Trick Me, Treat Me

by Leslie Kelly

  “Nah, I’m not the one who’s supposed to haunt this place,” he replied, grinning. “That’s Moe’s job. He was the matchmaker, too. He’s the one who switched the signs on your rooms.”

  “Moe?” Gwen sounded skeptical. “Six Fingers Moe?”

  The man nodded.

  “I think I’ve heard enough,” she said.

  “Wait, Gwen,” Jared told her, reaching out to take her arm. She didn’t pull away, simply meeting his gaze, her amber eyes full of emotion and vulnerability. “Maybe we should listen.”

  “Damn right you should listen. Do you know how much trouble it was setting you two up? Now you’re gonna louse it up because you,” he pointed to Gwen, “think he’s some world-traveling adventurer who won’t be happy here.” Then he looked at Jared. “And you think she only wanted you because she thought you were some johnny-law who lives on the edge.” He held out his hands, palms up, gesturing to them both. “That about sum it up?”

  When neither of them answered, the stranger rolled his eyes. “I thought so. Here’s what youse do…how’s about talking for a change? Not swinging from windows like champ’nzees, or hiding out in the attic. Just talk. Believe me, it ain’t as sappy as it sounds.”

  Jared looked at Gwen, wondering if she’d figured out yet what was happening here. She, however, wasn’t watching the stranger, she was focused entirely on Jared. “You thought I only wanted Miles Stone, the adventurer?”

  Jared met her stare evenly. “Mick gave me that impression, and when you told me to go, I suspected he might be right.” Then he raised a brow. “And you really thought I live some wild, dangerous existence as a world-traveling writer?”

  She nodded once. “Your cousin Sophie once told me that you hated Derryville, and wanted to see the world. That you’d never be content here.”

  “I see.”

  “We all see,” the stranger said, sounding bored. “You were both wrong, so get over it and move on.”

  The man stood, glancing out the window once more. Again Jared questioned his own senses. “You make it sound so easy.”

  Gwen cleared her throat. “Maybe it is that easy.”

  Looking down at her, he saw something in her expression that hadn’t been there a few moments before. Unreserved emotion. Hope. And maybe even love. “Yeah,” he agreed softly, unable to contain a smile. “Maybe it is.”

  “One more thing before I buzz outta here.” The stranger looked at Gwen. “Stop protecting Hildy. Whaddaya think made her so unhappy that she got a little nutty, huh? Those shrinks…pfft. If they’da let her tell the truth sixty years ago, maybe she could’ve moved on, lived a reg’lar life.” He stepped closer. “Ask her, toots. Ask her what she wants. And don’t hold it against him,” he pointed to Jared, “if she decides she wants somebody to tell her story.” Then he smiled. “You’re a good broad. Got a lotta heart. A lot like your grandma.”

  Jared heard Gwen’s startled gasp and realized, at that moment, that she’d begun to understand. She’d pieced things together and arrived at the correct conclusion.

  “Tell Sam, your grandpa, I said hello,” the man said to Jared. “Best man I knew in this town. He was the first one showed up’t my door, telling me he knew who I was, but since I did my time in the joint, he figured my debt was paid. Damn good poker player, too, your grandpa.”

  “You’re…you’re…” Gwen’s face was pale and Jared reached out and took her hand. Her skin was cold, her fingers shaking. He stepped closer, slipping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her tightly against him.

  “So long,” the stranger said. Then he walked to the door and opened it. Before leaving, he turned and smiled at them again. “Think I’ll go say one last goodbye to Hildy. Tell her this Ghost and Mrs. Muir crap has gotta stop. Ain’t healthy for her now that she’s got old Sam in her life.” Then he pointed to the chair where he’d been sitting. “I left something there. Have a look.”

  He tipped his hat. “See ya around.”

  Without another word, Nathaniel Marsden stepped through the doorway.

  And disappeared.

  GWEN REMAINED FROZEN, taking strength and comfort from Jared’s solid arm and warm body. Her head was spinning, her heart pounding out of control. Her breaths came in short little pants, not from fear, but from a combination of adrenaline, emotion and shock. She still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around what had just happened. She’d just had a conversation with…“That was Fat Lip Nathan.”

  Jared paused for one second, then nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  She’d interacted with a ghost. A real, live…er, dead…ghost. “He looked so solid. So alive.”

  “I know. And young. He sure didn’t look like the old miser Marsden I knew growing up. Guess that was him in his heydey.”

  “He was very handsome,” she admitted, her voice as shaky as her body. “I think I even understand why Hildy liked the whole lip thing.”

  Then she laughed, knowing she sounded slightly hysterical. God, what a surreal conversation to be having. The two of them were casually talking about the looks of a ghost.

  Jared tenderly kissed her head, smoothing her hair back, still holding her close. Surprise over her unexpected encounter with the supernatural began to ease as she recognized the second chance she’d been given. Shock was quickly replaced by hope.

  “So, was he right?” she asked, looking up at him, focusing on her present instead of another person’s past. “Is a simple conversation going to make things work between us?”

  Jared smiled. “It’s a start. All I can tell you for sure is that I know I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  Her breath caught at his heartfelt words, but she had to try to think clearly. “It’s too soon….” Yet even as she protested, she knew it was possible. Hadn’t she, after all, done the same thing?

  “Yeah. And slowing down, getting to know each other all over again, for real this time, is only going to make me love you more,” he added. “If you’ll let us try. Because, I’ve got to be honest with you, Gwen, I want nothing more than to stay here and try. Maybe my cousin Sophie was right about the kind of man I was five years ago, but not now. Even before I met you, I’d realized just how much was missing from my life because of the way I’ve been living it.” He cupped her face, tenderly stroking her cheek, as if memorizing the texture of her skin. “I know what I want, and it all revolves around you.”

  She nodded, believing, accepting. Understanding completely. “Well, both your cousins were wrong. Because Mick didn’t understand me, either. Miles Stone, the adventurer, excited me at first, but the man…you, Jared Winchester…brought me to life. I want the guy who’s afraid of heights. The one who drives fast when he’s excited.” She giggled. “The one who plays strip poker when he’s already naked.” She tilted her head back, looking into his dark brown eyes, willing him to believe every word. “I want you. I love you. I want nothing more than for you to stay until we figure out what’s going to happen next.”

  He began to smile, then to laugh, and Gwen understood. Laughter spilled from her lips as well, spurred on by belief in the future, and a kind of deep-rooted happiness she’d never expected to find.

  “Kiss me…Jared.”

  He didn’t hesitate, bending to meet her lips briefly, then again, and again, as if they were strangers kissing for the first time. Maybe, in some ways, they were. This was, after all, a new beginning.

  They shared several soul-shattering kisses, and she wanted nothing more than to fall into the bed with him, to make love with him and whisper his real name while he was deep inside her body.

  But there was one more thing to deal with first. “Jared, did you understand what Nathan meant when he mentioned my grandma?”

  He kissed her temple, still holding her close, his fingers tangled in her hair. “Yeah, sweetheart. I understood.”

  She thought she did, too. Her gaze fell on the chair, where a small stack of old black-and-white photographs sat.

  “You sure you’re ready for that?” Ja
red asked, following her stare. He sounded as if he knew what she was going to find.

  “Yes.” Because she almost already knew, too. The word Nathan had used, that one little word—grandma—had stuck in her mind, repeating and repeating, taunting her to find out the truth. She walked over and picked up the photos. And when she saw the image of a very young Nathaniel Marsden, with his arm around a very young—and very pregnant—Hildy Compton, she understood at once.

  “They’re my grandparents,” she whispered.

  He walked over to join her, slipping a tender arm around her waist. “Yes.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I wonder if my father ever knew.”

  “He didn’t,” Jared replied. When she glanced up at him curiously, his expression was sad. “Hildy told me the story this morning. I think she knew what was going to happen and wanted me to be here to help you deal with it.”

  “Did she think I’d be angry? That finding out she’s my grandmother would make me love her any less than I already do?” Gwen asked, stunned at the idea.

  He shrugged. “Considering how her own parents and siblings treated her, she couldn’t be sure. They took her baby while she was in prison, gave him to her older, married sister to raise. When she got out, they threatened that if she told anyone the truth, she’d never see him again. With the courts in those days, they were probably right.”

  A painful knot formed in Gwen’s stomach, rising into her throat. It was too cruel to be believed. In spite of her brush with the law as a teenager, Hildy had always had a truly good heart. She’d been the most kindhearted, understanding, fun and generous person in Gwen’s life.

  And that sweet, zany woman had been denied her own son, and her granddaughter. “God, no wonder she had a breakdown. She lived a lie her entire adult life.” Tears rose in Gwen’s eyes, hot and sudden. “Why didn’t Nathan do something?” she asked, wishing someone, somewhere along the line, had come to her grandmother’s defense.

  “He was in prison for forty years, Gwen.” Though she didn’t ask, he probably knew by her expression that she wanted to know more. He merely shook his head. “You can probably guess what for. By the time he got out and tracked down Hildy, she was older and afraid. You were a baby. She thought she’d be cut out of your life if she told your father or let Nathan tell him. So she sent Nathan away. He moved here, lived out his days alone. And she stayed in Boston. With you.”

  Her heart ached for Hildy and Nathan. She resolved, at that moment, to make Hildy’s last years on this earth as happy as she possibly could. Which meant…“Are you thinking of writing a book about the history of organized crime? The gangster era?”

  “I’ve often thought about it,” he admitted. “But only if you and Hildy want me to.”

  She nodded once, not even having to think about her answer. “I do. If that’s what she wants.”

  He gave her a kiss then, sweet, wet, and deep, telling her wordlessly that he’d do whatever he could to make her happy. She believed him. How could she not? He’d already made her happier than she’d ever imagined possible.

  “I do have a favor to ask,” she said when they broke apart.

  “Yes?” he said, his eyes twinkling, as if he already knew what she was thinking.

  He probably did.

  “When you’re working late on your book some night…can we dress up as bank robbers? Fake Tommy guns and all?”

  He threw back his head and laughed, loud and long. “Babe, as long as we’re together, we can do anything you want.”

  Epilogue

  From the Chicago Travel Journal

  LOOKING FOR A GOOD PLACE to mix in a little adventure with your relaxing vacation? Then don’t miss the hottest, jazziest new bed-and-breakfast to open this side of a speakeasy. Check your calendars, pick up the phone and get on the waiting list for your own trip to The Little Bohemie Inn, in Derryville, Illinois.

  The Little Bohemie opened just over two months ago, on Halloween weekend, with all the adventure, hijinks, ghostly shenanigans and just plain fun the holiday can provide. From the moment I arrived, I sensed my visit would be a memorable one. The ambience and historic furnishings, as well as the gothic appearance of the nineteenth-century era mansion, exude an almost palpable energy. The gangster theme is repeated again and again, from the names of each suite, to the cocktails offered every evening. My favorite was the Marcini Martini, a specialty of Miss Hildy Compton, co-owner of the inn.

  Stepping inside the inn is like stepping into another era, another world. One might almost expect to round a corner and come face-to-face with a flapper on the arm of a high roller, or a dangerous bank robber hiding out from those daring G-men.

  In The Little Bohemie, it feels as though anything can happen. Though I’m not a fanciful person, I found myself, on more than one occasion, feeling touched by another presence. As the house is rumored to be haunted, the ghostly ambience was particularly well suited to a Halloween trip.

  The innkeepers, Gwen Compton and her aunt, were warm and gracious, and the service delightful, with minor touches that make a good guest house a great one. The cocktail hour hors d’ouevres were acceptable, but the true culinary masterpiece was Sunday morning’s country breakfast.

  Feeling compelled to determine if my delight in The Little Bohemie was attributable merely to the Halloween atmosphere—and a series of entertaining events which occurred during that initial visit—I made a return trip to the inn for the New Year’s holiday. I am pleased to report that my next adventure proved every bit as entertaining as the first. The Little Bohemie’s ambience and atmosphere are just as appealing when bedecked with garland and greenery as with witches and pumpkins.

  I also count myself fortunate to have been in the Comptons’ home to toast in the New Year, as well as to celebrate the recent engagement of Gwen Compton to well-known writer Jared Winchester. Miss Compton has informed me that she and her future husband will soon be offering a new, unique holiday experience. One weekend per month will be designated a “mystery holiday,” where all registered guests arrive in character and attempt to solve a murder during their stay.

  I already have my reservations for their first such weekend—set in the roaring twenties. Perhaps I’ll see you there.

  Until next time, this is your travel reviewer, Ricardo Tavares, wishing you many happy journeys.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-4569-7

  TRICK ME, TREAT ME

  Copyright © 2003 by Leslie Kelly.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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