Crazy in Love

by Lani Diane Rich

  “I swear, I never saw a dead person before coming here.” She sniffed, swiped at her eyes. “You must think I’m insane.”

  “Well, yeah,” he said, smiling at her. “But if it’s any comfort, I find insanity very sexy.”

  She reached out to smack him playfully on the shoulder, but he ducked and grabbed her hand, leading her toward the bed.

  “Now, I know how this looks,” he said, “but I’m just going to put you in bed and get you settled. Then I’m out of here.”

  Flynn snorted. “What, is there a rule about crying women, too?”

  Tucker released her hand and pulled the covers back on the bed. “As a matter of fact . . .”

  “You’re kidding,” Flynn said, crawling gratefully into the bed.

  He pulled the covers around her, sat on the bed next to her, and reached down to get her mug of tea. “Drunk women. Crying women. Women within three months of a breakup or one year of a death or divorce.” He handed her the mug with a smile. “Lucky for you, there’s no rule against cute brunette ghost magnets.”

  She chuckled and sipped her tea. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a weird night. And then I had to put up with Chase—who has completely ruined Dairy Queen for me, by the way—and I thought you’d be mad at me for screwing up your investigation.” She inhaled with a stutter and was surprised to feel her eyes filling up again. Jesus. She was a case tonight.

  “Hey, you didn’t screw up my investigation.” He reached for her hand and held her fingers gently in his. “You did great. You took one for the team. I’ll tell you, if it came down to it, I don’t know if I’d kiss Gordon Chase for you.”

  She laughed. He lifted her fingers and touched them to his lips.

  “Get some sleep. I’ll drop by your office tomorrow, we can go through the evidence and see where we are, okay?”

  She tightened her hold on his fingers. “Don’t go. And I don’t mean for you to”—she stammered a bit, then smiled—“break any rules, I just . . .” She sighed, unable to drum up enough pride or common sense to stop herself from being honest. “You make me feel better. And I want you to stay. Just . . . stay. I mean, I’ll understand if you don’t want to. I know it’s asking a lot.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Gratitude overwhelmed her, and she swiped at her eyes. “Really?”

  He smiled as he kicked off his shoes, then crawled over her on top of the covers. He arranged pillows against the wall and sat up back against them, putting his arm out. She curled into him, resting her head against his shoulder, sipping from the mug in her hand. Jake kissed the top of her head and for the first time that night, she felt completely at peace.

  “I gotta warn you, though,” he said. “Rules or no rules, I’m still a guy. Chances are fair to middlin’ that I’m gonna try to cop a feel at some point during the night.”

  Flynn laughed and snuggled deeper against him. “I’d expect nothing less.”

  Chapter Ten

  Flynn sat on the edge of her bed, legs crossed under her yoga style. Behind her, she could see her physical body, curled up under the covers, with Tucker on top of the bedspread, spooning her from behind. Even though her consciousness, her spiritual body, whatever it was, was on the edge of the bed, she could still feel his warmth and strength seeping into her from behind.

  It was nice.

  “Well, I have to say I didn’t figure you for the type,” Esther said as she rocked in her ghostly chair as the real one, which Flynn had returned to its original place in defeat, sat still as stone.

  “What type?” Flynn asked.

  “I had you pegged for uptight. A little prudish.” Esther raised her eyebrows toward Tucker’s sleeping form. “But you’ve made pretty fast work of my friend Jake there. I hope your intentions are good.”

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Flynn said. “He’s a friend.”

  “Pffft,” Esther snorted. “Exactly what does ‘born yesterday’ look like to you? Because I can guarantee I’m not a match.”

  “No, you certainly are not,” Flynn said.

  Esther stopped rocking, an expression of mild approval on her face. “Okay, then.”

  “Look,” Flynn said, “Tucker told me that if I wanted you to go away, and I really do, that I should listen to you and seeing as that’s the only thing I haven’t tried then—” She gestured toward Esther with one hand. “Go ahead. Talk.”

  Esther leaned forward. “You want me to talk?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. I think you’re a very abrasive young woman. I would never have spoken to my elders the way you do. Your hair is hopelessly wild, your tone is unfriendly to say the least, and you seem to be forgetting that you are the interloper here, not me. This is my house. My hotel. My home.”

  Esther sat back in a huff and picked up her knitting, clinking the ghostly needles together with angered force. Flynn waited for a few moments, then said, “Is that it?”

  Esther froze. “What do you mean, is that it?”

  “I mean, is that it? You don’t like me, fine. I already knew that. Not for nothing, but I’m not terribly fond of you, either. What I need is something I can act on. Something I can do to open you up to the white light, to get you to move on. Because, while I appreciate that being dead is no joyride for you, it is what it is, lady. You have to deal with it sometime, and I’d rather you did it before you drive me completely around the bend.”

  Esther glared at Flynn for a while, but then her expression softened, and she started to rock slowly in her chair.

  “Well,” she said finally, “there is one thing you can do.”

  “Great. Let’s get to it. What do you need?”

  Esther stopped rocking and leaned forward in her chair. “Put my damn cows back.”

  The golden light snapped off, like someone had hit a switch, and Flynn felt a whoosh as she was pulled back into her body. She gasped and felt Jake’s arm instantly respond by tightening around her, his hand moving protectively around her waist.

  “You okay?” he mumbled. His eyes were still closed, and his breathing even. She rolled onto her back and stared at his sleeping face.

  “Mmmm-hmmm,” she responded softly, watching his face, the features outlined in the soft white glow of the moonlight creeping in through the windows. His face had a perma-smile, as though good cheer was his default setting. His jawline was rough with stubble, and his hair was hopelessly awry, as usual. She smiled as she looked at him, wondering how it was possible to feel so comfortable with someone she’d only known for a few days.

  She took one last look at him, then rolled over onto her side, snuggling back into the spoon. His hand traveled up from her waist to her shoulder, rubbing her arm dreamily.

  “You okay?” he mumbled again.

  She thought about things. She was haunted by a dead aunt, would soon be sent off to rot in a cubicle for the rest of her working days, and was lying in the arms of a bartender with an uncanny ability to make everything feel all right anyway.

  “Mmmmm,” she said. “I’m just fine.”

  And she was.

  Jake inhaled deeply as consciousness returned. The space next to him was empty, and at some point, Flynn had flipped the top blanket back over him. He smiled lazily as he looked down at it, his mind lost in a jumble of thoughts. Usually, this was about the point in a relationship where he found himself caught between the vague notion that the relationship was going somewhere and the sharp terror that the girl would ask him where, exactly. The truth was, as usual, he had no idea.

  But he knew he didn’t want her to sell. He didn’t want her to leave. As a matter of fact, if he could worm his way in, he wanted to sleep in whatever space was next to her every night for the foreseeable future.

  And he’d only known her for five days. Had to be some kind of record.

  He hopped off the bed and stuck his head under it to retrieve his cell phone, smiling as he remembered the determined look on Flynn’s face when she’d tossed it over her shoulde
r the night before. He pulled the phone out and tucked it in his back pocket, then stood up and laid the covers neatly on the bed, smoothing them over the space where she’d slept.

  It was happening. Somewhere between picking her up at the train station and crawling into bed next to her the night before, he’d gotten tangled up in her but good. Now, no matter what direction he moved in, if history served, chances were pretty damn good he was going to fall flat on his face.

  He ran his hands through his hair and walked out into the living room to see Flynn dressed in a blue business suit, pulling cow creamers from a shoe box sporting tendrils of crinkled duct tape, and arranging them on a shelf in front of her. Jake leaned against the doorjamb and watched her, smiling. One by one, she put the cows up, then stood back and surveyed her work. When she turned and saw him watching her, she shrugged and rolled her eyes.

  “I listened,” she said, dumping the empty box on the floor and kicking it through the open closet door. “Esther told me to put her stupid cows back. I am officially my dead aunt’s bitch.”

  Jake laughed, walked over to her, took her hands in his, and leaned down to kiss one cheek.

  “I quit,” he said.

  She blinked. “Wow. Most guys would open with ‘Good morning.’ Let me commend you on a brave and unusual choice.”

  “There’s a guy named Kevin who subs in for us sometimes. He might be a good place to start looking for my replacement. In the meantime, Carole’s usually happy to pick up extra shifts.” Jake reached up and moved a strand of hair away from her face. “I want to be able to focus on this Chase thing for the next few days, and after that . . .” He shook his head and smiled. “I don’t know. I haven’t really planned that far yet.”

  “Oh. Um, okay.” Flynn blinked rapidly and gave him a ‘huh?’ look. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I think things might be less complicated if I don’t work for you.”

  She groaned. “Oh, tell me you’re not quitting your job because of me. Do I look stable enough to handle that kind of pressure? Because I’m really not.”

  He held up one hand to quiet her. “It’s just a job. I don’t like it that much to be honest. The hours suck. My boss is insane.” She smiled, and Jake felt himself relax. “And, you know, I’m thinking about what you said. About loving what you do. I’ve got enough savings to think about it for”—he glanced upward, doing the math in his head, and returned his gaze to her—“three more weeks, give or take. I want to think about it for a while.”

  “Oh, God.” She put her hand to her head. “Now I know how Freya felt.”

  “Another thing. I know we’ve only known each other for a few days, but I’d really like to know you for a few more. And, if that goes well, maybe a few more after that.”

  A sideways smile spread over her face. “Yeah?”

  He reached for her waist and pulled her closer. “Yeah. And that means I should probably ask you out on a real date. Flynn, would you go out on a real date with me?”

  Flynn nibbled her lip and looked up at him, her expression dripping with overplayed consternation. “Gee, I don’t know. I have this rule, you see. I don’t date unemployed men.”

  “What, you couldn’t have told me that five minutes ago?”

  She put one hand flat on his chest, right over his heart. He liked it there.

  “Lucky for you, I’m not as much of a stickler for rules as you are.”

  “Good.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the nose. “Six o’clock. I’ll pick you up here.”

  He released her, grabbed his messenger bag from where he’d left it by the door, and pulled the door open, but stopped as his foot hit something on his way out. He looked down and picked up the newspaper, staring down at the front page. He could hear Flynn’s footsteps coming up behind him.

  “Oh, is that the local paper? I asked Annabelle to have it delivered. I like to keep up.”

  “Yep,” Jake said as he scanned the lead story. “This is the local paper.”

  Flynn poked her head over his shoulder, and went quiet. “Oh, my God. Is that . . . ?”

  She pointed to the headline: RIVER BODY IDENTIFIED.

  “Yep.” Jake handed her the paper and waited patiently for the question he knew would come once Flynn finished reading the first paragraph.

  “Oh, but wait. This says it’s some woman named Eileen Dietz. You were wrong.”

  “I would think so, too,” he said, pointing to the mug shot they’d used, “if it weren’t for the fact that this picture is definitely Elaine Placie.”

  Flynn stepped back and looked up at him. “So, what? Elaine Placie was living under an assumed identity?”

  Jake nodded. “I’ve only had a few seconds to develop it, but that’s my working theory.”

  “But it says here that—” She read from the paper. “‘Dietz was released last fall from the Tennessee Women’s Correctional Facility in Nashville, where she’d served three years for fraud.’ She’s an ex-con.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Do you think Chase knew who she really was?”

  “If not, I bet he will soon.”

  She hugged the paper to her chest and nibbled at her lip, her eyebrows knitting, creating cute little creases in her forehead. “So, what do we do?”

  “You are going to work. I’m gonna go home, find out what’s on that laptop and maybe do some digging on the enigmatic Eileen Dietz.” He smiled. “And then I’ll pick you up at six.”

  Flynn looked surprised. “We’re still going out?”

  “Can you think of a good reason why we shouldn’t?”

  “Oh, gee. I don’t know. The Eileen Dietz thing. A laptop full of illegal activities. Not to mention the manila folder—”

  “Which probably contains Rhonda’s secret recipe for Hungarian meatball soup.” He took the newspaper from her grip and tucked it under his arm. “Life goes on. I’m picking you up at six.”

  Flynn stared at him for a moment, then smiled. “Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

  “Great.” He headed down the steps, then shot over his shoulder, “Dress casual. I don’t have Chase’s budget.”

  “Freya, where the hell are you?” Flynn stared down at the phone on Esther’s desk, waiting for Freya to answer her stupid cell. Flynn knew the phone was on, because when it was off, it went direct to voice mail. So whatever Freya was doing, she just didn’t want to stop doing it to answer the phone.

  Hi, you’ve reached the voice mail of Freya Daly. I’m sorry I can’t—

  Flynn reached across the front desk, hit the disconnect button, and dialed again. This would be her fifth call. Surely, this time Freya would—

  “Oh, for the love of all that is holy— WHAT?!?”

  Bingo.

  “Freya. I need to talk to you.”

  “Are you bleeding? Are you on fire? Has Dad fallen over dead while he was bleeding and on fire?”

  “No. My bookkeeper was supposed to have the third quarter reports waiting for me to fax to Dad.”

  “There was nothing in that sentence about blood or fire.”

  “And she’s not here. And neither are the reports.”

  “So?”

  “So . . . Dad wanted the third quarter financials by this morning. I need your help, Fray.”

  Freya groaned. “Do you even know what time it is in Tucson?”

  “Annabelle has this strange computer system and it’s got a password on it and I can’t get into it and Dad—”

  “It’s six forty-seven. In the morning.”

  “—wants these end of quarter reports and I don’t—”

  “On my last day. My last day to sleep in. Do you know what that means?”

  “—know how to pull the reports—”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

  Flynn could hear the sound of bedding being thrown and she quieted, waiting for Freya’s instructions.

  “You can’t call this Tinkerbell at home and get the password?”

  “A
nnabelle. And no, there’s no answer at her home number. I think she might have called in sick, because the voice mail light is blinking, but I don’t know how to get the voice mail messages.”

  “And no one else there has access to this system? You have one person in complete ownership of an entire system? Is this what you’re telling me?”

  “Pretty much. And I can’t take reservations, either, because the reservations system is part of the bookkeeping system. I guess. At least, that’s the way I understand it.”

  “Jesus. You have one person in complete ownership of two systems? What kind of place are you running there, Flynn?”

  “Don’t blame me. This is how Esther had it. I’ll give her a healthy ration of shit for it later, but right now—”

  Freya cut her off. “Please tell me you didn’t say you were going to give our dead aunt a healthy ration of shit. I don’t care if that’s what you said. Just say you didn’t say it.”

  Flynn rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say it. What I need right now is to get these reports to Dad. He said he wanted them by this morning, and—”

  “Tell him no. Tell him he’ll get them when you’re damn good and ready to get them to him, and not a moment sooner. He’s got the financials from the second quarter, and all the quarters before that back to roughly 1776, so that’s good enough to work a sale from. He’s just testing you. Call him back, tell him to bite your ass, and you pass the test.”

  Flynn sat back in her chair and took the opening. “Won’t that upset his angina?”

  There was a short pause. “Hmmm. What?”

  “His heart. I mean, if I don’t get him these reports, he’ll get upset. Stressed out. Isn’t that the whole reason I’m here in the first place?”

  A longer pause. “No.”

  Wow. That was easy. “I see.”

  “No, you don’t see, and I don’t have time to make you see. We’ll talk about it later. The point is, don’t let him push you around. Just call him, tell him it’s not happening, and go have a cigarette.”