gilley's nickname.

  "If you are asking if I think he wants to take it from me, no."

  "Why not? The place is huge; it's got to be worth a bundle."

  Steven stopped chewing to look at me thoughtfully. After swallowing he said, "M.J., out here that house is worth about two million dollars and is the most expensive property for fifty miles. My father's estate on the water in Boston is worth about twenty million alone. I can't see him bothering with my grandfather's lodge because it would be away from his friends and his work, and it would be very hard to sell."

  "Maybe for the fond memories, then," Gilley remarked.

  Steven scoffed and pushed his salad away as our waitress reappeared with a freshly cooked steak. After she'd gone he said, "I doubt it. My grandfather and my father didn't get on so good. Especially after my father tried to get my grandfather declared mentally incompetent."

  "Sounds like they had a pretty contentious relationship," I said.

  "To say the least. In fact, if it weren't for my grandfather, the courts might not have granted the paternal suit my mother filed."

  "Your grandfather intervened in a paternity suit?" Gil said, trying not to give away that we already knew the whole history behind the Sables.

  "Yes. My father had fled to Europe when he was summoned to court with a blood sample to determine paternity for me. My grandfather heard of the case, met my mother and me, and decided I was his grandson. He submitted his own blood and settled the suit himself. He was very generous to my mother and me."

  "Are there any kids between your father and his wife?" I asked.

  "No. My grandfather would not talk very much about my father and his wife, but one day he did say that Mrs. Sable did not like children."

  "And your father never wanted children either?"

  "I don't know," Steven said as he cleaned his plate. "We've never spoken."

  "You're kidding," I said. "Never? Not even once?"

  "No," he said, shaking his head.

  "And the fact that you've inherited most of your grandfather's holdings probably isn't helping you two grow closer," I said, as I felt Gilley give me a little kick under the table.

  "How did you know I'd inherited most of my grandfather's holdings?"

  I smiled sweetly at him. "Lucky guess?"

  Steven gave me an even look, then swiveled his gaze to Gilley. "Didn't you tell me at your office that you do this … how you say," he asked as he made a chopping motion, "on the computer?"

  "It's called hacking. I'm a computer hacker, and if the information exists, there's no reason why I shouldn't at least attempt to learn about it," Gil explained. Steven's look grew dark. "What can I say? We're thorough about checking out our clients."

  "I see. Well, in the future, please feel free to ask me instead of doing this hacking thing, okay?"

  Gilley saluted. "Noted."

  Turning back to me, Steven asked, "Now that your baseball test is complete, what will you do tomorrow?"

  I held in a giggle. "Baseline test, and the thing that we'll do is your ghost," I said simply.

  Steven looked exasperated. Turning to Gilley he asked, "How do I make her tell me with the details?"

  Gil turned to me. "I think he wants to know specifically how you will go about that."

  I gave both of them a smile. "When we were recording the baseline, I felt a few twinges in some of the rooms. My first step will be to go back to those rooms, place some trigger objects, and set up some laser movement detectors. Gil can monitor those remotely, and when we get something I can head to that location and try to make contact."

  "I know about these trigger things, but what are these moving detectors for?"

  "Ghosts love things that make n
oise. Think of the televisions that kept turning on. Once we've isolated through the trigger objects where the highest levels of activity are, we'll place motion detectors in those rooms and see if our ghost likes to set off the alarms. Ghosts tend to be habitual. They repeat behaviors over and over. My thinking is, there are one or two rooms this spirit thinks of as home base, and it's in those rooms where I need to identify and try to make contact with it."

  "What will you do once you find the ghost?" he wanted to know.

  "I'll attempt to confirm that it's your grandfather, and if it is, the reason why he's stuck between worlds. If we get lucky, and he's willing to talk to me, he'll be able to give us some good information."

  Steven nodded as he sat back in the booth and considered the game plan. "Should we go back to the lodge now?"

  Gilley gave a tremendous yawn and patted his tummy. "M.J., I'm exhausted. Can't we let the monitors do their thing and get some recordings, then go back tomorrow?"

  I considered the idea, and had to concede that with all the walking around the huge mansion and carrying televisions, I was pretty whipped myself. "You know, Gil, that's not a bad idea."

  Gilley seemed to perk up as he beamed his thanks at me. "That's fantastic. We can get started first thing in the morning."

  I nodded, then thought of something and said, "It might be better to wait until afternoon. Do you remember listening to the weather report on our ride here? It said afternoon thunderstorms are expected."

  Steven gave me a confused look. "Why does that affect the plan?" he asked.

  "Ghosts like it damp," Gilley said.

  "Huh?" Steven said.

  "It's easier for ghosts to make an appearance when there is moisture in the air. Rain is terrific ghost-hunting weather, and thunderstorms are even better. It charges the air with electrostatic energy and is the equivalent of giving a ghost a power shake," I explained.

  "Haven't you ever seen an old scary movie where it's thundering and lightning outside and everyone's running from the things that go bump in the night?" Gil added.

  Steven chuckled. "I thought that was just your American Hollywood thing."

  Folding my napkin and setting it on the table, I said, "There's definitely truth to it. What it means for us is that tomorrow could get very long. Because no matter how freaked out you two get, I'm not leaving that house until I've attempted to make contact."

  Steven and Gilley both looked down at the tabletop. Gilley cleared his throat, then whispered to Steven, "We can always hang out in the van."

  I rolled my eyes and said, "You two are pathetic. Come on. We'll need to get a good night's sleep tonight to gear up for tomorrow."

  Steven paid the bill and we got up to leave. As we were heading out, Gilley excused himself to the restroom and told us to head back together and he'd catch up later. I gave him a small, panicked look, as that meant I'd have to ride in Steven's car and be alone with him, but he dashed into the men's room before I had a chance to argue.

  "After you," Steven said as he held open the door for me to exit.

  "Where're you parked?" I asked, trying not to sound nervous. I didn't know how I felt about Steven. I could admit that we'd shared a moment when he'd dropped me off at my apartment the other night, but the more time I spent with him, the more I thought it was better to keep my distance. He was the kind of guy who could certainly tempt you into falling for him, but the moment you got too involved he'd break your heart. And if there's anything I'm a big clucking chicken about, it's heartbreak.

  "Around back," he answered, and took my hand to lead me through the lot.

  I subtly pulled it back and said, "Oh, I see it. Right over there." I quickened my pace.

  Behind me I heard him snicker. I ignored him and made it to his car, where I stood next to the passenger-side door, waiting for him to release the locks. He didn't, but continued to walk toward the car. Giving him a hint, I said, "Want to hit the lock?"

  He didn't answer. Instead he sidled up next to me, holding his keys up for me to see as he said, "The button is not working so good."

  "Ah," I said, edging closer to the car door. "So you've got to manually unlock it?"

  "Mm-hmm," he said as he pressed his body closer to mine and reached around me to insert the key. "I need to get it fixed," he murmured close to my ear.

  I gulped and leaned back against the car in an effort to create a little distance between us. It was fruitless—the more I leaned away, the more he leaned in. Wedged between him and the car, I found myself trying not to notice how my senses were filling up with him. He smelled like sandalwood soap. His body was lean and firm against mine, and his breath felt warm against my neck. Slowly he placed the key in the lock and began to turn it, drawing out the moment as I squirmed, trying to keep hold of my hormones.

  "Damn," he said as he stopped turning the key and lowered his lips to my neck.

  My breath caught as I felt the warmth of his mouth on my skin. "What's wrong?" I asked, my voice on the edge of panic.

  Pulling his lips away from my neck, he moved to my earlobe and said, "The key's stuck."

  Trying to stop myself from pressing against him, I said, "Let me have a go at it," as I twisted away from him.

  "Great idea," he said, and pulled me back to face him as he kissed me with such passion I gave in.

  Reflexively my arms went up to encircle his neck, and my fingers tangled themselves into his hair. He reached down to my waist and pulled my hips into his. Either he had a double roll of quarters in his pocket or he was damned glad to see me.

  Our kiss deepened, and so did our need. I let go of the locks of hair wrapped around my fingers and trailed one hand down his spine, inserting it into the back of his pants and grinding my hips farther into his.

  Steven pulled away from my lips as he sucked in a breath. Reaching up he moved his hand under my blouse and cupped my breast. He then lowered his lips to my collarbone and traced the length of it with his tongue. I gripped his buttocks and gave a small gasp as his fingers slid down my waist and into my jeans.

  He groaned and moved his lips back to nibble on my earlobe. My eyes rolled up, and in the back of my mind a tiny voice whispered the last vestige of common sense I had left, begging me to be aware of where I was and what I was doing. I blinked and shook my head, trying to clear it. Steven's hand moved to tease my left breast, and with effort I managed to say, "We can't do this here."

  Steven raised his head and gave a look around the parking lot. Luckily, no one seemed to be around, but as if on cue we heard voices coming around the corner of the building toward us. With a heavy sigh he nodded, stepped back, and closed my blouse. "Yes. You are right. Let's return to Helen's." He then reached around me, turned the key, and winked as he pulled it out and opened the door for me to get in. "Guess it wasn't stuck after all."

  I gave him a look as I got in and quickly straightened my clothing. As we pulled out of the parking lot, we spotted Gilley coming out. He gave us a curious look as we waved at him, as if to say, You're still here?

  I groaned. "He's going to grill me on what took us so long."

  "Tell him I banged into a friend," Steven said with a sly grin.

  I laughed. "You mean bumped," I corrected, and then grew serious, choosing my words carefully. "Listen, I think we should cool it until after we're through here." Steven didn't answer. "It's just that I need to concentrate on the task at hand. It takes a lot of my energy to make contact with a spirit, and even more when that spirit is a ghost. I can't afford to become distracted. Do you understand?"

  "It was just a kiss, M.J.," he scoffed. "Hardly worth having a discussion over."

  I inhaled sharply. Of all the things I'd expected him to say, a verbal slap like that one wasn't on the list. After a moment, and with ice in my voice, I said, "Well, then. As long as we're clear."

  Steven and I drove the rest of the way back to the B and B in silence. The moment his car came to a stop I was out the door, anger from his rebuke building as I climbed t
he front steps. Pushing through the front entrance I didn't wait for him, and moved quickly to the stairs leading to my room. I could hear him behind me as I reached the landing. "M J.," he called, but I ignored him.

  "Miss Holliday," he said a little louder, as I turned to walk down the hallway.

  I stiffened, and without turning I snapped, "What?"

  "I'm sorry."

  I took a deep breath, waited a beat, then began walking again. "Good night, Dr. Sable," I said, not looking back.

  * * * *

  The next morning Doc woke me at the first sign of light. "YMCA!" he sang. "It's fun to stay at the YMCA-A!"

  "Doc," I hissed as my eyes snapped open. "Shhhh! You'll wake everybody up."

  "Young man, get your butt over here!" Doc continued, undaunted by my efforts to shush him.

  "Doc!" I hissed.

  "I said young man! It's okay to be queer!" Doc sang, bobbing his head and moving sideways back and forth across his perch.

  Groaning, I scooted out of bed and hurried over to his cage. He continued with the song as I made a mental note to thump Gilley soundly for teaching Doc his publicly embarrassing rendition. Opening the cage, I retrieved my bird and stroked his feathers. Doc stopped long enough to whistle and say, "Doc wants a cracker!"

  "Doc is a cracker." I chuckled. Walking with him over to my duffel bag, I pulled out a container of treats. "Here," I said as I gave him one. "This should tide you over until breakfast."

  Doc gave me a head bob as he crunched on the treat. "Nice bum; where you from?" he squawked in between nibbles.

  I giggled and walked him back over to the window, where I sat down in a chair overlooking the front driveway. I stared Wearily out at the first red rays playing across the sky. I was reminded of a phrase my father used to say: "Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky at morning, sailor take warning." I squinted at the edge of the horizon, where I could see the first signs of cloud cover rolling in from the southeast. Doc chirped and I looked down at him. "What's up, sweetie?"

  "Who you gonna call?" Doc asked me. "Ghostbusters!"

  I rolled my eyes. When I'd first suggested the idea of professional ghostbusting to Gilley, he'd rented the movie Ghostbusters, and he and Doc had watched it over and over. At first I'd thought it was cute when Doc began parroting quotes from the movie. Now it grated on my nerves, and was downright humiliating in public.