When the Spirit Is Willing

by Margaret Chittenden

  "When do you start school?" he asked Jessica when they were all seated at the big harvest table in the kitchen.

  Laura had served something called spinach roulade this time, which sounded fairly dreadful but had turned out to be amazingly good. It had also reassured Carter that Laura had at least half expected him to come to dinner. Who would fix something called spinach roulade on just any old ordinary Thursday night?

  "I go to kindergarten in September," Jessica said politely. He had to give the little girl credit. She might not approve of him chasing after her mother, but she watched her manners, anyway.

  He arranged his features into what he hoped looked like a sorrowful frown.

  "What?" Laura asked.

  She seemed a little on edge, he thought.

  "It seems a shame," he said slowly. "I mean, poor Jess will just get started, make friends, get used to the teacher, and she'll have to move."

  Laura looked worried as she absentmindedly served him a second helping of everything. "I've thought about that. But it's better she moves in the middle of kindergarten than later on. I'm going to think seriously about trying to stay in one town once she's in first grade. Though she's very adaptable."

  "What's 'adaptable' mean?" Jessica asked.

  "It means you can adjust—get used to new or different conditions—or places," Laura said.

  Jessica might look more like her father, but her frown resembled her mother's, Carter thought. The fair skin of her forehead puckered in exactly the same way as she gazed up at Laura.

  "You mean, like when I came here and there wasn't anybody to play with except dumb Michelle next door?"

  "You had me to play with," Priscilla said.

  They all jumped. Jessica giggled. Carter looked around but couldn't see Priscilla in the room.

  "I didn't know I had you at first," Jessica said. She was gazing toward the kitchen sink.

  "I had to be sure you were my kind of child," Priscilla explained.

  It was one thing, Carter thought, to have a conversation with a ghost who had materialized—another altogether when the ghost was nowhere to be seen.

  "Did you go invisible when I lived here?" he asked, looking in the same general direction as Jess.

  "Of course."

  He shook his head. "I don't remember. It's a really weird experience. I'd have thought it would stay with me."

  "You used to be polite," Priscilla said, and began to appear.

  About to apologize, Carter saw that she was smiling mischievously. In the next moment, the smile disappeared.

  "Carter's right, Laura," she said. "It's going to be very hard on this precious child to have to move. And it's going to break my heart to lose her. And you."

  Laura looked harried. "It can't be helped, Priscilla. I can't afford to keep this house. The upkeep alone…"

  "Maybe you could occupy the upstairs apartment," Carter said brightly, as though the idea had just occurred to him.

  "What upstairs apartment?" Priscilla asked.

  "The one Laura's going to turn the attic into."

  "I said that was a possibility," Laura snapped. She looked at him, narrow eyed. "You're saying you'll rent it to me when you buy the house, I suppose."

  "Exactly."

  "Carter's going to buy the house?" Priscilla exclaimed. "But that's marvelous!" Skirts billowing, she sailed across the kitchen and patted Carter on the head as though he were still a small boy. "Well done, Carter. I knew you'd think of a way out of my dilemma." She beamed at Laura. "I said he was clever, didn't I?"

  "I'm not going to rent an apartment from you, Carter Kincaid," Laura said hotly. "Don't listen to him, Priscilla. He's talking about dividing the house up and taking in tenants."

  Suddenly regarding him with great suspicion, she went on, "Unless he's devised this scheme just to manipulate—" She broke off, glancing at Jessica, who was listening avidly.

  "To manipulate what?" Priscilla asked.

  Carter put on his most innocent look, wishing he had Sly's blue eyes to pull it off with.

  "Where do you think you'd be living?" Laura prodded.

  "Downstairs, of course," he said loftily.

  "In one of the other apartments, I suppose."

  "That was only a suggestion, Laura. I haven't made up my mind about that."

  "What about your dog?"

  "Where I go, my dog goes."

  "So you and your dog would just move in here and take over, relegating Jessica and me to the attic."

  "Not relegating, Laura. You'd always be welcome to—"

  "I'll bet," she snapped. "That would be very handy for you, wouldn't it?"

  He frowned in as puzzled a manner as he could manage. "I'm not sure I know what it is you're accusing me of, Laura."

  "Yes, you do. You think you can move into my house and have me conveniently at hand whenever you—" She broke off, glancing at Jessica again.

  She had him dead to rights, as his grandfather would have said. It was difficult to maintain an innocent expression when those gray eyes were piercing him like twin laser beams, but he wasn't going to let her know how close she'd come to figuring out his plan. He knew that if he admitted it, he'd be on his way out the door.

  After what seemed a long time, she finally had to blink. But she wasn't ready to let him off the hook. "What about your uncle Sly?" she asked. "Would he be moving in, too? His gangster friend could park permanently outside, perhaps?"

  He was pleased to be able to deny something. "That's hardly likely, Laura. Sly will be moving on. He always moves on."

  She continued studying his face with all the enthusiasm of Hamlet regarding his dead father's skull. "You'd just let him move on out of your life?"

  Apparently, he couldn't win here, whatever he answered. Why the hell was Laura getting so angry with him? "Sly's a nomad, Laura," he explained. "Moving on is what he likes to do."

  "Are you sure? Have you ever asked him?"

  "No, but…"

  "I think it's a good idea for you to sell the house to Mr. Kincaid, Mom," Jessica said.

  Inadvertently, she saved him from floundering on. He flashed her a smile of gratitude. He could love this child, he decided.

  "It's not as if you'd be marrying him or anything dumb like that," she continued, which rather destroyed the moment. "You could get a job to pay the rent and Priscilla could live in the attic with us. Would you like that, Priscilla?"

  "Of course, poppet. Except that I'd have the ran of the house, wouldn't I, Carter?"

  "Just like goosey goosey gander," Carter assured her. "Upstairs and downstairs, and in my lady's chamber."

  Priscilla's body jerked as though he'd said something shocking. Lady's chamber? She'd never struck him as a prudish Victorian type. And what he'd read in the Port Dudley Gazette seemed to confirm his opinion. Yet Priscilla had turned quite pale, which was a weird thing for a ghost to do. What the hell had she found objectionable in the nursery rhyme? And why was he offending everyone all of a sudden? What had happened to the fabled Kincaid charm?

  "I have not agreed to sell this house to you, remember?" Laura said. She was slightly flushed, which made her even prettier.

  "I don't see how you can discriminate," Carter said. "I believe there's a law against it. I'll give you a check for earnest money right now if you like."

  "I do not like. This house is not yet up for sale."

  "When will it be?" he asked.

  "Not until—" She broke off. "This subject is closed. I absolutely refuse to discuss it any further." Closing her mouth tightly, she started clattering dishes together.

  Priscilla smiled encouragingly at him. Jessica intercepted the smile and looked at Carter long and hard. He winked at her. She dipped her head for a moment, then lifted it and winked back. Victory! Three for and two against now. If he was a gambling man like Sly, he'd say the odds were narrowing. Putting his finger to his lips, as Laura carried the dishes to the sink, he indicated he would obey Laura's wishes—for the moment. Ghost and child
nodded and smiled.

  Laura rather testily refused his offer of help with the dishes. He suspected she was afraid of the intimacy, but he didn't let his suspicions show on his face. Carter simply smiled good-naturedly and when Jessica asked Priscilla if she wanted to play with her cars, he asked if he could tag along and see how the layout was coming. "I haven't had a chance to look at it closely," he said when Jessica hesitated.

  "It's getting very complicated," Priscilla told him. "Jessica likes cars as much as you used to."

  "And still do," he said, smiling hopefully at the little girl.

  She tugged on her earlobe for a few seconds, then said, "Okay," rather grudgingly and led the way upstairs.

  "I didn't know you were an engineer," he said admiringly as he surveyed the work she'd done. "This layout is amazing."

  She frowned. "I'm not an engineer yet, but Mom says I can be anything I want to be."

  "Your mom's a very smart woman."

  She nodded absently, gazing at the tracks. "It's still not quite right," she said. "The last part doesn't work properly."

  "Show me," he said.

  His value in Jessica's eyes went way up in the next fifteen minutes. He was able to devise a quite unique bridge for her—a slightly sloping viaduct that went over the top of the tracks she'd already laid in place and slowed the car down before the final downhill spurt. This effectively stopped the somersault syndrome Jess was trying to get rid of and she was so delighted, she forgot to be stiff with him. The three of them played happily for an hour and then he and Priscilla went down to the kitchen and gossiped happily about his childhood days while Laura bathed Jessica.

  "Jessica says you're not as bad as she thought," Laura said when she came down to the kitchen and brought coffee to the table.

  "I do tend to grow on people," he said modestly.

  Laura laughed.

  Laughter was good.

  "I think it's time I rested," Priscilla said, patting her hand gently over her mouth. Standing, she put her hand on Carter's shoulder. He still wasn't used to the solid feel of her. "I'm glad you're going to buy this house, Carter," she said softly. "Your mother would be glad, too. When she was—before your father died, she really loved this place."

  Turning to Laura, she said good-night and left the room before Laura could comment. Judging by the look on Laura's face, she had a comment all ready.

  But to Carter's surprise, the subject she brought up had nothing to do with his decision to buy the house. "There was something I meant to mention," she said to Carter briskly as soon as Priscilla was out of earshot. "Before Sly came over yesterday, I was working in the master bedroom. Priscilla wouldn't come into the room. She acted real funny about it, wouldn't even discuss what wallpaper used to be on the walls in there."

  Carter nodded. "She acted strangely a while ago, too," he commented. "When I did the goosey gander thing."

  "In my lady's chamber," Laura repeated. "I noticed. That's what reminded me. I thought about it while I was doing the dishes and I wondered…" Her lovely gray eyes had a melancholy look to them. She was leaning her elbows on the table, her coffee mug held in both hands. Her mouth was slightly pursed. It looked very soft. Carter wanted to kiss it. He sighed.

  "Do you suppose Priscilla was… killed in that room?" Laura asked.

  He swallowed. "I guess it's possible. I hadn't really thought where—and the newspaper wasn't specific about where she was found. She might have come in and surprised the burglar in her bedroom___"

  "That's probably where she kept her jewelry."

  Carter jumped when Priscilla's voice said, "It wasn't."

  Laura started to apologize, but stopped when she saw the sadness on Priscilla's face.

  "You found the rest of the story?" Priscilla asked. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was just going to ask Carter if he found the red fire engine."

  "No, I didn't," Carter told her. "I'll have to ask Sly if he came across it during his marathon cleaning."

  Priscilla sat down on a chair opposite him, arranging her skirts around her. "How much do you know?" she asked.

  "Only what was in the Port Dudley Gazette," Carter said. Laura hadn't wanted to answer. She still wasn't sure they should have kept on prying.

  "I never did see the newspaper account," Priscilla said. "Perhaps the paper was delivered, but I didn't pay any attention. I was feeling rather stunned at the time. First of all, it was a shock to be shot, naturally, and then when I discovered I was still here—only not quite—it took a while to get used to."

  "I can imagine," Carter said dryly. "Would you like to see the account now? I photocopied the pages. I have them with me."

  "Do you really think she should read them?" Laura asked.

  "I would like to," Priscilla said. "Did they spell my name correctly? An awful Molly person used to misspell it all the time. Deliberately, no doubt." She looked narrowly from Laura to Carter. "Did you run across Molly and her famous Meanderings?"

  Laura nodded.

  Priscilla made a face. "Wasn't she the worst writer? And such a gossip."

  "We didn't believe everything we read," Carter said, his voice so kind Laura reached over and laid her hand on his.

  "Oh, it was all true," Priscilla said gloomily. "My friends, Randall's friends. I spent four years trying to hurt Randall as much as I could."

  "You loved him," Laura said, her lovely eyes misty.

  Carter stared at her. How did women make such assumptions given evidence that would seem to mean the absolute opposite?

  "Yes," Priscilla said.

  "He didn't…?"

  Priscilla nodded. "He didn't love me. He told me the morning after our wedding day that I should not expect too much of him because he was still in love with his former fiancée, Allie Pemberton. She died of a fever when they had been engaged only six months. She was the love of his life, he said."

  Sniffing, she gazed at her hands, which were clasped in her lap, then shook herself slightly and held a hand toward Carter. "I would like to see the papers, if you please."

  Without another word, Carter pulled the photocopies out of his inside jacket pocket and handed them to her. She studied them closely, but showed no emotion except for losing color. "Interesting," she said when she was done.

  "Do you…" Laura hesitated before going on. "Do you know who the burglar was?"

  Priscilla's smile had a strained quality, which was hardly surprising. "I've forgotten," she said. Standing, she looked from Carter to Laura. "I really am quite tired," she said.

  "You go ahead and rest," Laura said. "We can talk about all this tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow. Yes." She sighed. "I think perhaps I need a good long rest."

  Laura nodded uncertainly. There was such a heavy sadness in Priscilla's voice suddenly. But she had no idea how to comfort her.

  Priscilla touched Carter very lightly on the shoulder. "Don't worry," she said, with just a hint of mischief showing in her green eyes. "I won't disturb you two again."

  Laura felt herself blush and got up to refill their coffee cups. "I'm not sure we should have let her read those accounts," she said, after Priscilla had drifted from the room.

  To her surprise, Carter agreed. "She looked—" He stopped, laughed shortly. "Can a ghost look unwell? She had to know she was murdered," he said. "I guess it was seeing it in print that upset her."

  Laura nodded. "Why do I feel so awful?" she asked.

  Carter wanted to take her in his arms. "We didn't have a chance to show Priscilla the book I brought," he murmured. "I'm not sure if it would have made her feel better or worse." He shook his head. "Shall I get it now?"

  She roused herself with an obvious effort. "Good idea. It is getting late."

  A hint to him not to stay too long, he supposed.

  She cheered visibly when he opened the book to the pictures of The Willows. "Look, here's the parlor!" she exclaimed. "I did come close, didn't I? And here's the kitchen." The opposite page drew her attention. "This is wha
t I'm looking for—the master bedroom. My goodness, that's a small picture."

  She got up, brought a magnifying glass from the den and sat down again, leaning over the book to examine it closely. "Bull's-eye molding," she murmured. "I could probably replicate that hanging hurricane lamp."

  Carter had the idea that in her enthusiasm she'd almost forgotten he was there. He didn't mind at all. As long as she was unconscious of his presence he could inhale her clean fragrance and watch the changing expressions on her face.

  "I can see why Priscilla wasn't too keen on repeating the decor," she exclaimed. "Look at this awful wallpaper."

  Handing him the magnifying glass, she leaned with him over the picture. If she kept leaning so close to his ear, so that her sweet breath stirred his hair and tickled his cheek, he was going to steam up the magnifying glass. His hormones were marching in double time.

  "Even in black and white, this wallpaper looks gaudy," he said.

  "You wouldn't believe how many exotic wallpapers there used to be," Laura murmured. "I have a Bloomingdale's catalog from 1886 that shows—" She broke off. "I keep forgetting you know all this stuff as well as I do."

  "I'm not too well-informed about wallpapers," he said. If she didn't move back a little he was going to put one hand on the back of her neck and the other around her waist and…

  She moved back a little. Sadly, he looked back at the picture. "Let's forget authenticity here," he suggested. "I'd get nightmares trying to sleep with that wallpaper around me. All those swirls. It looks as tormented as Van Gogh's Starry Night. We'll have to come up with something more soothing."

  She stiffened. "If you really mean to buy this house, Carter, I don't suppose I can prevent you. But if this is some kind of scam to manipulate me into spending more time with you, it's not going to work. I do appreciate you bringing over this book, but I've never worked with a consultant and I'm not about to now. You may plan on sleeping in that bedroom eventually, but it won't be while I'm here. Is that clear?"