by Susan Conley
“What?”
“Oh, just something Aunt D would say.” He headed back toward the Karmikel home.
Chapter Fourteen
When Brad and Chelsea entered her kitchen, the scent of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies assailed their senses. Grams must have expected them back.
Chelsea stomach rumbled and her cheeks tinted with color. “I guess I’m hungry after all,” she said, embarrassed. “Have a seat.”
“No, let me help you.” He opened the fridge. “You have eggs, provolone, sliced ham … not as good as fresh baked, but it will work.” He grinned, and his strong muscular legs ate up the distance the large kitchen provided. “Where are your skillets?”
“In the pantry.” She pointed. “What are you doing?”
“You’re hungry, I could eat. I made you miss your dinner, so I’m going to make you one of my world famous omelets.” He grinned and ducked his head. “Well, maybe not world famous, but they’re pretty damn good, even if I say so myself.”
Chelsea tipped her head and laughed. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. Sit, have some cookies.” He pushed the platter towards her. “No, I take that back — you can make the coffee. My coffee stinks.”
“That I can do.” Soon the kitchen was filled with new scents: hot coffee, toast, and melted provolone.
“I hope we don’t wake your grandmother.” Brad took her hand, leading her to the table.
“Don’t worry, as long as we clean up, she’ll never know.” It was a harmless lie — Grams would be all over her in the morning.
He heaped their plates with the eggs. “Dig in.”
Chelsea took a bite and rolled her eyes. “Mmmm … You’re right, this is delicious. So, tell me about being a private investigator.” She watched him from between her lashes, stealing glances much like he had on the drive back to her home.
“It’s interesting work. Sometimes dangerous, but not most of the time. It’s missing persons, insurance work, and tracking down something for someone. Once in a while, it’s finding out if one spouse is cheating on the other, but not often, it’s not what I got into the business for.” He lifted his glass of juice to his lips, and she watched him take a drink, wondering what it would be like to taste his lips. She shocked herself with the thought — where had that come from?
“What do you mean, sometimes it’s dangerous?” She looked away, over his shoulder, out the window. She thought she saw a shadow. She shivered, maybe it was from the electricity or maybe not, but the buzzing was back in her ears. Her eyes wandered to the window again as she put a hand to her ear.
“Sometimes someone doesn’t want to be found, or the thing I’m looking for has been stolen, you know, and that person doesn’t want to give it up.” He smiled, and followed her eyes to the window. “Is something out there?”
“No. Just shadows, a trick of the moonlight.” She looked uncomfortably away from the window, and back to his hazel eyes. His passion made the blue speckles in his eyes pop into her line of focus.
“You want me to take a look?” he asked, and began to push his chair away.
“No, it’s not necessary. It was nothing. Who taught you to make omelets this good?” She touched his hand, halting his motion.
“Aunt Deloris. I spent many of my summers at her house.”
“She must have been a pretty great lady.” She said quietly.
“She was.” He replied just as quietly and the silence lengthened.
“Would you like to go in the living room … talk, listen to some music, watch a movie?”
“No, I think we should clean up this mess, so I stay in the good graces of your grandmother.”
“You cooked, I’ll clean up.” But, then the shadow flashed past the window again, over his shoulder. Her heart raced.
“Go, find us a movie to watch, it’ll take me five minutes to slip the dishes into the dishwasher.” She pushed him from the room, her heart in her throat. “Go, please.” She opened the dishwasher and picked up the plates to hide her shaking hands.
“Are you sure?”
Her lips stretched into a tight smiled and she nodded.
Chelsea slid the dishes into the washer, then pulled the curtain aside and peered out the window. At first, there was only the pitch black of the night, branches moving with an unfelt breeze. Then a dark figure moved in the gentle wind, clinging to the shadows. Chelsea strained closer to the window, remembering the shaded presence from the hospital. She shivered, pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders. The figure stretched out a hand to her, a ghost-like shimmer glistening in the darkness. Chelsea rubbed her eyes and looked again. Maybe she really was losing it. But the figure grew more intense, and gestured for her to come outside.
What the hell of going on now?
Chelsea retraced her steps and leaned against the dishwasher, telling herself it was just her imagination. But she knew it wasn’t. She crept over to the backdoor and propped it open with her hip.
“Is someone out here?” she whispered, but there wasn’t any response. Only the creaking of the branches and the whisper of the leaves in the trees. Locusts rubbed their wings together, filling the darkness with a life of its own. Goosebumps prickled her flesh.
“Who are you? Why are you standing in my backyard?” Chelsea grew bolder, pushed her hand against the screen, and leaned further out. There was a strange sensation as the locusts fell silent, as if listening for a response as well.
“Chelsea Karmikel?” The figure remained hidden in the shadows. “Is that you? You’re all grown up.” Chelsea couldn’t see who was in the dark, but she could feel the shift in the cool air; the breeze became bolder, drawing her closer. She leaned further out, straining against the darkness to make out the figure.
“Yeah, I’m grown up. Who are you? What do you think you’re doing out here?”
The figured shifted as Chelsea spoke. “I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl! Why, you’re beautiful!” The figure stepped forward and offered her hand. “I’m Deloris Rearden, we met a long time ago when you were just a girl.”
Chelsea’s world began to spin. She sank to the ground, causing the rear door to slam.
“Chelsea!” It was the last thing she heard before her head met the concrete and her world went black.
• • •
Chelsea awoke, stretched out on the couch, a chilly cloth covering a knot on her forehead. Both her grandmother and Brad watched over her. What was going on now?
She looked around. “What’s the matter?” She rubbed her face groggily, then hissed as her fingers brushed the lump.
“Why don’t you tell us? I heard the door slam. I went to check and I found you lying on the patio, passed out. Does this happen often to you?” Brad sat across from her, his tanned face wearing a new seriousness. “Your grandmother heard the door slam too, and came down to check it out. So what happened?”
Grams sat beside Chelsea as she lay on the couch. “Honey, do you feel okay?” She lifted the cloth from Chelsea’s face to examine the bruise, then laid the back of her hand against Chelsea’s cheek. “You don’t feel warm.”
“I’m okay, really.” She brushed her fingers over Grams’s hand. “That’s weird. Two times in as many days. Wow. That’s probably some kind of record.”
“Chelsea?” Grams asked.
“Passing out like that. I’ve never passed out ever before, but since I met you — ” her wide blue eyes found Brad’s narrowed ones across the room, “ — I’ve done it twice. And let me tell you, I feel like a real twit.” Her face reddened as she thought about it and it made the knot pound all that much harder.
“Maybe I’m just worn out, getting electrocuted can do that to a person.” She laughed uneasily. She knew what had happened, but she wasn’t about to say anything while Brad Rearden was
in her living room. “Maybe I should go to bed. I guess I’m overtired.” She stood, but the room wanted to tilt, and she stumbled before regaining her balance. Brad’s hand shot out to steady her.
“I’m so sorry I keep doing this to you, Mr. Re … Brad.” She smiled up at him. “I’m afraid I need to cut our evening short. But I had a great time.”
“I’m sorry too. Are you sure you’re okay?” He watched her carefully, and Chelsea had a feeling he knew she was lying.
“Yeah, I’m fine. More embarrassed than anything. A few ibuprofen and I’ll be as good as new. But you have to admit, I leave quite an impression. You’ll remember this date for a while.”
He grinned at her. “That’s true, you’re unforgettable.” He moved to the front door.
“Here, let me walk you out.” She opened the door and hoped nothing but the night waited outside for them.
“Not necessary.” He turned to her grandmother. “Nice seeing you again, Mrs. Karmikel, next time I hope we’re not scooping Chelsea up off the ground.”
Chelsea felt her face color. “I hope so too.” Then she touched his arm. “Just the same, I’d like to walk with you.” She waited a moment before meeting his eyes — the blue specks were even brighter than before. “I’m okay, really.”
“Alright, but be careful.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Call me if you need anything.” He peered into her eyes. “Anything.”
She saluted, but then felt silly. “Okay, I will,” she spoke with a new shyness.
She leaned into him as he led her to the car. “I really did have a good time,” he said, “even if you passed out … again.”
She laughed. “Always leave a lasting impression. It should be my motto.”
“You did that before you fainted.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek and tipped up her chin, then brought his lips down on hers in a hungry kiss.
The moment his lips touched Chelsea’s, a fire lit in her stomach and burned throughout her body. The kiss deepened when she stepped closer and his arms tightened around her. She broke away from the kiss with her heart pounding. Definitely not what she was expecting from a first kiss.
“Don’t scare me like that again.” He brought her forehead to his lips, and gently kissed the bruise. “Take care of yourself.”
“I’ll try to,” she whispered, then pushed up on her toes and kissed him again before he could slide into his Jeep.
“We’re going to do this again, the right way. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said as the Jeep’s engine roared to life.
Chelsea waved good-bye, went back into the house, and leaned back against the front door.
“Alright, young lady,” Grams said sternly. “You better start talking.”
Chelsea frowned and headed for the back door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Grams called after her.
“There’s someone I need to see, I only hope she’s still here.”
“What do you mean? Who’re you going to talk to in our backyard?” Grams asked, baffled. “Chelsea?”
“Deloris Rearden,” Chelsea muttered to herself, insanity reigned foremost in her thoughts.
Chapter Fifteen
Chelsea eased the rear door open and stepped outside. The night hadn’t changed; the locusts once again continued their creepy song. She inhaled the scent of lilac and tried to relax. Her eyes searched through the growing shadows until she found herself face to face with Brad’s aunt, Deloris Rearden, in the flesh, or maybe it was in the protoplasm … whatever. She lingered close to the back patio, waiting for Chelsea’s return.
“Mrs. Rearden? Deloris Rearden?” Chelsea asked in a choked voice as the figure came into focus. “Is that really you?” The figure appeared to vaguely resemble the dark haired woman in the photo on Brad’s desk.
“Well, of course it’s me. Who else would I be?” she asked as she came closer.
“Why are you here?” Chelsea asked.
Deloris Rearden stepped closer, forcing Chelsea to take a step back. “Chelsea, are you okay?” She reached out a tentative hand. “Oh, you better put some ice on that.”
“I’m fine. Why don’t you tell me what I can do for you?” She really was going to have to believe all of this, wasn’t she?
“Was that Bradley? Do you know him?” Deloris Rearden smiled with pride. “He’s grown into a good, strong man, like I always knew he would.”
“He’s very nice, I like him. So, why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” Chelsea asked once more.
“He was always there for me, he’s like my own son,” Deloris went on as if Chelsea hadn’t spoken.
“He loves you too, Mrs. Rearden. He’s talked about you.” She gave up and went with what Deloris wanted to talk about. Maybe you can’t rush a ghost.
“That’s why I’m here, Chelsea, I need you to help him.” Deloris smiled serenely.
“Me? What do you think I can do?” Chelsea’s mouth gaped open. It wasn’t every day you got to meet the dead aunt of a private investigator, maybe boyfriend material, who wanted your help and who’d left you her estate.
“It has to be you.”
“Why?” Chelsea asked.
“Why does it have to be you?” Deloris repeated back to her.
“No, I mean yes, but why did you leave me your estate?” Chelsea looked at the dead woman with incredulity.
“So you could help my Bradley.” She smiled at Chelsea, as if she should know what she needed with all of her inborn knowledge. “It all comes back to you. Because I knew you were special, and Brad would have never understood, he’s so stubborn, I had to make him search for you.”
Chelsea looked at Brad’s aunt, then shook her head. If you’re going to have conversations with the dead, she thought, you can’t really expect it to make all that much sense. Then again, maybe that’s why it didn’t make sense. Dead people don’t talk. And she was utterly, truly, completely insane.
Deloris laughed. “Chelsea, I’m real, go ahead, touch me.”
Without thinking, Chelsea reached out her hand to touch the woman standing before her. Deloris Rearden’s chilled flesh felt real enough. Chelsea jerked back her hand with a shiver. “Before I go completely crazy, why are you here? Why me?”
“Do you know my Bradley’s family?” Deloris asked, her eyes following Chelsea as she turned to pace. “They’re not all good people. That brother of his, Sam … I know I should love him. But he’s nothing like his brother, there’s something growing inside him … ” But she didn’t finish her thought. She faded for a moment, then came back into focus and started again. “I should have been on guard, but I wasn’t, it’s my own fault. You know, Sam was the sweetest little boy.” She seemed to drift away again, her image shuddering, if that was possible, and turning greenish. Then she beamed. “I knew you could help my Bradley, no one but you.” She wandered a little further away before Chelsea caught her attention again.
“But how do you know that? Why me?” Chelsea asked. She had trouble taking care of herself, and now a dead woman wanted to save her nephew. She needed saving herself. And what did Brad need saving from, anyway?
“Because, sweetie,” Deloris Rearden stepped closer and reached out with her chilly fingers to cup Chelsea’s cheek, “you’re the one with the power.” She stepped toward a glowing on the horizon. Her voice became dreamy, and she turned one last time. “I know you don’t believe me … I’ll be back to … ”
Just then, Grams leaned out the door. “What are you doing out here? You know I can hear you talking to the dark, don’t you?”
Chelsea turned. “One minute, Grams, and I’ll be inside.” She turned back to face Deloris, but she’d vanished. No evidence that she’d ever been there except for the ghost of an image left imprinted in Chelsea’s retinas and the feel of Deloris’s chilled touch upon her
cheek. She rubbed at the spot where the ghostly fingers had rested.
“Grams, you’re not going to believe what I’m going to tell you,” Chelsea whispered into the darkness.
“Yeah, well, try me, sweetie.”
Chelsea backed away from the darkness and into the house. “I need a stiff drink and I need to talk.”
• • •
Chelsea climbed up on the step stool, retrieved the bottle of Jack Daniels her father received two Christmases ago, and broke the seal. Dad liked a whiskey sour to ring in the New Year, but it had been forgotten until this moment. She poured two generous portions, sliding one across the table.
“Grams, what else did Great-Granny tell you about her gift because right now, I’m not feeling so blessed.” She tipped the glass back and swallowed the burning liquid. She grimaced; she wasn’t usually a drinker, but this was way weird, even for her.
“What happened, Chelsea? Tell me what’s wrong.”
She lifted her eyes to her Grams’s frightened ones. “I just had a long conversation out on our patio.”
Grams sipped her own drink with a cringe. “I think I might need a little liquid courage right now too.”
“Deloris Rearden, Brad’s aunt, the one who left her estate to me?” Chelsea watched as Grams’s face paled. “I kept seeing a shadow flash by the kitchen window. When I went out to see what was causing it, she stepped out of the shadows. She was real, Grams, I touched her.” Chelsea swallowed the last few drops in the bottom of her glass. She leaned her elbow on the table, rested her tender forehead in her hand. “What am I doing to do?”
Grams picked up the bottle and poured another dollop into Chelsea’s glass. “What did she want?”
“It was bizarre, Grams. She said she wanted me to ‘help her Bradley.’ That’s exactly what she said. Said his family wasn’t all nice people, and I think his brother, Sam, scared her. Hell, he’s as creepy as they come, he scares me too.” She flung back the liquid, it didn’t burn as badly this time. “What am I going to do? What the heck is going on?” She didn’t know if it was the work of the alcohol, the bump on her head, or something else altogether, but even her body buzzed.